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riveredmoon · 29 days ago

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quiet tipper

connection: k. nanami x fem!reader

synopsis: he watches your live streams, always quietly tipping — and tipping bigger than anyone else ever did. when you finally notice, you offer him something in return.

content warnings: nsfw, smut (mdni), modern au, non curse au, camming (might have gotten some things wrong), mutual masturbation, sub kento (we all cheered), oral (m receiving), p in v, riding, no protection, crude language, spitting, creampie, very little plot.

(1) notification: this just randomly popped into my head months ago and has been collecting dust in my google docs. sorry to my fbi agent for all the sites i had to research. enjoy (please)!

wc: 4.7K (i say very little plot but can’t stfu)

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The lights are off in his apartment — the only source of light being the red hue coming from his laptop. Heavy moans and the sounds of fingers slipping in and out of something wet clashes with the pristine quiet of his apartment.

His tie, still half knotted, is lazily thrown over his shoulder. Button up shirt half away undone. His slacks tighter around his tense thighs. He feels hot. He still feels too restricted. He wonders if his clothes were dried for too long during their last run through the dryer. Or if his air conditioner is working.

Especially as you’re completely bare on the screen in front of him. Plush thighs pushed open. The pixels of the laptop not capturing just how perfectly their glistening, your slick dripping from your own fingers.

A hand is already curled tight around his cock. Wet with his own spit and precum, he strokes slowly — trying to match the movements of your finger slowly dipping into your folds.

He’s studying everything you could possibly show him through this little screen.

But, that’s the thing — Kento Nanami has memorized every way you cum. He knows how you like your fingers curled up and the heel of your palm pressed to your clit. Or how you prefer vibrators for clitoral stimulus over a dildo for penetration — depending on how big the tip is, you’ll throw one into your routine. Or the way you spend just a little bit more time pulling at your right perky nipple, sometimes ignoring the left one all together.

He knows what you like and how you show that you like something. Like how your left eyebrows twitches when your fingers curl up, or how you bite your lip when you do use a dildo. Your moans muffled while you breath heavily out your nose, like you want to make sure your equipment picks up on the sound of your wet pussy plunging down on it. And all of this, because of this little website he stumbled upon a year ago.

jerkmates.net

“Are you making yourself feel good, baby?”

Your voice rings through his laptop speaker and his hand tightens around his cock. He almost wants to nod his head yes, as if you’ll get the answer and relish in the fact that he’s hunched over his laptop watching you finger yourself.

You’re leaning back on your elbows, one hand bracing yourself to the bed, the other one has your index finger pumping into yourself, slow and teasingly.

You glance up at the camera, blinking slow and wide-eyed like you’re innocent, like you’re looking directly at him. His hand on the desk turns into a fist. The hand pumping his cock, pumps a little faster.

The sound of his rugged breathing, the slick of precum and the sweat from his own hand mingles with the sound of your middle finger dipping into your wetness. Your hips buck, rustling the sheets below you.

Nanami has to pause his own movements, to watch how you curl your fingers up, just enough for effect. You let out a quiet, shaky breath — soft, just barely picked up by the mic — and spread your legs a little wider. The inside of your thighs wetter. Nanami’s stomach feels tighter.

He licks his lips, narrowing his eyes at the screen. If he could bring it closer, get bifocals, to see the definition of your wet sloshing pussy, he’ll do whatever it takes.

All he could continue to do is fuck into his own hand.

He watches you squirm. Watch your thighs tighten and shake, the perfect glisten on the inside of them. He wonders how they’ll feel wrapped around his head. He watches the way your stomach jumps, the moment your fingers press in deeper, rub harder. And obviously (and naturally), he wonders how his cock would look when he presses in deeper, if he ever had the chance to fuck you.

“I hope you know, I’m about to cum… just for you.”

Your free hand trails up your stomach, circling your right nipple with a slick thumb before giving it a sharp tug. Your back arches — palm meeting your clit. You gasp, shaky and soft. Your hooded eyes never leave the camera.

The corner of the screen, he sees the chat light up in a frenzy. Usernames drop corny one liners, some respond with one word answers. And some are just so crude, even for the site that they’re on. He ignores it. He never found the need to type something out for others to see.

His eyes avert back to you. Your chest is rising heavily, your tits perched up perfectly. And as if he could read your mind or the fact he’s watched you at least three times a week, he knows you’re close.

He bites the inside of his cheek, pulling himself closer to the screen. He strokes are tighter now, like he’s holding on to his own cock to ground him.

Fist closed, twisting slightly at the base the way he knows makes his thighs twitch. He wants you to know that little trick too. His stomach contracts with every upward pump. He can feel it building, tight and low.

Your fingers are moving faster. His pumps are faster. You’re curling two fingers into your pussy. He’s pumping from base to top, running his thumb over his leaking tip whenever he makes it back. His balls feel tighter, heavier. The muscles in his back feel tight, strained.

He wants to speak out, make a noise. His jaw slacked. All he could do is let out these pathetic gasps, your breathy moans speaking for the both of you.

And then it happens — you cry out, soft and needy, and your body jerks in that way that makes his mind go blank. Your head falls back, and he wishes he was there to take you by your chin and watch how your eyes roll back. Your fingers still pumping into your cunt, your other hand fisting the sheets below your flushed body.

He almost swears he’s in the little filming room with you. Breathing in your sounds, helping you cross that line the way you have helped him.

He finishes with a grunt that sounds like it’s stuck right in the middle of his throat — the first sound he made since he logged on. Hot ropes of his cum spill across his knuckles, leaking over his hand. His shoulders curl in and he jerks a final time into the fist still wrapped around his twitching cock.

Without much thought, it’s almost second nature at this point. Like conditioning, you cum, he cums, and then he goes to the sidebar to tip you. Never leaving a comment, never asking for anything in return.

Your breathy moans acts as background music as he inputs a number, one he can’t even fully flush out since he’s still coming down from his high.

He’ll go over his credit card statement next month and come back to this moment.

Tipped: ¥78,000

You: Hi! I’ve seen you tip before but that amount last night was way too much. Do you want a private video or something?

Nanami: I didn’t think you’d notice my amount.

You: You tipped double what anyone else ever sent.

You: Please, how can I repay you?

You: Where are you located?

You: Are you a creep in your mom’s basement?

Nanami: Tokyo

Nanami: I could lie to you but no I’m not a creep. And I live alone — in my own place.

You: If you go through the proper avenues (FaceTime, calls, pictures) would you like to meet? You: You know, so that I could repay you.

Nanami: Just tell me when and what I have to do.

Is he a real person? Check.

FaceTime to check? Double check.

Does he seem respectful enough? Triple check.

Are you staring at him right now, wondering just how badly you want to fuck him? Quadruple check.

“Why don’t you show me what it is that you do when you watch me?” Your voice is soft and a little teasing.

You’re sitting on the edge of the hotel bed. You’re in nothing but a lacy pair of panties and a matching bra to match. The blonde, quiet tipper is standing a few feet away from you. An aura of.. hesitancy wafted between you two. His hands are balled into fists in front of him. His shoulders tense.

You would’ve thought he would be nervous, a little awkward. But it is almost obvious he’s almost excited to be here but he’s afraid of messing something up. The way his eyes flick on every crevice of your body whenever you make the slightest move. Or the way he leans in whenever you say a word.

Maybe your allure would be gone after having you jump out of his laptop screen and be placed in front of him.

He looks down at you, his hazel eyes trailing along your body so slowly you almost feel like he’s touching you. You clench your thighs at the invasion of his eyes lulling at your chest. His left eyebrow twitches in response to your movement.

“We could cosplay as if you’re watching,” you whisper as you shuffle up the bed, inching up slowly. You’ll be lying if you said you weren’t excited to get this going.

Leaning back on your elbows, as you do when you’re streaming — your fingers start to tap along your shoulder blade to push down your bra strap. The tipper’s eyes running along every movement.

You’re used to people watching you, but under his stare you felt seen. He starts to lean forward, his hands finally unballing and softly brushing your shin.

“No,” you huff out, pulling your leg close to your body. “Just like how we ended up here… no touching.” You shrug. His eyes are trained on the very obvious wet spot starting to pool in your panties. “From you, that is.”

“What a way to repay your best tipper,” he hums, amusement evident in his voice. His eyes darkening and the sound of his hands fumbling with his belt buckle. His movements are fast, but a little clumsy. Like he’s trying to keep this moment going on as slow as he could.

“You should remember,” you fully pushed one of your bra straps down. The air sweeps over your perked nipple, making you shift a bit. “I only stream for thirty minutes.”

“Trust me,” he has moved closer to the bed, his thighs pressed into the mattress as he stands at the head of it. His hands pushing his pants down. “I remember.”

Your eyes train along his body. Suit jacket has since been thrown to the side. The tie loosely and lazily hanging around his neck. That blue button up shirt, pressed tightly around his biceps. Rolled up just perfectly. You could confidently and shamelessly stare at the veins on his forearms. His glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. His blonde hair falling forward, brushing his eyebrow.

You wonder, is this how he looks before he tips you? You have to hold in a breath, as your eyes finally trail down.

He’s big. Long, yeah, but it’s the weight of him — heavy, veined, curving up slightly. He wraps his hand around the base and it barely covers it. His thumb swipes over the slit, slow, deliberate, and your mouth actually waters.

“Show me what I do to you,” you murmur, your eyes not leaving his hand slowly pumping his cock.

“Should I tip you after?”

“I’m sure we could find other reimbursement methods,” you stare up at him. His cheeks already have the faintest tint of red, from the slow twist he’s been doing to his dick.

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly unhook your bra — throwing it somewhere across the room. Your hands immediately cupping your tits. Your index and thumb roll over your right nipple and you arch your back, lifting your hips in the process.

You catch how his jaw twitches and he leans forward a bit. His hand pumping his cock picks up some speed.

You stay there for a while, watching him as he so often watches you. Your hands are still cupping your breast. Legs bent at the knees, you feel his stare at the very wet print on your panties. You spread your legs a little wider, giving him a better view.

You don’t move. Don’t say a word. Only smiling slightly at his reactions and movements. The way his eyes jump from your left nipple back to the lace sticking to your clit.

His strokes are long, languid. Like he’s savoring it. His eyes drag over your body while his fist moves in rhythm — from the thick base of his cock to the flushed head, slick with precum that glistens under the harsh hotel lights.

The noises he’s making are low, and controlled. You’re thinking of a way to get more out of him. You want to hear how he sounds when he’s watching you in his dark bedroom, his credit card statement hanging over his head.

“You’re just watching me.” He huffs through his nose. He squeezes just a bit at the base of his cock, his head lowering.

“Roles are reversed, I guess.”

You push yourself up, standing up on your knees. He watches, not slowing down the pumps on his cock. His chest rising rapidly. His hazel eyes are dark and watching you with an interest that makes it feel like you’re buzzing.

You crawl towards him and he pushes his lower body deeper into the side of mattress.

“Remember,” you lean down, laying flat on your stomach. Your tits squishing into the plush bed below you. “You’re not allowed to touch me.”

Nanami’s pumps have slowed down, like he’s still trying to savor the little bit of normalcy that he has when he watches you. His cock twitches ever so slightly when you tilt your chin up to look at him. You make sure you send him your widest, doe eye look. The one you know gets you the most tips.

He swallows a groan, and you swallow a laugh. Your thighs clenching below you, pressing your knees into the bed.

You don’t wait for permission, or even for his fist to completely come off his throbbing dick. You’re already leaning forward, your lips brushing against the head of his cock — featherlight, not even a kiss, just a breath. You close your eyes and take in the sounds. You hear the very sensitive shift of air in the room. Nanami’s stifled groan, his hips pushing forward — his thighs practically imprinted to the side of this mattress.

You scoot forward a bit more, moving one of your hands from under you. With a drop of his hand, your hand is now able to grip him as you bring your mouth closer to him.

He lets out a strangled moan, it almost surprises you. You expected him to be rough.

With a slowness that you’re sure is killing him as much as it is killing you — your mouth is on him. Wet and hot. Your tongue flattens against the underside of his hard dick. Slow and aching. Dragging from base to tip in a single, wet stroke. His stomach jumps, so does yours.

“Fuck,” from the corner of your eye, you see his hand twitching. As if he’s fighting every single power in the world to not put his hand on you.

Looking up at him, your tongue sticking out just a bit, licking your bottom lip. His cock now wet from his precum and your spit. “You’re being so good. With no touching and stuff.”

He groans and you almost laugh at the weak restraint that is so obvious.

Your lips are brushing the leaking tip before wrapping fully around him. The saltiness of his own juices dancing on the tip of your tongue.

He exhales like he’s been punched in the gut. His hands balling into a fist on the side of his thighs.

You go slow, hollowing your cheeks and taking him in inch by inch. Closing your eyes as you take as much as you can of him. Your nose pressed into the blonde hair at the base of his cock whenever you make it that far.

You use your hand at the base where your mouth can’t reach, twisting ever so slightly and squeezing whenever you see his hands try to grip on to something other than themselves. Like a little warning for this game that you’re playing. Your free hand trails up his thigh, feeling the muscles twitch beneath your fingers.

Your mouth moves in a steady rhythm. Wet and warm, the soft slurp of each pass louder than Nanami’s huffing, in the quiet room. You moan around him on purpose, just to feel the way he jumps at the sound. His thighs tense, like he’s trying not to buck. You want him too, you want to feel him at the back of your throat.

“Do you reward all your big tippers this way?” His voice is forced, the control that he’s losing breaking through. You hum around him, feeling him twitch in your mouth.

You pull back with a pop, a string of saliva keeping you connected. Lips wet and swollen. You flutter your eyes up at him, licking a drop of his precum from the corner of your lip.

“Only the ones who don’t live in their mother’s basement,” you joke. You lean forward again, keeping your eyes on him. Your lashes flutter whenever you take him too deep.

You wrap both hands around the base, twisting slowly with your mouth at his swollen tip. You give kisses, open-mouthed licks. Your tongue flicking the underside, running slowly along his protruding vein whenever your tongue reached it.

You want to drive him crazy. You want him to remember exactly what you feel like when he thinks about tipping you again. Maybe you’ll reward him again.

When you take him deep again, you make sure to moan around him, watching as his left hand reaches towards the bed. He’s wrecked — red in the cheeks, sweat at his temple, teeth sinking into his lip so he doesn’t groan too loudly. You pull back

“What’s the rule mister tipper?” You whisper. Pushing yourself back up to your knees, you’re almost eye to eye.

“No touching.”

“Such a good boy,” you mewl as you lean forward, your hard nipples pressing into his chest. Your nose barely touches his. Each of you could move less than a centimeter and you’ll be lip to lip. He huffs through his nose, his eyes not leaving yours.

“Sit down for me.” With balled fists, his pants hang loosely around his thick thighs — Nanami shuffles around you. The slightest brush of his body on yours as you switch spots. Shuffling off the bed to stand in front of him.

The wetness between your legs is almost unbearable. You ignore his eyes as you quickly shimmy out of the now ruined lace. You’ll use his tip to buy another pair.

Your knees are brushing his as you walk in between his legs. His eyes haven’t left you since he’s possibly walked in here — you almost want to ask if he’ll like to record this next part so he could keep it forever.

“Still can’t touch you?” He mumbles as you brace your hands on his shoulder, lifting your body onto his lap.

“You don’t get to touch me when you’re watching,” you shrug, scooting up a bit. Your knees settle on either side of his thick thighs, and his breath hitches audibly as your heat hovers just over his cock — still hard, still twitching. His eyes narrow between your face and your bodies just barely touching below.

With your hands still gripping onto his shoulders, you lean forward, noses almost touching again. One of your hands reaches over, gripping the back of his head slightly pulling his head back. He hums surprisingly. You could feel him holding back, his fist slightly hitting the bed below you. His breathing is coming out slow and broken. His eyes finally closing — as if he’s sending out a prayer for some restraint.

“A good boy deserves a good reward,” you murmur, running your fingers along his undercut. Your pussy is so close from his throbbing cock, and you’re fighting every restraint to not roll down on him. Not just yet.

Before he could even open his eyes or even respond, you tap his chin with your free hand. He opens slightly and your mouth parts. A string of spit drops from your lips and lands on his tongue, right as he opens it for you — no hesitation. His eyes flutter tighter, and a low groan escapes his throat. His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he swallows, like he’s trying to commit the taste to memory.

“Such a good boy.”

Your hand gripping onto the back of his head moves down to between your bodies, your warm fingers wrapping around this thick cock softly. His eyes are still shut, his tongue still running over his bottom lip. You guide him to your entrance, running his swollen tip between your slick, coating him in everything he’s made you feel.

You're slowly dragging him between your folds and his fists beat into the bed. You smile to yourself.

“You don’t move,” you lean forward again, his eyes open just the tiniest bit. “Just sit here, and let me reward you.”

“I think we passed what I deserve.” His voice is shaken and his eyes so dark, they look completely different than they did a second go.

“Mhm, that’s for me to decide.” With all the control you could muster, you sink down on him — inch by inch. The stretch pulls a gasp from your throat, your nails digging into his shoulders as you finally bottom out. He’s thick, the curve of him hitting exactly where it needs to, and your thighs tremble slightly as you adjust to the weight of him inside you. You don’t even wait for him to collect himself or find a response for you.

His head falls back, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows down the groan that still somehow made it through. You feel how tense his whole body is. His thighs below you are holding you up, his fists slightly pounding into the bed. His jaw clenched as he watches through watery lashes as you start to get comfortable with the stretch.

You start to move — slow at first, dragging yourself up until only the tip is left, then sliding back down, savoring every inch. You roll your hips as slow as you can, watching his face for every little twitch, every broken breath.

“Fuck,” his tongue is sticking out and his eyes are squeezed shut. You lean forward again, nose brushing his. Your hands on his shoulders meet at the base of his neck, squeezing slightly. He opens his left eye, eyebrow rising with the movement.

“Look at me.”

You sharply roll your hips, earning a hiss from his swollen lips. His breath kissing your cheeks since you’re so close to his face. His eyes hooded, staring at your pussy meeting his cock.

You start to build a rhythm, up, down, roll. The drag of him along your walls has your mouth parting, letting out the same breath sequence Nanami is.

The wet sounds of your wet cunt meeting his cock fills the hot room — the soft slap of skin, the breathless noises slipping from both your lips. You move with purpose, hips rising and falling in a steady pace that keeps him fighting his restraint.

You’re having so much fun, you wonder why you haven’t done this before.

His cock fills you just right — thick, curved, stretching you as much as your body could take. Your thighs begin to tremble from the effort of keeping up with fucking him. But it’s worth it.

Every time you sink down, his jaw tightens. Every time your walls clench around him, he lets out the most pathetic moan. Almost a whimper and you hide the way you want to giggle.

You reach for one of his balled up hands. He looks like he might pull away out of instinct, but you place it on your left tit.

“I could break my own rule,” you whisper.

His fingers twitch, then his palm settles over your breast, thumb brushing your nipple just lightly. His lips part, a groan half-escaping before he sucks in a shaky breath. And because you’re far too gone, you ignore his other hand reaching up to grab your other tit. His fingers tugging and rolling your perky nipples.

His self-control is withering, if he even still has some— you could almost taste it. You’re obviously not that far behind him.

You don’t know who is louder. Nanami’s barely restrained whimpers or your loud moans as you feel him buck his hips to meet yours. His fingers tugging a little more roughly. Your hands back on his neck, squeezing just enough to make his eyes shoot open and stare back into yours.

“Do you want to cum?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then be good and wait.”

You pick up your pace. Your hips snapping as they meet him with every thrust. Your thighs are burning, but you can’t skimp out in his reward. You refuse too — especially with how good he’s making you feel.

You almost forget about his grip on your tits. His thick digits rolling your nipples — tugging a little harder on the left one. You arch your back and he smiles, an easy one as if he was so sure that would happen.

Sweat is dripping from not only Nanami’s forehead but yours as well. And you feel your walls tightening around him, you’re so close. And with the way he’s panting and rutting into you, he is too.

“I would’ve tipped you this much a long time ago if it means I could be here,” his voice is gruff and low. And that’s all you needed to send you over the edge. His hands still holding on to you, his breath tickling your cheeks.

You roll your hips, his own hips still bucking up. You want to stop and tell him he’s breaking the no moving rule. But he feels too good. He fits too well to try to stop it now.

“Well tip again and we’ll be back,” you moan. Your eyes are clenching. You’re biting into your bottom lip as you feel your walls clench around him. The drag of his cock, the twisting of his fingers. It’s too much.

Your mouth parts, no sound coming out. Your body shudders, falling forward. One of his hands that were on your tits is on your thigh as you shudder against his broad shoulder.

You cling on to him, your nails digging into his skin through his shirt. You’re still hastily grinding, ignoring the fire in your thighs for the way he’s huffing through his nose and his fingers gripping into your plush thigh.

Your slick and his own precum is coating everything between you. A wet spot on his shirt. You grind down harder, ignoring just how far over you are your own limit.

You feel him. The way his cock is twitching inside of you. How frantic his hips are bucking into you, begging for more friction. The hand on your thigh holding on so tightly, it almost hurts.

“C-can I cum?” His eyes are already rolled halfway back, his head lulling to the side.

You don’t respond, not verbally. You let out a moan as you grind down on him a little harder, giving him all that you have left.

He lets out a broken moan as he spills everything he has in you. His back arching, his eyes closed shut. He’s cumming hard — deep and hot. You feel it as you slow down your grinds.

He doesn’t stop shaking.

“How was this as a reward?” You hum, your breathing still heavy. You watch as Nanami’s chest rises slowly — as he collects his bearings.

He has not opened his eyes yet. His hands dropped to the bed below, with the faintest dud. The aftershock of orgasm still makes you feel the throbbing of his still hard cock.

You lean back. A whimper leaving his lips as you shift on top of him.

“I could give you my credit card number if you’d like.”

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vunblr · 4 months ago

Text

Terms of Attraction

Pairing: CEO! Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Some fluff. Slight Angst. Mutual Pinning. Mention of sexual activities.

Summary: Long hours, sharp tongues, and unbreakable trust have defined Industrial Inputs CEO Bucky Barnes and his secretary’s dynamic, always walking a fine line. But some lines aren’t meant to be left uncrossed.

Word Count: 13.2k.

notes: This is one of the works I'm submitting for the @avengers-assemble-bingo event for Bucky's 108th birthday, running throughout March. The prompt was "CEO AU".

Also, this piece is to participate in Grem's 20 Characters with 20 Questions for 20 Tropes Challenge by @gremlin-girly Using Bucky Barnes' character, "When were you going to tell me about this?" question, and mutual pining trope.

Bucky Barnes never wanted to be here.

He never wanted to be in this office, suit, or life. But fate had a funny way of forcing people into the things they swore they’d never become.

The room was dim since the heavy curtains were drawn shut to block out the midday sun. The only light came from the glow of his monitor, casting long shadows over the polished surface of his desk. He sat hunched over it, resting his forehead against his crossed arms.

A soft sigh broke the silence.

“Again?”

He didn’t move. Didn’t need to. He already knew who it was.

“This is the fourth migraine this week,” she continued, with an edge of exasperation. “I’m making you an appointment with a neurologist. You like it or not.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, mixing a scoff and a tired chuckle. “You’re overstepping.”

“Oh, it is not in your best interest to start talking about overstepping,” she shot back, arching a brow. “Want me to make a list? Ten years under you, since you were a manager, mind you. It will take a couple of pages.”

Bucky grunted in response, looking for the right words, but she was already moving, pushing the coffee table aside and clearing a space on the plush carpet.

“Come on,” she said, glancing at the clock. “You have the meeting with Schwarz in forty minutes. You know, the one I had to postpone twice already?”

Yeah. He knew. He just didn’t care.

He stayed put for a second longer, staring at the dark wood of his desk. His head throbbed, and the pressure behind his eyes seemed to crush everything. He could still hear his father’s voice in the back of his head “Headaches? You think I got to where I am by whining about a fucking headache?” but right now, George Barnes could go to hell.

With a slow, resigned sigh, Bucky pushed himself to his feet. He shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair, rolling his shoulders as he made his way over to the open space she’d cleared. Lowering himself onto the rug, he sprawled out on his back, letting his arms rest loosely at his sides. As the exhaustion dragged him down like quicksand, he closed his heavy-lidded eyes for a moment.

She knelt behind him, pressing her cool fingers into the pressure points at the base of his skull. He tensed on instinct, prepared to anticipate pain, even from something meant to help.

“Jesus,” she muttered, working her thumbs into the knotted muscles of his neck. “You’re tense as concrete again.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose, letting her hands do their work. The pain sharpened for a moment before it started to dull, releasing the pressure just enough to make his migraine a little more bearable.

“Speaking of overstepping,” she continued, “you should really hire a professional masseuse, Bucky. Have them come in three times a week and-”

“I don’t want a stranger rubbing me up and down while I’m ass-up and vulnerable on a pansy cot.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

His mouth twitched, but he didn’t bother correcting her. If she was talking, it meant she wasn’t hovering with that worried look in her eyes.

She worked his knots, kneading the tension from his neck and shoulders before her fingers traveled upward. With a gentler touch, she started rubbing slow circles into his temples, easing the pressure that had settled deep in his skull.

“Rebecca called, again.” She said casually, but he could hear the warning under her words. “Says you had her bloc-”

“Not now,” he groaned.

She sighed but didn’t stop. “I know you don’t want to, but just meet with the guy for ten minutes, and you’ll get her off your back.”

“I won’t waste even five minutes listening to her new fucktoy ramble about some ‘revolutionary’ idea for industrial inputs,” Bucky muttered. “I know it’s going to be some half-baked high school powerpoint with stock photos and shit. That’s the kind of man she likes to have around.”

She scoffed, still working her fingers against his scalp. “He is cute, though.”

His eyes snapped open.

He didn’t move or say anything right away, but his gaze was locked on her now, sharp, unreadable, and just a little too intense. He didn’t like that. Didn’t like the way she said it.

“Is he, now?” His voice came out pretty even, but there was something underneath it. Something edged.

She smirked, unbothered. “Not my type, but I can see why she’s… fond of him.”

His jaw ticked, and he exhaled slowly through his nose before letting his eyes fall shut again, but the tension in his body didn’t relent in the way it had before.

Yeah. The headache wasn’t going anywhere.

Just as he was starting to relax again, the door creaked open without so much as a knock, and a head popped inside: the new intern. The kid was his father’s friend’s grandson or something, which meant he had about three functioning brain cells and the audacity to use them in the worst ways.

“Sorry to interrupt your… erm-”

“Get out,” Bucky muttered, not even opening his eyes.

“But I just wanted to know-”

Bucky sat up so fast that the guy flinched. “Get the fuck out and close that door before I send you to count staple hooks in a basement, kid.”

The intern squeaked, stumbling back before the door shut behind him in a not-very-subtle way.

"Moody, aren’t we?” she sighed, shifting her weight as she sat back on her heels. “You’re still a Sarge at heart, it seems. Poor kid almost pissed his pants.”

His jaw worked slightly at the title, but he ignored it.

“The door is there for a reason. Besides…” he muttered, rolling his shoulders, shifting his gaze away.

He didn’t say what else he was thinking, but didn’t have to. She already knew. The way the intern had found them -he sprawled out on the floor, and she knelt behind him, hands on his body- it was enough to set off the office rumor mill.

“Don’t worry. Even if you don’t get out of your dungeon very often,” she mused, stretching her arms over her head, “you do know there’ve been rumors for a couple of years now, don’t you?”

Bucky turned fully toward her, narrowing his gaze. “What?”

“Come on, like the one where I was sucking your cock on that video call with that Japanese exec from the thermoplastics deal? With the guy watching it all because the camera was badly angled?”

His face twisted, and he waved his hands. “You weren’t even there that-”

“Or, my personal favorite” she continued, “that a window cleaner saw us on full display as you rammed my ass against the glass one afternoon?”

Bucky’s expression darkened into something truly menacing. “Bullshit. The cleaning crew comes on fucking weekends-”

She snorted. “People who gossip don’t care much about facts, Bucky. That’s just how things are.”

“Why didn’t you tell me anything?” he asked with irritation.

She smirked, unfazed. “What for? It’s not like it was going to change anything. And you firing people left and right over some rumor no one even knows where it started… Not a good look.”

He pressed his tongue against his cheek, ready to argue with her, but before he could, she glanced at the clock.

“Ten more minutes, and Schwarz will be here.” Her tone was all business now, but then her gaze flicked back to him, sharp and assessing. “How’s your arm?”

Bucky pressed his lips into a thin line.

She sighed. “That bad, huh? Lemme see.”

“You don’t-”

“I do,” she cut him off, already shifting. “It’s probably one of the things that’s got you so moody lately. And the reason I’ll probably have to send the Germans a very nice basket of goodies after you mistreat their guy.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, but when she just stood there on her knees, arms crossed, waiting, he reluctantly popped open a few buttons of his expensive shirt. As he slid it off his shoulders, the scent of his cologne -warm, woodsy, with an edge of spice- assaulted her senses.

Beneath, he wore a pristine white tank top. And, his bad arm.

Irregular scars marred the skin in a twisted canvas that sprawled up to his shoulder, a reminder of the Syrian shrapnel that had nearly cost him the limb entirely. Inside, a lattice of titanium plates and screws that held together shattered bones and torn muscle.

Bucky exhaled sharply as he rolled his shoulder, feeling the familiar grind of metal and bone, and the fucking pain. Most days, he could push past it. Ignore it. But some days, like today, it devoured him, made everything sharper, his patience thinner, and his temper shorter.

She reached out. He could see the way her gaze softened slightly as she took in the limb, hovering her fingers just above the scars. She was softer, yes, but never pitied him.

He let his head tip back against the edge of the couch, closing his eyes as her hands worked their magic over the worst knots of his upper arm, easing some of the strain. He hated how easy it was for her to do this, to get him. To handle him. It should piss him off. Maybe it did.

But he didn’t tell her to stop.

As she gently rubbed on the offending limb, his mind drifted to the hospital bed, to his suspended arm buried in a mix of cast, pipes, and pulleys.

A bitter taste rose in his throat. The sharp sting of antiseptic, the cold bite of metal restraining his ruined arm, the dull pain buried beneath layers of medication. His mother crumpled at the foot of his hospital bed, clasping her hands in silent prayer. And his father… standing rigid, arms crossed, and a voice edged with finality.

"Well, now that you’ve had your share of independence and adventure, I assume you understand that you are meant to be with us. To serve the family the way we prepared you to."

Not a “You’ll be ok”. Not a “We’re glad you made it home alive”. Just “You’ve learned your lesson.” A muscle in Bucky’s jaw twitched as he stared at the ceiling, willing the memory away.

Her fingers pressed into a tight knot near his bicep, bringing him back to the present. He exhaled through his nose.

“Where’d you go?” she asked, softly.

His lips parted, with the instinctive lie ready on them -Nowhere-. But when he turned his head to look at her, he caught the way she was watching him, with that usual awareness, so he let out a breath and closed his eyes again. “Nowhere important.”

She hummed and started pulling his shirt back into place, her touch lingering a second too long on him as she smoothed the fabric over his shoulders.

“Well, master,” she teased, the title laced with mockery, “it’s almost time to see the Germans.”

Bucky huffed, dragging his hands down his face before starting to button his shirt. She moved to stand, but before she could, his fingers wrapped around her wrist. Firm, warm, just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

She swallowed, willing her face to stay neutral, to ignore the way warmth curled in her stomach at the roughness in his tone.

“You know there’s no need,” she said, carefully measured, as if saying anything more might give too much away.

His grip loosened, and she pulled back, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles from her skirt. If he noticed the way her pulse jumped beneath his fingers, he didn’t say a word. Once she finished straightening her clothes, she turned on her heel and strode toward the office door.

“I’ll let them in in ten, okay?”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulder once more before nodding. “Yeah.”

----

She had suspected it wouldn’t go smoothly, but even so, when the heavy wooden door finally clicked open, the Germans’ expressions were unreadable, stern and tense.

She cursed inwardly.

Even if the meeting had been rocky, she hoped they’d at least reached an agreement. Otherwise, in ten minutes, her phone would be ringing with George Barnes on the other end, barking at her because Bucky refused to pick up. And, as always, she’d have to endure his tirade until he inevitably demanded she put his son on the line.

With a sigh, she pulled open a drawer, curling her fingers around a blister pack of Tylenol.

Then, smoothing her expression, she knocked gently on his office door.

A low, muffled groan was the only response she got before she stepped inside.

The sight wasn’t unfamiliar. Bucky sprawled on the couch with his shoes off, covering his face with a cushion like it could somehow block out the world. She knew how this went. If the headache was bad enough, it wouldn’t be long before he was hunched over the bathroom sink, pale and nauseous, cursing under his breath. And, as she suspected, he hadn’t brought anything to help.

She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Should I expect a call from Barnes Senior in the next few minutes, or can I focus on other chores?”

Another groan. “I think he won’t call, but who the fuck knows? Nothing’s ever enough for him. Maybe he has a few things to say about the deal, things even a fresh graduate should know.” His voice was thick with irritation, but there was something else underneath. Resignation.

She tsked. “Good thing you don’t listen to him. Much.”

“Hmm.”

She stepped forward, holding up the blister pack between two fingers. “Here. I bring an offering that might change your mood.”

“Whatever it is, leave it on the desk. And don’t give me any calls.”

“Are you really rejecting Tylenol?”

A single half-lidded eye peeked out from behind the cushion, scrutinizing her like she’d just asked him to sign over the company. Then, he muttered, “Fuck, what would I do without you?”

She smirked. “Probably chomp the heads off the few people who still have the balls to speak to you.” She leaned against his desk, watching him sprawl across the couch, with the cushion still covering his face. “Speaking of your stellar social skills,” she said, The signing for the Research & Development Collaboration deal with Prescott got moved from Tuesday to Friday. You still haven’t told me which day you want your plane ticket booked.”

Silence.

She frowned. “Bucky?”

He exhaled sharply against the cushion before finally shifting it just enough to mutter, “About that.”

That tone set off a flicker of suspicion in her chest.

“I know a couple of the board members are going just to play court jesters,” he continued, voice still thick with exhaustion. “But…I want you there.”

Her brows furrowed. “Sorry, what?”

He let the cushion fall away just enough to glance at her. “I want you there.” A beat. “I need you there.”

Something in her stomach twisted. Not at his words -no, she was used to being indispensable- but at the tone he used.

“I need to see-”

“You handle logistics, and you filter out unnecessary conversations. I'd rather not waste my time listening to a bunch of suits trying to kiss my ass. You keep people in check.” He sighed, tilting his head back onto the couch.

She raised a brow. “So you need me as a buffer?”

He shot her a dry look. "I need you to make sure I don’t tell the wrong person to go fuck themselves."

A flicker of something -something warm- stirred in her chest before she pushed it aside.

“Fine. I’ll book my ticket too.” she said, trying to sound unaffected. “But I want juicy compensation for being away from home in non-working hours. And, I won't babysit you the whole trip".

Bucky huffed a laugh, still sprawled on the couch, with the cushion resting against his temple instead of covering his face. “You’ll do it anyway, even when it’s not part of your job.” He gestured vaguely toward the blister of Tylenol still sitting in her hand. “You’re like a mother hen.”

And fuck, how did he like that? How much did he like her, always two steps ahead of him, anticipating his worst moods and dealing with them before they could ruin his day completely? It should drive him insane, how easily she handled him, read him, but instead, he was perfectly fine with it. He craved it.

She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed. “Well, this time mama is getting a compensation, James,” she shot back, drawing out his name like a warning. “Because I had plans for Friday night.”

He schooled his expression, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Yeah? With who?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant.”

Just like that, something in his chest twisted, sharp and possessive.

“Must I remind you that you signed an availability clause two years ago?” His voice was measured, but there was an edge beneath it. “You agreed to be available if the firm needed you.”

If I need you. His eyes seemed to say it, even if he didn’t.

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Wow. This is the first time you’ve ever thrown that in my face. But don’t worry, I don’t need the reminder.” She rolled her eyes. “And I’m pretty sure availability doesn’t mean ownership, Bucky. But it’s fine, I’ll see my godson another day.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the cushion.

Her godson.

He exhaled through his nose, and his voice came out controlled. “Good. Then it’s settled.”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “You know, you could’ve just asked nicely instead of throwing corporate fine print at me.”

He pushed himself fully upright, ignoring the dull ache still throbbing behind his eyes. “I know.” A pause. His fingers dragged over his temple. “Sorry, I… this is killing me.”

She hesitated for a beat, caught off guard by the unusual admission.

“I’ll approve the extra compensation,” he muttered, reaching for the Tylenol she still hadn’t handed over.

“Nah,” she waved him off. “As you said, it’s already covered in the clause. That’s why my salary was increased in the first place. I was just messing with you.”

Bucky quirked a brow. “Not many people can get away with that, you know.”

“Oh, but this mother hen knows she can.” She smirked. “Just a little.”

He huffed, watching as she poured a glass of water and handed him the blister pack.

“None of that scotch after taking these, you hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, amused despite himself.

She squeezed his good shoulder before heading for the door, and the warmth of her touch persisted where her fingers had pressed against him.

----

The lobby was a mess of tired travelers and frazzled staff, as the storm outside cast long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The wind howled, rattling the glass as Bucky ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered. “A place with this many stars and a price tag that could feed a small country, and they can’t even keep track of reservations?”

She sighed, rubbing at her temple. “It’s just one night, Bucky.”

He shot her a look. “That’s not the point.”

“No, the point is that we’re exhausted, it’s almost midnight, and I’d rather not spend the next hour arguing with the poor guy at the front desk when we both know they’re fully booked because of the storm.” She gestured toward the rain hammering against the glass. “Unless you’d rather sleep in the lobby, in which case, be my guest.”

His jaw ticked, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he grabbed the key card off the counter with a glare, muttering under his breath as he turned toward the elevator.

She sighed again, following. This was going to be a long night.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching as she took in the room with wide eyes. The Renaissance-style decor, the heavy carved furniture, the ridiculous four-poster bed with actual curtains… it was over the top, even for a place like this.

“Well, this is… something,” she murmured, slowly turning in place before making a beeline for the bathroom.

He heard her sharp inhale, then -God help him- a pleased little hum that was dangerously close to a moan.

His bad mood tempered just a little.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he stepped further inside, glancing at the coffee table stacked with neatly packaged luxury treats. He had no doubt they came with a price tag steep enough to make even him scoff.

She poked her head out from the bathroom, grinning. “You think they’d notice if I just sat in the tub and refused to leave?”

For the first time since the airport delays, he almost smiled. Almost. Then he sat in an oversized armchair. The long flight, the delays, and the cold air outside had worsened the stiffness in his arm.

She eyed him knowingly, arms crossing. “Speaking of the tub, why don’t you take a shower? Or an immersive bath? Heat those bones a little. You’re tensing the arm a lot, you know.”

He seemed to consider it for a second, rolling his shoulder slightly. But then he shook his head. “After you. You’re cold too. Ladies first.”

She arched a brow. “I appreciate the chivalry, but you need it more-”

“All I hear right now is a hen clucking.” He cut her off, smirking as he kicked off his shoes and sank deeper into the chair.

Her eyes narrowed. “Endearing.”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Well, since you offered,” she huffed, “I’m going to test the tub. And don’t expect me to be out in less than thirty minutes because I won’t. If you need the bathroom, I don’t know, use a vase or something.” She said as she started to rummage on her suitcase, looking for her nightgown.

Bucky snorted, “So regal, just what this place needs.”

As soon as the bathroom door clicked shut, she let out a long breath, and her shoulders slumped as she finally dropped the facade. Out there, she had to keep up the usual push and pull, the teasing deflections, the confidence that made it seem like sharing a room with him -sharing space with him- was just another minor inconvenience.

But alone in here, she could let herself feel the weight of the situation.

She set her nightgown on the counter, running her hands over the silky fabric before reaching for the faucet. The deep tub groaned as steaming water rushed in, the sound filling the room as she braced herself against the edge of the sink.

This shouldn’t be affecting her so much. It wasn’t the first time they’d traveled together, and it wasn’t even the first time she’d seen him this exhausted, this raw from the day. But something about tonight, about his request for her to be here, about the way his voice softened when he said he needed her there -it’s killing me- stirred something deep and restless inside her.

She swallowed hard and reached for the buttons of her blouse, undoing them slowly. He didn’t mean it the way she wanted him to. He never did.

She reminded herself of that fact as she slipped the blouse from her shoulders, shivering slightly at the rush of cooler air against her skin. Bucky was… Bucky. Intense. Guarded. Possessive, sometimes, in ways he didn’t even realize.

But never hers.

She sighed, pushing down the stupid, persisting ache in her chest as she reached for the zipper of her skirt. This wasn’t new. She’d spent years training herself not to hope for something that wasn’t there. And yet, every now and then, he’d let something slip -a look, a word, a need- and it would take everything in her not to lean into it.

The tub was nearly full now, and the steam curled in soft ribbons toward the mirror. She inhaled deeply, letting the warmth settle over her body, soothing and distracting all at once.

Bucky wasn’t doing any better.

He sat in the oversized armchair, socked feet planted firmly on the carpet, drumming his fingers idly against his knee. The tension in his shoulder hadn’t eased, not even a little. He rolled it again, flinching at the dull throb radiating from his arm.

Maybe he should’ve taken the damn bath first. Maybe the heat would’ve helped more than sitting here, stewing, staring at the closed bathroom door like some lovesick idiot.

Not that it mattered. She wasn’t into him.

He knew that much.

Women who wanted something more -who wanted him- they left hints, like breadcrumbs leading straight to their intentions. He’d seen it a thousand times in the circles he frequented. The way they gravitated toward him, playing coy with soft laughs and lingering looks. Subtle touches under the table, fingers tracing patterns on his thigh. The way they’d beam at the expensive gifts, their smiles slipping the second he showed more interest in his bed than in whatever designer bag they were parading around.

And then there was her.

She didn’t play coy. She didn’t bat her lashes or leave accidental touches to test the waters. Instead, she petted him. Nursed him. Brought him Tylenol like it was her goddamn job -which, technically, it was-. And he liked it. At first, it had been enough, her dependable presence that kept him from losing his mind when everything else was chaos.

But eventually, it wasn’t.

Eventually, he started watching for the crumbs, the hints, waiting for something, anything, that told him she saw him as more than just her boss or her friend.

And he found nothing.

Because a woman who wanted something more wouldn’t massage the knots from his arm like it was second nature, without hesitating, without blinking. Wouldn’t press her fingers into the scarred muscles like she wasn’t touching the part of him that made most people flinch.

He huffed, rubbing his palm over his face.

She was comfortable with him. Too comfortable.

And fuck, it was funny, in a twisted way, how every other woman he’d been with tried not to look at his arm -careful not to let their revulsion show- but she touched it like it was just another part of him.

Because that’s all he was to her. Just another favor.

Nothing more.

----

After exiting the bathroom in her red silk nightgown -a gift from her friends- she thanked her past self for not just throwing in an old cotton camisole.

“Well, I emptied the tub and started filling it again,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “Maybe you should go check the temperature. It’s one of the last things I don’t know about you.” She tried to keep it light, casual.

Bucky stared at her longer than necessary. He had seen her in professional clothes, casual clothes, even bundled up in thick sweaters during late nights at the office, but never in something like this. It wasn’t even that revealing, but the way the silk fell against her body, catching the dim light, made his thoughts go places they shouldn’t.

He forced his gaze away, scoffing.

“Bucky, don’t tell me you didn’t even unpack pajamas.”

“Don’t use ’em,” he said, watching her expression shift.

She blinked, clearly caught off guard. “You’re joking.”

His smirk deepened. “Nope. I’m more of a… natural type of guy.”

She pressed her lips together, visibly trying to suppress a reaction. Interesting.

“Well, I hope you at least brought sweatpants or-”

“Wasn’t supposed to be sharing a room, remember?” He shrugged, stretching out in his chair. “Didn’t think about it. But don’t worry, I still have underwear. Are boxers still scandalous to you?”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “I can manage a slutty pair of boxers, thank you very much”

Bucky huffed a chuckle, turning to his suitcase. He rifled through his things, pulling out the garment in question. “Relax. I was planning on wearing a robe -there are always robes in these places- to protect your maidenhood.” He smirked, but his fingers tightened around the fabric.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck.

“Take the bed. You’ll probably be dead asleep by the time I get out.” He suggested.

“Nonsense.” She waved her hand in a dismissive tome. “That couch is too damn small for you. You take the bed.”

Bucky frowned, standing up straight. “How the fuck could I send you to the couch? It’s irritating that you could even consider me capable of that.”

Her brow furrowed. “Don’t be stubborn, your body-”

His expression darkened, and his voice cut in sharp. “I’m not crippled, doll. I let you play mama all you want, but at the end of the day, I’m a grown man who can sleep on a damn couch without whining like a bitch.”

The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them. He saw her expression shift. Surprise, hurt, and something more guarded sliding into place. He had sounded exactly like his father just now, and the realization made his stomach churn. He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “Just… don’t be stubborn, okay?”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and strode toward the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

And as soon as he was alone, he cursed himself.

----

As she slipped under the covers, feeling the crisp hotel sheets' cool against her skin, her mind replayed the moment over and over.

The sharpness in his tone. The way his eyes darkened, his jaw set tight like he was bracing for a fight that wasn’t even there. She had only meant to be practical; his body did take more strain, whether he liked it or not. And yet, the way he snapped felt like she had crossed some invisible line she hadn’t even known existed.

She stared at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. I’m not crippled, doll. Had she made him feel like that? She had never pitied him, and he knew it. Bucky was the strongest person she knew, even when he was constantly grumpy and in pain.

Maybe that was why she did it. The taking care of him. Because no one else did. No one else noticed the stiffness in his shoulder after long days hunched on his desk or the way he rubbed at his temple when a migraine was creeping in. People either feared him, admired him, or wanted something from him. But who was actually in his corner, making sure he was okay without expecting anything in return?

Maybe that’s the problem.

Maybe, to him, she was just another person putting him in a box he didn’t want to be in. She had assumed he liked it, the way she doted him, the way she noticed him. But what if, in his mind, it only confirmed that she didn’t see him the way he wanted to be seen?

----

The water lapped at his collarbones as he sank deeper into the tub, letting the heat work through the persistent tension in his muscles. His head tipped back against the cool porcelain, and he closed his eyes.

He shouldn’t have snapped at her. She hadn’t meant anything by it; she never did. She was just looking out for him, the way she always did, and he’d thrown it back in her face like an ungrateful asshole.

With a sigh, he dragged a hand over his face, water dripping from his fingertips and wetting his scruffed face. He wasn’t mad at her, had never been mad at her. He was mad at himself. Mad at the way the frustration curled in his gut over things that weren’t her fault. She didn’t deserve that. He’d make it up to her in the morning. He wasn’t sure how yet, but he would.

----

At 3 a.m., she stirred awake, blinking against the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains. Her gaze landed on his silhouette, sitting rigid on the couch, outlined by the streetlights below.

She frowned, pushing the covers aside and padding toward him. “Hey.”

He startled slightly as if he hadn’t heard her coming, too lost in his thoughts. “Hey.”

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“Rough night?” she asked, quirking a brow, trying for nonchalance.

Bucky glanced at her, then quickly averted his gaze. “Yeah.” A beat passed before he exhaled heavily. “Didn’t mean to snap at you.”

Normally, she would’ve brushed it off, waved away his apology like she always did. But this time, she stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“You don’t deserve to be on the receiving end of my tantrums,” he admitted, his voice quieter than before. “Seems like it’s becoming a habit lately, having to apologize for them. But really, doll, I’m sorry.”

Something in her chest softened. It was unfair how easily those simple words soothed the discomfort that had been eating her since their argument. She wanted to reach for him, reassure him. “I know you’re nervou-”

“No.” He cut her off, shaking his head. “I’m nervous and frustrated by this deal, yeah, but that’s not an excuse to be an asshole. At least not with you.” He let out a humorless chuckle, running a hand down his face. “So don’t do that. Don’t… justify me the way my mother did with my father when he beat her up on a weekly basis.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “Well, you were kind of an asshole, if that’s what you want to hear.”

He huffed out something like a laugh, shaking his head, but she wasn’t done.

“But you also know we have the kind of relationship where I call you out when that happens. How many times have I told you to fuck off?”

His lips twitched. “Never.”

“Okay, not in those exact words, but you know what I mean. Don’t be a smartass now.”

Bucky bit his lip, letting her continue.

“I know you’ve been working on this deal for over a year. I also know your father’s been breathing down your neck about it, just waiting for you to slip up so he can shove his twisted version of ‘tough love’ down your throat. And on top of that, I know this damn weather is making your arm and shoulder miserable. So, I’m letting it pass. You already apologized; why wouldn’t I accept it?”

His face was unreadable now, all traces of amusement gone as he nursed his glass of scotch.

She quirked a brow, aiming for levity. “Or what? You got some kind of kink? Want to be punished for being a bad boy?”

Bucky choked mid-sip, coughing as the liquor went straight up his nose.

“Oh my God, you do!” she gasped, grinning like she’d just uncovered some deep, dark secret.

“No!” Bucky spluttered, still coughing, his face red as a beet. He barely managed to set his glass down without spilling it.

She knew he was probably telling the truth, but she also knew how easily he embarrassed over certain things, and there was no way she was letting this pass.

“You couldn’t sleep because you were craving a spanking? A little pinching, maybe?” she cooed.

His head snapped toward her, eyes wide with horror. “My God, woman, stop it.”

She smirked. “Tell you what: I’ll stop if you take the bed.”

“I told you I-”

“I’m still taking it too.”

That shut him up. He blinked at her, clearly thrown back.

“It’s so big my whole damn living room could fit on it,” she pointed out. “We can share, so you don’t have to hurt your masculine pride, and mother hen here gets to be happy knowing you’re not miserable on that fancy couch.”

Bucky exhaled, scratching the back of his head. “I don’t know…”

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. “Tell me one good reason why this is a bad idea. We’re both exhausted, and there’s enough space on that mattress to fit two more people between us.” She raised a brow. “I promise I won’t steal your virtue.” She winked, and he nearly groaned.

Oh, but he wanted her to take it, not his damn virtue, but something else. And that was the problem.

He couldn’t even use the excuse of propriety, he was already sitting there in just his boxers, and it wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him shirtless before. Hell, she’d been massaging his arm and back for years without batting an eye.

So, really, what was he holding onto?

“Will you shut it if I say yes?” he muttered.

“Just for tonight.” She grinned.

----

She climbed into bed, doing her best to act casual, like this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Like she wasn’t hyperaware of the fact that Bucky was standing just a few feet away, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, no robe in sight.

“We have to be there at nine,” she said, adjusting the blankets around her. “So we’ve got, what… maybe four hours of sleep?”

The mattress dipped as he sat down, and she felt the shift beneath her. She told herself not to look. But when he moved to lie down, she turned her head, catching his gaze, and ended up on her side.

He hesitated for a moment before mirroring her, rolling onto his side so they were facing each other in the dim glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Even with the shadows softening his features, she could still see it, the stress in his brow, the weight pressing down on him. The doubt.

So she leaped.

Hesitating, she reached across the space between them, palm up. “You’ve got this, Bucky,” she said, in a soft but firm tone. “You’re going to do great.”

His eyes flicked to her hand, and surprise flashed across his face, but it only lasted a second. Without hesitation, he reached out with his scarred hand, wrapping his fingers around hers, and gave a small squeeze. “Thanks.”

----

The deal with Prescott went just as expected, some rough patches here and there, but overall, both sides walked away satisfied.

As requested, she had sorted through the attendees beforehand, making sure Bucky knew exactly who he could afford to ignore and who required his attention. Not that he always followed her lead, but to her surprise, he was in a much better mood than the night before.

Maybe it was the decent night’s sleep. Maybe it was the fact that, despite his nerves, he had handled the negotiations flawlessly. Or maybe it was just that he finally let himself lean on someone for just a little.

Bucky stepped out of the conference room, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension from the negotiations. His gaze landed on her instantly, curled up in one of the lounge chairs, with a coffee cup in her hands, looking perfectly calm. She raised a brow when she noticed him watching her.

“We have a cocktail party tonight,” he announced, coming to stand beside her chair.

She took a sip before answering. “We?”

“Me. The board jesters. A bunch of industrial guys.”

“Right. So, you,” she corrected, setting her cup down.

He huffed. “I want you to come.”

She frowned, caught off guard. “Are you sure it’s not just for you and the board members?”

“I’m sure.”

She leaned back, studying him. “Bucky, I don’t exactly have cocktail-party-appropriate clothes lying around.”

He shrugged. “Neither do I.”

That made her snort. “Yeah, somehow, I doubt that.”

“No, really,” he said. “I didn’t pack for this, which means I gotta go get something to impress a bunch of snobs. You might as well come with me.” He caught the hesitation in her body language instantly, his sharp blue eyes narrowing. “That’s your only reason for doubting, right?”

She exhaled, knowing there was no way to wiggle out of it. “Yeah, that’s the only reason. But…” She opened her mouth, then hesitated. How was she supposed to explain that their budgets were galaxies apart? That the tie he’d pick out probably would cost as much as her monthly groceries?

“But what?” he pressed.

Fuck it.

“But, we are almost at month’s end, and I still have to pay the-”

“Wait. No, no,” he cut in, shaking his head. “I’m not expecting you to buy a fucking dress, doll. The company will.”

She frowned. “Bucky, I don’t think that’s appropriate-”

“I, the director, am the one making you attend this shitty event,” he interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Obviously, it’s a company expense that my secretary looks good there, because if she doesn’t, the company image looks bad too.”

She gave him a flat look. “Did you just say I dress poorly in a roundabout way?”

His jaw dropped. “That is not what I said.”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “Mmhmm.”

Bucky groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Can you just let me do something nice without fighting me on it?”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Great,” he said, already dialing a number. “We leave in an hour.”

----

The last thing she expected when he said they were going shopping was to find herself standing inside a Prada store. She had anticipated something fancy, sure, but Prada? This was a whole different level. She was almost afraid to breathe too hard, worried she’d somehow stain or break something just by existing.

A perfectly dressed clerk approached them, and the moment the woman’s eyes landed on Bucky, her posture shifted: poised, interested, appreciative. She on the other hand, might as well have been invisible.

“What can I do for you?” the clerk asked, with a voice all smooth with professionalism and something more.

Bucky barely glanced at her. “We need a cocktail dress for her and a suit for me.”

Immediately, the woman waved over a co-worker, passing her off while keeping Bucky’s attention firmly on herself.

“Were you looking for something specific?” the second clerk asked her while signaling her to follow.

“Uh, yeah. I was thinking an empire dress with a V neckline.”

“Let me show you what we have.”

----

After trying on two options that didn’t feel quite right, she slipped into the third dress. The fabric hugged her in all the right places, elegant but not over-the-top, and when she pulled the curtain open, she froze.

Bucky was standing there, dressed in a black suit so well-fitted it might as well have been tailored for him on the spot. His ivory dress shirt contrasted against his sharp features, and there was something about the way he wore the suit -confident and powerful- that made her stare.

What she didn’t realize was that he was staring right back, caught off guard as he discreetly bit at his bottom lip.

“Guess that’s the dress,” he said, his voice just a little rough.

“You think so?” She did a slow spin, letting the fabric swirl around her.

“Definitely.” He managed to say.

She grinned. “Guess that’s the suit?”

He didn’t say anything, just gave her a pleased half-smile that sent warmth curling into her chest.

After purchasing the medium heels and the purse that she tried hard not to think about the cost of, they had lunch at an upscale restaurant.

----

By the time they reached the hotel, she was still reeling a little from the whole shopping trip. The Prada bags felt almost radioactive in her hands, she could barely process the fact that she now owned something so expensive, let alone the fact that Bucky had made the entire thing seem as casual as buying a cup of coffee.

As they approached the front desk, the receptionist greeted them with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes. We have the second room available now if the lady would like to move in.”

Before Bucky could respond, she beat him to it. “Good. Can I take it now?”

“Of course, ma’am,” the receptionist said, eyes flickering to Bucky for a moment, then back to her. “I’ll send someone up to move your belongings.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” she replied quickly, trying to play it off with a small smile. “It’s just a small suitcase and is already upstairs.”

“Very well, ma’am. Please enjoy your stay,” the woman said, giving her the magnetic card.

As the elevator ascended, Bucky crossed his arms and shot her a dry look. "That was fast."

"Huh?" she blinked, shifting the shopping bags in her grip.

"You practically threw yourself over the door card." He chuckled, but there was something almost edgy beneath it.

"Well," she shrugged, "I was supposed to be there from the start, Bucky. Now you won’t have to miss my… how do you call it? Clucking?" She winked.

Bucky scoffed, but his jaw worked like he was trying to stop himself from saying something. And maybe he was. Because the truth was, he would miss it.

He had no business getting used to her presence, to the way she looked after him. But those few hours they’d shared in the same bed? Dreamless. The first time in a long time his mind had given him peace. And now, standing here, the thought of losing that -even just the simple comfort of her being near- felt… wrong.

He glanced at her and found her watching him with an amused tilt of her head. He swallowed down whatever mess of thoughts he was having and shrugged instead. "I’ll survive."

----

The message came through: "Ready?"

She took a breath, smoothing her hands down the dress that still didn’t feel entirely real. "Yeah, coming out now."

Stepping into the hallway, she turned and promptly forgot how to breathe.

Bucky stood there, waiting, a few doors down. The same suit from earlier, yes, but now fully put together. His hair was neatly combed back, his scruff freshly trimmed, and the addition of a sleek watch and cufflinks only added to the devastating effect. He looked like he’d stepped straight out of a high-end catalog, the kind of man people turned to look at the moment he entered a room.

Her pulse stuttered.

He caught her staring, but he didn’t call her out for it, probably because he was doing the exact same thing.

She looked stunning. That dress had already been perfect in the store, but now, with her makeup done, her hair styled just so, and the soft glow of the hotel lighting catching on her skin? He was fucking dying to close the space between them, to inhale and find out which perfume she’d chosen tonight. Would it be the one he liked the most?

His eyes briefly dipped to her neckline before he could stop himself, and his traitorous cock twitched in interest. Damn it. He forced his gaze back up, schooling his face into something composed just as she started toward him.

"You look good, sweetheart," he managed to say.

She smirked, sliding her hand into the arm he offered. "You cleaned up good yourself, boss."

----

The ride in the limo was... interesting.

The board members who had come along were in high spirits, congratulating themselves and Bucky on the deal, clinking their glasses of expensive whiskey as they rehashed key moments from the negotiation.

And yet, somehow, she was left out of the conversation entirely.

Not just the business talk, that she understood. She wasn’t part of the board. But even the petty, circumstantial chatter, the kind of polite small talk that people filled silence with, never once included her. It was as if she were just there, a piece of decoration beside Bucky, an accessory rather than a person.

Of course, to them, that’s exactly what she was.

Just his secretary. The one everybody knew he was fucking.

Now, he’d simply taken it a step further and brought her to the cocktail party, dressed up in Prada and heels, just like a good mistress should be.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t care.

He was fully engaged in conversation with the others, discussing projections, potential expansions, and other things that weren’t meant for her ears.

She knew this would happen. The moment he asked her to come, she’d known she’d feel out of place. And yet, some naïve part of her had thought -hoped- it wouldn’t be this bad.

She wasn’t sure why, but something about the way the man across from her kept glancing up from his phone, barely acknowledging her except for those quick, assessing looks, made her stomach turn. His fingers moved smoothly over the screen, typing something, then pausing -another glance, another smirk- before resuming.

She forced herself to sit still, to smooth her dress over her lap, to ignore the creeping feeling at the back of her mind that something about this moment would come back to haunt her.

----

As they stepped into the reception, they blended seamlessly into the elegant crowd. The board members exchanged greetings with familiar faces, shaking hands and making small talk. A few acquaintances took notice of her, flickering their gazes between her and Bucky before curiosity got the better of them.

“And who’s this lovely lady?” one of them asked with a polite smile.

Bucky barely hesitated. “My dutiful secretary.”

There was always a beat after that -just a split second of realization- before the inevitable, knowing oh followed.

If he noticed the shift in people’s expressions, he didn’t show it. Either he was oblivious to it or, more likely, he just didn’t care. He was too used to these circles, to their assumptions, to their judgments. But she felt it. Every curious glance, every subtle flick of the eyes that said, so, he finally brought her along.

At some point, he made a passing joke “Ten years dealing with me, just for that, someone should give her an award,” which earned a few chuckles from the men around him. She mustered a polite smile, but inside, she could already feel the exhaustion creeping in.

She needed a drink. Or a few.

Slipping away, she made her way toward the bar and ordered a Gancia cocktail, sitting in one of the fancy stools.

Meanwhile, Bucky was still deep in conversation when a firm hand landed on his shoulder. His brows furrowed immediately -he wasn’t fond of being touched- but as he turned, his irritation sharpened into something heavier.

His father.

George Barnes stood there, exuding effortless charm as always, but he knew better. He braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Good job, son.”

For a moment, it almost sounded… honest, proud. But then, just as predictably as the sun rising, he leaned in ever so slightly, voice lowering so only Bucky could hear the next part. “You managed not to ruin it.”

Bucky's jaw ticked. But he exhaled slowly through his nose, keeping his expression neutral.

George straightened, turning back to the small group with a practiced smile. “Gentlemen, if you don’t oppose, I’d like to steal my son for a moment.” The group murmured their good-natured agreements, stepping aside as the older man clapped a hand on Bucky’s shoulder again, making his muscles coil with irritation.

"What are you doing here?" Bucky asked, words laced with aggression but softened enough to avoid drawing attention.

His father’s smile didn’t falter as he tilted his head slightly. "It's a corporate party. Why wouldn’t I be here?"

Bucky’s brow furrowed, and his tone grew colder. "Because it's three states away, and you have no business here."

George chuckled lightly, as if this conversation was little more than a minor inconvenience. "Oh, but you are wrong, I do have business here. I have shares in Prescot & Co. Surprised?"

"In the bare minimum," Bucky replied with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He took a flute of champagne from a passing waitress, keeping his expression carefully neutral, tightening his grip around the delicate glass as his eyes remained fixed on his father.

George’s lips quirked into something like a smirk, clearly unfazed by the tension. "I know I gave you the industrial input branch to play with, James. And you’ve been doing a decent job. But it’s never bad to be aware of what’s going on there."

Bucky’s gaze flickered momentarily to the crowd around them, trying to gauge how much of this was being overheard. He wasn’t sure if his father’s presence here was meant to make some kind of point or just another round of his usual subtle power moves. Either way, he hated the feeling that his every step was being watched and scrutinized.

"Well, I’m doing just fine without your input," Bucky said, taking a sip of his champagne, trying to sound controlled.

His father’s eyes never left him, and the faintest smirk played on his lips. "Hm, and speaking of knowing what’s going on the firm..." George drawled, glancing toward the bar where she sat. "When were you going to tell me about this?" he asked, with a casual tone but loaded with implication.

Bucky’s body went rigid at the mention of her. His eyes shot toward her, but he quickly masked the tension creeping through his body. "What is it to tell?" he shot back, trying to downplay the situation.

George sighed, like he was explaining something to a child. "Some little birds keep me informed about your affairs on the firm, son. And they’ve been signing songs about you two for years now." His gaze flickered over to her, still perched at the bar, before he looked back at his son with a smug expression.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. He could feel the familiar sting of being patronized, and it fueled his growing irritation. He leaned in slightly, keeping his voice calm but laced with the growing sharpness of his frustration. "It’s all bullshit, Dad. Maybe you’ll need to pick better your little spies." He hated the insinuations, the familiar condescension that George always slipped into conversations like these. The man always had a way of making his son feel small, of making everything seem like some petty game.

George didn’t flinch. His smirk only deepened. “Oh, I know about your escapades, James. Those bimbos you dated, the ones you dared to bring home. That last one, Mandy, or Marney...” he waved a hand. “But always, always, the songs about you and that ‘secretary’ of yours remained.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but he fought to keep his composure. “Jesus, Dad. It’s my fucking secretary. At this level, it’s like having a work-wife. We never asked or told you anything about Esther in what, forty years working with her?” his voice was tight, defensive.

The old man quirked a brow, looking almost amused. “Exactly.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “I’ve been fucking Esther on my desk for the last thirty of those forty years, and no one had said a word or suspected anything. Why? Because I have brains, son.” His expression hardened. “It seems I keep overestimating you, thinking you could mask an office affair as it should be.”

Bucky’s stomach twisted.

“You don’t know shit about me,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

His father smiled. “I know more than you think.”

Bucky let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Then you’d know that if we were a thing, I wouldn’t hide her,” he stated in a low but firm tone. “I’d parade her at every opportunity, make damn sure everyone knew she was mine.” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, more like a warning. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll surprise you one day.”

George scoffed. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d be the talk-”

Bucky cut him off with a sharp smile. “Your last name would be the talk. And that’s what concerns you, isn’t it, Father?” His voice was smooth, but there was steel beneath it. “But since you know me so well, you already know that I couldn’t care less about the tabloids, your social circle, and, lastly, your opinion on this matter.”

His father’s expression flickered, and something dark flashed in his eyes, but Bucky didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, he drew on that well-practiced smile, the kind that could fool any onlooker into thinking this was just a polite conversation between father and son. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode into the crowd, leaving George standing alone in the wake of his words.

----

As she nursed her drink at the bar, she became aware of someone approaching. A tall man with a confident, almost cocky stance settled beside her.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, flagging down the bartender without even glancing at her.

She turned slightly, taking in the sharp suit, the perfectly styled blond hair, the smug air about him. John Walker. She recognized him from a few previous company functions, one of George Barnes’s people. He wasn’t part of Bucky’s branch of the company, but he had enough pull to be a nuisance when he wanted to be.

“Well, here I am,” she replied coolly, lifting her glass to her lips.

John smirked. “Must be nice. Traveling in style, all expenses paid…” His gaze flicked briefly to her dress, then the Prada bag she’d set down by her feet. “Guess it pays to be the boss’s favorite.”

Before she could respond, another voice cut in.

“There you are.”

Bucky.

His presence was commanding. He stepped between them, close enough that John had to shift back, barely masking his irritation. Bucky didn’t acknowledge him, his eyes were only on her.

“I need you to reschedule the Montgomery call for next week, now.” he said smoothly, the words rolling off his tongue easily. A perfect excuse, a simple reason to pull her away.

She blinked, catching on quickly. “Of course, boss.”

John chuckled, shaking his head. “Damn, Barnes. You really don’t let her out of your sight, huh?” He took a slow sip of his drink, then added, “You should loosen the leash a little.”

Bucky went still.

It was subtle, the tic on his jaw, the way his fingers curled slightly at his sides but she could feel the shift in the air.

John had no idea how close he was to getting his teeth knocked in.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing a little smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny. I was just thinking about tightening yours.” His voice was deceptively light, but there was no mistaking the threat beneath it.

John’s smirk faltered, but before he could respond, Bucky turned to her and offered his elbow. “Walk with me.”

She didn’t hesitate.

He barely spared Walker another glance as he guided her toward one of the balcony doors. The noise of the party dulled as they stepped outside, and the cool night air contrasted with the heat simmering beneath his skin.

"What did he tell you?" His voice was low and measured, but she knew better. He was seething.

She let out a small sigh. "Ah, just some silly banter we usually have," she tried to deflect, stepping closer to the railing.

Bucky stayed near, and his gaze flicked to hers. “Which consists of…?” he pressed, his voice quieter now but no less sharp.

She sighed, realizing there was no way he was going to let it go. “God, Bucky, it’s just stupid.”

“If it’s stupid, you can tell me.” He pushed.

She hesitated, but under the weight of his stare, she relented. “Some stupid thing about being the boss’s favorite.”

Bucky raked a hand through his hair, and the muscle in his jaw ticked again. "That fucking bastard," he muttered. He started to turn back toward the party, and she recognized the intent in his posture. He was going to find Walker and probably, without subtlety, give him a piece of his mind.

She reached out instinctively, wrapping her fingers around his inner elbow. "Don’t you dare cause a scene over some juvenile taunt."

"He disrespected you," Bucky bit out with restrained anger.

She exhaled, trying for humor. "Did he lie? Am I not your favorite employee?"

Bucky’s scowl deepened. “You know what he meant by that.”

She smiled a little. "I do. But I just don’t care, Bucky." Her fingers lightly curled against his arm. "I know who I am and the place I occupy. John Walker’s opinions are not relevant to me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable. "The place you occupy?"

“Yes. As your secretary, as a friend.” She said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the simplest truth. “You and I both know there’s nothing between us. It’s just so stupid. He’s seen the women you associate with; how could he even presume-”

Bucky’s chest did something stupid. He wasn’t sure what, only that it felt tight and hot and made him irrationally irritated. “What kind of women?”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh, come on, Bucky. The Vogue cover type.”

Bucky stared at her. “The Vogue cover type?” he echoed, like he was tasting the words and finding them bitter.

She let out a small laugh. “You know what I mean. The ones with the perfect hair, the designer wardrobes, the endless legs-” She gestured vaguely, like that explained everything. “The ones people expect a man like you to be with.”

Bucky scoffed. “A man like me?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re rich, successful, powerful, and on top of that, handsome. It’s not exactly shocking that you’d go for-”

Bucky let out a sharp breath. “For what?” he interrupted, voice edged with something dangerously close to frustration. “A goddamn mannequin?”

She blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Bucky, that’s the only kind of woman I’ve ever seen enter or exit your office in ten years. The only kind you arrange dates with. The only kind you send flowers to,” she pointed out, her tone laced with incredulity. “Did you never notice a pattern in your partners?”

He said nothing. Because she wasn’t wrong.

He couldn't deny it. Couldn’t, because that was the kind of woman that always approached him. The kind of woman that fit neatly into the world he operated in. The kind of woman he was expected to have perched on his arm. The kind of woman who made sense.

And the kind of woman who was so different from her.

Because he couldn’t dare to be with someone who even resembled her. To be what? A cheap replacement for the luscious body and sharp tongue he really wanted in his bed? No. That would’ve been pathetic. Even for him.

And maybe he was delusional, but he could’ve sworn there was something there, an edge in her voice when she spoke about his so-called type, as if she had already decided for the both of them that they could never be a thing.

And God, he was tired.

So tired of this stupid dance that had lasted years of what-ifs, blurred lines, untold truths, and all the office gossip that never seemed to die.

His patience snapped.

“What, do you think it’s so impossible for us to be something more?”

She froze, and her eyes widened with surprise. “Well, I never perceived anything resembling -um- interest from you,” she stammered.

Bucky let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Do you think I would let anyone touch me the way you do if I didn’t feel something?”

She went speechless for a second, parting her lips, scrambling for an answer. “Well, maybe-”

“No,” he cut her off, low and heated. “And you know it. Tell me one person you’ve seen me with who has that level of intimacy with me. One person who can approach me, who can touch me, who can nurse me like a fucking child and I let them.” His chest rose and fell with the force of his words, the frustration thick in every syllable. “You won’t find anyone.”

Because there was no one else. Only her.

Bucky moved in, crowding her against the cool balcony railing, his body was a wall of heat and tension. His hands weren’t on her -yet- but he was close enough that she could feel his breath, the scent of his cologne mixed with champagne, wrapping around her like a slow burn.

His voice was low, almost rough. “The question here is… do you feel anything else besides ‘friendly’ empathy when you touch me?” His blue eyes were searching, desperate for something he wasn’t sure she could give. “Have you ever wanted this to be something more?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

His jaw flexed, and his fingers curled into fists at his sides like he was barely holding himself back. “Am I the only one who thinks that- fuck.” His head dipped for half a second, as if frustrated with himself, before he looked at her again, with a dark, unreadable gaze. “The only one of us that feels like us could be a thing?”

His words were a shock to her system, leaving the air thick, charged between them. His hands found the railing on either side of her body, bracketing her in without touching her.

And she was also tired, so goddamn tired.

Tired of pretending.

Tired of thinking about what was proper.

Tired of believing she could be nothing more to him than his dutiful secretary.

Tired of swimming through dates and relationships that, even with effort, never felt fulfilling.

She looked up at him, the man she had spent endless hours working for, hours that seemed to pass in a blink. The man marked by scars, both physical and psychological. The ruthless wolf who ruled a company he never truly wanted, yet refused to let go of. The man who, in the deepest corner of his mind -even if he never admitted it- wanted to be seen by his father.

The man she had learned to read so many years ago, whose moods, silences, and tells she knew by heart.

The man she couldn’t stop caring for because no one else did. Not even himself.

The man she was in love with.

And she couldn’t deny him.

"You are not the only one who feels all of those things," she heard herself say, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

She averted her gaze quickly, suddenly aware of the distant noise of voices and clinking glasses behind them. But before she could step away, he leaned in, still caging her against the balcony railing.

Bucky turned his head slightly, scanning their surroundings. There was no one. And fuck if he cared if there was.

His intense gaze snapped back to hers. "Do you mean it?" His voice was low, almost rough. Then, after a beat, he exhaled sharply and took a fraction of a step back, and his hands ghosted over her arms as if forcing himself to give her space. "Aren’t you feeling pressured right now? By my position? By our… dynamic?"

She scoffed, shaking her head, "You know me well enough to know I don’t let myself be pressured. I think my first week under you made that clear."

A dry chuckle left his lips. "God. You dared to lecture me about not being a servant just for asking for a coffee."

Her lips parted in disbelief. "Oh, don’t you dare play the victim here," she shot back, jabbing a finger lightly against his chest. "You barked at me to walk eight blocks in those fucking heels just because you wanted that petroleum filth they called gourmet espresso. You had five excellent coffee shops between here and there, but no, you had to have that one, which charged you double for dirty water."

Bucky let out a low, amused hum, catching her hand before she could retreat. His grip was firm but soft, and his thumb glided absentmindedly over her knuckles. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back up.

"I thought of firing you on the spot," he admitted, almost reflectively.

Her brows lifted. "Oh, how gracious of you not to."

His smirk deepened. And then, slowly, deliberately, he lifted his other hand, tracing the curve of her cheekbone with the rough pad of his thumb.

"But then I realized," he murmured, tilting his head, "I got so fucking turned on when you didn’t cower and spoke your mind."

Her breath caught as his fingers slid back, cupping lightly the base of her neck.

"It’s so goddamn rare," he continued, dipping his voice into something huskier, "to find someone in these circles who actually says what they mean. Who doesn’t just… bend."

His grip tightened at the back of her head, and his fingers fisted in her hair, undoing part of her hairstyle as he tugged just enough to tilt her face up toward his. His pupils were blown wide, dark and consuming, the pale blue of his irises nearly swallowed by the heat behind them.

"But I'd be lying," he murmured, as his breath brushed against her lips, "if I said I haven’t thought about bending you in other… more pleasurable ways."

A tingle ran down her spine, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. The heat rushed to her face, completely unaccustomed to this side of him, this raw, unveiled hunger. The daily life they shared, the comfort they had built over years of working side by side, had nothing to do with the way he looked at her now.

Like a predator.

A handsome, fucked-up predator, ready to consume her whole.

And she was going to let him.

Far in the back of her mind, the worries of what this would mean, of the implications of crossing this line, of the scandal and gossip if anyone found them like this, all of it faded into irrelevance. The only thing that mattered was the way his fingers tightened in her hair, the way his body crowded hers against the railing, and the way his gaze locked her in place like she was something he had no intention of letting slip through his fingers.

She tried to feign a little nonchalance. "Is this your pickup line for fancy cocktail parties? Telling a lady you want to bend her?"

His low chuckle rumbled against her, his amusement laced with something far more dangerous. He didn’t pull away when she tried to call him out. No, he attacked.

"Oh, I think this lady enjoyed it very much," he murmured, brushing the shell of her ear with his lips, his voice thick with satisfaction. "The way she squirms under my gaze tells me everything I need to know."

The warmth of his breath made her shiver as his manicured stubble grazed her cheek, rough against the softness of her skin. Strands of his loosened hair tickled under her chin as he slowly turned his face, skimming his lips over hers, just the ghost of a touch, but it set her entire body on fire. Without thinking, she pressed the softest peck to the corner of his mouth.

And that was all it took.

He let go.

To hell with the party. To hell with his father, the endless charade of appearances, and whoever might walk through those balcony doors.

His other hand fisted the fabric at her lower back, yanking her against him as his lips crashed onto hers. It wasn’t gentle. It was a claim, deep, possessive, and unrelenting. His expensive suit wrinkled under her desperate grasp as her fingers clawed at his lapels.

Her purse tumbled from her shoulder, hitting the ground with a dull thud, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when Bucky was pressing her against the railing, caging her in, one large hand tightening its grip on her hair to hold her exactly where he wanted.

He kissed her like he was trying to ruin her for anyone else. Like he was sealing something between them, something untold but inevitable. His tongue parted her lips and swallowed the soft gasp that escaped her own.

Her knees weakened, but he was there, securing his grip as if daring gravity to try and take her from him. A deep, satisfied groan vibrated against her mouth as she arched into him, digging her nails into his shoulders.

Without even thinking, he pressed a thick thigh between hers, forcing a sharp gasp from her lips.

Bucky felt it, her body’s reaction, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers tightened their hold on him. His grip on her waist grew firmer, his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress as if he wanted to imprint himself on her, to make sure she felt him everywhere.

"That’s it, doll," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, his lips barely leaving hers as he spoke. "I can feel how much you want this."

His thigh flexed, pressing up against her just right, and she bit down a whimper, tilting back her head against the railing. Bucky took advantage, latching his mouth onto her exposed throat, scraping over the delicate skin with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue.

Her hands fisted his suit, wrinkling the pristine fabric even further, but he couldn’t care less. Not when she was trembling against him, not when she was letting him take control, letting him push, pull, and claim in ways neither of them had dared to acknowledge before tonight.

His breath was uneven when he pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his pupils blown wide, hunger and something far more dangerous swirling in that stormy blue. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he growled, his grip constricting on her waist as if he might just drag her away.

For a moment, she teetered on the edge of saying yes, of letting him whisk her away and finish what they started. But then reality seeped in: the clinking of glasses, the sound of conversation just beyond the balcony doors, the weight of eyes that could turn at any moment.

She swallowed hard, forcing her hands to press against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath the expensive fabric of his shirt. “We… we can’t.”

“Like hell we don’t,” he countered, as he dragged his thigh between hers again. The friction made her bite her lip, shifting her hips instinctively toward him, betraying her resolve.

“Don’t be a brat,” she murmured. “You’re here to make connections, to pretend you give a damn about these people. Not to mention your father’s just waiting for you to slip.”

“I don’t give a fuck-”

“Bucky.” She exhaled, calming herself. “This is good for you. A couple of hours, and then we can go.”

His exhalation was sharp, and his grip faltered for just a second before his forehead came to rest against hers. He felt dejected. She let her fingers trail down his lapels, smoothing out the wrinkles she had put there.

“Honey,” she murmured, softer now, “I want this as much as you do.”

His lips parted, ready to argue, but she pressed a finger to them, shaking her head. “No. You told me you wanted me on this trip as a buffer, to help figure out who you can be a dick to and who you can’t.”

A muscle in his jaw ticked. “Maybe I just wanted you close.”

Her heart stuttered, but she didn’t let herself dwell on it. Instead, she dragged her hands down his arms, squeezing his wrists before stepping back just enough to force some distance. “Shush. I’m doing what I’m supposed to.” She smirked, playful now, tilting her head. “Don’t be stubborn. Be a good boy and talk to those people. We have plenty of time for ourselves once this ends.”

His nostrils flared, and for a second, she thought he might argue. But then, with one last lingering touch along her waist, he huffed a quiet curse and pulled away.

She was right. He knew she was right. But seeing her all disheveled against the railing, lips swollen from his kisses, breath coming in uneven little gasps, none of it helped his restraint.

Which was exactly why, instead of stepping back into the party like a man with self-control, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her toward a darker corner of the balcony.

“Bucky! What-”

She barely had time to protest before her back met the cool stone wall, and his body caged hers in, shielding her from view.

“I’m being a good boy,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with amusement. “You failed to perceive how you -and probably I- look right now.” His fingers brushed the curve of her cheek, tilting her chin up, and his eyes swept over her face and down her neck, to where her dress was slightly askew from his hands. “We can’t walk back in there looking like two horny teenagers who made out while the adults were talking,” he said, ghosting his lips over her temple, in a teasing but firm tone.

She swallowed, barely suppressing a shiver as his hands roamed her body, smoothing over the wrinkles in her dress and fixing his own tie with a frustrated sigh.

“And whose fault is that?” she muttered, smoothing out the lapels of his suit jacket before reaching lower to straighten the part of his shirt that had somehow come untucked during their little ordeal.

Bucky chuckled, watching her fuss over him with narrowed eyes. “Don’t you dare throw this on me when we both know you were pretty damn excited a minute ago,” he teased.

Her hands stilled, lips parting in protest, only to be cut off by a sharp gasp as one of his hands abandoned its pretense of decorum and slid down to cup her ass, squeezing with deliberate firmness.

She yelped, smacking his chest, but his smirk only widened.

“Now stop being so bossy and help us look mildly demure,” he murmured, all mock innocence, though the way his hand rubbed slowly at her rear said otherwise.

She huffed, rolling her eyes as she batted his hand away, not that it did much, considering he was still crowding her against the wall like he had every intention of misbehaving again, and his scent clung to her like a second skin.

“Demure? After what you just pulled?” she scoffed, attempting to smooth out the wrinkles on her dress. “The nerve you have,” she muttered, running her fingers through her hair, trying futilely to regain some composure.

Bucky chuckled, slow and smug, brushing a thumb across his lower lip as he watched her. “And yet, you let me and enjoyed it. And… you’re still here,” he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

She exhaled, somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “For now.”

His eyes darkened, and his amusement flickered into something deeper as he leaned in, fanning his warm breath against her temple. “For good.”

Taglist: @civilbucky

Dividers by:@/cafekitsune

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #4bbingo #grem's 20 questions #CEO! Bucky Barnes

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suksatoru · 4 days ago

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sae itoshi in calvin klein boxers should be illegal.

normally, your boyfriend doesn't do photoshoots. he found the whole concept of posing in front of a camera for hours exhausting and pointless for his soccer career—why should he sit and do inherently nothing when he could be perfecting his soccer skills? working out? analyzing matches? anything else?

but, when his sweet girlfriend's photography internship happens to be at the same place his manager had received an offer for an exclusive shoot, sae decides he'll agree to be a model for them just this once, but only if you were one of the people taking his pictures.

after turning down some of the world's most luxurious brands simply out of spite, calvin klein was quick to agree to sae's terms and conditions without a second thought. maybe you were an old friend he was doing a favor for—no one really suspected you two were dating, but that was only because you two had decided to keep your relationship under wraps.

you're fiddling with your camera's settings as one of the other photographers describes what the photoshoot would mainly entail to sae—the man's pen taps against his clipboard as he tells sae what pieces he'd be promoting and what poses he should expect, and sae nods along wordlessly as everyone around you buzzes with excitement. it was rare for sae to accept brand deals, forget the ones that weren't even sports-related—so the photographers you'd be working with were exceptionally surprised, and it seemed like the whole room was buzzing with excitement.

sae was undeniably handsome. it didn't help that he was stupidly photogenic, too, meaning every pose he did was effortlessly irresistible—but, in turn, it meant every picture you got was perfection incarnate. subtly, from time to time, he'd shift his pose to be better directed towards your camera specifically, and you took every shot with a smile on your face.

after the summer line was done, it was time for calvin klein's classic boxers to be worn.

sae looked, in simple terms, drop-dead gorgeous. every contour of his body and muscles was highlighted and even further pronounced by the studio's lighting—and your boyfriend can practically feel the giddiness radiating off of you as you take a number of candid shots while everyone around you bustles to adjust the lights and camera positions around the room before they start shooting again.

"you know, my contract for this photoshoot didn't say anything about candid shots," sae muses, stopping in front of you with one hand perched on his hip and a raised brow, but the only response he gets from you is a cheeky grin.

click.

"mr. itoshi—i think they're ready for you now," you say sweetly, and sae looks over his shoulder before noticing the head photographer waving him over. he huffs, shaking his head and turning around to give you a look that says, 'i'll deal with you later.' it was a playful glance, one reserved only for you, and even as he's walking away—you take a picture of his back because holy shit, this studio's lighting made your boyfriend's build look like that of a greek god.

after a snack break and another forty-five minutes, the photoshoot concluded with twelve decided pictures of sae that would be released to the public for their campaign. a good portion of them were taken by you, and you were happy for the recognition and appreciation.

"that's a wrap! everyone say thank you to mr. itoshi for accepting our studio's offer!"

after a chorus of thank you's for your boyfriend and a few more words spoken with the director, he's ready to head home. sae had changed back into his own clothes by now, and while the people around you are getting ready to head out, sae approaches you while you finish up packing away your camera.

"good day?" he questions with a hum, and you peer up immediately at the sound of his voice. for a moment you don't respond, glancing around you to make sure no one was looking before you reach up and place a gentle peck onto his lips.

"the best! this photoshoot's my biggest project yet. thank you for coming, sae. really." you smile warmly, slinging your camera bag over your shoulder as his eyes soften.

"come on, we're going home together."

you're out of the building in no time and back in sae's car before you know it. currently, you're curled up in the passenger seat beside him, flicking through all the shots you'd taken of him today.

"you're so handsome..." you murmur mindlessly, squinting your eyes as you connect your camera to your portable printer, patiently allowing it to print out the images for you as sae huffs.

"i'm well aware; you tell me every chance you get." he sighs, and you laugh under your breath, not really responding besides that as you continue looking through the images.

you were really happy when sae accepted the photoshoot offer—actually, you'd tackled him with quite the hug after you found out. he liked this side of you, the one that was so unconditionally happy just doing your thing. photography was a constant in your life—sae knows this. your instagram, private with no followers besides his own personal account, is a treasure. every memory and every moment in time is photographed by you. your posts made even the most mundane things look ethereal.

most of your pictures consisted of either sae, the sea, or some sort of moment from one of his games. you were sae's biggest supporter, and looking over at you in the passenger seat beside him—he can't help but stare. you look so cute smiling at his pictures like that, and the gentle breeze that comes from the open window of his car has your hair flowing around you like waves.

"y/n," he starts, and you hum in response.

sae doesn't say anything else. he merely pulls over his car onto the side of the road, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out as you tilt your head in confusion. he walks around to your side of the car and opens the door for you.

"see that sunset?" he questions unceremoniously while pointing towards the beach across the road—you nod slowly, still terribly puzzled.

"teach me how to take a picture. i want to take one of you this time."

sae watches the gears turn in your head, and he knows he made the right decision asking you once your entire face lights up with the most beautiful smile he's ever seen.

"really?! you mean it? oh my gosh, this really is the best day ever! let's go, let's go! the sun's in the perfect position right now for taking a shot!"

sae listens intently to your instructions as you two lounge on the sand. you're explaining the main functions he'll need to use in order to take a picture, and he nods along, hoping he remembers all your words once it's time to take your picture.

"how about we practice first? here, try and take a shot of the sea right now, and let's see how you do!"

sae nods with a quiet hum, carefully taking the camera from you.

hold the camera steady, aim at the subject, make sure it's in focus, and then press the shutter button.

he stays completely still as he holds the camera, and your heart positively swoons watching sae. he looks adorable with his lips pressed together in concentration as he tries to take the perfect picture. you hear the familiar click of your camera and immediately scoot over beside him to look at it.

"oh wow, this is perfect! hey, are you trying to steal my job or something?!" you accuse, and to your surprise, sae laughs.

he's only ever known soccer—sae can't get the words out, but he hopes you can understand how much he appreciates you for being the one to show him new things in life he never had the chance to explore before.

"maybe i am. what then? now, you sit back, cariño. it's my turn."

sae has you splayed out on the sand, and he'd gathered a few seashells to arrange around your head like a halo. you're laughter is infectious, and he finds himself dipping down to give you a kiss every chance he gets.

soon enough, sae's hovering over you—focused and snapping picture after picture, moment after moment, and he can't remember a time in his life where he's ever felt this happy and soft. you smile for him, and despite having taken at least a dozen shots already, he wants to take more.

he'll print these photos of you, no doubt. he'll put them in his wallet, he'll make them his phone's wallpaper, he'll engrave them into his mind if he must—this moment was just that special to him.

well, maybe it wasn't the moment. it was more so your smile and the look in your eyes when you looked at sae.

"beautiful. you're beautiful. i love you so much, cariño.

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chugging-antiseptic-dye · 4 months ago

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when ateez cooks for you 🍝:

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paper-lilypie · 1 year ago

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this guy and walls, geez

#he likes putting you between a rock and a hard place (himself and a wall)#silly guy likes staring uninterrupted give him a sec. or 20 minutes #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #moon x reader #post fire au #art: copper cogs rusted through #fanart

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humanjarvis · 1 month ago

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thinking about josephine trying to cook for child mc and caleb in the early days after their adoption. not expecting any pushback, she tells them what they’re having for dinner. mc’s a picky eater, but she’s too scared and shy to voice any complaints. that’s when caleb swoops in. he knows she can’t eat certain things—her grimaces at mealtime and barely touched plates in ever’s lab had told him as much. so he takes matters into his own hands. “we won’t eat that,” he says, young voice firm with resolve. “she doesn’t like it.”

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stellamarielu · 1 month ago

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did anyone order jack abbot eating it from behind??

jack is typically a soft lover— dominant yet careful. even when he’s rough, there’s still an ounce of gentle deliberation in his actions. but sometimes he’s all pent up from a long week at work, and he gets all needy and impatient.

after days of barely seeing you— his shifts running late, and you having a lot on your plate— he finally has you all to himself. you’re cooking dinner together in his kitchen on your shared day off, and he can barely keep his hands to himself.

he tried his best not to pounce on you the minute you walked into his house, giving you nearly an hour of innocent conversation and sarcastic remarks, only paying a few playful smacks to your ass as you worked together to prep the meal. but as soon as you were leaning over the countertop, attention on the cutting board beneath your fingertips, he wasted no time pulling your body flush against his, his very obvious erection pressing against the flesh of your backside.

he leans in— not even bothering to whisper as he confesses how badly he wants you in the wide open space of his kitchen.

“wanna fuck you right here.” his voice is low and rough as his hands grab harder at your waist.

“could just bend you over the counter while you keep cooking,” you’re trying to focus on the task at hand, but jack’s presence behind you is becoming increasingly harder to ignore.

“see how long you can keep your composure until you have to stop because you can’t fucking see straight.” his words have an edge to them— almost threatening.

you weakly try to pry his hands off your hips, but instead your weight melts back into him, the affect of his words making your body betray your mind.

you need to finish cooking; there’s food on the stove, ready to burn if you get too distracted.

“jack…” his name leaves your lips in a quiet warning, meanwhile you’re leaning further into his touch, your body giving into his words of desire.

“we should eat first.” your eyes flutter shut as his hands run up and down your sides. the final attempt to ward off his advances leaves your lips to no avail.

“you’re right.”

he drops to his knees like a dog following a command. pushing up the little sundress you wore just for him, and yanking your panties down. it almost startles you how impulsively he pushes his face into you, his tongue instantly sliding between your folds.

you instinctively raise up on your toes, leaning forward against the counter, and throwing all previous apprehension to the back of your mind as soon as you feel his mouth on your cunt.

his hands grab at your ass, kneading it in his palms and spreading you open, giving him more access to eat.

and eat he does; licking, and sucking, and fucking you with his tongue like he’s desperate for your release. groaning into you when he hears your breathless pants and whines from above.

oh he’ll eat first alright, and this is only the first course.

#wrote this in like 20 minutes #just felt the need to write a smutty jack abbot drabble #sorry it’s not proofread #that’s just what you’re getting from me these days #jack abbot #the pitt #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot smut #stellamarie chats! abbot

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skyrigel · 6 months ago

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Y/n: Do you wanna come see a movie ?

Ghost: No.

Y/n: why ?

Ghost: Can't let the gang know I like you.

Y/n: ...

*shoves wedding ring in his face while stranddling his lap*

Y/n: We've been married for two years !

Masterlist

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saturnzlv · 5 months ago

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all i really want is you

— parings: todoroki touya x reader

— notes: mature language

— synopsis: a random collection of texts from childhood best friends to lovers

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written-in-knife · 3 months ago

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Dressing for the Cloudcall

Leona Kingscholar x fem!Reader, pre-relationship

Word count: 4680 (dialogue heavy to start, stick with it, I find a rhythm in there somewhere)

Category: one-shot, fluff, angst if you squint really really hard

Leona's family is sneaky and knows him very well, and you get roped into some Cloudcalling dress up. And maybe Leona is into that.

I loved Cloudcalling on the Savanna but I was a little disappointed we didn’t get even a hinted outfit, and this idea has been bouncing around in my little walnut brain for MONTHS and it finally spilled out in the span of like two hours. Tried to keep Yuu ambiguous, female, hair long enough to braid and put into a bun, and she’s shorter than Falena’s wife. Your Yuu is six feet tall? Cool, Falena’s wife is taller 👏AS👏SHE👏SHOULD👏BE. Reading back, I think I have a crush on my own version of Falena’s wife, as I should. I just imagined the most beautiful woman I could.

Kifaji had to step away to take a phone call while everyone was checking out the food stalls and Leona almost looked grateful to see his back disappearing into the crowd as he handed you one of the baobab hibiscus teas. You thanked him quietly before sipping on the drink, as refreshing as promised. Grim was just about to pull everyone over to a meat vendor-- surprise surprise-- when Kifaji returned, a sly looking smile on his face.

"What's got you so happy, ya old bird?" Leona huffed as Grim drooled over the meat.

"My apologies, but I need to borrow Miss Yuu for awhile." Kifaji said simply, turning his ominous smile to you.

"What for?" Leona practically growled, putting a hand on your shoulder before you could even think to step away from the group.

"On such short notice, we could not procure an outfit for her." Kifaji explained, folding his hands behind his back. "I, however, did not want her to feel left out, so I made arrangements which are now ready. I will return her at your next destination."

"It's fine, Leona." You tried to assure him, patting his hand gently. "I do feel a little left out of the fun."

Leona clicked his tongue in annoyance before releasing your shoulder and crossing his arms.

"We're headed to Ivory Springs after this. Do not be late." He directed the command at Kifaji rather than you.

"B-But, Yuu look at this! And these!" Grim was actually drooling over the meat in the stall, turning back to you with tears in his eyes that practically begged you to let him stay.

You sighed heavily and shook your head. "Vil, can you keep Grim out of trouble for me? I won't be long."

"Of course." Vil nodded, glancing down at the direbeast as he cheered and danced around in a little circle. "I'll try my best to not let him eat through Leona's entire fortune."

"Good enough for me." You chuckled before turning to Kifaji, who smiled again and held an arm out for you to lead the way out of the markets.

You walked side by side with Kifaji to the entrance of the market, only for him to place a hand on your upper back to direct you towards a waiting black car just up the street. As you approached, a beastwoman in full guard regalia opened the back door for you to enter. You thanked her quietly before stepping into the blissfully air conditioned car, Kifaji getting in on the other side.

"It's not that far to the hotel," you chuckled as the driver reentered the car, "and I'm not as prone to heatstroke as Jack is."

"Oh, we aren't going to the hotel." Kifaji said, as if just remembering he "forgot" to tell you about it.

"Oh?"

There was a minute of silence as he didn't answer your unspoken question. A few turns through the city, he broke it, turning to you with a pleasant smile.

"Tell me, Yuu, what is the nature of your relationship with Prince Leona?"

You were shocked for a moment at the bluntness of the question. "Is this because I'm the only girl? Because I can assure you, we're all friends--"

"My apologies, that isn't what I meant." He cut you off with a small chuckle and a lift of his hand. "If you'd humor me?"

"I mean... we're friends? Friendly, at least." You explained, wringing your hands in your lap. "He's helped me out of a few tough spots, I've helped him. We hang out on occasion. He's nice, I dunno." You wouldn't dare say it out loud, especially to the chamberlain, but you sometimes secretly wished there was more there.

He gave you a warm smile, much like a father would give to a daughter talking about her crush. "I see. As you well know, I've seen to Leona since the day he was born, and I haven't seen him so... protective of someone since... well, ever. That boy has never exactly been friendly, let alone "nice" to just about anyone since his mother passed. It's refreshing to see."

You could feel your face getting hotter with each word the chamberlain said. You desperately wanted the subject to change. "S-So, if we aren't going to the hotel, where are we going?"

"The Royal Palace." Kifaji said casually, as if you were on your way to some unnamed park.

"What?! Why?"

"As I said, I made arrangements for your outfit. You need to look the part to represent your team!" He said, another sly smile on his face as he pumped his fist in front of him in an imitation cheer. "And, I regret to say, you stick out like a sore thumb among those boys."

"But-- I-I thought-- we--"

"And here we are. A short drive, is it not? The walk would have been significantly longer."

You looked out the window at the palace, a grand stone building at the top of the hill. It almost looked as if it were carved out of the rock itself. You were startled out of your thoughts as the driver opened your door for you again, the chamberlain outside waiting to give you a hand out. You thanked them both as you took the offered hand and stepped out, following Kifaji closely as he walked.

"So, uh... just pop in, change clothes, and head back down to the market, yeah?" You asked nervously as you glanced at the guards you passed by, feeling eyes on your back.

"Just so." Kifaji assured you, another sly smile as he stopped at a large set of doors already opened, swinging a hand out for you to go first.

You weren't sure what was about to happen. Maybe you'd be thrown in a dungeon for fraternizing with their prince, or maybe they meant to keep you here until Leona himself came to find you, or--

"There she is!" A booming and excited voice came from across the room as you entered, startling you to turn and look.

A mound of long ginger hair twisted into braids was running up to greet you, perched atop a muscle-bound mountain of a man. He was dressed similarly to Leona, but wearing white instead of black, still adorned in gold, an enormous smile on his face. The guards at the door stood at attention as he got to your side of the room, clasping your hand quickly in a firm and enthusiastic handshake.

"You must be the girl Kifaji told me so much about!" He beamed at you, reminding you so much of Kalim in this moment. Wait.

"So much?" You parroted, looking at Kifaji, who simply shrugged.

"Oh, you must tell me how you got Leona to be so... docile? That isn't the right word. He listens to you?! Insane!" The man rambled, still holding onto your hand. "You must tell me everything!"

"Falena, you'll scare the poor girl." Another voice rang out from the other side of the room.

The man, Falena, finally released your hand and turned to see the woman walking towards you. She was elegant and gorgeous and so poised, dressed in similar colors and patterns to her husband, also adorned in gold. You suddenly felt very intimidated as you finally realized just where you were standing.

"Oh, but my love," Falena sighed, still smiling, "think of everything we could learn! What's Leona like at school, anyhow?"

"H-He, uh..." you hesitated as the woman joined her husband’s side. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell them exactly how he was, and it wasn't a good idea to lie. Rock and a hard place. "He's certainly there."

Falena let out a booming laugh at this, his wife joining in with a laugh that sounded like bells in the large chamber.

"We know of Leona's troubles at school." She assured you, holding out a hand to shake. "I am Shani, and I'm sure my husband, Falena, did not introduce himself before launching into his questioning."

"I'm Yuu," you said, gently grabbing her hand and shaking it, "a pleasure."

"Likewise." She smiled warmly at you as you both retracted your hands. "Kifaji has asked me to dress you for the occasion."

"The festival?"

"Leona brought a girl home!" Falena cut in, the smile surely cemented on his face at this point. "A sign things are turning around for my little brother, to be sure!"

"O-Oh! No, wait, I'm--" You practically choked on your words trying to get them out fast enough, feeling your face burning again, "Leona and I aren't a couple!"

"I know! But everything Kifaji told us over the phone just makes it all the more interesting!" He gushed grabbing your shoulders. "Forgive me for being forward, but you smell like him! You must be together often!"

"I-I just keep watch while he naps, it's not like we--"

"Falena. You are making her nervous." Shani said sharply, trying to hide her amused smile as she swatted his hands off you and looped her arm into yours. "Come, we should get you into something else before Leona comes looking for you."

She didn't wait for a response before pulling you off towards the door she came through. You glanced back to Kifaji and Falena, seeing them both smiling at you, though Kifaji's looked nefarious. You faced forward again, looking up at the glamorous woman holding your arm, still amazed that you'd just met the crown prince and princess. Shani led you down the hall and into a large bedroom, turning quickly into a nearly equally large closet. Gorgeous outfits-- if you were to judge just based on the fabric-- lined the walls on either side, the far wall was large, open windows looking over the expanse of the savanna, and the wall behind was adorned with large mirrors. You couldn't help but be impressed as Shani practically floated across the room and picked up a dress that was already waiting on a chair and held it up for you.

"I hope you don't mind, I already picked something out for you." She explained as she approached. "Don't worry about the length, we can work with it however we need. This is going home with you."

"What? No, I couldn't." You said quickly as she deposited the dress in your hands.

"Do you see where we are right now? You absolutely can." She laughed, gesturing to the lines of clothes. "Go ahead and get changed, I'll be right outside, just let me know when you're ready."

Her nose scrunched up adorably in her excitement as she smiled even wider at your for a moment, her hands clapping under her chin once before she exited the room, closing the door behind her. Alone, you sighed at the absolute whirlwind you'd just gone through. You turned to the large mirrors on the closest wall and held the dress up to your body. It would definitely be long, but Shani was a tall woman who seemed to like wearing heels, so you weren't terribly surprised. Resigned to your fate, you began to change out of your current outfit. The dress had very thin straps, so your sports bra would have to go. Once actually in the dress, it fit remarkably well, other than the length. The thin straps spread down into a V neck and stretched to the skirt in the back, the skirt itself starting a little below the bust, similar to a halter top. You couldn't help but notice the patterns on the fabric coordinated to Leona's cloak, bright orange and black not helping the case. You folded your clothes into a neat pile in front of the mirror, honestly a little relieved how well the dress held up to movement, no risk of spilling out the sides or front when lifting your arms or bending over.

"Shani? I'm ready." You called to the door, hiking the skirt up to walk over.

She entered the room again with an excited smile, looking you up and down as you stood there.

"You are definitely shorter than me." She laughed as you let the skirt go, a few inches of fabric bundling up at your feet. "But we can fix that, easy. Ten minutes. First!" She walked over to a chest of drawers, pulling off a length of fabric she'd set on top. "Do you know how to wrap your hair? Keep it off your neck and out of your eyes."

"I do not." You shook your head prompting her to wave you off.

"I can teach you, it's very easy." She smiled, joining you at the mirror again.

She turned you to face the mirror, standing behind you and draping the fabric over your shoulders. She undid the braid your hair was always in, gently combing the knots out of your hair with her fingers.

"I always used to do this with my little sisters." She explained softly as she styled your hair to the top of your head in a large bun. "I love Cheka with all my heart and soul, but I do so hope we have a little girl some day, I miss having girls around to dress up with and do hair and everything."

"What, Cheka doesn't let you do his hair?" You smiled at her in the mirror as she began wrapping the scarf, making sure you were carefully watching her steps.

She laughed brightly. "He does! But as he gets older he may not. Plus, there isn’t exactly a ton of hair to work with, he prefers to keep it short."

"No, I get what you mean though." You said fondly. "I used to have my mom do my hair all the time, but she was always there to fix it when I eventually took it out and complained about it being in my face."

"Where are you from, by the way?"

Your face fell at the question. "It doesn't really matter. Crowley doesn't seem like he's able to send me back anyhow."

Shani looked like she was about to press further, but stopped herself. "There, all done." She said with another warm smile as she smoothed out some of the wrinkles in the turban style she'd done. "Not half bad, if I do say so myself."

"It looks great, thank you." You were smiling again, not pointing out the, again, same fabric Leona had on his scarf. Maybe it was a common pattern? You somehow doubted it.

"Now, I have a few accessories for you to tie it all together." She explained, walking over to a shelf opposite the chest of drawers. "I will have you put these on to see how they look, then you give me the dress and I will hem the bottom up for you."

"Thank you for this, Shani." You said sincerely, turning to look at her with a warm smile. "You really didn't have to go to these lengths."

"Nonsense, a friend of Leona's is a friend of ours." She assured you. "We want to make sure you enjoy your first time to the Sunset Savanna to the fullest."

Leona and the others had arrived at the palace, Leona planning to swipe a car to avoid having to take Kifaji with them. However, to his surprise, Kifaji was already outside speaking with one of the guards at the door.

"Oh for fucks sake..." Leona growled as he connected the dots.

"What?" Kalim asked, glancing over to the chamberlain. "Oh, it's Kifaji! Hey Kifaji!"

The chamberlain looked up in surprise at the call of his name, locking eyes with a furious Leona and giving him another sly smile.

"Wait here." Leona snapped at the group, not giving them a chance to protest before marching over to the door. "What the hell?!"

"Ah, Prince Leona." Kifaji said coolly as the guard stood at attention for the prince's approach. "I was under the impression you were not coming home during your visit."

"That why you brought Yuu here?" He spat. "Thought you were goin' to the hotel."

"I don't recall ever saying my arrangements were at the hotel." Kifaji said, though the infuriating smile and raise of his eyebrows suggested he knew exactly what he was up to.

Leona pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering expletives under his breath before looking back up. "Where is Yuu? We're goin'."

"She is changing, currently. You and your friends are more than welcome to wait inside, if you'd prefer."

"Yeah, ya’d like that, wouldn’t ya. Did Falena put you up to thi--"

"UNCA!"

Leona nearly instinctively side stepped the little ball of fiery orange that flung itself into his arms, grunting as the fuzzball impacted into his abdomen. Kifaji, while now safe from the verbal lashing Leona wanted to deal out, was not safe from the deadly glare that was shot his way.

“Quit clingin’ to me like that! Knock it off!” Leona snapped halfheartedly at his nephew who, undeterred by the tone, continued to beam up at him.

“I got so excited when I heard you were coming home!” The boy chirped quickly, grabbing his uncle’s hand and swinging it back and forth. “Can I hang out with you guys?”

Leona ignored the amused muttering of his schoolmates behind him as he rolled his eyes at the child’s antics.

Cheka continued, still swinging Leona’s arm around. “Mama said to be on the lookout for you! Do you wanna come play with me? We could play tag, or hide-and-seek, or--”

“Cheka.” Leona snarled, finally making the boy stop. “What was that about your mother?”

“Oh… I wasn’t supposed to tell.”

“Oh for fff…” Leona let the curse fizzle out into a loud grumble, trying to rub away the headache blooming in his temple. Of course it was Shani’s idea.

“I should go tell Mama you’re here!” Cheka said excitedly, darting off before Leona could stop him.

You slipped into the newly hemmed dress, a new length of fabric now flaring out the bottom that, once again, highly suspiciously matched the fabric of Leona's pants. Three times makes a pattern, damn if it didn't look good though. You were about to call out to Shani when you heard giggling through the door, and a boy's voice talking. You waited a moment before Shani knocked, sounding amused.

"All ready in there?" She called out.

"Yeah, ready." You called back, prompting her to enter the room.

Her smile grew ever wider as she looked at your outfit. "I've one more thing, and we need to be quick. Seems we've been found out."

There was a small gasp as Shani walked into the room, a tiny mess of ginger hair standing in the bedroom.

"I remember you!" Cheka said excitedly. "You're Unca's friend! From school!"

"I am! It's nice to see you again, Cheka!" You replied just as enthusiastically as Shani pulled one more thing off the shelf.

"It's nice to see you too! You match Unca!"

"I knew I wasn't crazy!" You nearly shouted, turning to Shani as your face burned again. She at least had the decency to look a little guilty.

"Yuu, you are a beautiful girl in an unfamiliar place." She explained, walking forward and wrapping something around your waist. "These are recognizable patterns of the leader of the Sunset Warriors, of the second prince, no one would dare do anything to you while you are wearing these."

"Do anything?" You echoed as she fastened the belt, which matched the rest of the boys'.

"Swindle you, pickpocket, worse." She listed grimly as she adjusted your necklace. "Sunrise City is as safe a city as any during a heavy tourist season. We want you to enjoy your time here, not wonder where your wallet may have gone."

"I..." you sighed heavily. "I get that. Thank you, really. This is all very generous."

"You can pay me back by marrying my brother in law." Shani teased as she exited the closet, making your face burn tenfold.

"Hey!"

"YOU AND UNCA ARE GETTING MARRIED?!"

"Oops…"

Cheka insisted you carry him through the halls, Shani nearly telling him to return to his studies before you assured her that it was fine. You spent the entire walk trying to explain to the boy that, no, you were not marrying his uncle. Cheka, however, kept talking about the imaginary wedding and all the things you needed to have there. You resigned yourself to not stopping him. He was talking about the cake when you entered the large room you'd first met Falena and Shani.

"Aha! There she is! A much more appropriate look for your guest, don't you agree, brother?" Falena said, prompting you to turn your gaze from Cheka to him, looking just in time to watch him clap Leona on the back.

Leona said nothing, just staring for a moment before clicking his tongue and looking away. You took this as annoyance for a moment before Cheka spoke up.

"Unca, unca!" Cheka said excitedly from your arms. "When you two get married you need to have a BIG cake, okay? And there needs to be chocolate, and 'biscus, and--"

"Married?" He asked incredulously, turning back to look at the boy, not able to hide the red on his cheeks now, before looking to Shani. "What did you do?"

"Children have impressive imaginations, don't they?" She asked pleasantly, taking Cheka from your arms to hers. "Thank you for letting me dress you, Yuu."

"Thank you for dressing me," you smiled at her, ignoring the burning on your own cheeks, "it was fun."

She smiled before taking your hand and leaning in to whisper to you. "If you cannot go home for school holidays, our home is open to you, just say the word."

You nearly teared up at this, simply nodding and squeezing her hand. "Thanks for everything, Shani."

Falena laughed as you walked over to join him and Leona, who had his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "I'd give you some words of warning, but you seem to know how to handle my brother better than I do at this point!"

"He's not so bad." You chuckled as he pointedly refused to look at you. "It was nice to meet you, Falena."

"You too! Come back anytime!" He beamed down at you before Leona grabbed your arm and started dragging you out of the room.

You waved back to the crown prince and princess as you were hauled out of the room and into the hall. Leona dragged you towards the entrance before making a sharp left a few doors down into another hallway.

"Leona--?"

"Shut up."

Your mouth closed with a clack of your teeth at his words, and you suddenly felt ashamed of your actions. Were you supposed to text him an SOS as soon as you realized where you were? When you realized what was happening? Before you could think about it further, he dragged you into a room at the end of the hall and shut the door, quickly caging you with his arms against it.

"What did they tell you?" He growled low, a dangerous tone you'd only heard a few times since you first stepped on his tail in the garden.

"N-Nothing--"

"Don't play dumb with me right now, herbivore, what did they say?"

"Kifaji and Falena kept saying that you're nice to me, and Shani said if I wore your patterns I'm less likely to get robbed." You said quickly, omitting her comment about marriage. "I was mostly with Shani, we talked about her sisters and my mom and the outfit, that's it."

His green eyes stared into your soul for a moment before he grumbled something under his breath, leaning forward to press his forehead against the wall next to your head.

"Leona?"

"Shani thinks she's funny." He said quietly, you could feel his breath against your ear as he spoke. "Makin' you match me, in public no less..."

"I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it--"

"Are you?" He asked, pulling back to look you in the eyes again, closer this time. "She's making fun of me."

"She's not."

"You don't know her."

"She's not making fun of you." You whispered, not breaking eye contact.

"You don't know what I say in those phone calls home." He muttered back. "Lemme guess, Shani already had that dress picked out for you, as if she plucked it from her own closet."

"...Yes?"

"You think the crown princess would ever wear the second-born's pattern?" He leaned in again, his jaw bumping your cheek as he moved to whisper in your ear. "She had that made for you, on purpose, for the day you eventually showed up."

"W-What do you say... in the calls home...?" You asked hesitantly, resisting the urge to reach your arms around him.

"Too much, apparently." He chuckled softly, lips grazing the shell of your ear. You felt like you would combust into flames any second. "Looks good on you though... suits you."

"L-Leona?"

He pulled back again, close enough to bump noses. "We have to get to the springs, otherwise our resident pretty princess won't play tomorrow." He whispered, still making no move to pull away.

"What..." your wet your suddenly very dry lips, not missing how Leona's eyes flicked down for just a second to catch the motion, "what did you mean by "when I eventually showed up...?""

"I said, don't play dumb, Yuu. You think I let just anyone braid my hair? You think I didn't notice that you do that while I'm tryin' to sleep?" He chuckled again, his grin almost looking like he was just flashing his teeth at you. "I pretend to not notice a lot of things."

"I'm not just anyone...?"

"You haven't been "just anyone" for awhile now." He muttered leaning in just a little closer, his nose brushing against yours gently before he stopped. "We need to go."

He let the moment hang in the minuscule amount of air between you for a second longer before finally pulling away, glancing over your outfit again as he did, making a triumphant little noise.

"Looks good on you." He muttered again before grabbing you by the arm to pull you away from the door.

Once you were out of the way, he opened the door again and walked out into the hallway, leaving you feeling like your knees were about to give out. With a moment to look around the room, you realized he'd pulled you into a bedroom that looked a little too similar to his back at the college.

"Herbivore." He barked from down the hall, kick starting you again.

"Y-Yeah!" You called back before hiking your skirt and jogging to catch up to him again.

If your friends, namely Vil, noticed the similarities between your outfit and Leona's, they were gracious enough not to say anything about it. You were, however, highly complimented on it, Kalim making a point to spin you around to see the dress twirl. Kifaji had a very self satisfied look on his face off to the side, which was quickly wiped away when Leona finally announced his plan to leave him in the dust.

Back at Night Raven College, you and Leona went back to your normal routine as if nothing had ever happened. You almost wondered if it had been a very sweet dream until you saw the dress in your closet again. You grabbed the skirt, rubbing the fabric between your thumb and index finger, as if to remind yourself that it was real. It had happened.

"What? You longin' for the Sunset Savanna again?" Grim asked from your bed, you'd nearly forgotten he was there. "I am. You really missed out on that meat, hench-human. I wouldn't mind goin' back."

"Yeah... me neither." You sighed, releasing the dress. You stared at it longingly for another moment before shutting the closet door to continue getting ready for bed. A very sweet dream indeed.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #twst leona #leona kingscholar x reader #twisted wonderland fic #fem!reader #cloudcalling on the savanna #mine #the beginning is a little rough but i've been up for over 20 hours it gets better pls i dont know how to start a fic naturally #listen this is the first time i've felt comfortable posting a fic in SUCH a long time pls be nice

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sugarwarachan · 14 days ago

Text

older!roommate aizawa universe - 18+, thigh riding, dirty talk, he talks you through it 😮‍💨

he didn’t mean to overhear, but the walls in this place are shit, and your voice carried into his room clear as day:

“yeah, yeah, I know. No guy’s ever made me cum, no wonder I’m so sexually pent-up, right?”

you’re talking to one of your friends and he shouldn’t file away that information, but he does; he thinks about it for nearly a week until one day you’re crossing and un-crossing your legs on the couch while reading your phone and aizawa feels every bit of resolve crumble.

“a little worked up?”

you nearly drop your phone, looking up at him with eyes that are far too innocent to be real, and he makes a decision.

he scoops you up effortlessly and drapes your thighs on either side of his, stubble rough against your throat as he kisses your neck gently, “I can make you cum just like this, baby. you trust me?”

“yeah,” you manage, inner thighs shaking, nails dragging down his shirt.

he pulls your little shorts to the side and palms your pussy with the broad expanse of his hand, grunting when you immediately press down.

he kisses the side of your jaw. “I know. feels good, doesn’t it?”

he bunches his thigh muscles so they’re taut and hard underneath you as his hands guide your hips back and forth. he can feel how slick you are, your sleep shorts rubbing against your clit with every glide.

“the way you move your hips, baby - fuck - there's my girl, keep movin' just like that. you’re getting close already, aren’t you?” and he can’t help but inject the cockiness into his voice when you’re whimpering into the side of his neck, keening gasp building in your throat.

you’re barely able to talk, and aizawa is losing it too, dick straining against his sweatpants as your arousal soaks through, the searing heat of your pussy leaving an impression on his thigh through his clothes - - he wants you wrapped around him so he can pump load after load of cum into you, so he can leave for work knowing that his seed is drying in between your thighs.

“please, please,” you pant into his neck, tongue laving over his jaw. your hips speed up, rolling down against his thigh in desperation. “i’m gonna cum, sensei. please --”

(and you were right, aizawa shouta does like being called sensei, because he flips you over and ruts into you like a dry-humping teenager until both of you cum open-mouthed against the other)

2025 © all works belong to me, @sugarwarachan! do not repost, translate, or steal any of my works. interaction, reblogs, and comments are appreciated and encouraged <3 if you'd like to be added to my general taglist, let me know

general taglist <3 @cielito--lindo, @one-scarred-mofo, @uekarashi, @waterfal-ling, @iluvikeu, @bach-ira

#UGHHH lates 30 aizawa and 20s reader i'm gonna fucking combust bro #down bad doesn't even begin to describe #aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa smut #roommate!aizawa #bnha smut #mha smut #mha x reader #bnha x reader #sugarwarachanwrites #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa imagine

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riveredmoon · 25 days ago

Text

swipe right

connection: s. geto x fem!reader

synopsis: you got cheated on. downloaded tinder. swiped right. and now you’re getting fucked by your one night stand.

content warnings: nsfw, smut (mdni), modern au, non curse au, bartender!geto, kinda fuckboyish (i’m giggling), shoko mention (we are cheered!), tinder (yikes), mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, public sex, fingering, oral (fem receiving), edging, unprotected sex, p in v, dirty talk, crude language, mirror sex (ish?)

(1) notification: oh, this was fun! suguru geto, the things you do. you’ll always be famous! and shout out to nasty by ariana grande!

wc: 4.5K

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Your stomach hurts. You have not showered in three days. The bags under your eye are puffy. Your ex’s things are still taking up space in YOUR apartment.

If you inhale hard enough, you could make out the faint smell of cherry blossom perfume. The one that does not belong to you. The one that filled his nostrils when he was out… cheating on you.

Three years down the drain — all for cherry blossom perfume that’s making you feel lightheaded.

You’re laying on your couch, your phone flat on your stomach. Your best friend, Shoko, is standing above you. Her hands on her hips, his lips pursed, and eyes narrowed.

You knew you weren’t going to get much pity from her — she hated him. As did everybody else who came in contact with him. Oh, besides cherry blossom girl.

“Stop moping,” she sighs. Reaching over to grab the phone off your belly. You try to grab it away from her. Hold on to the photos of you and your ex littering your photo album. You can’t move. Well, you don’t want too.

“I’m not moping.” Your voice sounds small and you hate how the end of each word is coming out shakey. You mentally give yourself a shake.

She scoffs, you roll your eyes. Throwing your forearm over your eyes. It’s too bright. Shoko’s narrowed stare is making it hard to just be on your couch, in peace.

“You are,” she huffs. “And for a man who didn’t even make you come!”

“Relationships are more than just sex, Shoko.” Your voice comes out angrier than you intended it too.

You loved him! Just, not the sex.

But, she was right and that was embarrassing.

You are sinking into your couch over a man who didn’t know where your clit was and who cheated on you. Double fucking whammy!

“That is what puritans say,” she mutters. You almost let out a laugh.

You hear the sound of your phone unlocking and you’re sending a silent prayer that she doesn’t go through your messages. Who knows what she’ll message him.

You curl deeper into the couch, trying to disappear. Shoko drops onto the cushion by your feet.

“When was the last time you took a picture without the shithead?”

You lift your arm just enough to watch Shoko swipe through your phone, squinting like it’s a full-time job.

“Don’t even think about it.” You’re shuffling up so that you could have better access to get the phone out of her hands. You know Shoko, she is your best friend. You know she thinks heartbreak needs only one thing for it to be cured.

A nasty, filthy, one night stand. And the holy place to find one… Shoko’s favorite app (which she is now banned from).. Tinder.

You on the other hand — you thought tubs of ice cream and reruns of Buffy the Teenage Witch was suitable for a cure. You’ll even throw in a bottle of red wine. Maybe a yell from the rooftop, late at night to really drive home the fact that you’re heartbroken.

You know, typical romance movie shit.

You shiver at the idea of making a profile. Having men swipe left or right on you…

But, maybe you’ll cum?

“Get your prude ass mind out of your own ass.”

You peer over and she’s favoriting a picture of you in a bikini. The green one that makes it look like you had a boob job.

You curse the smile that ghosts over your lips. It isn’t the time.

“You haven’t came in three years.” She huffs, swiping through more pictures. You grimace when she swipes back to one with you and your ex, swiftly deleting it.

“He gets to fuck some girl… in your house which I may add.” She’s getting angry, you notice by the way she’s gripping your phone.

“I have cam-“

“By your own fingers,” she rolls her eyes. The tinder app is loading up and you feel this weird rush of… excitement? Or maybe guilt?

“I still came,” you bring your arms closer to your chest. You hate that she is right. Or maybe you hate that you haven’t came… who knows?

“Barely… Just look, at least.” She runs her hand through her hair, sighing as if she’s being welcomed home.

You want to tell her it’s just tinder. And if she didn’t send death threats to every person who ghosted her, she may still have her account.

“Have fun. Possibly meet a very cute guy because Jesus, your type is so fucking bad..” You groan, swatting at her arm. “Forget about him for at least a night.”

You stay silent. Just watching her play around with prompts, choosing the best pictures. You would’ve thought she did this for a living. She stays concentrated on that, as your eyes roam around the living room.

“Cum for goodness fucking sake.” She mumbles under her breath. You almost nod your head in agreement… almost.

You look at the whiskey bottles on your bar cart, his whiskey bottles. You have to set a reminder to throw them out on trash day.

It’s just Tinder. What’s the worst that could happen — other than an orgasm that Shoko (and you) desperately believe you need?

“Here,” she sways your phone in front of your face. A cheesy grin plastered on her lips. “This should do it. Get you laid and emotionally validated.”

You roll your eyes at her again, snatching your phone with some force. She laughs and you sink deeper into the couch.

A puritan that just got cheated on. I could become real sinful for someone who has working hands, honest red flags, and a dick. Bonus points if your ex could confirm that you made them cum.

Before you look at anything else, you send her a sideways glance. “Is it necessary to add the dumbass puritan line? They’re going to think I’m Amish or something.”

“Amish porn is big, you might just find the perfect man for you then.”

“Fuck off,” you whine, looking back at the profile. She lets out a cackle.

There are five pictures of you — all where you felt beautiful. A little sexy in some. The bikini selfie from earlier, a group photo of you and friends at a bar. And some random selfies, ones you forgot you even took.

“Now all you have to do is swipe right,” Shoko says. She is leaning forward, her elbows on her thighs. “Or left if the man looks anything like your stupid ass ex.”

“Noted.” You want her to stop talking about him.

You start to swipe through the catalog of men. No one is really catching your attention as of yet.

There’s a man with a scar on his lip, broad chest. Flirty grin. He looks a little scary.

An emo looking guy, grungey and dark. Looks a little too emotional.

“Sho-“

“Cut the bullshit and swipe,” she cuts you off. “Or I’ll swipe for you.”

“No thanks. You’ve done enough.” You sigh. Scared of who she’ll choose. Or better yet, what she’ll message them first.

You stare back at your phone screen, multiple faces staring back. You feel silly being here — swiping right or left like you’re trying to find a new song on a jukebox.

And after what felt like two hours, but was really maybe fifteen minutes. Your finger stalls on a profile.

Shoko notices immediately, falling back so that she could look over your shoulder.

“Swipe right.” She mutters, her eyes following your fingers as you swipe through his pictures. “If you don’t, I’ll tell your mom you tried shrooms our senior year of college.”

“Blackmail? Really?” You turn your head to face her, her eyes still burning into the profile in front of you.

“Anything to get you to cum.”

You roll your eyes, turning back to your phone. You’ll be lying if you said the man on your screen wasn’t beautiful. As if you couldn’t envision him fucking you-

You shake your head. Crossing your legs.

“He looks like he’s at the bar on fifth.” You mumble, as you pulled the phone closer to you. You know, for science. To get a better look.

Make sure, you’re not swiping right on a very sexy neighbor you may bump into when you throw those whiskey bottles out in your pajamas.

Suguru

Bartender.

Currently accepting praise, nudes, and well-worded compliments.

He has four pictures. One showing his side profile, long black hair cascading this back. His jaw clenched. Gauge in his ear. You breathe in through your nose.

Next one, he’s in between a blonde and silver haired man. In the bar on fifth. He has a white cloth thrown over his shoulder. The two friends holding drinks. His grin is easy, welcoming. His board shoulders bumping into theirs.

You hear Shoko start to snicker. You swipe to the next photo.

A shirtless photo and you internally groan. He is in a gym, a mirror behind him. His long hair tied messily behind him. That easy grin on his lips still there.

You don’t even have the power to look at the fourth picture. Your finger automatically swiping right.

IT’S A MATCH!

You gasp, Shoko claps. Those earlier feelings of guilt are replaced with a full blown gust of excitement. You don’t even think, before going to message him.

You: tell me I shouldn’t go out to that bar on 5th tonight?

Suguru: if I say you shouldn’t, I won’t be able to show off my hands and working dick

You: thank god for the hands indeed!

Suguru: they have rave reviews from exes if you even care

Suguru: I could gather some information and create a PowerPoint. You know? To really sell this.

You: stats review and then experience right after? wow talk about a great work environment

Suguru: lmao

Suguru: it’s all in the name of fun

Suguru: also your ex is a fucking moron

You: most men are

Suguru: not going to argue with that

Suguru: so. Should I be expecting to see you tonight?

You: wouldn’t I be distracting you at work?

Suguru: not that I would complain

You: you have lots of things to show me, huh?

Suguru: let’s see how much ground we could cover on my break.

“Get in the fucking shower.”

The hallway is narrow, his footsteps are fast. The music booming through the walls is dying down with each step you take as you follow him. Your heart is jumping out of your chest.

His eyes glance back — narrow and sly. A grin to match. Your jittery palm pressed into his sweaty one. You barely made it in the bathroom before your back hits the wall and his hands have found warmth on your hips — the short black dress Shoko helped you pick out rising in the process.

You almost want to be embarrassed.

The bathroom is small, faintly lit, and smells like rubbing alcohol. Muffled bass and pointless conversations slowly thump through the wall. It’s quiet in here, just his heavy breathing and your thoughts running loud.

You ignore his stare and the warmth rushing to your cheeks. Your eyes tracing over his body. The white shirt clinging to his broad shoulders just perfectly. The apparent tent starting to grow in those black jeans.

His eyes wavering with lust, the clenching of his jaw, his slender fingers gripping onto you like he’s been waiting for this. A wisp of a bang swinging lightly over his left eye. You can’t help but let the moan escape.

He smells like the fruity drinks he’s been mixing all night. That, and something manly like sandalwood. You’re just happy it’s erasing the cherry blossom smell from your senses.

Everything he is doing is fucking with you. You haven’t felt this much passion in three years, you almost feel lightheaded. The staring from across the bar all night. His light smirk whenever you went over to order something. The way he is gripping onto you now. And the wetness pooling in between your legs, soaking your panties.

He presses closer. The back of your head lightly thudding against the wall. Your breath shudders with his as his hands slowly drag up your thighs. You voluntarily open your thighs a little wider, giving him more room to firmly place his body between yours. You feel just how much he wants you.

You don’t have much time to think about anything. Your chest rises a little more rapidly, the heat in your stomach making its way down to your pussy as you try to lightly clench your thighs as best as you can. Hoping he feels it, hoping he gets the memo.

Suguru laughs. You do, too. Noses brushing each other one second, his mouth crashing against yours the next. It’s heated, like he’s been waiting all night to do this — teeth, tongue, the tickle of his bang against your cheek. It’s not soft. It’s not slow. It’s greedy.

Your back is pressing harder into the wall, but you don’t care — one of his hands is already between your legs, dragging your underwear to the side like he doesn’t have time to bother with them. You don’t even realize you were that wet until his fingers are practically centimeters away.

His other hand cups the back of your neck with some force, holding you still as his mouth trails down your jaw. His tongue lapping down your throat — sucking marks into your skin like a man starved. You can barely think.

His voice is low and hot in your ear, words tangled between groans. You hear yourself moaning. God, you haven’t sounded this desperate.. like ever.

“Should I start my hand presentation?”

You whimper as a response. Your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders.

His fingers are so close, barely touching you. And yet, you’re already clenching around nothing, desperate and fluttering, hips twitching toward him — your body begging to feel him.

“Nah,” his eyes are locked on to yours. His smirk teasing. His index finger presses on your folds and you buck your hips up. His smirk grows even wider. “I need to hear you.”

“Y-yes.” Your voice comes out in a thick whisper. You swallow the lump in your throat.

“I think you could be a little louder than that, no?”

“Yes,” your voice comes out louder, still a little shaken. He hums in approval.

He drags two fingers up your slit, slow and filthy. Teasing. His eyes still locked on your face, hungry for every little reaction. You gasp, loud and wet.

“This for me?” he whispers, mouth ghosting over your cheek, lips curled in a smirk. “You get this wet from just being dragged into a bar bathroom, baby? God, your ex must have failed you.”

His fingers are sliding your slick through your folds. Occasionally finding your clit, and then moving back between your lips. Your hips are bucking uncontrollably. Your groans loud. Suguru’s smirk is huge.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your nails are biting into his shoulders. The white cloth he used to clean up the bar is still on his right shoulder, offering him some protection.

Your head leans into the wall as you feel two fingers curl inside, fast and deep. You let out a broken gasp and he hums. With his lips a few inches away, you somehow feel the vibration.

You feel just how much he wants you. His hard dick pressing into your thigh. His jeans acting as a barrier.

“So fucking tight..” he whispers. The hand still on the back of your neck grips a little tighter. Your hair flowing over his fingers — giving him the perfect grip.

The stretch burns, but it feels so good. Better than anything you’ve had in years. You could cum right here and feel refreshed for the next three hundred and twenty days.

His fingers curl again and your knees buckle — your thighs clamped around his wrist like you’re trying to trap him there.

“Shit, you’re greedy,” he groans into your neck. “Clenching already? I’ve heard my fingers were good, but damn.”

“J-just fuc-“ your broken moan is cut off.

“I want to take some time with you,” his lips ghosting over your jaw. “I think you need it.”

“How long is your break?” You ask. A moan littering behind it. Your thighs are trembling as you try to steady yourself.

Suguru’s thumb finds your clit right at this moment. Circling it lightly. You try to grind down on his strong hand, giving you some more friction. He moves his thumb, his fingers stilling inside of you.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grins, sending you a slight shrug. You shiver. His voice is heavy and you think the bathroom is starting to feel even smaller. Pushing him closer, his fingers stilled in the most perfect angle. With a buck of your hips, you groan.

His fingers start moving again. Slow, deep thrusts at first, his palm flush against you, thumb going back to circling your clit in those agonizing little motions that are making your thighs twitch. The squelch of your arousal is so loud in the quiet bathroom you want to call your ex and have him listen.

Suguru is breathing through his nose, everytime he lets out an exhale, it brushes against your face harshly.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” He is whispering more to himself than to you. The sound of his fingers moving in and out of your pussy is much louder than anything else right now. The sound is intoxicating.

His thumb drags firm, fast circles over your clit. Your hips stutter, your thighs feel watery, and you’re almost there. You feel the white-hot brain fog creeping up, your gasps are louder and sporadic. What Shoko has been wanting you to have for the last three years is so close. You squeeze your eyes shut.

But, his fingers stop their movements, leaving your slack jaw and teary eyed. A broken sob leaves your lips and Suguru just stares at you.

He pulls his fingers out of you, slowly. His eyes drop in between your bodies as he savors your slick stringing on his fingers.

“I wanna taste,” his voice is low. His eyes are still on his fingers now moving towards you both. His tongue licking over his bottom lip.

“I didn’t know that was a part of the presentation.” Your voice is just as low, airy. You’re leaning to the side, your shoulder finding some balance on the paper towel dispenser.

“I sometimes like to throw in some fun things for pretty clients,” he whispers. He is leaning closer to you. Forehead pressing into yours. His tongue lapping his fingers, your juices shining on his plump lips.

Your hands start looking for something to do. They shakily drop to his jeans, unzipping him in the process. He groans, his fingers still in his mouth. His eyes are rolling into the back of his head.

“I knew you’d taste good,” he groans, using the hand that just had at his fingers in his mouth to grab at your wrist.

With not much care, Suguru drops down to his knees. Your eyes follow as he drops so quickly, it makes your head spin.

“I want a full taste,” he hums as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulders. His hand pressing into you with so much heat, you let out a whimper in return.

You barely have time to breathe before his hands are spreading you open. Your dress is bunched up around your hips and panties shoved to the side (again) like an afterthought. He groans when he sees you — wet and still twitching.

One of your hands thread through his hair and he leans into your touch. Your other hand grips the side of that paper towel dispenser — trying to ground yourself the best way you can.

You move your eyes from his hooded ones, for just a minute. Finally catching a glimpse at yourself in the mirror in front of you. Dress skewed sideways, your pupils blown out, lips swollen. Suguru’s head was just making the cut off.

“How,” you look back down at Suguru. Your grip in his hair tightened. His eyes are still fixed on your dripping cunt. His voice intoxicating. “… does man cheat on a pussy this beautiful?”

And then his mouth is on you.

Hot. Wet. Hungry.

His tongue drags a long stripe up your slit, then circles your clit with laser focus — slow, then fast, then slower again like he wants to make you cry.

You almost do. Tears welling at your lash line. You jolt against the wall, whimpering, trying to grab at something, anything, as he licks you like a man possessed.

He chuckles into you as you yank at his hair and he feeds into the pull. You moan, breathy and sharp. Your hips bucking into his face. He doesn’t stop.

His tongue lapping at your pussy, it’s louder than the music dying down outside. Your hips are moving, with no rhyme or reason, just like his tongue on your clit.

He doesn’t stop. His nose rubbing on your clit, whenever his tongue laps at your entrance.

He groans into you. Like he’s enjoying this more than you. His mouth is hot and relentless, and it’s all tongue and lips and pressure — like he’s trying to win a competition you weren’t aware you guys were involved in.

Your legs start to shake again, he pulls back, mouth wet and chin glistening. You don’t even have time to blink. Just a meek mewl escaping from your swollen lips.

“Suguru, please..” You’re begging and he hums into your thigh as he presses a chaste kiss.

In one swift, strong movement — he’s standing in front of you, his hands grip the back of your thighs and lift you up like you weigh nothing — pinning you between the wall and his body. His face inches from yours.

His grip tightens on your thighs, lifting you a little higher. The cold wall behind you, the warmth of his body on yours — it’s making you dizzy.

With you pinned there, your legs wrap around him easily. Hands scrambling to hold on to him, bringing him closer. Pulling at his shirt, his neck, his hair.

You crash your lips onto his. Your tongue lapping over his bottom lip, he opens up allowing you access. You taste yourself on his tongue and you subconsciously squeeze your thighs a little tighter around him. He moans into your mouth. You pull at his hair, pushing him even closer to you.

He leans back slightly, spit from on both of your lips keeping you two connected for just a minute. Long enough for him to grab the base of his cock and guide it through your folds — up and down, gathering your slick, teasing your entrance. He’s not even inside yet, and your whole body is shaking.

You grind down, helplessly, and he groans — head dropping to your shoulder for a second before he pulls back with a devilish grin. The buckle of his belt pressing into your ass.

“Some experience you’re getting,” he chuckles. Chaste kisses on your shoulder.

Then, he thrust in, slowly and deep. The stretch is brutal and just right all at once. You cry out, your head rolling back to hit the wall, hands clawing at his back. His hands stay under your thighs, holding you steady as he pushes into your cunt — thick, hot, overwhelming.

“Oh-” you gasp, shutting your eyes.

“I know,” he grunts. “You’re so tight I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Then he moves. Deep, hard thrusts that make your shoulder bangs into the paper towel dispenser next to you. You don’t feel a thing but his hips against your ass as he pulls back and rams back into you.

You can’t do anything but feel him. No thoughts processing. No sounds but the sound of his thrusts and heavy groans. You feel dizzy, desperate, dripping.

“Open your eyes,” you feel his lips brushing near your ear. With some much fight, you force your eyes open — lashes wet, vision all blurry. “Look at yourself.”

The mirror.

You. Pressed against the wall. Body bouncing with each thrust. Your thighs stretched around his waist, your legs hooking behind him. Your lips parted in a silent moan.

Suguru’s muscles flex in his white shirt. His bun becoming undone, wisps of hair flying around. His hips moving at a relentless pace. His face is hidden in the crook of your neck.

“Watch how I make you cum on my cock.”

He fucks into your harder. One hand gripping your thigh — the other sliding in between your bodies. His fingers find your clit, immediately circling it.

His circles are fast and rough, matching his thrusts. The pressure is overwhelming, you feel like you’re about to melt into the wall. Your thighs are shaking around his moving hips. Your moans are wet and loud — coming from the pit of your stomach.

You’re still watching from the mirror. And for some reason, that’s making you clench around him even more. Watching him fucking in to you. How your shoulder is going to be sporting a bruise from the power of it hitting the dispenser. The way your eyes roll back with so much ease, as if Suguru knew from a picture alone just what to do to get you over the edge.

“Fuck,” Suguru basically growls. Your clench around him a little harder. “If you keep on squeezing around me like, I’m goi-“

A groan leaves his lips. His teeth grazing your neck as you feel yourself about to fall apart.

“Keep,” thrust. “Watching,” thrust. “Yourself.”

His thrusts become sloppy. His heavy balls smack on the plush of your ass. His fingers, still going at a relentless pace. Your walls clench around him, his cock hitting a spot you didn’t know could be found.

And you watch, with teary eyes and hunger. Watch as the orgasm that’s been withheld for three years finally washes over you. As his face finds home in the crook of your neck. At the way his hips rut into yours. Without even looking down, you know that you’ve left a creamy ring around his cock.

Your entire body stiffens, mouth open in a silent cry as white heat floods your spine. Your nails dig into his shoulders. Your pussy clamps around him so tight he groans into your skin, still driving into you like he’s trying to fuck the orgasm deeper. Reaching for something only he could find.

“Shit,” He buries himself to the hilt with one final, brutal thrust and you feel his dick twitch.

He holds you there as he cums with a deep, muffled moan against your throat. His body shudders against yours, heat flooding inside you.

For a moment, neither of you move.

Your back is still pressed to the wall. His chest heaving against yours. His cock twitching as the last waves of his orgasm ripple through him.

Suguru slowly pulls out, your legs unwrapping from his waist. You’re wobbly, legs feeling like jello as you find balance on the wall. His hands are still burning into your hips. His fingertips slightly tapping on your hip bone, like he doesn’t want to let go yet.

You look down at his jeans, still unzipped, hanging lowly on his hips. A glistening mess, your slick spread.

“I should call my best friend,” you mumble, still breathless.

He tilts his head, brows raised, a lazy chuckle leaving his lips. His fingers are still tapping, slow and warm.

“To tell her what?”

“That Tinder isn’t so bad after all.”

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