#handling lock-down together

[s0dium]

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐄𝐗

A/n: Almost kinktober guys ;) Synopsis: How many rounds can JJK men go for? Characters: Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru, Choso, Sukuna Ryomen Warnings: Doggy, mating press, multiple orgasms, sub space, overstimulation, dub-con, photo taking, cock warming, nipple sucking, finger sucking, breeding, unprotected sex, virgin!Choso, mentions of masturbation, pussy drunk men

☆ Gojo Satoru: 3-4

The longest three rounds of your life

You think he can stop just cumming in you once? Hell no. The best part about sex is when he can see his cum oozing out of you with each push.

Also loves overstimulating himself until he is a groaning mess.

Unfortunately for you, Gojo Satoru is NOT a one-minute man.

"Awe come on don't go zoning out on me now~"

Gojo's voice is teasing, a low, melodic coo that slides into your ears as you struggle to focus. His grin is wide, almost predatory, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he leans in closer. You’re hazy, breathless, your mind clouded with pleasure, barely able to register the words.

"S'cant... feel too...” You mumbled and thrashed against Gojo's hold, forcing him to pin your wrists together above your head while he pistoned into you with brute force. Sure it's only the second round for him but for you, he's brought you over the edge more than your poor poor body can handle.

Your body feels completely spent, trembling with overstimulation as your legs, sore from the constant tightening and untightening, hang limp in Gojo's grip. He’s folded you in half, his hands pressing your legs against your chest, locking you in place with ease. The room feels heavy, a warm haze clouding your thoughts as you realize you’ve been drooling, too lost in the overwhelming pleasure to even care.

“Feel fucking amazing Jesus Christ.” Gojo manages to groan out between pants followed by a string of curses. Every time he leaves the clutch of your cunny, his cock is coated in a thick shiny sheen of creaminess, and when he snaps his hips back in, it settles right at the base of him, painting your puffy pussy lips as well. Gojo effortlessly lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, sinking even deeper into you with each forceful thrust. The new angle, paired with the relentless pace of his hips snapping against yours, sends you spiraling dangerously close to the edge. Your grip on the sheets falters, hands slipping as tears streak down your flushed cheeks. Your mouth hangs open, drool pooling beneath you, completely mind-fucked and overwhelmed by the pleasure that consumes every inch of your body.

Your limbs have no strength left to resist—no, you don’t want to. Every nerve in your body is thrumming, begging for more as you let him take control. His every movement draws out a fresh wave of sensation, each thrust sending you spiraling closer to that next high. You can’t stop it—there’s no chance to. Your body is his to use, to pull pleasure from again and again, and all you can do is surrender to the bliss as it builds, crashing over you uncontrollably.

"Come for me baby," Gojo coos. "I'll cum in you and if it spills we can start all over again."

~

☆ Toji Fushiguro: 6

First three you are riding him and doing all the work.

Then when your legs give out thats even he fucks you silly

He is so big :( Sometimes he has to let you cock warm him for a bit so you can catch your breath

This is it you where going to die.

You were going to be fucked to death.

"Shhh, stop crying would you? Yer' taking it like a champ I promise."

Two big hands come up to your face to wipe the hot tears streaming down your face. Your body is trembling uncontrollably, every muscle quivering as waves of pleasure leave you numb and overwhelmed. It’s like your senses have short-circuited, leaving you shaking, barely able to register anything beyond the intense, lingering sensation pulsing through you.

Even though Toji is unmoving inside you, your pussy cannot stop spasming from the pleasure of his fat tip pressed up against your g-spot. Even if he wanted to pull out right now, Toji doubts that your cunt would give up the vice grip on his cock. Coincidentally that meant that he was keeping you plugged with 3 loads of warm sticky cum in your tight walls.

"Fuck still so tight baby, you want me to fuck you more don't you?" Toji's voice is a low, teasing coo as his focus shifts to your breasts, his tongue flicking over each hardened nipple, tracing slow, lazy circles that send shivers down your spine. One hand squeezes your breast, kneading the soft flesh, while the other glides over your sides and stomach, his touch warm and deliberate, drawing out every sensation. With all the strength you can muster, you wrap your legs around his waist pulling him closer to you so that you can feel his cock push impossibly farther into you, and he moans into your breast, biting your nipple softly. 

Then, without releasing your nipple from his mouth, he begins the slow roll of his hips into your sloppy cunt. Toji's hips move in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each roll pressing him deeper into you with a tantalizing, unhurried pace. His movements are controlled, almost teasing, as he grinds against you, making you feel every inch, every pulse of his dick as he draws out your pleasure with each smooth thrust.

"Just take it m'kay? You can handle it."

~

☆ Geto Suguru: 4

Geto is a real fiend

The breaks between sex consist of him drinking water and kissing the water into your mouth. After that it's right back to fucking.

Loves taking photos of his cum oozing out of you. Looks at it when he is bored.

“So pretty….”

Drool dripped from your chin onto the pillow below, mixing with the tears streaming from your eyes, which were rolled back in bliss. Your breath hitched the moment Geto's hand tightened in your hair, pulling your head back just enough to catch his gaze out of the corner of your eye. As your eyes lock, a dark, knowing smirk curves on his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. You were finally getting used to the dizzying, mind-numbing pressure of his tip crashing into your cervix—but the bad news? Your legs were completely numb, trembling and useless beneath you.

 “Did you hear what I said doll?”

 Whatever was left of your mind tried to reign back its focus on the man pistoning into you from behind, but as it turned out, there wasn’t much. The friction of his cock dragging against you was unbearable, even with the syrupy cum soaking the walls of your quivering pussy. All you could do was dizzily nod, earning a chuckle from Geto while he eyes the way your hips instinctively raise so his cock can sink even deeper into you from behind. If you could only know the heaven your cunt you're putting his mind in, he is sure you'd be the one smirking. Geto even has to bite harshly on his lip to stop himself from whimpering every time your sticky pussy spasms from pleasure.

The euphoria came in waves of electric current that pulsed through your sloppy pussy and the only thing keeping you grounded his loads of warm sticky cum dripping down your thigh.  

 “Come on speak to me baby, I've only come two times, we've barely even started.”

 The wet sounds of Geto's dick slipping in and out of you filled the room and your senses. His cock filled you so much better than your hands ever could, hitting that gummy spot inside your walls over and over again perfectly, and you wondered how you were ever satisfied with the way you masturbated before you met him.

 “I’m a lucky man arent I? To have such an obedient baby with such a pretty pussy.” His hand comes to your face to caress your cheek, and you nestle into his touch while his thumb wipes away your tears. Your too busy immersing in the warmth of his palm to notice the flash of light and the sound of a shutter above you. Even when you turn your head back in curiosity, all you see is Geto staring at the screen of his phone with a lazy grin spread on his face.

~

☆ Choso: 2

Give this man a break! He's a half century old curse who has never fucked before!

You should be glad that he didn't cum by just slipping his tip in, because oh god lord he is seeing colors.

Choso swore he wasn't a whimpering man. Nothing that good could ever make him stumble over his words like a schoolboy. But Jesus Christ, he was not expecting you.

“F-fuck, you’re tight,” Choso groans hoarsely. You felt good? Try god-like, Choso's mind was in euphoria right now. His hand or a fleshlight could never compare to the way your gummy walls sucked him in and hugged his cock.

"M'feel good Cho~" You whine, head thrown back against the plush pillow. The stretch was delicious. It had you squirming and writhing and you couldn't help but tighten as your body tried to push out the large foreign intrusion. You gasped when you felt his tip smush against your cervix, little bolts of electricity being sent through your stomach as he pressed against you.

Choso was slow at first, wanting to still admire the way your cunt swallows him up, the fat of his head has a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being. He whines at how hot you are on the inside, but he’s quick to change to a faster pace.

Choso’s voice comes out in a deep, breathless groan, his grip tightening as he leans closer, his words heavy with need. "W-wanna do this all the time. Every day, baby," he rasps, his eyes half-lidded in pleasure, completely lost in the sensation. Each thrust seems to pull the words from his lips as if he can’t hold back, his body trembling with how good it feels. The thought of having you like this, over and over, only spurs him on, his pace quickening as he grinds against you, desperate to make this moment last forever.

Unable to handle the sensation, your hands grab his shoulder and grip them for dear life. Choso doesn’t let up his pace, in fact he increases it, pounding your poor little cunt with no remorse. His mind is foggy, everything just feels and looks so so good, he’s not even thinking when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, digits pressing down on your tongue and swirling around in the spit.

“Your gonna let me use you when ever I want right? Gotta lot of time to make up for, you gonna be a good girl and always make me feel good right?”

~

☆ Sukuna Ryomen: Lord have mercy

It depends.

Its either the longest no-break sex marathon of your life or 6 even seven rounds with small breaks in between.

Unfortunately, Sukuna is a sadist, it's a headcanon that he might prioritize his pleasure over yours. Combine that with his godly stamina and you have an insane combo.

Kneeling helplessly, both your wrists pinned behind you by just one of Sukuna’s powerful arms, you can only brace yourself as he thrusts into you from behind, each powerful movement sending shockwaves through your body as he effortlessly controls your every breath, your every tremble.

"C-cant do this!" you cry, your voice breaking as Sukuna's grip tightens around your wrists, holding you firmly in place. Your legs are sore from this kneeling position and the angle that his cock hits you is so euphoric it's almost painful from the sheer collision. Sukuna chuckles darkly, his pace relentless as he leans in closer, his hot breath ghosting over your neck.

"Oh, but you will," he growls, each word dripping with wicked amusement, his hips driving into you harder. "You don’t have a choice."

You can only wail in response, the sound escaping your lips uncontrollably as the overwhelming pleasure consumes you. Every thrust sends a wave of heat surging through your body, your mind going blank as Sukuna fills you completely, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. The pressure builds with each deep, forceful stroke, your body trembling beneath him, and all you can do is surrender to the intense, all-encompassing bliss that threatens to pull you under.

"Such a good girl, you're a natural submissive, aren't you? Or maybe you just loved being fucked like the slut you are."

How much time has passed? You can’t even tell anymore—everything blurs together in a haze of pleasure and heat. The rhythm of Sukuna’s relentless pistoning becomes the only thing grounding you, your mind foggy and lost as your body responds to him instinctively. Each second feels stretched out, an eternity of raw sensation as you teeter on the brink, utterly consumed by the moment.

"Gonna fuck you like this till I’ve had my fill, got that?" Sukuna’s voice is a low, dangerous growl in your ear, the words sending a shiver down your spine as he presses deeper.

[sqoa]

cw stalking

☓☓☓ stalker!satoru likes exploiting his heightened senses to learn everything and anything he can about you. he doesn't even need to be in the fucking room to know that you're sitting with your thighs pressed together because you're still thinking about the letter he slipped under your door that morning.

the letter, in which he wrote the dirtiest details about yourself that not even you picked up on. like how when you're really horny you become restless and can't keep still for too long, or how when you cum your eyes squeeze shut and you almost look scared of the pleasure you're giving yourself. which he loves, because your fear is an aphrodisiac to him.

but you figure whoever it is that's stalking you is only stabbing a guess at what could be true. because there is no way he's someone you've fucked, because you don't fuck on a whim. the only other explanation you can come up with is that he's been in your home, either to install cameras or slip into the shadows late at night when you're touching yourself. which is a ridiculous thought, so he must be assuming.

until you come home from a particularly gruelling day to find a small box on your pillow.

it's black, and wrapped in a blue ribbon that looks hauntingly familiar to the shade of blue—you shake your head. with trembling hands you open the box to find three things. one of which is a baby blue vibrator, the same shade as the ribbon and a certain set of eyes you often think of when you touch yourself. you also find a smaller box with a note attached.

'a promise, until you trust me enough to replace it with the real thing, doll.' it reads, and doesn't make sense until you open the box and find a ring inside. expensive looking and glistening under the moonlight coming in through your window. it fits your ring finger perfectly when curiosity bests you and you slip it on. You should be panicked, locking your doors and calling the police but there's a horrible ache in your lower abdomen that has you awful restless, and you realise that perhaps your sweet-tongued stalker knows a little more about you than you do yourself.

weeks of gifts like this go by, from sex toys to expensive meal deliveries each night, you're starting to feel more like a sugar baby than a victim. and still, you haven't even given in to your stalker... you've been too scared to touch yourself, to put the box of toys he's gifted you to use, because each night as you fall asleep you dream of vile things done to you by a man you can't see the face of. you worry that if you give in, let him watch you fuck yourself stupid on the toys he brought you, you won't want to hate this. to hate the way he calls you his doll, like you're a toy to be played with, in a home he somehow has access to despite how many times you change the locks.

it's not until you're on a mission one day, alongside satoru gojo. you're in an awfully tight space together, stuck in an abandoned warehouse and boxed in by curses that you're sure he could handle in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. but you're here, pressed chest-to-chest and breathing in the scent of his sweat and cologne mixing together—sugar on his breath.

and you're just so needy, after weeks of denying yourself in hopes of boring your stalker away. you have to press your thighs together, satoru's hard abs against your stomach is too much: and the way he looks down at you, laboured breath and glossy lips parted... you have to look away. but when your gaze meets the ground, you catch a glimpse of something that you hadn't noticed before.

a ring on his finger, one that matches yours—hell, it even looks cut from the same gem.

and his voice is poison. "you've been hiding from me haven't you, my doll?"

[wttcsms]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ match my freak !!

ᝰ.ᐟ the two of you are private not secret, but when the media starts to speculate that the two of you are no longer together, neither of you are too happy. the best way to get everyone to stop with the breakup rumors? posting something a little bit nasty to the feed to satiate everyone's curiosity. (fem!reader)

featuring tobio kageyama, atsumu miya, tetsurou kuroo, wakatoshi ushijima, tooru oikawa, rintarou suna content contains breeding kink (atsumu, wakatoshi), pregnant reader (wakatoshi), famous!reader (changes depending on scenario), creampie (tetsurou), hatefucking (not really, you + kuroo just like to antagonize each other but the attraction is there), scratches on his back (tobio), hickeys (tooru), wet n messy (rintarou), possessive!character x possessive!reader (the two of you are obsessed with each other ok), social media references lol author's notes i'm definitely doing a blue lock version, i'm just seeing if this is a popular premise lol <3 based off this original concept !! these are just silly little drabbles for me to warm up to the idea of writing again haha

౨ৎ TOBIO KAGEYAMA

your fans are speculating: that you and kageyama have broken up. fans are recording footage from you on your latest tour and claim that you're "clearly disassociating" and "somewhere else mentally" when it comes to singing your iconic love songs. you and kageyama have always kept your relationship private because he's not a very open person to begin with, and you don't want to give the media more material to misconstrue. you know that kageyama hates when some random person will annotate your verses on genius lyrics and try to make the claim that your innocent metaphor is you wanting to jump ship and leave kageyama. and you hate how it's your own fans who are making wild accusations of you no longer being with the man all your love songs are about.

you posted: kageyama, with his back turned to the camera so all that fills your camera is the surprisingly broad expanse of his muscular back and shoulders. he's not even flexing, and it's obvious that he's a world-class athlete. he's facing the closet, trying to find a shirt to put on, and it would be a semi-innocent photo, the pinterest-perfect photo inspo for every private not secret relationship out there, except for the fact that there are clearly faint, red lines — scratches — running down his back. you caption the photo with a "monday morning 🤍" (your insane fans spam the comment section to exclaim how they knew you two were still a thing... and to speculate that this photo is somehow an easter egg for an upcoming song/album. well, they're right: you two will always be a thing, and tobio dicked you down so good last night that you could write him a whole album.)

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"fuck," the word slips through his gritted teeth, and you can tell that your tobio is still upset about how your fans seem divided. half of them claim no one could ever make them hate tobio (you find those fans to be absolutely adorable), and the other half...

well, the other half are making slideshow posts to audios that go "some boys take a beautiful girl and hide her away from the rest of the world" and the ones that seem to go viral are always the ones that feature you and tobio.

"not hidin' you away." he mutters, never slowing down his thrusts. he admires the expression on your face as he fucks into you, his ego pleased with how receptive you are to his every movement. he has you speared on his cock, your tight little cunt full of him, your eyes getting so adorably teared-up because he's just a little bit too much for you to handle. tobio isn't good with words; he thinks you're the most beautiful girl to exist, but he can't verbalize it. so he just takes in your sweet, fucked-out face, the reaction only he's capable of drawing from you, and it all gets so overwhelming for him.

he has to bury his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scent of your body wash as he continues to bully his cock into your soaked pussy. "why's it bad if i want to keep you all to myself?" he's practically whining, and you think this would be so cute if only you weren't currently chasing after your release. or rather, tobio's forcing you to cum, whether you want to or not. it's not like you can stop him; tobio devotes himself to always ensuring that you finish before him. he likes the satisfaction of knowing only he can take care of you, and he especially likes the way his cock looks with you creaming all over it.

when he gets like this, all you can do is cling to him, your arms wrapped around his muscular build. when he gets rough with his thrusts, when his body gets just the slightest bit sweaty from the exertion (evidence of just how much work he puts into fucking you), you have to dig your manicured nails (the set he paid for) into the skin of his toned back. otherwise, you'd lose your grip, and your hands would slip off.

tobio relishes the slight stinging pain of your nails scratching down his skin. but the scratches aren't enough. he needs to make you cum. when you get so caught up in your climax, you start clawing at him as you lose control. he loves the scratches you leave on him; it's proof that he's yours just as much as you are his.

౨ৎ ATSUMU MIYA

haters are saying: that you're just using atsumu for content. you're a gold digger. you're not genuine. you're not "wifey material." spectators are claiming that atsumu is playing worse than before because he's too "pussywhipped" for you. well, he likes to cheekily admit to you that he is addicted to your pussy, but they're wrong about everything else. obviously. however, the haters are feeling very vindicated whenever they see atsumu hasn't been posting you as much. (you're traveling for a new vlog series on your page, but no one knows.)

he posted: a mirror selfie. which isn't breaking news. atsumu miya always breaks the internet when he posts a mirror selfie because the only thing worse than a hot guy is a hot guy who knows he's hot. no one is a stranger to the sight of a post-workout, sweaty, shirtless atsumu, who flaunts his tight abs and muscular thighs with a steamy mirror selfie. but this photo? this one is going triple platinum. it's going down in history. this selfie is taken in dim lighting; the curtains in the background are drawn shut, he's got one hand gripping his phone (making the phone look tiny in his big hand), and he's got one arm wrapped around you. it's not an innocent hug, though. he's cupping your ass, and the phone in front of his face does nothing to shield his satisfied smirk. you're clad in nothing but lacy lingerie from a designer who loves to sponsor you, and you're clinging to his side, almost like you can't even stand without his support. it's clear that the two of you definitely were... appreciating the work your favorite designer put in when they created that lacy set.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"what do you think?" you're smiling at him, knowing damn well what he's thinking.

atsumu looks up at you, reflexively licking his lips as he takes in the sight of you wearing a new set of lingerie that you just got delivered. it leaves little room for imagination, and the material looks so delicate, atsumu is already thinking about how he'll have to apologize to the designer for ripping it off of you.

"i think I'm the luckiest man alive right now." atsumu is shameless in the way he's admiring you, the way the setting sun still peeks through the curtains, enveloping your body in a delicious golden glow as you inch closer and closer to him.

in a matter of seconds, he's pulling you on top of him, placing wet, sloppy kisses over any centimeter of your skin he can reach. when you make a move to slip off the panties, he protests.

"leave 'em on f'me, baby. please?"

he fucks you with you still wearing the lingerie set. your breasts are spilling out of the bra, and all he did was move your panties to the side so he could stretch you out with his cock.

"fuckin' idiots, tellin' me you're not good enough to marry. i'll show 'em what a good girl you are, right? gonna put a ring on your finger, and make you my wife." he's fucking his cock into you, making sure that your cute cunt knows who it belongs to. "gonna fuck a baby into you, sweetheart. no one's gonna say shit about our family, huh? 'cause i won't let 'em."

your cunt clenches up so nicely with every comment he makes that atsumu knows he has to make all those pussydrunk promises come true.

౨ৎ TETSUROU KUROO

the tabloids are posting: paparazzi photos of you — the socialite daughter of the man who owns the msby black jackals, and jva's promotion division's golden boy, tetsurou kuroo. it's late at night, and the two of you are clearly leaving a party celebrating the success of another eventful volleyball season. you're wearing the iconic ysl heels with a black mini-dress that honestly should be called a micro-dress. your hair is a mess, you're walking like your knees are struggling not to wobble, and walking three steps behind you despite his longer stride is kuroo; his tie is crooked, his cheeks are flushed, and he has a grin that says something like i just fucked one of the richest bratty heiresses in japan, and i left her wanting more. the amount of blind items that are allegedly alluding to you and kuroo are being spread all over tiktok. one reads, "this sports club heiress was seen exiting a party with this semi-known marketing mastermind who works in the sports industry. apparently, they couldn't keep their hands off each other, and no one can recall seeing them together during the party; everyone only caught glimpses of them running away from the festivities together."

you posted: a photo slideshow on instagram of your absolutely iconic outfit from the party, only these photos were clearly taken before the party. your hair is done, your makeup is perfect, and your caption states don't believe everything you read. the last slide is a screenshot of an online headline speculating about your "new man" with a photo of a grinning kuroo from that night. the reason why this makes everyone go insane is because you're no stranger to a scandal — this is, however, the first time you've ever addressed a headline.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"hurry up," you hiss, your eyes darting from left to right as you make sure no one is nowhere near the secluded corridor kuroo somehow managed to find.

"y'know, i thought girls were supposed to like guys who don't blow their loads prematurely." even when he's bullying his cock into your slicked up cunt, savoring the way your sensitive walls are clenching around his dick, tetsurou has a very annoying habit of still sounding entirely in control. for someone who can't keep his hands to himself when it comes to you, he's irritatingly great at playing nonchalant.

but he's just a man, after all. he might tower over you, his large body shielding you from any prying eyes, and he might know your body so well that he can bring you to completion twice (once with his fingers curling against that special spot of yours, and another one so rudely wrung out from you when he slid his cock in your orgasm-recovering, overly sensitive pussy) in just the fifteen minutes he's been toying with you tonight, but you know that he must be feeling something. you saw him shift his pants the moment his eyes met yours from across the room, when his eyes travelled down your body and followed the way your dress emphasized the curvatures of your body.

"if you don't finish right now, i'm not going to let you cum inside." you threaten him, trying to steady your voice as you bite back a moan. it'd be a major issue if the two of you got caught, with the volleyball association's golden boy being buried balls-deep inside a sports team owner's bratty daughter.

with every sharp snap of his hips, kuroo is only forcing more slick to come gushing out of your pussy. he can't even take the time to admire the white ring you left around his cock; he's too focused on chasing after his release because he didn't get to where he's at by not being opportunistic.

"if i cum inside, you have to keep it in your panties the whole night. you wouldn't want that, would you?" he sounds a little breathless now, his pace quickening as his thrusts get sloppier. he's smiling at you, that damn annoying smile that makes you want to roll your eyes or insult him. but your body betrays you. his grin only widens when your pussy tightens up at the idea of having his cum soaking in your panties while you interact with people at this party. a dirty little secret shared only between you two.

he lets out a breathy chuckle at your body's betrayal. "okay, princess. since you want it so badly, i guess i better give it to you."

you could practically cum again the minute you feel the warmth of him finishing inside of you. you're a spoiled brat who gets what she wants, and while you refuse to admit it, you want him. all of him.

and he's going to give it to you.

౨ৎ WAKATOSHI USHIJIMA

the media is going crazy over: the fact that ushijima is the type of person who doesn't clarify anything because he just assumes that everyone can read his mind. he's blunt, sure, but he's not really the type who does much explaining. after the first game of the season, an interviewer asks him if he enjoyed spending the off-season with you, his girlfriend and one of the most beloved, fan-favorite WAGs of all time. ushijima stares straight into the camera as he states in his usual deep, flat rumble of a voice, "the off-season was successful, but she isn't my girlfriend anymore. thank you." and then he just walks off, like he didn't just drop the most insane piece of information ever?

he posted: a photo of an ultrasound that was clearly taken out of his wallet since it's thrown on the table in the background. he's holding it in his left hand, and the overhead lighting is reflected from the silver wedding band he's wearing. now that he's off the court, he's able to wear it. in typical ushijima fashion, there is no caption, but a picture is worth a thousand words. you're not his girlfriend. you're his wife, and soon to be mother of his child.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"mmph — 'toshi!" you squeal out, your calves burning from the stretch as your beloved wakatoshi has your legs bent and spread for him. he's just so big that you'd never be able to handle all of him, and yet, here you are, bent into a mating press every night since the two of you have gotten married. you try to beg him to slow down, but words escape you as he buries himself into your pussy, letting out a deep, guttural groan as the warmth of your cunt coats his cock. there's no better feeling than this.

even if you could request for him to slow down, it wouldn't have mattered or made much of a difference. your husband has a one-track mind. when wakatoshi is set on a goal, it's hard to break his focus until he sees it to the end. and right now, wakatoshi's goal is to fuck a baby into you, to see you round with life because of the seeds he planted.

he's hunched over you, abs tightening and flexing with every sharp inhale of breath he takes. he's gonna fuck himself empty, going to keep filling your cunt with his seed 'til he's shooting blanks. his eyes glance at the ring he put on your finger before returning to admire your blissful expression and the way your body seems to have gone boneless from all the fucking he's had you endure.

"just a little bit longer." he manages to say, before forcing his cock in even deeper. "just have to make sure it takes."

౨ৎ TOORU OIKAWA

everyone is claiming: long distance relationships never last. when oikawa makes the shocking announcement that he is no longer a japanese citizen, everyone immediately wondered what that meant for the future of your relationship. does that mean it's over? officially? if oikawa is leaving behind his hometown, then by default, is he leaving you behind too?

he posted: a photo slideshow, only most of the images were clearly taken by you. the first one is of him driving; the two of you are in his convertible, and he's wearing a white button down with most of the buttons undone. on the stark white of the shirt are kiss marks; the imprint of your lips lined with cherry-red lipstick are all over the material of his shirt and on his freshly-tanned skin. the other photos are of what you two ate for dinner, the sunset from the beach, and a selfie of you two looking more in love than ever. fans are quick to point out the massive hickey on your neck, and tooru tags you in a reply to the top comment that points it out, and he's saying "you missed a spot babe." you reply back, "i ran out of concealer because you gave me too many to cover"

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

"i missed you," your boyfriend mumbles into your soft skin. tooru can get so clingy when he goes long periods without seeing you, and you indulge him because he's tooru. he's got his face buried in the space between your shoulder and neck, and his breath is warm against your skin as he speaks.

"everyone is saying i'm abandoning you, but that's not true." he whines.

"i know, baby. i don't care." you laugh softly, absentmindedly playing with the soft strands of his hair. he settles into you, and it's almost sweet, until he starts nipping at your skin.

"tooru, what are you doing?" you can't find it in yourself to chastise him too harshly, but you do have to restrain yourself from pulling back.

"jus' want to show everyone that you're still my girl." he peers up at you, licking his lips. "you'll let me do that, won't you?"

tooru bites and sucks at your skin, sharp canines grazing your soft flesh. he sucks at your most sensitive areas while he works his fingers in and out of your gushing cunt. when he pulls his fingers out and holds them up, so the sunlight can shine and really highlight how much of your juices is coating his digits, he smiles. his girl gets this wet just from him marking you up?

as he sucks on his fingers, relishing in the way you taste, he can't help but be happy to know that no matter how far away the two of you are from each other (for now), you're still his girl.

౨ৎ RINTAROU SUNA

your fans are telling you: suna doesn't care about you. suna doesn't put forth any effort into your relationship. suna literally streams on twitch during the off-season yet he can't seem to ever post you?? suna doesn't deserve you. suna—

suna is a lot of things, but nothing like the deadbeat, ashamed boyfriend allegations. in fact, all your well-meaning fans are so far off on how he treats you that you and him get a good laugh from the outrageous conclusions they've jumped to.

you posted: a photo of rintarou with his head on your lap, and you've got your fingers playing with his hair. it's a sweet photo, really. except for the fact that you decided to pair it with an audio that's a snippet of a song that goes "he's so pretty when he goes down on me" and a caption that reads this song is so relatable 🤍

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

anyone who thinks rintarou is a selfish lover, a lazy lover, someone who merely tolerates you or is ashamed to be with you... they clearly don't know either of you very well.

because even when he's exhausted from practice, rintarou comes home craving you. craving your sweetness, your warmth, your love — and your pussy. he's obsessed. rintarou suna loves to eat you out, and he does it with such passion, such enthusiasm, that it's hard to refuse him, even if he's been going at it for the past hour.

your juices are leaving a stain on the bedsheets, and your slick is coating your inner thighs. it doesn't help that rintarou is messy with his technique. he needs your legs spread for him, granting him easy access for him to just dig in. he's still in his practice jersey, and when he feels your grip loosening from the strands of hair you're tugging at, he'll slow down his pace, calming down to just tiny kitten licks while he peers up at you.

your head is thrown back in pleasure, and your hips have a mind of their own as they still jut forward, as if trying to bring your cunt impossibly closer to him. no need for that, really, seeing as how he craves to bury himself in your warmth, to suck on your cute little clit and have you humming all over his tongue.

"rinnie." you whine out, still subconsciously bucking up your hips. he smiles before resuming his original ministrations, gluttonous and greedy with how sloppy and hungry he is with you. if you're still capable of talking, then you're not too fucked out to not allow him to get his fill.

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 2 ]

Part One Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? Sexual Themes 18+ ONLY: fingering, cunnilingus, Bucky loves tiddies, dirty talk. Summary: Though you've become oddly close to SergeantBarnes, it's still difficult to act normal around him. A/N: I didn't think many would ask for a part two but here you go. divider by @cafekitsune

It was a peaceful evening in the apartment gym—or, at least, it was supposed to be. You had your plan: thirty minutes on the stair climber, some stretches, and you’d be out of there before any awkwardness could find you.

But then you heard it—the unmistakable sound of weights clanging, followed by a deep, low grunt that made your entire body freeze.

You glanced up, hoping against hope that it wasn’t who you thought it was. But, of course, there he was: Bucky, over at the hip thrust machine, setting up his weights directly in front of you. Perfect, you thought. Of all the machines in here, he has to pick the most… suggestive one.

Your eyes flicked back to the tiny screen on your machine. Stay focused, you told yourself. Don’t look. Just ignore him.

But the moment he started his set, you heard it—a low, powerful grunt that practically reverberated through the gym. You immediately bit down on your lip, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead, pretending you weren’t having flashbacks to his other kind of workouts.

Another deep grunt.

Your hands clenched the stair climber’s handles like a lifeline. Do NOT look, you told yourself, the mantra echoing in your mind. But your treacherous eyes slid sideways, just for a second, and you caught a glimpse of him, face focused, breaths heavy as he powered through each hip thrust. The guy was practically a one-man gym commercial.

You looked away, focusing on your steps—your very uneven, slightly panicked steps. It’s just a hip thrust, for crying out loud! Nothing unusual here, you told yourself, trying to stomp out the heat creeping up your cheeks. But every time he exhaled, your mind filled with images of… well, his other performances.

Then, in the middle of one of his reps, Bucky let out a particularly deep, guttural grunt that nearly threw you off balance. Your foot slipped, your rhythm stuttered, and in a moment of pure panic, you clutched the handles and stumbled forward, practically throwing yourself onto the machine.

“Shit!” you yelped, fumbling to regain your balance as your legs moved faster than your brain, desperately trying not to faceplant.

You heard Bucky chuckle, that low, infuriatingly amused laugh, and felt your cheeks practically ignite. You looked up, heart pounding, only to find him smirking in your direction, eyes dancing with mischief.

“Careful there, Y/N,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Stair climbers are brutal.”

“Oh, yeah, totally!” you squeaked, straightening up, trying to look like you meant to almost eat it. “Just… keeping things interesting. Got to keep the cardio exciting, you know?”

“Looks like it’s working,” he replied, wiping his forehead with a towel, his grin widening as he noticed your death grip on the machine. “You sure you’re good over there?”

“Oh, I’m… I’m great,” you lied, your face flaming as you tried to regain your composure. But he wasn’t done with you yet.

“Glad to hear it,” he said, voice way too smooth. He paused, then tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Gotta admit, though… this machine setup does feel a bit familiar.”

Your brain nearly exploded. Did he just—? He couldn’t mean… But his eyes sparkled with that infuriating, knowing look, and you knew exactly what he was hinting at. Your face went beet red as your foot slipped again, but this time you managed to catch yourself, narrowly avoiding another disaster.

“Uh-huh,” you said, laughing nervously, desperately trying to hold it together. “Well, enjoy your… uh, workout!”

“Oh, I am,” he said, chuckling softly. “Especially with the view.” He winked, setting up for another set while you tried not to spontaneously combust.

With one final, mortified glance, you turned your attention back to the stair climber, mentally swearing you’d never step foot in this gym again after this.

Since you survived the stair climber ordeal without faceplanting (barely), you decided it was time to move on. Somewhere—anywhere—that didn’t involve Bucky’s hip thrusts or his incessant, maddening smirk.

You zeroed in on the bench press. Safe, you thought, relieved. Just a standard exercise. Nothing suggestive, no chance of stumbling, tripping, or looking like a klutz. You grabbed the bar, took a deep breath, and mentally prepped yourself. Easy-peasy.

And then—because the universe simply refused to give you a break—you heard that all-too-familiar voice right beside you.

“Need a spot?”

You looked up and almost swallowed your tongue. There was Bucky, looming over you with that same damn smirk, wiping his hands on a towel like he was gearing up for some personal training session from your worst/best nightmares.

“Oh, uh… I—” you stammered, already feeling the heat creep up your neck. You’ve got this, you told yourself. Just let him help you. No big deal. You’re a mature, fully-functioning adult.

“Yeah, sure!” you squeaked, trying to sound normal as he stepped closer, positioning himself behind the bench. You laid back, gripping the bar, and immediately realized what a horrible, terrible mistake this was. You were now lying flat on your back, Bucky leaning over you, his face far too close as he focused on making sure you could lift the weight.

“You ready?” he asked, his face all business, but his lips still had that mischievous curve.

“Ready,” you mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but up at him, trying to ignore how absolutely awkwardly intimate this felt. You started your set, breathing steadily as you lifted the bar, determined to act as if this were a completely normal workout.

But then, midway through the reps, he leaned down a little closer. “By the way, did you check out my new video?”

Your hands nearly slipped. You fumbled the bar, barely catching it as your brain short-circuited. 

“W-What?” you managed, voice strangled, heart racing.

“My new video,” he repeated, casually reaching out to help guide the bar back into place as you struggled not to lose it. “Thought you might’ve seen it by now.”

Your cheeks flamed, but you somehow managed to choke out, “N-No! I… I haven’t seen it!”

Bucky chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow as he straightened up, his voice taking on a teasing, almost disappointed tone. 

“Oh. That’s a shame,” he said, smirk lingering. “Didn’t have a costar this time—just me, actually. First time I’ve ever done that.”

Your mouth dropped open. Just him? Your brain skidded to a halt. Suddenly, you were far too interested in a video you’d just denied seeing. 

“Oh, um… interesting?” you squeaked, trying to keep your face neutral but definitely failing.

“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug, looking at you with twinkling eyes. “Guess you’ll have to let me know what you think… whenever you get around to it.”

“Actually, I… uh… I kind of stopped watching… since we, you know… know each other. Just… feels awkward.”

Bucky’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up with amusement. 

“Oh, so you’re telling me we’re too close for you to watch my work now?” He raised an eyebrow, looking mockingly offended. “I thought we were supporting local artists.”

Your cheeks practically combusted as he said it, and you fumbled with the bar, desperately trying to pretend you hadn’t heard him. Supporting local artists? Was he serious right now?

“Oh my god,” you mumbled, absolutely mortified. “This is not— You’re not— I mean…!”

But he just looked down at you, that smug grin firmly in place as he leaned in, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered state. 

“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t you believe in supporting the arts?”

Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, words completely failing you. “This… this is not the same!” you finally blurted, clutching the bar like it was your only lifeline.

“Oh really?” he replied, chuckling. “Because it sounds like you’re saying we’re too close for me to keep doing what I do. You know, my passion.”

You practically choked, waving your hands around in frantic denial. “No! No! That’s not— I’m not stopping you! I’m just— I don’t know, maybe supporting from a… distant, supportive spiritual place?”

He laughed outright, shaking his head. “So, what—you’re like cheering me on… but from across the street?”

You nodded vigorously, still trying to save face. “Exactly! Just… supportive… but in a non-participatory kind of way.”

“Got it,” he said, smirking. “So, I’m officially your guilty pleasure now.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as he chuckled, clearly far too pleased with himself. 

Note to self: Avoid all future conversations with Bucky Barnes for the rest of eternity.

× × × × 

That evening, you were finally settled at your dining table, a bowl of pasta in front of you, determined to put the entire gym disaster behind you. You’d survived another encounter with Bucky—barely—and now all you wanted was some quiet, non-embarrassing time with carbs.

But as you twirled your fork in the noodles, your brain betrayed you, replaying his words from earlier.

“Did you check out my new video?”

You paused mid-bite, the fork hovering near your mouth as you stared blankly at the wall, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and dread bubbling up. What could he have meant by “just me”? You tried to shake it off, forcing another forkful of pasta into your mouth. Nope, not going there.

But the thought lingered, nudging you, until you found yourself setting down the fork, fingers hovering over your phone. Just one quick search, you reasoned, glancing around your empty apartment as if someone might catch you.

You typed in the familiar site, thumbs hesitating above the search bar, nearly typing “SergeantBarnes new video” before you snapped back to reality, dropping the phone like it burned.

“Oh, no,” you muttered to yourself, horrified at how close you’d come. “Absolutely not. What am I, insane?”

You shoved another forkful of pasta into your mouth, shaking your head furiously. “I am not doing this.”

But as you continued eating, your eyes kept darting back to the phone, the curiosity gnawing at you, leaving you torn between common sense and the very persuasive power of nosiness.

You took a deep breath, clenching your fists. “Get a grip, Y/N. You are absolutely not watching that video.”

...But maybe just a preview?

You groaned, stuffing your face with more pasta, determined to win this internal battle.

× × × ×

The next morning, just as you were heading out the door for work, you spotted something bright and obnoxiously neon-colored taped to the wall near the mailboxes. Curiosity got the better of you, and you stepped closer, squinting at the bold, glittery letters.

POOL PARTY THIS WEEKEND! it proclaimed. Food, drinks, music, fun! Don’t miss it!

You raised an eyebrow, debating if you’d actually brave a building-wide party when suddenly, the quiet hallway was shattered by a loud, unmistakably ecstatic moan. The kind that could only mean one thing.

From none other than Bucky’s apartment.

You froze, eyes widening in disbelief. Is that—? Is he—?

A second moan, even louder than the first, confirmed it. This wasn’t just any moan; this was the sound of someone—some woman—having the time of her life. At what had to be eight o’clock in the morning.

“Oh, seriously?!” you hissed under your breath, glancing down the hallway as if there might be witnesses to this auditory ambush. Just then, the woman’s voice hit a pitch so high it practically reverberated off the walls.

You winced, clutching your bag like it could somehow shield you from this. Who even has that much energy in the morning? You took a step back, hoping to escape the sonic nightmare, but the moans only got louder, each sound more animated than the last.

You threw your hands over your ears, eyes squeezed shut as you muttered furiously to yourself. 

“Nope, nope, absolutely not. Not today, not right now.” You spun on your heel, practically power-walking down the hall, doing your best to drown out the soundtrack blaring from his apartment.

“YES, SERGEANT! OH MY GOD!”

You practically stumbled, muttering an alarmed, “Oh my god, stop!” as you picked up the pace, pressing your hands even harder against your ears. It was like some kind of cruel game—the closer you got to the elevator, the louder it seemed to get, echoing in your ears like a siren you couldn’t escape.

You winced, feeling your face burn as you all but sprinted down the hall, chanting, “Nope, nope, NOPE!” under your breath like a mantra. It was as if your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough, each step a desperate attempt to put some distance between you and… whatever was happening in that apartment.

Finally, you made it to the elevator, slamming your finger against the button with more force than necessary, glancing nervously over your shoulder as if the sounds might follow you. The doors mercifully slid open, and you dove inside, leaning back against the wall and pressing your hands over your ears one last time, breathing a sigh of relief.

But just as the doors began to close, one last triumphant shout echoed down the hallway, loud and clear, like the universe had decided you hadn’t suffered enough.

You groaned, staring up at the ceiling as the doors shut, wondering if this building had any quiet hours, or if you were doomed to start every morning with a full-blown soundscape of… Bucky’s extracurricular activities.

Note to self: Invest in earplugs. Maybe some noise-canceling headphones. Or a new apartment altogether.

× × × ×

You arrived at work looking like you’d barely survived a natural disaster. Traumatized, sleep-deprived, and still hearing the morning’s very loud soundtrack echoing in your mind, you slumped into your chair, hoping to quietly blend into the office scenery and get through the day in peace.

Naturally, that was too much to ask.

“Whoa,” Trish said, swiveling in her chair to eye you like you were a science experiment gone wrong. “You look like you just spent a night in a haunted house.”

“Or… like you had a wild morning,” Amy added, raising her eyebrows. “You okay there, Y/N?”

“Fine,” you muttered, barely making eye contact as you set your bag down, trying to erase the vivid flashbacks of Bucky’s… extremely enthusiastic co-worker.

Before you could even recover, Trish leaned in, her grin spreading like wildfire. “Sooo… did you finally get around to watching Sergeant Barnes’ new video?”

Your head snapped up, heart stopping in your chest. “Wha—no! Why would I… I mean… I—”

“Oh, come on,” Amy said, nudging you like she’d just caught you in a guilty pleasure. “You don’t know what you’re missing. He’s alone in this one.” She leaned closer, adding in a stage whisper, “The man has talent.”

“Uh-huh,” Trish agreed, nodding like a sage. “No costars this time. Just him, going all in. It’s… impressive.”

You clutched the edge of your desk, mentally scrambling for any kind of response that would shut them down without revealing the secret you swore you’d take to the grave: that Sergeant Barnes was actually your neighbor.

You swallowed, managing to squeak out, “You know we’re in an office, right? As in, the place we do work?”

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re all professional now!” Trish smirked, crossing her arms as she gave you a knowing look. “You were all too eager to do some ‘research’ when we told you about him the first time.”

“Yeah!” Amy joined in, her grin absolutely diabolical. “You should be thanking us! The way you’re looking right now, I’d bet you already took a look this morning.”

You spluttered, mortified. “No! I mean, of course not! It’s just—this is… inappropriate.”

Amy snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh, sure. And here I thought you had a little curiosity.”

You glared, fully prepared to tell them off, but Amy cut in first, smirking as she leaned over your desk. 

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s just us girls. Tell me you don’t have some curiosity about what the man can do when it’s just him and the camera.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, struggling to keep your cool. “No, I’m not curious! Not at all. And maybe you two shouldn’t be either, because, oh, I don’t know… WE ARE AT WORK!”

They both cracked up, sharing a delighted high-five as you buried your face in your hands, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you.

“Oh, we’re just messing with you,” Trish said, barely holding back laughter. “But seriously, girl… you look like you need to unwind. Maybe with a drink or… you know… a little quality screen time?”

“Or maybe someone live and in-person?” Amy chimed in, waggling her eyebrows.

You groaned, face down on your desk, cursing the fact that they would never, ever know the full story.

× × × × 

You stepped into the lobby, utterly drained from the day, just as the elevator doors began to slide shut. Without a second thought, you bolted, slipping in right before they closed. Only then did you realize the universe was playing tricks on you.

Because standing right there, with a half-smirk on his face and way too much knowing mischief in his eyes, was Bucky. Alone.

You froze, instantly regretting every choice that had led to this moment. But it was too late now, so you plastered on a polite smile and tried not to look like a deer caught in headlights.

Bucky’s eyes twinkled as he took you in, leaning casually against the side of the elevator as he said, “Tired?”

You laughed, and before you could stop it, the laugh turned into a borderline deranged chuckle. 

“Oh, yes, thank you very much,” you replied, sarcasm slipping out before you could rein it in. Then, muttering under your breath but clearly audible, you added, “Maybe keep it down too… in the morning.”

He chuckled, looking way too amused. “Sorry about that. Work, you know? She, uh… went home right after, don’t worry.”

Your face went flaming hot, and you whipped your head to look straight ahead, pressing your lips together like that would somehow save you from this horror. 

“Oh, you don’t… you don’t have to explain it to me,” you stammered, feeling like your cheeks were practically on fire. “I’m not worried.”

The smirk only widened. “Good to know.” He leaned in just a little, adding, “I wouldn’t want to keep you up… unintentionally.”

You choked, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you let out a mortified laugh that you could barely stop from turning into a squeak. Just get to your floor, just get to your floor… you chanted internally, keeping your gaze laser-focused on the elevator doors.

But you could feel him watching you, could practically feel the amusement radiating off him as you tried to pretend that your life hadn’t just devolved into a rom-com nightmare.

Finally—finally—the elevator dinged at your floor. You stepped out, sighing with relief, only for Bucky to step out right behind you.

“Hey,” he called, making you pause and turn reluctantly. He was smiling, hands casually shoved into his pockets as he looked you over. “Are you coming to the rooftop pool party this weekend?”

“No,” you replied flatly, the answer escaping before you could even pretend to think about it.

He laughed, clearly not deterred. “Aw, come on. You sure? It’ll be fun.”

You shook your head vigorously, waving him off. “No, no, I’m good. I’m… not much of a party person.”

“Really?” he replied, stepping a little closer, his smile turning into something dangerously persuasive. “It’s just neighbors hanging out, not some crazy nightclub thing. Good music, food… probably no loud… work, either.”

You glared, suppressing an eye roll as he gave you a wink. “I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Oh, come on,” he said, still grinning. “If you don’t show up, who am I going to talk to about all the ‘work’ complaints?”

You stifled a laugh, trying to maintain your resolve. “Pretty sure there are other people you can bother with that.”

“But none of them have your… constructive feedback,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the floor as he pretended to look shy. “And honestly, I need someone to keep me in check. I’m a handful at parties. Who else is going to stop me from climbing onto tables?”

You snorted, crossing your arms as you tried not to crack a smile. “I highly doubt you’re a handful at a pool party.”

He raised an eyebrow, challenging you. “Come and find out.”

You looked away, shaking your head but feeling the corners of your mouth tug upward. “Bucky, I’m not going.”

“So, you’re saying you’ll leave me up there with all these people who… don’t know me as well as you do?” He tilted his head, giving you a mock-pout.

Your face turned red, and you sputtered, “I don’t know you! I barely know you!”

“Oh, so all those research sessions weren’t exactly getting to know me?” he replied, grinning as he watched you turn an even deeper shade of crimson.

“You—ugh, you’re impossible,” you muttered, finally laughing despite yourself.

“That’s what everyone says,” he said, his voice softening just a little as he held your gaze. “Come on, Y/N. I promise, no loud work. I’ll even save you a spot.”

You sighed, feeling the last bit of resistance crumble. “Fine. But only for an hour.”

He beamed, triumphant. “Deal. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find something to actually talk about… outside of work.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart did a little flip. This is going to be a disaster, you thought. But somehow, you didn’t mind as much as you thought you would.

× × × × 

The weekend took forever to arrive, but somehow, you survived it—mostly by avoiding Bucky and doing your best not to think about that ridiculously intriguing video he’d hinted at. Nope, not even a peek. It was your own personal victory, though it took every ounce of willpower you had.

And now, here you were, standing at the rooftop entrance, mentally psyching yourself up. You’d put on a two-piece swimsuit under a white sheer cover-up, feeling only slightly self-conscious as you stepped out. Only because you hated drawing attention to your body. 

The party was already in full swing, a mix of upbeat music and laughter filling the air. You scanned the crowd for a certain troublemaking neighbor, but no sign of him. Great, you thought, rolling your eyes. Bucky drags me up here, then vanishes like an ass. Typical.

You made a beeline for an empty lounge chair, setting down your bag and towel, hoping you’d have a chance to relax before anyone else noticed you. But just as you were about to sit, a deep voice called out.

“Hey there!”

You turned to see an equally impressive figure—a tall, muscular guy with a sun-kissed smile, striding over with a confident swagger. 

“I’m Johnny,” he said, flashing a grin as he handed you a cold glass of beer. “Welcome to the party.”

“Oh! Thanks,” you said, taking the glass, feeling only slightly overwhelmed by all the testosterone on this rooftop. “Nice to meet you, Johnny.”

“Likewise,” he said, eyes flicking over you with the appreciation of someone who knew exactly what he was looking at. “Didn’t expect to see a new face up here. I know most of the regulars.”

“Yeah, I… usually keep to myself,” you admitted, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze.

“Well, glad you’re here,” he said smoothly, gesturing to a chair beside yours. “Mind if I join you?”

Before you could answer, another familiar voice cut through the air, low and unmistakably amused. “Johnny.”

You turned slowly, bracing yourself for whatever cocky look Bucky had in store, but when you finally laid eyes on him, your brain just… stopped. No thoughts, head empty, because the second he strolled into view, you swore you heard the sultry opening saxophone of Careless Whisper start playing, echoing dramatically in your head like some corny, slow-motion rom-com entrance.

He moved in perfect sync to the imaginary music in your head, each step more absurdly cinematic than the last. This can’t be happening, you thought, but somehow, there he was—tan skin, swim trunks slung just right, and that damn casual shirt hanging open over his shoulders. The man looked like a vacation ad, except he was bringing you dangerously close to a heatstroke.

As he got closer, the sax solo in your mind reached ridiculous, life-altering levels of intensity. Why do you have to look like this? you thought, nearly choking on the vision before you. Bucky’s smirk turned into something almost smug, like he knew exactly what effect he was having, as if he, too, could hear the George Michael anthem of seduction playing in your head. You half-expected him to whip out an actual saxophone and start serenading you right there.

You swallowed, barely keeping yourself from drooling, and willed yourself to stay composed. Get a grip, you told yourself, though you were about 98% certain your jaw was on the verge of dropping.

“Sorry, Johnny,” he said smoothly, not even glancing at the other guy. “I think she already has company.”

You quickly tried to compose yourself, forcing a neutral expression as you willed your face not to betray the sheer catastrophe your brain was going through. 

“Oh, hey, Bucky,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t sound as strangled as you felt. Inside, you were practically screaming. Why do you have to look like a freaking Greek god, Barnes? It’s rude, honestly.

Johnny raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “You two know each other?”

Bucky leaned casually against the lounge chair next to yours, flashing a grin that practically oozed mischief. 

“You could say that. She’s my neighbor,” he said, his tone implying… well, all sorts of things. You immediately knew that everyone within earshot was definitely getting the wrong idea. “And I’ve been trying to get her to come out of her shell for a while now.”

Come out of her shell? You wanted to throttle him. But before you could retort, Johnny, ever the gentleman, just gave you a knowing wink and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. 

“Well, guess I’ll let you take over, then,” he said, sauntering off with an amused smile.

You sighed, turning to face Bucky, who looked all too pleased with himself as he settled in beside you, stretching out like he owned the place. 

“So, you made it,” he said, taking a leisurely sip of his drink as his eyes did a once-over that was a little too thorough.

“Yep,” you replied, your voice barely concealing your exasperation. “I showed up, just like I said I would. Where were you?”

He shrugged, that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. “Was just giving you a chance to make some new friends,” he said, his tone way too casual.

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the beer Johnny had given you. “Please. You just love making an entrance.”

He chuckled, clinking his glass with yours. “Can’t say you’re wrong about that.”

As he leaned back, his gaze lingered a little too long, making your cheeks heat up. 

“Nice cover-up, by the way,” he commented, smirk widening. “It’s… modest.”

You shot him a look, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the sheer fabric draped over your swimsuit. “Why, thank you. That was kind of the point.”

“Yeah?” he replied, his voice dropping just a notch. “Shame, though. Bet that swimsuit’s got a whole lot of personality under there.”

You practically choked on your drink, coughing as you glared at him. “You’re such a flirt, Barnes.”

He chuckled, clearly unbothered by your reaction. “Hey, just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

You settled back in your chair, determined not to let him get the upper hand. But as you sat there, pretending to ignore him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything, you were enjoying this game just as much as he was.

You took a deep breath, narrowing your eyes at Bucky, who was looking far too pleased with himself. 

“Like I said, just one hour,” you told him firmly, crossing your arms as if that would somehow fortify your resolve against whatever mischievous plans he undoubtedly had.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning even more devilish. “Oh, I’m sure an hour will be more than enough.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “For what? So you can drive me insane and then sit back and enjoy the show?”

He chuckled, leaning a little closer, and you felt your heart rate spike. “Maybe. But I was thinking more along the lines of just… keeping you entertained.”

“Oh, I’m plenty entertained, thanks,” you shot back, trying to sound unimpressed despite the heat creeping up your neck.

He shrugged, unfazed, and settled back into his lounge chair. 

“Good. Then let’s make it the best hour of your week,” he said, flashing you a wink that sent a new wave of exasperation—and, annoyingly, a bit of excitement—through you.

You huffed, shaking your head as you took a sip of your drink, determined not to let him see just how much that smirk was affecting you. Just one hour, you reminded yourself. What could possibly happen in one hour?

As you and Bucky settled into a strange, almost comfortable silence, you heard a booming voice from across the pool.

“CHICKEN FIGHT!” Johnny’s voice rang out, loud and enthusiastic, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention.

You whipped your head around, eyes widening. Johnny was wading into the pool, rallying everyone like some kind of pool party commander. “Come on! Everyone in! We need two teams!”

“Oh, no,” you muttered under your breath, instinctively shrinking into your lounge chair, hoping you’d be overlooked in the shuffle. Absolutely not happening, you thought, clutching your drink like a lifeline.

But Bucky, of course, was already grinning ear to ear. He turned to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement and mischief. 

“You heard him,” he said, patting your shoulder like this was some team-building exercise. “We’re going in.”

“What? No!” you hissed, clutching your drink tighter as if that would save you. “I didn’t sign up for a chicken fight. I’m just here for moral support.”

Bucky laughed, standing up and stretching in that way that only he could pull off without looking ridiculous. 

“Oh, come on,” he said, flashing you that smug, challenging grin. “Afraid of a little friendly competition?”

You shook your head, digging your heels in. “Nope. Not happening. And it’s not friendly—it’s dangerous!”

“Oh, don’t be such a chicken.” His smirk widened, and then, with a theatrical sigh, he added, “Guess I’ll just have to find someone braver.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh, you’re really going to play that card?”

He shrugged, glancing around with feigned disappointment. “Guess so. Shame though. I thought you could handle it.”

It was the final straw. With an exasperated groan, you threw down your drink and stood up. 

“Fine! I’ll do it.” The second the words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, especially as you saw Bucky’s smirk morph into full-blown satisfaction.

“Perfect,” he said, clearly thrilled with himself.

You sighed, slipping off your sheer cover-up, feeling a sudden self-consciousness as you stood there in just your swimsuit. Bucky’s gaze flicked over you with open admiration, his grin widening just a bit. You forced yourself to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, rolling your eyes at his blatant staring.

“Enjoying the view?” you deadpanned.

“Oh, absolutely,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes twinkling. “But we’ve got a fight to win.”

Before you could second-guess your decision, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the pool. Johnny spotted the two of you and cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “Yes! We got a team! Bucky and… Y/N, right?”

You forced a smile, giving him a thumbs-up while silently planning your escape route. But before you knew it, you were waist-deep in the water, Bucky hoisting you up with surprising ease, positioning you on his shoulders.

“Oh my god, this is insane,” you muttered, gripping onto his head for balance as he adjusted to your weight. “I feel like a five-year-old at a theme park.”

“Just hold on,” he chuckled, steadying himself under you. “I’ve got you.”

Your heart skipped a beat as his hands firmly held your thighs, and suddenly, this was a whole new level of intense. Focus on the fight, not the incredibly attractive man holding you in the pool, you told yourself, cheeks flaming.

Johnny waded over with his partner—a muscular, tattooed guy named Jake who was definitely taking this way too seriously. 

“Ready to lose, Barnes?” Jake taunted, grinning up at you.

Bucky chuckled, his hands tightening on your legs just slightly. “Not a chance.”

“Alright, you’re up top!” Johnny yelled, clapping his hands. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”

You barely had time to brace yourself before Jake and his partner charged at you, water splashing everywhere as they made their move. Instinctively, you shrieked, grabbing onto Bucky’s hair for dear life as the force of the impact sent you both wobbling.

“Easy on the hair!” Bucky grunted, though he was laughing, his shoulders steadying beneath you as he held his ground.

“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, adjusting your grip. But before you could even catch your breath, Jake’s partner was lunging at you again, arms flailing as he tried to knock you off balance.

“Oh, no you don’t!” you muttered, your competitive spirit kicking in. You threw your hands out, grabbing his wrists and pushing back with everything you had, determined to hold your ground.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Bucky cheered from below, his laughter bubbling up as he shifted to help keep you steady. “Show ‘em what you’ve got!”

Fueled by his encouragement—and a surprising amount of adrenaline—you leaned forward, pushing against Jake’s partner with all your strength. The guy’s face twisted in concentration, but with one final shove, you managed to throw him off balance. He teetered, arms flailing, before finally toppling backward into the water with a massive splash.

“Yes!” you shouted, punching the air triumphantly as Johnny and Jake went down in a flurry of water and defeat. “Suck on that!”

The words had barely left your mouth when reality crashed back in. You blinked, suddenly realizing that maybe—just maybe—you’d gotten a little too carried away. Oh god, did I really just shout that? you thought, the heat rushing to your cheeks as your triumphant grin quickly turned into a sheepish smile.

“Well, look at you,” Bucky chuckled from below, clearly amused by your victory-induced outburst. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”

“Yeah, well… neither did I,” you muttered, feeling the embarrassment settling in as you tried to slide off his shoulders, desperate to save whatever shred of dignity you had left. But as you started to wriggle down, you realized Bucky’s hands were still firmly gripping your thighs, holding you in place.

You froze, looking down at him. “Uh, Bucky… you can, you know… let go now.”

He glanced up, smirking. “Oh, but you’re comfortable up there. Why rush it?”

You huffed, your face going a deeper shade of red. “Because I’m very much done being the human flagpole, thank you very much.”

Bucky’s grin only widened as he kept his hold, clearly enjoying the situation far more than he should. “Nah, I think I like you right where you are. Adds a bit of… height to my reputation.”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling your mortification level spike. “If you don’t let me down, I swear I’ll—”

“Fine, fine,” he laughed, finally loosening his grip, letting you slide back into the water. But just as your feet touched down, he didn’t back away—instead, he shifted closer, his hands still lingering on your waist, his gaze locking onto yours with a look that sent your pulse racing.

You took a half-step back, but there was no real room to escape, not with the edge of the pool just behind you and Bucky’s broad frame in front, all mischief and steady, unbreakable eye contact. 

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “you could stay longer.”

Your breath hitched as Bucky leaned just the slightest bit closer, his hands still warm and steady on your waist, his smirk turning softer yet somehow more intense. Every nerve in your body seemed to jolt to life as he held your gaze.

You cleared your throat, attempting to find your voice amid the chaos of your thoughts. 

“Uh… stay longer? For what?” you managed, trying to sound casual, though your pulse was anything but.

His smirk grew, the corners of his mouth lifting in that way that was dangerously charming. 

“For the victory lap, of course,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “After all, we did just crush the competition. Wouldn’t want you running off too fast.”

“Oh, right, a victory lap,” you muttered, trying to regain your composure but finding it difficult with his hands still lingering on your waist. “But I think the whole pool just watched that ‘lap’…”

“Then they got a good show,” he chuckled, his voice warm with that teasing tone you were starting to know all too well. “But the best part of winning is savoring it… right here.”

Your face went hot as his fingers brushed slightly against your sides, sending a little spark of energy straight up your spine. 

“Bucky,” you said, the word barely a whisper. “You’re… awfully close.”

“Oh, am I?” He didn’t back away; instead, he raised a brow, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Didn’t hear you complaining when you were up there, champ.”

Your cheeks went impossibly warmer. “That was different. That was, you know… competitive. Strategic.”

“Competitive and strategic?” he echoed, his grin turning almost wicked. “Well, in that case…” He shifted his hands slightly, bringing you even closer as he leaned in. “Let’s see if you’re still competitive outside the game.”

He hovered just a breath away, his gaze flickering to your lips for a moment that felt like an eternity. You felt yourself leaning in almost on instinct, your pulse racing, and for one wild, heart-stopping second, it seemed like he might actually kiss you.

But then, as if on cue, someone nearby let out a loud, obnoxious cheer, snapping both of you out of the moment. The sound jolted you, and you quickly took a step back, breaking the tension as reality crashed in.

Bucky chuckled softly, looking slightly too smug as he let his hands fall from your waist. 

“Guess that victory lap will have to wait,” he murmured, giving you one last look that promised he wasn’t quite finished with his teasing yet.

You swallowed, desperately trying to get your heart rate back to normal. “Yeah, guess so.”

As the night went on, you’d lost count of how many concoction drinks had been handed to you, and at this point, your usual sense of caution was practically nonexistent. The rooftop was a haze of laughter, lights, and music, and the whole place felt like it was buzzing with energy. Any embarrassment from earlier had dissolved into pure, uninhibited confidence, each drink making you feel bolder than the last.

One minute, you were in a drinking game, cheering Bucky on as he took down a round of shots like it was nothing. The next, you found yourself in a game of truth or dare that had somehow escalated into body shots. You’d laughed, nearly choking on your drink, when you saw Bucky sprawled out on a table, daring you with that infuriating grin to take your turn.

“Oh, come on, that's not fair,” you slurred, trying to wave off the dare as he raised an eyebrow, that smug look firmly in place.

“Back out now if you can’t handle it,” he teased, lying back and folding his arms behind his head, acting like he hadn’t a care in the world.

The crowd cheered you on, and fueled by liquid courage, you rolled your eyes and leaned down, pressing your lips to his abs, feeling his warm skin under your touch as you took the shot in a quick, heated moment. His laughter mingled with the cheers around you, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush from the attention, from his gaze, from the heat spreading across your face.

Before you knew it, you were in a round of flip cup with Bucky as your teammate, and he downed his drink, slamming his cup down with a victorious shout. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you up and spinning you around, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand straight when he finally set you down.

Somehow, you ended up on the makeshift dance floor, music thumping as the party around you roared on, the lights around the rooftop pool casting a glow over everyone. You’d danced with other people throughout the night, but Bucky seemed to have a way of drawing you back, his energy magnetic, his laughter contagious. It was like he was everywhere you turned, keeping pace with you, matching every laugh and smirk with one of his own.

The music thumped, lights flashed, and the DJ’s voice blared over the speakers, “Alright, party people! Here’s the deal—find someone you want to… get close to tonight and give them a kiss, a hug, heck, even a lick if you’re feeling bold!”

Everyone around you burst into cheers and laughter, the party’s energy wild and reckless. By now, you were buzzing on so much liquid courage that everything felt like the best idea ever, including the fact that you were swaying against Bucky, who’d somehow stayed by your side all night.

He leaned in, his smirk way too mischievous, and the alcohol made it feel impossibly close. 

“Did you hear that?” he slurred, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. “I think it’d be a shame if we ignore the DJ’s request don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off, but he just grinned wider, leaning in until his cheek was practically pressed against yours. 

“Hold still,” he whispered, a laugh lurking in his voice.

Then, in a move so outrageous you could barely comprehend it, he dragged his tongue slowly from your chin up to your forehead.

“Bucky!” you shrieked, stumbling back and half falling over yourself, laughter bubbling out of you as you clutched your face in shock. “Oh my god, you did not just—”

He stepped back, looking beyond pleased with himself, the grin on his face pure, unfiltered pride. 

“What? I’m just being… obedient,” he slurred, raising his hands in mock innocence.

“You are the worst!” you squealed, laughing so hard you could barely keep it together, grabbing his arm as you steadied yourself, still half in disbelief. He just chuckled, clearly reveling in your reaction as he pulled you right back into the rhythm, your laughter mixing with the cheers around you as the dance floor pulsed with music.

They cranked up the music, and suddenly, the beat was all around you, pulsing through the crowd, as if daring everyone to let loose. The energy was infectious, and you found yourself moving in sync with him, laughing as you danced together, every touch and sway between you crackling with a chemistry that had been simmering all night.

Without thinking, you stepped closer, your hands drifting to his chest, letting your fingers splay against the warm, solid muscle. Your movements grew slower, more deliberate, and his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you against him until there was barely any space left between you. His gaze dropped, glued on your lips, and you felt a shiver run through you, your breath hitching as he leaned in, his face just inches from yours. His nose brushed yours, and you looked up to meet his gaze, seeing the same surprised intensity reflected in his eyes.

Bucky held your gaze, his breath mingling with yours, and you could feel the tension building, electric and undeniable. He was waiting—leaving the next move up to you. If you wanted him, you knew he’d let you take him.

🎶Just let me know, can you be the one to hold and not let me go?🎶

Heart pounding, you somehow managed to press yourself even closer, feeling the swell of your chest against him, igniting a flush across his cheeks. But it wasn’t embarrassment you saw in his eyes—it was heat, a look that sent a thrill down your spine. His hand shifted, his fingers tracing along the curve of your hip, and you could feel the strength of his grip as he held you.

🎶I need to know, could you be the one to call when I lose control?🎶

The tension was unbearable, and as you tilted your face up, your lips brushed his in the softest, most hesitant caress—a question, an invitation. His resolve crumbled instantly. His hand slid to your waist, gripping the flesh there as his other hand threaded into your hair, guiding your head back so he could kiss you deeper, tasting you with an intensity that left you breathless. You let out a startled, breathless sound, and he responded by pulling you closer, cradling your face as if you were something precious, something he couldn’t bear to let go of.

Your lips parted for him, and he kissed you with a hunger that had been building for some time. His tongue traced yours, swallowing your quiet moans, anchoring you to him as his hand kept you steady. It wasn’t forceful, just… tender, like he was holding something priceless.

Your breaths came heavy, your cheeks flushed, but you barely noticed; all you could feel was him, his touch, his heartbeat pounding against yours, and the fire in his veins matching your own. In that moment, propriety, the crowd around you, everything else faded into oblivion. If he wanted you to take him right there, you couldn’t even think of saying no.

Every nerve in your body was alive, tingling with an incredible sense of lust and need as his arms held you close. His lips pressed harder, deepening the kiss, his passion and intensity only spurring you to match it. You melted against him, completely consumed by the heat and need between you, and for those moments, it was as if nothing else existed. Oxygen became secondary; the only thing that mattered was the connection between you, growing more fervent with each second.

Finally, when the need for air became overwhelming, you both broke apart, gasping, your faces inches from each other, breaths mingling as you took each other in. His lips tingled, mirroring your own, and every beat of your heart seemed to urge you back into his embrace.

“Let’s get out of here… yours or mine?” Bucky stammered between breaths, his voice husky, his eyes still filled with fire. His body radiated heat, and he looked like he’d dive into the pool at any second just to cool down.

“Mine,” you whispered, your voice breathless, cheeks flushed, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you held his gaze.

× × × × 

You both barely made it down the hallway before the urgency hit, the tension that had been building all night finally snapping. Bucky’s hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, pulling you against him as you fumbled for your keys, the both of you practically tripping over each other in your haste. As soon as you managed to unlock the door, you pushed it open, stumbling inside, his mouth crashing into yours before it even closed behind you.

Wetness pooled inside you, the need for him overwhelming as you pressed back against the door, his body meeting yours in a frenzy of heat and desperation. His stubble scraped against your skin, rough and deliciously manly, a reminder that he was all raw power and intensity. You loved it, the way it scratched against your cheek, adding to the thrill and making your skin tingle wherever he touched.

His lips found the side of your neck, warm and insistent as he kissed his way down, nipping softly, each touch leaving you breathless. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, exposing the full length of your neck to his hungry mouth. His hands slid up your sides, his fingers pressing in firmly, possessively, as his teeth grazed your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through you.

“God,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

You could only gasp, clutching onto him as his mouth moved up to your jaw, his hands never stilling, gripping you as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Bucky reached a hand up and placed it on your left breast, over the bikini top, and then brought his hand up to the back of your neck to pull you in closer to him. You undid the straps of your top, and down fell the top, exposing your naked breasts to him.

Holy shit—this can’t be real. Am I hallucinating? Is this actually happening? Wait—oh god, is he about to put my boobs in his mouth?!

Like a hungry child desperate for milk Bucky suckled on your nipple, squeezing the bottom of your breast passionately with one hand, and holding the other breast in his other hand. You looked down at him, licking, sucking, rubbing, and he looked as though he was transported to paradise.

He worked himself into a frenzy playing with your breast, until he wanted more. He lifted you up under your thighs, off the floor, and pressed your back against the wall.

Oh shit!

He kissed you again, his hand sliding down to press against you over your bikini bottom. With a quick, desperate motion, he tugged the fabric to the side, his fingers brushing bare skin, making your breath hitch.

As his hand cupped you, he began to move slowly, his fingers exploring, teasing. “Damn,” he murmured, his voice thick with surprise and satisfaction. “You’re so wet. Is this what happens every time you watch my videos?”

“M-maybe…” you stammered, cheeks heating, barely able to meet his eyes as a grin spread across his face.

His fingers slid inside you, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion sending sparks through your entire body. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he asked, “How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan as he continued, each movement intensifying the heat pooling inside you. 

“Mmmh—why would I tell you that?” you managed, trying to sound teasing but barely able to keep your voice steady.

His grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his fingers pressed deeper, his thumb brushing against you just right. “Because I want to hear every filthy detail.”

He kissed your other nipple, the one he missed when before. Bucky always gave equal time to the breasts. Suckling on one nipple, fingering you harder and harder, you were getting more and more excited for the moment he would penetrate you.

“Oh my god—” You swallowed, feeling your face heat up and you could feel yourself slightly sobering up. With a nervous laugh, you finally gave in, your voice soft but steady.

“Fine… sometimes, late at night—ah—I’d imagine you between my legs, devouring me like your life depended on it,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks burn. “I’d—fuck—I’d think about your hands, the way they’d feel inside me, moving exactly like this…mmmh,” you gasped as his fingers pressed deeper, your own words sparking the desire between you. 

His fingers never stopped their steady, torturous rhythm, each movement deliberate, coaxing you toward the edge with a patience that was as maddening as it was intoxicating.

“And? That’s it?” he asked, his tone thick with amusement, daring you to reveal more. His thumb brushed against you in just the right way, as if encouraging you to keep talking, to give him every last detail he was craving.

“And—hah—I’d picture you… spitting in my mouth while you’re turning me on, you’d put your hand on my neck while I beg you to i dunno? reorganize my guts—because you’re so big Bucky. . . I don’t think you’ll fit inside me.”

“Oh the innocent looking ones are always the dirtiest.” Bucky’s smirk turned darker, his fingers pressing into you with a newfound intensity, his digits hooking and pressing into your most sensitive spot, causing your hips to jerk against his palm. 

“And was I just as good in your imagination as I am now?” he murmured, voice low and rough, sending shivers straight down your spine.

“Yes… yes…” The words left your lips almost involuntarily, your hands gripping his shoulders as your nails dug in, grounding yourself against the overwhelming sensation. Your face twisted with pleasure, each stroke of his digits making it harder to catch your breath. 

Bucky’s eyes darkened with a fierce satisfaction as he watched you, his smirk deepening. “Better than you imagined?”

"Mhhm," you tried to respond, but it came out more like a needy moan, your voice barely a whisper under the intensity of his touch.

Bucky's smirk grew at the sound, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he took in every reaction, every tremble. "That’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice dark and teasing.

Bucky carried you through the open door of your bedroom, his movements purposeful, every touch sending sparks across your skin. When he reached the edge of the bed, he lowered you onto the mattress, but before letting you go, he bent down to capture your lips in a kiss—a kiss that felt as intimate as it did electrifying.

You couldn’t help but notice the difference; this was something he never did in his videos. Bucky never kissed anyone on the lips on screen. But here, he kissed you slowly, deeply.

His hands moved to your shoulders, firm but gentle as he guided you back into the soft downy mattress. “There you go, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and low. “Lean back.”

He knelt down at the side of the bed. He pulled off your panties, the final barrier to your sex. He pushed your legs apart and back, and gazed at your pussy, already wet for him.

He stared at your exposed pussy for ten seconds, admiring it like it was the greatest work of art he had ever seen.

"Your pussy," he said, his lips nearly brushing your sex. "It's beautiful.”

You lifted your  head up and looked at him. Your jaw was dropped and you were already starting to feel tingles up your body, even though he hadn't licked you yet. You heard his breathing get heavier and heavier, he was so excited to put his lips on your pussy.

Two large fingers of his left hand spread your lips. Two large fingers of his right hand rubbed your clit in strong circles. Each circle sends a shock wave through your body.

"You smell fantastic," he declared, and he dove his mouth right on top of your wet and stimulated clit. Up and down he licked. Up and down, his mouth clasped tight against your pussy.

"Oh," you moaned, as your eyes rolled up to the back of your head. Your arms—with a mind of their own—grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted them back, presenting yourself to this man who used to be on the screen and was now bringing you to ecstasy. He'd only just started to lick you, but even so you felt ready for him to enter you and never leave. 

As Bucky continued to eat you like you’re his last meal, each suction sending thrills through you, a sudden wave of doubt crashed over you, freezing you in place. Images flooded your mind—women he’d been with, all effortlessly beautiful, the kind who exuded confidence and allure. How could you compare? This had to be nothing more than another fleeting thing for him, a “friendship” that would end the moment the night was over.

You tensed, your hands moving to gently push him back. “Bucky… wait,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looked up from between your legs, his expression softening instantly as he met your gaze. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle, concerned.

“I… I just…” You stammered, the words getting caught in your throat before you finally managed, “I don’t want to be… one of your girls.”

Bucky blinked, taken aback, his expression shifting as if the words had struck something unexpected, almost offended. 

“One of my girls?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you searched for the right way to explain. “I… I don’t do one-night stands,” you admitted, feeling vulnerable. 

Bucky nodded slowly, his tongue pressing into his cheek as he rose to his feet. "Mhm—no, I get it... it's because of my job," he said, his tone carrying a hint of defensiveness.

You sat up, noticing the shift in his demeanor. "Are you mad?" you asked softly, uncertainty creeping into your voice.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not mad," he replied, though his clenched jaw suggested otherwise. "I just didn't think you'd see me that way."

"See you what way?" you pressed gently.

He met your gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "Like I'm some guy who just goes around collecting flings," he explained. "I thought you knew me better than that."

You swallowed, choosing your words carefully. “It's not that I think poorly of you,” you said. “It's just... your work makes things complicated for me. I don't want to be another notch on anyone's belt.”

He took a deep breath, his expression softening. “I understand where you're coming from,” he admitted. “But believe me when I say that this—” he gestured between the two of you “—is different for me.”

“How do I know that?” you asked quietly.

He stepped closer, his eyes sincere. “Because I don't share moments like this with just anyone,” he said. “You think I go around kissing people like that? Off-camera, in my real life?”

Bucky’s expression shifted, his brows knitting together as he crossed his arms, clearly growing more frustrated. “I thought you knew the difference between who I am on-camera and who I am off it,” he replied, his tone clipped.

You sighed, trying to hold your ground. “Bucky, you’re the one who kept teasing me to watch your videos, practically encouraging me to make it my new hobby—how am I supposed to ignore what you do?”

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “Because those videos aren’t me,” he said, voice rising. “You’re acting like everything I do there is just some extension of my personal life, but it’s a job, Y/N. I don’t go around living like that off-set.”

You crossed your arms, not caring that the blanket had slipped off, leaving you bare before him. 

“And I’m supposed to just... pretend that all of it doesn’t mean anything?” you shot back, feeling a twinge of vulnerability but refusing to let it show. “You kept making those jokes, those comments—you have to see how confusing it is for me.”

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “And you think I just do that with everyone? That every person who walks into my life gets these... moments with me?” His gaze softened slightly as he gestured between the two of you. “If that were the case, do you think I’d be here, right now, trying to convince you?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat. His intensity was throwing you off balance, forcing you to question your assumptions. You’d expected him to brush this off or laugh, not take it to heart.

He shook his head, a frustrated laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it, do you?” He looked at you, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t have to be here, fighting for this. I could have walked away and yet here I am.”

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat as the weight of his words settled heavily between you. The intensity of his gaze, the raw honesty in his voice—it was all too much, too fast, and yet it tugged at something deep inside you, making it impossible to brush off. But your heart was pounding, confusion and vulnerability swirling together, and you weren’t ready to face everything his words were unearthing.

“I… I think we should call it a night,” you said quietly, barely able to meet his gaze, the words coming out softer than you intended.

For a moment, he looked at you, his expression unreadable, and you could see him processing your response. Then, with a quiet sigh, he nodded, stepping back to give you space.

“Alright,” he replied, his voice subdued. “If that’s what you want.”

The room felt suddenly colder, the tension between you now tinged with a quiet ache. You could tell he was holding back more that he wanted to say, but he respected your decision, his expression guarded as he looked away.

You bit your lip, your mind racing with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say, with emotions you weren’t quite ready to admit. 

“Thank you… for understanding,” you managed, feeling the weight of your choice settle over you.

He gave a small nod, his jaw tight, before he turned toward the door. 

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly, pausing for a moment as if hoping you might change your mind, before finally leaving your apartment, the main door shutting made you flinch even though Bucky closed it softly.

The silence that followed felt heavier than you expected. The tension that had filled the room moments ago lingered, and a wave of frustration washed over you, mixing with regret and uncertainty. You took a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow, buried your face into it, and let out a muffled scream, releasing all the emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. The pillow absorbed the sound, but it did nothing to ease the twist of emotions churning inside you. Finally, you pulled the pillow away, feeling just as conflicted as before, wondering if you’d made the right choice… or a terrible mistake.

tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714

@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101

@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld

[classyrbf]

NOT GOOD ENOUGH! — TOJI FUSHIGURO

SYNOPSIS...after child birth, you don’t feel or look the same as before, brining on new insecurities and anger stirring within yourself

INFO...husband!toji x fem!reader, angst with a happy ending, mentions of child birth, weight gain, stretch marks, feeling ugly, body checking, just very insecure and upset reader, slight jealousy, toji being there for you, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

toji notices how quiet you are when you both arrive back home from Shiu’s birthday party. You didn’t say a word to him on the drive back home and you aren’t speaking to him now that you walked through the door. All you do is head straight to your shared bedroom, heels clicking against the floor. He can’t understand what’s wrong, he’s trying his hardest to piece together what may have went wrong tonight but nothing comes to mind. He was hoping that this night out would be fun and special considering it’s the first time you guys have had alone time since giving birth to Megumi almost a year ago now.

But that frown on your face and the silent treatment makes a pit settle in his stomach because this isn’t you. He follows you to the bedroom where you’re sitting, turned away from him, taking your heels off. “Can we talk?” He breaks the silence, leaning against the wooden door.

“Not right now.” You clear your throat, avoiding any eye contact with him as you throw your shoes in the mess that is your closet. “Can you get out? I need to change.” You’re snatching clothes out the dresser, your tone flat and bored.

“Get out? You always change in front of me—”

“Just get out, Toji!” You walk over to the bedroom door, slamming it in his face and locking it. He stands there, confused.

But behind closed doors, you cautiously remove your dress that you’ve been so excited to wear for months now. Except, it didn’t look how you expected it to. The whole night, the moment you put it on, it just didn’t seem to look right. Your arms had extra fat, your stomach was chubby and everytime you sat down you could feel it hang over your underwear, and your thighs were squeezing against the fabric. But it wasn’t just the dress, it was everything. For weeks and weeks you’ve been feeling like absolute garbage, reminiscing over how you used to look before child birth. The dark circles were new, you the stretch marks on your stomach and thighs that seemed like they’d never go away. The brittleness of your hair, and your mood swings that had you questioning if you’re overreacting or not.

You felt ugly. That’s it. Inside and out. The way you looked and how you acted towards toji and yourself, it wasn’t you. And you would never blame your son over this, no, he was the most precious baby ever, and you loved him with all your heart. You just wish you’d had started taking care of yourself sooner. When you look in the mirror, you’re reminded that your husband can do so much better, thinking of all the attractive women that were trying to talk to him today at the party. You couldn’t help but compare yourself, how much better looking they were and how full of life they looked. Maybe he would enjoy someone younger and happier, instead of having to come home to a miserable, insecure wife who wouldn’t even let her own husband touch her.

You frowned, tears welling up in your eyes as you stared at yourself, the palm of your hand running over your stomach, feeling the loose skin. Your eyes drifted to your sagging breasts, thinking of how they only look good in a supported bra now. Tears. All you felt were the tears streaming down your cheeks, slipping on your baggy shirt and pants to hide each and every bad thing you thought about yourself.

“Mama, open the door. Are you crying?” Toji called from behind the door, twisting the handle back and forth like it would somehow magically unlock.

“I-I’m fine! I’m still getting dressed!” You wiped your tears, a weak attempt at hiding your feelings.

“Bullshit. Open the door, tell me what’s going on with you. Y/n, I swear I’ll break this damn door down. Please, open it.” You shuffled your feet across the floor, unlocking the door for him. He immediately stepped through, concerned eyes scanning over you. “Mama, what happened? What’s going on with you, hm?” He cupped your face, searching your glossy eyes.

You immediately broke, clutching onto him as you sobbed into his chest. “I’m sorry, Toji,” you hiccuped. His arms held you close, wrapping his warmth around you.

“Shh, shh. You got nothing to apologize for.” He kissed the top of your head, caressing his hand up and down your back. “Talk to me.” You shake your head, finding it embarrassing to even talk about, but he doesn’t take no for an answer. He cups your face again and forces you to look at him, wiping your tears away. “Did I do something?” He questions.

“No, no,” you sniffle. “I just…I don’t know how to explain it without feeling stupid.” It frustrates you to your core, having all these bottled up feelings inside of you but finding it so difficult to explain. It’s overwhelming, every single bit of it.

“You’re not stupid. Come here, sit down and talk with me.” He holds your shaking hand while guiding you to the bed, both of you sitting on the edge as you attempt to catch your breath.

“Tonight, I was excited to spend some alone time with you. I got dressed and did my makeup and hair, but…I didn’t feel comfortable or pretty or anything. I haven’t been feeling like that for a good while now, Toji.” Your voice cracks, hot tears brimming your eyes once more. “I look at myself and see how much weight I’ve gained, my stomach, arms, thighs, everything! And I hate it! I hate looking at myself because it makes me so angry and ugly. So, I get jealous and insecure when I see other women near you. Like tonight.” Your lip quivers, hiding your face in your hands. “And I’m sorry I took it out on you,” your voice breaks through the sobs, vision blurry. “I’m sorry that I’m not better.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mama? Better? You’re already fucking perfect.” He sits up. “Look at me.” And you hesitantly do so, frowning, your eyes puffy and red. “I don’t care about anyone else but you and our son. Our son that you gave life to, birthed him from your own body. You’re fucking incredible for that. So, no, I don’t give a damn about your weight or stretch marks or anything else your pretty little head is making you overthink about.” He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Toji…” you trail off. His words only make you more emotional, his reassurance providing you comfort and security.

“You’re beautiful no matter what. I married you. You didn’t marry me. I wanted you the second I laid eyes on you, mama, are you kidding?” He chuckles, making you smile in response. “See, there’s that smile.”

“Stop.” You stifle a laugh, covering your face with your hand.

“Never. You’re stuck with me. You’re stuck with me forever. I signed up for forever, okay? We could be all old and wrinkly together and I’ll still think you’re the most beautiful woman in this world. So, baby, please don’t beat yourself up because you don’t look like some fake ass super model or some random girl you see on the street. From the tips of your toes, to the top of your head, you’re all mine.” He presses a kiss to your cheek, then another and then another, before attacking you with kisses. “I’m so in love with you and so attracted to everything you do, you make it hard not to give you another baby. So incredibly sexy.”

“Toji!” You gasp in shock, laughing at him. “You horndog!”

“Can you blame me, huh?” You kisses your neck. “Seriously, mama, I apologize. I’m sorry that I didn’t realize sooner that you were going through this.” He holds you, pulling you beside him as he lays down.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you, and explain my feelings. I thought it was something that would go away on its own—”

“I don’t wanna hear any more apologies from that mouth of yours. Next time, just speak to me. Pull me aside, vent to me, cry in my arms. I’d rather you do that than feel like this ever again. I should’ve been more attentive to you.” The pad of thumb brushes over your knuckles.

“I love you, Toji.” You snuggle into him, basking in his warmth. “Thank you.” He knew just how to make you laugh, how to take all those bad thoughts away and lock them up. You should’ve never hesitated to come to him, he’s always been there for you since day one.

“I love you more.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “We still have the whole night to ourselves, let’s not waste it.”

“Oh, can we order some chinese? I’ve kinda been craving crab rangoon.” You raise brow at Toji.

He smirks. “Go and get the menu.”

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

꒰ঌ ໒꒱. ） WHAT ARE YA LOOKN’ AT ?

－ℱ）paring : anaxa, phainon, aventurine, aglaea, mydei x f!reader

－ℱ）warnings : nsfw/smut, creampie, scissoring with aglaea, c*mplay, man handling, size kink, nipple play, boob obsession, hair pulling, chocking, biting and dumbification in aglaea’s part!

－ℱ）synopsis : they keep staring at your tits? (mdni)

－ℱ）note : not proof read!! header is a doujinshi and you can find it on X from : sakuranotomoru !!

( 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐗𝐀 )

You noticed it again.

The way Anaxagoras kept staring. His gaze, sharp and unashamed, lingered far too long on your chest—tracking every small movement, every shift of fabric that strained against your curves. He wasn’t even trying to be discreet.

You finally snapped. "Why do you keep staring at my chest?"

He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Instead, a slow, knowing smirk curled his lips. "Because you make it impossible not to."

You huffed, crossing your arms—a mistake. The motion only pushed your tits together, and his gaze flickered lower, dark with amusement.

"Anaxa," you warned, but before you could say anything else, he moved.

He was fast, deceptively strong despite his slender frame. His long fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you forward until you were flush against him. The heat of his body was unmistakable, his breath fanning over your ear as he whispered, "You expect me to resist something so tempting?"

His hands found your tits, cupping them through your clothes, thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped, shivering under his touch.

"You do this without even realizing," he murmured, voice thick with hunger. "Walking around, teasing me… and now you're acting so innocent?"

Your protest died on your tongue when he pushed you back against the nearest surface. His lean frame pressed against yours, long fingers tracing down your waist before yanking your clothes aside.

"Let me show you exactly what you’ve been doing to me."

Before you could respond, he spread your thighs, his fingers teasing at your soaked cunt. He chuckled, soft and mocking. "Already so wet," he mused. "Was it the way I looked at you? Or were you hoping I’d do this all along?"

You whined, barely able to process anything before he lined himself up—his cock hard, thick, pressing against your entrance.

"You can take it," he murmured.

Then he thrust in, deep and unforgiving, stretching you open with a force that made your back arch.

You never should’ve asked.

A sharp gasp left your lips as Anaxa buried himself to the hilt, stretching your pussy wide with a single deep thrust. His cock was thick despite his slender frame, filling you in a way that made your body tremble.

"Fuck—so tight," he groaned, voice smooth but edged with hunger. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you still as he pulled back just enough to slam into you again.

Your back arched against the cold surface beneath you, your nails clawing at his sleeves. He barely seemed fazed, eyes locked onto your tits as they bounced with each harsh thrust.

"Look at you," he murmured, breathless but still smug. "Taking my cock so well, yet you had the nerve to question why I was staring?"

You tried to form a response, but all that came out was a choked moan when his hand slid up to your throat. His fingers wrapped around it, applying just enough pressure to make your breath hitch, to remind you of how easily he controlled you.

"That’s it," he whispered, tilting his head. "Let me hear you struggle to speak."

His free hand cupped your tits again, slender fingers rolling your nipples between them, tugging and pinching until you whined. The sharp pleasure mixed with the tight grip on your throat sent waves of heat pooling between your legs.

"Your pussy’s clenching so tight around me," he noted with a breathy chuckle. "Do you like being handled like this? Having me choke you while I fuck you dumb?"

A desperate whimper escaped you as he thrust even harder, cock dragging against your walls in a way that had your body tensing, aching for release. He wasn’t gentle. Every movement was calculated—deep, rough, unrelenting.

His thumb flicked over your clit, rubbing circles in time with his thrusts. "Come on," he coaxed, voice dropping lower, silkier. "Be a good girl and come for me."

His fingers tightened slightly around your throat, cutting off just enough air to send you spiraling. Your vision blurred, pleasure crashing through you as your pussy clenched around him, spasming with the force of your orgasm.

Anaxagoras groaned, hips stuttering as he chased his own release. His grip on your throat loosened just enough for you to gulp in a breath before he slammed into you one last time, spilling deep inside with a sharp, shuddering moan.

For a moment, all you could hear was your ragged breathing, the aftershocks of pleasure still making your body tremble.

Then, his lips brushed over your ear, and in that same smooth, teasing voice, he murmured, "Still wondering why I was staring?"

( 𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐍 )

You could feel his gaze before you even looked up. It wasn’t the kind of glance someone tried to hide—Phainon wasn’t subtle like that. No, he was outright staring, heavy-lidded eyes locked onto your chest with a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

"You're doing it again," you muttered, shifting under his attention.

"Am I?" His voice was all amusement, but his golden eyes didn’t waver. "Can you really blame me when you're presenting such a perfect view?"

Before you could huff out a response, his fingers were already on you, tracing the curve of your breasts through your clothes. He wasn’t hurried—he never was. Phainon enjoyed taking his time, savoring the way you shivered at his touch, the way your breath hitched when his thumb ghosted over your nipple, teasing it through the fabric.

"You make it too easy for me," he mused, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers. "So responsive already. I haven't even gotten you bare yet, and you're already squirming."

Your hands gripped his forearms, unsure if you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. "Phainon—"

"Shhh, let me enjoy myself," he purred, his other hand sliding under your top, fingers warm as they brushed against bare skin. "You have no idea how much I think about these." He gave a slow, appreciative squeeze, his smirk widening as you gasped. "Soft, perfect—exactly how they should be."

You whined, heat flooding you as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, pinching just enough to make your thighs press together. He noticed, of course. He always did.

"That desperate already?" He chuckled, letting his other hand drift lower, tracing the waistband of your clothes. "I barely touched you, and you're getting wet. You must love this even more than I do."

His knee nudged between your legs, spreading them apart before pressing up just enough to make you feel the friction. "I bet I could make you come just from playing with these pretty tits," he murmured, pinching just a little harder, loving the way you shuddered. "Should I prove it?"

His cocky smirk told you he already knew the answer.

Your breath hitched as Phainon’s fingers rolled your nipple again, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every little reaction. His knee between your legs pressed up, adding just the right amount of friction to make you squirm.

"You’re so sensitive," he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. "I wonder—if I sucked on them, would you moan for me? Or would you try to keep quiet, knowing how much I’d tease you for it?"

You barely had time to process before he tugged your top down, exposing your breasts to the cool air. He made a satisfied sound deep in his throat, blue eyes darkening as he took in the sight.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. "You were made to be touched like this, weren’t you?"

You gasped when his mouth replaced his fingers, hot and wet as he sucked one of your nipples between his lips. His tongue flicked over the peak before he bit down just enough to make your hips jerk against his thigh. He chuckled against your skin.

"See?" he murmured, pulling back just enough to breathe against the damp skin. "I could spend all night here, playing with you, tasting you, making you beg." His fingers tweaked your other nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingertips. "And judging by how soaked you already are, I wouldn’t even have to touch your pretty pussy to get you off."

Your hands clenched in his clothes, your body burning under his attention. He was relentless, sucking and teasing until the heat between your legs grew unbearable.

"Ah, but I’d be cruel if I didn’t reward you for looking so fucking pretty like this." His hand finally dipped lower, slipping beneath your waistband. The moment his fingers found your soaked cunt, he groaned.

"Fuck. You're dripping," he murmured, rubbing slow circles around your clit before dragging his fingers through your folds. "So wet, just from me playing with your tits. Maybe I really should make you come like this—without even touching your needy little pussy properly."

He pressed two fingers inside you anyway, stretching you open as his mouth returned to your nipple, sucking greedily. His free hand teased your other breast, fingers tugging and rolling the stiff peak as he set a slow, devastating rhythm inside you.

"Come for me like this," he murmured against your skin. "Come while I’m sucking on your tits, and then I’ll give you my cock, since I know that’s what you’re really craving."

Smug bastard. But with the way he was touching you, you wouldn’t last much longer to argue.

( 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐄 )

Aventurine’s purple eyes had been on your chest for the last five minutes, and he wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it. Lounging back, one arm draped lazily over the couch, he smirked as his gaze flicked between your face and the swell of your tits.

"You always this much of a tease, or is today special?" he mused, tilting his head.

You huffed, crossing your arms—not that it helped. If anything, it only pressed your tits together, and judging by the way his smirk deepened, he knew exactly what you were trying to hide.

"Mm, cute," he murmured, reaching out. He didn’t ask for permission—Aventurine never did. His fingers traced along the curve of your breast, slow, deliberate, like he was mapping out a winning play.

"Fuck, you’re soft," he murmured, squeezing lightly before his thumb brushed over your nipple. Even through your clothes, the touch sent a shiver down your spine. He grinned. "Sensitive too. No wonder you were trying to cover up."

Before you could retort, he tugged your top down, exposing you to the cool air. He exhaled sharply, eyes dark with something deeper than amusement.

"Now that’s a jackpot."

His mouth was on you before you could think to protest, hot and greedy as he sucked a nipple between his lips. His tongue flicked over the stiff peak before he bit down, just enough to make you gasp.

"Yeah," he murmured against your skin, voice low and smug. "I knew you’d like that."

His other hand palmed your other breast, fingers rolling and teasing until your back arched. He played with you like he had all the time in the world, like this was some high-stakes game he was guaranteed to win.

When his hand dipped between your legs, his grin turned downright wicked. "Already soaked?" His fingers traced over your clit, teasing but not quite giving you what you needed. "And I haven’t even given you my cock yet."

He pressed two fingers inside you, slow but firm, stretching you open as he sucked harder at your nipple. Your fingers twisted in his hair, your body burning under his touch.

"Bet I could make you come just like this," he murmured, thrusting his fingers deeper. "Tits in my mouth, my fingers stretching you open—yeah, you’d look real pretty falling apart for me."

And with the way he worked you over, teasing and relentless, you knew he was right.

Your breath hitched as Aventurine sucked another deep bruise into the soft flesh of your breast, his tongue flicking over your nipple in slow, teasing circles. His fingers inside you curled just right, dragging against that spot that made your thighs tremble.

"You're not even trying to hold back," he mused, pulling away just enough to watch your expression. His fingers didn’t stop, fucking into you slow and deep. "Cute. Thought you’d put up more of a fight."

"Shut up," you gasped, hips rocking into his hand, desperate for more.

Aventurine chuckled, his free hand pinching your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. "Oh? Didn’t sound very convincing." He tugged a little harder, making your breath stutter. "Maybe you should beg properly if you want me to give you what you need."

Your pride warred with your desperation, but the way he was playing with you, teasing every sensitive part of you with practiced ease, made it impossible to stay quiet. "Aventurine—please."

"Please what?" His fingers pulled from your pussy, dragging your slick over your clit before retreating entirely. "C’mon, sweetheart. I know you can say it."

You whined, frustration curling in your gut as he went back to palming your tits, rubbing your saliva-slick nipples between his fingers but giving you nothing where you needed it most.

"I want your cock," you finally admitted, breathless.

His smirk widened. "Now that’s what I like to hear."

He sat back, undoing his belt with an easy flick of his wrist. The moment his cock sprang free, thick and flushed, your mouth went dry.

Aventurine caught your chin between his fingers, tilting your face up so you had to meet his gaze. "You gonna be good for me?" His cock nudged against your slick folds, not pushing in yet, just teasing. "Or do I have to work you up even more?"

You shuddered, already feeling dizzy from how much he’d teased you. "I’ll be good—just fuck me already."

"Mm, good answer." His hands found your hips, fingers digging in as he finally thrust inside, stretching you open with one slow, deliberate stroke.

Aventurine groaned, his head tipping back briefly before his gaze locked onto your tits again, watching how they bounced with each roll of his hips. "Yeah," he muttered, thumbing one of your nipples. "This is exactly where you belong."

( 𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐀𝐄𝐀 )

Aglaea’s touch was always deliberate. Never rushed, never careless—just the perfect balance of control and indulgence. Right now, that control was turned entirely on you, her cool fingers dragging over your bare chest, pausing to roll your stiff nipples between her fingers with calculated precision.

"You look so pliant like this," she mused, voice smooth as ever. "I wonder—were you always this weak to being touched, or am I simply that skilled?"

You whimpered, unable to form a coherent response. Your head felt hazy, warmth pooling in your belly as she continued to toy with your tits, alternating between firm pinches and slow, teasing circles.

"Already slipping, are you?" Aglaea’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk, her gold eyes sharp with amusement. "And here I thought you had more to offer."

Her words should’ve embarrassed you, but the way she kept playing with you—never giving you enough to satisfy, only enough to make you crave more—had your mind melting too quickly to care.

"Speak," she commanded, fingers twisting just right, making your back arch. "Tell me how it feels."

Your breath hitched. "S’good—"

Aglaea tsked, shaking her head. "Articulate."

You tried again, but with the way her thumbs were brushing over your swollen nipples, your tongue felt heavy. Your thighs rubbed together, desperate for more friction, but she only chuckled.

"Mm. Thought so." She dipped a hand between your legs, pressing her fingers against your dripping cunt. "You're soaking. And all I’ve done is play with your tits."

Your hips jerked, but she didn’t move, keeping you right on the edge.

"How predictable," she murmured, finally sliding two fingers inside, slow and deep. "So easily reduced to this. A soft little thing, eager to be filled but barely capable of forming a sentence."

Her other hand never left your chest, teasing and rolling your nipple in tandem with every thrust of her fingers. Your mind fogged up further, thoughts slipping away with every precise movement.

"You’re taking me so well," she mused, voice low and sweet. "But I think we can empty that little head of yours even more, hm?"

And with the way she was working you over, it was only a matter of time before you gave in completely.

Aglaea watched you with that same calm amusement, her fingers still buried deep inside you, teasing, stretching, keeping you just on the edge. Every slow thrust was deliberate, her other hand never ceasing its attention on your chest, pinching and rolling your nipples like she had all the time in the world to ruin you.

"You're already struggling to keep up," she mused, tilting her head. "I wonder—how much more can you handle before your mind turns completely to mush?"

You whined, hips bucking against her fingers, desperate for more. Words were hard to string together, your body pliant and open under her touch.

"Mm. Perhaps we should push a little further." She withdrew her fingers, ignoring your pathetic whimper at the loss, and instead, shifted herself closer, positioning her body against yours.

Before you could even register what she was doing, you felt the smooth press of her soaked cunt against yours. Your breath stuttered as she hooked her leg over your hip, rolling her hips forward, making sure you felt everything.

"Look at you," she murmured, her golden eyes dark with something deeper than amusement. "So dumb and needy, just from a little playing. And now you get to grind against me properly—if you can even keep up."

You gasped as she moved, the slick heat of her cunt rubbing against yours in slow, languid strokes. Every grind sent sparks up your spine, the sensation of her wet folds pressing into yours too much and not enough at the same time.

"You feel that?" Aglaea purred, her fingers returning to your breasts, playing with your swollen nipples in time with her movements. "Every little shift, every drag of my clit against yours—ah, you’re shaking already."

Your thighs trembled as you tried to match her rhythm, but your body was too wrecked, too lost in the overwhelming sensation of her taking her time with you, dragging you closer to the edge at her pace.

"Mm, poor thing," she sighed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Already too fucked out to do anything but take it? That's fine. You don't need to think—just let me use you to get myself off."

Her pace quickened slightly, the wet slide of your cunts rubbing together filling the space between you. Every shift sent more pleasure flooding through you, your brain completely melting under her touch, her voice, the way she played with your body like it belonged to her.

"Go on," she murmured, her lips grazing your jaw as she pinched your nipple hard enough to make your breath catch. "Cum for me, like the dumb little thing you are."

With the way she was grinding against you, the stimulation to your clit, the way her hands and words completely unraveled you—you had no choice but to obey.

Aglaea’s smirk deepened as your body tensed, thighs trembling, a broken moan slipping from your lips as the pleasure crested. The wet friction between you grew even slicker as you came hard, your walls clenching around nothing, back arching into her touch.

"That’s it," she murmured, rolling her hips through your orgasm, not slowing down in the slightest. "Just like that. So easy to unravel, aren’t you?"

Your breath came in short gasps, your body still shuddering in the aftermath, but Aglaea wasn’t done with you. Before you could fully register it, her fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to expose your throat.

"You’re not done yet," she chided, her voice still smooth, still composed—but there was an edge now, something sharp and possessive beneath her usual amusement. "Did I say you could stop?"

Your whimper was cut off as she leaned in, lips dragging along the sensitive skin of your throat before her teeth sank in, biting down hard enough to make you cry out. The mix of pain and pleasure shot straight to your core, and your hips jerked, grinding up into her as she bit deeper, claiming you in a way that made your head spin.

"Mm, such pretty sounds," Aglaea mused, licking over the fresh mark she’d left before her teeth found your shoulder next, sinking in just as deep. "You take everything so well, don’t you? All it takes is a little tug on your hair, a little bite, and you’re already falling apart again."

She pulled your head back further, forcing you to meet her gaze. Her eyes were half-lidded, hungry, her lips swollen from the marks she was leaving on your skin.

"You’re going to give me another one," she purred, her hand trailing back down to your chest, fingers pinching and rolling your overstimulated nipples, making your breath stutter. "You’re going to cum again, right here, rubbing that dumb little pussy against mine."

Her pace quickened, her own breaths coming heavier now as her clit dragged against yours, the wet slide between you turning downright obscene. Her grip in your hair tightened as she leaned in, biting down on your lower lip this time, sucking it into her mouth before pulling away just enough to murmur—

"Be good for me and cum again, or I’ll keep going until you can’t think at all."

With the way she was using you, the way she played with your body like it was hers to control, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

( 𝐌𝐘𝐃𝐄𝐈 )

Mydei’s eyes had been on your chest for a while now. He wasn’t even pretending to be subtle about it, his golden gaze flicking down every time you shifted, every time your top dipped just a little too low.

"You’re not very discreet," you teased, folding your arms beneath your tits, knowing exactly what that would do.

His smirk was slow, calculated. "Why would I be? You’ve been parading them in front of me all night."

Before you could snap back, he was already moving. One step closer, his gloved hand reaching out, fingers tracing the curve of your breast over your clothes. A deliberate touch, slow and indulgent. His thumb brushed over your nipple, and even through the fabric, the sensation sent a shiver up your spine.

"See?" he murmured, tilting his head. "You react so easily. Did you want my attention this badly?"

You swallowed hard, heat curling low in your stomach as he palmed your breast fully, fingers squeezing just enough to make you bite back a sound. He leaned in, breath warm against your ear.

"Go on," he purred, lips ghosting over your jaw. "Ask me properly."

Your pride kept your mouth shut for all of two seconds before his fingers pinched your nipple through your top, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

"Mydei—"

"Mm. That’s not quite begging, but I’ll allow it."

He wasted no time tugging your top down, exposing you fully to his gaze. His pupils dilated, golden eyes dark with something deeper than amusement. His mouth was on you in an instant, tongue flicking over your nipple before his lips sealed around it, sucking hard.

Your back arched as he lavished attention on you, his other hand kneading your other breast, fingers rolling the sensitive bud between his fingertips. He groaned against your skin, like he was savoring the taste of you.

"Perfect," he muttered, pulling back just enough to admire the way your nipple was slick with his saliva. "And already so worked up."

His hand drifted lower, fingers slipping past your waistband, finding your soaked cunt with ease. He hummed, amused. "So wet, and I’ve barely even touched you here. Seems like your tits really are your weak spot."

His fingers pushed inside you, stretching you open, fucking into you slow and deep. You barely had time to adjust before his other hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

"Let’s see how dumb you can get for me," he murmured, tightening his grip as his fingers sped up, working you open until you were a trembling mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled his cock free, hard and leaking against your thigh, you didn’t even have the chance to beg—he was already lining himself up, the thick head pressing against your entrance.

"Take it," he ordered, his voice smooth but firm as he sank into you, stretching you inch by inch. His fingers flexed around your throat, his other hand pinching your nipple hard as he bottomed out.

A guttural groan rumbled from his chest. "Fuck. Look at you, stuffed full of my cock." His grip tightened slightly, just enough to make your walls flutter around him. "So good, so tight—like you were made for this."

He set a brutal pace, hips snapping against yours, his hands never straying—one wrapped firmly around your throat, the other still teasing your breasts, fingers rolling and pinching, making sure you felt everything.

"You’re going to cum for me," he murmured, voice low and commanding. "And when you do, I’m going to fill you up—leave you dripping with my cum, just to see how pretty you look all messy for me."

With the way he was fucking you, his cock hitting deep, his hands keeping you right where he wanted, you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. And neither would he.

Mydei’s golden eyes were sharp, watching the way your body reacted to his every move. His hand never left your throat, keeping you at just the right edge of breathless, as though he was savoring the control, the power he had over you.

"You look so small under me," he murmured, his voice smooth, but the satisfaction in it was unmistakable. "Like you were made to be filled."

You couldn’t help the way your body trembled under his touch, his words stirring something deep within you. The way he seemed to relish in the way your body barely fit him, the way his cock stretched you more than you thought you could handle, had your mind spinning.

"Can’t even take it all, can you?" he teased, his fingers tightening just slightly around your throat, his other hand gliding over your chest, gently pressing against your tits. "How cute. You’re barely able to take the size of me, aren’t you?"

You moaned, half-dazed, as he fucked into you with slow precision, every inch of his cock filling you, making you feel stretched beyond what you thought was possible. It was so much, too much, and yet it felt perfect.

Your thoughts grew more hazy, every thrust making your head swim, your body instinctively arching back into his. The sensation of him inside you, of him keeping you right on the edge, made it so hard to focus.

"Such a dumb little thing," Mydei murmured, his voice low and rough as he leaned down to bite your neck, marking you, claiming you. "Don’t even know what to do, do you? Just here to be fucked by me, to take all of me and fall apart for me."

You could only nod, body completely at his mercy. Words were slipping away, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of him. The way his cock filled you, the way he teased your body, leaving you weak and unable to think properly.

"You’re mine now," he whispered in your ear, his voice dark with something possessive. "Just a little thing for me to fuck, for me to use until you’re so dumb you can’t even remember your own name."

You couldn’t deny it. His size, his dominance, the way he made you feel so small, so completely under his control—it was all consuming. You were already losing yourself in him, and part of you didn’t care to fight it.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[bratbby333]

satosugu & their favorite lady ♡ poly head cannons

`⭐︎ ˑ ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ bc who doesn't love when their two boyfriends are also bf + bf?

nsfw mdni; fem!reader, 3sum, anäl, dbl. penētration, oral, yaoi, use of pet names. banner fan art from pinterest

part two is here !

poor suguru, having to work overtime to keep the two of you in check—your unyielding energy bounces off of satoru's childlike enthusiasm, creating quite an unhinged environment. and of course geto switches into dad-mode when it comes to y'all, but he wouldn't have it any other way...not willing to give up what he has, loving how silly his lovers are.

satoru’s definitely the physical touch lover while suguru handles words of affirmation: they take turns showering you in praise in the form of soft touches and gentle kisses while they removing your clothes, two sets of hands running up and down your soft skin.

this dynamic also manifests in public, with satoru being your go-to for steamy dancing and drunken make-out sessions in the middle of the club, while suguru sits observantly at a table off to the side.

when he finally feels that it’s time to go, he’ll join the two of you on the dance floor, his chest pressed flush with your back as you continue to lock lips with satoru. you grind against him, assuming he's finally joining in on all the fun. but his hands pull at your hips before running up your body and cupping the underside of your jaw, quite literally having to peel your mouth away from satoru's. "hey...wha- i wasn't done," you grumble. suguru only chuckles in response. "let's get outta here, you two..." he mumbles. satoru attempts to reconnect his lips with yours before a stern "satoru," rumbles from suguru's chest. your blue-eyed lover pouts, of course, before reluctantly agreeing.

suguru loves hitting it from the back while you suck satoru off, the sloppy sounds of both your holes filling the heady air the room as the three of you chase your releases

and of course, satoru would get creative and suggest a challenge, a little competition to see who finishes first, just for funsies; "bet i'd last the longest". he'd be so fucking smug about it, too. and nine times out of ten, you and suguru would create an alliance and work together to literally break satoru; not only does he finish first but he cums over, and over, and over again. you and sugu take turns bringing him to his breaking point, and after his third orgasm, he's begging to switch so he can get one of you off instead. but you just can't stop. and why would you? he just looks so pretty as his hips buck off the bed, sweat glistening on his skin with his flustered cheeks and swollen lips, while his body trembles with every gasping breath. you swear he does this shit on purpose, plotting for this outcome because he's been feeling super needy lately.

they just love pleasing their precious girl

you're straddling suguru, your forearms resting against his chest as your nails dig into his skin. satoru is pounding into you from behind, his hands anchored on your hips. he tucks his chin into his clavicle to watch as your gushing cunt sucks him in so greedily. suguru pulls your head down, your cheek resting against his shoulder as his fingers reach under you to play with your clit, sultry words of praise leaving his lips and going straight to your listening ears, "feels good, doesn't it baby? uh uh, don't move. keep takin' him...y'doin so good." you whimper as toru’s impressive length reaches unimaginable depths inside you, the sweet squelches of your needy pussy spurring him on as he drives into you even harder. sugu’s fingers keep working at your throbbing clit while you bite and suck on his neck, interrupted by the symphony of soft ahh’s and ooo’s falling from your swollen lips. a few more rough thrusts and rapid circles against your clit and you’re falling apart on satoru’s cock, spraying all over the their thighs. you gasp and whine when you feel satoru pull out, only for suguru to lift you up and quickly take his place, sheathing himself in your pulsing walls. “you ready, baby?” you glance over you shoulder, watching as satoru sucks his fingers into his mouth, a cheeky smirk on his face, your cock drunk brain too dizzy to respond. you nod, groaning at the feeling of his long, slender digits playing with your ass, dipping in to the second knuckle. satoru works to stretch you out in preparation for you to take them both. your face contorts at the dull ache. "look at me...focus on me, princess," suguru rasps, redirecting your attention to him as he slowly pumps in and out of your gummy walls. your nails scratch down his chest as you rest your forehead against his, breathing deeply in an attempt to relax your body for the inevitable stretch. you already feel so full, your pussy absolutely drenched, your arousal dribbling out around sugu’s girth, but you grow even wetter in anticipation for your two boyfriends to take you at the same time

and if you thought it would be a peaceful transition into sleep after y'all finish fucking, you would be sorely mistaken...the three of you constantly fight for the middle spot in the bed. correction, you and satoru are the ones bickering. as the two of you argue, suguru finds his place and waits for y'all to follow suit, and more often than not, it's suguru in the middle, laying on his back, as you and satoru tuck yourselves under each of his arms and curling into his side, legs thrown over his waist.

it's a very balanced relationship. the three of y'all have your designated nights to cook dinner, your assigned spots on the couch (though you occasionally fight over what to watch), a copasetic routine for showering, going to work, running errands together. and when one of y'all is out of town for work, the two left over keep each other company. it's perfect, a home full of love and laughter.

y'all loooove having threesomes, but sometimes it's too much logistically. and that's totally fine...nothing wrong with some one on one action, whether it be you and toru or sugu and you or the two men having their fun alone.

you arrive home, expecting to be entrapped in a double bearhug by your two boyfriends, only to hear moans and grunts echoing down the hallway. you laugh to yourself as you make your way upstairs. opening the bedroom door, you're greeted by a smiling suguru being topped off by his blond counterpart. "hey baby, how was work?" he asks casually, not even acknowledging the fact that he's actively getting head. you smile softly, walking to the edge of the bed and placing a gentle peck on suguru's waiting lips. "mmm, it was a pretty rough shift...i'm gonna go take a long, hot shower," you reply, exhaustion evident in your voice. satoru sits up, continuing to jerk suguru off. with his free hand, he wipes the spit from his chin, grinning ear to ear as you lean in to kiss him, too. "you sure you don't wanna join us?" "not right now, toru, but i might when i get out," you smile as you walk to the dresser, grabbing a change of clothes before heading toward the master bathroom. you turn back around to face the two of them, giggling at the disappointed looks on their faces. when the door closes, the wet sounds and breathy moans fill the bedroom once more. but of course, not even five minutes into your peaceful shower, your back is pressed up against the tile wall as satoru's tongue laps at your throbbing clit. "this is the best way to decompress, baby," he says before his fingers dip into your core and his lips reattach to your sensitive bud. "f-fuck, toru...feels s'good..." as you surrender to the bliss, you hear the bathroom door open and close. seems like suguru was feeling left out. so much for your alone time, huh?

loneliness is no longer apart of the equation for you. after years of failed relationships and agonizing heartbreaks, you have finally found peace, your yin and yang. you have your boys, and they have you.

author notes: stsg has had me in a fuckin chokehold recently so i had to get this outta my head. i just rly rly want two boyfriends so so bad and i want my two boyfriends to also be boyfriends. ugh. is that too much to ask? ♡

©bratbby333 on tumblr. all rights reserved. please do not distribute. 2024.

[f1amour]

「 ✦ F1 GRID — LETS GET PHYSICAL

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 navigation. | requests — open | main masterlist (coming soon)

drivers included | max verstappen, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lando norris, oscar piastri, daniel ricciardo, franco colapinto, lewis hamilton

description | drivers and their favorite kinks

content warnings | mature content ahead — 18+ only, minors do not interact

authors note | hope everyone enjoys reading this one! if you have any requests for drabbles or blurbs involving those i write for please send it in and i will try to get it out as soon as possible <3 *not spelled checked*

─────────────────────────

— 𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 ¹

҉ PRAISE KINK !

— whether he praised you or you praised him; max verstappen was an absolute whore for praising

— both in public and behind closed doors he would take the praises only from you. being a three time world champion as many reminded him of his accomplishments he’d down play it. but you? oh he loved when you’d sing his praises

— “you did so great out there, maxie. no one does it like you.” praising him in public after a great race would look like that. behind closed doors was another story; “right there, max. fuck you’re doing so well keep going.” “only you know my body, no one compares”

— on the other hand max loved praising you and he was an absolute menace for it when he’d have you bent over the bed fucking you with his hands gripping your hair; “come on, baby. squeezing me so tight you love being handled like this, hmm?” “you’re doing so well for me, baby.” “such a good girl for me.”

҉ QUICKIES !

— max loved taking his time with you but with his busy schedule especially on race weekends he couldn’t give you enough time. however, he always made the most of the 10-20 minutes you had together on any occasion.

— whether it be 10 minutes before he’s gotta go out for the national anthem or 15 minutes before he is due to attend the press conference he would grab you and take you in any room that had a lock. “fuck that’s it, you’re doing so good for me baby.” “gonna have you cum three times before i gotta be out there in ten minutes. you like that?”

— 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 ⁵⁵

҉ HAIR PULLING KINK !

— the man has beautiful hair…how can he not have a hair pulling kink?

— carlos loved pulling your hair whether it was while you rode his cock or he was taking you from behind; he loved having his hands in your hair

— but it was when you pull his hair that really gets him going both intimately but whenever you’d be watching a movie or out with friends your hand would go to the nape of his neck and travel up to his hair giving it a soft tug

— between your legs carlos is eating you out both sloppily and hungrily, tongue against your aching core his fingers now at your entrance giving you extra pleasure when they’re stretching you out, “fuck. just like that carlos,” you tangle your fingers in his hair giving it a rough tug when he rubs his thumb on your clit

— every thrust his fingers would give your cunt and tongue giving your folds so much attention you’d tug his hair closer to your pussy if that was possible; “fuck, baby, do that again. harder.” “god, hermosa, gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep pulling my hair like that.” “right there, keep doing that princesa. wanna suffocate in your pussy.”

҉ DIRTY TALK !

— his native language being spanish played a role in his love for dirty talking he loved the reaction he’d get out of you when you’d hear him speaking to you in spanish

— morning, noon, night; carlos fucked you any moment he had some free time which was rare but on those occasions he did he make sure to speak his dirty thoughts of you: and to you

— “fuck, my good girl, chokin’ on my cock” “that’s it, hermosa. let them all hear whose fucking your tight pussy…the only man who makes you cum.” “te ves tan perfecta para mí de rodillas llena de mí. mi bella princesa.”

— 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂 ¹⁶

҉ ORAL !

— charles loved having you on your knees mouth stuffed with his cock. your lips showing his tip some extra love with a few kisses after finishing in your mouth and you’d take him once again pulling him in your mouth again for another round.

— what he loved the most though? spending hours in between your thighs giving you multiple orgasms until you are begging him to stop (very rare to want him to stop)

҉ ROUGH SEX !

— despite seemingly carrying a calm demeanor around friends & family behind closed doors charles loved being rough with you in bed. especially after yet another week where ferrari fucks up his race he feels the best place to let out his stress and anger is on you. which you gladly took.

— rough and sloppy kisses you share entering his hotel room to his rough hands pushing you onto the bed and fucking you with his fingers until you’re squirting all over him and the bedsheets.

— your face pressed down on the mattress while he takes you from behind arching your back and yanking on your hair pulling you close to his chest he’d give you another rough thrush while whispering the most vulgar sentences to come out of his mouth.

— 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 ⁴

҉ COCKWARMING !

— sometimes being weeks apart from each other you wanted to feel as close as possible while catching up on what you’d miss. you’d get settled on his lap moaning at the feeling of him stretching you after being gone for so long. you’d get comfortable and you would both talk about what you had been up to the last few weeks

— streaming with max you’d make sure his camera was off before you climbed on his lap. he would be confused as to what you were doing but the moment you take his cock out of his briefs and sinking down on him he’d hold his moans in and grab your waist pulling you closer.

- turning his mic off he lets out a whine when you rock your hips against him, “fuck, baby, can’t do this right now i’m so close to winning.” you’d agree with him and tell him to finish the game you’ll just wait for him; still sitting on him with his cock deep inside you. safe to say he lost the game just to play again, enjoying the feeling of his cock resting inside you

҉ SHOWER SEX !

— lando loved it when he’d be showering and you’d join him halfway through giving him some extra attention that he desperately wanted. he loved the intimacy about it when you’d help rinse of the shampoo in his hair or how he’d glide the body gel all over your body

— you loved it when it was a post race win or podium and he’d drag you to the small bathroom in his drivers room and shove you against the shower wall giving your pussy some extra love while you pull on his hair before he would have his cock shoved deep in your aching cunt, getting some loud moans out of you which he’d cover up with a kiss

— 𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 ⁴⁴

҉ PHONE SEX !

— being a formula 1 driver was a demanding job which required lewis to travel almost all year long and you couldn’t always go along with him due to your job. you missed him all the time when he was gone but especially on the days when you were extra needy were the worst

— that’s why he’d stay on the phone with you all day despite his busy schedule. he’d have one airpod in while having to be in a meeting not listening to the less important subjects so he’d listen to you and what you were doing for the day

— but then on days where your vibrator wasn’t enough you’d call or facetime your boyfriend begging him to help you through your orgasm, it also helped that he had the most soothing voice that constantly brought you to tears when he’d have your face shoved on the mattress, ass pressed against him as he fucked you

— “oh…’m so close, lew” you’d whimper through the facetime call, your phone propped against your nightstand while you grind your aching cunt against a pillow. desperately needing more release your reach to rub your clit when lewis’ voice fills the phone, “i didn’t say you could do that, did i?” he questions, he was due to be in the media pen in 10 minutes but he wouldn’t let you take the easy way out to cum before he left

— “please, baby, need to cum please,” you beg lewis as your movements speed up. “don’t use your hand. keep fucking youself on my pillow, i’ll be home in a few days and take such good care of you. that’s it baby, be a good girl and cum for me.” his encouragement is more than enough to have you squeezing your breasts and nipples as your release spills all over the pillow

҉ MIRROR SEX !　

— you weren’t sure if it was you or lewis who decided adding a mirror to the ceiling of your bedroom was the best option for your sex life but either way you were two happy people

— you enjoyed watching lewis fucking you his eyes meeting your through the mirror; he loved having you bounce on his cock watching the way you threw your head back moans filling the room. he loved it so much he requested his drivers room to have a mirror on the ceiling as well. after many warnings not to they finally gave in and gave him what he (and you) wanted

— his hand around your throat with two fingers deep inside your pussy he’d whisper dirty thoughts into your ear, “you look so pretty for me like this. wanna see you cum for me, sweet girl. that’s it you’re squeezing my fingers so good,” you’d bite your lip trying to suppress your moans in the small room knowing anyone walking by could easily hear you

— 𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈 ⁸¹

҉ DRY HUMPING !　

— again, being a formula one driver was a demanding sport. a demanding sport that kept your sex life with oscar very low many, many, many times. so when you had the chance to feel a little bit closer to your boyfriend you took the chance.

— whether against the wall of his drivers room with your clothed pussy rubbing against his race suit or in bed on his lap before ha has to catch a flight to the next race; you were both absolutely infatuated with each other and dry humping

— drivers room; oscar would be leaned up against the wall while your hips grind against his thigh, “osc,” you whine as he moves your panties to the side rubbing your clit while you con the to fuck yourself on him, “shh, be a good girl for me and stay quiet. then after the race i’ll stuff you full of my cock all night.” his words have you biting down on his shoulder as you cum all over his thigh

҉ SQUIRTING !　

— he had discovered this one night while you both watched a movie, laying between his thighs your head pressed against his chest his hand trailed down to your shorts pulling them off with nothing else underneath he worked his fingers inside you. soon enough you had squirted all over his hand and bedsheets; a first for both of you

— that just started something inside oscar which was wanting to make you squirt any chance he got. you could be exhausted from work or a long flight but you’d let him have his way with you. at the end you’d be filling the room with sounds of pleasure as his fingers or cock fucked your tight cunt until he reached the exact spot that had you squirting all over him

— "so wet for me, and so fuckin' tight." "i can feel how close you are baby, gonna make a mess all over our sheets, hmm?" he praises you, his fingers curling deep inside you. his groans and your moans fill the room as you squirt all over his hand and sheets making a mess like he had said. pulling away from you he now plays between your thighs and smiles up at you, “time to clean this mess up.”

— 𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 ⁴³

҉ DIRTY TALK !　

— you’ve seen franco in interviews he was a talker so it wasn’t a surprised he was a talker behind closed doors as well. he had a filthy mouth on him when it came to you and he never stopped praising you

— “eso es amor, apretándome tan bien. let me hear your pretty moans.” “cum all over my cock, amor. fuck, fuck—look so perfect for me.” “gonna let me fuck you against the door? gonna make sir everyone hears what a filthy whore you are.” you’d think by now you’d get tired of his constant yapping (sometimes you did) but when he fucked you? you loved hearing his voice the entire time

҉ ORAL !　

— the man was good with his tongue what more could you say? he was infatuated with having his tongue on your pussy for hours on end tasting how sweet you were. buried between your thighs as your hand stung on his hair, whines and moans escape your mouth begging him for more

— “franco, ‘m so close, right there,” you gasp feeling his tongue poking in your cunt as he devours you, “es todo princesa, déjalo ir por mí. mierda. sabes tan dulce.” you cum and he doesn’t let a drop escape his tongue as he licks you clean

— 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎 ³ [retired]

҉ THIGH RIDING !　

— the man had a tattooed thigh…how could you not want to ride it? it first started on a night out with friends enjoying the sunset at the beach when daniel placed you on his lap your hand traced circles on the tattoos that littered his thigh; one thing led to another and you snuck off to the car and he let your imaginations come to life

— at a club filled with loud music and dark lights you’d take advantage of the moment and grind yourself on his thigh enjoying the feeling, at home while he works on sending out some emails you’d keep him company with your core pressing against his thigh, anyplace and anywhere you were a menace for his thighs

— he loved it too, so much he’d started adding some more tattoos to his collection on his thighs which made you even more excited to ride him only to wait until he was healed to do so. you could ride his other thigh but something about fucking yourself on his tattooed thigh felt so so much more enthralling

— “you look so pretty like this, ridin' my thigh...makin' yourself cum.” “make yourself cum on my thigh right now, good girl. feels good, doesn't it?” his encouraging words bringing you to your third orgasm of the night just form riding his thigh, “come on, honey, gonna give me one more then i’ll fuck you for however long you want”

҉ FILMING !

— daniel loved having videos or pictures of the activities you got up to in the bedroom with each other. he loved watching the videos while he was away from you weeks on end. however, he loved it more whenever you got the chance to film each other especially for fun not because he’ll be gone for a few weeks and needed someone to fill the void

— daniel comfortably laying down between your thighs lapping at you like there’s no tomorrow, “danny, feel so good…oh,” you whine trying to hold the camera that was pointed at him steadily but you were so close. “that’s it baby, cum all over me you taste so fucking sweet. could never get enough of this,” he says only getting a second to breathe before he’s diving back between your thighs to bring you to your second orgasm of the night

— you loved the risk of having an album on your phones that were filled of videos and pictures of the two of you or sometimes of just one of you. you’d created a small album curated for daniel filled of pictures of you in lingerie or fully nude; the videos were another story. filled with you fucking yourself with your fingers, vibrator, a pillow; you made sure daniel was fulfilled for the weeks he wouldn’t have you

— daniel made a small photo album for you as well more so filled of the two of you, he knew how much you loved rewatching the videos of you two fucking. you loved the way he propped the camera against the nightstand and had you riding his cock until you begged him to let you cum or the time he fucked you in his drivers room facing the mirror on his door his hands on your breasts squeezing them while you rode him back against his chest holding onto the camera shakily and almost dropping it when he’d thrust up into your cunt

[hoshigray]

Satoru and Suguru having a competition over who can impregnate their sweet shared lover first, please?

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: oh my goodness???....you got my attention.

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - canon divergence; implied geto is still a jujutsu tech sorcerer - satosugu taking turns with you - kissing; making out - lotus (geto) + eagle (gojo) positions - breeding kink - scratching - multiple orgasms - unprotected sex (psa: wrap it up, of get tf up) - cervix fucking - creampies - clitoral play (swiping) - pet names (angel, baby, my love, pretty girl, princess, sweetheart) - humor - mention of drool + heavy depictions of come/semen.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.1k

“Oooh—Haahh! Ohhh, God, Suguu, y’ feel so good…!”

“You feel good, too, princess...Hgghh! Shit, Y/n—“

“Yo, can you hurry it up? You know I’m not a patient guy, Suguru.”

Gojo sucks his teeth while watching you get it on with Geto. It was one of those nights when they’d come home and surprise you together. Usually, one would be assigned longer shifts or missions (that one mostly being Gojo), and the other would return home to eat dinner and sleep with you. But there would be those days when they’d arrive home in unison and try to do whatever they can to have you enjoy these rare moments with all three of you.

Sometimes, it would be Gojo taking you guys to some delicious café that sells parfaits that you’d probably like or Geto having the idea to have lunch at the park and enjoy the sun together. But, of course, there’d be those days when simply being inside the apartment, talking about each other’s day, watching a random movie, and then snoring while spooning would suffice. Because it doesn’t matter what they choose to do; all three of you being at the same place is always the best!

Tonight, however, was one of those nights where they’d pull you aside, drown you in kisses and gropes, and carry you to the bedroom for a more intimate occasion. For tonight, Geto and Gojo wanted to fuck you in the hopes you’ll be with child. And what better way for the two best friends to go about such an eventful issue than by a competition to see who can fill you up the most? 

Suguru has you propped on his crossed lap, your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands kneading your asscheeks as you bounce on his cock and wail out his name in pretty notes. This was about the third round of the night, your cunt wet and filled with both Geto’s and Gojo’s cum. The fluids stream down with every jump of your hips from the base of his girth to his balls, the sounds of your union so filthy with the groans and moans that bounce around the bedroom walls. 

Geto sighs and burrows his chin into your shoulder. “Hahhh, oh, stop your crying, Satoru. You finished your turn and didn’t hear me heckle while you and Y/n were doing it.”

The white-haired man grunts with more complaints, to Geto’s dismay. “Yeah, well, I’m not the one who takes longer to finish,” he persists, even if his raven-haired friend frowns. “I don’t want you to be the reason my dick falls asleep.”

“Tch, what you should be worrying about is finishing too quickly when it’s your turn. You act like being faster is better…Heh, maybe you can’t handle Y/n better than I do.”

“You son of a—“

“Hey now,” you’re the one who mediates the growing childish tension between your husbands, turning your face to lock Gojo in a spell with your gorgeous, hooded eyes. “Be nice, Toru; it’s Sugu’s turn now, so you can have me however you want when we’re done here, okay?”

Like a heart-struck fool, pink shades creep into the helix of Gojo’s ears as he happily complies with your request. “Okay, my princess.”

Geto rolls his eyes at his friend’s display; what a total loser. As if he has room to talk because once you turn back to face him and kiss his cheek, his breath hitches. “Come on,” you whisper. “Don’t let him ruin your fun.”

The dark-haired one chuckles before claiming your lips with his, “Wouldn’t dream of it, angel.”

As you two kiss, you rock your hips more to create a steady rhythm on top of Geto. His girth stretches your vagina nicely, and with his pulsing veins, you can feel them rub on the velvety texture of your inner walls. It’s good that the pace is at a respectable tempo, allowing you to feel him at your wits and pleasure truly.

But the best part of this position is how easy it is to stimulate your clitoris. Every time you rock your hips against Geto’s, the bulb rubs against his body and has your frame jolting. It feels so fucking good, having your cunt stuffed with his girth member and graze your walls deliciously while your precious button is being pressed.

The pacing soon goes in sync, his subtle thrusts as you bounce your ass on him while kissing. Your mewls are taken by his hungry lips, sucking on your tongue to evoke more cute noises, your hand coming to the back of his head to massage and grab strands of his onyx hair. He’s so romantic with you and your body, the position making this intimacy so much more personal. Your chasm frequently clamps on his cock when you pull your waist up, making the man below you hiss at the grip.

He breaks the kiss, “Shit, you tighten around me so nicely…”

“Really?” You giggle, laying more kisses on his cheek and ears. It sends shivers down his spine. 

“—Khhh, damn it, I can’t...” Suddenly, Geto thrusts upwards in a faster notion, and you scream to hold on quickly and follow his cadence. “Fuck, you feel too amazing, sweetheart…!” You can’t reply to him appropriately; your only responses are narrowed down to high-pitched whines and squeals. His hands wrap around your back to keep your body close as he chases his climax, his hot face melting with the sweat of your shoulder while he pushes his cock to meet your cervix. “Hmng! Hmmnn, I’m gonna cum, baby…!”

“Ohooo, me too, Sug’ruu, me—Tahhh! Ohhh, Jesus…!” Your clit keeps bumping onto Geto, your nerves getting activated with every rut. Shaky moans leave your puffy lips, and your hand scratches his back at every jab of your delicate cervix. You bring him in for another kiss – this one a lot more rushed and steamy – and your orgasm hits you both from the erratic speed of your hips.

You two sigh heavily into each other’s mouths, your body sinking into Geto’s gentle hold as his cock ejaculates his semen into your throbbing slit. His hands massage your back while his pelvis rolls to grind his dick and have your walls clench onto him more.

With a soft sound, you remove your lips from his, smiling gently while you brush his bangs off to view his left eye. “You love to finish strong, Sugu.”

He chuckles before kissing your nose. “Can’t help it if you drive me crazy, my love—“

“Alright, round’s over!” 

Before Geto knows it, Gojo’s already on the bed, yanking you off his best friend’s lap and laying you down with your back to the sheets. He voices his discontent, trying not to appear too upset. “Excuse you? Can’t let me have a moment?”

“Nope!” He shoves a middle finger to Geto’s face, and the black-headed one almost pops a vessel. “I practically went limp after watching you two for so long. So obverse from the side and let me have my fun.”

“So annoying,” Geto mumbles under his breath, yet the milky-haired one chooses not to listen with a huff and places all his attention on you.

“Now,” Gojo turns to you with half-lidded cerulean eyes, a smile beaming too much that his dimples show up. He spreads your legs to evince your messy chasm; Geto’s come spilling down to the crevice of your butt as he massages your inner thighs. Fuck, so fucking nasty, it had him bite his lip. “You ready for more of me, baby?”

You titter, bringing your legs up your chest and spread to a V-shape. “Yes, Toru, thank you for being patient.”

He snickers while pushing his glans to meet your soapy folds, humming when the excessive come lubes your labia sufficiently for his cock to be inserted. The hug of your walls makes him moan, and you jerk as his left curve scratches the plush itch. “Fuuuuck, so warm and tight for me, baby.” 

His arms support your legs in the air, and the position allows him to initiate with slow thrusts. Your purr at his movements; the curve has you howl with every push, stretching your pussy when he propels himself into you and rubs the upper wall of your vagina. Oh God, feels so fucking good…

You peer to where his dick is plunging into your cunt, silently awing at the mussy display of cum ringing around the base of his shaft and stringing to where your folds are. Holy shit, you chew on your bottom lip and move a hand to finger your clit, silently howling at the swipes you dance around your bud. “OhhhGod, hmmmm, right there…”

Gojo looks down and sees what you’re doing, and he chuckles, “Shit, you enjoying yourself, pretty girl? Hmm?” He ruts into you with sudden haste, and an abrupt hit to your cervix has you almost choking on air. “Like being filled up, huh?”

“Ahhh, y–yesss, I lov—Mmmph!!” He grinds his pelvis down, drilling his length deep inside to scuff your smooth walls. “I love y’r dick so much, Satoruuu…!”

“Awww, look at you playing with yourself,” the view excited him more, increasing his speed to pound into you. You cry out at the poke of your cervix, clamping onto him in response. “Ahhhh, there it is,” he coos while adding more weight onto you, making his rocks precise where he wants to hit. More shrieks fly out your lips, “Wanna be bred so bad, princess? Want me to fill you up again?”

Your head aches, ears ringing from the sloppy sounds of his dick rutting inside you, his balls smack your grundel with every push. “Ahhnn, mmoohhh, ye’sss,” you whisper.

“C’mon, angel, let me hear you.” Gojo places his forehead on your sweaty one, azure eyes examining your expression in a haze. “You want—Nnngh! Fuck…Want me to fuck a baby into you, yeah? Make you a mama? ”

“Yess, ’Toru, yesss!! Give me y’ur babiess, make me all fat and full!!”

“Heh, good, pretty girl; so good for—Khhckk!! Shit, shit, I’m gonna cum…” He brings his lips to yours, moaning to the kiss with you while his hips turn up to a volatile rate. Your whimpers are sucked and drunk by him, your eyebrows furrowed from the cyclical hits to your cervix and rubbing on your silky tunnel.  

Your arms come around to his shoulders, beckoning him to deepen the kiss as your body gets ready for the orgasm that hits you like a train. Trembles climb up your frame, whines muffled, and drool slips out your mouth down to your chin. Your cunt contracts around his length, milking him into his own release and filling you with his essence, adding to the pile that squelches and trickles down to the sheets beneath you. 

Gojo nibbles on your lip as he pumps every last bit of his load into you, his tongue twirling with yours until he removes his face from yours. He smiles, dimples greeting you with disheveled strands of snow-white hair sticking to his forehead. Too distracted by his charm for him to sneak in more harsh thrusts to your aching frame. 

You gasp aloud, “—Ohooo! Satoru, nooo! I’m too sensitive nowww..!!”

“Mmmm, sorry, princess,” an apology with a smile doesn’t match, placing a kiss on your forehead as you wail for him while he ruts into your vulnerable slit. “You just feel too good, can never get enou—Owwww!!”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Witness to the entire thing, Geto smacks Gojo with a house slipper before pulling him off you and throwing him to the side. The blue-eyed man looks at the other with an annoyed face. “I should be asking you the same thing, you psycho; what’s with the assault!?”

“Did you forget? Your turn is up,” indigo eyes narrow with a dark glint. “So why are you still moving?”

“Oh, quit yapping, giant earlobes! Can’t a guy squeeze in a few more before I get off…Or what, you scared I’d make them pregnant first? Your frail soldiers can’t compete with mine, is that it?” 

“Hah, you tell me, blue-eyed snowflake; you’re the one still trying to fuck into them like you’re afraid your load isn’t enough. Poor guy; can’t be a sore loser too early, now.”

“Choke on my dick!”

“You first.”

The two bicker back and forth while you observe, unable to find the right cue to intervene as you’re still in a daze. You sit on your side, feeling the liquids inside you exit your frame and slide down your thighs.

As they fight, you remember that you had forgotten to tell them that you took a birth control pill earlier today after they texted about returning home together. It wasn’t until after dinner that they said they wanted to try and fuck and fill you to the brim, practically dragging you to the room before you could utter a word to them about the contraceptive.

…Oh well, surely they don’t mean to have a baby right this moment. Plus, there will be other times! So, for now, you watch your husbands argue before you while shaking your head with a smile.

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[merakidoll]

himbo!femboy armin and his bimbo girlfriend are two peas in a pod. while the term is opposites attrack for them it’s different. two people who both loved pink, nails, and tight clothing loved one another very very much. to add, neither of the two had a dominate bone in their bodies. armin tried, but his slightly high pitched voice with the doe eyes starting down at you only made you giggle - which in turn made him giggle. but - that didn’t stop the sex, if anything it made it funner. it was whiny yes; but still great.

bounce on armin’s cock, you pinched your nipples throwing your head back. “m-minniii” you hair bounced, as well as your tummy and breast. you pussy sucked armin in so well, jucies dripping down on him, some even going to his balls. “b-baby waittt” armin tried stilling your hips. his squar nails digging into your love handles while his blond hair stuck to his face. “noooo!” your pretty lips turned into a pout, your pussy clenching making a cream ring around the base of him. armin couldn’t think properly at all.

your pussy was his favorite thing in the world, he didn’t know if he wanted you to stop or keep going. “goddd, l-love your pussyyy” he fell flat onto the bed, nipple hard against his silver bar - matching your gold one! he lazily started bucking up to meet you; making you both start to babble incoherently.

“love m’pretty girl. gonna marry youuu”

“minniii! you feel so good, wanna have your babies!!”

tears pooled down both your puffy cheeks, your brown skin hot and armin’s pale skin red. your eyes locked in on eachother, both of you pouting as you came together on cue.

“ohemgeee”

“ohmygoshh waittt!!” armin was dizzy, going crazy you kept clenching making him cum again, the fist ropes not even settled within you properly. the fullness prompted you to cum, squirting loudly. it got all over armin’s toned abs, his body hot and begging for air. you now have your face barried into his neck, hiccuping and inhealing his vanilla scent. you would shake your ass every so offen only when armin’s limp cock jerked between your walls. both dosing off to sleep happy and content

[tac-the-unseen]

Slapping Slasher's Ass and Running away!

Micheal Myers:

•He likes to believe he has complete control over his surroundings 

•He likes to imagine himself as a Jaguar; opportunistic, stealthy, adaptable, and an Apex predator

•And then there's you, here to snap them back to reality 

•If he's a Jaguar, you're an annoying bird that follows him 

•All this made clear when He's just standing in the kitchen and feels a hard smack on his Ass

•He whips his head around to see you, running at full speed and giggling 

•For a moment he's completely stunned 

•But only for a moment 

•He’s quick on your heels 

•In less than 10 seconds he's holding you in the air by your shirt, like holding a cat by its scruff

•You can immediately tell through the mask how pissed he is

•But for a few seconds he just leaves you suspended in the air, and soon enough he makes his decision. 

•He walks to your shared bedroom and drops you onto the bed

•You think you're in for some sexy-funtime

•That quickly washes away when Michael turns around and walk out the door 

•When you get up to follow you find that he's locks you in by putting a chair under the handle 

•This man is so sick of your shit, but loves you too much to actually harm you

•He just put you in time out while he waits for the stinging on his ass to go away

Billy loomis & Stu macher:

•When the school day ends you're walking towards the front door, you spot both of your boyfriends walking towards the door too

•With the coast clear of teachers and most other students you knew what you had to do

•You rub your hands together diabolically and begins to run towards them

•when you're finally in the perfect position, you wind your hands back and as hard as you can, you slap their ass

•They both tense up and freeze

•When they see you running past them and laughing, they are quick to give chase

•They Chase you down the field and into the parking lot

•Stu was the one to tackle you onto the grass, making sure to protect your head when you fall

•Stu pins you down while Billy catches up 

•When (a winded) Billy reaches you two he drops to his knees and starts tickling you

•Neither boy takes to seriously and think it's a playful invention to rough house and playfully fight

Thomas Hewitt:

•While he was meticulously cutting up some cow legs, you spotted a golden opportunity 

•Thom’s fat ass in perfect position 

•After circling him, carrying the same box of tools, you decide to go for the kill

•”Tommy!” You shout while running past him

•Your hand makes firm contact with the side of his rear 

•You leave a blazing trail up the stairs while Thom processes what happened

•Thom watches you run away while his ass stings 

•At most he's confused 

•He just goes back to work 

Bubba Sawyer:

•You were playing with him outside

•Running around, picking flowers, picking up pebbles, roughhousing

•While play fighting you slap is ass and run away hoping he would chase you

•instead he stands for confused 

•after an awkward couple seconds, you realize he's not going to chase you, So you walk back to him 

•You ask if He's okay and realize his eyes is watering 

•After a frantic apology and check over You managed to figure out that he's not hurt 

•Bubba Just associates spanking with being bad/bad behavior 

•He was upset because he thought you were punishing him for being too rough 

•You made it up to him by making him a flower crown 

Bo Sinclair:

•This could go one of two ways

•He could be really into it OR he could freak out

•It depends on what mood you catch him in

•One day he'll think it's sexy and want you to do it again 

•The next he'll have a PTSD attack remembering his childhood 

•It's honestly best if you keep your hands to yourself

Vincent Sinclair:

•He honestly thought you did it by accident 

•He didn't understand that you were trying to play 

•He didn't react at all 

•You have to tell him what you're trying to do 

•He gets very embarrassed about not understanding that he kind of shut down for the day 

•He remains hunched over on his desk for the rest of the day 

Lester Sinclair:

•It honestly doesn't matter what you do to Lester, He's just happy you're giving him attention 

•The man is the definition of a puppy 

•He's just happy to be here 

•So if you want to play a game of Chase, He’lll Chase

•As soon as you slap and run away he's hot on your heels 

•He chases you through a field and down the roads 

•When he catches you he's out of breath and takes a second to dry heave 

•Then he'll hug and kiss you while walking back to the Truck 

Billy Lenz:

•Billy is one of the characters you Can not hit

•You think he'd be into to quick slap, but he has the opposite reaction 

•He thinks you're planning on hurting him And will either attack you or hide 

•If he chooses to attack, You're likely going to have to hold him down until he calms 

•If he hides, leave him alone

•trying to find him would be like walking into a coyote's den

•eventually he'll come back out because you're the only person that still talks to him 

•He figures it's better to be physically abused than be lonely 

•Good luck explaining that it was just a joke 

Brahms Heelshire:

•He was acting up after you told him the grocery boy was coming today

•He was whining about how you don't need to interact with him and how the help shouldn't be seen or heard

•You remind them that you're technically ‘the help’ and he pouts on the couch 

•When the doorbell rings he immediately jumps up to try to stop you 

•You have a light bulb moment

•You get closer, reach around, and slap his ass

•You almost immediately push past him to run to the door 

•Brahms is quick to follow, but not quick enough

•You swing open the door before Brahms can reach you

•He hides just in time, and proceeds to stew behind the door.

Hannibal Lecter:

•While he was cooking up some breakfast you come up behind him and hug him

•He greets you and continues to cook 

•You two have a lazy conversation while you lean your head against his shoulders 

•Deciding he's not pay enough attention to you come up with a plan

•You steal one of his knives, slap his ass, and bolt out of the kitchen 

•He gives you about a 5-second Head start before he begins his hunt 

•In that time He turns off the stove and allows himself time to find you

•He slowly starts his prowl 

•Checking doors, behind furniture, around the stairs, and behind curtains 

•When he finds you, he pounces and pulls you into a pinning hug

•He forces the knife from your hand and kisses your forehead

•”Let me finish breakfast, then I'll spend time with you.”

Will Graham:

•While on the world's most boring fishing trip (Will Even admitted this trip sucked) You watch as no lines get tugged

•board out of your mind you decide to at least mess around 

•While Will was leaning over to check his lines you slap his ass as hard as to can, which throws him into the calm river

•You howl with laughter as Will get thrown overboard 

•When he resurfaces we comes back up with a scowls on his lips, but a playful look in his eyes

•”You suck” he chuckles while you help him back in

•As soon as he's on board, he throws you into the water and laughs

The Lost Boys:

•All the boys are up for a good chase, But they all have different reactions 

•David

-Slapping David's ass takes balls

-As soon as you try to run he has you by the arm 

-He smirks and pulls you towards him

-”Oh-ho-ho, where do you think you're going?”

-If you play your cards right he'll let you go to properly chase you 

-All’s well and good before he flies at you like a hawk

•Dwayne

-He'll let you run away But as soon as you're out of sight the game is on 

-It doesn't matter where you're at 

-The boardwalk, the cave, the forest, the beach 

-He sprints and tackles you to the floor 

-”Did you honestly believe you could outrun a vampire?” He muses

-could turn playful, could turn romantic 

•Paul

-as soon as your hand collides with his ass, he shrieks 

-He playful pretends he's wounded 

-He writhes on the ground, cries fake tears, hand over forehead

-”Why should you do this to me!” 

-”I thought you loved me!” 

-Walks around all day telling his brothers that you abuse him 

-gives you love bites while telling his tale of woe 

•Marko

-when you slap his ass he lets out a moan that causes both of you to freeze 

-after a few seconds Marko whips around 

-”Tell no one.” He says in a completely serious voice 

-You know for a fact the others would make fun of him for the rest of his unnatural life 

-Every time you're behind him, he turns around to face you So it never happens again

Thanks for reading <3

Sorry this took so long! I've had a busy week!

[thepencilnerd]

When the Sun Hits

summary: What begins as a hospital-wide power outage leaves you trapped in a supply closet with your emotionally unavailable attending. But when the lights come back on, what lingers between you can’t be shut off so easily. genre/notes: forced proximity, slow burn, panic attack + trauma comfort, domestic fluff, my fave kind of intimacy, mutual pining, humor/crack, soft!Jack that can't flirt for shit, idiots in love but neither of them will admit it, you discover you have a praise kink in the most inconvenient of ways, jack abbot on his knees—literally warnings: references to trauma, depiction of a panic attack, mentions of grief and burnout, implied but not explicit smut word count: ~ 7.2k a/n: down bad for whipped Jack Abbot. p.s., thank you to everyone who reblogs/replies/takes the time to read my brain vomit, i appreciate you more than you know ㅠㅠ <3

You had just turned to ask Jack if he could grab another tray of 32 French chest tubes when the lights cut out.

One second, the supply closet was bathed in its usual flickering overhead light—and the next, everything dropped into darkness. Sharp. Sudden.

You froze, one hand on the bin. Jack swore behind you.

"Shit," he muttered, somewhere just inside the door. The backup emergency lights flickered red from the hallway, but barely touched the cramped space around you.

Then the intercom crackled overhead: Code Yellow. Facility-wide outage. All staff remain on current floors. Secure all medications and patients.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Automatic lock.

You turned just as Jack tried the handle. It didn’t budge.

He sighed. "Well. That’s one way to guarantee a five-minute break."

You looked at him sharply, but he was already scanning the room, looking for anything useful, keeping his voice light.

"Guess we’re stuck for a bit," he added.

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. The air felt too tight in your lungs, too warm all of a sudden.

Because now, the supply closet didn’t just feel small.

It felt like it was closing in.

It had been a normal day.

Or as normal as anything ever was around here—high-pressure shifts balanced by the strange rhythm you and Jack had settled into over the past few years. You worked together well—efficient, quick to anticipate each other's needs, almost telepathic during traumas. Partners in crime, someone had once joked. Probably Robby.

You’d learned how to read his silences—the kind that weren’t dismissive but deliberate, like he was giving you space without needing to say it aloud. He’d learned how to decode your muttered curses and side glances, how to step in behind you without crowding, how to let his shoulder bump yours during charting when words failed you both.

There was a kind of ease between you, a rhythm that didn’t require explanation. He’d hand you tools before you asked for them. You’d finish his sentences when he gave consults. Even in chaos, your partnership felt oddly... quiet. Intimate, in a way that crept in slowly, like warmth from a mug clasped between two hands after a long shift.

When you were paired on trauma, nurses and med students stopped asking who was lead. They knew you moved as one.

People had started to notice—how the two of you always seemed to stay overtime on the same days, how Jack would make dry, cutting jokes around others but soften them just enough when talking to you. Robby, in particular, teased him about it relentlessly.

"Jack, blink twice if this is you flirting," he’d once called across the ER after Jack mumbled, "Great work Dr. L/N," while watching you tie off a flawless stitch or nailing a differential.

Jack huffed. "It’s efficient. She's efficient."

"God, you’re hopeless," Robby laughed.

"She’s my best resident," Jack shot back, like it explained everything. Like it wasn’t a deflection.

You snorted into your coffee. "You say that like it’s not the fifth time this week."

Jack, without missing a beat: "That’s because it’s true. I value consistency."

He was awful at flirting—stiff and dry and chronically understated—but you’d grown to read the fondness buried in the flat delivery.

Like the morning he handed you your favorite protein bar without a word and then said, as you blinked at him, "Don’t faint. You’ll ruin my numbers."

Or the time he stood outside your call room after a brutal night shift, coffee in hand, and muttered, "You deserve a nap, but I guess you’ll have to settle for caffeine and my sparkling company."

He always made sure to loop you in on the interesting cases—"Figure it’s good for your development," he’d say. But then linger just a little too long after rounds, just to hear your thoughts.

And when you were quiet too long, when something in you withdrew, he never asked outright. Just gave you space—and a clipboard he’d pre-filled, or a shift swap you hadn’t requested, or the gentlest, "You good?" when you passed each other by the scrub sinks.

And now, here you were. Trapped in a closet with the man who rarely made jokes—and never blushed—except when you were around.

Now, you were stuck. Together.

The air felt thin but simultaneously stuffed to the brim.

Jack turned on his penlight, sweeping the beam across the room. "We’re fine," he said, calm and certain. "Generator will kick in soon."

You nodded. Tried to match his steadiness. Failed.

The closet was small. Smaller than it had ever felt before.

The walls crept in.

You didn’t notice the way your hands started to shake until he said your name.

Your vision tunneled. The room blurred at the edges, corners shrinking in like someone was folding the walls inward. The air felt heavy, every breath catching at the top of your throat before it could sink deep enough to matter. It felt like someone had filled your veins with liquid lead, your entire body suddenly weighing too much to hold upright. You staggered back a step, hand scrambling blindly for something to anchor you—shelf, handle, Jack. Your heart was pounding—loud, ragged, out of sync with time itself.

You tried to swallow. Couldn’t.

Sweat prickled your scalp. Your fingers tingled, every nerve on fire. Your knees gave out beneath you, and you crumbled to the floor—head buried between your knees, hands clasped behind your neck, trying to fold yourself into a singularity. Anything to disappear. Anything to slip away from this moment and the way it pressed in on all sides. There was no exit. No sound but your own spiraling thoughts and the slow, careful way Jack said your name again.

You blinked. Your eyes wouldn’t focus.

"Hey," Jack coaxed, his voice cutting through the static—low and steady, somehow still distant. His full attention was on you now, gaze locked in, unmoving. "Breathe."

You couldn’t.

It hit like a wave—sharp and silent, rising in your chest like pressure, no space, no air, no exit.

Jack’s hands found your shoulders. "I’ve got you. You’re okay. Stay with me, yeah?"

He crouched in front of you, grounding you with steady pressure and careful, deliberate calm. His hands—firm, callused, the kind that had seen years of split-second decisions and endless sutures—gripped your upper arms with a touch that was impossibly gentle. Like he could mold you back into yourself with his palms alone. His thumbs brushed lightly, not demanding, just present. Just there.

"Can you breathe with me?" he asked. "In for four. Okay? One, two, three…"

You tried. You really did.

Your chest still felt locked, ribs tight around panic like a vice, but his voice—low and even—threaded through the chaos.

"Out for four," he murmured, exhaling slowly, deliberately, like the sound alone could show your body how to follow. "Good. Just like that."

The faint light dimmed between you, casting his face in half-shadow. He was close now—close enough for you to catch the scent of antiseptic and something warm underneath, something that reminded you of winter nights and clean laundry.

"You’re here," he said again, softer this time. "You’re safe. Nothing’s coming. You’ve got space."

You reached out blindly, fingers finding the edge of his sleeve and clutching it like a lifeline.

"Good girl," Jack said softly, instinctively, like it slipped out without permission.

Your brain short-circuited. Of all things, in all moments—that was what hooked your attention. You let out a strangled little laugh, shaky and almost hysterical. "Fucking hell," you murmured, pressing your face into your arm. "Why is that what got me breathing again?"

Jack blinked, startled for a second—then let out the smallest huff of relief, like he was holding back a smirk. "Hey, if it works, I’ll say it again," he said, a thread of warmth sneaking into his voice.

You groaned, half-burying your face in your elbow. "Please don’t."

He was still crouched in front of you, his tone gentler now, teasing on purpose, like he was giving you something else to hold onto. "Admit it—you just wanted to hear me say something nice for once."

"Jack," you warned, half-laughing, half-crying.

"You’re doing great," he said quietly, real again. "You’re okay. I’ve got you."

And eventually—one shaky inhale at a time—your lungs obeyed.

When the power came back on, you stood side-by-side in the wash of fluorescent light, blinking against it.

You were still trembling faintly, your breaths shallow but more even now. Jack didn’t step away. Not right away.

"Feeling better?" he asked, voice low, steady.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

Jack stood slowly, offering a hand. You took it, letting him pull you up. His grip lingered just a second longer than necessary.

Then he tried, awkwardly, to lighten the mood. "If calling you a good girl was really all it took, then I’ve been severely underutilizing my motivational toolkit."

You let out a startled laugh, breath catching mid-sound. "Jesus, don’t start."

He gave you a crooked smile—relieved, even if the corners of it were still tight with concern. "Whatever works, right? Next time I’ll try it with more enthusiasm."

"Next time?" Your eyes widened like saucers—absolutely flabbergasted, half-tempted to dissolve into laughter or hit him with the nearest supply tray.

He shrugged, another smug grin threatening to cross his lips. "Just saying. If you’re going to unravel in a closet, might as well do it with someone who knows where to find the defibrillator."

You rolled your eyes but didn’t let go of his hand until the light flickered again.

Only then did you both step apart.

You didn’t say much.

He didn’t ask you to.

You’d made it as far as the locker room before the adrenaline crash hit. You rinsed your face, changed into sweats, and shoved your scrubs into your bag with trembling fingers. Jack had walked you out of the department without a word, just a hand hovering near your lower back.

"Thanks," you said quietly, as you scanned out. "For earlier."

Jack shook his head, like it was nothing. "You don’t need to thank me."

"Still," you said. "Just… please don’t mention it to anyone?"

He looked over at you, mouth twitching at the corner. "Mention what?"

That made you laugh—brief, breathless. "Right."

You parted ways near the waiting room, sharing your usual post-shift goodbyes.

Or so you thought.

Jack had been about to leave when he saw you—doubling back through the double doors, slipping through the staff-only entrance and back into the ER.

His brow furrowed.

He hesitated, then turned to follow.

The corridor was quiet. Most of the day shift hadn’t arrived yet, and the call room hallway echoed faintly under his footsteps. He paused outside the on-call room and knocked once, gently. When there was no response, he eased the door open.

The room was cramped and windowless, just enough space for a narrow bunk bed and a scuffed metal chair in the corner. The mattress dipped in the middle, the kind of sag that never quite let you forget your own weight. The attached bathroom offered a stall that barely passed for a shower—low pressure, eternally lukewarm, and loud enough to make you question whether it was working or crying for help. It felt more like a last resort than a place to rest.

Your bag was on the bed. Half-unpacked. Toothbrush laid out. Socks tucked into the corner. Like you were staying in a hotel. Like you’d been staying here.

He was still standing there when the bathroom door cracked open and you stepped out—hair damp, towel knotted tightly around your torso.

You both froze.

Your eyes widened. Jack’s went comically wide before he spun around on instinct, shielding his eyes like it was second nature. "Shit—sorry, I didn’t—"

"What are you doing here?" you asked at the exact same time he blurted, "What are you doing here?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jack cleared his throat, ears bright red. "I… saw you come back in. Just wanted to check."

You were still standing in place like a deer in headlights, towel clutched in a death grip.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, eyes very pointedly still on the wall, as if the peeling paint had suddenly become the most fascinating thing he'd ever seen.

Fingers clenched around the edge of the towel, embarrassment prickled across your chest like static. "One second," you murmured, disappearing back into the bathroom before either of you could say anything more.

A minute later, the door creaked open and you stepped out again—now wrapped in an oversized hoodie and soft, baggy sweatpants that made you look small, almost swallowed whole by comfort. Jack’s brain did something deeply inconvenient at the sight.

You lingered in the doorway, sleeves tugged down over your hands, damp hair framing your face. "You can look now," you said, voice softer this time.

Jack didn’t move at first. He shifted his weight, cleared his throat in a way that sounded more like a stall tactic than anything physiological. Only after a beat did he finally turn, cautiously, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

He caught himself staring. Made a mental note not to think about it later. Failed almost immediately.

A breath left your lungs, quieter than the room deserved. You crossed to the bunk and sat down on the edge, fingers fidgeting with the seam of your sweatpants. "You can sit, if you want," you said, barely above a whisper.

The mattress shifted a second later as Jack lowered himself beside you, careful, slow—like he wasn’t sure how close he was allowed to get. His knee brushed yours. He didn’t move it. You didn't pull away. 

Your eyes fluttered shut, a long exhale dragging out of you like it had been caught behind your ribs all night. "I’ve been staying here," you said finally. "Not every night. Just... enough of them."

You looked over at him, then down at your hands. "It’s not about work. I just... I didn’t want to go back to an empty place and hear it echo. Didn’t want to hear myself think. Breathe. This place—at least there’s always noise. Even if it’s bad, it’s something."

That made him pause.

"I don’t want to be alone..." you added, quieter.

Jack was quiet for a moment, then nodded once, slow. "Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, voice quieter than before. "You know I’m always here for you."

You looked down at your lap. "I didn’t want to be a burden."

Your fingers twitched, and before you realized it, you’d started picking at a loose thread along your cuff. Jack’s hands came up gently, catching yours before you could do more than graze your skin. He held them between his palms—warm, steady. Soothing.

His thumbs brushed over your knuckles. "You never have to earn being cared about," he said softly. "Not with me."

A few moments passed in silence. He still hadn’t let go of your hand.

Then, quietly, Jack reached into his pocket.

And handed you a key.

"I have a spare room," he said, voice low. "No expectations. No questions. Just… if you need it."

You stared at the key. Then at him.

He still didn’t look away, even as his voice gentled. "Don’t sleep here. Not if it hurts."

You took the key.

Not right away—but you did. Slipped it into the front pocket of your hoodie like it might vanish otherwise, like the metal might burn a hole through the fabric if you held it too long.

Jack didn’t press. Didn’t ask for promises.

He stood to leave and paused in the doorway.

"I’ll leave the light on," he said. "Just in case."

You didn’t answer right away. Just nodded, barely, and stared at the key in your lap long after the door shut behind him.

The call room was quiet after he left.

Too quiet.

You stared at the key until your fingers itched, then tucked it beneath your pillow like it needed protecting—from you, from the space, from the hollow echo of loneliness that filled the room once Jack was gone.

You didn’t sleep that night. Not really.

And two days later—after another long shift, after you’d showered in the same miserable excuse for plumbing, after you’d sat cross-legged on the cot trying to convince yourself to just go home—you took the key out of your pocket.

You didn’t text him.

You just went.

The last time you'd been to his place was different. Less quiet. More raw.

It was the night after a shift that left the entire ER shell-shocked. You'd both ended up at Jack’s apartment with takeout containers and too much to drink. You’d lost a kid—ten years old, blunt trauma, thirty-eight minutes of resuscitation, and it still wasn’t enough. Jack had lost a veteran. OD. The kind of case that stuck to his ribs.

He’d handed you a beer without a word. The two of you had sat on opposite ends of his couch, silence stretching between you like a third presence until you broke it with a hoarse, "I keep hearing his mother scream."

Jack didn’t look away. "I keep thinking I should’ve caught it sooner."

The conversation didn’t get lighter. But it got easier.

At some point, you’d both ended up sitting on the floor, backs against the couch, knees bent and shoulders almost brushing.

He told you about Iraq. About the first time he held pressure on someone’s chest and knew it wouldn’t matter.

You told him about your first code as an intern and the way it rewired something you’ve never quite gotten back.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t need to. Just passed you another drink and said, "I’m glad you were there today."

And for a while, it was enough—being there, even if neither of you knew how to say why.

You’d gotten absolutely wasted that night. The kind of drunk that swung from giggles to tears and back again. Somewhere between your third drink and fourth emotional whiplash, you started dancing around his living room barefoot, music crackling from his ancient Bluetooth speaker. Tears for Fears was playing—Everybody Wants to Rule the World—and you twirled with your arms raised like the only way to survive grief was to outpace it.

Jack watched from the floor, amused. Smiling to himself. Maybe a little enamored.

You beckoned him up with exaggerated jazz hands. "C’mon, dance with me."

He shook his head, raising both palms. "No one needs to see that."

You marched over, grabbed his hands, and tugged hard enough to get him upright. He stumbled, laughing under his breath, and let you spin him like a carousel horse. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t even really dancing. But it was you—vivid and loud and alive—and something in him ached with the sight of it.

He didn’t say anything that night.

But the way he looked at you said enough.

You were still holding his hands from the dance, your breathing slowing, your laughter softening into something tender. The overhead light had gone dim, the playlist shifting into quieter melodies, but you didn’t let go. Your fingers stayed laced behind his neck, your forehead nearly resting against his chest.

Jack’s palms found your waist—not possessive, just steady. Grounding. His thumbs pressed gently against your sides, and for a moment, you swayed in place like the world wasn’t full of ghosts. You were sobering up, but not rushing. Not running.

You hadn’t meant for the dance to turn into this. But he didn’t step away.

Didn’t look away either.

Just held you, as if the act itself might keep you both tethered to something real.

You woke the next morning to the sound of soft clinking—metal against ceramic, a pan being set down gently on the stovetop.

The smell of coffee drifted in first. Then eggs. Something buttery. Your head pounded—dull, insistent—but your body felt warm under the blanket someone had pulled up around your shoulders during the night.

Padding quietly down the hall, you peeked into the kitchen.

Jack stood at the stove, hair ever so slightly tousled from sleep, wearing the same faded t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama pants that made your chest ache with something you couldn’t name. He hadn’t seen you yet—was humming under his breath, absently stirring a pan with practiced rhythm.

You leaned against the doorframe.

"Are you seriously making breakfast?"

He turned, eyes crinkling. "You say that like it’s not a medically necessary intervention."

You snorted, stepping in. "You’re using a cast iron. I didn’t even know you owned one."

"Don’t tell Robby. He thinks I survive on rage and vending machine coffee."

You slid onto one of the stools, blinking blearily against the light. Jack set a mug in front of you without being asked—just the way you liked it. Just like always.

"You were a menace last night," he said lightly, pouring eggs into the pan.

You groaned, cupping your hands around the mug. "Oh god. Please don’t recap."

He grinned. "No promises. But the dance moves were impressive. You almost took me out during that one twirl."

"That’s because you wouldn’t dance with me!"

"I was trying to protect my knees."

You laughed, head tipping back slightly. Jack just watched you, eyes soft, like the sound of it made something settle inside him.

And for a moment, the silence that settled between you wasn’t hollow at all.

It was full.

If only tonight's circumstances were different. 

Jack opened the door in sweatpants and a black v-neck that looked older than his medical degree. He blinked when he saw you—then smiled, just a little. Not wide. Not obvious. But real. The kind of expression that said he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted to see you until you were there.

He said nothing.

After a slow smile: "Didn’t expect to see you again so soon," he said lightly, trying to break the ice. "Unless you’re here to critique my towel-folding technique."

Lifting your hand slowly, the key warm against your skin, you tilted your head with a deadpan expression. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you said, tone dry—almost too dry—but not quite hiding the twitch of a smile. Jack’s mouth quirked at the corner.

Then you held the key out fully, and he stepped aside without a word.

"Spare room’s on the left," he said. “Bathroom’s across from it. The towels are clean. I think."

You smiled, a little helplessly. "Thanks."

Jack’s voice was soft behind you. "That was a joke, by the way. The towel thing."

You turned slightly. "What?"

He shrugged, almost sheepish. "Trying to lighten the mood," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking anywhere but at you. "Make it... easier. Or, y'know. Less weird. That was the goal."

The admission caught you off guard. Jack Abbot had a tendency to ramble when he was nervous, and this was definitely that.

You didn’t say anything right away, but your smile—this time—was a little steadier. A little sweeter.

"Careful, Jack," you murmured, feigning seriousness. "If you keep being charming, I might start expecting it."

He looked like he wanted to say something else. His mouth opened, then closed again as he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly debating whether to double down or play it cool.

"Guess I’ll go work on my stand-up material," he mumbled, half under his breath.

You bit back a laugh.

He ran a hand through his hair again—classic stall tactic—then finally nodded and disappeared into the kitchen.

The room he offered you was small, clearly unused, but tidy in a way that suggested recent care. A folded towel sat at the foot of the bed. A new toothbrush—still in its packaging—rested on the nightstand. The faint scent of cedar lingered in the air, mixing with the soft clean trace of his detergent. The air had that faint freshness of a recently opened window, and the corners were free of dust. Someone had aired it out. Someone had taken the time to make space—room that hadn’t existed before, cleared just enough to let another person in.

You set your bag down and sat on the edge of the bed, fingers brushing over the blanket. Everything felt soft. Considered. You stared at the corner of the room like it might give you answers.

It didn’t.

But it didn’t feel like a hospital either.

You took your time in the shower, letting the heat soak into your skin until the mirror fogged over and your thoughts slowed just enough to feel manageable. Jack's body wash smelled different on you—deeper, warmer somehow—and the scent clung faintly to your skin as you pulled on the softest clothes you had packed: shorts and an oversized shirt you barely remembered grabbing.

When you stepped out of the guest room, damp hair still clinging to your neck, the smell of garlic and something gently sizzling greeted you first. Jack was in the kitchen, stirring a pot with practiced ease, the kind of domestic ease that tugged at something inside you.

He turned when he heard your footsteps—and froze for a beat too long.

His eyes swept over you and caught on your hair, your shirt, the visible curve of your collarbone, the quietness about you that hadn't been there earlier. He blinked, clearly trying to recover, and failed miserably.

"Hey," you said gently, brushing some damp strands behind your ear. "Need help with anything?"

Jack cleared his throat—once, then again—and turned back to the stove, ears visibly reddening. "I think I’m good," he said. "Unless you want to make sure I don’t burn the rice."

You crossed the room and leaned against the counter next to him, still slightly bashful yourself. The scent of his soap clung to your sleeves, and Jack caught a trace of it on the air. He said nothing—but stirred a little slower. A little more carefully.

"Your apartment’s just as nice as I remembered," you said, soft and genuine, fingers brushing the edge of the countertop.

Jack glanced over at you, a flicker of something warm behind his eyes. "You mean the sterile surfaces and suspiciously outdated spice rack?"

You gave him a knowing smile. "I mean the parts that feel like you."

That stopped him for a second. His stirring slowed to a halt. He looked back down at the pot, a faint smile ghosting over his lips.

"Careful," he murmured, voice low. "If you keep saying things like that, I might start thinking you actually like me."

You nudged his elbow gently. "I might. Don’t let it go to your head."

He smiled to himself, the kind of expression that didn't need to be seen to be felt. And in the soft space between those words, something settled. Easier. Closer.

Dinner was simple—pan-seared salmon, rice, roasted vegetables. Nothing fancy, but everything assembled with care. Jack Abbot, it turned out, could cook.

You said so after the first bite—and let out a soft, involuntary moan. Jack froze mid-chew, raised a brow, and gave you a look.

"Wow," he said dryly, lips twitching. "Should I be offended or flattered?"

You felt heat rise across your cheeks, laughing as you covered your mouth with your napkin. "Don't tell me you're jealous of a piece of salmon?"

He grinned. "I’m a man of many talents," he said dryly, passing you the pepper mill. "Just don’t ask me to bake."

You smiled over your glass of water, a little more relaxed now. "No offense, but I didn’t exactly have ‘culinary savant’ on my Jack Abbot bingo card."

He shot you a look. "What was on the card?"

You hummed, pretending to think. "Chronic insomniac. Secret softie. Closet hoarder of protein bars. Dad joke connoisseur."

Jack snorted, setting down his fork. "You’re lucky the salmon’s good or I’d be deeply offended."

You grinned. "So you admit it."

And he did—not in words, but in the way his gaze lingered a moment too long across the table. In the way he refilled your glass as soon as it dipped below halfway. In the quiet, sheepish curve of his smile when you caught him looking. In the way his laugh lost its usual edge and softened, like maybe—just maybe—he could get used to this.

After dinner, you moved to the sink before Jack could protest. He tried, weakly, something about guests and hospitality, but you waved him off and started rinsing plates.

Jack came up behind you, handing over dishes one by one as you scrubbed and loaded them into the dishwasher to dry. His presence was warm at your back, the occasional graze of his hand or arm sending tiny shivers up your spine. The silence between you was companionable, laced with unspoken things neither of you quite knew how to name.

"You’re seriously not gonna let me help?" he asked, bumping your hip with his.

"This is letting you help," you shot back. "You’re the designated passer."

"Such a glamorous title," he murmured, his voice low near your ear. "Do I get a badge?"

You glanced at him over your shoulder, a smile tugging at your lips. "Only if you survive the suds.

Jack leaned in just as you turned back to the sink, and for a moment, your arms brushed, your shoulders aligned. His gaze lingered on you again—your profile, your damp hair starting to curl at the edges, the stretch of your shirt down your back.

You glanced back at him, close enough now to kiss, breath caught halfway between surprise and anticipation when—

Jack dipped his finger into the soap bubbles and tapped the tip of your nose.

You blinked, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack held your wide-eyed gaze a beat longer, then said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Nice look, Bubbles."

And the dam broke. You laughed, bright and unguarded, flicking water in his direction.

He dodged each droplet as best he could with a grin, triumphant. "I stand by my methods."

You scooped a pile of bubbles into your hand with deliberate menace.

Jack immediately backed away, holding both palms up like he was under arrest. "No. No no no—"

You grinned, nodding slowly with mock gravity. The chase ensued. He darted around the counter, nearly tripping on the rug as you chased after him, suds in hand and laughter trailing like a siren’s call. He was fast—but you were relentless.

"Truce!" he yelped, dropping to his knees in front of you, hands held high in mock surrender.

You smirked, one brow raised. "Hmm. I don’t know… this feels like a trap."

Jack looked up at you with wide, pleading eyes. "Mercy. Have mercy. I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t soap me."

You hummed, pretending to consider it. "Anything?"

"Within reason. And dignity. Maybe." He started lowering his hands.

You tilted your head, letting the moment draw out. Jack watched you carefully, breath held, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"I mean…" he started. "If praise is your thing, you’re doing a fantastic job intimidating me right now."

Your mouth parted, stunned. "Did you just—"

Jack smirked, sensing an opening. "You excel at it. Really. Top tier menace."

You laughed, nearly doubling over. "Oh my god. You’re the worst." The bubbles had dissipated by now, leaving you with only damp hands. 

"And yet, here you are," he said, still kneeling, still grinning.

You shook your head, stray droplets slipping from your hand, your laughter easing into something softer. "Get up, you idiot."

But Jack didn’t—not right away. Still on his knees, he inched closer, crawling forward with slow, deliberate grace. His hands found your thighs, resting there gently, like a prayer. Thumbs stroked the place where skin met fabric, featherlight and reverent.

"I mean it," he said, voice quieter now, almost solemn. "You terrify me."

Your breath caught.

"In the best way," he added, gaze lifting. "You walk into a trauma bay like you own it. You fight like hell for your patients. You get under my skin without even trying."

His hands slid up slowly, still gentle, still hesitant, like waiting for permission. "Sometimes I think the only thing I believe in anymore is you."

Your heart thudded. Your hands, still damp, twitched against your sides.

"You deserve to be worshipped," he murmured, and that was when your knees nearly buckled.

The joke was long forgotten. The laughter faded. All that was left was the way Jack looked at you now—like he wasn’t afraid of the quiet anymore.

His hands had made a slow, reverent climb to your bare skin, thumbs sweeping small, anchoring circles into your skin. You felt the heat of him everywhere, your body taut with anticipation, nerves stretched thin. He didn’t rush. Just looked up at you, drinking in every unsteady breath, every flicker of hesitation in your gaze.

"You’re shaking," he murmured, voice low. If you weren't so dazed, you could've sworn you heard a shadow of amusement. "You want to stop?"

You shook your head—barely—and he nodded like he understood something sacred.

"I want you to feel good," he said softly, leaning in to press the lightest kiss to your thigh, just below the hem of your shirt. "I want to take my time with you. If you’ll let me?"

The question lodged in your chest like a plea. You couldn’t speak, only nodded, and his hands flexed slightly in response. 

Jack stood first, rising fluidly, eyes never leaving yours. As he straightened, your hands found his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands at the base of his neck. That was all it took—the smallest pull, the softest touch—and the space between you collapsed.

Not in chaos, not in desperation, but in something careful. Like reverence wrapped in desire. Like he’d been waiting for this, quietly, for longer than he dared admit.

And when his lips met yours, it was a live wire.

Deep. Soft. Unapologetically tender.

But it didn’t stay chaste. Jack’s hands found your hips, drawing you closer, fitting your bodies together like a secret only the two of you knew how to keep. His tongue brushed yours in a slow, exploratory sweep, and you gasped against his mouth, fingers fisting in the back of his shirt.

The kiss turned hungry, molten—slow-burning restraint giving way to a need you both had held too tightly for too long. Jack’s hand slid beneath the hem of your shirt, tracing the curve of your spine, and you arched into him, a quiet gasp slipping free.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he murmured between kisses, voice thick, reverent.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, "Don’t you dare."

That was all he needed.

And when he kissed you again, it was like promise and prayer and everything you hadn’t let yourself want until now.

His hands moved with aching care—one sliding up your spine to cradle the back of your neck, the other splaying wide at your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat between you was slow and encompassing, more smolder than spark, until it wasn’t—until it ignited all at once.

Jack walked you backward until your hips bumped the counter, and he pressed into the space you gave him, forehead resting against yours. "You undo me," he whispered, breath trembling against your lips. "Every single time."

You were already breathless, clinging to his shirt, heart pounding in your throat.

His mouth found yours again, deeper this time, hands exploring—confident now, reverent, like he was learning every part of you for the first time and never wanted to forget. You moaned softly into the kiss, and Jack cursed under his breath, low and ragged, like the sound had torn through his composure.

And then there was no more space. No more distance. Just heat, and hunger, and the slow unraveling of restraint as Jack lifted you gently onto the counter, your knees parting for him, his name spilling from your lips like a secret.

You kissed like the world was ending. Like this was your only chance to get it right. He needed to feel you pressed against him to believe it wasn’t just a dream.

The kiss deepened, urgent and breathless, until Jack was devouring every sound you made, like he could live off the way you whimpered into his mouth. He groaned low in his throat when your nails scraped lightly down his back, your body arching into his hands like instinct.

He touched you like a man memorizing, devout and thorough—hands mapping the curve of your waist, mouth dragging heat across your throat. He tasted sweat and shampoo and you, and that alone nearly undid him. You felt the tension coil in his spine, the restraint he was holding like a dam, every movement deliberate.

"God," he rasped, lips at your ear, "you have no idea what you do to me."

And when you gasped again, hips shifting, he exhaled a shaky breath like he was trying not to fall apart just from the sound.

"You smell like my soap," he murmured with a rough chuckle, nosing along your jaw. "But you still taste like you."

You whimpered, and he kissed you again—harder now, letting the hunger break through, swallowing your reaction like a man starved.

He praised you in murmured fragments, over and over, voice low and wrecked.

Beautiful.

Brave.

So fucking good.

Mine.

Each word making your skin feel like it was glowing beneath his hands.

And when he finally took you to bed, it wasn’t rushed or careless—it was everything he hadn’t said before now, every ounce of feeling poured into his mouth on your skin, every whispered breath of worship like he was praying into the hollow of your throat.

Jack kissed you like he needed to memorize the taste of every sound you made, like your skin was the answer to every question he’d never asked out loud. His hands roamed slowly, confidently, with that same quiet focus he wore in trauma bays—except now it was all for you. Every inch of you. His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your ribs, the soft curve of your stomach—pressing his devotion into the places you tried to hide.

You felt undone by how gently he worshipped you, how much he wanted—not just your body, but your breath, your closeness, your everything. He murmured praise against your skin like it was sacred, like you were something holy in his arms.

And when he finally moved over you, hands braced on either side of your head, eyes searching yours like he was asking permission one more time—you nodded.

He exhaled like it hurt to hold back. Then gave you everything.

Every kiss was a promise, every touch a confession. He moved with aching tenderness, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you beneath him, like this wasn’t just sex but something divine. You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, breath catching in your throat with every thrust. It wasn’t fast or frantic—it was slow, overwhelming, unbearably close.

He whispered your name like a prayer, forehead pressed to yours, and when you finally came apart beneath him, he followed soon after—undone by the way you sang his name like it was the only thing tethering you to this world.

Later, tangled in blankets and the afterglow, Jack pulled you closer without a word. One hand splayed wide against your back, the other curled around your fingers like he wasn’t ready to let you go—not now, maybe not ever. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the warmth of him, the scent of skin and comfort and safety.

"I’m gonna need you to stop making that noise when you taste food," he murmured eventually, voice sleep-thick and amused.

You huffed a laugh into his shoulder. "Or what?"

"I’ll marry you on the spot. No warning. Just a salmon fillet and a ring pop."

Your laughter shook the bed.

Jack smirked, the ghost of a tease already forming. "If I’d known praise got you going, I’d have started ages ago."

You swatted at his chest, heat blooming across your cheeks. "Don’t you dare weaponize this."

He grinned into your hair, voice low and wrecked and entirely too fond. "Too late. I’m gonna ruin you with kindness."

You huffed, hiding your face in his shoulder.

Jack chuckled and pulled you closer.

You were never going to live this down. And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to.

Because Jack Abbot being a secret softie had officially made its triumphant return to your bingo card—and if you were being honest, it had probably been the center square since day one.

"You know," you murmured against his chest, lips curving into a grin, "for someone who acts so stoic at work, you sure have a lot of secrets."

Jack stirred slightly, arm tightening around your waist. "Yeah? Like what?"

You propped yourself up on one elbow, counting off on your fingers. "Total softie. Great cook. An absolute sex god."

Jack groaned into your shoulder, bashful. "Jesus."

"I'm just saying," you teased. "If there’s a hidden talent for needlepoint or poetry, now would be the time to confess."

He lifted his head, eyes heavy with sleep and amusement. "I used to write really bad song lyrics in middle school. That count?"

You laughed, light and easy, your fingers tracing idle circles on his chest. "God, I bet they were terrible."

Jack smirked. "You’ll never know."

"I’ll find them," you said with mock determination. "I’ll unearth them. Just wait."

He kissed your forehead, chuckling softly. "I’m terrified."

And he was—just not of you. Only of how much he wanted this to last.

Jack smiled into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. "You're incredible, you know that?"

You shook your head, bashful, eyes cast toward the sheets—but Jack didn’t let it slide. His hand curled tighter around yours, his voice still soft but firm. "Hey. I meant that. You are."

When you didn’t answer right away, he leaned in a little closer, his thumb brushing along your wrist. "I need you to hear it. And believe it. You’re—extraordinary."

The earnestness in his voice left you no room to hide. Slowly, your eyes lifted to meet his.

Jack held your gaze like a promise. "Say okay."

"Okay," you whispered, cheeks burning.

He smiled again, slower this time, and kissed your temple once more. "Good girl."

You didn’t answer—just smiled you were on cloud nine and squeezed his hand a little tighter.

Outside, the city was quiet. Inside, you drifted in and out of sleep wrapped in warm limbs and steadier breath, heart finally quiet for the first time in days. Jack’s hand never left yours, his thumb tracing lazy, grounding circles over your knuckles like he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

Your limbs were tangled with his beneath the softened hush of early morning, the sheets kicked messily down to the foot of the bed. Skin to skin, steady breathing, fingers still loosely clasped where they had found each other in the dark. He shifted just enough to press a kiss to your shoulder, murmured something you didn’t quite catch—but it didn’t matter. The weight of the night had passed. What remained was warmth. Stillness. Something whole.

You fell asleep like that, curled into each other without pretense. Closer than you'd ever planned, safer than you thought possible. And for the first time in what felt like ages, the quiet wasn’t heavy.

It was home.

[milkymiks]

Prev

Jason just finished up apprehending the foreign pricks that decided they should deal drugs to kids, telling Oracle to call the GCPD to deal with the clean up, when suddenly a glowing mass barreled on to him. He winced as he fell on his ass, his hands automatically wrapped on the handle of his gun. He lifted his face to look at what clung to him.

It’s a very handsome man with white hair, dressed like royalty with a floating crown, and the man also emits a faint green glow. Said man is also trembling and Jason realizes that fat globs of tears are running freely down his face.

“Jason!” The man gasped, arms clinging tight around his waist, He buried his face on Jason’s neck.

This is all very weird to Jason. He ignored the twinge on his chest as he brought the gun to the man’s head, who froze when he felt the cold muzzle pressed to his head.

“Who are you?”

The question seemed to dismay the man, as tears fell harder from his sculpted face. He sighed and pulled back from Jason’s neck, the gun following the movement. He sighed and pulled a small sad smile on his face.

“I expected this to happen” he murmured, He paid no mind to the gun digging on his skull to rest his forehead against Jason’s.

“Would you believe that we are lovers and that I've been trying to find you this whole time? and now that I found you, you’re full of nasty ectoplasm which might be the reason why you don’t remember me?”

Jason scoffed “as if i’ll believe that bullshit” seriously why was this nutjob clinging to him? The nutjob only sighed again “right” he murmured before plunging his hand inside Jason’s chest.

Jason yelled at the unexpected intrusion, finally pulling the trigger on the gun but aimed at the shoulder, only weirdly the bullet seemed to go through him. Fuck.

Weird sensation of sifting happened inside him. The man only looked Jason dead in the eye as he did what he did while Jason desperately tried to get away from him. pushing at his shoulders and chest with both hands, kicking his sides, only the man didn’t budge, like he was made of steel.

“What are you doing?! stop!”

“I’m filtering the corrupt ecto in you, it really did lock away a lot of your memories. Stop struggling, I don’t want you to injure yourself”

Jason did not, and as if the man expected it, took the hits with no problem. After a few more moments, he finally reluctantly took his arm out of his chest -It’s weird to see his chest still intact when it felt like his insides were being messed up- He looked up at Jason with hopeful eyes, then faltering when he was met with cold indifference.

“You still don’t…?”

Man the guy sounded wrecked, He found the wrong guy it seems and unfortunately Jason doesn’t feel bad, He was just violated by the man.

“Oh man, I know it’s you Jase, I can feel it! Why won’t you remember?” The man whimpered, and Jason could definitely hear the sound in his dreams if only this weren’t a bad time.

“I’m sure you got the wrong guy, now can you get off me-?” Jason was cut off by a growl, A fucking growl coming from the man before him who looked angered by the prospect that Jason isn’t the person he was looking for.

“I’m not wrong! You just don’t fucking remember!” He groaned -oh god are those fangs?- before taking Jason’s face in both hands and smooshing their lips together.

It hurt and it was awkward at first, The fangs nicked Jason’s bottom lip, before the man adjusted and suddenly Jason is experiencing the hottest makeout he ever had in his life. Oh and the man is still growling for some reason, but it’s oh so hot, and Jason might die because of the nutjob, and oh god he has a very long tongue, it’s actually reaching down his throat and isn’t that super hot?

Then flashes, memories that he does not remember having, flying by and seemingly returning to it’s spot in his brain. Memories of him and Dick in his fuckass Discowing uniform, sitting on top of a building sipping slushies together. A peaceful dinner with all of the family at that time without Dick storming off. Barbara attempting to teach him code. Saving a boy falling from a fire exit who’s holding a camera and looking at him like he hung the moon. Danny…

Memories of his time as a ghost still wearing the robin uniform came back, How through the years in the realms, and months in Danny’s home dimension, the two slowly fell in love.

“I’m supposed to take over and officially be King once I’m mostly done with my education, or so Clockwork says. Does that mean you’ll be my Queen?”

“Rude, you haven’t even proposed to me”

Danny threw his hands up in exasperation “We’re still minors!” Jason fake sniffed “You’re not even courting me properly…” Danny just stared at him, in fondness or irritation.

“I cannot kill this ‘Joker’ for you when I don’t even know how to go to your dimension, I already took Freakshow’s core as a placeholder for now” True, Jason has the clown's core in a mason jar in his room that he sometimes shakes when he’s bored. So he kisses Danny’s cheek and watches in satisfaction as his lover’s face turns red.

The last memory he had before he was revived and force filled with anger. So the Lazarus pits are just fucking waste ectoplasm.

Jason can feel when Danny pulls out -the tongue literally shoved down his throat retreating- and looks at him concerned while Jason absentmindedly stares at his face. The man in front of him is his long lost lover, who is now King judging by his attire, and who has been looking for him all this time while Jason lost the memories of their precious time together.

Jason let out an ugly sob, then another, and another, as tears bursted from his eyes he had to take off his mask. He threw himself in Danny’s embrace as he continued to cry, Now Danny is crying again, but of happiness as he pulled Jason to his lap.

“I knew I came back wrong, I just didn’t know what” Jason murmured, He felt a hand carding through his hair. “It’s okay, I found you and we’re together again” Danny said, Jason can feel a rumbling from his lover’s chest and smiled.

“Can we go home? I miss you and the castle”

“I think you only miss the castle, fucking favorite” Danny teased

“Not my fault she likes me better than you”

Danny stood up, carrying Jason with ease. Jason settled comfortably on Danny’s arms as the man started making a portal back to the realms. He really did get stronger and more handsome the years they were apart, Jason can’t wait to discover new things from his lover.

“Stop!”

Both of them turned their heads to see Batman and a few others from the justice league rushing to them.

“Fuck, Danny hurry!”

Danny shifted Jason in his arms so he was only holding him with one, and tore a glowing green portal through the space in front of them with the other.

Oh fuck that was hot, Jason needs both of them in Danny’s bed right about now.

“Red hood!” was the last thing they heard as they stepped through the portal before it vanished.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #47

I would turn back time just to see you again

Imagine dis…

I just needed to clean my drafts and this one is a bit overdue. Also I think I saw a post similar to this one and I cant find them anymore so either way kudos to them cause their post inspired me to make one of my own.

…..

Danny Phantom, now Danyal al Ghul, had found himself hurled into the past. Panic clawed at him. He didn’t need to guess, he already knew something had happened to Clockwork, his mentor, his protector, the Ancient of Time himself. A disturbance in the Infinite Realms had yanked him forcibly back into his younger body, leaving only his soul intact and including the full weight of bearing the title the Ancient of Space.

And he had landed here.

In Nanda Parbat.

In the very place where his life had ended the first time.

But Danyal was not without resources. He had memories. He had the power. And most importantly, he had training. He understood he couldn't act suspicious not here, surrounded by League members who could smell weakness.

So he slipped into his former role.

He became the perfect illusion of young Danyal, the former him, the wide-eyed, devoted son who adored his mother and idolized his older twin, Damian.

Every smile, every soft word during the rare times where only he and Damian are together, every clumsy move was calculated, down to the tremble in his voice and the slight hesitations in his steps. His every expression was carefully crafted to mimic innocence.

As much innocence he was allowed within this halls.

Danyal was acting, and he was doing it so well that even Talia and Damian, the supposed two people who knew him best, never questioned him.

Not at first.

He trained in secret, pushing his ghostly powers to the edge while outwardly struggling with swordplay in which Damian mastered months ago. He let it show in his own body language on how confused he is during strategy meetings, deferential during training sessions. He laughed and cried. Anything to keep suspicion off his true nature.

He will avoid the Fentons at this time around at all costs. As much he adored Jazz and Dani he wouldn’t want to feel his own organs rearranging itself and beating outside of his own body for the second time.

But he will wait, wait for the fateful day where Ra would only need one heir. The day where Danyal Al Ghul could never grip his sword right as to follow the order to fight by the Demon Head.

The day Damian had killed him without so much as a second thought always vying for the rightful title as the heir.

But something went wrong.

A week into his second life, Danyal watched with growing horror as events began to diverge from the past he remembered. Talia and Damian that was once Ra’s al Ghul’s most loyal heirs, had killed Ra’s themselves. The man who had cast his shadow over their entire lives was gone, and now both mother and twin looked at Danyal with sharp, unsettling intensity.

Family dinners became mandatory, silent meetings took place behind locked doors, and Danyal could feel the weight of their stares lingering on him longer than ever before.

He clung to his mask of naivety, knowing any slip might reveal the powerful being hidden beneath the skin of a boy.

He almost convinced himself that he could handle it—that he could steer this altered fate back on course.

That deep down Damian still wanted to be the only one. The one true heir.

Until a horde of colorfully dressed vigilantes stormed Nanda Parbat’s gates.

As Danyal al Ghul, he had to respond.

Katana in hand, neutral expression plastered on his face, he sprinted toward the throne room. He braced himself for bloodshed, for the clash of steel.

Instead, he heard shouting.

Bursting through the doors, he found not assassins or invaders—but Gotham's vigilante elite: Nightwing, Batman, Red Hood, Red Robin. Only Robin was absent. They stood frozen, as pale as specters, staring at him.

At the boy with Damian's face—and crystal blue eyes.

….

Six Years in the Future:

The Batfamily had been losing a brutal war against Eclipso—the personification of God’s wrath, possessing Ra’s al Ghul’s body, corrupted by endless dips in the Lazarus Pit. Eclipso had shattered mountains, unleashed floods, brought devastation with the power of a fallen god.

Just as he delivered what should have been a killing blow to the broken Batfamily—

They woke up.

In the past.

Dick was back in Blüdhaven. Tim was Robin again. Jason was a newly minted Red Hood. Bruce was a broken man, still mourning Jason.

Memories intact, instincts sharper than ever, they knew where to go: Nanda Parbat.

They expected to find Ra’s. They expected to find Damian.

They did not expect Ra’s to already be dead, his ashes scattered to the wind.

They did not expect Talia to step from the shadows and confess she had killed him herself, striking before Eclipso could even thought of possessing the former Demon Head.

They did not expect Talia relinquish her own hold to Damian. Talia as though pushed him towards them.

And they certainly did not expect Damian go wide eyed in surprise and then anger and be so so insistent to stay here.

The argument between Talia and Damian was vicious, each screaming accusations and betrayals at the other—until a boy, a stranger, entered.

A boy who looked like Damian.

But whose eyes blazed bright, glacial blue.

The room fell into stunned silence.

Danyal al Ghul.

A son Bruce had never known. A brother Damian had killed in the first timeline. A secret Talia had buried deep within her heart.

To Damian, Danyal was the brother who had loved him without hesitation—whom he had destroyed in cold ambition.

To Talia, Danyal was her true heir—the one she had nurtured, protected, loved beyond measure.

To the family of vigilantes, Danyal was a son/ brother that they didn’t know about, and didn’t get to mourn about.

And now, faced with a second chance, neither Talia nor Damian would let the Batfamily take him away so easily.

Because no matter how much Bruce or his sons demanded— Talia would rather die than lose Danyal again.

And this time, Danyal wasn’t a helpless boy.

This time, he had secrets of his own.

…..

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PS: This is shorter than i thought it would be....

[whenstarsundress]

caleb isn’t the type of alpha who demands. he asks. soft voice, patient hands, eyes that never leave yours. but his scent? it wraps around you like velvet, thick and grounding, impossible to ignore.

deeply controlled rut cycles. he’s trained to suppress them with medication if needed, but that doesn’t mean the instincts disappear. when he’s around you during your heat, he gets quiet, still, too focused.

“do you need me?” he asks, knuckles brushing your wrist. “you don’t have to say yes. just nod.” you do. every time.

he’s a nurturer at heart. loves scenting you before bed, especially when you’re anxious. presses his face into your neck and murmurs things like:

“i’m here.”

“you’re safe with me.”

“let me carry it for you.”

but there’s possession under that gentleness. he doesn’t want to own you. he wants to devote himself to you, body and soul.

during your heat, he’s focused on your comfort first. pain meds, soft blankets, heated scentscapes, and then, if you want him, he’ll ruin you slowly.

so gentle at first. fingers between your thighs, soft kisses along your scent gland. “tell me if it’s too much,” he says, even as his knot starts to swell.

and when you whimper for him? the control frays. “omega,” he groans, voice breaking. “you feel so—fuck, you’re perfect. you were made for me.”

knots you with careful reverence. murmurs praise as you tremble beneath him. cleans you up gently afterward.

very quiet aftercare. strokes your hair. kisses your forehead. laces your fingers together and holds you tight until you fall asleep knotted to him, safe and claimed.

he doesn’t see rut or heat as shameful. he sees them as intimate and sacred. the most vulnerable, instinctive parts of you being entrusted to him.

and he never, ever forgets what a gift that is.

his first rut with you:

caleb thought he could handle it. he’d prepared, like he always does. meditated, dosed early, made contingency plans. but he didn’t account for you.

your scent was everywhere in his space, lingering on his bed, his clothes, in the air. it curled around his thoughts like smoke, like static.

he didn’t even realize he was going into rut until it was too late. the meds failed. his body burned, his skin itched, and his thoughts all narrowed down to you.

“you shouldn’t be here,” he said when you stepped into the room. but his pupils were already blown, voice thick with strain, jaw locked like he was holding himself back from lunging.

you whispered, “i want to stay.”

he broke.

the moment you moved toward him, caleb caught you in his arms and buried his face in your neck with a low, aching growl. he inhaled like your scent could save him. like he’d die without it.

“omega,” he rasped, voice full of awe and desperation. “you’re really here. you want me?”

the rut took hold then, hot and primal, but even while trembling with need, he was still caleb.

so gentle. so reverent. stripping you slowly, kissing every inch of skin like he was memorizing you. letting you climb into his lap and guide his hands with little whimpers and needy sighs.

“let me take care of you,” he begged, lips trembling against your mating gland. “please. i’ll be good. i’ll make it good for you.”

and god, he did.

every thrust came with soft gasps and low growls, your name whispered over and over like a prayer. he held you tight as his knot swelled, moaning your name like it was the only word he remembered.

“gonna fill you up,” he gasped. “mark you. keep you safe. no one else can have you. not now. not ever.”

but then you cupped his cheek. and his voice softened again. “does it hurt?” he asked, eyes full of worry even as you pulsed around his knot. “i don’t want to hurt you.”

you shook your head, smiling through the haze. “you feel perfect.”

and caleb, sweet, kind alpha caleb, broke down. kissed you like it meant everything. like you were the only thing anchoring him through the heat.

when you both finally stilled, tied together and drenched in heat-slick and love, he held you against his chest and whispered, “thank you for trusting me.”

his voice was hoarse, cracked, shaking. “i’ll never forget it.”

[swordgrace]

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤.

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: when a mission goes sideways, you and john are forced to hide together in a utility closet.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.4K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), porn with little plot, forced proximity, semi-public sex, rough sex, hair pulling, mild dirty talk, lots of banter/arguing, grinding, john wants that cookie so bad, making out, john walker’s praise kink, unprotected p in v sex.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this has been rotting away in my brain so I needed to get it out !! lowkey enjoyed writing this so much and I really hope that you guys like it, too! 🫶

The plan begins to crumble when reinforcements arrive, mercenaries funded by H.Y.D.R.A remnants, a generous benefactor hellbent on weapons acquisitions in Copenhagen.

It’s another mission that tests the cohesiveness of the team, and with each one, you’re all improving. Everything seemed to go sideways, comms were static with silence, and you weren’t sure where everyone else was.

Shadowed corridors flood with foot soldiers, and you narrowly avoid getting pierced with a high-caliber bullet, thanks to Walker’s shield.

“We need to move — now.” He gruffs, roughly grabbing at the back of your shoulder, hauling you further into the bunker’s underground labyrinth. He’s strong, sure, but not enough to take on ten.

“We’re cornered, Walker. If we don’t find somewhere to hide, we’re pinned down.” Insistent, you’re clamoring to find some momentary reprieve from the chaos, chest burning from exertion.

“And we’re pinned down if we hide,” John grits, clearly facing some moral dilemma. He’s typically talented at navigating these high-stress situations — or so he thinks, jaw twitching as he concedes to your idea. “Shit.”

John Walker wasn’t your first choice as a mission partner — he was hotheaded, bullish, and abrasive. His demeanor was a foil to yours; calm, level-headed, optimistic.

He knew what he was doing in a fight, but there was often a risk involved, an impulsivity that he was attempting to curb. You weren’t sworn enemies, but you weren’t exactly the best of friends, either.

Footsteps clash through the hallways, and you’re tugging on his arm, urging him to follow you as you make a mad dash for what appears to be a utility storage closet. It’s a terrible spot to cower in, but you aren’t left with many options.

John seems visibly agitated, but he follows you anyway, jogging after you before slamming the metal door shut behind the both of you. He realizes very quickly that there’s barely any room to fit the both of you.

Wedged into your side, distance becomes nonexistent, but it’s better than being caught out in the open. As if to reinforce your position, he jams the handle of a broom beneath the door latch, labored breathing beginning to steady.

Boots thud outside of the door, footfalls urgent before tapering off into mere echoes. Catching your breath, your body rattles beside his, hands poised against the metal wall, eyes fluttering shut.

“Genius.” John grouses, frustrated with the entire scenario. Something went wrong — they were sloppy and overestimated themselves.

With little patience for his short-fuse and sardonicism, you bite back. “What do you expect?” You huff, brows furrowing together. “Fighting our way out wouldn’t have worked.”

“Beats being locked in here,” He grunts, bracing himself against the wall. The forced proximity he’s now cornered into with you isn’t the worst thing he’s endured, but it’s far from optimal. “You need to move.”

“Move where?” Keeping your voice low, you’re entirely unhappy with him, unwilling to put up with his attitude. The circumstances only enhance the shared irritation that bristles between the both of you, coupled with his smart mouth.

John’s brows furrow together, attempting to navigate through his frustration. “If you face me and stop sprawling, it’ll create more space.” He proposes, but it sounds ridiculous.

“I’m not sprawling,” With an indignant sigh, you shake your head, conceding to him anyway. Shuffling forward, you stand with him, chest to chest, discomforted by the slim amount of space. “I think this is worse.”

“We’re out of options.” John tries to placate your irritation, but it doesn’t seem to work. His countenance is contorted into a look of perpetual grumpiness, mouth turned downward.

It isn’t uncomfortable, this position — it’s awkward. This is the closest you’ve been to him, save during training lessons, where he’s crouched over you or his hands have somehow ended up on your hips.

Admittedly, there is tension present — you’ve never been fully able to discern the reasoning behind it, but it’s there, festering beneath the surface. A muscle in John’s neck strains, taut as he rolls his shoulder.

Annoyance is certainly one feeling to describe John, but it wanes whenever you look at him. Maybe there’s something more, maybe there isn’t. Either way, your current predicament isn’t ideal.

Using the closet’s rigid metal surface as a brace, the unsightly corners dig into your back, prompting you to squirm. Silence lingers between, curling around heavier sighs and fleeting glances.

You don’t want to admit that listening to John and running might’ve been the easier option, knowing that you won’t hear the end of it if you give him that satisfaction.

Through flared nostrils, John exhales, posture coiled and taut, as if he’s a bowstring, prepared to snap in two. Even though his helmet, he’s clenching his jaw, cerulean hues blazing with an amalgamation of emotions.

“What’s our next move?” Broaching the silence, you’re making an attempt at relieving the tension, face angled away from him. One step forward, and you’d be flush against his body.

“I had a next move, if you didn’t lead us in here,” John murmurs, and you’re quick to glare at him, agitation flaring again. “What? This was your idea.” He quips, holding one hand up in faux surrender; it makes you angry.

“You’re kidding me,” With a mirthless laugh, your brows furrow together, chin jutting out in defiance as you glare past him. “We would’ve been ambushed or worse if I didn’t think of hiding, John.” His name tumbles from your mouth like a scornful parent.

It’s exceedingly rare that you ever call him by his first name; some sliver of him likes it, wants to hear you say it again. He doesn’t fully understand why, but he likes you — likes your fire, your kindness.

John scoffs, mouth curling into a smug smirk, eyes rolling as if to dismiss your streak of ire. “Now look at us,” He remarks, pushing the limits, prodding. “Snug together in some closet.”

Aggrieved, your disdain is visible, scrawled onto your features as you stare elsewhere, finding the chipped paint behind his shoulder to be fascinating. “You can be such an asshole sometimes, you know that? I wanted to keep us both safe.”

There’s a softer inflection laced into your words, as if you’re upset that he’s mocking your choices. Admittedly, it wasn’t the right move, his unwarranted jabs — you did do the smart thing by hiding.

He’s watching you closely, gaze flickering over the creased brows and downward curve of your mouth, across the wisps of hair that dust your temples. You’re pretty when you’re frustrated with him — more so when you aren’t, too.

John doesn’t want to admit defeat, but it’s getting under your skin; he begrudgingly concedes. “Fine,” He gruffs, tongue wetting his bottom lip. “It wasn’t the worst idea in the book.”

A humorless scoff rips from your throat, followed by a nonplussed expression. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” You mumble, still neglecting to look him in the eyes.

“Yeah,” He placates, shoulders jostling in a shrug. “It could’ve been worse.” Leveling with you, his smirk wavers when you scoff, finding some sliver of amusement in the whole situation.

John Walker wasn’t the worst person to be trapped in a utility closet with — the company could’ve been completely sour. Instead, you were forced to endure his scathing banter and smug mouth, two things that you could navigate; mostly.

The discomfort of your current position only seems to grow, metal digging into your spine, enhanced by the uneven junctures of your suit. You wince when you shift, trying to relax whilst simultaneously avoiding bumping into him.

He notices, observant; he might’ve been ogling you for longer than what was deemed appropriate, but he kept that close to the chest. John has an idea, but he knows that you won’t bite.

“You okay?” He inquires, peering down at you with an innocuous expression. It gives you pause, makes you realize how much taller he is than you, his musculature; you try to shut your thoughts off.

“I’m fine, just … This wall is digging into my back. I think you got the comfortable side.” With a grousing huff, you wriggle again, attempting to shift your body enough to make a slight difference.

His jaw clenches, tongue tracing over his teeth, and to his own chagrin, he wants to alleviate whatever discomfort he can. “Why don’t you lean against me?” John suggests, as if it’s something commonplace.

Bewildered, you almost think he’s joking, teasing you to make light of the situation. With a sarcastic laugh, you shake your head, dismissing his idea as preposterous. “That’s a nice joke, John.” You grumble, aggravated.

“I’m serious,” John quips, clipped, mildly offended that you believed him to be insincere. “If we’re going to be stuck here, might as well make sure you’re comfortable.” He shrugs nonchalantly, tone somewhat gritty.

“Since when have you cared about my comfort?” It’s a genuine question, spoken with curiosity instead of something accusatory. You catch him off-guard, gaze finally meeting his own, and he almost seems shy.

John exhales; a long, drawn-out noise that signifies surprise, coupled with understanding. He hasn't exactly given you the impression that he likes you — in the traditional sense, anyway.

He isn’t known for his emotional intelligence or his sense of vulnerability.

“Since now,” He retorts, groveling to himself before shaking his head. “Jesus, do you want to stop being miserable or what?” John gruffs, his cadence seemingly cross with you, but it lacks malice.

Surprised, your jaw loosens, lips agape as you scramble for some halfhearted comeback. Coming up empty-handed, you decide to accept the offer, instead. “Alright.” You sigh, and take one step forward.

Proximity becomes nonexistent, the sliver of distance closed as your body presses firmly against his, and the heat crackles instantaneously. He’s broad-shouldered, firm when the both of you are wedged together.

He’s being nice, you think, which is mildly unexpected. The harsh, metal bite of the wall no longer protrudes into your back, offering you some relief. John is formidable, sturdy; better than the wall, at least.

Warmth spreads like wildfire over the back of your neck, snaking over your throat, causing you to look away again. You’re flush, chest-to-chest, tactical gear intermingling.

Fortunately for you, the discomfort that had gripped your spine dissipates, but it’s cost you your sanity. John unclasps the buckle beneath his chin, offering his jaw some momentary relief.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

It’s as if his own body is actively rebelling against him; from the moment your chest comes into contact with his, he’s fighting against baser instincts. You’re pretty — beautiful beyond compare, even with your curled lip and furrowed brows.

A gap of silence settles between, and he notices the inkling of tension that bleeds from your shoulders, using him as a brace. He’s much more comfortable than the wall, but it doesn’t make things any less awkward.

“Should we try comms?” Your voice is somewhat strained, flustered as you make a feeble attempt at distracting yourself from this. John bites, thankfully, head jostling with a nod.

“Couldn’t hurt.” He utters, clicking his tongue as he reaches for the device strapped to his wrist. The positioning is somewhat clumsy, and he fumbles with you pressed against him.

Static crackles on the other end — nothing, a dead end. Knowing that it’s off the table, he switches it back off, arm dropping back to his side. He shifts his stance, the both of you accidentally grinding over the other.

“Sorry.” You blurt, and he’s nodding to alleviate the potential tension that comes with it. Still, you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact — he’s close enough to kiss, heat of his breath pluming over your crown.

“S’fine.” John mumbles, neck tight with tension when your bodies brush over one another. It’s rousing feelings that feel horribly inappropriate for the time and place, and he can’t help it.

A hush falls over the both of you again, and when he glances away, you’re staring at him, instead. Eyelashes kiss the soft skin beneath your eyes, gaze catching on the shadow of his blonde beard, the scar on his right cheek, cerulean eyes.

He’s stupidly handsome, pleasant to behold despite his temperament, which seems unusually subdued, even now. You swallow the growing lump within your throat, teeth grinding together.

Even with his helmet, you find him attractive — you find John Walker attractive. When you repeat that fact in the back of your mind, it makes you contemplate quite a bit.

“Hanging in there?” Again, you shatter the silence with a droning question, relinquishing the tension and derailing your thoughts. It’s cheeky, but it gets him to laugh, even if the sound is dry.

“I’m not exactly hating this,” John utters, and he happens to look down at you, only to find that you’re staring, too. His heartbeat quickens, muscles tightening as he clears his throat. “You?”

“I’m great,” There’s a drop of sarcasm that lingers within your tone, but it seems to fade away. “You are definitely more comfortable than the wall.” You confirm, mouth twitching into a threadbare smile.

With a huff, John’s mouth curls into a faint smile, teetering along the fringes of sincerity. “Good to know.” He muses, cadence wrought with a twinge of insolence.

Everything goes quiet again, he’s staring — he notices details about your countenance that he never realized before. Your beauty is marrow-deep, and he knows it, knows that he’s screwed.

John becomes attractive to you like this — stripped down of his bravado, the arrogance clipped. You don’t know where to put your hands, but you prop one against his chest; he blushes.

He can’t help himself now, and his feelings are threatening to burst through the surface in more ways than one.

A groan nearly rips through his diaphragm when you writhe again, body pressing into his, your thigh ghosting over his groin. You don’t seem to notice anything, much to his relief.

Uncertain of how long you’ll be glued together for, John moves again, aiming to find better purchase along the wall, hand momentarily hovering over your waist. He steadies you when your balance wavers, causing you to shiver.

This should’ve been off-putting to you — and it wasn’t. Instead, you’re left burning from where he touched you, imagining that hand groping your body or tangled into your hair.

When you adjust again, you feel something firm against your navel, able to hear the subtle hitch in the back of his throat. He inhales — a sharp, poignant sound that seems wrought with stress.

It’s through his tactical pants, and you realize what exactly it is, causing you to bite at the inside of your cheek. Disbelief coupled with shock etched itself onto your features.

There’s a look of brief panic that settles onto his visage; you’re stunned, gaze widening when your eyes lock together. He doesn’t need any further prompting.

“Christ, I’m sorry.” John grovels, embarrassed that he’s gotten hard from having you pressed against him. It’s pathetic that he let himself get riled up from it, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

In the spirit of transparency, you aren’t upset.

In fact, it’s the opposite — you’re left stunned that he’s gotten hard for you. Some depraved sliver within you festers, wanting to torment him further, act on this tension that’s been brewing long before you went into the storage closet.

“Don’t be.” You whisper, hoarse as you attempt to scramble for a scrap of composure. The sensation of his erection bleeding heat into your navel makes you writhe, coiled with excitement.

John shakes his head, clinging to threadbare restraint, wanting nothing more than a sense of relief from it all. “We can switch places.” He offers, a feeble attempt at squashing the coyness.

“No,” The answer you give is too quick, but you don’t want to pretend like you aren’t interested. Instead, your gaze becomes somewhat half-lidded, tempting. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that you actually like me.”

Caught, there is little room to refute your claim, and John is left looking increasingly tortured. He wants you so bad that it hurts, cock throbbing beneath his tactical pants, feeling your body shift again.

“Stop it.” John warns, nearly groaning when you sluggishly move against his body, teasing the growing tent in his pants.

Abashed yet enticed, you lean forward, stretching up onto your toes to plant a kiss against his jaw. It’s slow, methodical — John looks as if he’s about to explode. “I want to if you do.” You utter, tone permeated by desire.

Jesus Christ, he’s fucked; he knows he’s fucked, and you aren’t helping anything. He’s thought about this more times than he can count, and with the reality presented to him, he isn’t sure if he can resist.

“I don’t know if I can stop.” John husks, cadence pitched to a half-growl that sends shivers down your spine. He was contemplating going through with it — here, in a storage closet in the underbelly of a warehouse.

“I don’t think I want you to,” Breathy, your confession hits him like an aphrodisiac, spiking his system, striking him into overdrive. The setting isn’t entirely ideal, but you’re desperate. “Are you sure?”

Too late; John’s mouth is crashing into yours with the force of a battering ram, dropping his still-bent shield, hands flying to seize your hips. He’s manhandling you, turning to pin you against the wall, instead.

It’s all teeth, tongue, want — the banter was only a precursor to festering feelings that were now boiling over into an explosion of heat. You kiss him back, kiss him until your lungs are ragged.

The tenacity of his mouth makes your head spin, body screaming, every fiber of your being set aflame when he kisses you. Teeth catch your bottom lip, and he’s needy.

“Don’t care,” John gruffs in-between fervent kisses, grinding against your body, prepared to rip his belt off and sink into you. “I need you.” His breathy confession makes your knees buckle.

John isn’t too boastful to admit to wanting you, needing you; it feels good to be desired in the way he covets you. Lips clash, collide — you’re kissing him as if it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

Beneath your sternum, your chest grows tight, burning with a stinging neediness, hands flying to clasp at the nape of his neck. He’s still wearing his helmet, but it doesn’t seem to hinder anything at all.

Despite the amount of tactical gear that sits between flesh, he’s eager to make do with what he’s got, hand dropping to grope at your ass through your suit.

“John,” A breathy moan slips from your mouth, intentionally hushed so as to not give away your position. “Need you.” It’s clipped, rushed, but he’s hanging onto those words as if they’re an anchor.

Slotting a thigh between your legs, he brushes it over your clothed core, pulling another whine from your lips. A twinge of satisfaction ripples through him, but he’s driven by instinct now, with you in his crosshairs.

“Gotta make it quick,” John rumbles, even if every fiber of his being wants to fuck you properly, take his time with you. You’re in the middle of a mission — time isn’t a luxury for either of you. “Jesus, you’re so pretty.” He murmurs.

The compliment surprises you, but it isn’t unwelcome, rousing a fire within the pit of your belly. Needy, you rock yourself against his thigh, gaining scraps of friction that blossom between the both of you.

Mouths claw for one another, connecting in a heated frenzy, both ravenous for contact. John can’t recall the last time he’d done something like this, but he’s craving it, craving you.

Each kiss blisters through the both of you, his lips rugged, beard scratching ragged over your skin. The prickling sensation is a pleasant one, something you cling to, hands flying to the nape of his neck.

In a surprising move, your tongue floods into his mouth, and he stifles a groan, tasting you with enthusiasm. Reciprocating your heated kiss, he follows suit, hearing the whine that catches in your throat.

When your lips untether from one another, his mouth drops to your jaw, teeth grazing across sensitive flesh, causing you to moan. A sigh of ecstasy drags through your chest, wanton.

This is John Walker — the same John that you were grousing with earlier, the same John that had a smug mouth and abrasive temper.

John, whose mouth is disarmingly tender when he kisses your jaw. John, whose hands are kneading into your haunches as if it’s something he’s done a thousand times. John, who tastes like metal and something intimately familiar.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you, gotten into him, but you’re enjoying yourself — you want him, need him, starving for touch.

Hands relocate to your waist, finding your belt with ease, unclasping it in order to unzip your pants. Your breathing picks up, eager, fingers hooking into his tactical gear to do the very same.

It’s all labored sighs, grunts, moaning — the both of you have become insatiable, frenzied. “John, please.” You mumble, chewing at your bottom lip when his hand brusquely shoves at your pants.

His belt noisily clatters when you’re unbuckling it, and he’s desperate to be inside of you. “You need it that bad?” John grunts beside your ear, hot breath feathering over your jaw.

“Yes,” Unable to withhold your excitement, you’re willing to give him what he wants; but not without consequence. Your palm darts to the swell in his pants, massaging over his erection. “So do you.”

John’s brain hums with static when you touch him, tendrils of ecstasy shooting through his body. A low, husky groan tears through his throat, and he’s huffing like a bull. “Christ, e—easy,” He sighs. “Please.”

Satisfied with his answer, you withdraw your hand, the both of you pushing fabric aside, scrambling together. His hand flies to the spandex of your underwear, pushing it aside as his hips urge forward, flushed head prodding against your cunt.

By no means is John small, either; he’s infuriatingly well-endowed, thick and oozing heat as he ruts himself into you. Using one thigh to keep your legs parted, he’s kissing you again, rough and needy.

Both of your hands find their perch against his shoulders, over kevlar and body armor, attempting to make it work. The positioning is slightly awkward, but neither of you care — it’s all desperation at this point, all desire.

Reciprocating his kiss, you’re clinging to him, using his body as an anchor, back flat against the wall. The space is nonexistent, bodies wedged together, flush and tight; he needs you like he needs air.

John exhales; a drawn-out, sharper sound that releases coils of tension from his shoulders. With a nod of consent, you let yourself get comfortable. He drags his cock over your cunt again, biting back a stifled growl.

His forehead nudges beside your temple, hotly grunting into your ear, sending waves of ecstasy through your belly. “Ready?” He gruffs, still nudging his cock against your folds, restraint threadbare.

With an exaggerated nod, you’re steeling yourself, biting at your bottom lip, faces flush together. His hips slowly urge forward, flushed head of his cock pushing into you with mild resistance.

It’s slow, at first; he’s a dam trying not to splinter and shatter, exuding tension, attempting to let you adjust first before devolving into debauchery.

You make it difficult, sighing his name as if it’s branded on your tongue, kissing his mouth. The both of you are caught in the middle of some lust-ridden haze.

The tightness of your cunt drives him to the brink of madness, huffing beside your ear, teeth grazing over your jaw. He’s growling, panting, his sounds mirroring a feral dog instead of a man.

Proximity no longer exists — it’s lost to tangled bodies and groping hands, to teeth and tongue, to baser instincts. As his hips sink into you, a cry splits your mouth, and he fills you up.

Muscles coil around you, and he’s caging you in between his body and the wall, grunting when your cunt clenched around him. A string of breathy expletives escape him, hands firm against your hips.

Everything feels hot — the lack of space in the storage closet closes in around you, leaving just him, bleeding heat into your body. His jaw is locked, brows pinched together, attempting to cling to some composure.

As his cock ruts into you, your throat snares with a gasp, hands wrangled into his shoulders. You can only imagine what it’s like to see him, flesh to flesh, leaving marks against his skin.

A shadow passes over his stare, cerulean hues eclipsed by desire as he shifts his thigh, muscle keeping your legs spread apart. Sluggishness leaves him entirely — he’s fucking you, now.

The pace he sets is quick, needy, desperate; he’s all bite and no bark, manhandling you as each drag of his hips pins you into the wall. It’s rougher, sure, but he’s not hurting you in the slightest.

John shudders at the feeling of your cunt, tight and warm around him, clenching around his cock with each roll of your hips. You took him perfectly, as if you were made for him, molded together.

“Christ, you’re tight,” John grits, exhaling heat beside your ear, mouth pressing against the side of your face. You turn, your forehead firm against his helmet, nails digging into his nape. “Goddamn perfect.”

Heat prevailed, licking along your spine as his thrusts grew with haste. A low whine rippled through you, countenance screwed up into a look of pleasure, thighs beginning to shake.

“John,” Through a strangled moan, you’re taking each thrust of his hips, the force akin to a battering ram. “So good at this, you’re s—Fuck, so perfect.” Never in your wildest imagination did you think you’d be calling John perfect, but it slips out.

When it does, it’s as if you’ve reached deep inside of him and flipped a switch; a primal glaze settles into his eyes.

His grip upon your thigh had only strengthened, fingertips threatening to leave bruises in the wake of your crass escapades. His cock throbs within you, hitting new depths, nearly kissing your cervix.

“Say it again.” John growls, the noise sharp enough to send goosebumps cascading over your spine. Your body is wracked with ecstasy, a muted buzz soaring through your nerves, now set ablaze.

Some loathsome part of him craves the praise, your validation — when it slips from your mouth, he’s chasing after it like some feral animal.

“Good at this, you’re — Shit, you’re fucking me so well,” The words that clamor from your lips sound foreign; you cringe at yourself despite it, but he seems to preen beneath the praise. “Don’t stop.”

It’s as if a fervor spikes within him, something buried and gnawing. He doubles his efforts, desperate to please you, ripping off his helmet as if it’s gotten too snug.

Blonde tresses sweep over his forehead, perfectly disheveled, messy; your fingers slip from his nape to his hair, grabbing it in fistfuls. The sharp sensation pulls a groan from his chest, a rumble that makes you shiver.

A husky, throaty groan pierces through his chest, the noise making you shiver, arousal slick and warm between your thighs. It makes each snap of his hips easier, cock sinking into you over and over again.

Each snap of his hips drags you further towards the edge, cock spearing into you without an ounce of hesitation. It’s borderline animalistic, all pent-up and shoved down, now boiling over in waves.

He’s handsome like this — handsome when he’s all over your mouth, when he’s pounding away at your cunt, brows pinched together in concentration.

One arm cages you in against him, the other pressed beside your head, palm grinding against metal. It groans in protest, bending to his inhuman strength, and the noise makes your belly churn with molten heat.

Every thrust is sharp, precise — he’s gritty, perspiration glittering along his neck, muscles pulled taut.

A low moan left you as he snapped forward, letting passion and want pour into his actions, cock sheathing itself inside of your aching cunt.

John ruts into you again, again, again — a pattern of rhythmic thrusts that jostle your body. Grunts tear through his chest, spilled beside your ear in warm huffs, pluming across your jaw.

“Walker?”

Bucky’s voice sizzles through the wave of static on the comms, and you don’t want him to stop. While he’s pounding away at you still, his movements begin to stutter at the noise, but you’re pulling him away.

“Don’t answer,” You moan, friction blossoming between the both of you, feverish and scalding. Every fiber of your being feels like it’s set ablaze, cunt clenching around his cock with each drag of his hips. “Please, John.”

John doesn’t relent, subservient to your breathy plea, hips urging forward as he’s bucking up into you with urgency. He’s close too, hand roughing your hip, grasp bruising as he kisses you.

His cock aches, throbbing inside of you, flesh crawling with heat beneath his body armor. Everything feels snug — he imagines what it’d be like to have you somewhere else, naked.

The fantasy ripples at the fringes of his mind, something lascivious and hazy, spurring him on. He fucks you hard, somewhere between rough and worshipful, as if you’re something to covet.

A breathy ‘fuck’ tears through his mouth, cock repeatedly pistoning in and out of you, listening to your pleasured whines and sighs. “Jesus,” John gruffs, feeling your lips press over his jaw. “That’s it, s’good.” He groans.

With another urge of his hips, you’re unraveling around him, driven to the brink by an amalgamation of friction and want. A buzz swarms through your body, legs rattling, shaking from your orgasm.

Grunts continued to spill beside your ear as he reached his peak, but you were already there. It was a perfect storm of sensations, ones that made you delirious with desire, sobbing with ecstasy.

John fucked you through your release, cock steadily rutting into your cunt, pressing a messy kiss against your mouth. You reciprocate, teeth catching on his bottom lip, sighing into his maw.

Everything is white-hot, dizzying; John offers a strained warning of his encroaching release, cumming inside of you in a half-frenzy. He says your name, and it makes you shiver.

“Walker, what’s your twenty?”

Again, Bucky’s voice is cutting through at the worst possible moment, and John snarls with frustration. His forehead tilts against yours, brow creased, countenance unfurling with half-bliss, half-agitation.

Each breath stings your lungs as you attempt to compose yourself, realizing that you’re still on the job. Cerulean hues burn into yours, and you kiss him slowly, as if to tell him that it’s okay.

Blonde lashes kiss the skin beneath his eyes, sluggish, as if he’s readjusting to his surroundings. As the fog begins to clear, John huffs, tongue sweeping over his teeth.

“You okay?” He asks, cadence hoarse and pitched with a still-lingering desire. He withdraws, untethering himself from you with a strenuous grunt, moving to buckle his pants up.

“Yeah,” Through a soft whisper, your gaze falls across him, smitten when you realize the gravity of what’s happened. “We should answer Bucky and try to regroup.”

With a nod, John concedes, hands gingerly shifting toward your hips, wordless as he helps to clasp your belt back together. “You know, we could try this again, with more space.” He states, matter-of-factly.

Incredulous, you’re making sure your suit is back into place, visibly flustered as you clear your throat. “When we get back to the Watchtower, come and find me.” You reply, attempting to seem disinterested.

John’s mouth twitches into a smug grin, lifting the communicator to his mouth. “Barnes, we copy.”

Suddenly, the door to the utility closet caves in, a metal arm ripping it from the hinges. John is still in the middle of helping you with your belt, digits stilling along your waist.

“Good hiding spot.” Bucky scoffs, doing little to suppress his smirk. The both of you look like deer in the headlights, and you’re quick to step away, brusquely clearing your throat.

You’re never going to hear the end of this.