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etfrin · 7 months

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⤷❝Mine To Love | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, mentions of caging/locking you up (doesn't do it though), hair pulling, breath play if you squint, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), pinv sex, blowjob, male masterbation, cunnilingus, mating press, mentions of Lucy Gray, no spoilers | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: Snow realizing his feelings for you, being fucked up about it and fucks you!

⇢☾A/N: don't romanticize, it's dark romance so y'all are warned! This is set in the same au as The Study (you don't have to read it beforehand but it's recommended)

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > <tag list>

It started slowly, so slow that Snow didn't even realize it. It started with that night in the study after he had you. He didn't touch you again, denying himself of you. You, his wife, a little bird stuck in a cage. The First Lady of Panem was nothing but a doll, a showcase piece for the country.

You played the role well enough, but you weren't a doll at all. You brought life in what was otherwise a stone-cold mannor. The workers cook your favorite, making sure you're the most well-accommodated. Like a Queen. How their shoulders relax and the smile that springs up when they do the tasks that you assigned them. You earned their respect and their loyalty.

You were dangerous yet harmless. It baffled Coriolanus to no end. It started slow. He coincidentally met you in the hallways more and more. After that night, you couldn't make eye contact with him, no longer did you greet him with an awkward hello or a shy smile.

You look down at the floor whenever he passes you by, your body flushing from the mere second of proximity. So obvious and adorable. He loved how easy you were to read, how open you were. Whatever your lips hide, your eyes show. Whatever your soul hides, your body shows.

It started slow. The monthly dinners with the First Lady turned weekly. Every Sunday now he had you sit across him for dinner and he would ask you about your day. Just to be polite, mind you, don't look into it. He would be annoyed by those one-word answers but would never show it. His fingers subtly grasped the glass of wine tighter than he should, his heart pricking his brain into paranoia. ‘What else?’ he wanted to ask, ‘Stop saying it was good. Tell me what made it good.’

Instead of uttering those words, cameras were placed on every inch of the manner with the audio functions so everything is recorded for his and only his view. He watched you walking through the library, your fingertips touching the spines of the books you already read (which was most of them), you didn't even realize new books were added to the collection, all similar to the ones you liked. He watched you stroll the gardens, your face in a frown at the neverending white roses. A red rose and several other flowers were added the next day.

It started slow. He began to talk about his day more and more trying to fill a silence. He started asking for your opinion and oh, how that lighted your eyes up that you were finally doing what you were meant to do. Supporting him not as a doll but as a wife. You begin to talk about your days more, trusting him with your day-to-day activities. You tell him about friends and family, something he wasn't interested in (he has files on every single person you mentioned).

The nights that were dedicated to his needed sleep turned into the witching hours in which he would stroke his cock over the memory of you. His mouth biting into the pillow to stop his groans, hearing them would mean admitting his need for you and he rejected that notion. His cock was oversensitive because he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop fucking into his fist, again and again thinking about you. Not just your pussy but you. Your desperate moans, your lips marking his neck, your slick walls, and everything of you. Your tears, your head on his chest when he had fucked you. Everything.

He wanted to pin you against a wall. He wanted to bend over during dinner. He wanted you on his lap in his study. He wanted to push you to the bed and fuck you until the bed breaks. He wanted you!

The realization made him spill onto his bed sheets for the nth time. A gasp escaped his lips as he realized how deeply you are rooted in him now. He needed to kill you. He can't afford this again. Whatever this is. Obsession? Love? Was there ever a difference? He needed this to end.

‘You don't deserve to be loved,’ he thinks, you were no Lucy Gray after all, you were different. You could never compare to his first and only (not anymore) love. But he had caged you, he had you and knew your every move. The rumors that spread of cheating were seized along with the man who flirted with you. True to your words, you hadn't fallen to the temptations of the Capitol, rejecting their offers politely rather than basking in their attention like before.

‘Good,’ he thought, he had killed everyone who had touched you and it was hard to hide the evidence. “I am so much better than her,” he muttered, “I could do so much better.” He asked himself, ‘Why? After all the promises I made to myself of never repeating the mistake.’

He didn't get a reply but he dreamt of you.

Breakfast had passed, lunch too, he hadn't seen you once today. A quick peek at his monitors showed that you were sleeping in your room. He clenched his jaw, a part of him hating you for sleeping in because it deprived him of seeing you. A part of his heart warmed because your hair was a mess, the shirt you were wearing while sleeping was his, and you looked so darn pretty.

Coriolanus convinced himself that he was going to your room to wake you up. Nobody should sleep this late into the day. It wasn't healthy, and he needed the First Lady to remain healthy. That was all.

He stepped into the room, his footsteps quiet so he didn't alert you. He sits down on the bed, your sleeping figure beside him. Your mouth had dried drool on the corners which made him disgusted but amusement all the same. His hand went to your cheek, he couldn't control the action of his thumb stroking your cheek.

“I should lock you up forever,” he whispered as softly as possible, almost inaudible. “In this room, so no one can see you but me.”

He knew by now his thoughts weren't normal and it would never be. That's him and he had accepted himself. He leaned in closer, his lips inches away from yours. He stopped right before he closed the gap. He takes a deep breath, taking in your scent before pulling back.

His hand goes to your shoulder, he shakes you. “Wake up, bird,” he said, his eyes softening when he saw you wake up and peer at him with confused eyes. You yawn, and sit up, your eyes wide when you look at him. You rub them with your hand and blink.

“Is there anything wrong, Coryo?” You asked softly, “Anything I can do to help.” “You should shower and eat first,” he said instead, “and next time don't sleep in. I don't like indiscipline.”

“Sorry,” you mutter, “I was finishing a book.” Your eyes flicker to him, “It's nice by the way! I will tell you about it during dinner.” He wanted to hear about it now, he wanted to pull you closer and kiss your lips, he wanted to push you into the mattress and breed you. He wanted to clean you up after and feed you every kind of feed.

He clenched his jaw, trying to get rid of such thoughts. “We'll see,” he said before walking out of the room, accidentally slamming the door. The first sign of Snow losing control.

The second sign of Coriolanus losing control was how his breath hitched when he saw you during dinner. You are wearing yet another one of his shirts (how do you even get your hands on them) and that's it. A white shirt that reached your knees, you had forgone pants and opted for shorts that couldn't even be seen. Your legs were in complete view, the same legs he wanted wrapped around his waist.

He didn't say a single comment even when it was clear you were waiting for one. ‘Were you trying to seduce him?’ he thinks, ‘Or something else.’ He felt paranoid about you wearing his shirt. Did you want him? Want him to bend you over, press your face onto the table and fuck you like you were an animal?

He felt his pants getting tighter from his thoughts, flashes of what he could do to you, what he had done to you. He couldn't focus as you talked during dinner, he made a mental note to watch the cameras later to know the words you had blessed him with.

It hits him like a wave when dinner ends and you come to him with a book. Tabs were spilling out and it was a hardcover of an old classic that he had to read during the academy.

“You once told me that you liked this book, I spent last night annotating it! I did a few finishing touches before dinner…”

That explains your attire, you were busy formatting this gift for him. He took the book from your hand, he wanted to throw it across the room, he wanted to set it on fire. It was now his most precious treasure, more important than Panem itself.

The truth he denied washes over him. Making him take a sharp breath and your eyebrows etch together in concern. He had once a girl dedicate songs for him, now he had a wife dedicating booms for him. ‘It would be a mistake,’ he told himself, ‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past.’

The desires he shoved at the back of his mind sprang forward and he made a decision. The third sign of Coriolanus surrendering to himself was that he had everyone including the guards leave the dining room. Making your eyes widen from the sudden instruction.

“Is there anything wrong-” you begin to ask before Snow interrupts you. “Here is what's going to happen now. You're gonna be on your knees, you'll take my cock in your mouth and you'll make me cum. Then I will take you to our room and I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name.”

You blink once, twice just staring into his eyes that revealed nothing before you went closer to him and got down on your knees for him. “Like this?” You asked, breathless, your cheeks flushed. He smirked, “Exactly like this, pet.”

“Now part those pretty lips for me,” he said as he unzipped his pants and set his hard cock free. He lets out a chuckle as he sees you eyeing his cock like a long-lost lover. Guess he wasn't the only one thinking about that time.

You part your mouth wide enough for him as he pushes his cock in slowly. No matter how desperate he was a gentleman for his wife. He knew better than to gag you. He stopped when his cock had completely disappeared, his length engulfed into your wet, hot mouth.

He throws back his head as his dick hits the back of your throat. He relishes the sound of your choking around his length. He lets out his groan, trying his hardest not to cum down your throat so soon. His hand is in your hair, keeping you in place like an obedient pet.

You try your best to take in a deep breath as your tongue swirls around his length as much as possible. You weren't the best at blowjobs, but you knew the sloppier the better. Saliva ran down your cheek as you tried your best to focus on his cock underside, your tongue dragging itself across a pulsing vein that reached his cockhead.

You moan around his length as the taste of pre-cum bursts in your mouth. You close your eyes and try your best, bopping your head up and down. You clenched your fist, trying your best not to gag when his cock gets deeper into your throat.

Meanwhile, Snow was a wreck of a man, the heat of your mouth ruining his capability of having coherent thoughts. You were sucking his soul through his dick it seemed to him. His fingers tangled in your locks, gripping your hair tighter as a way to anchor himself to reality.

His blue eyes dilated to almost black as he looks at you taking his cock so well. Like you were made for it. Made for his cock. Made for him. Meant to be his wife, his bird, his pet, and his love. It's destiny, he decided as he pulls you off his cock and uses his suit sleeves to wipe your mouth and chin.

‘Everything leads to this,’ he thought, as he pulled you onto his lap and pressed a kiss to your lips. The saltiness of his taste in your mouth does not deter his tongue from tasting you.

“Go to my- our room,” he whispered to you as he broke the kiss. “I'll be there soon,” he promises as he nuzzles into your neck, his lips kissing your skin. You nod and get off his lap. Your feet drag you into his room.

Meanwhile, Coriolanus takes a deep breath, trying to maintain whatever pathetic excuse of sanity he had held. It didn't work. His cock was hard enough to hurt and his brain made him think. He thinks of removing you, he thinks of keeping you. He thinks of plans to protect you, backup plans to make sure you remain untouched while still maintaining the image of the First Lady. His true possessiveness and obsession flares up in his mind.

‘It won't be a mistake if I don't repeat the past,’ he told himself, repeating that line to his head.

He takes a deep breath, a glance at the cameras shows workers and guards kept the halls clear and you were in his room and on his bed waiting for him. Waiting for him to ravish you as you kept playing with the buttons of the shirt, and your underwear on the floor. Your face was crimson but your lower lip was in a darker shade of red with how much you bitten it because of nervousness.

He lets out a huff of air before adjusting himself accordingly. Coriolanus Snow was many things, gentlemen included and gentlemen don't keep their ladies waiting.

You freeze as he enters the room. You swallow nervously, your fingers pausing on the shirt button you were playing with. He glances at the panties that were on the floor and he gives you a little smirk. “Take it all off, my wife,” he said as his hands worked to undress him. His suit was on the floor, his shirt joining it soon enough.

You have to press your thighs together as you see his skin again, a whimper escaping your lips at the sight. He was so beautiful, craved by the angels, breathed to life by the devil. Soon, his pants and boxers were getting ridden off.

You check him out, your gaze hungry. Your fingers shake with desire as you take off your (his) shirt. You let it fall, exposing yourself completely to him, like he did for you. His eyes rack you up, causing a flush to every visible inch of your skin.

“Open your legs,” he said, as he walked closer and got down on his knees for you. “I am hungry,” he said, while his lips pressed to your knee and his lustful eyes bewitched you. You had to bite your tongue to not let a moan from his mere words. You spread your legs wide, letting your cunt come into his view.

Your folds that were glistening with your arousal and your slit which was the cause of your juices fluttered around nothing from his gaze. “Exquisite,” he had whispered, the praise warming you up and making your pussy clench harder. “Eager too,” he chuckles, looking up at you but you refuse to meet his gaze.

“Have your meal,” you mumbled, embarrassed. He pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh, making your breath hitch from the contact. A sharp moan escapes when he bites, his teeth digging into the flesh and your hand falls onto his hair. Your fingers grip the blonde locks but you don't try to push him away. Your legs tried to close around him, but his hands made sure to keep them spread as he liked it.

He pulled away, admiring the mark before he pressed another wet kiss to it. His fingers grip your thighs, they hold tight enough to leave marks too.

He takes in a deep breath, nuzzling into your thigh. Your primal scent makes him go wild, his nail digging into your skin as he brings his lips closer to your pussy. One swipe of his tongue onto your folds and he groans louder than you have ever heard him to do so.

“You taste like fucking candy,” he lets out, as his nose bumps into your clit, his tongue messily swirling around your folds, gathering as much of your juices as possible. Your legs were all on his shoulders now as he all but pressed his face, burying himself in your cunt. He takes in a deep breath through his mouth before he begins to ravish you properly.

His mouth taking in your entire pussy and sucking it with such devotion it made you see stars. He laps at your pussy, his tongue never stopping to devour you. You pulled him even closer, your thighs closing around his head. The action only made him. You couldn't see it, but his eyes rolled back from the lack of air and your taste that quickly became his favorite.

His teeth pulled at the outer lips of your pussy, making you cry out and gush more juices. He licks it all up. Before his attention goes to your little bud, his mouth kisses it at first. Then he takes your clit into his mouth to suck without any mercy.

It makes you cry out, the soles of your feet digging into his back as your hips begin to rut against his face. You have no control over your actions. You were gripping his hair so tight you were afraid that you tore away a few strands. Overwhelming pleasure attacked all of your senses as he didn't stop his merciless actions.

You arch your back, your lips moaning his name as heat begins to gather in your body. You cry out, “Close! Coryo! Fuck!” Pleads begin to leave your mouth as your hips grind faster, your clit nudged his nose as his tongue is now inside your walls, fucking you with his tongue.

Your eyes widen, and you let out a silent scream when his teeth nip your swollen clit. You lay on the bed, panting as your pussy cums on his face. Your arousal makes a mess on his face which makes you even more slick when he pulls back and gets on top of you.

You looked into his eyes, his cold blue eyes that were nearly black now. He was panting, both of your breaths mixing into the air. With whatever senses you have left, you use your palm to clean up some of the mess on his face.

As soon as you finish up, he holds your hand. His mouth on your palm with broad strokes of his tongue he licks the remaining of your juices clean. “Can't let it go to waste, my bird,” he whispered to you as he leaned down. His body caging yours or were you caging him down with your legs around his waist? He pressed a kiss to your cheek. Sweet and gentle, and so unlike him but you don't dare question his affections. May it be sweet or savory, you accept it with your arms wide open.

“Want you,” you whispered to him. “You'll have me when I see fit,” he replied, his mouth pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck before they reached the flesh of your breasts. One of his hands squeezed your breast and his thumb rubbed circles on your nipple. His lips paid attention to the underside of it, licking the skin around the round flesh before his teeth sank in making you gasp. He sucks harshly, his hold on your breast getting rougher as he forms the mark on your skin. When he's assured that a hickey will be formed, his lips pull back and he presses a kiss to the mark.

“You're mine,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin before he takes a nipple into his mouth and sucks just as harshly as before. You moan, “Yours, Snow!” Your hands on his shoulders, your nails digging into his flesh. His fingers play and squeeze your other breast while he continues to suck your bud. Your cunt despite having a previous earthsharing orgasm begins to pulse with need. You whimper, “Corio, please!”

Coryo pulls away, his eyebrows etched in annoyance, as much as he likes to hear you beg, he would rather focus on his task of marking you up. He leans up and presses his lips to you. You moan into his mouth as you taste yourself on his tongue. Your fingers tangling themselves into his curls bringing him even closer to you. He breaks the kiss, “I'll teach you to be obedient later, my pet.”

You let out a whimper when he pressed a hard kiss against your lips. His hands travel down to your hips. “Get ready,” he whispered to you, “I meant my words.” I'll fuck you until you can't remember your name. Remembering his earlier words, you whine loudly, “Please!”

His hand grips your hip tightly as his other hand holds his hard cock and guides it to your entrance. Just to be a little tease, he swipes his mushroom tip all over your cunt, his cockhead bumping your swollen clit making you arch your back and your nails dig into his flesh harder, making him moan as well.

He finally pressed his tip into your slit, his cock gliding in smoothly because of how wet you were. He groans as his dick gets sucked into warmth. His head is between the space of your shoulder. He was panting, his hot breath hitting your skin as he pushed in inch by inch. Your hands are on his back, your legs around his waist as you encourage him to go deeper into you with your soft moans.

His teeth sink into your neck to stop a groan, as his cock reaches your deepest spot. While your nails drag themselves across his back to create red lines. Both of you finding ways to anchor yourself to reality, to not go insane with the pleasure you find in each other.

“Move,” you plead, “Please, Coryo, need you to fuck me. Need you!” Snow decided to have mercy on you both, his hips began to move shallowly, and he refused to completely pull back. He refused the concept of depriving his dick of your sweet, wet pussy. “Faster,” you beg, his deep thrust hits at your every spot, some you didn't even know existed. It fried at your senses, your mind going haywire, your body getting desperate for another release.

“No,” he barks near your ear, his mouth biting your earlobe before he begins to kiss your jaw and then to your collarbone. His lips suck purple and blue bruises on your skin while his hips grind into you. Making you go dizzy and insane with how his cockhead kept grazing your g-spot.

“Please, please,” you babble, “You're fucking me so good, Coryo! I can't take it, please! Fuck me harder, love!” His hips had stopped moving as he heard your words. His head leaned up to you, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “What did you say?”

You looked straight into his eyes, not hiding the love you had for him, letting it flow through your words and your body. “Love,” you whispered, your lips pressing a delicate kiss that could shatter everything you had built with Snow. “I love you,” you whispered. One of your hands moves to his cheek, caressing him. “You don't have to do anything in return, just know that I love you.” You smile at him, knowing it's more likely that he won't ever return your feelings.

You prepared yourself for a harsh rejection but instead, his hips begin to move again. Harder, faster than before, his cockhead kissing your cervix with his thrusts, his fingers digging into your hips marking it. You won't be able to walk later but that didn't matter.

What mattered was how perfect Coriolanus had begun to fuck you. No, it wasn't a fuck. This was something more. Something changed with your confession, something changed and will remain changed for the rest of both of your lives.

One of his hands reached upward, his fingers snaking around your throat. He pressed it in, not enough to block your breathing but enough to make you lightheaded. Your pussy which was already tight, clenched around him further making him groan right against your ear.

“Lover indeed,” he whispered, his words that you nearly missed, your heart understood what he meant. You gasp, “Kiss me.” You knew that even without him saying those words, he could love you all the same.

Snow complies, his lips clashing with yours. His hips rutting into you as his hands guide your legs into the mating press position, making you cry out into the kiss as his cock reaches even deeper than before causing a small bump into your stomach that neither of you notices.

The kiss got open-mouthed, desperate with how his tongue tangled with yours. It was filth filled with the pathetic, insanity of love you both felt for each other. His thrusts got faster, and sloppier as he was close to his end. Your cunt pulsating around his length as you too were close to shattering again.

What it took for both of you to reach the end was him breaking the kiss to whisper, “I should kill you. I should kill you for making me a lovesick fool again.”

The words even when you know can mean your doom makes you cum like nothing else. Your lips cry out as your walls begin to milk his cock for what it's worth. He groans into your mouth, letting himself feel your fluttering cunt before he thrusts into you once, twice, and finds his release. His cock spilling into you, his cum painting your insides white, marking you.

He pulls out, his back covered with scratches, his curls clinging to his forehead and his lips swollen from the kisses. You looked just as much of a mess as he did, with marks all over your body.

He thinks to himself as he lies beside you. He wasn't going to kill you now. Not in ten years or fifty but your end would only be when he decides.

He loves you after all, in his twisted way.

tags : @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @justacaliforniandreamer

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restnowyourhardshipisover · 1 year

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Oh joy. Everyone despite Dream’s best efforts to keep things even and supportive giving a full explanation of why he’s changing his plan and not blaming people for shit outside their control is turning on Quackity again.

#I mean I’m very aware what people were doing subtly #but now it’s out it the open again #tbh I don’t understand people not having empathy for Q and Dream here #like have you never done a creative project or worked with someone?#how shortsighted does Stan brain make some people?#I guess most people don’t know how weird and hurtful it can be to feel people only support you for your friend #but like… I feel like that’s what empathy is for?

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starboyshoyo · 1 year

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Courting, Pining, or Flirting?

Characters: All NRC students x reader (seperately)

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: fluff

Do the NRC boys court you, pine for you, or flirt with you?

HEARTSLABYUL

Riddle Rosehearts will do his best in courting you. Raised to be strict and formal, he has virtually no idea of what love is, or how to express it. The best he got was the fairytales of princesses and knights in his childhood. So he’ll follow their lead to the best of his ability. Riddle will give you his blazer jacket, and take your arm in his when navigating crowded hallways- he’ll even bow to you when saying goodnight, placing a tender kiss on your hand. Riddle might need a bit of a confidence boost before he performs a moonlight soliloquy under your balcony, though.

Ace Trappola, unsurprisingly, enjoys flirting with you. What can he say, he’s a fun-loving guy! That extends to all parts of his life, including you. When the two of you are watching movies on his laptop in Ramshackle Dorm, he’ll tug the blanket away, forcing you to cuddle up to him for warmth. One day in class, a crumpled paper ball will hit you on the shoulder, reading: DO YOU LIKE ME? YES/NO ;) It’s childish, but somehow endearing.

Deuce Spade, ever the gentleman, will try (keyword: try) his best in courting you. His mom didn’t raise a brat! Listening to her advice, he’ll buy you flowers, ask you out on the weekends, and drape his jacket over your shoulders when you get cold. It’s a lot less smooth than it sounds, though. He’ll be a blushing, stuttering mess the entire time and accidentally spill his plans to you before he can execute them. Then he’ll apologize and spill even more of his plans- and alas, the cycle continues.

Trey Clover is surprisingly good at flirting! Trey is confident in his ability to charm people. Even the most uptight of Prefects tend to relax a little around him. Of course, the delicious handmade pastries he often brings along with him are just a bonus. They’re an easy way to strike up a conversation with you, getting you to spill more and more about yourself to him. He’s comfortable to talk to, isn’t he? Oh, is that baked good your favorite? Expect a box of them to show up on your desk within the next week, along with a coy little note: Sweets for the sweet.

Cater Diamond, on the surface, is definitely into flirting. He chases anything and everything within a fifty-meter radius of himself, and giving his posts on Magicam so much as a comment will result in a Hey cutie ;) popping up in your DM notifications at 1 AM. But with a person that Cater truly loves, face to face, he won’t do anything more than stay by your side as a supportive friend, pining from afar. He’s afraid of messing this up. Do you even see him that way? Please say you do.

SAVANACLAW

Leona Kingscholar does all three, in the order of pining, courting, and flirting. Hear me out: Leona pines, but not in a hopeless way. Instead, he just figures that he doesn’t have the time or emotional investment for a relationship. But once the feelings began to grow, Leona gets desperate. He doesn’t want opportunities to slip through his fingers without doing anything. So he’ll begin subtly hanging out with you more, until it reaches the courting stage. At that point, he becomes visibly softer and less harsh around you. He’ll only really be comfortable flirting and being playful with you once you’re in an established relationship, not before.

Ruggie Bucchi is into casual flirting- Well, he’s into it until he realizes he’s fallen so hard that he can’t climb back out. It’s all fun and games to him at first. Oh, you want to pet his ears? Maybe trading that cookie of yours from the lunch buffet would be suitable collateral. You think he looks good in the PE uniform? There’s more where that came from. Want him to accompany you on a late-night errand? Of course! He loves spending time with you- Wait, when did that happen?

Jack Howl follows his sharp instincts on everything, and every sign is pointing at him courting you like a true gentleman. He knows he’s a little rough around the edges, but he’s got no problem cleaning his act up for you. Putting on a suit and tie and using a bit of gel in his hair and around his ears is a small price to pay for your affection. He’s not particularly shy about showing you he has feelings for you, but outright telling you might take a bit more time and effort.

OCTAVINELLE

Azul Ashengrotto is painfully, unequivocally deep in pining for you. There’s just no way around it is there? Oh, what he wouldn’t give to crawl into his tako pot and hide when you’re around. You’re on his mind every second of every day, and he lays in bed every night wondering if you see him the same way. Is he handsome to you? Is he smart? He wants to hold you so bad but he won’t do it until you tell him yes, I like you too, first.

Jade Leech, ever the calm, collected one, excels at smooth flirting. He just knows you like him as much as he likes you, and he’s not afraid to point it out. It’s not like you’re subtle about it either- with the way you sit in a corner booth of Mostro Lounge for hours, just to be able to talk with him after-hours over leftover pastries and tea. You wouldn’t mind if he did this with you more often, would you?

Floyd Leech has his unique way of flirting, just like everything else in his life. You’re just so exciting, Shrimpy! Won’t you tell him a little more about your day? Even just the little things, like how many pages of notes you took in History of Magic class or an answer to a test question or two- he’s kidding, he’s kidding! All jokes aside, Floyd truly does enjoy your company and the ways you spice up his life.

SCARABIA

Kalim Al-Asim does none of the three, surprisingly. He’s so bright it might not even occur to you that he’s interested until you’re already three layers deep. He’s always been a friendly person, so when he begins inviting you to hang out all the time, you wouldn’t give it a second thought. It’s only when you notice him trying to do things for you rather than just with you do you realize his feelings might run a little deeper than just friendship. He tries to be chivalrous, but it usually just comes off as him playing at being your prince charming. The closest you could get to describing what Kalim does is playful, friendly courting- albeit a very unconventional form of it.

Jamil Viper is used to never getting what he wants. Somewhere along the line he stopped trying. So when you step into his life, shining but not blinding like Kalim, he hesitates. Is he ready to take such a risk? All he knows for sure is that he wants you in his life… someday. So quietly, in between classes and in the hallways, he’ll be pining for you from afar- hoping you’ll make the first move, so that he won’t have to worry about Kalim whisking you away.

POMEFIORE

Vil Schoenheit thinks he has never met someone so beautiful before. You might even be half as beautiful as he is! It’s a huge compliment coming from someone like him. You’re also half as smart, almost as strong, and maybe he’d consider taking you out for lunch- but don’t get it twisted! He’s doing this out of the goodness of his heart. (He likes you. He really likes you. Please date him.) It’s not very good flirting, but he’s trying his best.

Rook Hunt is flamboyant and genuine in everything he does, which includes flirting with you, his longtime crush. You have the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen! Would you mind if he admired it for a while? He’ll brag about you to everyone around him, much to the irritation of Vil, who finds it offensive that his biggest supporter has ‘betrayed’ him for another. Rook doesn’t care, though. If you so pleased, he’d be more than happy to walk you to your next class. Anything to bask in your unmatched beauty just a few seconds longer.

Epel Felmier is good at flirting, and he’s confident about it too! A rough and tumble farm boy like him needs a cute thing on his arm to show off, doesn’t he? Don’t laugh at him- he’s trying to impress you. He’ll do anything he can to prove to you that he’s a strong, capable person and your perfect match. Let him carry your books, and serve you in the cafeteria buffet line. When you share a snack together, he’ll lean just a bit too close, letting his cheek brush against yours before pulling away. Come on, look him in the eyes! Or are you too shy~

IGNIHYDE

Idia Shroud has never met you in real life. You’ve never seen his face, but he’s seen yours through the camera of his tablet at housewarden meetings. Maybe it’s the pent up stress speaking, but wow, you’re way out of his league. Best to make casual conversation and repress his pining over a game of online chess, lest he screw it all up in real life.

DIASOMNIA

Malleus Draconia is a lonely soul who knows little more than a life of isolation. When you walk into his life, unafraid of the twisted black crown that sits on his head or the ominous aura that seems to surround him, he has to wonder if after all these years he’s finally found his soulmate. Immediately, he wants to make plans to see you every day, to listen to you ramble about anything and everything beyond the briar walls around his castle. Stay a while and talk with him, won’t you? Malleus is the true definition of patience and indulgence when he’s courting you.

Lilia Vanrouge isn’t one for mere high school relationships. He’s a father and a general! He’s got a teenager to raise and armies to lead, on top the infamously heavy homework load from NRC classes. You’d have to be really important to him to find a place in his ancient heart. Sure, he’ll have his fun with flirting and all, but no one can really expect a thousand-year old fae to fall in love… right?

Sebek Zigvolt is shocked, no pun intended. There’s no way a fae like himself has fallen for a mere human! No, he won’t accept it. Sebek will turn in somersaults and bend over backwards to make any excuse on why he is not in love with you, he’s just a bit agitated today! Ironically, he makes things harder for himself with this mindset, condemning himself to pining for you from afar.

Silver, like his name, wants to be your knight in shining armor- he’s just not quite sure how to go about it yet. He supposes he’ll ask for your parents’ permission to begin courting you, first. That’s the tradition in the Valley of Thorns after all. But when Lilia points out that it’s a bit old-fashioned, he’ll simply agree and go along with whatever terrible plans the rest of Diasomnia comes up with next. Be prepared to be barraged with an awful yet endearing mix of pick-up lines, cheesy love letters, and classic romance songs that this quartet comes up with in their free time. The best thing? Silver himself won’t even be awake for half of it.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

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kryptonitejelly · 10 days

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art donaldson x childhood friend reader who he hasn’t seen in a long time (whose had a crazy glow up) visits him at stanford at the same time as patrick and patrick starts hitting on her (him and tashi are in an open relationship) and art gets jealous.

(maybe she tells patrick she knows he’s in a relationship and he tells her tashi wouldn’t mind and she would probably be down to join idk)

art donaldson x reader // challengers // fluff; happy ending

a/n: i did not hit the prompt on the head 100%, but i’m not mad at it. this ended up turning into a monster i had no control off and ended up being alot longer than i expected (i haven’t done a word count, and did not mean for it to spiral into this but i enjoyed writing this very much). i am an art donaldson defender and this is my way of giving him everything he deserves (i hope you guys can see what i subtly tried to do in places - please leave comments/reblog if you see them, it would mean the world). also i typed this entirely on my phone without proofreading - you’ve been warned.

edit - as a disclaimer, i do not purport to comment on the victim/villain/any dynamic in the challengers universe. this space is purely for delusional thoughts and fiction only (see also)

Good luck.

Art shoots the text off to you before taking a swig out of cup of diet coke he has in hand. He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, teeth crunching on ice cubes as lets his gaze sweep across the court in front of him. It is devoid of players but already has the umpire and linesmen ready and waiting.

You’ll buy dinner if I win?

Art doesn’t expect to get a text back, so he checks his phone absently, but his face breaks into a tiny grin as he sees your reply. Most other players would have been hyper focused in the moments before a match but you, in the breezy light hearted way you always were, still had it in you to joke around.

Yes, but if you lose…

Art sends his response, the tiny grin still on his face.

I’ll feed you.

Your reply is fast and it makes art shake his head lightly a quiet chuckle dropping from his lips. He is just about to type another reply but is interrupted by the loud cheers that erupt from around him. Art looks up from his phone to see Anna Davies walk out on court in the same colour red as he had on. He claps politely with the rest of the men’s team who he was sitting amongst in the stands, in a show of support.

Art catches sight of Tashi and Patrick, both perched a few rows down from him with the rest of the women’s team both clapping and hollering in support. He notices the turn of Patrick’s head, no doubt to check in on Art but he doesn’t tilt his head or smile back in acknowledgement as he usually would - he is far too distracted by you.

Art can feel his jaw slacken slightly as you walk on court. He knows what you look like, but you in the flesh - Art thinks you are breathtaking. Your top is in a shade of your college’s colour, paired with a white tennis skirt that shows off a pair of toned, long legs. He catches a glint of metal just above your ankle, and he finds himself squinting in a feeble attempt to make out the look of the ankle bracelet that you have on. Art moves his gaze your face, taking in what he can see from his perch on the stands as you walk out towards your designated bench on the court, bright neon green bottle in hand, your tennis bag slung on a shoulder.

You had been close back home for most of your childhood and more formative teen years, and the both had kept in touch since he left for Stanford and you to your own school of choice, but too infrequently - the occasional text, more frequent reaction or comment on each other’s social media and the small conversations that spiralled from those interactions - like two planets orbiting in the same solar system, but not close enough. Life had overtaken, the excitement of moving your separate ways to a new environment, of college - tennis, academics, people, parties, it had overwhelmed you both, individually and together - made you just about forget that you had each other.

Art is transfixed. You are, lithe, glowing and with a hop in your step - Art finds himself questioning why he had never made more effort to keep you closer since you had both gone on your separate paths. He watches as you settle your bag on the bench, turning your gaze to the stands, eyes narrowing from the glare of the sun as you search the stands, only for your gaze to fix on his. Art sees you smile, lips turning up as you wink directly at him. It makes a series of heads turn to look back at him - your fellow team mates, the small group of supporters from your college who had come along, and the Stanford women’s team plus Patrick, half curious, half puzzled. Art can only raise a hand beside his chest in greeting as he remembers to breathe, letting the air he had been holding in his chest out.

He sees turn away while reaching for your phone which you had wedged in between the band of your tennis skirt and skin. Your fingers flying over the keypad briefly before you toss the phone into your tennis bag, hand fishing out your racket. Art feels his phone buzz in his hand and he looks down at the text that had come through.

Stanford still hasn’t taught you the right way to wear a cap huh.

Your text, a reference to his penchant for securing his cap on backwards, makes Art laugh, out loud, the sudden sound causing his team mates to crane their necks in attempt to look at his phone. Art swats them away as he refocuses his attention back on you, watching as you do a few hops, shifting your body weight from side to side before walking to your position on court, racket in hand. You lose the coin toss, and Anna choose to serve and yet your demeanour is one of ease, something Art can’t help but think is so stark in contrast to Tashi before a match. You aren’t smiling anymore, and yet in an unexplainable fashion, Art can feel you smiling as you bend to ready position, your hands flipping the handle of the racket around, poised to receive. He sees Anna toss the ball, her back arching, hand shooting up, before she connects her serve, and he watches you receive it with ease, your body moving in a smooth motion as you hit it back. Your strokes have their own weight and intention behind them, they are careful, thought out - but what surprises Art is he sees little calculation behind each. Instead, he watches as you let yourself feel each shot, as you let your instinct take control with each step. Art sees himself moving pieces of chess across the court when he watches replays of his game, but with your game, - Art manages to see colour, life, ease. He sees something he hasn’t seen in his tennis since he had last played with you, Art sees fun.

The match isn’t long drawn out, you win - effortlessly, just as each of your strokes and movement are. It frustrates Anna, as is evident from the increasing number of unforced errors she makes on her art which leads to her swearing loudly as you easily hit the last heavy, driving it quick and to the opposite corner of the court from where she is positioned. Art finds himself clapping enthusiastically along with the crowd as the umpire calls the game.

“You never told me you had such good looking friends,” Art feels an arm sling itself around his neck, pulling him close as he stands outside the court, waiting for you to finish your match debrief with the rest of the team.

“Shouldn’t you be with Tashi?” Art questions as he tugs himself out and under, away from Patrick’s hold. His eyes remain focused on the door of the tennis court, waiting for you to emerge.

“Some strategy meeting,” Patrick offers as explanation, “refocusing or something like that.”

Art starts to say something in response only to be stopped by the view of you walking out from the courts. You both lock eyes, not too similar from how you had with you on the court and him on the stand. Art thinks that your smile is more brilliant up close.

Neither of you say a word, as you walk up to him, hands reaching up to tug his cap off his head only for you to pop it promptly on your own head, the right way around.

“The right way,” you say in greeting, pointing towards his cap which is now sitting on your head, the Stanford red a confusing contrast to your your top, now a loose fitting tshirt in your college colours, as Art chuckles while running a hand through his hair, attempting to shake out any flatness.

“The red looks good on you.”

“Perhaps I should transfer.”

“Didn’t peg you for a traitor,” Art teases which makes you laugh.

“Do I get a hug,” you ask, both of you oblivious to Patrick who is just watching.

“C’mere,” Art says, his words inviting, but just almost slightly shy as he opens his arms to you. You step into his embrace, arms slipping around his body as Art brings his arms around your shoulders, hands bumping into the tennis bag you have on your shoulders. His embrace is familiar, and you let yourself relax into his hold.

“Could I get a hug?” you hear a different male voice chime in and you pull away to look curiously at the brunette who is standing just beside you both.

“Fuck off Patrick,” you hear Art say with no bite, but notice as he steps just that one inch in front of you in an attempt to place himself as some sort of barrier between you and the brunette.

“Patrick Zweig,” the boy says, ignoring Art as he proffers a hand to you which you shake to be polite while introducing yourself.

“Do you go to Stanford as well?” You take in his attire of jeans and a white tee, the lack of red - you would guess not but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“I’m just visiting,” he says, “I’m actually playing on tour.”

“Losing on tour,” Art corrects.

“Your tennis is insane,” Patrick comments, ignoring Art, “when will I see you on tour?”

“I don’t intend on turning pro,” you respond with the flash of a smile.

“Why?” Patrick continues the conversation, now slightly befuddled, “you’re a natural.”

You shrug with a laugh, not answering and simply brushing off his question.

“Why don’t I take you to dinner and you can tell me why.” Patrick’s statement makes Art roll his eyes.

“Aren’t you taking your girlfriend our for dinner?” Art chips to which Patrick simply shrugs not phased in the slightest and answers with a no.

“Thanks, but I already have a dinner to cash in on,” you offer Patrick a smile, before glancing at Art.

“I’m sure Art wo-”

“Nope, fuck off Patrick,” is what Art says again, not even giving the other man a chance to finish his sentence. It makes you laugh, but you follow as Art grabs your hand, tugging you off in a direction away from Patrick.

“It was nice meeting you Patrick,” you call out, turning your head towards him giving him a wave with your free hand, “good luck on the tour!”

You walk for a minute or two more until the tennis courts are out of range before Art stops. He lets go off your hand, but reaches instead to grasp the top of the tennis bag on your shoulder. You raise a brow questioningly only to have him tug again with a slight tilt of his head. You relinquish the bag to him and he hoists it on his shoulder instead.

“What a gentleman,” you joke, but with a smile on your face.

Art does a mock bow with a flourish of his hand which makes you laugh with a shake of your head.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he extends a hand to you, waist still tilted in a bow, but his head up and looking at you.

“Lead the way,” you place your hand on top of his again.

“My car is that way,” he says jerking a thumb towards his right as he intertwines his fingers with yours. Its the second time in the day where he’s holding onto your hand but you don’t think too much of it and neither does Art. It feels right, comforting, familiar and like it’s supposed to be - and you go with it.

“Sorry about Patrick,” Art says as he fiddles with the paper casing of the straw. You are both sitting in a booth, plates cleared, your drinks left in front of you. Art is leaning back but being across him you can feel his knees knocking into yours. Dinner had gone by way too fast for Art’s liking. There had been both plenty to catch up on, as well as new information to learn and yet - it had felt like no time had passed between you both.

“He’s a bit of an ass isn’t he,” you say as you lean back, a mirror of Art. Your comment elicits a bark of laughter from him.

“Girls don’t usually say that about him.”

“What do they say?”

“Well not say, but they usually fall at his feet or into his bed,”

“No,” it makes you crinkle your nose while you shake your head.

“His girlfriend Tashi,” Art says, fingers still fiddling with the wrapper, “we played tennis for her number, she chose him.” Art said referencing the tennis match between him and Patrick. His sentence is blunt, to the point, and yet manages to be vulnerable at the same time. Art surprises himself as the words slip out from his lips so easily but it feels easy to tell you, safe to let himself be vulnerable, fine to let you view him for who he truly is.

You both sit in silence for a beat or two, the only sound between you both being the rustle of paper in Art’s fingers.

“Well,” you begin, “if she made you play for her number, maybe its for the better you didn’t win.”

Art’s fingers give pause and he looks up at you. His expression is unreadable, but you don’t feel like you’ve said anything wrong - just the obvious.

“I guess you are right,” he says after a few seconds of silence, before raising his head to look at you. There is a small smile on his face that you can’t quite place.

“When have I been wrong Donaldson?” You challenge in jest as you lift a leg under the table to jostle one of his lightly. Art leans forward, managing to capture one of your legs, your calf in the warmth of his palm.

“You really want me to start?” Art questions as you wriggle your leg in attempt to get away but no no avail.

“No.”

“Let’s see, the time we were six and you thought that the way to get strawberry milk was to dump pink food colouring in normal milk.”

“Stop,” you protest, but with a laugh on your lips.

“Or the time we were ten and you were convinced that the park we passed by on the way home from school was haunted and we had to sprint past that stretch of sidewalk for 3 whole months.”

“It was creepy!”

“How could we forget the one time we were thirteen and you thought that the way babies were made wa-”

“Arthur Donaldson,” you protest, managing to wrestle your leg out of his grasp which has grown looser with each anecdote. It allows you to set your foot on the ground, body shooting up to lean across the table, your palm coming to cover Art’s mouth to prevent him from announcing any further recollections from your youth.

You can feel his breath hot against the palm of your hand as his muffled laugher fills the space of your booth.

“Art,” you huff, relinquishing his full name for his nickname again. You move to drop your hand from his face, but Art catches a hold of your wrist. You sit back down, butt hitting the seat again, but with your hand still stretched across the table, wrist still loosely wrapped in one Art Donaldson’s hand. His shoulders are still shaking, now with a silent laughter.

“Art,” you try again.

“I’m sorry, it’s just so funny,” Art exhales, trying to collect himself as best as he can. He doesn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, freely and with such reckless abandon over something so innocent.

“Your dedicated court jester, always here to serve,” you mock with a roll of your eyes.

“You’ve been derelict in your duties,” Art says, now calm, but his eyes still twinkling under a mop of strawberry blonde hair. He keeps his tone light but what he really means to say is that it has been too long. You chuckle, not really having an answer for him.

“It’s been a while,” you finally admit, both your hands now resting on the table between you, you wrist now lying upturned in Art’s open palm. You had always been close

“It has, hasn’t it,” it isn’t really a question. Art has missed you - something he hasn’t realised until today. He had let himself be distracted by the complex, focused toxicity that was tennis, Patrick and Tashi, letting himself get sucked into the whirlpool, that he had forgotten to hold on to the things that grounded him.

“Maybe we should change that.”

“We should change that,” Art corrects you and you can feel the tips of your ears burning, and the skin across your cheek bones tingling for some reason.

You aren’t quite sure how ended up here, but one thing had lead to another as you both made your way out of the restaurant and back to Art’s car, and the next thing you knew you were heading back to his dorm to watch reruns of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for some reason.

“How do you not find her hot?” You ask again for the tenth time as you both focus on the screen of Art’s laptop which is perched half on his thigh and half on yours. You are both sitting on his bed, shoulder to shoulder, both of your heads damp from (separate) showers in Art’s ensuite, and you smelling quite like him from having used his toiletries and borrowing a short and shirt set, both of which which were a baggy fit for you.

“I don’t know, I just don’t.”

“You’re rubbish Donaldson,” you snort, nudging your elbow lightly into his ribs with a simultaneous yawn.

“Tired?” Art asks, as you stifle another yawn.

“Yeah,” you accept, seeing little point in trying to hide it. You had after all, played a match today.

“I should really get back to the hotel,” you mumble, the back of your head leaning against the wall beside Art’s bed, eyes closing.

“You could just stay here,” there is a hint of hesitation in his voice because he isn’t sure if you’ll stay.

“Here?”

“My bed’s a double,” Art shrugs, “it would also be quicker for you to get to the matches tomorrow.” You aren’t playing but Art knows you would be expected to show up as a supporter for the series of matches between your two schools that continued tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” You don’t mind, after all - it’s Art, the boy you had known growing up, shared milkshakes and apple slices with after school, but you wanted to be sure he was truly fine with it.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Art moves to shit his laptop, lifting himself to bend over the edge of the bed to place the laptop on the floor, “you can take the inside.”

He flops down on the outside of the bed that is further from the wall too easily, his right hand going behind his head. Him moving forces you to move in tandem as you flop down on Art’s left, legs scrambling under the covers which Art has somehow managed to worm his way under in the flurry of movement.

Art reaches a hand over, his arm extending over you in the process to hit the light switch that he has beside his bed. It plunges you both into darkness, the only light the faint glow from the street lamps creeping in from below his curtains, and the glow of his digital clock.

You flip onto your right side, eyes closed, missing the turn of Art’s head as he observes yours features, closed eyes, lashes, nose, lips, finding his gaze lingering a moment too long on your lips.

“Stop staring Art.”

“Am not.”

“I can feel it,” you respond, lips curving into a smirk. It was a habit he had developed from the sleepovers you both had either in his living room or yours when you were both younger. You would close your eyes, just about to doze off, only to hear the faint shifting of a head against a pillow while Art turned to stare at you, his blue-brown eyes boring into you.

“Am not.”

“Go to sleep Art.”

“So I guess I’ll see you around,” You are standing just a distance off the side of the bus which is supposed to take you back to campus. The matches for the day had ended, with your school having won by one match.

“Yeah,” Art replies, drawing out his words as he takes you in, he finds himself think that he had very much preferred you in his clothes despite them being oversized and not as well fitted as your own. You had managed to change into a fresh set of school colours before the matches started earlier that morning, having pleaded with your angel of a roommate to help you lug your overnight bag, which you hadn’t even had the chance to unpack the night before, over to the courts before the matches had begun. She had taken one look at you in Art’s tshirt, shorts with his hoodie thrown over, and had given you the widest smirk known to man despite your insistence that nothing had happened.

“I think you are scheduled to come play next month,” you refer to the Stanford men’s team, “I’ll see you then?”

“Or I could see you next week?” Art says almost shyly as he raises a hand to rub the back of his head. Art was a walking oxymoron, easily grabbing your hand, asking you to sleep in his bed, and yet somewhat bashful in the moments in between, “the drive over is an hour, max.”

“I would like that,” your response earns you a mega watt smile, his eyes twinkling at you. You both hear voices calling Art away from the bus, one male, one female - but Art ignores them both.

“Yeah and I told her-” your sentence is cut off by a nudge to your shoulder.

“Stanford” you friend explains with slightly too much glee in her voice. She had seen the smile on your face after returning from your away game last weekend, and the way you had been constantly glued to your phone, grin on your face, laughter peppering your days, the name Art Donaldson a constant fixture in your notifications.

Your head swivels up and to your left to spot Art leaning against his black jeep, hands crossed loosely across his chest. He smiles when he sees you, and your face mimics his expression.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” you friend calls out as she pushes you in Art’s direction. You pull a face at her while rolling your eyes, but letting your legs carry you towards Art.

“Are you stalking me Donaldson?” You ask in jest. Art had texted you half an hour earlier, asking which part of campus your last class of the Friday was in and where he should pick you up from.

“Hundred percent,” he says as he opens his arms; you step into his embrace for a brief hug, before he turns to open the car door for you. You unload your bag from your arm, dropping it onto the floor of the passenger’s seat before climbing in. You move to close the door, but Art is in between you and the door, reaching over to click your seatbelt into place.

“Ready?” He asks, and you nod, gazing into bright blue-brown eyes.

“Positivism,” Art says simply at your question of what theory of jurisprudence he found himself most inclined towards. You think for a moment, the side of your face propped up with a hand, elbow on the counter of the bar you both are seated at, your body turned towards Art who is likewise, facing you.

“Positivism,” you roll the words around your tongue, “I guess it tracks,” you shrug, before raising a brow slightly, “but how does an engineering undergraduate so much about jurisprudence?”

“I read.”

“On jurisprudence?” You frown nose wrinkling as you reach your hand out to place the back of it against Art’s forehead as if to check if he had a fever, “are you alright?”

“You mean you don’t read engineering daily in between sets?” Art questions you with mock horror as he reaches up to tug your hand down from his forehead. Your hand ends up, yet again, in Art’s, which is resting on his knee.

“Why engineering, and not something with a lighter course load?” The underlying question is clear - Art had every intent of going the pro track post-Stanford, and it wasn’t that he would be making full use of his degree anyway.

“I don’t want the only skill I have to be hitting a ball with a racket,” he shrugs, “it feels good to know I can do something else.”

You hum in bother understanding and agreement as you feel Art’s thumb begin to stroke the back of your hand. It distracts you, his calloused thumb sliding across your skin.

“In another life I’m sure you would have made a darn good engineer Art Donaldson.”

Your words make Art laugh, something he found himself doing a lot with you.

“So, this is me,” you point towards the dormitory buildings up in front and Art slows his car to a stop, pulling the gear into park. He kills the engine before hopping out of his seat. Your hand is on the handle of the door, ready to open it for yourself but Art is faster, his hand on the outside lever, pulling the door open for you.

Art offers you a hand as you hop out of the jeep before he shuts the door behind you.

“I had fun tonight,” you find yourself saying, suddenly feeling slightly shy for reasons you cannot fathom.

“Me too,” is what Art says in response, his hands stuck on the pockets of his jeans, heels rocking in a back and forth motion. You see his gaze on you, locking with yours before flickering to your lips. It makes you bite down one on side of your lip, an action which causes Art to gulp, making the Adam’s apple on his throat bob.

“We should do-”

“Can I kiss you?” Art blurts out his question in a burst and you can see his face flush slightly as he asks, a surprising and yet apt contrast to the Art who had no qualms about holding your hand in his. You feel your heart quickening, and with the silence between you both - you almost feel as if you can hear each beat.

“Yes,” you breathe out, a small nod accompanying your response. You see Art’s gaze flicker to your lips again, but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about this.

Art takes a step forward, pulling his hands out of his pockets. You feel him cupping your face gently, and you tilt your head towards him. Your eyes flutter close and your lips meet.

Art’s lips are softer than you imagined. You feel his hands move, slipping down the sides of your body, circling your waist and pulling you closer. You drop your bag off your shoulder onto the floor as your hands move up, one to cradle the side of his face, and the other reaching behind, fingers weaving into soft curls as you tug him closer towards you. First kisses with someone new had always been awkward for you - teeth, lips, noses, as you each try to figure out the grooves and crannies of each other, but with Art - there was no such thing. It felt as if you both had learnt each other long ago, each in and out, the curve of his neck, and the the planes of your body.

You break the kiss first, pulling away, eyes still closed, feeling as if the breath had been knocked out of you in the best way. Your forehead pressed against Art’s, body held firmly against his.

“I hope you aren’t going to send me packing after that.” Your eyes flutter open at his words.

“You packed an overnight bag didn’t you?”

“I might have,” Art pulls you even closer, his arms wound tight around you.

“Presumptuous much?” You run a hand through the front of his hair, pushing his fringe back.

“Just good at reading the room.”

12 years later

The skin across your knuckles are visibly tight, your hands clenched into fists, the only sign of the nerves that have taken over and riddled your body. Your eyes are shielded by dark oversized glasses, but your pupils are darting left and right as the final point of the match plays before you. The stadium is silent, save for the pop of the ball and the grunts from the two players on court. You hear an exceptionally loud grunt, the whizzing of a racket whipping through the air, and then you hear it before it hits you - the roar of the crowd, the thundering claps, and you feel your body freeze as even the announcer goes wild.

“Art Donaldson, ladies and gentleman, our new US Open champion.”

You remain glued to your seat despite the commotion around you - family, Art’s team, cheering, jumping, excited hugs being passed around. Your eyes watch as Art runs towards the center of the net, hand raised as he waves to the crowd around. He shakes his opponents hand, before waving to each section of the stadium in thanks of their support and there he is, jogging towards you. His hair is dripping with sweat, plastered to his head, shirt clinging to his body. He extends a hand to you even before he reaches the sideline and your body reacts from habit, standing, your hand extending back towards him. A warm hand, the back of it still slick from sweat grasps yours, tugging you forward lightly.

“Hi,” is all he says as Art’s lips meet yours. Art enjoys the tennis, but he doesn’t need it - doesn’t need the tennis, the fame, the money, or the trophies - all he needs is you.

You hear the crowd go wild at the display of affection, the announcer’s voice booming over the sound system with something about Art Donaldson and his wife, but it all fades - the commotion, the sound, the people, the tennis, because all you see is Art.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

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pin-k-ink · 30 days

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kinda common request but ushijima with a size kink 👀

lusus // ushijima wakatoshi

tw ⇢ size difference, size kink, belly bulge, cumflation, mentions of pregnancy and marriage, a couple of clit slaps, teasing, pet names, “just the tip”, creampie, nipple play, unprotected sex, breeding kink

wc ⇢ 6.5k

a/n: i got a bit carried away… :(

It started as an idle observation - one Ushijima couldn't quite pinpoint the origins of amidst the endless cycle of practices, drills, and critical preparations filling his laser-focused mind. But gradually, possibility after innocent possibility arose where he found his sharp eyes catching on the sheer... daintiness of the team's new manager.

The first instance blazed into sudden, startling existence one afternoon as you attempted to ascend the rickety ladder for hanging the championship banners. Engrossed in charting out a fresh tactical overhaul with the coaches, Ushijima only registered your presence in his periphery as a flicker of movement.

Then came the tell-tale wobble of unsteady footfalls on the rungs, followed by a muffled yelp that managed to penetrate even his intense concentration. Before conscious thought could engage strategy, Ushijima was already in motion.

In what seemed like a single, supernaturally fluid heartbeat, his powerful strides had covered the short distance just as the ladder began tipping treacherously from beneath your feet. Another eyelash-blink later, and Ushijima's forearm banded like an iron bar around your trim waist - halting your stomach-dropping plummet with shocking ease.

But just as swiftly as your unconscious peril arose, it was snuffed out again by Ushijima's unhesitating intervention. That smooth-as-oiled-silk response was merely the product of endless repetitions and drilled conditioning honed to surgical sharpness.

What stole the breath from Ushijima's very lungs like a physical force was the sudden, bewildering intimacy of having your curves pressed flush against his chest in that follow-through motion. The way your back arched subtly against his solid wall of support as he cradled your astonishingly delicate frame against the immovable force of his body with negligible effort.

Even through the layered fabrics separating you, Ushijima swore he could feel every pliant inch of your modest silhouette molding against his ongoing inhale. Like liquid sin itself taking hypnotic shape and tempting form against the hardened steel of his physique.

It was such a disconcerting realization in that breathless moment that his brain lagged several precious pulses in catching up with the new data input overload. When Ushijima finally registered the quiet pants of shocked exhales ghosting warmly over the juncture of his throat, the sensory input proved as disarming as a physical blow.

The molten rasp of your breaths so unnervingly close... the plush press of your feminine curves all but swallowed up in the circle of his arms... the dizzying spiral of flowery shampoo and understated perfumes swirling between your two forms in a scent as unmistakably alluring as it was forbidden for the hyper-focused ace to dwell on...

With a ragged exhale, Ushijima abruptly disentangled you both by depositing your feet squarely back onto stable ground and swiftly disengaging contact. Though not before his senses insisted on greedily imprinting every nuance of your shared gravity - from the startled flutter of your lashes against flushed cheekbones, to the pleasing heft and hint of curvature fitting so unexpectedly neatly into his protective embrace.

As soon as the supporting rungs regained their burdened, you'd instinctively straightened with some reflexive murmur about being more careful in the future. But when your luminous gaze finally turned up to meet Ushijima's inscrutable stare, the words seemed to stutter and die on your lips.

For a suspended, molten pause, all the ace could comprehend was the sudden direct line of intimate access now open between you. The way your features were angled up towards him in the wake of that near-debacle, practically commanding his hyper-attuned focus lower...lower...to the utterly disarming swell of your parted lips that Ushijima swore he could nearly taste the breath-warmed fullness of despite no move being made.

It was such an unforgivable lapse of iron focus that in the next instant, Ushijima felt like he'd been doused in the coldest shower imaginable. A violent, full-body rejection of the distracting detour those inappropriate contemplations had nearly started meandering down.

That innocuous moment of dizzying intimacy seemed to awaken something deeply primal within Ushijima's consciousness - an insistent awareness that refused to fade back into ignorant complacency no matter how fervently he attempted to re-immerse in his usual flow of strategies and repetitions.

Everywhere he turned, his heightened attentions now persistently snagged on the same unavoidable observation: just how deceptively tiny and delicate your stature managed to be in direct contrast to his own honed, unyielding physicality.

During grueling practice sessions when the squad formed shoulder-to-shoulder for breaking down gameplay footage, Ushijima couldn't prevent his focus from repeatedly drifting to where you stood off to the side. The way the top of your head barely crested the center of his carved pectorals always delivered a strange molten punch to his gut - awakening unbidden flashes of you tucked securely against that very expanse of muscle mere days prior.

He found his stare lingering overlong on the gentle swell of your throat whenever you leaned in to inspect the tactical court maps unfurled across the staging tables before him. The delicate tendons shifting beneath satiny skin as you swallowed or angled your features in consternation would transfix Ushijima utterly. All he could envision was the scorching brand of his palm spanning that tantalizing column in a possessive caress as he angled your jaw higher to...

The inappropriate trail of thought would initiate a violent sub-routine reboot before it could bloat into something more disturbingly indecent. Ushijima's hands would unconsciously curl into white-knuckled fists at his sides as he forcibly rerouted higher brain function back to the neutral gameplans and optimizations spread before him.

But the struggle to maintain iron discipline only worsened from there as the days marched onwards. Like a riptide pummeling away at his steadfast restraint with each new swell, every innocuous reminder of your distractingly dainty proportions seemed to carve away another chunk of his control.

The mortifying afternoon Ushijima's broad shoulders and over-dense muscle mass saw him catching the spray of an entire water cooler you'd accidentally upended while attempting to carry the ungainly vessel. He hadn't registered more than a vague impression of your strained efforts across the gym before liquid splashed in a wide fan - drenching you from the crown of your head down to the tips of those petite, adorably flexed toes peeking from your sensible flats.

In the span of two lightning inhalations, Ushijima had closed the distance between you in a sinewy viper-strike of potent urgency. His hands - calloused, powerful, and larger than any person's had a right to be - spanned the width of your upper arms in an utterly dwarfing cradle as he instinctively inspected every inch for harm or hurt.

But there was no chance for actual injury of course, only your frozen astonishment and the way every fiber of Ushijima's existence zeroed in on that sudden soaked intimacy with frightening intensity. The cloying scent of your damp locks and the cool moisture beading along the plush pout of your lips in that breathless second redirected every one of his faculties with terrifying singularity.

He was mesmerized by the tiny rivulets of transparency skating across the high, delicate planes of your blushing cheekbones and down the tantalizing silk of your throat. So transfixed by the display of such naked fragility and untapped softness that the world beyond your shared gravities simply ceased to exist for one dizzying eternity...

Until eventually, you emitted the smallest, most temptingly breathy noise of surprise that managed to jar Ushijima from his reverie hard enough to wrench back to reality. Back to harsh fluorescents and squeaking sneakers and ambient shouts of exertion from his teammates resuming undisturbed drills. All the elements of the gym's familiar, safe equilibrium which starkly juxtaposed the darkly decadent awareness now swiftly metastasizing in his conscious thoughts.

Without preamble, Ushijima withdrew from your molten orbit as swiftly as he'd intervened - retracting those dangerously possessive hands before they could map out any more forbidden terrain or shape sin itself around your slender, soaked silhouette. An unforgivable indulgence the calculated, hyper-disciplined ace simply could not permit.

Or at least, so he had desperately resolved to convince himself in that moment of roiling weakness. Even as those traitorous eyes of his drank in one final, searing glimpse at the damp fabric now semi-translucent against the generous swell of your chest, straining invitingly over every tantalizing hint of feminine curvature concealed just beneath that teasing veil...

Encounters like that only seemed to escalate in both frequency and molten potency as the weeks drifted onwards. Until eventually Ushijima realized the gut-punched awareness plaguing his every waking moment was not some freak intermittence to be powered through with sheer determination, but a persistent condition demanding far more creative counterattacks.

Merely avoiding direct proximity to your daintiness proved an exercise in abject failure when the rest of the team apparently relished any opportunity to loudly emphasize the stark contrasts in your respective statures. As if the very sight of Ushijima's broad-shouldered bulk looming effortlessly over your petite figure acted as flashing neon bait to the resident school of minnows always nipping at his heels.

"Hey y/n! Get over here and compare hand sizes with Ushiwaka for the squad contest!" Tendou's vocals pierced the din of one post-practice cooldown with all the subtlety of a backfiring jet engine.

Ushijima felt his spine go ridgidly upright at the grating tones, shoulders unconsciously squaring off as he braced for the juvenile antics sure to fol--

"Yeah, find out if the great Ushiwaka's hands are truly the most gigantic mitts on the team, little lady!"

You obediently trotted over with an exasperated roll of your eyes, already offering up one slender wrist in resigned acceptance of whatever crass "competition" the randier hooligans had concocted during Ushijima's rare mental lapse into the indecent reveries swiftly spiraling out of control.

Before either of your startled regards could register, Tendou eagerly snatched at your proffered appendage and wrenched it upward in a comparative display beside Ushijima's own outstretched palm and fingers. The contrast in size made the breath stutter harsh and molten in the ace spiker's lungs.

Your soft, tapered digits barely spanned from the pointed tip of Ushiwaka's calloused thumb to the first knuckle at the base. Like comparing a child's plaything to the implacable, sinuous strength of a well-oiled machine purposely engineered for delivering controlled devastation. It abruptly felt utterly unconscionable for the two examples to be juxtaposed so overtly.

"Well I'll be damned..." Semi drawled somewhere from the peanut gallery, voice heavy with meaning. "Our little homeroom angelcake has Thumbelina hands after all!"

A few raucous hoots and whistles greeted that filthy observation, no doubt aimed at further fanning the flames of Ushijima's suddenly tenuous restraint. His free hand curled into an unconscious white-knuckled fist at his side as raw, unfettered possession roared to vivid life in his veins like an insidious poison.

The primal urge to snatch your tiny wrist free from Tendou's irreverent grip and reclaim your delicateness into the protective circle of his embrace grew increasingly maddening with every rasping inhale. To erase every set of degenerate eyes currently devouring the soft vulnerability of your feminine composition with their sordid regards from existence entirely. All while drowning in the molten awareness of how utterly and effortlessly your fragility fit beneath his dominion.

Only your smooth, infinitesimal squirm of apparent discomfort broke through the toxic spiral starting to cloud Ushijima's enraged senses in ruby shades of sin. His stare snapped to your features instantly, honing in on the way your cheeks had gone ruddy pink, your generous lips pressed into a flat line of perturbed propriety.

Meeting those wide, reproachful eyes - so innocent yet utterly unguarded in their honest chastisement - acted like a bucket of arctic water over the flames engulfing Ushijima's possessive urges. You didn't deserve to be subjected to the darker facets of awareness cresting inside the Ace's subconscious, he rebuked himself harshly. The quiet dignity and warm support constantly exuded by your graceful presence within their team dynamic far outstripped any sordid justifications brewing within his own repressed psyche.

Heavy footfalls crunched in the stale auditorium hush surrounding the gym as Ushijima turned on his heel to stalk mindfully away from further temptation. He couldn't trust his mental fortitude around you anymore, not with these unaccountable lapses into devouring indecency plaguing his iron restraint.

At least, not until the reckless firestorm of primal hunger silently raging in his core had been expertly doused and redirected once more into something resembling their usual polished professionalism.

Behind him, the continued jeering whoops and whistles dissolved into background static, tuned out utterly in favor of his silent, singular mission to wrestle his runaway restraint back into immovable discipline before it was too late...

The fever pitch of Ushijima's smoldering awareness continued spiraling to dizzying new nadirs with every subsequent team outing. As if some unspoken cosmic force seemed hellbent on testing the superhuman restraint of even the most stoic and unshakeable ace with a relentless barrage of fresh intimacies.

The yearly athletics festival proved to be a particular gauntlet of temptation in that regard. Your petite stature made navigating the rowdy crush of bodies lining the parade route essentially impossible without getting hopelessly turned around or even inadvertently trampled amidst the chaos.

Which was how Ushijima found himself glancing over at one point, only to feel a molten punch of concern twist his gut at the tableau laid out before him. There you stood, straining up onto your tiptoes in a fruitless attempt to glimpse whatever activity currently held the crowd's raucous attentions in thrall from your disadvantaged sightlines.

One broad sweep of his discerning gaze rapidly took in the squirming press of torsos and rippling sea of elevated arms boxing you into a near-suffocating pocket of confusion and mild panic. Your features pinched with that unmistakable look of overwhelmed dismay Ushijima was swiftly coming to recognize as a siren's call demanding his undivided intercession - propriety and personal restraint be damned.

Without preamble, his powerful strides easily ate up the short distance separating you as he shouldered his way through the rowdy crowd with unhesitating force. A few surprised yelps and grunts of displeasure met the wake of his passage. But Ushijima paid them no heed whatsoever, already caught up in the scorching undertow of his singular mission.

No words were exchanged, no by-your-leaves requested or offered as he coasted to an abrupt halt before your petite silhouette. You didn't even have a chance to register his sudden, looming proximity before Ushijima had already stooped into an effortless crouch and banded one heavy arm behind the pliant give of your knees.

The other swept out to catch the surprised bend of your lower back in a fluid, steely arc - essentially scooping your entire diminutive frame up into the air with all the ease and negligible effort most would exert when retrieving a magazine from the coffee table before them.

A soft, startled noise punched its way past your parted lips at the abrupt relocation. But before any reflexive protests could surface, Ushijima had already straightened back up to his towering full height with you easily cradled in the protective circle of his arms.

From this elevated vantage just beneath his squared jawline, you couldn't begin to even see over the tops of his powerful shoulders -- much less rejoin the rest of the team amidst the crowds. Ushijima's broad, marble-carved features stared inscrutably down at you through those perpetually shadowed lenses as a lush wash of heat flooded your cheeks.

In that suspended heartbeat of molten connection sizzling between you, the Ace spiker permitted himself the indecency of simply...savoring the moment stolen away against all propriety or restraint. Of drinking in the ephemeral impression of having your waifish curves and feather-light composition utterly subsumed within his protective embrace with utterly zero effort extended.

He allowed his larger-than-life palms to map out the delicious give of your lower back and hamstrings in one unhurried, possessive caress. Was mesmerized by the tiny, delicate bones of your wrist and the swell of tendons shifting beneath fragile skin as you instinctively curled your fingers over the carved geometry of his clavicle to steady your ascent.

There was simply no denying the rapturous delight thrumming through Ushijima's every tendon at how unimaginably minuscule you felt gathered against the solid wall of his torso like this. How confidently, how naturally your slight form seemed to melt into the cradle of his broad arms and chest as though every inch of whittled musculature had been divinely sculpted with this exact indecent cradling in mind--

With a harsh inhalation lancing through his nostrils like dragonsmoke, Ushijima abruptly resumed his sinewy strides forward once more - jaw clenching on a punishing grind as he ruthlessly smothered that wildfire of wanton fantasies before they could truly ignite. He refused to allow himself to be so thoroughly unmade and derailed by your doe-eyed prettiness again and again...no matter how transcendentally perfect your fragility felt molded against his immovable dominion in reality.

No. He was the consummate discipline in humanoid form, the very avatar of hyper-focused intensity and restraint. He would not be reduced to some dribbling, base cretin rendered incoherent by the fleeting impressions of tenderness and possession currently drug-hazing his senses.

Or at least, that's what Ushijima fervently told himself with every subsequent footfall resonating between you. Even as your quiet, self-conscious giggle of amusement suddenly wafted up on a humid zephyr - close enough that he could taste the sweetness of your breath on his tongue.

And close enough to rip the foundations out from beneath his fragile reasonings once again...

Ushijima really should have known better by now than to allow any scenarios where prolonged proximity to you proved unavoidable. And yet, time after time he seemed to stumble into these charged intimacies through sheer happenstance or unthinking habit.

Like the afternoon you'd both ended up seated side-by-side reviewing fresh game footage, with the rest of the team circled loosely around the solitary monitor on offer. It had seemed innocuous at first - nothing Ushijima hadn't experienced a thousand times before amid the endless cycle of preparations and chalk-talk sessions.

But the moment you shifted slightly closer, brushing your shoulder companionably against his in the tight confines, everything abruptly snapped into hyper-focused clarity once more. Ushijima became excruciatingly aware of even the most infinitesimal details radiating off your modest frame in dizzying waves.

The delicious floral bouquet of your shampoo and subtle perfume swirling between you in one intoxicating melange. The silken friction of your skirt whispering against his thigh with every minute readjustment. Even the warm puffs of your quiet breathing seemed to skate tantalizingly down the side of his throat in a searing caress he couldn't shake.

It was like being unwillingly submerged in an ocean of scintillating distractions and forbidden temptations, all designed to lash against the rickety moorings of Ushijima's restraint. He grit his molars hard enough for his jaw to creak in protest, determined not to allow himself to drown in those swirling indulgences again so easily.

Until the moment you made an abortive move to rise from the enveloping couch cushions - no doubt intending to step out briefly during a lull in the tactical breakdown occurring.

Before any rational thought could properly engage, Ushijima's hand was already lashing out in a reflexive, steely arc to halt your departure. Those same powerful fingers and sinuous tendons he relied upon to bludgeon spiker after spiker across the net wrapped like an immovable vise around your upper thigh with zero difficulty.

The jolt of heated realization that slammed into him was as disorienting as a physical blow. Ushijima froze utterly at the dizzying impression of his palm and splayed fingers spanning nearly the entire circumference of your thigh with space to spare. Of how easily that compact muscle strained and flexed beneath his grasp - as though every individual tendon comprising your modest curves had been purposefully scaled down to entice maximum inspiration from proportionally oversized grips like his own.

You'd startled at the unexpected contact just as thoroughly, pink lips parting to release some muffled noise or breathy exclamation of surprise. But all of Ushijima's strained focus abruptly hemorrhaged elsewhere in the wake of that heated touch.

All he could process was the rapturous give of your soft skin pulsing like molten silk against his calloused fingertips as you instinctively pressed back into the solid cradle of the sofa. The fine vee of your pelvis canting subtly against his knuckles in a sleek, powerful motion somehow throbbingly evocative of wholly indecent undulations and surrender.

An incendiary tidal-wave of wanton fantasy detonated behind Ushijima's eyes without preamble. Of ruthlessly leveraging his disproportionate physicality to seize every inch of your pliant, untapped softness in an iron grip and wringing out plaintive whimpers with each filthy glide of supplication...

Only your startled squirm and the faintly bewildered look now creasing those delicate features managed to pierce the scarlet haze building to criticality in Ushijima's skullfornace. Those too-large fists of his slowly unclenched from their vice with what felt like herculean effort -- leaving a burning imprint of possession seared into his flesh where unforgivable temptation had blossomed in the blink of an eye.

"Ushijima-san?" you queried hesitantly, no doubt picking up on the sharp disquiet simmering beneath his stoicism like corrupted code refracting beneath a still surface.

He didn't dare meet your gaze fully, instead making a Herculean effort to refocus on the tactical video still playing across the monitor before you both with hypnotic regularity. Perhaps if he immersed himself in those safe, sterile patterns once more, the more primal spirals of desire trying to pull him under again could finally be filtered ou—

"I'm just going to get some air," Ushijima growled before you could probe his sudden storm front further. He was on his feet before the words had even finished rasping past his lips, strides already eating up distance from your molten gravities in an urgent retreat.

The confused furrow pinching your brow as you watched his abrupt departure didn't even register to Ushijima. He was already compiling fresh deterrent subroutines in a frantic bid to wrangle back control of the rising inferno intent on consuming him from within over any further innocuous intimacies.

The dam finally burst during one of their routine evenings reviewing overhead camera footage from practice drills in Ushijima's private quarters. What should have been a perfectly sterile, professional exercise in optimizing spike angles and read progressions rapidly snowballed into something far more insidious.

Perhaps it was the dimness of the solitary desk lamp casting intimate shadows across your features as you leaned over the scattered topography of notes and stills spread before you. Or the way you'd automatically settled onto the edge of Ushijima's bed for lack of a second chair, creating a molten tableau of softness amidst his spartan sleeping arrangements that screamed of sin in the flickering half-light.

Whatever the catalyst, all it took was a single absentminded brush of your bare calf skimming up against Ushijima's as you shifted your weight - and every last vestige of restraint he'd been desperately grappling to maintain went nuclear in an eyeblink of culpability.

The live-wire frisson of that ephemeral contact jolted straight down to his very foundations like a lightning strike forking the sky. Before his conscious mind could fully grasp what was happening, Ushijima had already reacted on searing instinct honed across endless hours of emergency reads and scenarios.

In one blurring inhalation, his hand whipped out to lock around the flexing swell of your knee in an inescapable vise. With the other fist riveted into the mattress behind your hip, he effortlessly leveraged that staggering differential in strength to swivel your entire frame flush against his own coiled undulations before you could strangle out more than a whimper of surprise.

The rapturous juxtaposition of having your supple, dainty softness suddenly splayed out so nakedly within the cradle of his indomitable physicality very nearly punched every stray volt of higher reasoning from Ushijima's razored focus in a single shattering detonation. Finally, FINALLY, you were pressed so exquisitely into the scorching brand of him with zero boundaries or illusions of propriety separating you.

His senses veritably whited out beneath the molten lash of that merciless sensory overload as your heady bouquet, your delicate warmth, the whisper-slick friction of your cotton shorts clinging to the flexing sinew of his quads all slammed home in a rapturous deluge. For one endless, shuddering inhale, the primal immensity of having your frail, coveted prize conquered within his dominion rendered Ushijima utterly unmade.

Only one other base compulsion seemed capable of piercing that blinding nova scorching away the last vestiges of lucidity between you. With a harsh growl that seemed to emanate from the very dregs of his subconscious, Ushijima surged forward - simultaneously dragging your pliant form further into the cruel vanquishing of his embrace as he sealed his lips over yours in a branding conflagration of possession.

Any muffled whimpers of surprise or protests were instantly swallowed up and reduced to mere background white-noise in the wake of that indecent detonation. You instinctively melted and writhed, alternating between fitful struggles and the boneless surrender of prey before an apex predator's unhesitating advance as Ushijima's mouth plundered yours with nearly animalistic intensity.

Every hot exhalation stuttering from your gasping lips was instantly consumed and made air by the harsh rake of his next growling inhale. Lush whimpers transmuted to molten keens as his calloused palms mapped out every untapped inch of softness and burgeoning curve with searing brands of marking possession.

The taste of you on his tongue rapidly became the single point of obsession anchoring Ushijima's restraint to reality. Cloying floral and hints of something sweeter--the remnants of candy you'd treated yourself to earlier that day no doubt. The knowledge that he was finally savoring the true essence of your temptation after being starved of it for so long only served to inflame his primal desperation to experience everything all at once.

His iron-wrought frame visibly shuddered and heaved with each fresh glut of restraint rapidly ceding ground before that onslaught of unleashed lust. Everywhere his grasping hands ventured, electric ribbons of molten desire seemed to trail in their wake - intent on bathing you in the scorching, centered totality of pleasures Ushijima so rarely ever permitted himself to indulge at all.

Before that towering obsession could well and truly drown you beneath roiling tidal waves of sin, a final gossamer filament of conscience finally managed to penetrate the eruption enough for Ushijima to tear his lips free with a hoarse, bestial snarl of exquisite torment.

"You...have no idea..." he rasped in a slaughtering graveled baritone drenched in consumed want yet still somehow begging for Purchase. For you to meet him in the raging inferno of abandon he'd prepared to burn for. "What you do to me, little one..."

A desperate noise punched its way free from the back of your throat at those words - as if voicing the very same primal understanding now thrashing at your core as well. You were suddenly everywhere at once, pliant and heated and utterly unraveled, panting hot entreaties against the fury of Ushijima's next merciless inhale.

"W-what do I do, Wakatoshi?"

A harsh groan rattled loose from somewhere deep inside the ace spiker's chest cavity at those words. At the sheer, audacity of them. The brazen invitation they implied.

It was a question he couldn't possibly answer in any rational capacity. A question that demanded total and utter subjugation in the face of its overwhelming implications.

And one which Ushijima could no longer refuse.

With a vicious exhale, his broad, calloused palms slid to cup the generous curve of your rear in a claiming caress. Without pause, Ushijima dragged you upwards against his rippling torso, angling your head and lips back against his with an unhurried, deliberate savagery.

This kiss was different from the others. Gone was the frenetic pace and wild abandon of your initial collision. Now, his mouth moved over yours with a languid, unrepentant thoroughness - mapping out every seam and crease of plush compliance with the implacable, measured focus he normally reserved for the court.

A breathy keen vibrated from the center of your throat, and Ushijima seized the opportunity to delve deeper with a sinuous twist of his tongue, claiming the wet warmth of your mouth for his own once more. His large fingers dug into the pliant swell of your rear, kneading and spreading the supple globes apart until he could feel the wet heat radiating off your pussy soaking through the thin fabric of your shorts against his straining arousal.

A groan tore loose from Ushijima's chest, raw and needy, as he began rocking his hips in slow, deliberate circles, grinding his clothed cock into the slickness gathering between your thighs. The feel of your cunt pulsing against his length was like a match striking a dry forest. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd been so hard. So fucking desperate.

But the way your arms locked around his neck and your slim legs hooked around his waist as he continued rolling his hips sent an avalanche of need roaring through him. It wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. He wanted you spread and bared, wanton and desperate beneath him.

"On your back, little one," he growled against the damp swell of your bottom lip.

The way your pupils dilated and your eyes darkened at the order was so damn sexy. The way you scrambled to obey was even sexier.

Without releasing his grip, Ushijima lowered himself atop you, careful not to let the full weight of his bulk rest upon you. He was a big man. Too big to risk crushing your smaller frame beneath his.

He would have to find other ways to keep you pinned beneath him.

With the tip of his index finger, he traced a path down the silky column of your neck, over your collarbone, and across the slope of your chest, watching as your nipples pebbled and hardened under his feather-light touch. He paused for a moment, admiring the view, and then he slid his finger down to the hem of your shirt.

He lifted his eyes to yours. "Arms above your head."

Your eyelids fluttered as you lifted your arms over your head, your breath coming in short bursts, and then you complied.

Ushijima pulled your shirt off, tossing it somewhere behind him. He didn't bother unhooking your bra. Instead, he shoved it up, baring your tits to his hungry gaze.

He dipped his head, capturing a nipple between his lips and sucking it into his mouth, while his hand cupped the soft swell of the other. A low, breathy moan echoed from the back of your throat as you squirmed beneath him, and he couldn't suppress a groan. Your taste was better than he'd imagined.

His teeth scraped over the sensitive peak, and a whimper bubbled from the back of your throat. You arched your back, pushing your breasts further into his mouth and hands, and he released the nipple with a wet pop, lifting his head and giving you a stern look.

"No moving. I'll tie you down if I have to."

The thought of tying you up sent another rush of blood to his already throbbing dick, but now wasn't the time. He could tie you up and torture you later, when he'd had a chance to go to the store and pick out some pretty restraints and maybe a vibrator.

Instead, he returned his attention to the task at hand, his thumb stroking over your hardened nipple while his lips descended upon the other. You gasped, writhing beneath him, and he nipped the delicate flesh with his teeth, eliciting a squeak.

"Be a good girl," he murmured. "Stay still for me."

And then, without waiting for an answer, he returned his mouth to your tits, licking and sucking, biting and pinching until the peaks were red and swollen, and you were a shivering mess beneath him.

By the time he finally lifted his head, the crotch of his shorts was soaked, and he could feel your own slickness soaking through the thin material of your panties.

He slid a hand between your bodies, tracing the outline of your folds through the soaked fabric. You moaned, arching your hips, and he gave a sharp smack to your thigh.

"Don't move," he ordered.

He hooked a finger under the hem, tugging it to the side, and his cock twitched at the sight of your glistening pussy. His mouth watered at the prospect of tasting you, but his own arousal was quickly becoming a problem. His erection was straining painfully against the fly of his shorts, and he was dangerously close to coming just from the friction of the fabric rubbing against him.

He tugged your underwear the rest of the way off, and you shivered as the cool air of the room washed over your heated flesh.

"Cold, baby?" he murmured, and you nodded.

"We'll fix that soon enough," he promised.

He pulled his own shirt off and tossed it aside. He didn't bother to unfasten his shorts, just unzipped them and pushed them and his boxers down enough to release his cock.

His balls tightened as his shaft sprang free, bobbing heavily between his thighs. He wrapped his fist around his shaft, pumping it slowly. He didn't need much stimulation. Just seeing you sprawled out before him, naked and wet, was enough to get him there.

He shuffled a bit closer and rested his heavy cock on the soft skin of your abdomen, hissing as the head of his cock rubbed against the smooth plane of your stomach. He couldn’t believe how tiny you were. How his cock could cover your entire stomach. How the tip of it almost reached your sternum.

He groaned, pumping his cock a few more times before lifting it and sliding the length between the wet lips of your pussy. You gasped as his cock glided over your clit, and he repeated the motion, enjoying the way you moaned and writhed.

"Look at you, taking my cock so well," he breathed, watching as his shaft slipped and slid over your clit.

You whimpered, and he increased his pace, rocking his hips and fucking his length between the swollen lips of your pussy. "S’ too big…" you whimpered, the walls of your cunt contract around nothing.

He grunted, thrusting faster, feeling your slickness coat his cock, making it easier for him to slide between the folds of your pussy. You moaned, arching your hips and trying to rub yourself against him, but he didn't let you. Instead, he pulled his cock away, smacking the underside of his length against your clit.

"Fuck!" you gasped, your hands flying to his shoulders, gripping the solid muscle and squeezing as you tried to find purchase.

"Don't move," he repeated, swatting his cock against your clit a second time, and then a third, before pressing the tip against your entrance.

Your eyes widened, and you stared up at him with an expression that was half-terror and half-excitement. He smiled down at you, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of your skull, pulling your head back so you were forced to meet his gaze.

"You're going to take my cock like a good girl," he told you, and you shuddered, a whine slipping past your parted lips.

"I- I don't know if I can," you whispered, your voice shaky and uncertain, and he chuckled.

"Oh, you will," he assured you. "I’ll fuck you with just the tip first, okay? We'll start there and work our way up."

Your brow furrowed, and he could tell you were trying to figure out exactly what he meant by that. But then he was pressing his cock into your tight hole, and all thoughts flew from your mind as his girth stretched you open, stretching you wider than you'd ever been stretched before.

He didn't push his length into you right away, just slid his fat tip in and out, working you open. It felt incredible. You were so tight, so wet, and the way your muscles clenched and pulsed around his shaft had his balls drawing up, ready to blow his load.

"Fuck, baby, you're gonna make me come," he grunted, pulling his cock free from your pussy and rubbing the head against your clit, enjoying the way you shivered and writhed, the way your juices dripped from your hole.

"Want to fill you up," he muttered, pushing his cock back into your cunt, watching the way his thick girth stretched you, disappearing inside of you, inch by inch. "Fill you with my cum and make you pregnant."

Your eyes widened, and you stared up at him with an expression that was part shock and part fear. He didn't care. You'd take his cum, and he'd fill you with it over and over until he was sure you were knocked up.

He slid his length the rest of the way inside of you, until his balls were pressed against the curve of your ass. Until he saw the imprint of his cock bulging through your abdomen. Until his entire shaft was buried deep inside your hot cunt, the head bumping against your cervix.

"Gonna fuck you with my whole cock," he told you, and you moaned, the walls of your pussy fluttering around his shaft. "Gonna make you come all over me."

You gasped, your hands moving to grip his biceps, your nails digging into his skin as he began to pump his length in and out of you, fucking you with his entire shaft. He fucked you fast and hard, his hips snapping, the head of his cock hammering against your cervix, and it didn't take long before your muscles were clenching around his girth, milking him as he pounded into you.

You cried out, your eyes screwing shut, your body trembling as your orgasm tore through you, and he knew he couldn't hold back anymore. With a groan, he thrust his cock deep inside your pussy and came, spurting thick ropes of cum inside your cunt, painting your inner walls with his potent seed. He didn’t stop flooding your womb with his virile cum until he saw the skin of your belly distend and your lower abdomen rounding slightly.

He pulled his cock out, his shaft glistening with his spend and your juices, and you winced, squirming beneath him as his cum trickled out of your cunt, leaking down your ass crack. He pressed his palm flat against the bulge in your belly, watching as the cum gushed out of your stuffed cunt.

"Fucked you so full," he said, rubbing the head of his cock against your swollen clit, making you shiver. "Gonna be dripping my cum for days."

You groaned, your eyes falling shut as he continued to tease your clit, and he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, his tongue darting out to trace the seam.

"I'm not finished with you yet, little one," he murmured, and you moaned. "I'm going to fill you with my seed over and over again until I'm sure you're pregnant. And then we’ll get married, won’t we?"

#haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x reader smut #ushijima smut #ushijima x reader #haikyuu ushijima #ushijima wakatoshi #ushijima x reader smut

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winterarmyy · 11 months

Text

Welcome Home... Soldat? | Part III

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 5.2k++ (sorry y'all)

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, fluffy stuff, tiny sprinkle of angst, soldat is heartbreakingly adorable until the very end, bucky not being very communicative, self-loathing, confusion, conflicted feelings between guilt and need, two idiots in love who are lost in a miscommunication, excessive use of the word 'fuck', and... what else? I'm not sure either lol.

P/S: This has been truly a journey. Thank you so much for the support y'all have been giving me. I really do appreciate all the comments and dms about my work regardless which one of them. Just wanna remind you that I won't be here without you; that's the degree of importance that you possess. Anyway, enjoy your reading.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

It's only been eight in the morning and the soldat had Y/N trapped between his arms as she focused on sifting the flour for the pancake batter. There were barely any space between them; not when he made sure that her soft plushy butt rests right against his crotch, while his fingers subtly move along her hips.

Those gentle trailings didn't last too long for comfort as he slipped his left hand under her sweatshirt. The soldat let his instinct took control as the metal of his touch draws invisible circles all across her bare stomach, while his lips peppered endless amount of butterfly kisses on the marks from last night; each one was now hidden under layers of color correcter and concealer.

"Wow." A raw sound of astonisment naturally slipped from Sam's lips as he found himself frozen in his spot at the corridor leading to the entrance of the kitchen.

Look at them. Acting like newlyweds on their honeymoon.

For a moment he forgot that the huge cuddly hunk in front of him was the winter soldier and not his fellow comrade.

But then again, it might as well made sense that it was not the Bucky he knew, because that man would've been a puddle of mess if he got the chance to touch Y/N like this.

Sam still remember that night when they had a Harry Potter movie marathon and Y/N ended up falling asleep on Bucky's shoulder. Even in the room that was scarce from light, Sam could clearly see the redness on Bucky's cheeks and ears.

It was an understatement to say that Sam had the best time of his life teasing the shit out of Bucky that night, knowing he can't do anything about it without waking Y/N from her comfy slumber.

"Soldat, please. I need to move around, you know?" Y/N's amused giggle pulled the soldat from his dreamy trance.

He shakes his head in the crook of her neck, snuggling deeper as he took a deep breath of her sweet scent, "No, you don't. You just need to stay here." The soldat huffed as he pouted and tighten his hold on her.

Y/N chuckled at his child-like antics, "You do know that you're not gonna get any breakfast any time soon if you keep doing this, right?"

Sometimes, she couldn't help but wondered if this is how it would feel like to have Bucky doting on her.

"Родная (darling), I'll gladly have you for breakfast. I'm sure I'd have a feast on that sweet little pussy of yours." He whispered seductively into her ears, as he sensed Sam's presence approaching the kitchen.

Y/N briefly fluttered her eyes shut as he purred in her ears, before slightly peel herself off from him, "Soldat." Her voice was stern and her eyes narrowed into a frown.

The soldat gaze down at her with a hazy grin on his lips, "Родная (darling)."

Unknowingly, the one-sided glaring battle began when Y/N refused to break their intense eye contact; each opponent uses a very contrasting approach, where one has a deep frown and a pair of blazing eyes while the other has the softest, droopy stare and literal hearts in his steel blues.

"Move." Y/N instructed as if it was a warning.

The brunnette let out a defeated laugh as he loosen his hold on her, "Okay, okay. Anything for you, sweet one."

"Thank you." She sighed. "Finally" she thought. She was worried that they gonna have breakfast for lunch if he refuses to let her go.

On the other hand, the soldat was unable to sit still on his own, so he continue to follow her around, like a hungry cat rubbing their forehead up their human's leg, mewling for attention.

"Morning, y/n and... her shadow." Sam finally make himself known as he greeted while naturally went to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Good morning, Sam." she greeted back while the soldat swiftly put himself in between them like a barrier. He shot a menancing glare at Sam as the man was standing 'too close to Y/N' for the soldat's comfort.

Obviously offended, "Dude, calm down. I was just greeting her good morning." His voice raised as he defended himself for his rights, "Tell him y/n" he continued to tattle tail.

In which Y/N responded by patting the back of the soldat's shoulder as a reassurance before asking him to move away.

Let's just say that he begrudgingly agreed to just because it was Y/N's request.

"Unbeliveable." Sam rolled his eyes, "This your friend?" He asked as Steve entered the scene, greeting everyone a good morning before he quirked, "What?"

"Look at him." Sam accusingly pointed as the soldat, "He's hogging y/n." He continued to explain while purposely reach his hand to touch her. The soldat wordlessly pulled her away before he could reach any further, "See?" Sam pointed again.

Steve didn't defend anyone this time as he only laughed it off before finding his seat. His eyes sparkled with delight to the amount of pancake made by Y/N and the multiple choice of topping and sides; from the sickening sweet stuff to the oddly savoury ones.

He glanced over at his best friend, who was unsubtly trying to hog Y/N away from Sam and his baby blues soften as he thought maybe Shuri was right. Maybe Bucky was always present somewhere in this soldat's persona.

It was such a typical Bucky behaviour to be possessive as the soldat was being. Steve noticed that Bucky would always get a bit agitated when someone touch his girl, even if he doesn't actively show it as much. In the 40's he might've been able to hide it behind his charming smile and witty jokes, but nowdays anyone can see it on his ever-present frown and unintelligible grunts.

That applies for both Bucky and the soldat.

Y/N rolled her eyes at Sam as she pulled the soldat by the hand, "Ignore him, soldat. Now, come have breakfast with me." She sat him on one of the stool by the kitchen isle as she prepared his plate.

Perplexed by the lack response, Sam admitted his defeat for once and joined the isle to have his bite of the morning.

As soon as she settled on her own seat next to him, the soldat took her hand into his, briefly kissing her the back of it. "Thank you, darling." He whispered before placing their locked hands on his lap as they ate, casually rubbing his thumb on her for comfort.

If you thought Y/N was the only one who was blushing at the domestic show of affection, well you'd think again when you see the shade of red on the tip of his ears or the way Sam purposely looked away.

The morning went by with mostly three of them having a pleasant conversation and the soldat silently distract himself by playing with her hand, apparently enthralled by the size difference and how fragile looking hers was.

Meanwhile, the rest of the team came by the kitchen on their own time since some of them prefer to sleep off the pain from the previous mission.

Half an hour later, she felt as if she was caught in a dejavu when she found herself in the same position as before. She laughed softly as she washed dishes, while the soldat stuck himself to her like a oversize koala to a tiny tree.

"I smell pancakes." Tony spoke as he made a bee line towards the kitchen, looking like he just survived a bio hazard in the lab.

"I made extra. Help yourself." Y/N announced, not even trying to look back at them, especially when the soldat had her trapped in his tight embrace.

Tony peeked to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Y/N, "Did you see her? I didn't even know she was here until she spoke." He asked, though he sounded more like he was teasing her.

Before Tony could reach out for his plate, Shuri stormed to the kitchen, catching everyone's attention, "Pancakes can wait, Tony." She stopped him which only cause him to whine dramatically.

It felt as if Y/N's heart completely dropped out of her body when Shuri nodded knowingly, "It's time."

There was a quick briefing of the process with everyone involved while they prep the soldat in the other side of the glassed section of the lab. Y/N tried to focus on watching the simple simulation video that was prepared by Tony.

And she heard every single words of Shuri's but all she could think was if the soldat knew what they were doing. If he felt like he was being thrown, being disposed of like some kind of object.

By the time they the explanation ended, Y/N didn't think twice as she marched towards the soldat. The team didn't questioned her motive as they can see the determination in her eyes.

She stopped on her tracks, right at the entrance when a thought ran across her mind.

Of course, she wanted Bucky back but why does this feel so wrong?

"How are you feeling, soldat?" She prompted as she walked over to him, passing the lab employee who scurried away leaving the couple to have some privacy.

The soldat brightened in her presence as he reached out to her with grabby hands, triggering a soft giggle from Y/N. She let her hands gravitate towards his, intertwining her fingers in his hold as he replied, "Much better now." He sighed in contentment the moment he felt her skin against his own.

There was a comforting silence in the room, but Y/N's mind was the complete opposite. There was only chaos of questions that felt so sinful and immoral to utter out loud.

The soldat grip tightens with tenderness, as if he could hear the loud havoc in her head. Moments later, he decided to break the silence with an honest confession.

"I know that I'm not welcomed here." He glanced at the other side of the glass, watching the team pacing around. "I know that you're trying to get rid of me." His ocean blues changed its tides to gaze up at her; the smile on his lips was soft and pure.

"You know, I have been many things in this life..." the soldat looked down where his hands were entangled with hers, "...a killer, a weapon, a monster, you name it." there was a hint of grudge in his voice but mostly it was woven with regret.

"But, worst of all, I have been a thief." It felt as if he has been holding his breath as he avowed.

"I have stolen decades worth of his life, robbed him of his freedom for so many years, every single happiness and hope he could ever experienced had been stripped away right before his eyes," the soldat chuckled ironically before looking up to meet her teary eyes, "...yet I'm still greedy for more days with you."

Y/N found herself unable to speak, afraid that her words would do nothing to coax him; or maybe she just couldn't trust that her voice won't crack in the middle of her sentence especially when she was damn sure that her heart was already cracking for him.

The soldat's eyes softens when he reached his hand to her face, "I never knew that I was capable to feel these futile emotions such as joy and love, until I felt it when he looks at you." Y/N didn't even notice she was crying until he wiped them away with the gentle caresses of his thumb.

"Everything I felt towards you were his to begin with." He confessed as he felt the guilt of stealing yet another precious thing from him again, "That's why, I don't deserve this." The said as he recalled every moment he got to spend with her, "I don't deserve you."

The soldat knows that very well, but that didn't stop the natural curiosity that resides from within him, "And I can't help but to wonder..." he hesitated as he tried to construct the most raw and truthful question to sum up whatever this emotion he was currently feeling.

"Will you remember me?" His voice was small and quiet, almost afraid of the answer that might come his way.

More tears were spilling out as she unhesitantly replied, "How could I not?" Her hands raised to his face, cupping his scruffy cheeks in her palms.

The soldat's eyes sightly wobbled when he asked again, "Will you miss me?" At that time, he didn't know that the feeling he felt was called 'heartache', yet he was handling it like he had been experiencing it all his life.

Y/N leaned as she pressed the most tender kiss on his forehead, "More than you know." Her answer made the soldat smile as he purred in her hold.

He peeled one away from his face and pressed a kiss of his own on the delicate palm of her hand. The same ones that had showed him nothing but so much love and kindness.

When Shuri came into the scene, they know it was time to say goodbye. But, both refused to say anything remotely close to it. So, they wordlessly walked out towards the cylinder shaped glass pod, located right in the middle of the lab.

Until the very end, Y/N stood by his side as he lay on the tight space of the pod. And just as the door was about the close, the soldat smiled lovingly at his precious person, as he called for her nickname one last time.

"So long, Родная (darling)."

Three weeks later. At Avenger's private gym.

Steve re-adjusted his stance as he took cautious step backwards, "Why are you avoiding her?" He asked straightforwardly.

Bucky huffed a heavy breath as he lunged forward for a strike, "What are you talking about?" He missed when Steve easily swerved away and countered back, "Don't play dumb, Buck. I'm not in a mood for that."

The brunette blocked his punch with his left forearm but Steve uses that as an opportunity to grab him and pushed him on the floor. Bucky groaned as he landed flat on his chest, left hand on his back.

"Well, I'm not in a mood to talk about it either." He growled as he swing his leg backwards, toppling Steve on his back and pushed his metal arm against his neck, choking him out of his breath, "So, drop it." He warned.

Steve tapped the floor as a sign of defeat and Bucky released his hold while retreat his arm away. Both of them was out of breath but for entirely different reason; Steve was literally choked, so that's fair, but Bucky was breathing heavily as soon as Y/N stepped into the gym.

He stood there with an intense frown on his face, glaring at the woman of his dreams. Literal dreams, or memories of the soldat that was left behind for Bucky after what happened with the winter soldier situation.

Thankfully the method worked, Shuri and Tony managed to bring Bucky back but just like before, he don't have any clear recollection what happened.

While Y/N made the team swore to never speak to Bucky about what he did when he relapsed, while Bucky himself also hides the fact that, much like his previous experience where the memories comes in a form of unsightly nightmares, his memories of those few days were also coming back in a form of dreams.

Though they were never linear. There was no way of knowing the actual flow of his memories.

It came more like snippets of certain moments, sometimes repetitive, sometimes glitchy but they were mostly such good dreams, beautiful even, however they didn't last very long.

At least, not according to Bucky.

Y/N stopped on her tracks as she saw Bucky, who blatantly throwing daggers at her through his eyes. She didn't know why but she didn't want to think of the worst, so she went towards him in hopes of proving her own mind that the negative instincts that she had was wrong.

But the moment she got close, "Hi Buck--" Bucky walked passed her as if she wasn't there in the first place. And she had to admit that, that shit was painful to go through.

And he had been acting like this for two weeks now. Avoiding her like a fucking plague. And she doesn't know why.

He was acting normal during the first week of his awakening, or maybe a little bit more reserved that he usually would be.

She doesn't know how else to explain it but he seemed to act really shy whenever Y/N accidently touched him.

Did someone told him about what happened? Is that why he's mad? She doesn't get it, and she wants to know why.

So before Bucky managed to walk further pass her, Y/N turned on her heels and tugged him by his right arm to stop him. Little did she knew, that might just be the one thing she shouldn't do.

It was like a pre-programmed reaction, when Bucky's body move on his own, as he harshly ripped himself from her grasps, almost dropping her to the ground.

Steve was second away from reaching out to catch her but luckily she found her balance back on her own.

Bucky leered down at her as he spoke, "Don't touch me." His voice came out much more venomous than he intended, making Y/N flinched to his command.

But if that what he needs to do to chase her away from him then so be it, "Just stay the fuck away from me." Bucky spat a cold warning before marching his way out.

Not only leaving Y/N in utter confusion, but with her heart torn to bled dry.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

"Look at you. Look how well you're taking me. My darling is such a good girl, isn't she?" The soldat sounds sickeningly sweet when he murmured in her ears.

"Don't." she whispered quietly.

"p-please soldat, ahh." She mewled, scratching the metal of his arm.

"That's it darling, cum for your soldat. give it to me,, aahhh" He motioned, forming an 'O' with his mouth as she clamp down on his fingers; with his wide eyes looking down at her exposed pussy.

Bucky's eyes snapped open, ripping him out of the distorted memories only to leave him gasping in the darkness. He woke up swimming in his bed, drowning in the flood of sheets with his heart pounding as if it was desperate to tear out of his chest.

He looked around suspiciously as if he didn't recognized his own room, until strain of his crotch distracted him. His eyes pried downwards to see his cock struggling to fit in his pants and the images of his lucid dream flashes again.

Bucky shuts his eyes tightly, hoping the torture would stop reminding him of his sins, "You sick fuck." A deep frown formed as he muttered curses to himself.

After hours and hours of free falling tears in her room, letting herself drown in a sorrow that she never knew she would ever experience, she let herself wonder back to those lovely moments of her with the soldat.

She found it ironic that somehow the memories of his touch was also the cure to the wounds left by cruelty of his words.

It's hours passed midnight and her tears finally stopped, at least until her body was able physically form more tears in her glands, she took the time as a chance for her to rest.

Y/N laid on her back, letting the remaining tears to fall into her ears.

Worst part of all of this was not knowing why, and being left in the dark, yet he managed to effortlessly left her heart broken into shatters.

"Don't touch me."

"Just stay the fuck away from me."

Bucky's words had been circling her mind like a raging tornado. It felt like the spitefulness of his voice was mocking the flaws of her fragmented heart, toying with what's left behind after the storm.

Y/N didn't even realized when did she started to make her way towards the kitchen, but it was as if her body knew its own limit when her feet walked her out of the confinement of her room and her mind remind her to hydrate herself.

As she entered the kitchen area, she wasn't expecting to see Bucky standing in the middle of it, leaning forward towards the counter tops.

Even with the little source of light from the corridor, Y/N could see the tiredness in his face as he stare blankly into nothing. But, his expression soon changed when he saw her.

She didn't know what she had done to make him so agitated whenever he laid his eyes on her.

The silence between them was so loud that Y/N couldn't help but to approach him.

"I..." She truly didn't know what to say but it felt like it was her fault. She did take advantage of him when the soldat took over; endless use of his body, hands, lips and not to mention what happened that night. "I'm sorry."

Bucky was truly appalled to her words, even though he didn't show it on his expression. Why does she had to apologize to him when he was clearly the problem, "Why are you apologizing?" his anger naturally slipped through as he spoke.

But Y/N didn't know that he was frustrated at himself, and not at her, so the tone that he used stung her as much as it did prior, "I don't know." She simply said.

Lies.

She knew exactly why apologized but she wasn't sure if Bucky knew what happened when he blacked-out. "I just... I don't want to stay away from you. I don't like it."

She can't; not when her yearning for him had grew stronger than ever before.

"Well, you better get used to it because it won't change any time soon." Bucky spat harshly.

Y/N felt her own rage started to bubble from within.

Why is he being so hot-headed and stubborn like a sulking child? Can't he just act like a fucking adult and talk it out?

Her brows crunched into a frown as she held back her tone, "Why?"

Bucky let out a frustrated as he tried to walk away, shooting a demanding glare as he was passing her, "Just do as you're told, y/n"

"Oh no, you're not gonna run away from this."

She grabbed him by his arms and pulled him back into the conversation. "That's not fair, Bucky."

"Not fair?" His eyes narrowed, as he looked down at the smaller.

She puffed out an angry breath as she glared up, "No, it is not fair! It's not entirely your choice to make." She can feel the flames started to spread, "Especially when you refused to tell me why." She yelled accusingly as she shoved her finger to his chest.

Blood roaring in Bucky's ears as his heart pounded hard, pouring the concealed frustration out like a broken dam as he explodes, "He almost raped you, y/n!!"

There was a few milliseconds of non-movements as both them let those few words sink into their processing brain, "I... almost raped you." His voice shook in both anguish and anger, leaving Y/N frozen in a speechless shock.

"Or maybe I already did and I don't even fucking remember." His hands roughly tugged his long hair back as if he tried to go through the pieces of shattered memories in his wrecked mind.

"And if that is not a fucking sign for you stay away from me, I don't know what else I should do to make you see that." Bucky was breathing heavily that his breaths echoed through the silenced space.

Y/N's mind was running wild as everything slowly clicked. Did he thought that he... No. She blinked several times before she could form actual words, "Bucky, what are you saying? It's okay, it's okay. Just please calm down first and--" she tried to reach for him but that only made Bucky retorted, physically and mentally.

"It's okay? No, it's fucking not. Are you even listening to yourself? Can't you see? I'm dangerous y/n." He sounded as desperate as he was for air. "Especially to you. And if my messed up past was not enough to prove it, then what happened between us when I relapsed certainly did."

His heart rate increase rapidly, and his lungs seemed to work double time. Yet, he refused to let her see how badly he needed comfort.

"Bucky, please breathe. And just.. listen to me--" Y/N was hopeless trying to pull him out of the chaos of his mind but he just wouldn't listen.

Bucky's voice started to waver as the dark revelation continued to cloud him, "He assault you, y/n. I fucking assault you. And I can't let that happened again. So, just please, stay awa--"

"It was my choice!" Y/N snapped as she grabbed Bucky by his shoulder, forcing him to focus on her. "Bucky, I let him touch me. I could stop him if I want to, but I didn't."

Bucky didn't understand, "W-why?"

"Because I know he wouldn't hurt me. You wouldn't hurt me." Y/N tried to lay it out for him slowly but then she realized that maybe he didn't need that right now.

"Fuck, Bucky! I'm not a saint." She cursed after a few short moments of hesitation, "I have a lot of feelings I need to deal with like every other human being. Lust, love, you name it. And he..."

In a brief moment, she thought of the soldat, "He gave me the opportunity to feel the love that I always wanted from you. He showed me what we could've been." There was a sense of longing in her eyes, "It started small, soft touches and loving kisses." She smiled to the memories of it.

"And the moment that I thought that it could've been you who's kissing me, touching me. I knew it was over." She didn't know how many times she almost slipped out his name whenever she calls for the soldat; the name 'Bucky' was always at the tip of her tongue but never out.

"One thing led to another and we... I didn't mean to let it stray too far." She confessed, "Bucky, I admit it was wrong for me to take advatange of you, of the soldat, and I know there's no excuse to my behaviour than my own inability to control my feelings for you."

If the soldat thought that he was being greedy, then that makes the two of them.

"I understand if you want me to stay away from you, but just let me say this out loud." Her hands slid down to find his, thankfully he didn't repulsed this time, "Bucky... I love you." She finally spilled the truth as her soften gaze trained on his eyes, "I have loved you for a long time."

Afraid that this could be the end, she refused to look away. She didn't care if Bucky would plunge daggers to her through his words, she want him to know that her feelings for him was unconditional.

And Bucky really tried his best to let all her words sink in, even though most of them were somehow redacted and lost in his head.

But, thankfully the most important ones was so loud and clear for him to draw a simple conclusion that would ease his relentless worries, "You...I.. I didn't force it on you?"

Y/N didn't know why she wasn't expecting him to believe her but she was glad that he did, "No" she replied simply.

Bucky's voice strangled while his hand gripping tighter in her hold, "I didn't hurt you?" His teary eyes pleaded for the truth.

"Not a even close." She smiled kindly.

Bucky felt as the unbearable burden on his shoulders was lifted off completely just by those few simple words that Y/N just uttered. The tears he was desperately holding back broke freely as they stream down his face, his shoulders trembled with the force of his emotions running through his veins.

He whispered, "You don't hate me for it?" He pulled her hands closer to his face, fluttering his eyes shut as he kissed the knuckles of her fingers.

"Never." Y/N reassured, as she cupped his face; stroking her thumbs on his scruffy cheeks, wiping the warm, salty tears away.

Bucky sighed to her touch, it seemed that his body remembered her more than his mind did, "And you love me?" He blinked as he placed his hand on top of her.

Y/N nodded with a loving curve on her lips, "Always have."

Bucky didn't know how she does it but she really did managed to mend and melt his heart all at the same time. It was magic. Or, maybe it was sorcery. But even if she ended up leaving a curse behind, Bucky would still be glad that he let her bewitched him.

Bucky stared down at her, admiring her the kindness in her eyes despite the swolleness of them. He felt bad for breaking her heart, making her cry. It tore his heart just thinking about it.

His tongue darted out for a brief second as his metal hand fell, wrapping around her body.

Y/N maintained to lock her eyes on his as her hand slid down, and pressed on his chest. Despite being comfortable with his touches, and with the amount of kisses the soldat had generously gave her, she shouldn't be nervous anymore but she was.

After all, the soldat never kisses her on the lips and Bucky had his eyes on hers since the beginning.

She wanted his too.

Seeing the anticipation in her eyes, Bucky leaned in to press a kiss on her lips, his flesh hand came up to tilt her chin up, then gently cupped her face as he pulled her closer.

Her lips was so soft against his, that Bucky was sure that he will crave to this every single day.

He briefly pulled away from the kiss to whisper a soft, "I love you too, y/n." Before coming down for another chaste, "More than you could ever fucking imagine." He almost growled as he dipped for more.

Their innocent kiss soon turned into something deeper. They kissed passionately, lost in the bubble of time and space, ignoring the silenced ambiance as they were fixated on the sound of their beating hearts.

And when they pulled away for air, Y/N giggled as a silly thought went through her mind, "Well, I kinda see the glimpse of it in those few days with the soldat, so I think I got the gist of it."

That caused Bucky to let out a genuinely hearty laugh before humming playfully, "Hmm, do you now?" He went in for another kiss, knowing full well that he was already addicted to the taste of her lips.

He just can't get enough of it.

Y/N answered briefly in between his kisses, "Yes."

Bucky smirked as he smoothly guided her backwards, until the back of her waist met with the cold tile of the kitchen isle, "Three times, was it?" his eyes glint with mischieve when he leaned again to steal another kiss.

"What is?" Y/N titled her head to the side, unknowingly giving access for Bucky to lead his kisses from her soft cheek down to her exposed neck.

His lips trailed along the crook of it as he whispered, "Was it three times that he made you cum?" If his goal was to seduce her; well it was safe to say that he did it rather flawlessly.

Y/N thanked god that the kitchen was dim-litted, because the redness on her cheek was rather embarrassing, "I-I'm not sure."

She lied. But, Bucky didn't need to know that.

Bucky chuckled lowly as he murmured, "It's okay, babydoll. We have all the time in the world to beat that record." his naughty hands had already made their way toward her ass before she even have the time to register what he suggested.

Lust decorated the blues in his eyes as he whispered, "Starting now."

End.

<< Part II || Extra >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Yeay, we have reached the end but I might have more of the couple in the future. Though I don't know when will it happen but I have hopes for it. Meanwhile, why don't you tell me what you think of the series and checkout my other work!

#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier x you #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier!bucky

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