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chelliebelle · 5 months ago

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I DON'T SEE A RING ON YOUR FINGER | n. kento

꩜ SUMMARY . . having just finalized his divorce, a bitter kento tries to find the end to his sorrows in the bottom of a liquor bottle. but when a pretty young thing comes fluttering by his side, he decides there's no better time to get laid than now. ꩜ WORD COUNT . . 4.9k words of flith <333 ꩜ CONTAINS . . smut, divorcee!kento, reader is described as slutty, age gap (reader is in her early twenties and kento is in his late thirties), sexual frustration, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, pussy slapping, spanking, rough sex, biting, spitting, they're kind of drunk, choking, bruising, pussy drunk!kento ꩜ AUTHOR'S NOTE . . kento's balls practically shriveled during his sexless marriage so best believe he's gonna enjoy himself!!

Nanami Kento had it all.

A two-story house in the suburbs, a high-paying job, a beautiful wife—he had the perfect life. And damn did he hate every second of it. He hated waking up in that house to greet his nosy neighbors, hated driving to his soul sucking office job, and especially hated going home to his wife every night. She’d leave him leftovers in the fridge and kiss him goodnight before bed, and Kento would stay up every night wondering how to escape this limbo.

Tonight was the first time he felt free in years. Sitting at some shitty bar he can't remember the name of, he absentmindedly fiddled with his wedding band. Months ago, this little piece of metal meant everything. A loving marriage. A promise of a future. A sign of success. Now? It's just a worn-out ring that he can't throw out.

Kento sighed, setting it down on the table in favor of a glass of whiskey, letting it burn down his throat as he took a sip. He was never a drinker, but maybe it was something he repressed over the years. What else had he missed out on while trying to play Mr. Perfect?

Right, sex.

Kento was so obsessed with a picture perfect life that he even married someone he barely knew. She was pretty and nice enough—boring as fuck now that he thought about it—but that was enough for him to get down on one knee and take her down the aisle. What he didn't take into account was his own needs. All a man needed after a long day of work was some pussy, and he was no different. Mrs. Nanami was beautiful, sure, but one hell of a prude. If he was lucky, he got laid about once a month. Even then, she'd just lay stiff on the bed while he fucked her. If Kento didn't see the rise and fall of her chest, he'd assume he was sleeping with a corpse.

This meant that every night after his wife fell asleep, he'd go to his study to jack off to porn on his computer. It was enough for him to go to bed without a raging hard-on, but only having his hand to rub his cock raw all the time took a toll on him. Kento stopped initiating anything with Mrs. Nanami, opting to go straight online whenever he felt his dick twitch. For years, he lived like this.

Wake up, go to work, get home, say goodnight to wife, jack off.

Until a few months ago when his wife said she wanted a divorce. She must've been expecting him to start a fight, because her face fell when Kento nodded without a second thought. It was a long time coming. Sure, he believed he should've been the one to divorce her, but at least he was gonna be free. The days after she moved out was the happiest he had ever been. Waking up in an empty bed and coming home to an even colder bed filled him with a sense of contentment he thought he'd never feel again.

Cheers to being single, he thought to himself as he ordered another drink. As he waited, he couldn't help but sigh. The ink on his divorce papers hadn't even dried yet and he was already thinking of getting his dick wet. Kento hadn't had good pussy since he was twenty. The thought of cheating never even passed his mind during his marriage, opting the company of his own right hand over breaking the promise he made to his wife. Ex-wife.

He brought the rim of the glass to his lips, eager to drink himself to sleep, until the scraping of a barstool broke his concentration. "Drinking alone, handsome?"

The voice was soft and feminine, making him turn his head in curiosity. It came from a young girl, probably still in college but wearing a tight dress that looked like it came off a stripper. Kento wasn't a boomer by any means, but he still found himself disapproving how there was more skin than fabric on her body.

Kids these days.

Retrieving his gaze, he let out a quiet hmm before turning back to his drink. That didn't deter you, a girlish giggle leaving your lips as you leaned towards him.

"Seriously, there's no way you're here alone. Is this a set up? Where are the hidden cameras?"

College kids were so weird these days. With a scrunch between his brows, he shakes his head as he lets out a low rumble that makes your stomach twist. "Sorry to disappoint, kid. It's just me, no hidden cameras."

When he turns his head to face you, he's surprised at how close you were to him. Kento could smell the vodka shots off your breath. It reminded him of when he was as young as you were, getting drunk off cheap liquor. A soft pink dusted your cheeks, along with a tipsy smile that made his chest warm for some reason. You seemed to catch him staring, reaching out to rest your hand on his bicep.

"You look like...really put together. Like you do your taxes and sleep early or something."

The choked cough he lets out when you touch him makes the whiskey burn up his nose, hand coming up to cover half his face. Just a friendly gesture from a girl made him act like this? Get it together, Kento. Scoffing, he shrugged off your hand as he looked away. You pout as he does so and the sight fills him with regret immediately. Before he can apologize, you knock your head against his shoulder, nuzzling against him like a spoiled kitten. Guilt pools in the pit of Kento's stomach when his cock twitches in his slacks. Not now!

"Do you have a name, handsome mystery man?" you mumble against his shirt, the action making his loins burn. He seriously considers pushing you away but decides you're probably too drunk to function right now. After a few beats pass, he reluctantly grumbles a "Kento" in response. You're quiet save for a soft hum and Kento is left hating himself for getting hard at how clingy you're being.

Poor girl, you're clinging to someone who you think looks dependable in this shady ass bar. Or at least that's what he thinks until you grab his wrist and bring it up to your face. For a moment, he assumes you're trying to get a look at the Rolex around his wrist, the sleek gold glinting in the air. He has to repress a sigh—until he realizes your attention is actually on his hands. Kento's fingers are lengthy from years of typing at his desk everyday, the digits at least twice as thick as yours. Pretty veins run along his knuckles and up his forearms, disappearing under the fabric of his rolled sleeves. You can't help but sigh, eyes flickering up to his with admiration.

"Your hands are like, really...big."

He immediately pulls his hand away with a bewildered look, clicking his tongue as he adjusted the watch around his wrist, ignoring the whine you let out.

"What does that even mean?" he huffs, his fingers twitching at the traces of heat from your delicate hand grabbing his. You giggle at his reaction, slumping against him until your chest presses against his arm.

"I wonder what you can do with them, m'sure you'd know how to use them good."

Oh. Oh. When his gaze connects with your breasts that are almost spilling out the top of your dress and the sultry look in your eyes, only then does he realize that he's being hit on.

"Look, kid. I'm m—" he catches himself before he finishes his sentence. Fuck, was he going to say he was married? The wedding band in his other hand suddenly felt much heavier and he quickly shoves it in his pocket.

"...much older than you, I'm almost twice your age."

Another mellifluous giggle leaves your lips and Kento has to hold himself back from shutting you up so that blood stops rushing to his dick.

"I think you're flirting with me," you tease, rubbing your chest against his arm. If he focuses, he swears he can feel your hardened buds brushing against him through your dress. Not even wearing a bra, you're begging to be fucked. The thought of being the one to take you home tonight passes his mind but he shoves it away. You're drunk and almost half his age, it'd be wrong. All rational thought comes flying out the window when your hot breath fans against his ear.

"But, I also think you're really hot, Kento. So maybe we can..."

Your words fall on deaf ears as his eyes flutter shut and his head tilts back. Kento was never a religious man, but in this moment he prayed to the gods above for clarity. You were offering yourself up to him like a hog on a silver platter, tied up with an apple in your mouth for him to devour. He couldn't help but imagine your glassy eyes rolling into the back of your head, your sweet lips hanging open when he drives his cock deep into your tight and wet cunt—

Fuck it.

Will he ever get another chance to bring a pretty young thing like you home? The thought is what drives him as he grabs your wrist to drag you out the bar and into his car.

When you approached the hot stranger earlier, you sure didn't expect that it'd end with you moaning with his hand between your legs.

Drunk out of your mind, your gaze had fell onto the brooding man at the bar, eyeing his rippling muscles under his crisp blue shirt. Now that was a back you'd love to scratch up. It didn't take long for you to stumble on your too-high heels towards the blonde man. You were never this forward but something about him had you squeezing your thighs together. Maybe it was the silent classiness that screamed luxury, the heat in his eyes that burned every time his gaze lingered on you—or maybe it was how he practically flung you over his shoulder and ran all the red lights to take you home.

But never in a million years had you expected that man to be this nasty.

His lips tasted like heavy liquor, tongue sloppily tangling with yours as he slammed you against the door, one hand coming up to cup your jaw. You were used to bad french kisses from frat boys, all teeth and smelly breath, but the way Kento was devouring you made you lightheaded.

"What a dirty mouth, wonder if you pussy's even wetter."

He pushed your legs apart with his foot and let his hand wander up your inner thigh. You gasp when he finds your mound, panties thoroughly soaked. The scoff that leaves his lips makes your cheeks flush. He cooes as he drag a thick digit along the clothed slit of your cunt, swallowing up your weak moans with his mouth.

"I don't even need to prep you," he chuckles, shaking his head as his thumb prods at your bud hidden beneath your folds.

"You have such a smart cunt, s' already drooling for me."

Kento pulls his hand from between your legs and grabs the back of your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. Head still spinning from the alcohol, you lose your balance, but the death grip he has keeps you upright as he carries you to his bedroom.

It's scantily decorated and you note that the bed it a bit too big for someone living alone, but you forget all about it when your back hits the plush mattress.

His eyes are wide as if he's trying to commit the sight of you to memory, every exposed sliver of skin and plush flesh permanently burned into his mind. Before you know it, Kento's hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, squeezing your thighs, yanking your dress up like he's unwrapping the first real gift he's ever had. Your slutty dress is long forgotten on his bedroom floor, and fuck, he's hard. Painfully so.

How can't he be when your sweet body is all on display for him?

Kento can't find it in him to give a damn about some dress when all he can see are your perky tits, so soft and malleable. He doesn't spare a moment to admire the view, slapping your breasts till they jiggled deliciously. Before you can whine about how mean he's being, he attacks your tender chest, lips wrapping around the mounds of flesh. It catches you off-guard and you tug at his hair, but he only bites down around your nipple, flicking his tongue over the hardened bud.

"Don't."

His voice is a low growl you never heard before, and damn if it didn't make your clit throb with need. Right on cue, he pries your legs apart and gets on his knees between them, mouth never leaving your breast. The way his hips grind against you is vicious, as if he's been waiting years for this. Which, in a way, he has. Kento has spent too many nights in his cold bed, jerking off to the thought of someone warm beneath him. Now that he has it? Best believe he's not letting you go tonight.

Your heat seeps through the fabric of your underwear and he can tell that you're making a mess all over the front of his slacks, his bulge covered in your slick. Clicking his tongue, he pushes your knees against your chest to come face-to-face with your clothed core. His thumb tugs at the lace of your panties, lifting your hips to slide it over your ass and letting the flimsy fabric dangle on your ankle.

He intended to teach you a lesson, but his brain short-circuits when he sees your weeping cunt. Your chubby lips were glistening with slick from his teasing, that pretty clit hidden under your swollen folds. Kento hasn't had a taste of pussy in years, so he can't resist leaning forward to roll his tongue against your slit.

Immediately he's gone.

He laps at you like a man starved, locking his arms around your thighs to keep you spread open for him. Mrs. Nanami was never this wet for him and it had messed with his confidence for a while, but your sweetness was all it took to bring him back. His cock twitches at the sight of you writhing under him, the front of his slacks now completely stained with precum. Kento nearly forgot to breathe with how absorbed he was in your pussy.

“You're like a piece of candy,” he mouths against your sensitive cunt, pushing the tip of his tongue into your warm entrance. “So sweet, can eat you up all night.”

Your thighs tremble and clamp around his head, the action only pushing him closer against your waiting heat, nose bumping against your clit. Kento moaned as he flattened his warm tongue against you, making out with your cunt with more fervor than when he had kissed you. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, Kento completely forgets about his aching hard-on, hips instinctively rutting against the mattress with every swipe of his tongue. Your lips were so puffy that he couldn't resist biting down, latching his lips onto your neglected bud and sucking hard.

You almost cry out at the sensation, reaching your hand down to pull at his hair as you thrash under him, feeling your thighs quiver. "S'too much! Gonna make me come—"

SMACK.

His palm had landed flat on your cunt.

"None of that. You wanted my attention, now take it."

The mean rumble of his voice along with the harsh slap against your sensitive heat sent you over the edge, coming onto Kento's face as your back arched off the bed. He was more than eager, lips hanging open as he swallowed up every drop of your sweetness.

Like heaven on his tongue.

Your taste was addictive, making him groan with every bob of his Adam's apple. Kento slurps up all the wetness he can get, chin glistening with your essence once he pulls away. The sudden orgasm had you panting, only coming back to your senses when you heard the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor, lifting your head up at the exact moment Kento tugged his ruined boxers down.

His heavy cock slapped against his sweaty washboard abs, leaking onto his abdomen. You had seen enough subpar dicks in your life to know that he was big, the idea of it stretching you open making your pussy drool. Pretty veins ran along the base, leading up to his thick tip that was already dribbling pearls. It was an angry red, sensitive from rubbing against the fabric of his slacks. You could've sworn his cock twitched when his eyes locked with yours.

He reluctantly rolls on a condom, mumbling something under his breath as he strains against the pink rubber. Should just fuck this pussy raw. Luckily, he still had enough common sense to stop him from begging you to let him go in without protection. Kento grabs your thighs, hefty length dragging down your slit as he positioned himself between your legs. With his cock resting on your mound, you can tell he's gonna be so deep in your tummy that you'll feel him tomorrow.

“I'll make sure of it, pretty girl,” he chuckles, slapping his member against your puffy clit.

Did you actually say that out loud—?

Your cheeks puffed up at his words, an embarassed flush on your face at your little slip-up. He's so heavy between your legs that you wonder how he'll even fit. Kento's hand reaches to pull you flush against him by the ankle, propping your leg up his shoulder, groaning as his cock dragged between your lips.

"You're so wet," he muses, pumping himself lazily before he lined himself up your entrance. "Bet you're gonna take me like a good girl, hmm?"

You gasp when he pushes his flushed cockhead between your swollen folds, struggling past tight rings of muscle. So tight. Fuck, he should've known—you were just a little brat who thought she could handle him. He hisses as your walls clamp down around his tip, nails digging into your hips as he tries to catch his breath.

"Loosen up, sweetheart. You're gonna snap off my dick."

Kento stayed like that, tip twitching inside your warm pussy, before he pushes forward once more. He's bigger than any cock you've taken before. Unprepared for the stretch, your brows knit together when he bullies his way into your cunt. He barely makes it a few inches in before your eyes start to water. Your insides were being stuffed to the brim. You take a deep breath, weakly shaking your head as your thighs tremble.

"K-Kento, please—" Please?

You didn't even know what you were begging for, did you? How cute. With a sigh, he pulls out from the comfort of your pussy. You let out a sigh of relief, before a warm liquid hit your bare lips. With the viscosity dribbling between your folds, you realized that was Kento's spit. Your gaze flickered up towards him but he focused on other things—like the way your clit twitched when his saliva hit the neglected bud. Eyes dark and brows knitted, he reached down to thumb at your sensitive nub, a choked moan leaving your lips.

"Ease up, that's right," he praised, using the wetness to roll his hips forward.

Your walls fluttered around him, your moans egging him on as he continued to feed you more of his monster cock. Kento never needed this amount of prep with Mrs. Nanami, considering she always seemed so...bored. He was even beginning to think he was bad at sex! But the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head told him all he needed to know. A low groan rumbled in his chest when he finally bottomed out, his tip kissing your cervix. After so long with only his hand as company, he worried he'd come the second he was inside you. The way you were squeezing his dick didn't help either. Kento swallowed hard, trying to take deep breaths as he let you adjust to his size.

"How are you so tight?"

When his panting reached your ears, you let out a slurred mumble, eyes unfocused as you tried to look up. He leaned down, forehead resting against yours to regain his composure. Body covering yours, he only buried himself deeper all the way to the hilt. It was like your mind went blank.

"Ngh—you're just too big!" you managed to shout, eyes glassy from how he kept nudging against your womb.

That was all it took for Kento to lose his mind.

Locking an arm around your leg, he fucked into you, heavy balls slapping against your ass as his hips snapped forward. His pace was merciless, knocking the breath out of your lungs with every mean thrust.

"Yeah? How deep am I?" he growled, his grip on your waist bruising.

All the way in my tummy, you try to say, but you were too fucked out to answer. Just a few thrusts had you dumb on his cock, glossy lips hanging open weakly. The sight makes Kento chuckle, holding onto your thighs as his skin smacked against yours.

It had been years since he had been in a pussy this wet and eager for him. He was in love with your cunt. The slickness as he slid past your folds, the way your walls tried to milk him—but the cock drunk look in your eyes was the cherry on top. Kento turns his head to the side, pressing kisses onto your calf as he fucked you.

Come back, pretty girl.

When he notices your lack of response, he sinks his teeth into the soft flesh, emphasized with a harsh thrust that made you scream. "Kento, slow down," you cry out, heat churning in your belly from the cruel pistoning of his hips.

He only chuckles, shaking his head before he sped up his pace. The shocked look in your eyes made him reach down to rub tight circles on your clit for relief. Loud squelches and the slapping of skin-on-skin filled the air, the room reeking of sweat and sex. Kento's eyes locked on the way your ass bounced back against his pelvis with every thrust, cock twitching as he thought of taking you from behind. He continued to jackhammer into you, strings of profanities leaving his lips. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into. As you mumbled incoherently on the verge of tears, a hand wrapped around your throat.

"Shh. Your sweet pussy's talkin' to me," he tuts, squeezing your throat to shut you up.

His hand completely engulfed your neck, rough palm pressed tightly against your pulse. Gasping for breath, you could feel your head spin from the lack of air. You rake your nails along his back, digging crescents into his skin to try and make him let go. Kento hissed at the sensation, cockhead slamming hard against your g-spot. It was too much—the delicious stretch of his cock, the way his tip kissed your gummy insides with every thrust, his hand around your throat—the knot in your stomach snapped. Even when you tried to push the heat down, your climax ripped through you like white lightning.

Your back arched off the bed, cursing out Kento's name as your orgasm shook through your body. The man nearly collapsed on top of you, a sharp groan leaving his lips as your walls clamped down and milked his cock so suddenly. His grip on your throat loosens and you thrash under him.

You might die from how good he's dicking you down.

Rolling onto your stomach, you stumble as you get on your hands and knees to try and crawl off the bed. A pair of rough hands grab onto your waist, followed by heavy panting that makes your blood run cold.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" Kento spits, dragging you back against him.

He'd be damned if he let the first good pussy he's had in years get away. Even when you try to thrash and break free, your body is too weak from coming so hard! His palm lands a harsh smack against your ass, your arms collapsing under your body as you cried out. Kento pushed your head down into the pillows, propping you up by the back of your knees. Face down, ass up. The sight of you so vulnerable with your glistening pussy on display made him lick his lips, quickly positioning himself behind you.

"Naughty girl, trying to run away from me," he tuts, swiping his tip up and down your creamy folds.

As punishment, he reached down to pinch your clit, earning a choked sob from you. He rolled the bud between his fingers, resting his free hand on the plush of your ass. Cock throbbing for release, he buried himself to the hilt in one thrust, setting up a mean pace immediately.

Yep, might die from this dick.

Every slam of his hips against yours had you sobbing into the pillows, the fabric damp with your salty tears. Your body was still reeling from your multiple orgasms, cunt fluttering around him. Even if it was too much, Kento was fucking you so good your insides had molded to every ridge and vein of his cock. Your tits jiggled with every thrust and he wasted no time in grabbing your hefty breasts, playing with your soft nipples. He buried his head in the tender area where your neck and shoulders connected, groaning against you.

Kento was getting close, you could tell from how frantically he rutted into you. His cock throbbed inside you, pulsing against your gummy walls. You couldn't resist the urge to push your ass back into him, making his dick hit even deeper inside you. You were half sure he was bulging through your tummy at this point. The action made him suck in shallow breaths through his teeth, keeping a death grip on your ass as he bulllied your cunt.

"Fuuuck, I'm gonna come," he groans into your shoulder.

His face scrunched up in pleasure, panting heavily into your skin as he buried his cock deeper and deeper. Seeing such a composed man this broken made your cheeks flush. Your walls were heavenly, every clench pushing him closer to the edge.

Screw his hand. Coming from your pussy squeezing him was better that jacking off to any porno he could watch online.

With a strangled moan, Kento shot thick spurts of cum into the condom, as if he hadn't finished in years. He collapsed on top of you, the orgasm rendering him unable to even hold himself up anymore. It was like losing his virginity all over again. You whine as the rubber began to fill up with his load, heavy in your pussy. After a few moments to catch your breath, you tried to push yourself off him, worried he'd spill into you.

"We should probably take that off—"

Kento shut you up immediately, grabbing your waist to drag your hips back on top of him. Now straddling his lap, his still hard cock prodded new places you had never even touched before, a pathetic moan leaving your lips. His blonde hair was messy and dripping with sweat, eyes glazed over as his cheeks flushed. You felt him twitch inside you when he met your gaze, the same fucked-out look in both your eyes. He definitely wasn't done with you yet.

"It's only midnight, sweetheart."

You'd be lucky to come out of here alive.

You spent the rest of the night going several rounds, trying every position possible before collapsing from exhaustion. What's for sure—sex would never be the same ever again. How could you go back to one night stands with shitty frat bros when an older man just gave you the dicking down of your life?

The next morning, you roll on your side to see Kento sitting at the edge of the bed. His bare back was wrecked, littered with vicious nail marks and lipstick stains. You chew on your bottom lip, pulling the duvet over your chest.

"Are we gonna see each other again?" you croak, voice hoarse from last night.

The muscles in his back tensed at your words. Kento didn't want to see the hickeys and bruises on your skin, undeniable marks of the years of frustration he took out on you. He actually slept with a girl almost half his age right after getting divorced.

Talk about issues.

Though his stomach churned with guilt, the memories of last night flashed through his mind. How eager you were for him, your sopping cunt, your sweet whines. He was even starting to imagine what it'd be like to sink into you raw.

He couldn't deny how addicted he was to your body. Doing this once was one thing, but agreeing to meet you again? Kento let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a few moments, he spoke up.

"Let me check my schedule, pretty girl."

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#chelle's fics #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk #jjk smut #nanami smut #nanami kento #kento nanami #kento smut #nanami kento smut #nanami x reader #jjk nanami #jujutsu nanami #jjk x reader

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tonycries · 7 months ago

Text

BUTTER

Synopsis. First time cúmming inside = first time losing his mind.

Pairings. [SEPARATE] Gojo x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, creampíes, PÚSSYDRÚNK JJK MEN, breéding, cúmplay, men whímpering, virgínity loss (Choso), overstím, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, GOJO’S POWERS, proposals, full nélson, true form Sukuna, dp, spítting, p slápping, p talking, limitless, oraI (fem rec.), pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 5.9k

A/N. Hope y’all have a lovely week <3

♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Earned it.

“I-is she really tellin’ me to hah- f-fill her up inside, doll?” Toji breathes, dazed eyes locked down at your stuffed entrance. And he can barely focus his gaze - barely even try to sound like himself right now. “I-is this real?”

Ragged rasps just about half as ruined as he feels, lilting up in pitch. In strain. Sharp intakes of breath becoming so labored when his entire hulking body wracks with a heaving shiver.

And Toji’s scrambling his thick fingers to latch roughly onto your face, your waist - anywhere and everywhere that might help him keep an ounce of his sanity.

But it was too late.

“Heh, did I hngh- fuck the rationality outta ya? You really want me t-to-” Head throwing back, he can’t even think of finishing his sentence. Of doing anything other than curling one set of fingers around your throat. Biceps flexing when he shoves you even harder onto all fours on the silken sheets, he cranes over to place a line of pretty pecks down your teary cheeks, panting, “Well…wh-whatever my girl wants- she gets, right?”

And he meant it.

Oh, he couldn’t even believe it. Toji had your pretty pussy overfilled with all of his thick, thorough inches - slamming his hips drunkenly against yours when you’d babbled to cum inside. Fuck, it’s so real.

And that’s all it takes for him to clamor up one of his staggeringly muscular thighs up onto the plushy bed. To messily slip and slide across the saturated puddle of your sweet, sweet dripping juices and press his foot down shamelessly on your head. Like he couldn’t get enough.

The new angle nestles his hefty cock disruptively, dredges of his sweltering hot precum splat! against every inch of your clingy cunt.

“Oh yeah- th-this is the stuff.” His dark, dewy eyes veer to the very back of his head, hissing when his achy cock expands open your gummy walls. Throbbing head swelling plumper to curve even deeper, “Let me- l-let me hear ya, ma-”

Your trembly fingers rake a reddened line down his calf. Gasping for air at the way the rotund end of his angry, strawberry-pink tip kisses against your g-spot so snugly. “W-wan’ it so badly- please.”

“Want what?” Toji’s teasing tone rumbles from behind, and he’s gyrating his hips ever-so-slightly slower. Making sure to draw out those wet, translucent glides down your tight channel, “Can’t- can’t hear you-”

Honestly, he had absolutely no idea whether it was because of your honeyed tone breaking out into the cutest of whimpers, or because Toji’s ears were popping. Swatting a wet smack! at your beading clit to get you to yelp, his drawling mouth moves all by itself. “Already asked- t-tell me now unless ya want me to cum outside-”

“No! No no no-” And that was all the threat it took to have you careening unsteadily onto your elbows, fully forgetting the mean restraint of Toji’s foot on top of you. “Please- need you to cum inside please-”

“Louder.”

You’re sneakily shivering your hips down every one of his rummaging inches. “Toji-”

“Ohhhh- my bad.” With a slight snicker, his tongue glissades a wet gloss down the very edges of his scar. Leaving rounded circular bruises at your bobbing throat just how harshly Toji was jostling you with the vice-like embrace, and you can only manage out a few sniffles when he drags by one strong arm to crash the recoil into his ruthless hips. Dangerously stopping you in your tracks. Humming, “Stop fuckin’ running, I w-was talkin’ to ya pretty pussy.”

Your bleary eyes snap open, “What–”

“Shhh, doll- stop whining so much–” he’s cooing in a syrupy slow cadence. “Jus’ needa- needa hear it from her.”

Slapping down his leaky cockhead along your sloppy hole every few strokes, having you drooling a glossy sheen down his thick shaft like you were painting him. So much of it that the dripping wet noises were resounding in Toji’s ears, dancing around his melty mind like his new favorite song.

Oh, he loved to hear it. Over and over and-

“S-so soaked.” he’s groaning out like a mantra, darkened eyes grifting together. Mouth can all but lift his drunken maw slack open at every tightening clamp of your syrupy pussy, “You want me to cum inside this badly, doll?”

And you feel your puffed-up pussy lips get even more soaked at the utter pussydrunk look on Toji’s usually smug-features. “Because I’ve been thinking about this e-ever since the day I met ya-” He’s craning over - hunching, more like. Baring you with his most crazed gaze, “To breed ya- to fill you up ‘ntil you think you’re gonna hah burst. To make ya a pretty momma so-” Back muscles flexing, abs aching with fatigue, lips dragging a sopping wet kiss. “-please let me cum inside.”

Ah, who was Toji Fushiguro against you?

Because as soon as your head even dares to move within the inch of that half-delirious nod you send his way, Toji’s sopping your insides sloshing wet with his cum. For the first time. In awe. Load after load being fucked up into you - white flashes behind your eyes when you feel it knock against your womb, trickling down over your cervix.

And there’s so much of it.

“Gonna have yer g-gorgeous eyes-” he slurs, crushing you with his full body weight. “-n’ your smile fuck- my love for ya-” It won’t’ stop - Toji can’t stop, can’t reel back the weepy curving divot of his head. “M’thinking four- no- five.” Still oozing out a milky gloss even when he’s dragging his fat cock out of your hole.

Still cumming. Smearing every nook and cranny of the sheet below white as he flips you around and plants a sudden smack! on your overspilling pussy, gushing out obscenely when Toji’s urgently bringing his face down, down, down.

“Oh. Fuckin’ delicious.” His eyes droop half-lidded at the heavenly sight - shit, he could get used to this. Mouth watering, his feverish breath wafts all over your sensitive pussy. “I earned this, didn’t I, ma?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Happy wife, happy life

“Ken-”

“...”

“Ken.”

But oh, Nanami Kento can’t even hear his pretty wife right about now. Can’t do anything but shove his greedy tongue down the ends of your sopping wet slit, pooling your syrupy juices all the way down to his throat.

In fact, the only response you’re being gifted with is a furious pull on his dangling work tie - barely even bothering to change out of it - to be able to swipe his nose down more freely in a long kiss down your puffy clit. More, more, more-

Keening, your fingers tangle into Nanami’s blond strands - tugging, dragging, but shit, he couldn’t - wont. It hurt for him to even think of pulling away. Roughened palms scissor past your folds, and he pants, “P-please- fuck- just a bit- more-”

He was addicted. Gone.

“B-but Ken-” Couldn’t register anything past the way your voice was dipping into a whiny territory right now that made him twitch dangerously. That is, until- “Wan’ to cum w-with you- to have you ah- cum inside-”

Oh.

If you thought that Nanami was drunk on you before then you were completely unprepared for the way that singular babbling plea make him still.

It makes him gasp, honeyed eyes widening, feverish breaths spilling out in heaving puffs of condensation - once, twice. Before your back is suddenly slamming down on the counter, legs splayed out shamefully by Nanami’s sturdy forearms, and your cunt-

Fuck, in a few split-seconds, you were being stuffed so thoroughly open. Nanami’s reddish cockhead springing down to gift a wet thwack! thwack! thwack! on your puffed-up clit, he’s swiping down the ends of your drooling lips.

“I-inside?” he breathes, a few octaves higher than usual.

You’re nodding, your fingers twirling around his haphazard tie. “Inside.”

“Anything…” Nanami breathes, and he sounds like he doesn’t even know that he’s saying the words. Barely ripping his gaze from you to scramble for your left hand - before placing a sweet, sweet peck on that cool wedding band on your ring finger. “Anything f-for you, my love.”

You’re almost crying at that ruthless stretch of his globular tip poking at your insides, he’s caving in a way open - and even after so many years, you’ve never gotten used to how staggeringly big Nanami’s girth was. How his curved divot was steaming out a thick wad of precum that already made you feel so full.

Now, you two had discussed kids - but never acted upon it like this. This needy. This frenzied-

“Wh-whatever you want, y’know-” He’s humming depravedly into your mouth like a mantra, thumbing past your pouty lips to spit into your mouth. And that very sight of those translucent splatters makes his hips stutter mindlessly, “Anything for you- anything for the future momma of my kids-”

Shit, you throw your head back as soon as he’s grazing two digits down the very hood of your neglected clit - only for Nanami to jostle your head over his hands.

“C-careful-” he murmurs, hand dipping down to massage your neck. Your shoulders - all while his fat cock was rummaging every nook and cranny of your insides. “-don’t wan’ you to hurt your- hah-self, darling. S’not good f-for the-”

Baby.

Nanami doesn’t think he can even bear to say that simple word right about now.

Risking losing whatever’s left of his sanity, he’s wrapping one beefy arm around your middle to crush your body to his. And before you know it, you’re being hastily jostled off of the counter and dangled midair - all while your gentle husband barely even breaks a sweat. Utilizing the lewd properties of gravity to let you bounce down onto his long length and back upwards. His voice cracks, “-baby.”

“Ah-” your trembly hands wrap their way around his neck, giving Nanami the perfect angle to pepper peck after sultry peck onto your bouncing tits. “D-don’t hah- drop me, Ken, m’kay?”

Drop you?

God, he lets out a slight chuckle at the very thought. Angling to rut his inches even deeper upwards, every tiny massage of your elastic walls around his painful cock makes Nanami nod. So fervently that stray strands stick to his prespired forehead. Such a pretty mess of your sensible husband. “Mhm- w-won’t drop you, I swear- I swear-”

Hips speeding up in such a sloppy way now, but even how you’re tightening his tie won’t make Nanami stop - slow down.

“Promise?”

Slowly, his dribbling cock gushes out even in even more velvety ribbons, you’re watching in such delirious awe at the way those delicate strings of slick and spit stretch all down his pinkish shaft.

“Promise-” he groans, feeling light-headed. Heavy balls thwacking in a sticky staccato against your ass. Fingers gliding up, up, up to where he was nudging your sensitive g-spot, bruising out his circumference on all your sensitive areas. Kiss after French kiss into your gooey heaven. He presses down. “-gonna f-fill you up right here- won’t miss. Swear I won’t m-miss-”

And he doesn’t.

God, he grows sullenly quiet to hear all those delicious squelches the very moment Nanami’s steaming hot cum is spilling into you. Warming you from the very insides- and your own orgasm has you seeing stars.

Sloshing around in his favorite little swivels, he can’t help but let his hips gyrate slowly to feel it coat a creamy gloss down his sensitive cock. To feel your tiny whimpers and whines when his seed dredges down your womb. Drip! drip! dripping onto the kitchen tile in an echoing splatter from your slobbery slit.

You leave a wet peck at the ends of his curled lips, “W-wan’ keep it all inside, Ken- all of it-”

God, you were going to be the death of him.

“M’gonna marry you all over again- s-swear and- and…” And just then, he shudders so violently that you fear for a split-second, legs around his toned waist tightening. “-o-oh, my love- m’gonna cum again.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - “U-use me.”

“I-I’m so close-” Geto finds it in himself to grit his teeth, to force his jittery fingers up to pinch your plump clit. “-gonna cum- fuck, s-stop riding me, honey- unless ya want me to fill you up heh-”

It’s said so low and sultry and even through your hazy mind, you know that it’s a simple tease coming from your boyfriend. You know that he didn’t mean anything by it - but that certainly doesn’t stop the way that your hands grasp around his shoulders, knocking your heads into a messy French kiss. “But, I want you to, Sugu.”

Oh.

Geto Suguru can’t hide the way his chest heaves with a choked-up moan, how his head throws to the very back of his silken pillowcases when his hips rut upwards into you like a fucking animal.

It’s like he was out of control. Ears ringing with the words, it takes the cult leader below you every shred of will in his entire body to groan out, “D-don’t joke like that- fuck- gonna give me a heart attack, y’know-”

“M’not joking.”

Shit, his eyes widen. Straying down to where your puffy pussy lips were bulging around his fat girth, swallowing up every greedy inch that you were being drilled with. Throat dry, every sound that comes out of him now is painfully raspy, “Y-you fuckin’ mean it? Better not be fuck- talking outta this naughty-” Swat! Coming down to kiss a punishing smack against the edges of your drooling cunt. “-pussy.”

You couldn’t fake the way that makes you glissadingingly drenched even if you wanted to. Nails raking down Geto’s curvaceous pecs to steady your stuttering hips, your bounces grow frantic.

“Please- c-cum inside-” begging. Maybe you were cockdrunk already, pouting in a way that has his hefty, cum-filled balls squeezing. “Jus’ want you all inside-”

And when Geto thinks back to this situation, he doesn’t know how he was ever supposed to stand a chance. Because with a gasping ricochet of his fat, curved cock onto your most precious g-spot, he’s surging stringy wads of seeds that trickles down your inner thigh. Cumming and cumming so hard - it’s never felt this good - that he almost forgets it’s too early.

That is, until you’re gasping a soft “Baby, did you-”

“Sh-shut up-” And you swear your big, strong boyfriend whimpers. He’s furiously blinking away those glittery globular tears at the ends of his eyes. A tiny pout smeared across his rosy pink lips when you’re being flipped.

One hand around your throat, the other plugging back creamy dredge after dredge into your drooling cunt. Almost as if it was offensive to him to catch that syrupy drizzle, he’s making such a fucking mess.

“Such a filthy girl- n’ a filthy cunt-” He sputters out, and Geto felt like he was burning a bright red blush all down his pretty features. Matching the angry way your hips were being slammed into his, “Think you s-sooo fuckin’ fuck- fuck fuck fuck-”

And shit, he can’t even finish his sentence before those moans are petering out into speechlessness. A singular tight squeeze of your gummy walls encircles his hot girth. And it’s enough to make him whine, “Please- fuck, how are you doing this-”

Sounding so genuinely in disbelief, you watch as Geto’s mouth drops lewdly at the way every pearlescent bead of his cum was directed towards your cunt. Seeping out through the edges of your sopping lips.

You’re giggling in a drunken way that makes him flinch, “S-something wrong, Sugu?”

“Don’t-” he bares you with a feral grin. Heavy limbs throwing apart your limp legs to jostle his hips into you even harder, and it’s like Geto was spearheading into your lungs. Swiping up translucent wet splatters of his fat head in delicious drags down your spongy cervix. Hissing that even the slightest bit of recoil had him parting from the melty depths of your pussy. “-don’t call m that ‘nless you want me to- oh-” His dewy eyes roll to the back of his head, leaving another unapologetic smack! on your peaked clit. “-t-too late. M’gonna cum- fuck fuck fuck- n’ s’all your fault-”

“Awww–” Teasingly, your fingers drag through his long curtain of hair, scratching lightly at Geto’s scalp in a way that makes him purr. “-how can I hah- make it up to you, Sugu?”

The only thing he wanted right now was to cum inside you again. Once more. Twice. Thrice. Again and again and-

“Use me-” Geto gasps, and he’s careening his head down for what you assumed would be one of his favorite messy kisses - only to wrap those pinkish lips around your tongue and suck. “Use me use me- ohh please, use me- honey- make me a daddy. D-don’t even care anymore-”

And when he cums, Geto’s filling your already sloshingly drenched cunt with heavy loads of his seed. Sticky and honeyed enough that it’s next to impossible for him to pull out and sheath his rock-hard dick unforgivingly into your pussy.

One of the biggest threats to jujutsu society - whimpering when he spews out a stream of wet swears into your open-mouth, shivering at every one of your milking clamps to drag out something delicious from him.

He’s curling his hulking body into yours, dripping fingers glistening all the way down to Geto’s wrist with just how much of his loads he’d shoveled all the way back inside your cunt. Giving your sloppy hole a languid circle around the diameter with his slender fingers, before popping them into his mouth.

And Geto can only see stars behind his eyes, he can only moan at the taste, “I think…” Peaking out a hazy eye at your squirming figure - where the hell did you think you were going? He’s hypnotized, dragging you back into his clutches with a hand curled prettily around your throat. “-that w-we’re not done until m’cumming b-blanks, honey.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Marry you…

One swipe - just one swipe of Choso’s fattened, blushing red tip down your slit is all that it takes for his stupidly pussydrunken eyes to run to the back of his head. For his drooling mouth to slack open with all the utter need of a virgin, “Please-”

You’re humming through your moans, arching your body just right for him to feed you more and more of his half-flaccid inches. “Tell me what you want, baby-”

Fuck, he’s winking open his eyes to peer down at you. Hands traveling their way to roughly jostle your pliant body into one of the meanest mating presses you’d never thought your dear inexperienced best friend possible.

“N-noo–” Choso’s whining, pressing wet pecks down your lips. “Don’t call me that, baby- or else m’gonna…”

Choso’s handsome cheeks burn a shameful red when his eyes drift down to the gooey splatters of cum smeared along your stomach from not too long ago. Just the prospect of being able to put it in too much for his fried brain to handle.

And you’re finding your fingers darting across the glossy sheen sticking to your skin, bringing those drippingly wet digits up, up, up for Choso to gladly wrap his lips around. Sucking.

“But I want you to, Cho–” Watching as his eyes widen, mouth dropping into a soft oh! Your voice drops into such a hum that makes his swollen tip twitch startlingly. “Want you to c-cum inside m-”

Shit, he doesn’t hear the rest of the sentence - and he doesn’t want to.

Not unless Choso wants to make an even bigger fool of himself in front of his pretty best friend that oh-so-kindly suggested taking away his virginity. Not like there’s anyone else he’d even dream of giving it to.

Thick, sculpted thigh hiking up, he’s slamming his hefty cockhead down until your swollen folds were kissing up in a sweet, sweet pucker against his thick hilt. Grinding in slow, sultry gyrations upwards like he still wanted to stuff you with more, more, more-

“I-I can can cum inside?” Forehead beading with sweat, lower lip wobbling with the sheer effort that it took to merely hold back the way that his achingly hard cock was straining for release once more. Hissing at the almost sizzling drag of precum down your bulging g-spot. “For my first time? Inside? R-really inside?”

And despite the way that he was so patiently waiting for your answer, Choso couldn’t help the way the greedy curve of his thumb swipes down your peaked clit. Rolling in lazy circles - low, and slow to make your gummy walls clench in that particular way he’s slowly gotten addicted to.

You’re nodding with a smug smile at how pretty he looked all fucked-out like this. Darkened eyes all droopy and half-lidded like he was blinking through syrup, muscles twitching mouth-wateringly, hair browner than usual with his sweat-dampened streaks. You can’t help but wring your fingers through his locks and tug, in a way that makes him hiss. In a way that makes him gasp.

In a way that has him spurting out a thicker stream of precum into your gooey cunt - close. So close. “Mhm– let it a-all out inside, baby.”

Oh god, and then he does-

He does and Choso’s sure he sees the pearly gates of heaven right then and there, and he knows you’re his very own angel.

“Move your pretty fingers, baby– I wan’ you to t-take it all-” It’s not even mean the way he swats away one of your hands subconsciously cupping your split pussy - it’s just desperate. So that he can place pound after filthy pound to fuck you into the soaked sheets.

Whining out, “Yeah please- fuck-” Snapping his flexible body down until you were folded helplessly in half, every languid second is spent with such velvety ropes of cum being stuffed down to the bottom of your pussy. “Wan’ this forever- forever please-” Thick, stringy wads that stick and slide down your walls - that overspills when it’s too much for your snug channel to take. “W-want this…”

And just one look of his greedy gazy downwards And Choso’s gasping like he couldn’t even believe he could cum this much - couldn’t even believe he could stop at this point.

“Marry me-” he’s sputtering, eyes clearer with the sudden idea. As if he’s imagining it already. Hips shifting to lazy down his sloppy staccato into something more thorough. “B-be my wife- have my kids- please-” Something that has your toes curling with pleasure, branding every ridge and thumping vein down his shaft into your walls contorting around him. Hiccuping - little sobs curling at the back of his throat, “Please- please I need you to marry me-”

It’s overspilling - adding to that little milky pool from below. He’s barely even thinking before swiping a hand through some of those creamy remnants of cum. Sucking. Taking your own - popping that ring finger of yours into his mouth.

Drool drips down the side of his sodden lips, moving to mewl softly. “D-did that really just happen?”

The words come out nothing but a whisper, strangled and strained from the very depths of his rumbling chest. And Choso’s peering down at you like you were everything - his softening cock sending sparks down his spine with every slight rub down your sopping wet folds.

“Mhm–” your hands make their way down his pecs, rubbing over pert, pink nipples. Something that makes him let out a low shudder, reddened divot bursting in a few more wispy strings of seed. “N’ you did so hngh- good, Cho.”

“D-did I? Was I your oh- good boy?” he stutters, before letting out a keening pout. “B-but I need to have you cum, too, baby- need to have you cum-” And you’re so at his ravenous mercy when Choso swipes a wet thumb over and over down your throbbing clit. “-and then- then can we get married?”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - MESS!

“What the fuck-” The king of curses breathes - he heaves - like never before, even in that human form of his right now. “Wh-what the fuck have you done to me, woman-”

And all the foes in the world had nothing against your honeyed whines. Absolutely no match for the way your elastic walls were clinging around his throbbing cock so tight. No match for your cockdrunk babbling that drove him insane.

“Such a filthy mouth you h-have-” he groans, leering over his inhumanly powerful body to bend over yours. You’re gaping when one of his big, beefy arms jostle you upwards into a headlock. Even shapeshifted from his true form, he was still so strong. Spitting, “Do you dare to- fuck- move those pretty lips of yours n’ repeat those words back to me, brat.”

As if you could do anything else.

“I-I said-” you’re choking out, panting in feverish gasps of the heady air. “-said I want you to c-cum inside-”

Oh.

In a split-second, you’re feeling your tautly stretched walls expand to limits you weren’t even sure were possible. The very bottom of your pussy being ravaged with two circular brandings - two. Two matching rock-hard cocks jostling around you.

And the stretch of Sukuna’s devilishly true form opening your cunt to its very limits is so maddening that it takes you a second to realize that the rest of him had shapeshifted, too.

Suddenly bigger, suddenly more towering, suddenly the king of curses.

His strong forearm curls even tighter around your throat, knocking the remaining gasps out of your lungs. “Seriously? L-look where talking outta ya slutty pussy hah- got me-” Sukuna chuckles. Deep and rumbling from his bulging pecs, “-c-can’t even hold a n-normal form- you made me do this- fuck-”

He was fucking you like it was your fault.

Solid inches upon inches that were bruising. And if you thought that Sukuna’s size was staggering in whatever human form he’d conjured up for the safety of your poor pussy - it was absolutely incredible with both his twin girthy cocks. Bigger, thicker. The slightest ruts and grinds into your gushing cunt having him knocking into your lungs, painting down a hefty load of steamy precum.

Messy.

“Messy-” you hear a primal rumble from above you. Shit, did you say that out loud? Condensed breath heady and hot against your ear, “Heheh- you think this is m-messy, lil’ human? Wait until I-I- hah-”

“Y-you’re really gonna cum inside, Kuna?” you’re batting your teary lashes up at your king, a delirious smile smearing itself all over your face.

Wobbling when his snapping hips purposefully slow down to mere gyrating squelches, every push and pull feeding your slobbery pussy languidly. You have him hypnotized, maw slacking open with every lazy drag of his heavy cocks back and forth back and forth back and- “Mhm- gonna fill ya up. Breed ya u-until you’re begging that ya can’t take it. Until y-you’re all round n’ glowing with my heirs.”

God. He was out of control.

“I-I can take it-” Your nails rake airily down his ever-tightening forearm - nothing but mere kitten scratches to Sukuna. “Promise Kuna- I can-”

“Tch- this damn naughty m-mouth of yours.” he smirks in a sleazy way - just about all that Sukuna can do to not let his voice break out in whimpers right now. All he can do to hold back his building high, curvaceous tips of his thickened cocks spazzing out tight, voluminous globs of wispy white. He’s covering your prattling mouth with one hand, “Take it then- take it- but ya better make an equal mess f’me. Heh-”

Even through your bleary mind, you already knew what he wanted - to have you squirt all down Sukuna’s weepy cocks. To make a mess.

Always his favorite.

“Th-think ya can do that?” He snarls down at you, twiddling a few sopping wet digits to toy with your pulsing clit. Third and fourth arms snaking around your waist to keep from your pathetic scrambling. To stop your escape when his hips jackhammer away harder. “Can you- my queen?”

Oh, he cuts himself off with a whimper.

Because all of a sudden your gushing cunt is surging out in waves of translucent slick. It sticks to his rubbing cocks - and all the way to his washboard abs -like a gloss, stars behind your eyes when Sukuna’s fucking you through your high. Praises slipping out in a way that would’ve tarnished the king’s reputation if anyone found out.

But right now, he didn’t care.

Not when he’s all but bursting from his bawling tips - such thick rivers of cum that knock mercilessly into your gummy spots. The force of both his fat heads streaming out relentlessly is enough to leave your forbidden sweet spots all bruised and battered.

Inflating your snug channel until Sukuna only had to slide a hand down to about halfway down your abdomen, pressing down at that nudge. “Heh, s’right at h-home-”

And now that he’s filled your pretty pussy with seed, Ryomen Sukuna doesn’t think it’s possible to cum anywhere else. With a shuddering hiss, he’s dragging his cocks out, spying down with hooded eyes at the way your sloppy entrance was molding and constrictign around him - like you were trying to milk the fucking soul out of him.

But Sukuna had other plans - plans that included letting his second tongue loll out, rough tastebuds sweeping a long lick down your leaky slit. Creamy cum trickling down the pinkish muscle, and he could feel his mouth grinning. Something he’s been wanting to do since he moment he fucking saw you.

“H-hey-” you’re turning your head to huff back at him.

Smack!

“Ahh, stop yer whining-” Sukuna’s smoothing one hand down over the raised bumps of all five digits on your ass, another one of his hands guiding his fat bases to drive up your sopping crease. Pooling the milky remnants on his rotund tips. “-because m’not done breeding this cunt properly yet, my queen.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Limit(less)

“This time-” Gojo’s heaving out a dragging shudder, his face burying hotly within the tender crook of your neck. Spitting - panting, “This time this time- this- time-”

Oh, it’s been just about the same thing that he’s been babbling for the past few hours now. All that he can utter after so long of his sensitively overworked cock stuffing in and out over your overspilling cunt, flickers of jujutsu bolting with every sodden drag down your melty walls.

Truly, the strongest didn’t expect to be addicted the first time he filled your drooling pussy with thick globs of his seed - it was an accident, the first trial of trying to use limitless for its…unintended purposes.

But right now, Gojo had absolutely no clue if this was the nth trial or whether he was simply addicted to breeding your pretty cunt.

“T-Toru–” Your fingers scramble backwards to bury in his snow locks - difficult, with the way that your boyfriend was wrangling you into a tight full nelson. Feeling the push and pull of thick cursed technique in the air - inside you. “-s’not gonna work.”

God, just the sear of your grip on his scalp is enough to have Gojo’s hips rutting up in a perfect curve off the plush king-size mattress. Fucking up into your cunt so thoroughly that you gasp at the syrupy slosh of his cum from before inside you.

His hiccups, voice cracking into a whine at the very end. “D-do you hate me, sweetheart?”

“No?” you’re breathing out in exasperation. But shit, you underestimate just how crazed this tiniest sentiment would drive him, choking back a strangled cry of your name when he’s sending a buzzing smack! down to the hood of your plump cunt. “Fuck- why would you think-”

“Th-then let me use limitless as a- hah- condom, pretty girl-” he’s whining. And you jolt at the wet splatters of a few stimulated, pearlescent tears slipping their way out of Gojo’s eyes. “It’ll work- this time- m’the strongest- s’gonna hah- w-work- a-and if not m’jus’ breedin’ my girl’s cute cunt, r-right?”

But even as he’s prattling on and on about this, you’re feeling the flickering falter of jujutsu around Gojo’s hefty girth. Molding your gummy walls taut around his fat circumference, your spine arches with electricity.

“Heheh-” Goosebumps prickle down your spine at the high, humorless bout of laughter at your ear - and you crane your head to look at Gojo. Sure that he’s lost it. Already wondering just how high the kill count would be. “-didn’t think th-this pretty pussy of yours would have me so ruined, sweetheart.”

And truly - he sounded like it.

He looked like it, with his rosy lips ajar, those cerulean eyes watery and half-lidded. Glowing with power and tiny shivers of lighting at every sodden kiss to the bullseye of your g-spot. Clashing over and over in a wet push and pull, Gojo thinks that he could almost feel the rotund indentations of his curved tip right on your sweetest spots.

“Looks like y-you’re the one ruining me- Toru-” you whine. “Just look-”

Drunkenly, Gojo’s lolling his head to the sound of your voice. Not even looking, barely even thinking - that is, until he sees.

And Gojo can’t help but let out a slew of honeyed, pathetically cracking profanities at the heavenly sight below. Pale forearms stretching out your trembly thighs even more shamefully wide to get an even closer look.

Of your quivering hole winking up at him glisteningly, coating his fat hilt a creamy ring of white from so many of his failed attempts. Your saturatedly wet pussy lips were practically gulping up all of his heavy inches, slobbering a slow trail of drool down the side of his strawberry pink shaft and onto his twitchy balls. Needy.

And if Gojo’s limitless protection was unsteady before then-

“Shit-” Gojo takes in a shuddering gasp, slender digits falling down to plant a wet smack! on the very middle of your bulging slit - as if all of this was your fault. “Shit shit shit shit- I-I can’t- oh-” Sharp canines sinking down so hard into your skin that you think he might break through. Just about all that’s keeping Gojo tethered to reality when his limitless shatters. “Oh god. Th-think s’gonna be another b-baby…”

All the way into a zillion pieces of nothingness and-

And then he’s cumming.

Cumming so hard that the dim lamps by the side of your bed flickers. Then explodes.

Pouring out such steaming hot piles of his cum - once. Twice. Before his swollen, overwhelmed balls are clenching and then he’s shooting nothing but pathetic blanks.

It takes you a second to register the sudden darkness - all across Tokyo, in fact. You’re gasping, “O-oh, Toru did you-”

“Run out-” he’s giggling. Giggling. “Fuck you m-made me- hah- really milked me dry, didn’t ya- Spread those pretty legs a bit more, pretty girl. Let me see.” All five rounded pads of his fingers are bruising on your thigh when Gojo’s splaying them out to confirm the sputtering way his cock was driving into you. “Can’t- can’t believe- no way, baby m’supposed t-to fill you up-”

Shit, he was babbling out his true intentions so stupidly. But luck was on his side, because with a final, jujutsu-sheened swat at your cunt, the buzzing power finally sends you over the edge.

Crashing headfirst into waves upon waves of white-hot pleasure, the engulfing goodness made you squeal. And it made Gojo grit his teeth with a low whimper at the way the simple clenching convulse of your gripping walls wrapped around his cock made him twitch in another dry orgasm. Another. And another.

God, his first - well, not quite first - time cumming inside you and he’s already so fucked out.

Yet, despite it all, Gojo could almost count it a success…almost.

“S-sweetheart, y’know Yaga always taught us that science experiments have hah- twenty-five trials, right?”

“...”

A/N. Gojo’s so annoying I love him.

Plagiarism not authorized.

18K notes · View notes

holeforzenin · 5 months ago

Text

₊˚ෆ HOW TOJI DEALS WITH OTHER MEN LIKING YOU <3

Tw- breeding, mentions of violence (not towards you), video recording. Not proofread

“Nuh uh don't hide this fucking pussy, show him how much you're creamin’ on my cock, don’t go all shy on me darling”. Toji laughed mockingly, his large hand effortlessly clasping both of your wandering wrists above your head to prevent any escape while using your phone to zoom in on the icky view of the mess between your mellowed thighs.

A streak of milky wetness glistened all over his massive cock, cascading down to his aching balls that were being captured in the filthy mess anyways because of how it's continuously slamming against your asshole that was coated with the cream that seeped out your gooey cunt.

"Fuck yeah, ya see that? See how this cute little pussy is wetting my dick? She sure as hell must be fucking loving it to be making this hell of a mess," he declared proudly. His deep, husky laugh resonated throughout the room, leaving no doubt that Toji was most likely losing his mind over the situation.

A few minutes earlier you told him about the guy from your class who confessed his feelings to you and you’re very uncertain about how to respond so you asked your boyfriend for some advice and well he decided to matters into his own hands.

“Tojii.. l-let go!” You cried out, attempting to dig your nails into his wrists as if that would make any difference, considering how fucking strong he is that it made your efforts almost laughably worthless.

“Nah don't think I want to darling, this fucker needs to know who the hell you belong to” he gritted his teeth at the thought of the guy even having the audacity to think you'd date him. You're all his and he would go to extreme lengths to ensure it remains that way.

The two of you were undeniably meant for each other and there was no fucking way in hell Toji would let some random fucker take you away from him.

“You wish this was you huh? Too fucking bad it's all mine to stuff and fuck, she belongs to me. Keep texting her and I’ll find you and bash your stupid fucking head in. Ya hear me?”. His brutal words cut through the air with a sharp edge, conveying possessiveness and veiled threats. It reverberated loudly, ensuring every detail was captured in the recording that the guy will be listening to soon after this.

His voice was deeper and harsher than normal, making your little cunt flutter even more around his stiffened shaft.

Which he obviously picked up on. “Ohhh you're such a slutty fucking whore baby, who am I kidding.” his grip on your bruised hands tightened. Threatening to leave more red, angry marks as he buckled his hips harshly into your ruined pussy. The force of his hips as he pushed into you aggressively showed literally no mercy.

“You’ll never fucking leave me, you're too fucking obsessed that your little cunt is twitching around me to the thought of me killing another man for you huh?”.

“N-no—” you stammered, turning your head away to look the other direction which made his grin widen even more as he playfully licked the faded scar on his lips because it had always been an indication of you lying whenever you looked away from him like that.

“Aww, that's fine doll," he murmured softly, his gaze unwavering as he directed the phone towards your fucked out face. His body sank deeper, inching downwards until his face hovered mere inches from your own. "you know what I'm thinking?”.

You peered your eyes at him and held contact in sheer curiosity.

“I’ll just breed this pretty fucking pussy and fuck a baby into you, how's that sound? Huh? You'll be such a good Mommy to our kid” his breath is now fanning against your face. Your body quivered at the thought, a deep longing stirring within you.

The thought of his suggestion made you moan, not just a normal moan. There's no particular way to describe it but the thought of that made your mind blurry and hazed. You and Toji always talked about having children in a few years but there's no harm in one now.

His possessiveness drove you crazy. Sure you knew Toji wasn’t a saint or an angel because at the end of the day, he murdered people for a living and because of that alone— he knew about the lonesome dangers of the world so he’s extremely overprotective and you’d loved every bit of it.

The thought of Toji even thinking you’d leave him for anyone else was an insult towards you because both of you were perfect for each other in every way possible.

“Y-yes! yes please, wanna carry your baby!” you babbled over and over, nodding your head like some stupid bitch as he proudly smirked at your reaction in amusement. “Yeah? Want me to make you a mommy? Get you pregnant so you'll be all full and swollen? Then everyone is gonna fucking know who you belong to”. The glint in Toji’s eyes was so dark, that it almost had you scared for a moment.

“Yesyesyes, please, m’so desperate Toji, fill me up–” you whimpered, tears glistening in your eyes as you pleaded fervently.

“Yeah fuck that, y’know what—” he mumbled to himself with a brief pause to stop the recording on his phone and swiftly hitting the "send" button to the guy that’s currently and patientlyyy waiting for your response in the chat. He casually tossed the device to the side and embraced you tightly, his strong arms enveloping you and wrapped around your neck to hug you before vigorously slamming his hips into you in an intense pace.

Unfortunately, the poor guy never had the chance to witness the adorable blessing you and Toji shared several months later because your boyfriend assassinated him on his way home the very next afternoon because he tried to speak to you again in person.

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buckyseternaldoll · 18 days ago

Text

eighteen hours.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Weeks apart on separate missions leave you and Bucky Barnes aching, desperate, and one heartbeat away from unraveling. The reunion? Eighteen hours of pure, breathless release.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, multiple rounds, overstimulation, edging, mutual desperation, shower sex, window sex, kitchen counter sex, use of restraints (soft), masturbation mention, lingerie tease, squirting (f), super soldier stamina, mild teasing from tb* members

It started like any other assignment.

A sharp morning. Polished boots. Steel chairs arranged around the Watchtower’s mission table. The kind of day where even the light felt clinical—too white, too bright, too final.

Valentina entered with a clipboard in hand and that usual glint in her eye, the one that said she already knew something you didn’t want to hear.

“Barnes, Yelena, Alexei, Bob—Bucharest first. Bogotá by week three. Rotating safehouses. No crossovers.”

You stiffened.

“Walker, Ava, and…”

She looked straight at you.

“You—Algeria. Then east through Istanbul. Targets on the move. You’re expected to stay mobile and out of range.”

The silence afterward said everything.

That pause before your name wasn’t a slip.

It was surgical.

Across the table, Bucky’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders rolled tight. His metal hand flexed once, resting flat on the table like he was physically grounding himself.

This wasn’t routine.

This was designed.

The room shifted. Teams gathered their gear. Orders confirmed.

But neither of you moved.

Bucky brushed your fingers beneath the table—the kind of small, hidden touch that wasn’t meant to say goodbye. It was a promise.

We’ll find each other.

However we can.

—

Packing was mechanical.

Weapons, suits, coordinates, clearances.

Everyone was buzzing around the hangar level, focused on countdowns and jet fuel. But Bucky caught your wrist with a glance that made your breath hitch—then gently steered you down a side corridor.

He didn’t stop until you ducked into a quiet auxiliary room—once used for archive storage, now mostly forgotten. The lights were dim. A narrow bench ran along the wall. A few old mission files sat boxed in the corner.

He shut the door behind you.

“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low. “Just wanna be where you are.”

You barely nodded before he pulled you into his chest. He held you like he needed it—not tight or desperate, but complete. His warmth poured into you as you buried your face into the space between his neck and shoulder.

You ended up straddling his lap on the bench, both of you half-armored, half-undressed—hands roaming like you were trying to memorize every line, every scar, every breath.

“I hate this,” you muttered into his neck.

“I know.” His voice was steady. Anchoring. “But we’ll be okay.”

His mouth found the slope of your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower—teeth grazing before lips closed around your skin and sucked.

You gasped—part surprise, part pure heat.

“Bucky—”

“Gonna leave a few. Let ‘em wonder how many more are where they can’t see.”

He left another. And another. The bruises bloomed warm beneath your skin—high enough that your tactical suit wouldn’t cover all of them.

When he pulled back to look at you, his pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-bitten and breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he murmured. “Even if they split us across the damn planet.”

You ran your hands up under his shirt, nails scratching lightly across his ribs—grounding yourself in the solidity of him.

“You’ll text me when you can?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if it’s just one word?”

“Even if it’s just a photo.”

You smirked. “Of what?”

He grinned, leaning back like he had all the time in the world—even though you both knew better.

“I’m waiting for boob pics, love. Minimum one per timezone.”

You laughed into his neck and kissed his jaw, soft and smiling.

“You’re such a menace.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

When the comm finally buzzed for final departure prep, you lingered another moment, forehead pressed to his.

“We’re good?”

“Always.”

And then you slipped out—his warmth still clinging to your skin, and his hickeys hidden beneath your collar like the loudest secret in the world.

—

The first few days weren’t unbearable.

Busy hours blurred the worst of it—briefings, drone recon, field scans. The kind of missions that demanded your hands stay full and your focus sharp. You told yourself it helped. That staying in motion kept the ache at bay.

But the nights were something else entirely.

By the third night, sleep wouldn’t come. The cot beneath you was too narrow, too cold. You rolled over instinctively and reached for the other side—empty. Your palm flattened against the mattress like it could summon him there.

It didn’t.

You’d already stripped out of your tactical suit, skin flushed from a lukewarm shower and a restlessness that refused to settle. The mirror over the sink caught your reflection just as the last of the sun dipped beneath the window—warm dusk light casting gold across your damp collarbone, your bare shoulder.

You grabbed your comm. Lifted your phone.

Pulled down your undershirt just enough to let the neckline dip low—sweat clinging to the curve of your breasts, a faint bruise from his mouth peeking out beneath the edge of the fabric.

The angle was deliberate.

Head tilted back. Lips parted. Not a full reveal. But it said everything.

Still thinking about the way your hands fit around my waist.

Bet you’d wreck me if you were here.

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

—

His reply came six hours later. No text. Just an image.

The lighting was shit—whatever rooftop he was on barely lit by the glow of city spill—but it didn’t matter.

He was shirtless.

Dog tags heavy and low over his chest.

Hair a little messier than usual, as if he’d just run a hand through it before taking the shot.

But the part that made your thighs press together?

His sweatpants.

Slung low. Way too low. Obscene, really—the waistband clinging just above the vee of his hips, and beneath it? A thick, unmistakable bulge pressing upward. Not subtle. Not suggestive.

Hard. Veined. Heavy. Angry.

Like he’d taken the photo mid-thought, right before palming himself. Like maybe he had.

Your name was probably still on his tongue when he snapped it.

You sucked in a breath, cheeks hot, and held the screen to your chest like it could warm the parts of you he was supposed to be touching.

This was manageable, you told yourself.

Just teasing. Just playing.

It would pass.

—

It got worse.

What started as playful—just a little edge, a little fun—turned into something raw. Unbearable. Every picture, every breathy message only twisted the knife deeper.

Bucky cracked first.

The signal finally held long enough for him to send a voice note.

You were mid-gear check when it came through, tucked into a corner of the safehouse with your earbuds in.

“Woke up with my hand around my cock,” he rasped, voice low, wrecked. “Thought it was you at first. Swear to God, I could feel you there. Your breath on my neck, your legs wrapped around me. Then I realized I was alone again.”

A pause. A harsh exhale.

“And fuck, baby… I nearly lost it.”

You played it three times.

Nearly dropped your comm on the third.

—

You didn’t just tease back. You retaliated.

The next photo was a mirror shot—deliberately filthy. You stood in the dim light of your bunk, chest bare, your breasts fully visible this time, no shame. One hand was sunk into your panties, fingers clearly pressing against the soaked fabric. The other held your phone steady, angled to catch the full view: your messy hair, parted lips, heavy-lidded eyes, and the slick glint of sweat on your chest. No caption. Just raw hunger in pixels.

This help you sleep tonight? Or should I take more?

He didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, it was short.

You’re not playing fair.

My cock’s been hard since sunrise. Haven’t touched it. Saving every second of this for you.

You sent a quick clip later—just a few seconds long. You didn’t even speak in it.

Just six seconds. The camera angled low—your hand slipping beneath the blanket between your thighs. No real view, just the movement. The blanket shifted slightly with every circle you traced over your clit. Soft moans escaped—broken, breathy, like you were trying to stay quiet. Then a whimper—his name, trembling from your lips. No skin shown. No climax caught. Just the sound and the hint and the promise of you falling apart.

Bucky watched it on repeat like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

—

Then came Ava.

You’d crashed hard that night—exhausted, sweaty, and stripped down to just your lingerie. The maroon lace set he liked. The same one he’d picked out. It had become a habit—wearing it when you missed him. A reminder. A tether.

Ava had been reviewing footage by the window for perimeter movement when she caught it.

The camera was focused outward. But the mic had picked up your sleep sounds in the background.

She wasn’t trying to be cruel when she played it back.

She just raised an eyebrow and pressed play—a grin tugging at her lips as the soft moans filled the air. You were murmuring his name. Restless. Breathless. Like you were dreaming of him—no, feeling him.

“Mmh… Bucky—please… inside me… deeper—oh god… please—”

Your voice cracked on the last word, a sharp gasp like you were right on the edge.

You could’ve died.

“Jesus,” Ava had laughed, not unkind. “Want me to send it to him? Y’know, for motivation?”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She already hit send.

—

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even text back. Just disappeared for a few hours.

Locked himself in the bathroom of the Bogotá safehouse, palms braced on the sink, sweat dripping from his temple to his jaw. The floor was cold. His cock throbbed painfully in the tight grip of his tactical jeans, already slick with precum from the sound of your voice in his ear—played over and over again like a goddamn drug.

He groaned low, forehead resting against the mirror as he finally undid his fly—reached in and freed himself with a hissed curse.

Hard. Angry. Red at the tip and twitching. His hand flexed uselessly beside him, trembling from restraint.

He closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck, baby… what are you doing to me…”

But he didn’t stroke.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Not without your hands.

Not without your thighs tight around his hips.

Not without your voice whispering that he could let go.

So he tucked himself away again—biting down hard on the side of his fist until it bruised, his pulse roaring like a storm.

Later, when the signal held again, he finally texted:

This was supposed to help.

All these videos. These fucking pictures.

It’s making everything worse, doll.

I need you so bad, I swear I’m gonna lose my mind.

—

He stopped sleeping properly.

The circles under his eyes were darker now, sharp enough to draw questions if anyone had the nerve. His mouth was constantly pressed into a tight, agitated line. The usual post-mission calm he carried—that calculated, steady presence of command—was cracking.

Every time he sat down to write up route plans, his hands twitched. His left hand—the metal one—wouldn’t stop flexing. Clenching. Releasing. Like he was trying to ground himself in anything that wasn’t your voice moaning his name.

The last time he tried to issue orders midbriefing, he nearly snapped a comm tablet in half.

“Safehouse Delta’s too close to the highway,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll reroute south. Four klicks. We’ll—”

He trailed off.

Everyone stared at the map table, then at Bucky—who was clearly no longer looking at anything but the wall. Or rather, through it.

His jaw clenched again. He tried to redirect.

“We’ll send Bob first to—”

But Bob was already looking sideways at him.

“You gonna pass out?”

“No.”

“You look like your brain’s buffering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But his voice had cracked. Just slightly.

Yelena leaned back in her seat with a dramatic sigh, chewing on the end of a protein bar like this was better than Netflix.

“Alright,” she announced loudly, “I’m just gonna say what everyone else is thinking.”

Bucky didn’t even turn his head.

She kept going.

“You’re clearly about three days from spontaneously combusting from blue balls. You’ve been staring at walls, misreading maps, and grinding your teeth like it’s a fetish. Which—respectfully—gross.”

Alexei smothered a laugh. Bob coughed loudly into his fist.

“You need to jerk off or jump off a building,” Yelena finished, deadpan. “Pick one.”

Bucky finally looked up.

His eyes were bloodshot. His voice was tight when he replied.

“I’m not jerking off.”

That shut them up.

Yelena blinked. “…Okay. That’s not where I thought that was going.”

“I’m saving it. All of it.” His hand twitched again. “She deserves every goddamn second of it.”

A pause. The silence stretched—not awkward, just charged.

Even Alexei nodded solemnly, as if that was the only acceptable answer.

Yelena rolled her eyes but muttered, “Romantic. Disgusting. Continue suffering, I guess.”

—

Later that night, Bucky paced the rooftop alone. Fingers twitching. Breath uneven.

He pulled up your last photo again.

Your hand between your thighs. Lips parted. That little text below it:

I’d spread for you right here on this cot if you were with me.

He groaned into his palm.

Pressed the heel of his hand against the painful bulge in his pants.

Didn’t move. Didn’t stroke. Just gritted his teeth and endured.

“You better be ready for what I’m gonna do to you,” he muttered into the dark.

—

It was just after 7:00PM when the jet touched down.

The sky above the Watchtower was bruised in golds and fading gray, clouds curling low like dusk had rolled in too early. Your shoulders ached. Muscles stiff from too many hours strapped in gear, too many days sleeping with one eye open.

Your boots hit the floor with more weight than usual—the kind that didn’t come from exhaustion alone. It was something else. Something thick in your chest, pressing behind your ribs.

Inside the compound, it was unusually quiet.

Operatives passed by in pairs. Brief nods. No chatter.

Ava veered off toward medical, threw a wink over her shoulder, and mouthed, “Go get your man.”

You didn’t smile. Not yet.

Not until your fingers brushed the key panel of your shared room, and the door clicked open beneath your touch.

Something shifted the moment you stepped inside.

The air smelled like candle wax, clean linens, and something warmer underneath—musk and sandalwood, with a trace of vanilla. The room glowed gold in low light. Flickering candles burned on the desk, by the bed, and one small one beside the bathroom mirror.

It was quiet. But not empty.

He was there.

And the second he saw you, his face lit up.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed, already halfway to his feet. His voice was low but clear, as if speaking pulled breath right back into his lungs. “You’re home.”

That ache—the one locked in your chest—snapped clean open.

You dropped your duffel just as he reached you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, your cheek pressed against his collarbone. He smelled like soap and steel and something distinctly him—warm skin, freshly showered, a hint of cologne that clung to his shirt.

He didn’t devour you. Didn’t grope, didn’t rush.

He just held you.

One arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head. His lips brushed the top of your hair.

You clung back like it might hold you together.

His hand ran slowly down your spine. You could feel the control in it—the way his chest rose hard against yours, like he was barely keeping the rest of him contained.

“I changed the sheets,” he murmured softly. “Lit a few candles. Put your shampoo out. Thought maybe you’d want a hot shower first.”

Your heart cracked, melted, rebuilt itself.

You nodded against him, cheek brushing the curve of his neck.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” His smile touched his voice, even as his hand lingered low on your back. “You always say you wanna feel clean before we get dirty.”

That earned a small laugh from you—quiet, but real.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, cupping your cheek in one hand. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, like he was checking you for damage.

“I missed you,” he said. “Like breathing stopped.”

You kissed him, soft and slow—lips barely parting, just enough to feel the warmth of him beneath the quiet.

“Missed you more.”

He didn’t rush you when you stepped out of your gear. Just watched with quiet reverence, helping peel the layers off your shoulders and arms. He kissed your shoulder once—right over the old bruise he left weeks ago—and whispered:

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for 36 days. But I’m not rushing it. Not until you’re ready.”

Then he took your hand, kissed the inside of your wrist, and nodded toward the bathroom.

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

—

You hadn’t even closed the door behind you.

The steam was already thick, curling from the shower where hot water slammed against tile. You peeled your clothes off slowly, shaking the last of the travel dust from your skin, limbs heavy from the mission—but your chest felt lighter. He was here. You were home.

You stepped into the spray and let it hit you.

Heat flooded your shoulders. Rolled down your spine.

The ache you’d ignored for weeks cracked wide open across your bones.

You arched slightly under the pressure of the water, fingers dragging slowly down your stomach. Your thighs pressed together at the memory of his voice—his lips on your neck, his hands gripping your hips like they belonged there.

You knelt briefly to grab a bottle you knocked over. Bent forward. Stretched.

And then—

“Mmh…”

Just a sound. A breath.

But it came from somewhere deep—unconscious, raw, and aching. It slipped from your throat like his name was caught beneath it.

The floor creaked.

You turned, startled—and everything inside you tightened.

He was there.

Bucky Barnes. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like something ancient and carved from firelight. His chest rose fast, hard, like he’d sprinted across the room. Hair damp with sweat, not water. Shoulders tight. Fists clenched at his sides.

And he was naked.

Completely.

You hadn’t even heard him undress. But there he stood—broad, solid, his cock achingly hard and already slick with precum, flushed dark and twitching with every strained breath he took.

His eyes drank you in.

Steam wrapped around his body, clinging to every line of him. You watched his jaw twitch, chest heave. His cock twitched again—another thick drop of precum beading at the tip.

“Baby…”

His voice cracked. A breath. A prayer. Hoarse and wrecked.

“Please…”

“Please stop torturing me.”

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Like he was waiting for your permission—even now, even while unraveling at the seams.

You reached for him.

One hand. Simple. Open. You pressed your palm to the center of his chest—felt the hammering heartbeat beneath it, the way his breath hitched.

He whimpered.

The sound broke from his lips like it had been fighting its way out for days. He stepped forward, cupped your waist, then your jaw, thumb trembling against your cheek.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “Fuck—you’re here.”

You smiled softly. Nodded.

He stepped into the shower with you—no hesitation this time.

The water soaked him instantly, but he didn’t care. He was already soaked in you. The scent. The need.

His hands were everywhere. One warm, the other metal, both reverent. They dragged up your spine, gripped your hips, held your face like it was holy.

“Missed you,” he rasped between frantic kisses.

“Missed your mouth. Your voice. Your thighs. The way you sound when I’m inside you—fuck, baby, I’ve been dying.”

Your back hit the tile with a dull thud. His body pressed into yours, all solid heat and desperation.

His cock bumped against your stomach—hot, heavy, leaking.

He gasped. “Touch me… please, just—let me feel you.”

You did more than touch.

Your hand curled around the base of him, felt him throb in your palm. He swore low against your neck, forehead pressing to yours as his hands skimmed lower, between your thighs.

“Jesus, sweetheart—”

His fingers slid through the slick between your legs.

“You’re soaked…”

He groaned. Slid two fingers inside you.

You gasped, walls clenching hard around the intrusion.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Tight… tighter than I remember. You really waited for me?”

You bit his jaw. “I didn’t even let myself finish, Bucky. You ruined me.”

That was all it took.

He gripped your thighs, lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing, and pinned you to the shower wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

“Hold on to me,” he breathed. “That’s it… Good girl.”

He lined himself up. Slick head pressed against your entrance. And then—

He sank in.

One thrust. Deep. Full.

You both cried out—voices echoing in the tile and steam.

The stretch. The heat. The sudden, perfect fullness.

He fucked into you with short, desperate thrusts—buried all the way, hips snapping with precision. You met him every time, nails clawing his back, gasping against his mouth.

Your orgasm ripped through you without warning—sharp, wet, loud.

“James, I—I’m coming!”

“I’ve got you. Let go. Soak me, baby.”

You did. You clenched so hard around him he almost collapsed.

He followed seconds after—buried deep, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, hips jerking, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His body trembled with the force of it. He held you there, still wrapped around him, his cock twitching inside your pulsing heat.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not letting you out of this room for days.”

You kissed him through the fog, smiling against his lips.

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Your legs were still shaking when he carried you out of the bathroom.

No towel. No words. Just the heat of his arms around you, the steady thump of his heart against your ribs, and the way the air between you still crackled like static. You smelled like him. He smelled like you. It wasn’t over. It had only begun.

He laid you on the bed like something sacred.

Candles glowed around the room, casting golden halos over damp sheets and flushed skin. The maroon lace slip sat untouched where he’d left it—delicate, sheer, wicked.

You reached for it with trembling fingers.

But Bucky caught your wrist gently. “Let me,” he said.

His voice was lower now. Hoarse. Reverent.

He lifted the slip over your head slowly, letting the lace fall like a whisper down your body. It hugged your hips, clung to your breasts just enough to tease—translucent and sinful. His lips brushed your spine as he adjusted the straps, hands shaking.

“I thought about this every night,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder.

“Fantasized about it. About you, straddling me in this. Had to lie there with my fists clenched, cock aching, just—breathing through it. Didn’t touch myself. Not once.”

His voice cracked. “Didn’t want to waste a single drop that wasn’t for you.”

You whimpered.

He hovered above you now—fully naked, flushed, his cock already hard again. Veined and glistening, twitching with the pulse of how badly he needed to be inside you.

But he didn’t rush.

Didn’t even move until you cupped his jaw and pulled him down into a kiss.

Mouths met softly, then harder.

Tongues sliding slow.

His body sinking into yours, heat to heat, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You grabbed the back of his neck and whispered against his lips, “Come here. Let me ruin you.”

He groaned, deep in his throat, and you flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips with shaking thighs. The lace slip rode up your thighs, leaving nothing in the way when his cock pressed hot and heavy against your dripping heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped. “You’re soaked through.”

You leaned down, your breasts brushing his chest, and ground your hips against his length. “You did this,” you whispered. “With every text. Every picture. Every breath.”

He was gone. Let you take full control.

You gathered the hem of the lace slip, just enough to bare yourself to him, and guided him in—sinking down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

Both of you moaned, raw and open, mouths slack with need.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, head thrown back, fists clenched in the sheets.

“Still so tight, baby. Still fucking perfect.”

You started to move—slow at first, grinding your hips in deep, lazy circles that dragged the tip of his cock right against your most sensitive spot. His hands clamped hard on your thighs, trying to keep his control, but you didn’t make it easy.

“You gonna come again just from riding me?” he asked, breathless.

You nodded. “Already close.”

He groaned, slipping one hand between your bodies to rub firm, precise circles over your clit.

“There you go… let me feel you. Let go for me.”

And you did.

Your second orgasm hit like a goddamn wave—crashing through your spine, stealing your breath, squeezing around his cock so tight he choked on a moan.

He didn’t last much longer.

You kept grinding, whispering filth into his ear—how full he made you feel, how wrecked you were for him, how you still weren’t done.

That tipped him.

He came hard with a strangled moan, cock pulsing deep inside you, hips jerking as he flooded you for the second time. His arms locked around your waist as he gasped into the crook of your neck, trembling from the force of it.

You stayed like that, slumped against his chest, bodies stuck together with sweat and slick and heat.

“You alright?” he asked, voice scratchy.

“I’m feral,” you whispered back. “And I’m not finished.”

He chuckled, still panting. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not tapping out anytime soon.”

—

Later.

The wine sat untouched on the desk.

The lace slip lay discarded in a crumpled pile on the floor.

The candles had burned halfway down, wax pooling thick at the base.

And you?

You were flushed. Sweaty. Trembling.

Knees sinking into the mattress as you straddled his thighs once more, this time with your back to him—hips hovering, your whole body tingling.

He leaned against the headboard, sweat shining on his chest, watching you like a man possessed.

“You sure?” he rasped, voice ragged and frayed.

You didn’t answer.

You just reached back, gripped his cock at the base, and lowered yourself onto him slowly—inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

Both of you moaned. Loud.

Deep.

Almost pained.

Your hands braced against his shins behind you for leverage, thighs spread wide as you rode him hard—your ass slapping against his hips, slick and flushed with every bounce.

“Oh, fuck—”

His hands gripped your waist like he was anchoring himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart—you’re still so fuckin’ tight…”

You started to move—slow, heavy grinds, rolling your hips like you needed every inch of him rooted inside you. Bucky gasped behind you, his hands traveling from your hips to your thighs to your breasts, groping, squeezing, completely feral.

“You ride me like it’s the only thing keeping you alive,” he growled.

“Look at that ass—fuck, I can see it bounce every time you fucking slam down.”

You moaned—head tilted back, chest rising and falling—sweat glistening between your breasts.

And then—his fingers slid between your thighs from behind. Two of them, circling your clit with ruthless precision.

“I wanna feel you come again, baby. Let me feel you fucking gush on my cock.”

Your thighs trembled. Muscles locked. Your core started to spasm.

“Bucky, I—I think I—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it. Come on, baby. You’re dripping, you’re so fucking close—let it happen.”

You broke with a cry.

Legs shaking. Hands digging into his thighs.

Your pussy clamped down hard, and then it hit—

You squirted.

Hard.

Hot wetness sprayed between your thighs, down over his cock, soaking the sheets. Bucky let out a strangled moan, clutching your waist like he was going to lose his mind.

“Goddamn—fuck, look at you. You’re gonna make a fucking mess, aren’t you, baby?”

He didn’t stop.

He snapped his hips up into you, relentless now—grinding deep as your soaked cunt fluttered around him, so overstimulated your vision blurred.

“Still want more?” he panted, thrusting up again, angling perfectly.

“I can feel how much you need it. So greedy for me—so fucking full of my cum, and still not satisfied.”

You couldn’t answer. You just moaned, nodding wildly, nails dragging down his thighs, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot on your shoulder as he leaned forward, one hand now wrapped tight around your throat.

“You gonna come for me again? Gonna make a mess on my cock one more time?”

“Yes—James, please—”

And you did.

A second wave slammed into you.

You screamed, back arching, body locking as you squirted again—wetter this time, gushing down over his balls, onto the sheets, soaking everything beneath you.

Bucky lost it.

“Shitshitshit— I’m coming—fuck, baby—I’m—”

He grunted, jerking up into you with three final brutal thrusts as his cock pulsed deep inside you, filling you again, so hot you felt it flood your walls.

You collapsed forward onto the mattress, his arms catching you just before you slumped completely. He held you tight from behind, your body still twitching, both of you covered in sweat, slick, and release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice dazed, completely gone.

“You just… soaked me, baby.”

You half-laughed, half-whimpered. “I couldn’t help it. You broke me.”

“Good,” he growled, kissing your neck. “You can break me next.”

—

You should’ve been done.

You should’ve been shaking, satisfied, breathless from three rounds and nothing left to give.

But you weren’t.

The ache still lived in your bones.

The emptiness still throbbed between your legs.

And when Bucky’s lips brushed your temple—slow, tender, trembling—you felt it in him too.

He needed more.

You both did.

The sheets beneath you were damp. Your thighs were slick. Your chest rose with every sharp breath, nipples flushed and sensitive, body still twitching from your last orgasm. And still… the hunger hadn’t dulled.

“You okay?” he whispered against your throat.

“No,” you rasped, voice cracking.

“I need you again. Right fucking now.”

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath. His cock twitched against your thigh—already stiffening again.

“Jesus, doll… you’re insatiable.”

He kissed your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Then he shifted—slow but deliberate—and suddenly, your wrists were gathered above your head. You gasped at the motion, but his grip was careful, tender. He reached for the discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and looped it around your wrists—soft, warm, not tight.

“Just wanna keep you here,” he murmured, kissing your palms one at a time.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs clenched.

And when he dropped between your legs, your breath hitched so hard your back arched off the bed.

“James—”

“Shhh,” he purred, brushing his stubble along the inside of your thigh.

“Gonna keep you right here, sweetheart. Gonna make you come until your body forgets what rest feels like.”

His tongue dragged through your folds—slow, warm, filthy.

The first flick over your clit sent your hips off the bed—but he was already holding you down, fingers firm, spreading you open like he was fucking home.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled into your cunt, voice rough with disbelief.

“Jesus, baby, you taste like both of us… fuck. You’re perfect.”

He devoured you.

Long, slow licks that lapped up his own cum still leaking from you. Wet, obscene noises filled the room—every slurp, every moan against your pussy like it was the only thing that ever mattered.

You whined. Cried out. Legs trembling.

His mouth worked faster, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision—soft then hard, gentle then firm, always changing, always knowing exactly how to ruin you.

“Bucky—fuck—baby I—”

Your voice broke.

Your hips bucked.

You were so close again, already, already—

He pulled back.

“Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet and eyes dark.

“Not until you beg for it.”

You sobbed—from the overstimulation, from the ache, from how badly you needed to fall apart.

“Please—please, baby, I can’t—just let me—let me come, please—!”

That broke him.

He groaned, deep and guttural, and latched onto your clit with his mouth wide and relentless—tongue flat, dragging fast and rough, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

You exploded.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm hit like a strike of lightning—your whole body shook, fists clenched, toes curled, thighs trembling. You gasped so hard your ribs ached. The headboard thudded behind you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice soaked in reverence.

“One more, baby. Just one more for me.”

You didn’t even get to respond.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because his tongue never stopped.

He kept sucking—soft at first, then harder—until another wave curled sharp behind your ribs. You sobbed his name, pulled at the binds, tried to run but couldn’t move.

You came again.

Harder.

Legs seizing, slick gushing between your thighs, soaking his face, your body curling from the sheer force of it.

He kissed your trembling thighs through the aftershocks.

Pressed his forehead to your belly.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“I don’t even know where I am,” you panted.

“And I think I like it.”

—

Later—

Maybe thirty minutes.

Maybe five.

Time had stopped meaning anything.

It warped, curled, bled together beneath the hum of overstimulation and breathless ache.

You lay curled on your side, one leg bent, sheets tangled around your calves. Sweat cooled on your skin in sticky rivulets. Your breathing had started to even out, but your body still pulsed from the inside—too full, too stretched, too tender to be still.

And then—

The mattress dipped behind you.

You felt his warmth before you felt his hands.

He slid in close—chest to your back, thighs pressed to yours, breath curling against your neck.

His lips brushed your shoulder.

“Still want me?” he asked, voice soft as fog.

You answered with a sigh. Reached back without looking, your palm wrapping around the hard length of him, thick and hot and already twitching against your fingers.

“Always.”

You rocked your hips back, slotting yourself perfectly into him.

He kissed your spine.

Tucked his face into the crook of your neck, and whispered like a man undone.

“I’ll never stop wanting you.”

One hand lifted your top leg, just slightly—fingers gliding over your thigh. His other arm wrapped low around your waist. You felt the weight of him, the warm press of his tip teasing at your entrance—slow, so fucking slow—until he finally pushed inside.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, as if the heat of you had burned him.

“You’re still tight. Still fluttering around me.”

You whimpered.

He thrust deep.

Steady. Gentle.

Every movement an unspoken prayer.

No rhythm. No pace. Just a rolling, molten motion—his cock dragging deep and slow, slick with everything you’d already shared, stroking right against the spot that still trembled.

“I could live here,” he breathed. “I want to live here.”

Your hand gripped his forearm where it wrapped across your middle. He pulled you back against him with every gentle thrust, grounding you in the heat of his body, his breath stuttering where it ghosted along your neck.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured. “So fucking good.”

“Still feels like a dream,” you whispered.

“Then don’t wake up. Just… stay right here. Let me have you like this.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. Tears stung, soft and sudden. It wasn’t pain—it was too much pleasure. Too much love. The way he moved inside you like your body was a temple. Like every inch of you was his.

“Tell me you’re mine again,” he whispered, voice breaking.

You choked on a moan.

“I’m yours, James. Always.”

You came first—slow and quiet. A gentle quake that rippled from your core outward, your body trembling against him as your inner walls clamped down tight. You gasped softly, a sob in your throat, your hands fisting in the sheets.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

“Let go, doll. Let me feel you.”

He wasn’t far behind.

He buried himself deep, groaning low into your hair, his whole body taut as his release surged inside you again—slow and warm, his cock pulsing deep as he held still, hips locked to yours.

You lay there, body slack and soft, his cock still inside you.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

His fingers traced lazy shapes on your belly, his lips pressing soft, almost absent kisses to your damp shoulder, your neck, your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he asked eventually, voice quiet.

You nodded.

“I think I’m in love with you again.”

He smiled against your skin. “Good. I never stopped.”

—

Your body was trembling again.

Not with the sharp, writhing spasms of climax—but the deeper, low-grade tremor of exhaustion.

The kind that came after too many orgasms and too little rest.

Muscles fluttering, breath short, limbs weak. You felt boneless and heavy, like your body had melted halfway into the mattress.

And yet—

Your core still throbbed.

Your nipples still ached.

Your cunt still ached for him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Bucky sat back on his heels beside you, eyes trailing over your form with something like worship—something like worry.

His hand reached out slowly. Brushed your sweat-slicked hair off your forehead. Pressed a soft kiss there.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice gentling. “You with me, sweetheart?”

You nodded once, eyes glassy. Your throat was too dry to speak right away.

“Breathe for me. C’mon.”

His thumb stroked your cheek.

“You look wrecked.”

“I am…”

Your voice came out hoarse.

“I’m so tired.”

That broke his heart a little—you could see it in the way his brows creased. His jaw clenched like he was trying to talk himself down from his own feral hunger.

“Then let’s stop, okay?” he offered softly. “Let me clean you up, hold you for a bit. You need rest.”

But your hand was already moving.

Shaky, slow—but determined.

You reached between his legs and wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock.

Still hard.

Still thick and flushed and leaking at the tip like he’d never finished.

His breath caught.

“Baby—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, tears suddenly springing to your lashes.

“Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

He looked stricken.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna take too much.”

“Then be gentle,” you gasped, stroking him slowly.

“But don’t pull away. I need more. I want you again. I want you.”

His restraint cracked like glass.

With a low, ragged sound, Bucky leaned down to kiss you—soft, shaky, like a prayer being answered. He whispered against your lips.

“Tell me when to stop, baby. Or I won’t.”

You nodded.

Wrapped your arms around his neck.

Pulled him into you.

He guided your legs open with reverent hands—watching your face the entire time, watching for any flinch or hesitation. You were sensitive. Sore. Spent.

But not done.

“I love you,” he said quietly, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“So much it hurts.”

You barely had breath left to answer.

“Then have me,” you whispered. “Take what’s already yours.”

His cock slid into you slow—so slow—inch by inch, the stretch deep and aching, but your body welcomed him like he’d never left.

He moaned into your throat.

“Fuck, baby… still so tight. I can feel your pulse around me.”

He moved gently. Just the slow grind of his hips, the full drag of his cock over soaked, sensitive walls. His hand slid under your back, pulling you flush to his chest.

“You tell me when to stop. You hear me?”

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Just keep giving me all of you.”

And so he did.

With every thrust, he kissed you. With every shift of his hips, he whispered your name. His fingers stroked your side, your hip, your waist—every inch of skin he could reach. You shook beneath him, moaning soft and high each time he bottomed out.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped. “You’re still taking me like it’s the first time. My perfect girl.”

Your orgasm crept in like fog, soft and wet and overwhelming.

You came with a shuddered cry, barely able to hold him, but your body squeezed around him tight—fluttering, spasming, claiming him all over again.

“That's my girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So fucking good for me.”

And then he followed—hips stuttering, forehead pressed to yours as he groaned your name like a benediction. His cock throbbed deep inside, spilling more warmth into the mess already flooding between your legs.

He collapsed next to you, immediately pulling you into his arms. Your body was trembling. His thumb stroked your cheek.

“No more unless you ask,” he murmured against your hair.

“I’ll only give you what you want.”

—

The sky was beginning to lighten.

A dusky indigo bled into grey, softening the skyline behind the Watchtower’s windows. But inside the room, time was a blur of candlelight, heat, and the thick, dizzying scent of sweat and sex.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d fully caught your breath.

Your whole body felt glass-thin. Shivering. Sensitive. The sheets clung to your skin with sweat, and your legs barely worked. But the ache was still there. Nestled low. Pulsing. It didn’t fade.

Bucky’s palm slid over your thigh—soft, slow, as if testing your response.

His voice came a moment later, raspy and hesitant. “Sweetheart… we can stop. You need rest. I can wait.”

But you turned to him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Your fingers found his, laced through them.

“I want more,” you whispered. “Please… take me there.”

He exhaled like you’d just saved his life.

Guiding you gently toward the windows—your legs shaky, but moving—he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be gentle. Just let me see you.”

The whole room swam around you, golden in candlelight and glimmering sweat.

The skyline stretched before you. Towering buildings, distant lights. No eyes. Just your reflection—flushed, ruined, hair damp and tangled across your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled when he saw you.

“Look at yourself, baby. Look what I’ve done to you.”

You braced your palms against the cool glass, breasts pressing to it as your body arched. The contrast of heat and chill made you gasp. Bucky moved in behind you, spreading your thighs with his knee. One hand on your hip. The other wrapped around his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds.

“Still dripping,” he muttered. “Even now. Jesus, you never stop, do you?”

“I need it,” you whispered. “Still need you.”

He didn’t make you wait.

Not this time.

He slid into you with one deep, brutal thrust—your bodies colliding with a smack so loud it echoed off the glass. Your moan fogged the window instantly, your hands flattening harder against it.

“Bucky—fuck—”

He set a hard rhythm, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust, the wet sound of your bodies filling the room. You could barely stand, legs shaking, forehead pressed to the glass.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect like this. My girl. My pussy.”

His hand slid around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding. His mouth hovered by your ear.

“You were made for me,” he said. “Fucking built for this.”

“Harder,” you begged. “Please—please don’t stop.”

“Look at your reflection,” he rasped. “Look how good you look. Look how you’re taking me.”

You opened your eyes—and the sight of yourself, cock-stuffed, sweat-slick, wild-eyed, flushed and wrecked against the window, nearly sent you over the edge.

He thrust harder. Faster. Your thighs trembled violently.

“Gonna come,” you sobbed. “Can’t—Bucky—I can’t hold it—”

“Then don’t,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Come with the whole fucking city watching.”

You shattered.

Legs giving out.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm slammed through you like lightning. Your vision blurred. Your body buckled. Bucky caught you before you hit the ground—arm locking around your waist as he kept moving, groaning into your neck.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna fill you again—”

His hips snapped hard, once, twice—and then he came with a guttural sound, spilling inside you with a heat that pushed out around the edges. His head dropped to your shoulder, body shuddering as he emptied himself again.

You stood there for a long time—pressed to the glass, panting, twitching. Your hands limp against the windowpane. Bucky held you like you were breakable.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded faintly.

“Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”

—

The sun was climbing now.

Pale gold spilled across the Watchtower skyline, casting long streaks of light onto the floor like it was forgiving the sins you were still committing.

Your whole body ached—but not in the way that begged for rest.

It was a deep, needy pulse. Faint, but still there. A hunger that wouldn’t let go.

You stumbled barefoot into the kitchenette, still bare, still slick between your thighs, wearing nothing but Bucky’s hickeys. Your hair was tangled. Your lips were swollen. Your legs trembled with every step.

Your hand landed on a protein bar. You peeled it open with shaking fingers and leaned on the counter for support.

“You better be looking for food,” you said over your shoulder, breathless and hoarse.

You heard the footsteps.

But they didn’t head for the fridge.

Bucky’s body pressed into you from behind—solid, burning hot, and still hard. He slid one arm around your waist, the other reaching up to gently move your hair aside so he could press a kiss to your neck.

“I am hungry,” he rasped, his voice low and feral.

“Just not for that.”

“Bucky,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-destroyed. “I can’t even feel my legs—”

“Good,” he whispered. “You don’t need ‘em.”

Before you could blink, he bent you over the kitchen island.

Your palms slapped down on the cold countertop, and you gasped as your bare nipples brushed the smooth marble.

You didn’t even get the chance to speak.

He lined himself up and pushed in fast—no prep, no warning, just the slick glide of his cock stretching you open again, sliding back into your wrecked body like it was home.

“Fuck, Bucky—!”

“Still so wet,” he growled behind you.

“Still squeezing me like you want more.”

His hands slid to your hips, gripping tight, pulling you back against him with every hard thrust.

This wasn’t slow.

This wasn’t tender.

It was filthy, frantic, barely-in-control fucking. Not because he didn’t care—but because he still needed you that badly.

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the tiny space. The sticky squelch of your soaked cunt taking him again and again filled the air. Your moans bounced off stainless steel and tiled walls.

You dropped your head onto your forearm.

“We… already did this—eight times,” you whimpered.

“I know,” he growled, fucking into you deeper.

“And you’re still fuckin’ perfect. Still taking it all.”

“You’re gonna kill me—”

“Then what a fucking way to go, sweetheart.”

He slid a hand around your front, fingers seeking out your clit, stroking with maddening precision. The way he touched you was still worshipful—even in this chaos.

Your whole body clenched.

“You want one more?” he asked, voice thick, rough, hungry.

“You got one more in you for me, doll?”

“Yes—yes—please—just one more—!”

You came hard. Your scream was ragged, echoing through the kitchen, and your knees nearly gave out from the force of it. The overstimulation blurred your vision with white-hot static, but your body still took every inch of him.

Bucky groaned deep and low, hips jerking as he spilled inside you one last time—his cock pulsing, his chest pressed to your back as he moaned your name like a blessing.

He didn’t sag against you. Didn’t drop.

He stayed upright, body still buzzing, cock still twitching inside you. You could feel him—full, ready again. You were the one shaking. Not him.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered. “You’re still hard.”

“Told you,” he murmured, breath warm against your ear.

“I could do this for days.”

“James…”

He slid his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you upright, holding you there with his cock still buried deep.

“I’ll stop if you need me to,” he whispered.

“Just say the word.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, heart thudding weakly.

“…I think my soul already came twice.”

Bucky laughed softly. Kissed the crown of your head.

“Rest, baby. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Hard as a fucking rock.”

—

You didn’t know what time it was when you finally woke.

Only that the light outside was warmer. Honey-gold, slipping through the windows in slow streaks. The world felt distant. Blurry. But the weight behind you wasn’t.

Bucky’s arm was still around your waist, his chest pressed along your back. Warm. Steady. His breath ghosted over the back of your neck in a soft, familiar rhythm.

Your body ached in the best ways—sore thighs, puffy lips, bruised hips—but it was the ache in your chest that hummed the loudest.

You blinked. Shifted slowly.

He stirred.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice still sleep-rough.

“You okay?”

You turned to face him—carefully, slowly—and found his eyes already open, watching you.

“Mhm. Everything hurts,” you whispered. “In a good way.”

Bucky smiled. Just a little. One of those soft, private smiles he saved for no one but you.

“Told you I’d wreck you.”

“You did. Multiple times.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss you.

No tongue. No hunger. Just warmth. Lips brushing yours with slow reverence, like he was re-learning your taste now that the storm had passed.

You melted into it.

Pressed your forehead to his.

His fingers traced lazy lines across your spine, slow and aimless.

“Missed this,” he whispered. “Missed you.”

You whispered it back. Quiet. Honest.

Then let the silence settle over you both for a while—safe, sacred, slow.

Eventually, after a second nap and a shower where no one tried to fuck anyone against the tiles (God bless you), you both managed to drag yourselves into clothes and make your way toward the common area.

Bucky wore a black tee and gray sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. You were in a loose hoodie and biker shorts—though judging by the soreness between your thighs, sitting might be a challenge.

His arm was around your waist the whole walk.

Your legs still wobbled slightly, and he adjusted his pace to match yours. Not a word about it. Just his warm palm pressing steady against your hipbone like a grounding wire.

—

The squad was already gathered around the Watchtower’s long dining table.

It was pasta night.

Yelena sat at the end, spooning pesto onto her plate with war-like intensity. Ava nursed a glass of wine. Bob looked half-asleep. Alexei was double-fisting garlic bread.

John Walker looked up the moment you stepped into view.

“Oh look,” he said dryly. “It lives.”

You flipped him off without stopping.

“Someone got their back blown out,” Ava added sweetly, raising her glass.

“We heard everything,” Alexei boomed. “Whole floor shook.”

“I had to wear my noise-canceling headphones,” Bob mumbled, half amused, half scarred.

Yelena didn’t even look up from her plate.

“I placed eight rounds in the pool. I win. Pay up, losers.”

You covered your face with your hands.

Bucky didn’t blink.

Just leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and smug.

“We could’ve made it nine.”

You choked on your wine, burst out laughing, and slapped his chest as he grinned like the devil himself.

And when his hand slipped onto your thigh under the table—warm, firm, possessive—you didn’t move it.

You just smiled.

And yeah…

You weren’t done.

💜 @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky x you #bucky barnes one shot #જ⁀➴ by elle #mcu!bucky fic #mcu!bucky

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mydarlingclaudia · 6 months ago

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idk what came over me I have a disease and it's incurable and idk if this makes any fucking sense and I know very little about vikings so... anyway viking!Simon Riley x fem!reader

wc : 548

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Viking!Simon who you’re married off to, you're a fisherman’s daughter and he's one of the most feared Vikings for miles around, it’s an oddity that the both of you are over twenty and still unmarried

the thing is your consummation was quick, left you with fingertip bruises on your hips and thighs, but it was still quick. reason being that you and Simon finally got to bed only an hour or two before dawn and he was supposed to leave for a raid in the morning

he left in the early days of spring, him and fifty other men, only to come back in the middle of summer

you never thought he liked you much, even before you were married, if you spoke your conversations were short and he spoke in that same gruff voice that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. along with him hardly saying a word to you for the entirety of your wedding night

so when he trudges back to your cabin and the first thing he does is kneel in front of you while you’re sitting and sewing, pushing his head down into your lap and gripping your calves before you can even say hello to him, of course you’re confused

your confusion only deepens when he plants kisses to your thighs over the fabric of your dress. you don’t stop him, he’ll be done in a few seconds and then go back to being the cold man he is, you’re sure

but he doesn’t stop, he takes the needle and cloth from your hand, places it on the ground next to where he kneels, and kisses along your wrist. the kisses trail up until they reach your sleeve, then returns to your lap, pulling you closer to him so your knees dig into his chest and he presses the top of his head against your stomach

“you’re a vision,” Simon mumbles against your dress, his voice muffled. you don’t say anything, you don’t reach out to touch him

he does finally stand after another minute, looking at you for another second before he leaves to change

Simon’s kind of back to normal when he returns, he stares at you while he eats the food you cooked for dinner, but he’s back to the normal, distant Simon

up until it's time for bed and he's already pushing the skirt of your nightgown up around your hips, softer than he was on your wedding night, the next morning is even more startling when you wake up to him kissing along the back of your neck and cupping your navel

Simon's not changed in any way, maybe finally having a wife to come home to made him sweeter, at least with you

because now for as long as he's home he's shadowing you, following you around to tend to the gardens and split wood, doing the heavy lifting for you. the sweeter part of him wraps you up in the furs that cover your bed when you're about to fall asleep, the sweeter part of him insists that you come join him to bathe, the sweeter part of him says "can't keep m' bird waitin'," after being stuck in a conversation with someone in the village for a few minutes

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #cod x reader

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inbabylontheywept · 1 month ago

Text

Reach Heaven (Through Violence)

When I was in 2nd grade, my school started a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. I want to emphasize that I started out very excited for this program. I was a small, visibly autistic child on a playground with fourth graders on it. In theory, this program might as well have been called The Rescue Babs Initiative.

In practice, however, zero-tolerance programs almost always sink into madness. The motivations never line up right - too many incentives for cheating.

The first victim of the program was actually my friend, Sam. I was standing next to him in line when one of the fourth graders gut punched him. There was no reason for the punch, he was just small and in arm's reach. Sam got the wind knocked out of him, but he managed to gasp out the phrase stupid motherfucker right as the playground aide ran over to keep the peace.

(Sam had an incredible vocabulary for a 2nd grader. Consequence of his dad being a recently divorced mechanic.)

Puncher got a two week suspension. That was fine. But Sam got a one week one for verbal abuse, which was beyond the pale. But that’s just what zero-tolerance is, right? No hitting became a rule everyone had to follow, and it didn't stop when someone hit us. So our options as kids were to somehow make like Jesus and ascend up to heaven… or solve things ourselves.

We started solving things ourselves.

I'll be honest, I think that was always the plan. A school can do a lot of things to reduce bullying, but if the goal is zero, there's only one path forward: Shoot the messenger.

---

My part in the story was a few weeks after that. Long enough to know that the school's new unofficial policy was to suspend kids that reported problems, short enough to have no idea how to defend myself. It turned out the 4th grader that hit Sam was part of a trio, and that trio had their sights on me next.

I asked some of my classmates what to do, and they said that the best idea was to just ignore the bullies. Refuse to give them a reaction. That was dogshit advice, but it was common enough in the early 2000s and it's not like I can fault 2nd graders for not knowing much about life.

Anyway. I took the advice and I ignored my bullies. I ignored them when they said nasty things about my mom, and I ignored them when they bounced soccer balls off my head, and the one time I broke was when the biggest of the trio grabbed my arm hard enough to leave finger shaped bruises. We were watching a movie in the gym when he did that, and I leaned over and told him he could hold my hand if he was scared of the dark. Which worked, thank God. The grip hurt bad enough I had to excuse myself for a bit to keep my composure.

I think a more mentally flexible kid would've changed strategies by then. Clearly, things were escalating. But it's hard for me to change my mind, so I stuck to my bad strategy, right up until the day the big kids caught me after school. I was crossing the baseball field when they got me. It was just one of those places you had to walk through to make it to the bike rack.

The big guy, again, was the instigator. He pushed me down then stood over me, yelling for me to get back up. But I knew that if I got back up, he'd just push me down again, and for whatever reason, their Bully Code didn't allow for kicking a kid that was already down. So I stuck to the grass, and they tried a bunch of things to goad me into standing back up. Eventually, I started kicking at them while on my back, and one of them took the opportunity to grab my leg. Second bully thought that looked fun, so he grabbed my other leg. Kicking me like that was off limits, but dragging wasn't, so they just started pulling me around that way.

They were so much taller than me that I was almost vertical during the pull so all my weight was put on my shoulders. And the fields were just made of unkind stuff. There was crushed gravel all over the place, spilled out from the divider between the big kid playground and the little kid playground, so every time they dragged me over a piece it just ripped a new gouge up my back. The ground itself was sunbaked caliche and dead crabgrass. There was a grit to it, like sand stuck to the outside of a clay pot.

It grated all the skin off my upper back. Everything between the bottom of my neck to the bottom of my shoulder blades. I don't know at what points I went from yelling, to screaming, to just crying, but I did, and I know they seemed almost giddy every time it changed. Eventually they finished off with one loop around the baseball diamond and that hurt the worst. The dust there stuck to the snot and spit all over my face and made it into a foul mud, and the same happened in my shirt. The dust stung like salt, and the gravel in the lines tore open a few more cuts for dirt to pour in. I remember them stopping, and actually crying again I was so relieved. It was done. Thank God, it was finally done. They were done hurting me.

They left me on my back near homebase. They'd finally got the reaction they were looking for.

It took me a few minutes after that to stagger back to my feet. I was able to wash the snot-mud off my face in the bathroom, but I couldn't bring myself to touch my back. It just felt like it was on fire. Then I made it back to the bike rack.

That’s where my older sister, Liz, was waiting for me. She was just a grade ahead of me but it always felt bigger than that. There’s some deep weight associated with being the oldest. She could see that I was dirty and tear soaked so she asked what happened. I didn’t know how to put it in words, so I just tried lifting my shirt to show her. It made a sticky, tacky sound coming up - like the plastic coat coming off a slice of American cheese. Tchhhhk.

I didn’t know how bad they’d got me before I heard that noise.

She looked at my back for maybe two seconds before telling me to put my shirt back down. I never actually looked at it when it was fresh, but I still had straggling scars by the time I got to highschool. Long silver-grey lines, visible mostly for the dirt still stuck in them. She looked a little sick when I turned around, but she kept it cool, which I really appreciated. I always hated crying in public, and I was half a hair from crying all over again. I don't think I'd have been able to keep it together if she'd freaked out too.

Instead, she just asked me some questions. Who did this, how long they’d been doing it, what I’d been doing, if I’d told anyone. Some 4th graders, a month, trying to ignore them, nobody.

She mulled those answers over. I could see her trying to chart a course forward - trying to figure out what it would take to solve this problem for good. She's always had this weird, sad, blank face that she'd make when she found a solution she didn't like. She'd make that face, then think some more, then make the face. Then think.

Eventually, she just made the face.

Don't tell the parents, she said. I can fix this. But only if you don’t tell them.

I believed her. She was the most capable person I knew, and her word was gold. So I didn't tell our parents. I biked home, and every drop of sweat that rolled down my back felt like acid on my skin. I remember getting home and beelining straight to the bath, because I needed something to put the fire out. Took that as my moment to cry it out again too. First time I'd cried was from pain, but the second time was from the cruelty. Second time took longer, but the nice thing about a cold bath is that the water never runs out. I could just pop the plug out with my toes and just keep rinsing and draining and rinsing and draining until my mind was as clean and empty and stark as the tub itself. Then I could go fill that emptiness up with Calvin and Hobbes.

It worked.

Mostly.

---

I spent the whole next week feeling nervous anytime I was outside and Liz wasn't nearby. Some days she'd beat me to the bike racks, and I'd be relieved as hell to just go home. Other days, I'd be the first one out, and then I'd have to spend a few minutes worrying about what I'd do if the big kids showed up. But they never did. Liz always got there just a few minutes later, and I'd pretend I hadn't been planning escape routes.

Friday, I was sweating by myself when she showed up a few minutes later than normal. She unlocked her bike but she didn't move to leave. She had this big, long cable-type lock, maybe six feet of braided steel. She folded it over in her hands so it looked like a swatter and swung it a few times in the air. Made it whistle like a falling anvil in a cartoon.

Today's baseball practice, she said. All Our Guys are on the baseball team.

Our Guys. Odd phrasing. Also, I actually hadn't known that about them, but I nodded along anyway. She wasn't really looking at me as she talked - she was inspecting the lock.

My plan, she continued, is to wait here until baseball's done. Me and you. When it gets time I'll send you outside the bike cage.

The cage was a chain link fence, maybe six feet tall, built all around the rack. They’d lock it after school as an extra precaution against bike thieves.

Your job, she continued, will be to hold the gate closed after they're all in. Keep em’ stuck. Think you can do that?

She was being very frank, which helped me think clearly. I didn't think I could actually hold the gate closed if all of them ran into it at once, but I knew where a big half broken cinder block was, and I knew if I could wedge it in there, it would hold. So I told her that.

Great, she said. Do that.

Then I went to go get the block. She gave the cable a few more experimental swings, right as I made it around the corner.

I'd been thinking in straight lines before that. Just meeting goals. It wasn't until that moment that I really allowed myself to know what was happening. That I allowed myself to have a choice.

I chose to jog a little faster. I wanted revenge.

---

I came back with the block a few minutes later, then we just talked like nothing was happening. The sun was shining, and we’d both gotten into bionicles, and it was easy to talk and be people. Normal, happy people.

But that feeling went away when I heard the coach tweet a long whistle. Me and Liz both knew that was the signal that practice was done. I walked out and got my bric while she folded the cable in half in her hand again. Then we both waited.

Eventually I saw the kids that drug me around the baseball diamond emerge from behind the portables. I watched them make a straight line back to the bike rack. They were laughing together, having a good time. Being normal. Like me and my sister. I realized I could let things be normal too. I saw my chance to let things go softball pitched to me, nice and easy, and I didn't even bother to swing. I didn't want normal anymore. I wanted this. I knew why my sister had that lock, and I'd thought about it, and I liked it.

God help me, I think I needed it.

The kids went inside the bike cage. I gave them ten paces head start, then put the cinder block under the gate. That was the signal Liz had been waiting for.

She blitzed those boys. There were three of them, and the smallest still had two inches on her, so they probably would have kicked her ass if they ever had a moment to think. But she never gave them that moment. She picked the biggest kid, and decided he needed the first blow. I remember how much muscle she put into that swing - the cable was so heavy, and she was so small, that it kind of swung her back as she made that first half spin. Like a dog getting wagged by its own tail.

It was a perfect connection. Flawless. She swung through her target, not at it, and the resulting slap that the cable made bouncing off the biggest kid's stomach was loud enough to echo through the cage. It brought a tear to my eye. It brought a tear to his eye too.

The trio split after that, bouncing around the cage like fresh broke billiards. I can't describe how Liz did it, exactly, but she managed to chase the boys back together so she could hit them all more efficiently. She had a real knack for getting them right between the shoulders, so I never got to see the real perfection of her work, but she wasn't above swinging for the arms or legs if that was all she had. Those marks I could see, and they were brutal. The welts were wider and thicker than my thumb, like giant purple worms were trying to burrow out of their skin. Some even bled. I cheered on every hit.

Liz, for her part, just had a sort of grim, single minded determination to her. She was so angry she was shaking, and so scared that tears just kept running down her face, and she was grinning all the way back to her molars, but the grin didn't get any bigger after a solid hit than a glancing one. When the kids started blubbering, she didn't change her process. I'd spent my time crying, she'd spent her time crying, of course they were getting theirs in too: That's what violence does. It brings tears. Sow the wind, reap the whirlwind.

Eventually, one of the kids split off from the main herd and scrambled up the fence, gecko-style. Liz let him go. It was either that, or take her attention off the other two. Easy choice.

Now, there were two kids left, the big one, and one of his smaller friends. Smaller friend did the same trick. I was worried he was gonna turn back, fight me and open the gate for his buddy, but he just fled for the hills. I remember thinking, damn, I hope they never forgive each other for this. I hope this ruins their whole friendship. I hope this festers into something awful.

The one kid that was left really was trapped though. He wasn't built for climbing and he had no one to work as a distraction for him. Every time he started trying to make it up the fence, my sister would just twist up like a spring, then swing the cable with both hands right into his spine. The slap it made every time she did that was loud enough to hurt my ears. He never made it more than two hits like that before hopping off the fence and just trying to run around some more. He could get Liz tangled up in the bikes for a bit if he really tried, but it never bought him enough time to actually get out. She'd always find her way out of the thicket, swing the cable, and send him running again.

Eventually, he just couldn't run anymore. He sat down, and my sister hit him a few times, telling him to stand up. He refused. He knew he was gonna get hit either way, so he might as well get hit sitting down. He put his arms up after a bit and let those take a beating too. Eventually he just started begging her to stop. So she did.

He cried he was so relieved. I remembered how that felt: It’s done. Thank God, it’s finally done. They’re done hurting me.

Liz told me to come in and show him my back. I took my shirt off, and I showed him a scab as large as a dinner plate. Cracked up like dry river mud.

He looked sick. Started babbling about how he didn't know. Said he thought I was crying because I was just a kid - that he didn't know he was actually hurting me. That he'd just wanted to get a rise out of me and didn't know it would take so much.

He didn't know he'd gone too far until it was too late.

And suddenly, it was like looking in a mirror.

Two snotty, welted boys, crying alone in the dirt. Backs burning like fire. Ashamed. Trapped. Realizing that they'd just done something awful, and worse, that they’d dragged the people that meant the most to them along for the ride.

I hated him more at that moment than when he drug me over gravel. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill anything but their own brokenness reflected. Looking at him was unbearable. Like staring straight into the sun.

I could've hit him again if I hadn't just gorged myself on violence. But I had. I was fat with it, sick and aching - anything more and I would have puked. So I just told him to get his bike and go. Please. Just go.

He did. He staggered to his feet, and he grabbed his bike before running away like all the demons in hell were following behind. All bar two. There was a swingset nearby, and once he was fully out of sight, Liz and I walked over to it. We picked two seats next to each other and sat for a while, talking until our hands stopped shaking. Can’t remember about what. We didn’t really know how to process what had just happened. Still don’t, to be honest.

Then we went home.

---

Thanks to @elisabethdeep-blog, @foldingfittedsheets, @amateurmasksmith, @caramel-catss @arataya, and @rozenkingdom for being my alpha readers.

And thanks @lizardho, for being my first friend, my best friend, and my childhood bodyguard. I know it took a toll on you. I'm truly sorry.

#tw: bullying #tw #babylon-lore #this story is kind of gruesome tbh #but its done and i can offer it up to tumblr #enjoy this wildly unpleasant event from my childhood

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ama3003 · 2 months ago

Text

Everything's Just Perfect

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: Yes

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: You're Bucky's ex-wife and you always seem to be there whenever he needs you.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“So…” John groaned, slumping against a cracked brick wall. Blood trickled from a cut near his hairline, and ash streaked his jaw like war paint. He held up what was left of his shield — warped, twisted, folded . “What now? Because we just got annihilated.”

“No shit,” Ava muttered, spitting dust from her mouth and flicking a burned scrap of fabric from her sleeve. Her split lip had swollen, and she could feel bruises blooming across her ribs. “I say every man for themselves. Bob’s gone full horror movie. This was fun — goodbye.”

She turned into the lingering smoke, already half-vanished — until Yelena’s voice cut through like a knife.

“We can’t leave him.”

Ava stopped, shoulders stiff. “Leave who? That wasn’t Bob back there. That was... I don’t even know what that was.” She turned, folding her arms. “Definitely not the guy who saved us.”

“No,” Yelena said, voice tight. “But he’s still in there. Somewhere.”

“Unless one of you has a secret anti-god laser in your back pocket,” Ava snapped, “what exactly is your plan?”

“I don’t have one yet,” Yelena admitted, stepping forward anyway. “But we’re not leaving him. Not like this.”

Alexei groaned and collapsed dramatically onto a half-shattered bench, which cracked under his weight. “If we go back in there, I need... at least ten minutes. And a cortisone shot. Maybe a priest.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Let me stretch, drink some water, and then we finish him.”

“We’re not finishing him,” Yelena snapped, rounding on him. “We’re going to help him.”

“Oh sure,” Ava muttered. “We’ll just hug the powers out of him.”

“He ripped Bucky’s arm off like it was a doll’s toy,” Alexei added. “We go in like this, we die.”

“It’s fine,” Bucky muttered as he calmly snapped the vibranium prosthetic back into place with a click. “Happens more than you think.”

John held up his bent shield, his face still a mix of shock and mild heartbreak. “He folded it. I mean—folded it. Like paper. Do you know what kind of force it takes to bend this thing?”

Ava raised a brow. “So… not vibranium?”

“It’s vibranium-adjacent,” John muttered defensively.

Yelena didn’t even look at him. “Maybe if it was actual vibranium, it wouldn’t look like a gas station burrito.”

Alexei lit up. “I could go for a burrito. Or a taco. The ones with the cheese in the middle. Mmm. I want that now.”

John groaned. “Focus! We got curb-stomped by Bob! Bob! The shy nerdy one!"

“Yeah,” Ava said quietly, brushing ash from her arm. “He’s not shy or nerdy anymore.”

That shut them all up.

Bucky exhaled. They were beat to hell, and morale was tanking fast. But more than that, they were scared. And for good reason.

He looked at them — bruised, dirty, half-limping, yet still bickering like middle schoolers on a broken field trip — and made a decision he was definitely going to regret.

“There’s a place we can crash. It’s not far. We lay low, regroup. Heal. Then we figure out what the hell to do.”

Yelena eyed him suspiciously. “Where?”

He didn’t answer. Just turned and started walking.

The group hesitated, then followed — slow and shuffling.

A few blocks in, Ava broke the silence again, jabbing a thumb at John’s mangled shield. “So… can’t you, like, unfold it? You’ve got super strength, right?”

“I have super strength,” John snapped. “Not unfold-a-shield-bent-by-a-living-deity strength. It’s toast.”

Alexei squinted. “Is that, like… covered under warranty? Or do you have to mail it back?”

John gave him a deadpan look. “Do I look like I kept a receipt?”

“And you—” he pointed at Ava “—Ghost. Can you even do anything right now or are you just brooding professionally?”

Ava raised her brow. “I walked through a wall and saved your sorry ass five hours ago.”

“She literally did,” Yelena added, smirking.

“I-oh. Right. I forgot,” John said, flustered. “In my defense, I was the one who cut the power so she could walk through the wall.”

“How convenient,” Ava said flatly.

Their argument began escalating again — nonsense mixed with sarcasm, interrupted only by Alexei trying to convince someone to buy him tacos — until Bucky turned sharply on his heel.

“Enough.” His voice was low, tired, and just sharp enough to cut through the noise. “We’re almost there. If you keep yelling, she’s not going to open the door.”

They all stopped short.

“She?” they echoed, suspicious in unison.

“Yes. She. No more questions.” He resumed walking, jaw clenched.

Yelena sidled up next to him, grinning like a cat. “Is this a she-she, or a capital-She situation?”

“I’m not answering that.”

Alexei leaned toward John with a conspiratorial whisper. “Is she a friend-friend or a friendly friend?”

John nodded sagely. “I bet she’s way out of his league.”

“Maybe she's his girlfriend,” Yelena offered with a shrug.

“Highly doubtful,” Ava muttered.

“She’s not my—” Bucky stopped mid-sentence, face twitching. “Just... shut up. All of you. Or I will let Bob use you as a jump rope.”

They finally quieted.

The townhouse appeared as they turned the corner. It was small, tucked between a dry cleaner and an old record shop. String lights framed the little balcony, and a warm golden glow spilled from the upstairs window. Too calm. Too normal. It looked like the kind of place where people had tea and talked about their feelings — not where half-dead super-soldiers crawled in to sleep off a cosmic ass-kicking.

Bucky stopped in front of the door, hesitating. His jaw tightened as he raised his fist, his metal fist hovering before he knocked.

He hated this.

He hated that he’d brought them here — hated the pit growing in his stomach — hated that this was the only safe place he could think of. She hadn’t seen him in almost a year. Not since they separated. And now he was dragging a human dumpster fire of a team to her doorstep.

Behind him, the others bickered in hushed tones.

“Does she cook?” “I hope she has a comfy couch.” “If she has tea, I’ll marry her.”

Bucky closed his eyes. Just for a second.

He almost turned around — almost told them it was a bad idea and they should just sleep in a sewer.

But then he heard footsteps approaching the door.

Too late.

The door creaked open slowly, and there you were.

Your eyes landed on Bucky first — bruised, dirt-streaked, arm slightly disjointed, and he was holding his ribs with one hand.

“Bucky,” you breathed, barely above a whisper. Your gaze swept across him, and the flicker of worry that crossed your face was brief, but real.

Then it was gone.

“What do you want?” you asked. Not cold exactly, but not welcoming either. Just guarded.

Bucky looked down for a moment. His voice, when it came, was low. Worn. “I know I’m the last person you wanna see right now. But we need your help.”

“I don’t play superhero anymore,” you replied, arms folding as you leaned slightly against the doorframe.

“I know,” he said quickly, “I’m not asking you to suit up or anything. We just need a place to lay low. For a night. Maybe two. We got our asses handed to us like ten minutes ago.” He gestured to the group behind him, and your eyes drifted over the chaos on your porch.

“Please, doll,” he added, quieter now. “I wouldn’t have come if I had any other option.”

The silence stretched between you. He held your gaze, waiting — wounded pride barely masked beneath the plea.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders softening. Without a word, you stepped aside and opened the door wider.

“Come in before the neighbors start watching.”

The team shuffled in, dragging in a trail of soot, broken egos, and exhaustion. Bucky paused as he stepped through, eyes flicking to the living room. It looked exactly like he remembered — warm, soft lighting, a shelf cluttered with books and candles. Homey. Safe.

Except the framed photos of you two were gone. Replaced by art. Abstract pieces. Beautiful, distant things.

Then something soft brushed against his leg.

He glanced down and froze.

A pristine white cat was weaving through his boots, its tail flicking with recognition. His expression shifted—stunned, tender.

“Hey, Alpine,” he murmured, crouching carefully. “Hi, pretty girl. I missed you.”

She meowed softly and launched into his arms, immediately purring as she burrowed into his chest. He cradled her like porcelain, one hand smoothing over her fur.

You watched from the kitchen threshold. You and Bucky had agreed Alpine would stay with you — your life was stable, his wasn’t. It had made sense. But it hadn’t been easy.

Behind Bucky, the team just… stared.

“Are you seeing this?” John whispered to Yelena.

Ava elbowed him without even looking. “Shut up.”

It was a surreal image: The Winter Soldier, dusty and battle-worn, cuddling a white fluffball like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You took in the rest of them. They were strangers, mostly. Strangers who looked like they'd crawled out of a battlefield and onto your rug.

The blonde woman leaned against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her standing. The woman in the sleek suit by the door looked cool and dangerous in equal measure. Then there was the massive man in red. He smiled and gave a little wave when your eyes met. And then there was the guy with the folded shield and the “punch-me” face.

Bucky nodded toward the group. “Uh, yeah. That’s Yelena, Ava, Alexei, and... that’s John.”

They all gave awkward waves. Alexei’s was the most enthusiastic.

You nodded politely. “I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

They all looked like they were one nudge away from collapsing.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” you offered.

“Water, please,” Yelena said quickly, her voice scratchy.

John raised his hand like a kid in class. “Same.”

Ava glanced at you, almost apologetic. “Do you have tea?”

“Sure. What kind?”

“Anything.”

You turned to Alexei.

“Do you have anything… stronger?” he asked, hopeful.

“How strong?”

“Very strong.”

You smirked. “Got it.” Then disappeared into the kitchen.

The moment you were out of sight, all heads turned to Bucky — still petting Alpine, who had zero plans to move.

“So…” Yelena drawled. “You and her?”

Bucky tensed like someone lit a fuse in his spine.

“Don’t,” he muttered.

John leaned closer to Ava. “There’s definitely history here. Did you see the way she looked at him?”

“She also looked like she wanted to slam the door,” Ava replied.

“She likes him,” Alexei declared confidently. “There is affection. And the cat approved. Cats never lie.”

Bucky glared at all of them. “If you value your limbs, you’ll stop talking.”

Yelena held up both hands, grinning. “Okay, okay. No shipping the grumpy soldier. Got it.”

A few moments later, you returned balancing a tray with glasses, a mug of tea, and a tumbler of something amber.

“Bucky, seriously?” you said, seeing them all still hovering like awkward ghosts. “You could’ve told them to sit down.”

He shrugged, still holding the cat like a teddy bear. “Didn’t want to break anything.”

You waved the team toward the couches. “Please. Make yourselves at home.”

John and Yelena nearly collapsed into opposite ends of the same couch. Ava leaned against a windowsill, blowing gently on her tea. Alexei sniffed his drink, took a sip, then sat upright.

“You, my dear, are an angel,” he declared reverently. “Is this whiskey?”

“Only the best for unexpected guests,” you replied dryly. “I was meal-prepping earlier,” you added, glancing over your shoulder. “I’ve got a big pot of soup if anyone’s hungry. Showers are down the hall. Towels are in the closet. Clean shirts in the basket.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“Soup would be heavenly,” John mumbled, eyes already closing.

You gave a small smile and turned toward the kitchen again.

Bucky hesitated, gently placing Alpine down as she curled onto a throw pillow. Then he followed you, slow and quiet.

You were setting down a basket of warm dinner rolls on the table when you felt the shift in the room. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Still, you glanced over your shoulder. Bucky stood quietly near the doorway, half-shadowed by the dim kitchen light, his hands shoved in his pockets, posture stiff like he hadn’t quite decided if he should be there.

“Do you need anything?” you asked, keeping your voice steady. The soup was already simmering; your hands moved automatically to the ladle.

He offered a faint smile — the kind that didn't reach his eyes. “Thanks for letting us crash here.”

You nodded, focusing on the steam rising from the pot instead of the way your chest clenched. “You all looked like hell. Someone had to be decent.”

“Look, Y/N—”

“Bucky, don’t,” you said quickly, sharper than you meant to. You turned to face him fully, hands still holding the ladle. “You don’t have to say anything. I know why you're here. Nearest safe house. Not personal. It’s fine. Really.”

He hesitated, jaw tightening before giving a slow nod. “We’ll be out of your hair soon. Just need some rest.”

“That's fine.” You turned back to fill the bowls. “Alpine misses you.”

His voice was softer this time. “I miss her too.”

You didn't answer right away. But when the bowls were full and the bread was out, you called out toward the hallway.

“Lunch.”

A few thuds and grunts later, the rest of the group shuffled in like survivors of a disaster movie. Everyone looked slightly cleaner than when they arrived — but still bruised, bandaged, and about ten seconds from passing out.

Everyone except Bucky, who instinctively sat down in the seat next to yours.

Yelena took a spot across the table, her hands wrapped around her water. Ava perched at the end, still sipping her tea slowly. Alexei helped himself to three rolls before anyone else had time to blink.

John hovered awkwardly before finally taking a seat beside Alexei, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near Yelena again after their last round of bickering.

“And then—oh! Oh! Bob folded his shield like a freakin’ taco,” Alexei said mid-chew, nearly choking from laughter. “Just snapped it like paper!”

Yelena chuckled. Even Ava cracked a smirk.

John looked personally offended. “It’s not that funny.”

“And then—wait for it—he ripped off Bucky’s arm.” Alexei nearly doubled over at the memory.

Your spoon paused halfway to your mouth. You turned your head so fast toward Bucky, it made your hair sway.

Bucky rolled his eyes at Alexei, but when he caught your expression — real concern flickering beneath practiced calm — his demeanor softened.

“It’s fine,” he said gently, lifting the vibranium arm a little. “Reattached it without a problem.”

“Are you sure?” You were already reaching out, ignoring the way your hand trembled just slightly. You turned his arm gently, inspecting the seam where metal met flesh, eyes scanning for dents or stress damage. “Did you check everything out?”

“I’m okay,” he said, holding your gaze. You gave him a look that said you weren’t convinced. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time. He squeezed your hand. “I promise. I’m okay.”

His eyes looked at your hand, and something flickered behind them — something like a punch to the gut. It was bare. There was no ring on her finger.

Automatically, he reached up to his chest, fingers ghosting over where the chain should’ve been.

It wasn’t there.

His stomach dropped.

Bucky’s fingers frantically searched under his collar, pulling at his shirt, then dipping into his jacket pocket. Nothing.

No. No no no.

He never took it off. Ever.

His pulse spiked as he started checking every pocket.

“Bucky?” you asked, watching him unravel. “What’s wrong?”

“The chain,” he said hoarsely. “My chain. It’s gone.”

Panic etched across his face.

At the end of the table, Yelena blinked, frowning as she slipped a hand into her coat pocket. She felt the cool weight of something metallic there — something she had shoved away mid-battle and forgotten about.

When she pulled it out, her heart skipped.

It was a chain.

And dangling from it — a simple gold wedding band.

“Holy f—” she whispered, catching herself before the full curse slipped. “Holy shit.”

Everyone turned to look.

Bucky’s head snapped up.

She held the chain in her open palm like it was glowing. “This is yours.”

He surged forward before she could say another word and plucked it from her hand like it was oxygen. His breath shuddered as he slipped it back over his neck, the ring resting once again near his heart.

Relief washed over his features — raw and unfiltered.

Your eyes locked with his.

“You still have it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand brushed your ring finger again, almost absentmindedly.

“I—I…” Bucky swallowed hard, words failing. His throat felt too tight.

Alexei broke the silence like a sledgehammer. “Wait—you’re married?! Congratulations!” he bellowed, raising his glass. “That’s adorable.”

Bucky flinched like he'd been shot.

The silence that followed was very loud.

He looked at you again — the weight of everything unspoken between you crashing back in all at once — then abruptly stood.

He didn’t say anything.

He just left the room, Alpine trailing after him as the others watched, stunned.

“Did I…” Alexei frowned. “Did I say something wrong? Is that not a wedding ring?”

Yelena sighed, rubbing her temple. “We’re gonna need way more soup.”

“Uh… we’re not married anymore,” you whispered, and the air in the room seemed to shift.

Everyone went quiet. You could feel the weight of their stares settle on you like a spotlight, but you didn’t look back. You just stood, heart pounding, and walked out of the room — your feet already knowing where to go.

Of course you knew where he was.

You and Bucky had lived in this house together for two years before everything fell apart. The bones of the place hadn’t changed — not the layout, not the memories buried in each room. And especially not the basement.

You made your way downstairs, the air cooler, quieter. The moment your foot hit the last step, he spoke.

“You kept everything the same,” Bucky said, his voice low but clear. He didn’t even need to turn around to know it was you.

You crossed the room and slowly sat next to him on the old couch, the one you both used to fall asleep on watching bad movies. The cushions were still slightly sunken on his side.

“Of course,” you replied, your voice gentle. “It was our home. It felt wrong moving your things…changing your designs.”

Silence filled the space between you. Not heavy — just full. The muffled sound of the team arguing upstairs drifted down: something about dishes, someone calling someone a jackass.

“They’re a good bunch,” you murmured. “Very entertaining, too.”

Bucky let out a quiet, tired laugh. “Yeah. I know.”

Your eyes drifted to the chain around his neck — barely visible, but there.

“You kept the ring,” you said softly, watching him tense just slightly.

He nodded slowly, the admission coming with a quiet sigh. “Yeah. I did.”

“Why?”

He finally turned to face you, eyes tired but sincere. “It helps me. Grounds me. I didn’t have much left to fight for after Steve left. But then there was you. And that ring… it gave me comfort. Protection, in a weird way. It became my good luck charm. I couldn’t get rid of it after the divorce. I didn’t want to.”

You felt your chest tighten, but you gave him a small, sad smile. “So you’ve been wearing it around your neck this whole time?”

He nodded again, this time more slowly. “Every damn day,” he admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “I couldn’t take it off. It’s stupid, I know. Makes me look like a fool.”

You shook your head and stood up, walking to the cabinet on the far wall. He watched you with guarded curiosity as you pulled out a small, velvet box and returned to the couch.

“You’re not a fool,” you said gently. You opened the box and held it out to him. “I couldn’t get rid of mine either. Every time I tried, it felt wrong, like throwing away something sacred."

His gaze dropped to the ring in your fingers, and his throat tightened. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours again.

“I really wanted our marriage to work,” he said, the words coming out like a confession.

“I know you did.”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“I know you are.” You reached for his hand and held it. It still felt the same — steady, calloused, familiar. “You needed to find yourself, Buck. I should’ve understood. Everything was changing so fast. Steve died. Sam had the shield. Walker was Captain America for a minute. And then… you got into politics. You’re actually a congressman now.”

He let out a breath that was half-scoff, half-laugh.

“I couldn’t keep up,” you continued. “And that was on me.”

“No. It was on me,” he said firmly. “I didn’t prioritize your feelings. I kept shutting you out — thinking I was protecting you. You were right to divorce me. I wasn’t a good husband.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and shook your head.

“Bucky, no. You were an amazing husband. You just had things to work through. And I pushed myself aside instead of speaking up.”

You leaned in and wrapped your arms around him. The embrace felt effortless. Like no time had passed.

His arms went around you instantly, like they never forgot how.

“I’m also sorry,” you whispered.

Bucky’s laugh was soft and bitter. “What the hell happened to us?”

“I don’t really know,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest. “But I missed you.”

“I missed you more.” He pressed his face into your shoulder, inhaling like he needed the scent of you to survive. Alpine purred softly at your feet, curling between your legs.

And for a while, it was enough.

Peaceful. Quiet. Just the two of you and the cat you shared, back in a place that still remembered love.

And then—

CRASH.

You both jumped slightly at the loud clatter upstairs.

“Did you seriously just break their bowl?” John’s voice rang out, horrified.

“Well, if you think you can do better, then help me wash the dishes, Walker!” Ava snapped back.

You giggled, forehead still resting against Bucky’s shoulder. “We should go before they break more of our dishes.”

He smiled — a real one, one that reached his eyes. It lit up something in him when you said our. He tightened his hold. “A few more minutes. They’ll survive.”

You didn’t argue.

And without meaning to, both of you drifted off, curled into each other like no time had passed at all.

********

“This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Shut up, Alexei. You’re being too loud.”

“We should wake him up, though. We haven’t even talked strategy.”

“We can’t. Look at them.”

“They look like a cute, happy family.”

“We should take a picture.”

The shutter sound was loud in the quiet room, with the flash blinding all of them.

Bucky blinked awake, eyes adjusting slowly. There was warmth on his lap — Alpine, purring softly. And in his arms, still tucked close, was you.

For a second, he didn’t move.

This was what peace felt like. This was home.

“You woke him up,” Yelena hissed. “Seriously, Dad, turn off the flash and the sound!”

Bucky looked at them — bleary-eyed and still half-asleep — and his expression dropped into something flat and dangerous.

“I’m going to give you ten seconds to leave,” he said calmly, voice low and sharp as a blade. “And if you don’t… Bob will be the least of your problems.”

The team scrambled out of the room like they’d seen a ghost.

He sighed, then looked back down at you — just as you stirred.

You blinked yourself awake slowly, eyes meeting his. He braced himself, just for a second, wondering if you’d pull away. Regret it. Pretend none of it happened.

But you didn’t.

You just smiled sleepily, and snuggled closer.

“Is everything okay?” you murmured, reaching over to pat Alpine, who purred louder.

“Everything’s just perfect,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

And for once, maybe for the first time in forever, Bucky believed that was true.

5K notes · View notes

dazzlingjaeyun · 23 days ago

Text

ʙʀᴜɪꜱᴇꜱ – ꜱɪᴍ ᴊᴀᴇʏᴜɴ

engineering major!jake x nursing student fem!reader

୨୧ genre: strangers to implied lovers, mostly angst & smut, MDNI | words: 17.3k | cw: jake is very in love but also lowkey emotionally unavailable, mentions of blood and injuries, self-indulgent shade on iced americano, HANDS (also self-indulgent), jake has one wet dream, munch jake, fingering – also semi-public (in his car), mentions of orgasm denial, marking and biting, dry humping, nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, aftercare!! ୨୧

read this as a standalone or as a prologue to bandaids! if you've already read bandaids, you can still read this one after. it'll make sense both ways ><

hanna says: huge thank you to @brklynbabyjay and @jayparked for brainstorming a lot with me & helping me with the plot. thank you su for betaing me for this monstrosity and thank you snail for giving me the idea for the title. i appreciate you so so much. also congrats to @tmrwsuns for not losing your mind (and ears) when i yapped about this too much. thank you for hyping me up instead! ily all and this wouldn't have been possible without you <3

mature content under cut, minors do not interact!

“J-Jake,” you mumble out, your fingers tightening the grip on his hair, pulling a little harder – just enough to create the perfect sense of pain. Jake opens his eyes and looks up to you, the sight alone enough to make him bring a finger up to your leaking hole while his tongue keeps focusing on your clit. Your eyes are shut almost a little too tightly, eyebrows firmly drawn together, and bottom lip pulled between your teeth, although that’s barely enough to muffle the pretty moans and whimpers that Jake so badly needs to hear.

It’s almost pathetic how his heart skips a beat at just how easily his finger slides in, how with each pump of it, he can practically see the air getting knocked out of your lungs. When he closes his lips around your clit to gently suck it between his teeth and your head falls back, perfectly displaying the dark red spots he left there so carelessly just minutes ago, he can’t help but let his free hand slip under the soft fabric of his sweatpants, palming his pulsating length through his boxers.

A low groan escapes his lips, sending a wave of vibration through your core that has you bucking up your hips. The movement forces Jake’s eyes shut, his hand almost instinctively leaving his own body and instead reaching for your hip to pull you even closer to his face.

The second he opens his eyes, the bright rays of sunlight that peak through his curtains force him to squeeze them shut again – only to be met with the same image: you squirming underneath him, legs shaking around his head that you desperately try to pull closer.

Suddenly, his usually loose shirt feels too tight, his light blanket too heavy, and he’s hyper aware of the way his dark bangs stick uncomfortably to his sweaty forehead. He forces his tired lids to lift again and slowly sits up, leaning his back against the headboard of his bed and running his hand through his hair first and then over his face.

With a sigh, Jake tugs at his shirt, loosening it from his body in an attempt to cool down. His eyes scan the room – books carelessly scattered across his desk, clothes piling up on the chair and the gym bag with his favorite pair of boxing gloves dangling from it – searching for something, anything, that could distract him from his painfully throbbing hard-on.

Yet, as if he isn’t trying so hard to think of anything other than you, his gaze lands on a few loose papers piling up on the edge of his desk: The notes he took during last week’s statistics class, looming over him like a cruel reminder of the deal that got him into this very situation in the first place.

Back then, when you mutually agreed to help each other, when he promised to send you his notes in return for you taking care of his bruises whenever practice got too rough. The image of your big, innocent eyes as you inspected his bleeding knuckles and the little gash right under his eye only twists the knife of guilt further in his chest.

Jake’s mind flashes back to that one statistics lecture – the only one he was late to. How every seat in the back was taken and he had to awkwardly walk down the stairs to the very front of the lecture hall, feeling all eyes on him as if he walked the walk of shame. How he sat next to you, simply because it was the very first seat he could spot, and he accepted anything to spare him further embarrassment or a comment from the lecturer who had already been eyeing him with raised eyebrows and ‘annoyed’ written all over his face.

He only exchanged a quick, rather forced, smile with you, before rummaging around his backpack until he found a few loose papers and a single pen. Back then, he wasn’t sure if you tried to be subtle as you glanced at his desk from the corner of your eye, observing his rather poor set up, but he noticed nonetheless. Glancing back, he saw you equipped with various pens and highlighters in different colors, yet the notepad in front of you was empty save for the date you’d neatly noted down in the right corner.

You quickly averted your gaze again, glancing back and forth between your empty paper and the lecturer. The crease between your eyebrows got deeper with each phrase he uttered, and your hand stayed rooted in place. Knowing you were supposed to take notes, that there was no way to pass that class otherwise, the professor’s words began to blur together until they were nothing but a fog that clouded your understanding until all hope of making sense of the content disappeared.

Jake on the other hand quickly scribbled down words and formulas, his pen moving over the paper with ease while his focus remained almost entirely on the lecturer and the slides that he projected onto the wall. You eyed his paper again, trying to somehow make sense of the words and numbers, trying to find something you could copy by any chance – just so you wouldn’t leave the lecture hall with an empty notepad again like you’d done the previous two weeks.

But when you tried to catch another glimpse of his notes, his hand quickly rushed over the page while noting down another apparently important point the professor had just made – and your eyes landed on his knuckles.

“They’re not supposed to be that red,” you blurted out your first thought before you could stop yourself. It took Jake a few seconds to fully register your words, but his hand slowly came to a halt as he turned his head your way. He furrowed his brows in a mixture of surprise and confusion, but you barely noticed, your gaze now focused on the gash under his eye. “Neither this,” you added, a little quieter this time.

He didn’t reply, just looked at you with a blank, unreadable expression that forced you to swallow so heavily you were sure it would have been audible hadn’t it been for the lecturer’s endless ramble. You could feel your shoulders tensing as seconds went by without any response from him, and although you pressed your lips together slightly, the silence felt so oddly oppressing that you couldn’t hold back from breaking it again.

"Looks a little puffy too,” you scanned his face for any reaction before averting your eyes as if that could stop him from keeping his on you.

“It’s a bit swollen,” he replied after a while, causing your head to snap back to him, eyes slightly widening in surprise. The boy offered the hint of a smile that was gone so quickly that you barely had enough time to register, let alone reciprocate it.

“Do they hurt?” you asked, letting your eyes wander from the bruise under his eye back to his knuckles, “or feel warm?”

He curled his fingers, clenching his hand into a weak fist before replying with a short nod that you saw from the corners of your eyes, “a little bit of both.”

You hummed. “Might be getting infected.”

When he just wordlessly blinked at you again, you added, “I have some stuff if you wanna clean them up after the lecture.” This time, his reaction was almost immediate, although wordless yet again. He creased his brows another time, scanning your face up and down as if he wasn’t quite sure if he should be confused or suspicious.

“I’m in nursing school,” you clarified. “So yeah, I carry like a mini first-aid kit with me pretty much all the time.”

Jake’s lips formed a silent ‘oh’ as he nodded understandingly, fingers hovering over his notes almost absentmindedly while he seemed to consider your offer. “I mean,” he began, eyes flashing to the rows behind from where he’d registered a quick ‘sh’, and nodded again. “Alright,” he whispered before offering another quick smile that felt a bit more honest and a lot less awkward than before, and focusing on the lecture again.

As soon as the professor dismissed the class, you closed your still empty notepad and collected your unused pens before neatly packing them into your bag and instead pulling out a small pouch, while Jake just carelessly shoved his papers into his own backpack, leaving them half crumpled. When you turned to face him, you found his eyes on you already, his expression a mix of uncertainty and expectation.

You wordlessly pulled a small bottle of hand sanitizer out of the pouch and rubbed some of the liquid into your hands. Then, you took out a few antiseptic wipes, carefully tore open the packaging, and extended your arm to signal him to give you his hand.

His skin felt warm against yours, softer than you expected, as his long, slender fingers curled around yours to keep his hand in place, while you gently wiped off the remnants of his wound with your other hand. You watched intently as his veins became a little more present each time the sting of the antiseptic made him tighten his grip around your fingers. Then, you added a little bit of ointment, wrapped a bandage around the wound, and repeated the routine with his other hand.

As you leaned closer to examine the gash on his face and the faintest hint of your perfume tickled Jake’s nose, his breath flattened subconsciously. His eyes landed on your face, now close enough for him to notice the various shades of color in your eyes and the way your lashes curled up perfectly. Jake pulled his lower lip in between his teeth and gently bit down to stop his lips from curving into a smile at your focused expression and your slightly parted lips. Only when you gently tapped over the wound itself did he instinctively pull back just slightly, scrunching his nose in discomfort.

“Sorry.” You pressed your lips together in a tight, apologetic smile that Jake just dismissed with a smile of his own.

“That looks bad,” you mumbled as you carefully applied a thin layer of ointment.

“The other guy looks worse,” Jake stated with a mixture of triumph and amusement, earning himself a look from you that clearly showed you were trying not to snort. “I bet.”

Once you added a small band-aid, although Jake refused at first, you leaned back in your seat to examine his face and hands from a bigger distance. “Much better,” you said with a faint smile. “If they don’t heal, you should get proper medical help though.”

Jake bit back a smile and opted for a nod instead. “Thank you, I owe you.” This time, it was you dismissing his words with a shake of your head and a simple, “you’re good.”

He looked at you for a moment, as if waiting for you to row back on it. But when you didn’t, he slowly stood up from his seat. You mimicked the movement, slung your bag over your shoulder and wordlessly followed him to finally exit the lecture hall.

“Actually,” you said just before he reached the door. He turned back around, his eyebrows slightly raised to show he was listening. “Would you mind sharing your notes with me? I… have nothing,” you asked, avoiding his eyes out of sheer embarrassment.

“Oh, sure, I got you,” he replied so casually you almost felt stupid for hesitating before. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you, “Just save your number, I’ll send them to you later.” Nodding, you took the phone from his hand, making sure your fingers didn’t brush against his hurt ones in the process, and quickly typed in your number.

Jake quickly glanced at his phone once you gave it back, just long enough to catch your contact name, before he shoved it back into his pocket. “See you around, Y/n,” he said with a soft smile. And with that, he walked out the door.

That’s how you and Jake, who had first introduced himself as Jaeyun when he’d sent you the notes later that night, found yourselves in some sort of agreement: Every time you helped him patch up his bruises, he sent you his lecture notes.

And yes, after some time, Jake started sharing his notes without asking for anything in return, as did you whenever he needed your help outside of your statistics schedule. But none of your interactions ever went in a way that would allow his mind to go down the alley of imagining you in any form of sexual context.

The loud ring of his alarm pierces through the silence, startling him and pulling him back to the moment – back to his bedroom that still holds way too little oxygen. Shifting uncomfortably, he reaches for his phone to turn off his alarm, only to be directly met with your name on his lockscreen. The short “thank you! :)” you sent about an hour ago, probably when you saw the lecture notes he’d sent you the evening before. Probably while he was still asleep, dreaming about nothing other than having his face buried deep between your thighs.

With a groan, Jake tosses his phone to the side, lets his head hit the headboard again, and brings his hands up to his shoulders in an attempt to knead away the tension in his muscles. Yet, no matter how hard he tries to refuse, the image of you seems to flood his mind all over again each time he does so much as blink – and even the smallest movements of his hips force him to swallow down a whimper from how sensitive his cock feels against the restraints of his boxers.

Sighing, Jake slumps further against the headboard, spreads his legs just a little to sit more comfortably and takes a deep breath before consciously closing his eyes and really allowing himself to let his mind drift back to you one last time. How he grips your hips to pull you so close to his face that your taste and scent completely take over his senses. How your moans come dulled from how hardly you’re pressing your thighs around his head. How you’re shaking underneath him, clenching so deliciously around his tongue every time he lets it sink in between your folds.

His hand itches to reach for his cock, but he presses his fingers into the mattress instead, fisting the sheets to physically hold himself back from doing so. Then, just as his mind replays your image – of how you look under him, hair sweatily sticking to your pretty face and neck covered in purple love bites – he forces his eyes open again. Clenching his teeth, he sits up straight and lets his face fall into his hands.

“Fuck this,” he murmurs to himself, before he swings his legs off the bed and gets up. He pulls his shirt over his head as he walks to the bathroom, dropping it on the floor along with the rest of his sleeping attire and stepping under the shower where he lets cold water run over his body until it washed away every last thought of you.

Once Jake arrives at the gym, determined to ditch classes in order to keep his mind off of you, he immediately starts his usual warm-up routine, but neither running nor stretching nor the music blasting through his headphones is enough to really achieve that. A tap on his shoulder interrupts his wandering thoughts mid-stretch. When he turns around, he’s met with his friend Sunghoon’s face.

“No classes today?” the younger one asks, to which Jake just shrugs. “If you will.”

Sunghoon looks him up and down for a moment, not missing the hint of distress on his face, but he decides to not ask any questions. Instead, he tilts his head towards the ring in the middle of the room. “Wanna go a few rounds then?” Jake responds with a nod, mimicking his friend as he wraps his hands, straps on his gloves and pops in his mouthguard.

Muscle memory helps him to dodge the first few blows and even land a hit or two. But then, avoiding another dangerously close punch, he makes the mistake of shutting his eyes just for a split second mid-flinch. Yet, it’s enough for a flash of you to run through his mind; a tiny fragment of his dream replaying until a jolt of pain rushes through his head and pushes the image away with force.

Sunghoon’s eyes widen as he steps back, clearly surprised that he, in fact, landed the punch he aimed right at Jake’s jaw so obviously. “What the fuck?”

Jake just quickly shakes his head, blinking the stars away. “Again,” he orders, repositioning himself before continuing. But just when he thinks his focus is at its peak again, his mind cruelly shifts back to how easily your arousal coated his lips and chin. And then, another punch right to his ribs makes him lurch forward, the air getting knocked out of his lungs in a choked grunt.

“Focus, Jake,” Sunghoon says, voice laced with a mixture of confusion and warning. “How did you not see that one coming?” He aims another punch that Jake avoids with a step just at the last moment. “You’re slow as hell today, what’s up with you?”

Jake straightens his back and tilts his head to both sides to quickly stretch the tense muscles in his neck. “Nothin’,” he mumbles back, taking a short, yet deep breath in before aiming a hit Sunghoon easily, almost lazily, avoids. The latter raises an eyebrow, waits for just a second and then counters. Jake dodges the first punch, but the second hits him right on the opposite side of his jaw, quickly followed by a third against his ribs.

Scoffing, Sunghoon drops his arms and takes a step back. “Nope,” he says after a while of watching Jake recover from the pain. “We’re not doing this when you don’t even try.”

Before Jake can object, Sunghoon takes off his gloves, slipping through the ropes and out of the ring. Jake wipes his jaw with his forearm, hissing at the stinging pain as his sweaty skin meets the open wound. He bites down on the glove, using his teeth to abruptly pull at the strings before sliding it off his hand and doing the same on the other side. Then, he shoves them into his bag, jaw clenched so tightly in frustration it almost aches. Because even now, all that’s on his mind is you.

Just an hour later, Jake finds himself in front of your door. After taking a deep breath, he slowly rings your bell, the rush of his own blood in his ears muffling the sound that echoes through the door. Admittedly, he hesitated for a good thirty minutes before even contacting you, typing in his message and deleting it again. But despite really wanting to see anyone but you right now, he could already imagine your scolding voice if he didn’t show up. Something about how you’d told him time and again that he should come to you whenever he needed his bruises patched up and blah blah.

“Oh God,” your quiet gasp snaps him back to reality. Only now does he realize you already opened the door and, judging from your reaction, took in the image of his battered face. Before he can react, you reach for his arm, pull him inside and close the door behind him. You wordlessly guide him to the bathroom where you motion him to sit down on the edge of the bathtub before you grab a small emergency kit from the drawer under the sink.

Jake watches you as you move – quickly but precisely, washing your hands and separating cotton pads to soak them up with an antiseptic whose scent stings almost uncomfortably in his nose. When you turn back around, he quickly looks down. Only when you place your index finger under his chin to carefully lift his head do his eyes meet yours again – and he feels his jaw tensing just by the way you scan his face with that familiar, worried expression of yours. Because once it makes his chest feel tight with endearment, it’s quickly replaced by a wave of guilt. Your simple, innocent touch is enough to make him shiver, his mind immediately racing with a million way too inappropriate thoughts and the desperate attempt to push them all away.

Angling his face to the side, you carefully tap the cotton pad over the wound on his jaw first. “Relax,” you murmur so quietly it might as well have been a whisper when you feel him clenching his teeth even harder. You flicker your eyes up to his briefly only to find them squeezed shut – something he’s never done before. The sight makes you bite the inside of your cheek, the thought of him actually being in pain tugging at your heart just a little.

Turning his face to the other side, you take a new wipe to clean up the slightly smaller bruise there. Once you’re done, you apply a thin layer of ointment to both before letting go of his chin. Just as you want to take a step back, he opens his eyes – and although they seem to hold a vulnerability you’ve never seen before, they soften a little at the sight of yours.

“Thank you,” he mumbles after a while, eyes not leaving yours this time. He’s found himself in that position several times before; sitting on the edge of your bathtub with you standing in between his legs. Yet for the first time, his hands itch to reach out to you.

“Does the other guy look worse again?” you try to joke, but the hint of worry in your voice betrays you. Jake’s lips still twitch up into a soft smile as he shakes his head.

You slowly take a step back to create a bigger distance between you and lean against the sink. And although Jake should feel relieved by the newfound space that makes breathing a little easier again, a tiny part of him wants to pull you back right where you stood two seconds ago.

“So, are you finally gonna tell me how you end up like this every other day? Cause if not, I might start thinking you’re doing some kind of shady stuff.” You cross your arms in front of your chest.

Jake chuckles softly. “I actually do it for fun,” he begins, “and for career reasons, I guess. I’ve been boxing ever since I was a teenager and I wanna go pro.” He studies your face for a second before he continues. “That’s why I don’t put too much effort in my engineering degree, you know. I’m just… kinda doing it ‘cause my parents don’t approve of the whole boxing thing. But that’s always been my first choice.”

There’s something about the hint of pride in his voice that warms your heart, despite the worry that also settles somewhere there. “So, you’re getting beat up for your dreams?” you ask, drawing a quiet laugh from Jake.

“Hey, I beat up people too,” he defends.

“Yeah. And I don’t know if I think that’s a solid career plan.”

Jake halts for a moment and searches your eyes again, expecting that disapproving look he usually got when he shared his plans with anyone. But he only finds a hint of worry instead – and he quickly tries to dismiss the way his heart squeezes ever so slightly. “Now you sound like my parents, too.”

“Well, thanks to them, you go to college and I won’t fail statistics,” you say with a chuckle.

Jake just responds with a soft smile that’s somehow still enough to spread a warm, cozy feeling all across your chest.

“Good, because medicine can’t afford to lose its best future nurse.”

“Break time,” Jake’s voice cuts through the silence so firmly that you flinch, pen gliding over your notes and crossing some of the words out. You look around the library to find around a dozen other students glaring in your direction, and quickly offer them an apologetic smile before your eyes dart back to Jake.

“I’m not done yet,” you reply, forcing your focus back on the textbook in front of you – until Jake takes the pen from your hand, places it between the open pages and closes the book. “But you’ve been studying non-stop for almost three and a half hours now. I can see your brain fuming,” he sighs. Just as you open your mouth to oppose, he shakes his head and gently presses his index finger against your lips.

“You know that suggesting a break when you’ve been the one to doomscroll this whole time is crazy, right?” you mumble against the digit. He lets it rest on your lips for another second, and you swear you can see his gaze dropping – but before you can think about it, he looks up again.

“Coffee,” he suggests, although it sounds more like an order. Biting your lip, you debate whether to agree or to bury your head in your books again.

“Coffee it is,” you finally say with a sigh before collecting your stuff and shoving them back into your bag.

The walk to the small campus café is silent, but while it feels like a much needed break for you, it just seems to give Jake’s mind time and space to wander. Every time your shoulders bump against his or his fingers brush yours while walking, even if just for a fragment of a second, his skin starts buzzing.

By the time you reach the counter, his throat feels so tight that simply asking for your order takes all the effort he can muster. For a second, you eye him with furrowed brows, not quite sure if his jaw is really as tight as it looks or if it’s just the different light inside the store that casts a weird shadow there.

“I’ll go with a caramel macchiato.”

“Suits you,” Jake responds without thinking, only realizing what he said when your brows draw together again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He hesitates for a moment. Then, he takes a deep breath that he masks with a shrug. “You’re also sweet.”

You look at him in disbelief, and he almost rows back on his words, until you let out a quiet chuckle. “If that’s you trying to make me pay for your coffee, it’s not working. And by the way, americano is ass. Literally doesn’t even taste like coffee, it’s just colored water and–”

But Jake doesn’t even listen anymore, busy struggling to ignore the pang in his chest just because you remember his usual order. He bites back his comment about how ‘coffee isn’t coffee either if it contains more syrup than anything else’, instead placing the order and paying before you even get the chance to take out your wallet.

Once you settle on a small table, the silence between you feels relieving – as if your brain finally got the chance to shut off after hours of trying to fit half a semester of pharmacology into your head. Jake, on the other hand, doesn’t feel half as relaxed, seemingly not able to peel his eyes off you, no matter how hard he tries.

You look around the café for a while, watching people come in and leave, until your eyes settle on Jake again. His gaze is intense, filled with something you can’t really read, but it sure is enough to make your heart skip a beat. Enough to suddenly make you feel smaller, tension creeping into your body again.

“What?” you ask so quietly you’re not sure if he even hears over the background noise of the store. Jake only shakes his head in response and drops his gaze to his hands. Your eyes follow his and you allow yourself to watch him play with his rings for a while – turning them, sliding them off and back onto his fingers, knuckles slightly red and veins oh so prominent. Your mind wanders, replaying fragments of every time you cleaned the blood or dirt off his knuckles, or how you taped band-aids around his fingers. Of how his hands felt in yours, fragile but somewhat good, somewhat safe.

“You’ve got something on your mouth,” Jake’s voice makes your head snap back up. As you try to wrap your head around how long you’ve been zoned-out, Jake reaches forward, wipes his thumb over the corner of your mouth and holds it in front of your lips. You part them just enough to close them around the tip of his finger and lick off the whipped cream, cheeks heating up so quickly you’re sure it’s evident. But Jake doesn’t notice, and if he does, he doesn’t point it out.

Instead, he leans back casually and grabs his drink again. “Do you wanna go back to the library?”

To his surprise, you shake your head. “My brain’s mushy, I feel like I won’t even remember what I studied today.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re always stressing too much. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Once you sit down in the passenger seat of Jake’s car, you immediately slump against the leather, lean your head against the window and let the glass cool down your pounding temple. Jake gets in the driver's seat, but instead of starting the engine, he looks at you with his head tilted to the side. “Tired? Or frustrated?”

With a sigh, you lift your head and turn around to face him. “I usually feel better after a break, but now I really don’t.”

“Maybe you need a… different kind of break,” he hesitates, eyes dropping to your lips for the blink of an eye, so short you barely register it. “Release some stress, you know.”

“Oh, are you volunteering?” You laugh, but Jake doesn’t reply, doesn’t laugh – doesn’t even tear his eyes away from yours. He just shrugs.

In no time, your smile fades, your eyes widen and your breath gets caught in your throat so quickly that it’s hard to speak. “I–... I was joking.”

“Well, I’m not,” he says, face as calm as ever, when in reality his heart seems to be racing a marathon and his palms begin to feel sweaty.

“Did you get hit in the head last practice?” You try to joke, but the small tremble in your voice betrays you.

He absentmindedly pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth as his eyes drop from your eyes to your lips and back up again, holding your gaze as though he could see right through the chaos that is your thoughts. Feeling your heartbeat picking up and your breath coming shorter, you try to swallow down the lump that begins to form in your throat. Jake seems to lean just a hint closer, wetting his lips with his tongue – but just as you want to lean forward too, he suddenly pulls away and sits back in his seat, head falling against the headrest with a sigh. He resists the urge of running his hand through his hair in frustration, before turning his head to the side to look at you again.

“Sorry. I probably did get hit in the head,” he mumbles.

You look at him for a moment, trying to gather your courage to say something, but the words don’t come until he reaches for the key to start the car.

“That’s so unfortunate,” you say, making him stop, “I liked the idea.”

The words make Jake’s eyes dart back to you, and for a while, he just looks at you with an unreadable expression, scanning your face as if trying to find out whether you’re joking. But your gaze is steady and your lips don’t twitch in an attempt to bite back a smile or a laugh. You just lean in a little, then stop to give him time to react. Jake’s eyes never leave yours as he mirrors the gesture.

He leans closer until you can feel the ghost of his breath fanning over your skin, letting goosebumps erupt from just that – and then, as if you’re pulled towards each other by force, you close the distance until his lips are on yours.

He kisses you softly at first, hesitantly, as though he’s trying to savor how soft your lips feel or how effortlessly they move in sync with his. Heart beating so fast you can feel it in your throat, you reach out to get ahold of his collar and pull him closer. You feel his hands cupping your cheeks, fingertips pressing against your skin like you’d slip away otherwise. But instead, you curl your fingers around the fabric harder and tug on it with just enough force for your teeth to clash.

“Come here,” Jake murmurs against your lips, dropping his hands to your hips and carefully pulling you over the middle console and onto his lap. He kisses you again, this time with more urgency. Your hands find their way around his neck, fingers weaving through his hair and tugging on the ends when he gently bites your lip.

The space between you feels too small and not big enough at the same time, and you’re not sure whether you want to pull away or scoot closer. But before you can make up your mind, Jake tightens his grip on your hips and pulls you in until your torsos touch and you can feel his chest rising and falling against yours as he gently pulls away from the kiss.

“Feel better already?” He asks, voice slightly hoarse and lips softly brushing yours. Jake squeezes your hips as your hands slide from the back of his head down to his shoulders, solely to hold himself back from shuddering at the simple touch.

“Don’t know,” you reply, smiling against his lips. “Might need a little more to convince me.”

You feel him reciprocating your smile before he kisses you another time. His hands tentatively slide under the hem of your shirt and to your lower back, just resting on your skin, while yours brush over his collarbones and to his chest, where you feel his heartbeat quickening under your fingertips.

Jake tilts his head to the side to deepen the kiss, and almost immediately, your hands rush up to his neck again, tugging on his hair just enough to draw a low groan from him. His hands move up and down your waist as though he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. You slowly pull back, just enough to whisper his name against his lips like it’s the only thing you know how to say. His fingers dig into your skin ever so gently as he leans down to leave soft kisses against your jaw, making your breath stutter and your lips part.

His touch feels somewhat urgent, yet not rushed – and though your heart aches at how gently he takes his time, how he pulls away barely enough to look at you just to make sure you’re okay, you can’t help the heat that spreads up your spine and down to your core. “Jake,” you whisper again, shuddering as he hums against your neck before he pulls back and scans your face for any signs of discomfort. “Want me to stop?”

The way you shake your head almost frantically draws a chuckle from Jake. Leaning forward again, he continues to kiss your neck down to your collarbones, one hand still pressing into the flesh of your hips while the other begins to fidget with the waistband of your pants.

Your breath hitches as he slowly slides his hand past it, thumb carefully grazing over your clothed clit. “Let me take care of you,” Jake says so quietly it almost comes out as a whisper. He pulls his hand away, waiting for your response while slowly but steadily sliding the rings off his fingers.

Nodding slowly, you take a deep breath as he pulls your underwear to the side and slides a finger through your folds, collecting your slick and tracing it up to your clit again. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting the scent of his cologne tickle your nose as your breath gets shakier each second his finger carefully rubs over your sensitive bud.

You want to tell him you want more, but not trusting your voice you just buck your hips forward slightly. Jake, who understands wordlessly, bites back a smile as you can’t seem to help the quiet whimper at the feeling of his digit prodding at your entrance. “That what you want?” He asks, voice so confident it only intensifies the feeling of being completely put into his hands. You just manage a quiet hum that gets stuck in your throat as he slowly pushes the finger in, immediately curling it so perfectly that you could almost forget it’s the first time he’s ever touched you like that.

Continuing his antics, he carefully adds a second finger, angling them just right to hit the sweet spot that draws a quiet moan from you. The sound is enough to cause a shiver to run down Jake’s spine – and suddenly, all he wants is to hear it again.

He gently presses his thumb against your clit, not able to hold back the quiet groan as he feels you clenching around his fingers. As your grip on his shoulders tightens and your breath comes even more ragged, he places a gentle kiss on the crown of your head. “Everything still okay?”

The softness in his voice makes your heart flutter a little as you try your best to stay composed enough to nod. “Just… please don’t stop,” you murmur, voice almost breaking at the end. Your breath feels hot against Jake’s neck, yet it makes him shiver. Every curve of his fingers seemingly guided solely by your sounds and the way you arch into him, Jake closes his eyes to focus only on the way your breath grows heavier as each stroke brings you closer to release.

“Let go for me, hm?” Jake asks so gently it fully contrasts the pace of his fingers, making your heart squeeze just as your orgasm hits you with a force that has you digging your fingers into his shoulders. Jake continues, helping you ride out your high, until pleasure gives way to pain and you manage a choked out ‘too much’. He pulls away quickly but carefully, slightly shaking his shoulder to get you to lift your head.

“Hey,” his eyes search yours as he gently rubs your back underneath your shirt, “you alright?” Taking a deep, shaky breath, you nod and back it up with a soft smile. Jake’s eyes drop to your lips once more, but he doesn’t lean in. Instead, he pulls your head to his shoulder again and just holds you there until your breath evens out.

When you open your eyes again and your gaze falls directly onto his strained pants, you slowly trace one hand from his shoulder down his torso. Jake’s eyes flutter shut as his cock twitches in anticipation – but just as your fingers ghost over his clothed length, he grabs your wrist to stop you. When you lift your head and give him a questioning look, he just offers a smile in return, lifts your hand to his lips, and places a gentle kiss on your knuckles.

“You don’t owe me anything, you know. I just wanted you to feel good.” You open your mouth, but he shakes his head, reassuring, “I’m okay, really. Let’s take you home, yeah?”

Even days later, you don’t talk about what happened, or how steadily he held your hand when he insisted on walking you up to your apartment. Neither about how he randomly starts coming over just to bring you snacks from the convenience store close to his gym whenever he heads home from practice. Not even after you notice that whatever he brings is always something you mentioned craving just a little while ago.

And technically, things stay the same, except that they don’t, really. Jake still sits next to you in statistics lectures. He still takes the notes while you’re trying to figure out what’s going on, still sends them to you unasked. But now, he doesn’t pull away when his knee brushes yours under the table, and you swear he softly bumps his hand against yours on purpose while writing.

You still take care of his wounds after practice. It’s just that now, you text him every night to make sure he really is okay – even if he leaves your place just an hour earlier. And on some days, he doesn’t go home at all. You start keeping his favorite cereal in your kitchen cupboard, and suddenly, the mug he uses for his morning coffee becomes only his, and you stop using it.

He still looks after you, paying attention to your study habits and making sure you’re taking breaks. But now, taking breaks means having his head buried between your thighs. And now, revising means trying to remember what you studied just an hour ago while his fingers work you closer and closer to release, only granting it when you get the answers right.

“Metoprolol,” he reads what feels like the twentieth flashcard, thumb drawing soft circles over your clit. You sigh, closing your eyes and focusing on the feeling, until it suddenly stops. When you open your eyes, you find Jake already looking at you, waving the flashcard like a reminder. “Metoprolol,” he repeats.

“That’s a beta-blocker,” you grumble, wiggling your hips to get Jake to continue, but he just drops the flashcard to your mattress and grips your hips firmly enough to stop you.

“And what’s a beta-blocker?” He asks, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back his grin as you roll your eyes.

“You know what a fuckass beta-blocker is, Jake.”

He raises an eyebrow, slowly pulling his hand away from your core. “Come again?”

For a while, you just look at him, jaw clenched and hoping he’ll eventually give up on your pharmacology revision. But he just looks at you with an almost bored expression, not making any attempt to continue.

“They lower heart rate and blood pressure,” you sigh, now giving him an almost pleading look. He hums, letting his thumb ghost over your skin without really touching you. “They’re usually used for hypertension or after heart attacks to–” you cut off as he finally slips a finger into your aching hole.

The first ring of your doorbell barely catches your attention, muffled like a quiet disturbance somewhere further away. But when it rings again and a third time only shortly after, you push your chair back with a sigh and stand up. Your knees almost buckle and your spine cracks uncomfortably, shoulders hurting as you roll them back in an attempt to release the tension that’s been building up from sitting for countless hours.

The fourth ‘ding’ has you rolling your eyes annoyedly. A shiver runs over your scalp and down your spine as you release your hair from the tight bun you kept them in, only now realizing that the hairstyle probably contributed greatly to the pounding in your head. You ruffle them a bit, trying to adjust them so they fall into your face to cover as much of your reddened, puffy cheeks as possible, while you drag yourself to the door and open it without a glance through the small peephole.

The air from outside immediately hits you, clinging to your bare legs uncomfortably. It takes just a look at Jake’s gym bag to recognize him, but your eyes still slowly wander up his torso and to his face.

“Are you hurt?” you try to ask, but the words only come out half. You clear your throat and ask again, scanning his face for any visible bruises, but finding nothing but a hint of concern etched onto his features.

“No,” he replies, studying your face the same way you do with his and pulling his brows together a little tighter at the sight of your glassy eyes and the circles forming underneath them. “You didn’t reply to my messages all day and that’s… kinda unlike you. So I wanted to check in on you.”

“I was studying,” you mumble.

Jake sighs almost inaudibly, just loud enough for you to register the faint sound of it. “I can see that. You look like hell.”

You meet his gaze for a second before you avert your eyes. “Thanks, Jake. Flattering.”

He ignores your remark, still scanning your face. “Were you crying?” he asks, but you don‘t reply.

Without another word or an invitation, Jake takes a step towards you, closing the door behind him with a soft click and dropping his bag to the floor. “Come on, you should really take a break,” he says softly, and although the familiar hint of concern in his voice usually causes a gentle warmth to spread across your chest, this time it feels close to infuriating. You can feel how your shoulders tense again at his suggestion and you immediately shake your head in response.

“You’ve probably been sitting at your desk for hours. It‘s okay to slow down a bit,” Jake says so soothingly it nearly comes off as belittling. He keeps searching your face for any type of reaction, his gaze suddenly so heavy on you that you almost begin to feel small. “You‘re not going to get anything done if you‘re this exhausted,” he tries again.

“I don‘t have time for a break. Not everyone can afford to fall behind and fail their classes, Jake!” You snap, the words spilling out in a tone much harsher than intended and before your brain even finishes your thoughts. It takes only a flicker of your eyes up to his face to see his reaction – his jaw tightening slightly and a small wrinkle forming on his forehead, not from concern this time, but from irritation.

He stays silent for a moment. “That wasn‘t necessary,” he finally mumbles, the earlier softness in his voice now replaced by something firmer. You open your mouth to apologize, but your throat tightens, closes up, makes it hard to speak or even swallow down your apology.

But just seconds later, Jake lets his shoulders fall with a soft sigh, the tension on his face slowly dissolving. He takes another slow step forward and reaches out to gently place his cold hands on your heated cheeks, cupping your face with a grip ever so lightly, as though he‘s giving you every chance to pull away and step back. “It‘s okay,” he reassures quietly. “I shouldn‘t have pressured you.”

Your throat tightens even more as you look up at him the second before tears begin to blur your vision – and just when you want to turn your head away, Jake tightens his grip. Closing your eyes instead, you grit your teeth as hard as you can when one tear rolls down your cheek and you feel Jake’s thumb gently wiping it away.

When you open your eyes only to find his eyes filled with more warmth and softness than ever before, you sniff once, mumble a low, “I’m sorry,” and pull back with a little more strength.

“Wanna rant about how annoying classes are?” he asks softly, tilting his head to the side, but you slowly shake your head. “Do you want me to leave?” He bites the inside of his cheek, regretting the question before he even finished asking it. But to his surprise, you shake your head again.

“Stay,” you confirm quietly, just loud enough for him to catch. His hand itches to reach out to you again – to pull you in and hold you close until he’s made sure that you’re okay. But instead, he just nods. “Movie?” He suggests so gently that your heart almost skips a beat at his attempt to still keep you away from your desk, just not as pushy as before.

When you settle on the sofa next to Jake, he places his arm on the cushions behind you. You stare at the screen, but you don’t really pay attention to whatever is playing. All you can focus on is Jake; the scent of his body wash, the way just sitting next to him leaves the palm of your hands sweaty despite the air conditioning, and how his arm behind you makes you feel so close to him, although he doesn’t touch you. You glance down right in time to catch Jake spreading his legs a little further – just enough for his knee to softly brush against yours.

Tentatively, you lean closer until your head reaches his shoulder. He lets his arm slide off the cushions and around your shoulder almost instantly, pulling you more in so your head rests fully on his shoulder. You stay like that in silence, Jake absentmindedly letting his fingers slide up and down your arm, until you scoot a little closer. He reaches for your thigh with his free hand, slowly curling it around the inside of it just to place your leg on top of his own.

“Is this okay?” he asks quietly as he lets his hand rest on your knee.

The simple, innocent contact is enough to make your breath hitch, enough to let goosebumps erupt on every inch of skin he touches. Not trusting your voice, you opt for a quick nod of your head that draws a sheepish smile on Jake’s face.

You stay like that for a bit, both pairs of eyes on the screen without really paying attention. Jake traces gentle patterns on your skin, trying his best to not be too obvious about how he follows every small twitch of your thigh or every inch you slowly scoot closer. Skin crackling under his touch, a soft sigh gets caught in your throat as he slings his arm around your waist and pulls you onto his lap.

“Better?” he asks quietly, almost inaudible over the sound coming from the TV. You reply with a hum, before hesitantly draping your arms around his neck. Your fingers gently lace through his hair as you lean forward to rest your head on his shoulder again. His hands settle on the small of your back, just holding you in place for a while.

Although neither of you speaks, the show that’s playing slowly wanders to the very back of your mind, attention zeroing in on the sound of Jake’s steady breaths and the feeling of your body gently pressed against his, somewhat peaceful, yet unsettling at the same time. Not enough.

As if reading your mind, Jake softly tugs at your sweater to wordlessly gain your attention. Shifting slightly, you lift your head from his shoulder to look at him. His eyes find yours immediately, softening just a bit at how they now seem much calmer than before. You allow yourself to get lost in his brown orbs, and, for the very first time, embrace the warmth that spreads through your chest. You're so absorbed in his eyes that you don’t even acknowledge the strand of hair falling onto your face until you feel Jake gently tugging it behind your ear.

His hand lingers on your cheek as his eyes dip down to your lips. Chest buzzing from your quickening heartbeat, you tentatively lean a little closer. He lets his hand slide to the back of your head and gently pushes you forward until his breath fans over your lips – and before he can ask, you close the last bit of distance between you.

Surprised at first, Jake reacts quickly, eyes closing and lips moving effortlessly in sync with yours. His fingertips gently press against your scalp as he angles his head slightly to deepen the kiss. The blissful shiver his touch sends down your neck draws a whimper from you, so quiet you would have thought it went unnoticed by Jake if it wasn’t for the twitch of his fingers. When you slowly pull back, breaths coming more ragged, his hand moves from the back of your head down to your neck, fingers curling around your throat ever so gently – just enough to pull you back in.

He kisses you almost feverishly now, earlier hesitation gone as he glides his tongue against yours and gently bites on your lower lip. Each of his antics has you pulling on his hair a little harder, sending blissful shivers down his spine at the memory of all the times he felt that same tug on his scalp with his face buried in between your thighs.

Slowly pulling back and allowing both of you to breathe, his hand drops from your neck to your hips, pushing past the hem of your sweater to rest on your bare skin. Then, his lips are on you again, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses against your jaw, your neck, the spot right under your ear and your collarbone. He sucks on your skin, gently bites down wherever he knows it will draw a quiet moan from you, and quickly licks over the bruised skin to soothe it – all while firmly holding you close to him, fingers almost boring into your skin.

His other hand toys with the fabric of your sweater, softly tugging on it without making any attempt to rid you of it. But the ache between your legs only grows bigger with every second that passes with him marking what seems like every accessible inch of your skin. You let your hands sink to his shoulders, squeezing softly to get his attention, but his lips stay attached to your collarbone, leaving yet another love bite.

Only when you manage to mumble his name, voice breathy and almost breaking at the end of the syllable does he pull back to look at you. “Take it off,” you mutter – and before he can open his mouth to ask if you’re sure, you beat him to it with a quiet “please.” He nods, hands sliding to the hem of your sweater to slowly, almost shakingly push it up. Trying his best to keep his eyes on yours, he can’t help but peek down as he carefully pushes the piece of clothing over your head and drops it somewhere on the sofa.

“So pretty,” he whispers, leaning forward again to softly place his lips on top of yours, hands sliding up hesitantly before cupping your boobs and giving them a gentle squeeze that draws another quiet moan from you. His lips trail down your neck again, touch gentle yet somewhat impatient, until he reaches your chest.

Raising his head to look up at you, he waits until you give a short nod, before attaching his lips to one nipple. The content sigh that leaves your lips at the contact shoots right to his hardening cock. Eager to draw another one from you, he flattens his tongue against the bud, gently sucking on it right after. Once the quiet moan reaches his ears, the corners of his lips curl up into a smirk. He pulls off to come eye-level with you, chuckling softly as he catches the hint of disappointment on your face at the loss of contact.

“Don’t hold back,” he orders, voice not as firm as he initially planned, but the hint of softness makes your heart flutter a little. “I know you can be louder than that. Let me hear you, hm?” He asks, bringing two fingers in front of your lips. You slowly open your mouth just enough for him to push the digits past your lips and onto your tongue. Keeping your eyes on his, you hesitantly start sucking on his fingers, not missing how his jaw tenses although his expression never falters once.

“I said let me hear you,” he repeats, voice dipping lower – just enough to make another shiver run down your spine, but you stay silent. He pulls his fingers out with a tsk. “You’re not usually this shy, what’s up today?”

Instead of waiting for a response, his mouth is on your nipple again, the fingers that pressed down on your tongue just moments ago coming up to flick and twist the other one. Your head lolls back with a shaky breath, nails digging a little deeper into his clothed shoulders.

There’s a part of you that wants to keep holding back, not only out of shyness, for this is the first time Jake has ever seen you shirtless. It’s the way his antics grow messier, almost desperate to finally get the reaction he wants, that just feels too good. While you’re busy wondering if just nipple stimulation has ever caused your underwear to stick to your drenched core this much, one particularly harsh pull rips a surprised moan from you.

Although you keep your eyes closed, partly to spare you from embarrassment, you can feel Jake smiling against your skin. You subconsciously slide forward, his hardening cock pressing against your heat, and the tiny bit of friction is enough for you to clench around nothing. When you press against him again, Jake curses under his breath, but you don’t quite catch what he says. Both his hands are quick to land on your ass, fingers digging into the plush skin while he guides you, and the way the outline of his clothed hard-on perfectly presses against you draws whimper after whimper from you.

Your eyes roll back each time his tip meets your pulsating clit, the sensation feeling almost overwhelming despite the layers of fabric between you. Not knowing how to deal with the mix of not wanting to stop and really, really wanting more, his name leaves your lips in a moan that has his hips stuttering for a second.

“What do you want?” he asks softly, tilting his head to the side the adorable way he often does when talking or listening to you.

Instead of replying, you only press against him harder. His eyes roll back with a low groan, but he refuses to give in.

“Use your words, pretty.”

“Want you,” you murmur, and although he really wants to hear you say it again, he’s too impatient to make you repeat yourself. Instead, he quickly manhandles you from his lap onto the sofa, your back pressed against the cushions as he hovers over you and starts leaving more kisses from your neck over your chest and stomach down to the waistband of your shorts. He quickly pulls it in between his teeth and down your legs without breaking eye contact. Once your shorts and underwear are carelessly discarded somewhere on the floor, his hands find their way to your thighs, spreading them apart to put your dripping core perfectly on display for him.

You let your forearm fall over your eyes as you feel the familiar heat creeping up on your cheeks, feeling timid no matter how many times he’s already seen you like this. The feeling of two fingers gently sliding in between your glistening folds makes you arch your back, and although you can’t see him, you can practically hear Jake’s grin as he speaks, “so wet just for me?”

Again, he doesn’t wait for your response and licks one long stripe from your hole up to your clit, where he circles the bundle of nerves with his tongue before tentatively sucking it between his lips. The moan that rips from your throat only motivates him to do it again, making your back arch off the sofa again. When his tongue finds your hole, his nose bumps against your clit, drawing another whimper from you while he laps up everything you give him with a content hum.

Just as he focuses on your clit again, grabbing your thighs and placing your legs over his shoulders to bury his face deeper between them, you manage a quiet “stop” in between moans.

Jake quickly sits back on his knees and brings his hands to your thighs to gently massage them. “Is everything okay?” The soft look he gives you makes your heart skip a beat, your chest feeling warm with endearment.

“I just… I want you,” you admit, watching as his eyes widen.

Suddenly, Jake’s throat feels dry, and his chest rises and falls quicker as he tries his best to find a different meaning to your words than the one he initially comes up with. “What do you mean by that?”

You hesitate for a moment. “I want you to–... I need you to fuck me.”

Jake’s hands come to an immediate halt, as he swallows the lump in his throat to physically hold his jaw from dropping at your words.

“Fuck, you can’t say this like that,” he mutters.

You don’t respond, just look up at him with pleading eyes as you can practically see his brain short-circuiting.

“I don’t have any con–”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt him, “please, Jake.” Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you pull him in for a soft kiss that completely contrasts the urge in your core. He immediately melts into the kiss, reciprocating it with the same tenderness, until he pulls back way too soon and pulls his shirt over his head.

Your hands find his skin, marvelling at the toned chest and abs he’s been hiding from you. Jake sighs softly at the contact, muscles contracting under your touch as your fingers curl under the waistband of his sweatpants to pull them down along with his boxers. His cock springs free, perfectly hard with beads of precum dribbling down the sides. You reach out, but Jake grabs your wrist to stop you. His other hand pushes your leg more to the side before he carefully guides his tip through your wet folds, over your clit and down to your leaking hole. He hisses at the feeling, clenching his jaw tight to hold back from moaning just from the feeling of your arousal alone.

“Jakeee,” you whine, bucking up your hips just enough for his tip to slide in. Choking back a groan, he places one hand on your knee to angle your leg so that he can properly line himself up with your entrance. He looks at you as if scanning your face for any kind of uncertainty, but before he can ask if you’re sure, you nod.

Jake slowly pushes in, head thrown back as your warm walls welcome him inch by inch. His fingers dig into the flesh of your leg as he tries to hold onto whatever little sanity he has left in him and give you time to adjust.

“Doing so good for me already,” he mumbles more to himself than to you, but the praise is enough for you to clench around him in a way that draws a hiss from him while his eyes shut close. He wants to tell you how you can’t do that to him just yet, but he doesn’t trust his voice. Just as he tries to focus on not bursting without having even moved, your gentle grip on his biceps makes him open his eyes.

“You can move,” you say softly. And so he does, head dropping to the crook of your neck as he slowly starts moving.

Although the stretch feels amazing, the way his hips roll against yours so perfectly, hitting all the right places in a way you haven’t felt before, something feels off. You try to angle your hips differently, to change the placement of your legs, squirming under him for less than three seconds before he quickly comes to a halt. He lifts his head, eyes searching yours as his hand quickly comes up to cup your cheek.

“Hey… what’s wrong? Do you want to stop?” He asks so gently it almost hides the breathlessness in his voice.

You shake your head, letting out a shaky breath as you feel your body tensing in frustration. “No, I just… I don’t know what’s wrong,” you murmur. Suddenly, you feel a lump forming in your throat again, the stress from earlier mingling with the newfound frustration now.

“Babe,” he coos, the sudden nickname bringing your attention back to him. “We’ve never done this before. It’s okay if something doesn’t work out immediately.” His thumb brushes against your cheek tenderly, and leaning into his touch, you slowly start relaxing.

Jake slides his hands under your back, pulling you with him as he sits up and positions you on his lap without slipping out of you. You hold onto his arms again while you slowly sink down on his lap fully, gasping softly at how deep he reaches now. “Let’s try this,” he suggests, hands sliding down your back to your hips. He gently lifts you up a little before he guides you back down, shivers running over his body at the soft moan you let out.

“Just go with whatever feels good for you,” he says, voice so gentle you completely miss the way he’s losing his mind internally.

“But you–”

“Don’t worry about me, you feel perfect for me,” he reassures before you can voice your doubt.

So you start, going slowly, hesitantly at first, then a bit faster – this time quickly finding a rhythm that feels just right for both of you.

“Fuuuck,” Jake pants as his head falls back against the sofa and his fingertips bore a little harder into the flesh of your hips. Your hands weakly grab onto his shoulders for support as you feel the burn in your thighs intensify.

“Just a little longer, baby. Can you do that for me?” He asks when you slow down, lazily grinding on him rather than riding him. His voice is breathy – laced with a strange mix of exhaustion and lust that is enough to send shivers down your spine.

You nod tiredly, though you can’t fully register what he even asked for. His voice is muffled by the ringing in your ears; the only thing you can truly focus on is the way he fills you up so perfectly and how fresh waves of pleasure shoot through your entire body every time your clit rubs against his pelvis.

Jake lifts his head from the sofa to take a better look at your face, and if it didn’t boost his ego so much that your cheeks were flushed, your eyes almost teary and your lips slightly bruised from all the kissing, he would almost feel pity for you.

“So pretty like that… Such a good girl for me,” he breathes, but his words don’t quite reach you. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck where every breath of yours covers his skin in goosebumps and every little whimper makes his cock twitch inside you.

You barely register how he tightens his grip on your hips until he holds you down firmly enough to stop your movements. Before you can even lift your head to look at him, he bucks his hips up, his tip kissing your cervix so deliciously that you can’t hold back a surprised moan as your nails dig deeper into the skin of his shoulders.

Jake’s eyes flutter shut at the way your walls clench around him. He rolls his hips into yours another time, leaning his head against the cushions again and relishing how good you feel around him, how your warm slick coats his length and drips down his thighs.

His hands find their way to your ass, lifting you up just slightly, only to roughly push you down to meet his next thrust.

The world around him suddenly goes quiet – the sound of the TV playing in the background, even the quiet hum of the air conditioning that Jake always hears – none of these reach his ears anymore. The only thing he can focus on are your moans that echo off the walls, each of them only spurring him to make you feel better, to make you moan louder.

You can barely hear the string of curses he mutters under his breath, but his breathy whimpers pierce through the wall of pure pleasure, shooting straight to your core. Your legs feel numb, but the way he whines just a little louder and grabs your ass just a little tighter whenever he reaches so deep you’re sure you could see the bulge in your stomach if you had the strength to lift your head from his shoulder motivates you to keep going.

Jake moves one hand up to the back of your head, fisting some of your hair and pulling your head back so gently it’s almost endearing compared to his thrusts. “Keep your eyes on me, baby,” he mutters, holding back a moan at just the sight of your fucked out expression.

Your entire body is tingling, making it hard to not squeeze your eyes shut. “I said eyes on me,” Jake manages between whimpers, focusing his own gaze fully on your face. He can literally see how each snap of his hips brings you closer to release, and god does he love to see it. How he has you right where he wanted you for so long, how he can draw those pretty moans from you, how he doesn’t even need you under him to have full control over your pleasure.

“Jake,” his name rolls off your lips with a moan that makes his hips stutter, his jaw tensing as he tries to solely focus on not letting go just yet.

His hand slowly lets go of your hair and roams over your body, leaving goosebumps in its trace. He cups your breasts, gently squeezes your waist, places his hand on the small of your back to pull you impossibly closer until he finally settles for your clit. A small sigh escapes your lips when he starts to rub slow circles around the bud. You let your head fall on Jake’s shoulder again, strands of hair sticking to your forehead, your cheeks, covering your eyes that you shut tighter with each snap of his hips.

Jake feels his abdomen tighten, his thighs shaking as every thrust knocks the breath out of your lungs all over again. His fingertips dig deeper into your skin, relishing how fast your arousal covers his other hand and how each of your moans bring him closer to the edge.

A murmured “don’t stop,” is all you can muster as you feel the tension in your body reach the unbearable. The sensation makes your head spin – your clit throbbing under his touch, your walls clenching around him tighter and tighter and your skin tingling on every inch your bodies meet.

You can’t even warn him before your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, leaving your body shaking and your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders.

“Fuck, I–” Jake cuts off, his eyes rolling back as he feels his cock twitching. He places both hands on your back, pulling your chest flush against his, so close that you can feel his heart beating rapidly against yours, as he finally allows himself to let go.

He lazily thrusts his hips up a few more times, not only riding out his own high but yours too, before he stops completely and lets his head fall back against the sofa again. Your heavy exhales hit Jake’s sweaty neck as you try to catch your breath, forcing another shiver down his spine. He lets his fingers brush up and down your back gently, waiting for both of your heartbeats to slow down while he softly murmurs words you’re still too far gone to understand.

Only when you slowly lift your head from his shoulder does he open his eyes to look at you. The corners of his lips curl up, offering a smile that feels so warm you almost don’t notice how your body temperature slowly begins to drop.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice ever so gentle although slightly hoarse, as one of his hands lets go of your back and instead moves up to your face to carefully brush your hair out of your face.

You reply with a short nod, tiredly reciprocating his smile. “I’m tired,” you mumble, which earns a soft chuckle from Jake.

“Shower or bath?” he asks, letting his hand rest on your cheek and softly brushing his thumb up and down your skin. You allow yourself to lean into his touch slightly, yet you pout your lips, “nothing.”

Smiling softly, Jake leans forward to press a light kiss against your forehead. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

Jake drops his hands to your hips, slowly lifting you up once you exhale to carefully pull out of you. Only when he gently sets you down on the sofa do your legs stop shaking. “Good job,” he mumbles. Then, he pushes himself up from the sofa, picks up his sweatpants from the floor and quickly slides them on.

You watch him, gaze wandering over his bare back, the marks your nails left on his skin and the way his muscles slightly flex with each small movement, before he turns around with a soft smile and leaves the living room.

Your eyes are barely open when he comes back with a glass of water in one hand and a dampened washing cloth in the other. He hands you the glass with a soft smile, waiting for you to drink and placing it on the coffee table after. Then, he motions you to lay back with a gentle push against your shoulders. Placing his hands on each of your knees, he slowly spreads your legs apart to carefully clean you up.

The warm fabric feels soft and the way Jake wipes it over your sore skin ever so gently makes your heart flutter as the familiar warmth of just being around him spreads through your chest. Just as your eyes begin to close, the feeling of Jake’s soft lips against your forehead makes you open them again. He’s leaning over you, eyes and smile filled with something between warmth and fondness.

“You hungry?” he asks so quietly he might as well have whispered as he reaches out to gently tuck some strands of hair behind your ear.

Your tired eyes light up at the mention of food. “Can we order pizza?”

Jake nods with a chuckle. After finding his phone somewhere on the floor, he hands it to you. “Choose what you like, I’ll be right back, yeah?” Already invested in the options, you barely register Jake leaving the room again, until he returns with a shirt in his hand. You would have mistaken it for one of yours, if not for the bigger size and the unmistakable scents of his detergent and cologne as he carefully pulls it over your head and guides your arms through the sleeves.

“I always keep an extra one in my bag,” he explains before you can open your mouth to ask.

Trying to dismiss the bubbly feeling in your stomach, you nod in response and mouth a quick ‘thank you’. Jake offers another gentle smile, before taking his phone from your hands, choosing his food and placing the order. The two of you just wait in silence, you sitting on Jake’s lap, one of his hands around your waist to hold you close while he rubs soothing circles onto your back with the other.

After you finish your food – well, Jake’s food, simply because you liked it better than your own and he immediately switched the two boxes – he curls one arm around your waist and the other under your knees and picks you up to carry you to the bedroom where he gently lays you down on your bed before crawling in next to you.

As if it was second nature, his arms find their way around your body again, pulling you in and holding you so close it almost feels like he never wants to let you go again. And despite being too tired to really think about it, you can’t help but wish he means it.

“Jake?” His name rolls off your lips before you can stop it.

You feel his chest vibrate underneath your head as he hums in response. You hesitate for a bit, letting his slow breaths lull you in until you feel yourself drifting off and you barely register the confession you mumble right before sleep pulls you under.

“I really like you.”

The next morning, you wake up from a shiver running over your body. Eyes still shut, you scoot closer to Jake, expecting to be embraced by the warmth of his body, but his side feels even colder. When you slowly open your eyes, you’re met by the bright sunlight that shines through your curtains, and an empty other half of the bed. You hold your breath for a moment, checking for any sounds coming from the bathroom or the kitchen, for quiet footsteps outside your room. But when you hear nothing, the apartment feeling more silent than ever before, you push the air out through your nose.

Although your body feels heavy, your legs and core a little sore, you slowly sit up and reach for your phone on your nightstand. As soon as you grab it, your screen lights up with Jake’s name, the pile of messages he sent the day before, and one from only 43 minutes ago.

Jake: had to leave early for practice and didn’t wanna wake you up :( hope you slept well tho. you looked cute haha. text me when you’re awake?

Biting your lip to hold back a smile, your eyes skim over the previous messages – his question if you wanted to grab dinner after practice, his repeated attempts to ask if you’re okay, if you’re really just studying for so long, or if he did anything to upset you – before they land on the most recent message again. You quickly type your reply and hit send, before falling back into bed, pulling the blanket over your body and letting Jake’s scent take over your senses until you’re fully embraced by it.

When he responds just a little later than usual that day, you don’t think much of it. He tells you about practice, how he doesn’t have any bad bruises this time, and even sends you a picture for proof. You smile at his messages like you’re used to by now, and your heart does that little jump when he sends a voice note to wish you sweet dreams later that night.

Then, little by little, his replies begin to come later, his calls less frequently. He slowly replaces the occasional forehead kisses for kisses on your cheek, or sometimes, none at all. And although you try to shove it away, sometimes you can’t help but think about it. You begin to wonder whether his touch really feels a little less soft than usual, or if your mind is just playing games with you. If his message was intended to sound a bit colder, or if you’re reading too much into it.

He never brings up your quiet confession, and you don’t either, unsure if he even heard, when in reality the four words are constantly replaying in his mind. When you repeat them without saying them, just because your touch is so much softer than before. Because your eyes search for his more often, and the look in them makes his heart drop. And sometimes, when he keeps his hand around yours a bit longer, you allow yourself to think that he might not let go. You almost ask. But each time, he quickly pulls away, changing the topic as though he’s terrified of what could happen if he gives you enough time to think.

Yet, he’s still around. He still comes over after practice, still eats dinner with you, still checks in on you, and still stays when you’re studying. Just not as frequently, and seemingly not as whole-heartedly.

“This one looks painful,” you mumble, standing between Jake’s legs as you clean up a cut on his lips. He doesn’t reassure you that it’s fine. Instead, he just responds with a hum that sounds more indifferent than anything else. His breath flattens when you finish up by applying some of your favorite chapstick to his lips like you usually do, its familiar scent flooding his senses until all he can think about is how it tastes on your lips. And for a second, he seems like he might lean in. But then he stands up so rapidly that his forehead almost clashes with yours, mumbles a quick thank you, something about having to run errands, and rushes out of the door with nothing more than a short goodbye-kiss to your cheek.

Jake doesn’t send you his usual good night text that night – neither the night after. He stops coming over as much. Because he’s tired, busy, or already has plans. But when you tell him that you miss him, he still responds that he does too. Until he doesn’t respond at all.

You reassure yourself he’ll text tomorrow, but tomorrow turns into the day after tomorrow, and then into the day after that. Your follow-up message remains unanswered, and the next one stays a draft until you eventually erase it.

After that, you only see him once. He walks past you in the college hallways, so quickly that you have just enough time to catch a glimpse of the angry red bruise blooming right over his cheekbone. You almost turn around, almost call his name and reach out to ask if he’s okay, but he’s gone before you can second-guess it. And you don’t see him again until he rings at your door a few days later.

“Can we talk?”

Jake almost shoots the question at you, as if he’d forget it if he didn’t get it out fast enough. You look him up and down for a moment, silently wondering why, suddenly, he wants to talk, when he’s been so painfully obvious at avoiding you for what felt like an eternity.

At first, you don’t reply, stuck between having no words to say and having too many. A part of you wants to slam the door in his face, another one wants to hear him out, and despite the feeling of discomfort in your stomach, one part in the very back of your heart hopes that this somehow means something good. “About?”

“Us.”

You swallow lightly, yet it’s enough for Jake to register. When you step to the side to let him in, he hesitates for the blink of an eye. Then, he comes in, waits until you close the door, and hesitates again when you look at him expectantly, before he takes a deep breath in and finally speaks.

“I don’t know where this is leading, and I don’t know where you want this to lead.” He takes a break, eyes searching yours as if searching for the confession you’re not ready to make a second time.

You subconsciously pick at your nails as the silence seems to stretch the small space between you infinitely. Then, taking a deep, shaky breath, you break it. “If this is about the other night, we can just forget it.”

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks quickly, sternly, voice laced with a tone that tells you there’s no correct answer to the next question. “About liking me?”

You hold his gaze for a while, trying to make out the emotion his brown orbs hide, but to no avail. So you lower your eyes before slowly nodding your head yes – and with each passing second in silence, the air only seems to thicken with tension.

“We should stop whatever this is,” he says with an unfamiliar coldness, as if he’s trying to prove there’s no room for argument – as if the lack of an answer wasn’t the answer already. And although meeting your expectation, the words still hit you like a punch to the gut, causing your head to snap up to look at him again, only to find nothing of the usual softness on his face.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words get stuck in your throat, clogging your airways until it feels hard to breathe. Jake’s eyes flicker down to his hands, observing his bruised knuckles, before he brings them back up and locks them with yours.

“If you want more than this, we should stop,” he repeats matter of factly, eyes never leaving yours. “I can’t be the guy you need, much less deserve. I’m not gonna take you on nice dates or be there for you on call. It took me years getting to where I am now, and I’ll work harder to get where I want to be. I can’t do it halfway, Y/n. And I won’t choose you over boxing.”

“You should have thought about that before you started to act like my boyfriend.”

Jake’s eyes widen slightly at your words. He looks at you for a while, a hint of tension in his jaw, until he visibly gulps and lowers his gaze. “I didn’t mean to–”

“Oh, you didn’t?” Your interruption makes his eyes snap back to you, the sarcastic undertone in your voice drawing his brows together. “I thought you were sure when you started all this, my bad.”

“Listen, I wasn’t trying to mess with you,” Jake replies, the slight tremble in his voice mirroring the one in his hand as he runs it through his hair, pushing back some strands that fall right over his eyes again the second he lets go.

“It just didn’t feel that casual to me,” you mumble, unsure if he hears, or if you even meant for him to.

But his eyes widen again, a wave of something similar to panic washing over his face. “It wasn’t casual,” he defends, almost stumbling over his own words from how fast he spits them out. And for a second, you allow a spring of hope to bloom in your chest, allow yourself to breathe – until his words snatch the air away from you once more.

“I just can’t give you more.”

You look at him, eyes boring into his as if you could find a glimmer of something else behind them. Something that tells you he doesn’t mean it, that he’ll change his mind. But he stays silent, just holding eye contact for a moment before breaking away from it.

“Right,” you say quietly, but Jake still catches the way your voice cracks a little, and he swears his heart does the same when you continue, “you could just give me enough until I slept with you.”

“Huh?” He exclaims almost a little too loudly, taking a step forward to reach out to you, simply because he lacks ideas of what else to do – but you quickly step back, eyes shooting up to his in a way that tells him to keep his distance.

“Y/n, that’s not true.”

“Well, the shoe fits,” you reply, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

He shakes his head, clenching his hands into fists to refrain from reaching out again. “That’s not true,” he repeats.

“If it wasn’t casual, what was it then?”

Your question comes quietly, but surprisingly stable. You hold Jake’s eyes, even when your throat starts burning from how tight it feels and you really want to look away just to hide the tears that you feel pricking at your eyes. But you don’t have to, because Jake is the first to look away, eyes wandering to the side to look right past you and thinning his lips as though keeping them sealed.

“Okay. Got it.”

And with that, you open the front door again and tilt your head toward it to wordlessly signal him to leave.

“Dude,” Sunghoon groans frustratedly as Jake barely dodges another punch the younger throws at him. “You’re slower than a sloth,” he continues, but Jake doesn’t reply – just stumbles back a step to avoid another hit.

“That girl still taking up all your focus?”

Jake’s eyes dart up immediately, eyebrows pulling together and lips parting ever so slightly, yet he doesn’t say a word. Instead, he steps forward, aiming for his friend’s ribs. Blocking the blow with his arm, Sunghoon’s lips curl up to a grin that tells Jake he’s simply trying to get any type of reaction from him.

“The one you were desperately trying to reach a few weeks ago, if you remember,” he clarifies unnecessarily, voice laced with mocking innocence, as if Jake could have forgotten who he means.

“We’re not talking anymore,” he replies finally, voice tight enough to show he’s not willing to talk about it.

“But you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” Sunghoon presses with another question that earns him a quick but sharp punch to the gut instead of an answer. He winces at first, but the initial cough from the air being pushed out of his lungs violently soon turns into an amused chuckle.

“Take that as a yes,” he mumbles before collecting himself and standing up straight despite the dull pain in his stomach. “Then she must have been really clingy. Or a really good fuck.”

Jake clenches his jaw tightly, the line between his brows deepening further. “Stop speaking about her like that.”

“You didn’t deny it,” Sunghoon replies, not even trying to hide the grin on his face as he watches Jake practically imploding.

“Shut up,” he growls, “that’s not how it was.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow, replacing his teasing look with a more serious one. “How was it then?”

Jake’s face slowly relaxes, the tension disappearing little by little until there’s nothing left of it. He opens his mouth, closes it, and repeats the process once more before he slowly lowers his gaze to the floor and takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know. Good. She felt good to be around. Calming, if that makes sense. She seemed comfortable and just herself with me, and…”

Sunghoon doesn’t reply, just hums to tell the older to keep going.

“I’m probably making that up, but I think sometimes she smiled a bit more when I was around and then my heart did that thing and it made me want to make her smile forever?”

“And how did you mess up?”

The question causes Jake to look up again, cluelessly blinking at his friend.

“You said you’re not talking anymore,” Sunghoon continues, “but it sounds like she really liked you. So: How did you mess up?”

“She does like me!” Jake exclaims so quickly he almost stumbles over his own words. “Or… did. I don’t know. I told her I can’t give her more than that and she got it all wrong, talking about how I could give her just enough until she slept with me and–”

“Woah, hold on,” Sunghoon interrupts with one hand held up, “I know you’re not an asshole, why are you acting like one?”

Jake doesn’t reply at first, just replays his friend’s question over and over in his mind.

“I just… look, she deserves the world, okay? And I’m just so caught up in boxing, and I need to focus if I wanna go pro.”

Again, Sunghoon’s eyebrow shoots up. “She ‘deserves the world’, so you go give her nothing? Doesn’t sound logical to me.”

“But making this professional has been my goal for years and–”

“I know. Did she make you choose?”

Jake hesitates, then slowly shakes his head.

“So you just freaked out.”

“I didn’t freak out.”

“I’ve known you for years now, and as your friend I feel entitled to tell you that 99% of the time you’re the epitome of freaking out,” Sunghoon deadpans. “Do you have feelings for her?”

Jake gives Sunghoon a look that somehow says everything and nothing at once, and it’s just enough for the younger to understand.

“You’re in love with her.”

Jake hesitates, holding his breath for just a second, before pushing the air out with a sigh. Then, he slowly nods. “I am.”

“Then why’d you drop her, dumbass?” Sunghoon asks, throwing his head back with exaggerated frustration. But Jake just slips through the ropes of the ring and rips off his gloves – completely oblivious to the fact that, just around the corner, with his words echoing in your mind, you’re holding a little tighter onto the shirt you intended to give back to him.

Diploma in one hand, you wince at the pain in your heels as you slowly push through the crowd of people. You’re almost at the exit, eager to catch some fresh air after what felt like hours of ceremony, when a soft tap on your shoulder makes you turn around. And suddenly the noise around you fades, as though the world stopped for a moment.

You look at Jake, his own diploma in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other, and your breath catches in your throat when he slowly reaches out to hand it to you. Goosebumps erupt on your hand, shooting up your arm and down your spine, when his fingers softly brush yours as you hesitantly take the flowers from his hand.

“Congratulations,” Jake mumbles so quietly you don’t catch it, just reading it off his lips. He wants to tell you that he knew you’d make it, that he’s proud of you, that he hopes you’re proud of yourself, too. That he misses you to a point where it hurts, and that just seeing you again made his heart skip several beats. But the words stay on the tip of his tongue, slowly evaporating into thin air with every second he doesn’t get them out.

“Congrats to you too. Didn’t think you’d graduate, given you don’t have time for Plan B,” you manage, although the words taste bitter, feel forced, and make Jake gulp visibly. But he notices the soft look on your face, the apology in your eyes that contrasts the harsh tone of your voice, and he knows that you’re not really trying to hurt him – just trying to protect yourself from getting hurt first.

He stays silent for a while, pulling his lower lip between his teeth, and releasing it again before responding. “Well, someone once told me that getting beat up for my dreams isn’t a solid career plan.”

Before you can help it, the corners of your lips twitch just a little, barely enough for Jake to see the faintest hint of a smile.

“Oh, and you listened to that someone?”

“Only ‘cause that someone is special… and definitely not Plan B,” he says with a shrug that looks way too forced to make it appear casual.

You absentmindedly tighten your grip around the flowers, wanting to snap back a reply to hide that the walls you’ve been building around yourself aren’t so stable after all – but your mind blanks.

And Jake swears he would take the snarkiest remark, but your silence and the insecure look on your face makes his chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Anyway, you should go celebrate with your family and–”

“They didn’t come,” you interrupt with a shake of your head.

“Huh?” He surprisedly raises his eyebrows.

“My family didn’t make it. Too much work, or no flights, or whatever,” you shrug, slightly shifting from one foot to the other as if that could loosen the tension you feel creeping up your spine.

“Do you wanna join mine?” He blurts out before he can stop himself. “It’s… nothing fancy, just dinner. You should come.”

This time, it’s your eyebrows that shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“You should come.”

For a while, you just look at him. Take in the hint of hope on his face, the way he slightly raises his eyebrows in anticipation, and the way he starts fumbling with the diploma in his hand. And you try hard to ignore how your chest warms at the simple habit of his that somehow makes you realize just how much you missed him.

“Did you mean it?” The words come out before you think about it, surprising both of you.

Jake furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “What? Of course. You shouldn’t be alone today.”

“No, I mean… Did you mean it when you said you were in love with me?”

You watch as his eyes widen and his adam’s apple pops up and down as he gulps. He opens his mouth, but you beat him to it. “I was going to return your shirt, and I guess I overheard your conversation. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, you guys just don’t know how to talk in normal volume.”

Jake looks at you with a face that doesn’t quite give away what he’s thinking – something like a strange mix of shock, relief, and uncertainty. Face paling, he waits and waits for the realization to settle, searches for things to say, but suddenly it feels like he lost all the words he once knew.

“I… Yeah, I meant it,” he begins slowly. “I didn’t realize it before– I mean, honestly, I did. I knew I liked you, but–”

“You freaked out,” you interrupt, trying to imitate Sunghoon’s tone of voice, but you can’t help the hint of sadness coating your words.

Jake reciprocates your half-smile for a second, then he nods with a sigh.

“I did freak out. Listen, I’m sorry for the way I left things, and I know sorry isn’t gonna make it better magically, but…” He trails off and lowers his head. “You mean a lot more to me than I showed you, and I’d like to prove that to you at least today.”

You gulp as if that could help you get rid of the lump that has been forming in your throat the second you turned around and faced him. And despite it getting only harder to breathe when his eyes find yours, you don’t look away this time. Instead, you let his gaze steal the air from your lungs little by little as you keep searching for the slightest hint of insincerity. But even as seconds turn into what feels like an eternity, you find nothing that makes you doubt he means it. So you slowly nod.

“Fine. But only ‘cause I really want dinner,” you give in, and although you try to sound stern, you can’t help but mirror Jake when his lips curl up just a little.

When Jake introduces you to his family, you learn that he’s been talking about you – ‘once or twice’, according to him, and ‘the entire fucking time’, according to his brother. Your eyes shoot to Jake, who just scratches his neck sheepishly, but the honesty in his look makes it hard for you to really shrug it off.

He stays close to you throughout the entire evening. Wherever you’re walking, his hand hovers over the small of your back just enough to prove he’s there without really touching you – and during dinner he sits next to you, perfectly distanced for your legs to not brush against each other’s but so you can still feel the warmth of his body. And although his family includes you into the conversation just perfectly, he occasionally nudges your shoulder and looks at you with a questioning look to make sure you feel okay.

When you bid goodbye to his parents and brother later that night, you’re so busy thinking about how oddly comfortable you feel, that you don’t notice how Jake struggles to hide the oh so evident adoration in his eyes. The need to keep you close. But he swears that even if you decide you never want to see him again after this night, the soft smile on your face is enough for him, as long as he was the one who painted it there.

He insists on walking you up to your apartment, hand itching to reach for yours, but he quickly shoves it in the pocket of his dress pants. Once you stand in front of your door, you hesitate to look for your key. Instead, you turn around to face him.

“Thank you for inviting me,” you say quietly, offering him a tiny smile that he immediately reciprocates.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he replies so gently your knees almost buckle just at that.

“Well, I told you I really wanted dinner,” you try to joke, but your voice sounds far more charged. Jake smiles nonetheless.

For a while, you just stand there, looking at him without feeling like you’re drowning. You can almost see it on his face how he wants to take a step closer, but refuses to give in to it. And despite everything, you’re the one to do that instead. Jake’s breath flattens as he looks down to you, wanting nothing more than to close the distance between you, but he doesn’t move – doesn’t back away either when you slowly bring your hands up to his jacket and pull him down until your lips almost touch.

He gulps as he reaches for your waist with shaky hands to pull you in more, trying to ignore the way his heart skips a beat once he feels your body against his. And when you slowly angle your head up to close whatever distance was left between you, the goosebumps that erupt on his body almost make him shudder. His fingers dig into your waist softly, almost like he’s trying to remind himself that you’re real, while his lips gently move against yours in a way that makes you feel like he never left.

Nearly overwhelmed by the feeling, you allow yourself to melt into his touch until you slowly, almost reluctantly, pull away for air. Jake’s breath brushes your lips as he gently rests his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

“Fuck, I’m so in love with you,” he mutters, not even registering the words until he said them.

When he feels you tensing just slightly, he quickly takes a step back. “Sorry, I–... You don’t have to say it back, I just– sorry I shouldn’t have said that,” he stumbles over his own words, only stopping his ramble when you take a step forward again and tenderly place one hand on his chest. Then, you curl your fingers around the fabric of his shirt just enough to pull him in again.

You kiss him so softly it proves not only that you feel the same, but also that you’re not yet ready to really tell him again. That you want to let him in, but still make sure he keeps one foot out the door. And for now, that’s enough for Jake.

His touch is gentle when his hands cup your face, thumbs carefully sweeping over your cheeks as he pulls away the second time.

“You mean a lot to me, Y/n,” he confesses, intentionally this time, steadily, although his voice shakes a bit. “I’m sorry I ever made you think otherwise.”

Your heart squeezes not only at his words, but the way they feel more genuine than anything he’s ever told you before. And you can’t help the soft smile when you look right into his eyes again and find nothing but endearment and honesty.

“You did prove that to me today,” you mumble, smiling a little brighter at the evident relief on his face.

“Will you let me prove it again?” He asks tentatively, the glimmer of hope in his voice making you chuckle softly.

“I’ll see.”

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