#there are so many swear words in this shirt | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seitmai · 4 hours ago

Text

Many thoughts

You stared blankly at the spreadsheet open on your laptop screen, wondering how you’d gone from “just us, barefoot on a beach” to twelve-person string ensemble and a four-tier cake. You didn’t even remember how it happened. Just that it was spiraling now. Too fast and too big.

Well that spiraled quickly

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Come here.” He pulled you into his lap, your legs draped over his thighs as he settled back into the couch. His hand slid under the shirt you were wearing, his shirt resting warm and steady over the gentle swell of your belly. “First of all,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple, “you already gave me perfect the day you said yes.”

He is the cutest 🥹

“We can call off the whole thing right now and go to city hall in whatever we’re wearing,” he whispered, “and it’ll still be the best day of my life. I swear to God.” “You’d marry me in sweatpants?” “In a heartbeat. With mustard on my shirt and the courthouse AC broken. Don’t care.”

Oh he so means it, she has to say the word and they are on their way to city hall

“You’re not doing this alone. I’m here, Baby. For all of it.” You nodded slowly, sniffling into his neck.He pulled back just enough to look at you. “Now, what do you need? A nap? A foot rub? For me to throw this whole planner into the ocean?” “Honestly? All three.” “Done.”

He truly knows what the right answers are

Not because the stress was gone, but because Bucky Barnes knew how to hold you steady when it hit.

This is so accurate and important!

“You’re glowing, by the way,” she said, settling on the couch beside you. “Even if you’re panicking. Still glowing. Like, annoying-level glowing.” “I don’t feel glowing. I feel deranged. I cried over a centerpiece. A fucking centerpiece, Peach. Bucky had to talk me down like he was disarming a nuke.” Peach laughed, flopping over until her cheek was resting on your shoulder. “Sounds like he passed the test.”

Leave it to Peach to bring some positive vibes and laughter!

“The one that actually matters. You already knew the sex was good. You already had the chemistry, the intellectualism, the obsession. But the way he holds you through this? The hormones, the wedding spreadsheet meltdowns?” She grinned. “That’s the forever part.”

So true!

“I knew the second I saw him in Hilton Head. I wanted to strangle him. And kiss him. And break every plate in the house.” You smiled. “Sounds romantic.”

Romantic in their own crazy way 🤭

“If you still want simple, you can have it. But don’t hide from what you want because it scares you. If it’s fireworks and a string quartet on an island with your belly full of baby Barnes? Then bitch, do it.”

Yes!

“Now. Are we crying into this gelato like the emotionally unstable icons we are?” You grabbed two spoons. “Of course.”

Obviously 😌

Your mom finally stood and crossed the room to cup your face like she had when you were small. “He’s going to lose his mind,” she murmured. “Not that he isn’t already crazy about you.”

She's not wrong 🤷🏻‍♀️

Bucky: I’ll bring dumplings. One glimpse for every sauce container.

“We’ll practice,” Peach grinned. “We’ll make a TikTok. Bucky’ll cry watching that.”

She's so funny 😅

You: Stop trying to bribe my honor.

She so much better than me! I would have folded with that offer hahah

“You know he’s parked outside, right?” You turned toward the window and there he was, in his sportscar, sunglasses on, and pretending to be normal. He was parked illegally and completely unrepentant. “Already in full simp-mode.”

Truly! And he wouldn't want it any other way

You’d spent the afternoon at your final fitting with your mom and Peach. He’d tried to bribe someone, anyone, to get a peek. The designer, the assistant, the poor delivery driver who’d dropped off the steaming food Peach ordered from a fancy Thai place. But no one cracked.

Wow my respect to all those people 🫡 I know Bucky would have paid a lot

“You’re quiet,” you called, not looking up. “That’s dangerous.”

That's always suspicious haha

“No panties next week.” You laughed. “Excuse me?” “You heard me,” he said, one hand gliding down to cup between your thighs. “None. I want to be thinking about this sweet little pussy while you walk down the aisle. About how soaked you’ll be by the time I say I do.” “Just picture it, baby. You walk down that aisle, glowing, mine in every way. Everyone watching you. No one knowing you’re bare under there except me.”

I mean 👀

“You think you’re glowing now? Wait until you’re wearing my name, my ring, carrying my baby, and soaked for me on our wedding night.”

If she wasn't already pregnant, she definitely would be after the wedding night 🤭

“We’re getting married in front of my entire family.” “I’m your family and I’m gonna fuck you now,” he said simply as he rose.

🤭🤭🤭

“You’re gonna walk down that aisle,” he whispered, “and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.” You kissed his jaw. “You better.”

I'm sure Peach would drag him there if he wouldn't 😅🤭

“You know what’ll help?” You sighed happily. “What?” “No panties.” “We’ll see.” He grinned against your temple. “No. We won’t. That’s the whole point.”

Ahahah he really wants this😂

🥹🥰🥹🥰

“He’s not exactly a prince.” “No,” she said softly, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “He’s better. He’s yours.” “You’ve always been sunlight, but with him? You shine. And that baby already knows how lucky they are.”

“You gonna cry?” you asked without turning around. “No,” Peach sniffled. “You’re gonna cry. And ruin your lashes. So don’t.”

Fair point

Your body was already beginning to shift, soft in places it hadn’t been months ago, glowing with the quiet strength of what you carried. And the dress wasn’t there to hide it. It was designed to honor it.

That's such a beautiful description!

Peach held up a tissue like a threat.

Only Peach can hold a tissue like a threat 😅

“Don’t you dare. We’ve got twenty minutes. You cry now, and the stylist will have to reapply your entire face. And Steve’s already crying and pretending he’s not, so that’s my job for later.” You smiled. “He is?” “Oh, he’s wrecked. I caught him sneaking a look at Bucky, who’s pacing the beach like a caged panther. He’s muttering to himself and holding the rings like they’re gonna disappear.”

Aw that's so cute 🥹

Then you whispered to your reflection, “Let’s go get married.”

I love when people say this like a motivational mantra 🤗

Today, his hands were waiting to touch you, his future wife. And for the first time in years, he was nervous in a way that had nothing to do with power, and everything to do with love.

He is a true romantic

Fair

You had insisted on a first look. Said he couldn’t badger his way into seeing the dress ahead of time, but you’d give him this moment before the wedding. Something private. Just for you two. And thank God for that, because Bucky already felt like he was going to drop to his knees.

“If you pass out, I’m not carrying you.”

Haha Steve 😅 and we all know he would carry Bucky

He shut his eyes for a second. Took a breath like it was his first in years. Then he turned. And the world fucking stopped. His voice cracked as he said your name. You stepped forward, nervous for only a second until you saw the look in his eyes. “Arăți ca pentru totdeauna. You look like forever,” he said hoarsely. He reached out, fingers brushing your waist like you were made of spun sugar, like you’d disappear if he held on too tightly. But you didn’t disappear.

So cute 🥰

“She’s coming,” Steve said under his breath as Peach walked toward him. “Try to stay upright..”

He really doesn't want to carry him 😅

Bucky swore the sun dimmed itself just to let you shine. He’d seen you earlier, kissed you, held you, but this was different. This was sacred.

🥹🥹🥹

Reaching the altar, Peach dabbed her eyes discreetly, and tucked in beside Steve. He reached for her hand. His grip trembled and he leaned close and whispered something only she could hear. She nodded, then pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

They are so cute and probably ecstatic for these two important people in their life 🥰

But Bucky couldn’t see them anymore. He saw only you. And you were looking right at him. Like there was no one else. No crowd. No ceremony. Just him.

That's how it should be 🥰

“Okay?” he mouthed. You nodded, eyes shining. “You?” His laugh was pure joy. “Not even a little.”

That's just so sweet 🥹

Too late. You were already reaching for him, grabbing his lapels and pulling him in like you couldn’t wait another second. The kiss was deep, sweet and improper. The crowd gasped. Peach hooted. Steve muttered “Jesus, you two,” and shook his head, but there was a grin on his face big enough to rival the ocean.

Haha of course Peach hooted 😂 and Steve is the one talking as if he and Peach are any better lol

“No panties. Just like you said. And shaved bare, too.” Bucky didn’t stumble, but he damn near did.

That's the moment he actually need Steve to catch him from hitting the floor 🤭

He’d kept himself in check all day. Ceremony, photos, dinner, the toast that Peach gave that wrecked you both, he’d kept it buttoned up. But now he was unhinged. It shocked him how much he wanted you.

Is he really shocked tho?

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he said, breath hot against your neck. “All that talk about the dress. And what you’d wear underneath.” “You like?” you asked, breathless. Bucky smirked. “I love you bare. Shaved. Soaked for me. So gorgeous.”

His favorite wedding present 🤭

“It’s not just how perfect you look. It’s everything. Your laugh. Your voice. The way you make me feel. The way you look at me.” “It gets me hard, Frumoasă. Really fucking hard. But that’s not why I love you. You’re kind. You’re sassy. You’re good. And you’re real.”

This is wholesome and horny at the same time

“Still with me, Mrs. Barnes?” “Always,” you whispered.

🥰🥰🥰

Later, he carried you to the bath, washing you gently, like something priceless. You curled between his thighs as warm water lapped at your skin, the scent of gardenia rising with the steam.

Because she truly is priceless to him 🥰

“You’re everything,” he whispered. “My love. My future. My family.” You turned in his arms, pressing your lips to his. “And you’re mine.”

🥰🥹🥰🥹

At Last

Make it So | Knock You Down Masterlist

Summary: Bucky makes you his wife. And you let him.

Word count: 4.8 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader; Steve Rogers x Peach

A/N: This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and the wedding is finally here. It comes after the events of Make it So. This universe obviously intersects with the Peach verse, and would come after Show Off. It also will intersect with the Muse AU in the future of this story. Being on the couch for the past week is coming in clutch to catch Bucky and Steve up to Ari. I'm nervous because I haven't written for these two in a while and wanted to get the wedding just right. Please let me know how you feel by commenting, reblogging, and interacting. 😉

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Reader is 3 months pregnant. Anxiety attack, wedding stress, destination wedding, wedding dress shopping, sex in an established relationship, pregnant reader, Bucky is a simp and feral for Furmoaså, flirting, teasing, Bucky speaking google Romanian, praise so much praise, oral, (f receiving) more bathroom sex, bump worship, raw p-in-v, after care.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

The coffee table was buried in color swatches, RSVP mockups, half-emptied takeout containers, and a half-full glass of ginger ale you’d been too nauseous to finish.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in one of Bucky’s dress shirts, hair up in a messy bun, your phone in one hand and your planner in the other.

You stared blankly at the spreadsheet open on your laptop screen, wondering how you’d gone from “just us, barefoot on a beach” to twelve-person string ensemble and a four-tier cake.

You didn’t even remember how it happened. Just that it was spiraling now. Too fast and too big.

The tightness in your chest was creeping up your throat. That shallow, dizzy feeling again, not hunger, not nausea. Just too much. Your vision blurred and your hands trembled as you shut the laptop.

And that’s how Bucky found you.

“Hey. What’s going on, Frumoasă?”

He was fresh out of the shower, his hair damp and curling. His chest was bare, sweatpants riding low on his hips. He was drying his hair as he stepped into the room, but when he saw your face he dropped the towel.

In two strides he was in front of you, crouched between your knees, warm hands cupping your cheeks.

“Baby,” he said softly, thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t even noticed.

“Breathe with me, okay? In…”

You inhaled shakily, eyes locked on his.

“Good girl. Now out…”

Your exhale caught, but you pushed through it.

“There you go,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “Again.”

You followed his rhythm until the wave of panic ebbed, just enough to let your lungs expand again. You felt yourself calm just a little.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “I’m trying to do everything right. I want it to be perfect. I want you to be proud. I want the baby to be okay, and I just…”

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Come here.”

He pulled you into his lap, your legs draped over his thighs as he settled back into the couch. His hand slid under the shirt you were wearing, his shirt resting warm and steady over the gentle swell of your belly.

“First of all,” he murmured, lips brushing your temple, “you already gave me perfect the day you said yes.”

“And second… proud doesn’t even begin to cover it. I look at you every day and think, how the fuck did I get this lucky?”

You closed your eyes and let yourself sink into him, your forehead against his neck, your body melting against his chest. His other hand moved to your hair, fingers cording through the thickness gently.

“We can call off the whole thing right now and go to city hall in whatever we’re wearing,” he whispered, “and it’ll still be the best day of my life. I swear to God.”

You let out a broken laugh.

“You’d marry me in sweatpants?”

“In a heartbeat. With mustard on my shirt and the courthouse AC broken. Don’t care.”

His lips grazing yours.

“You’re not doing this alone. I’m here, Baby. For all of it.”

You nodded slowly, sniffling into his neck.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

“Now, what do you need? A nap? A foot rub? For me to throw this whole planner into the ocean?”

You laughed again, watery and real.

“Honestly? All three.”

“Done.”

And just like that, the storm passed.

Not because the stress was gone, but because Bucky Barnes knew how to hold you steady when it hit.

—---

It was past eleven the next day when Peach arrived, holding a pint of salted caramel gelato.

“Tell me you’re not still doom-scrolling BridalTok.”

You didn’t answer. The open Pinterest tabs on your laptop, the silk robe you hadn’t changed out of since breakfast, and the vanilla candle you’d lit twice today were damning enough.

Peach kicked off her sandals and padded inside.

“You’re glowing, by the way,” she said, settling on the couch beside you.

“Even if you’re panicking. Still glowing. Like, annoying-level glowing.”

You groaned and pulled the throw blanket over your face.

“I don’t feel glowing. I feel deranged. I cried over a centerpiece. A fucking centerpiece, Peach. Bucky had to talk me down like he was disarming a nuke.”

Peach laughed, flopping over until her cheek was resting on your shoulder.

“Sounds like he passed the test.”

You peeked at her from under the blanket.

“What test?”

She grinned.

“That’s the forever part.”

Your throat tightened a little.

You sat up slowly, tugging your knees to your chest.

“Was it like that for you and Steve? When you knew?”

Peach went quiet, her teasing softened by memory.

“I knew the second I saw him in Hilton Head. I wanted to strangle him. And kiss him. And break every plate in the house.”

You smiled. “Sounds romantic.”

“It wasn’t. Not then. But when I saw him again in Brooklyn, and I wasn’t mad anymore. Just wrecked and happy to see him? That’s when I knew.”

She turned to you, all mischief gone.

“But this wedding? This is you. Big, golden, joyful you. And Bucky sees it. He wants it. Not because it’s shiny, but because it’s yours.”

You blinked hard, breathing shallow now for entirely different reasons. Peach nudged you with her foot.

You wiped your eyes. “I love you.”

She grinned. “Obviously.”

She stood and stretched dramatically.

“Now. Are we crying into this gelato like the emotionally unstable icons we are?”

You grabbed two spoons.

“Of course.”

—

The boutique was a quiet sanctuary tucked between two noisy cafes in SoHo, and for a few hours, it belonged to just the three of you.

A sign in the window read Private Appointment – Bride Inside, scrawled in looping script, and Peach had immediately posed in front of it for a photo.

Inside, soft jazz filtered through the air as you stood on the pedestal, hem floating just above your bare feet, silk and tulle whispering around your thighs.

You tried not to cry.

Your mom sat on the velvet settee, hand pressed to her lips. Peach held the other, and even she was misty-eyed, despite teasing you the whole drive over about being “the chill bride, remember?”

“You look like a goddess,” she whispered. “A divine entity. They should retire white after this.”

The gown had been a long shot, a last-minute sample pulled out of storage by a determined assistant who said, “I just have a feeling.”

And somehow, it was everything.

Soft and stunning, romantic without being fussy. Ivory silk with a gentle shimmer, delicate cap sleeves that slipped off your shoulders just enough, and a deep V-back that draped like liquid. The front skimmed over your three-month bump, subtle enough to feel like a secret only Bucky would notice up close.

The veil was still in its packaging. You hadn’t decided on it yet. But when the assistant gently pinned a cluster of pale blossoms behind your ear, you suddenly saw the whole picture.

A villa. The sea. Golden hour.

And Bucky.

Your mom finally stood and crossed the room to cup your face like she had when you were small.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” she murmured. “Not that he isn’t already crazy about you.”

You laughed, thick with emotion.

“I don’t even know how to walk in this.”

“We’ll practice,” Peach grinned. “We’ll make a TikTok. Bucky’ll cry watching that.”

The fitting ended with a rush of photos, none of which you sent to Bucky. You’d barely stepped out of the dress when your phone buzzed.

Bucky: How’s it going? Are you still in the dress? What if I promised not to blink. Just a peek.

You: Absolutely not.

Bucky: I’ll bring dumplings. One glimpse for every sauce container.

You: Stop trying to bribe my honor.

Bucky: Your honor already said yes to marrying me. Let me worship you. …I’ll throw in a foot rub.

Peach leaned over your shoulder and read the thread, grinning.

“You know he’s parked outside, right?”

You turned toward the window and there he was, in his sportscar, sunglasses on, and pretending to be normal. He was parked illegally and completely unrepentant.

Your cheeks flushed.

“Oh my God.”

Peach cackled.

“Already in full simp-mode.”

—---

Bucky couldn’t stop imagining you in that dress.

He hadn’t even seen it, just chased the outline in his head, by the way your voice caught when you described how it shimmered, and by the way your hands had brushed your own hips when you whispered, “It just floats, Bucky. Like a dream.”

Well, now he was the one dreaming. Hard.

You’d spent the afternoon at your final fitting with your mom and Peach. He’d tried to bribe someone, anyone, to get a peek.

The designer, the assistant, the poor delivery driver who’d dropped off the steaming food Peach ordered from a fancy Thai place. But no one cracked.

So now he was pacing the penthouse while you did your hair in the ensuite, wearing one of his old tees and nothing else. The same legs that would walk toward him in that dress next week were currently propped up on the vanity, lotion glinting on your thighs like an oasis illusion.

He was losing it.

“You’re quiet,” you called, not looking up. “That’s dangerous.”

“I’m picturing you in white,” Bucky said, appearing in the doorway.

His eyes were starving.

You smirked at him in the mirror.

“That bad?”

“No,” he said, stepping closer.

“That good. Too good.”

He leaned down, mouth brushing your neck, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs.

“I can’t stop thinking about how you’ll look. But even more? About what’ll be underneath.”

You raised a brow.

“You won’t be seeing that during the ceremony.”

Bucky raised himself to full height.

“No panties next week.”

You laughed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, one hand gliding down to cup between your thighs.

“None. I want to be thinking about this sweet little pussy while you walk down the aisle. About how soaked you’ll be by the time I say I do.”

You gasped as he dragged his nose along your neck.

"Vei fi atât de frumoasă..."

“I thought you said you didn’t want to jinx anything,” you whispered, teasing.

“I don’t,” he murmured, lifting you up onto the counter with ease. “I just want what’s under the dress.”

His hands were hot on your thighs, spreading them open as his mouth found your neck, his voice wrecked with want.

“Just picture it, baby. You walk down that aisle, glowing, mine in every way. Everyone watching you. No one knowing you’re bare under there except me.”

You moaned softly, head tipping back as he kissed just beneath your jaw.

“You’ll say your vows, let me put that ring on your finger, and I’ll be standing there thinking about how my cum’s gonna leaking out of you that night.”

“James…”

“That’s right, mama,” he smiled into your neck, while slipping two fingers under your shirt to roll your nipple between his fingers.

His other hand was between your legs, thumb dragging a slow, teasing circle.

“You’re soaked,” he growled, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“This all for me, Baby?”

You nodded, dizzy.

“Been thinking about you all day.”

“Yeah?” His fingers dipped lower, spreading slick heat. “You ache, sweetheart? Want me to fix it?”

Your hips rocked into his palm, desperate and needy.

He chuckled.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Bucky sank to his knees.

He lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his hands gripping your hips, spreading you open with no shame. His mouth hovered over you, hot breath ghosting across sensitive skin.

And then he devoured you, his tongue firm and greedy, lips wrapping around your clit and his groan vibrating straight into your core. You cried out, fingers clutching the edge of the counter, spine arching as you came, so sensitive with pregnancy.

“You think you’re glowing now? Wait until you’re wearing my name, my ring, carrying my baby, and soaked for me on our wedding night.”

You whimpered, thighs rubbing together for friction. Bucky smirked, cock hard against your back, his lips brushing your ear.

“No panties,” he repeated, voice wrecked. “That’s final.”

As if he wouldn’t let you do anything and everything you wanted. He was grasping at straws, desperate.

You shivered.

“We’re getting married in front of my entire family.”

“I’m your family and I’m gonna fuck you now,” he said simply as he rose.

“Right here.”

You were already nodding when he turned you around and bent you over the counter, dragging your panties down and pushing your thighs apart. He didn’t bother teasing this time, just slid in deep and slow, your walls fluttering around him as he groaned your name like a prayer.

“God, you feel like heaven.”

One arm locked around your waist, hand splayed over your belly. The other cupped your breast through the shirt, thumb brushing your nipple. His thrusts were rougher now, driven by something raw.

“You gonna come again for me?” he growled into your neck.

“Come on, sweetheart. Give it to me.”

You shattered with his name on your lips.

And he followed with a broken moan, spilling inside you with a possessive groan, his body curling protectively over yours as he kissed the sweat-slicked skin at the back of your neck.

“You’re gonna walk down that aisle,” he whispered, “and I’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

You kissed his jaw. “You better.”

“You know what’ll help?”

You sighed happily. “What?”

“No panties.”

You laughed and buried your face in his chest.

“We’ll see.”

He grinned against your temple.

“No. We won’t. That’s the whole point.”

—---

The bridal suite smelled like pressed linen, sea air, and gardenia. You’d dreamt about this as a child.

But nothing about this was childish.

The silk under your fingers was real. The gold initials stitched in your train were real. The diamond on your hand caught every beam of sunlight through the balcony doors.

And Bucky Barnes was real.

You stood barefoot before the full-length mirror, the final zip of your gown still undone, your hair swept up in curls, a halo of pins and fresh petals glinting beneath your veil.

Peach was in the hallway chasing down earrings. The stylist was packing up brushes. And your mom stood behind you, hands gentle on your shoulders, looking at your reflection in the mirror.

“My beautiful girl,” she whispered.

You turned to look at her.

There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.

“You used to twirl around the living room with a pillowcase on your head and say, Mama, one day I’m gonna marry a prince.”

You laughed, already crying.

“He’s not exactly a prince.”

“No,” she said softly, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

“He’s better. He’s yours.”

That hit deeper than expected.

“You’re brave, you know,” she added.

“Not just because you’re marrying him. But because you’re letting yourself have this. Love, joy, your dream. You’re not shrinking for anyone.”

You swallowed hard.

“He loves you so much,” she continued.

“You’ve always been sunlight, but with him? You shine. And that baby already knows how lucky they are.”

You rested your hands over the small swell of your belly, blinking fast.

She stepped closer, adjusted a strand of hair, and kissed your temple.

“Take a deep breath, baby. This is the start of the rest of everything.”

Peach was showed up behind you in a sage-green slip dress, grinning like she had a secret.

“You gonna cry?” you asked without turning around.

“No,” Peach sniffled.

“You’re gonna cry. And ruin your lashes. So don’t.”

You huffed a soft laugh.

“Help me with the back?”

She stepped up behind you, fingers gentle as she zipped the dress slowly, smoothing it with a reverent touch.

“Holy shit,” she breathed.

You finally looked at yourself.

A deep neckline, silk that draped like water over your hips, the faintest shimmer that caught the light every time you moved.

Your hand found your belly, still barely visible. But you felt it. Bucky’s child. Yours.

“You’re not just a bride,” Peach said softly behind you. “You’re a monument.”

You turned, blinking back tears.

Peach held up a tissue like a threat.

You smiled. “He is?”

“Oh, he’s wrecked. I caught him sneaking a look at Bucky, who’s pacing the beach like a caged panther. He’s muttering to himself and holding the rings like they’re gonna disappear.”

Your stomach fluttered with nerves, joy, and a little nausea.

Peach stepped forward and took your hands.

“You ready?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

“Good. Because this wedding? It’s not about proving anything. Not to family. Not to guests. Not even to yourselves. It’s just the loudest, brightest way to say what you already know.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“That he’s mine.”

Peach nodded.

“And you’re his. For good.”

You took one last look in the mirror, breathed in deep, and exhaled slowly.

Then you whispered to your reflection, “Let’s go get married.”

—--

Bucky’s palms were sweating.

Which was absurd, given what his hands had done in past lives. They done some dangerous things and they had been steady. Always.

But not today.

Today, his hands were waiting to touch you, his future wife. And for the first time in years, he was nervous in a way that had nothing to do with power, and everything to do with love.

He stood at the edge of a terraced garden that sloped down toward the sea, the salt air heavy with hibiscus and lavender. The villa behind him had hosted billionaires and heads of state, but none of them mattered.

The only thing that mattered was the sound of soft footsteps behind him.

He adjusted the cuff of his navy linen jacket, one of three that had been custom-made for this day. Steve had rolled his eyes earlier, muttering something about Bucky becoming a goddamn peacock in his old age.

But then again, Steve hadn’t seen you yet.

You had insisted on a first look. Said he couldn’t badger his way into seeing the dress ahead of time, but you’d give him this moment before the wedding.

Something private. Just for you two.

And thank God for that, because Bucky already felt like he was going to drop to his knees.

“Buck,” came Steve’s voice from behind him, sarcastic.

“If you pass out, I’m not carrying you.”

Bucky cracked a shaky grin but didn’t turn around. Not yet.

He heard your laugh before your voice. The sound of Peach’s heels clicking nearer.

And then…“James.”

He shut his eyes for a second. Took a breath like it was his first in years. Then he turned. And the world fucking stopped.

You stood in the garden light, hair swept up, veil fluttering slightly in the sea breeze, and the gown…Jesus.

Bucky couldn’t breathe.

You looked like a dream he was afraid to wake from. The silk clung in all the right places and glowed against your skin, soft and strong and completely you.

His eyes dropped to your hand and the ring he gave you glittering in the afternoon light, and then lower, to the barely-there swell of your belly, where his child grew.

His voice cracked as he said your name.

You stepped forward, nervous for only a second until you saw the look in his eyes.

He was ruined.

Bucky’s throat worked as he blinked hard.

“You look…”

“Yeah?” you teased, suddenly shy.

“Arăți ca pentru totdeauna. You look like forever,” he said hoarsely.

He reached out, fingers brushing your waist like you were made of spun sugar, like you’d disappear if he held on too tightly. But you didn’t disappear.

You stepped right into his arms, melted into him, and he kissed your temple carefully.

“I love you,” you whispered into his neck.

His voice was raw. “I love you more.”

You pulled back to look at him, hands resting lightly over the lapels of his jacket.

“Still nervous?”

He shook his head.

“Not anymore.”

—---

The ceremony was held at golden hour on a bluff overlooking the Aegean. The aisle curved through native sea grass and white stone, petals scattered with the ocean spread wide behind the altar.

Bucky waited, heart racing, jaw tight, in the very center of it all.

Steve stood at his side, a rare look of reverence on his face. The man had been his right hand through everything it took to build an empire. But nothing had ever made Steve sniff back emotion like this.

“She’s coming,” Steve said under his breath as Peach walked toward him. “Try to stay upright..”

Bucky didn’t reply.

And then he saw you and everything went still.

You stepped into view, arm tucked gently through your stepfather’s, veil floating behind you, dress glowing like it had been dipped in starlight.

Bucky swore the sun dimmed itself just to let you shine.

He’d seen you earlier, kissed you, held you, but this was different.

This was sacred.

But Bucky couldn’t see them anymore.

He saw only you.

And you were looking right at him. Like there was no one else. No crowd. No ceremony. Just him.

He pressed two fingers to his lips, then to his heart.

You felt it. A vow without words.

Your stepfather leaned in and whispered, “He loves you, baby girl,” before placing your hand into Bucky’s.

The officiant spoke, but neither of you heard a thing.

“Okay?” he mouthed.

You nodded, eyes shining. “You?”

His laugh was pure joy.

“Not even a little.”

The ceremony passed in a blur of gold and sea wind and reverent silence. There were a few readings, a pointed look from Peach when the phrase “in passion and peace,” was spoken, and Steve chuckled under his breath.

Bucky barely registered it.

He watched your lips shape the words “I choose you,” like they’d been written into his skin.

And when it was his turn, his voice cracked.

N-am crezut niciodată că merit așa ceva, dar jur pe Dumnezeu că voi petrece fiecare zi demonstrând că merit.

“I never thought I’d deserve something like this,” he said, eyes fixed on yours. “But I swear to God, I’ll spend every day proving I do.”

The officiant smiled.

“I now pronounce you…”

Too late.

You were already reaching for him, grabbing his lapels and pulling him in like you couldn’t wait another second.

The kiss was deep, sweet and improper.

The crowd gasped. Peach hooted. Steve muttered “Jesus, you two,” and shook his head, but there was a grin on his face big enough to rival the ocean.

You and Bucky walked back down the aisle hand in hand, both of you beaming, radiant with something wild and holy.

He leaned close as the cheers swelled behind you, eyes flicking down your body.

You bit your lip and winked at your new husband as you leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“No panties. Just like you said. And shaved bare, too.”

Bucky didn’t stumble, but he damn near did.

You kept walking, serene and glowing beside him, your veil floating like a flame in the breeze.

Bucky was wrecked.

And the happiest he’d ever been in his life.

—-

The villa was quiet when you arrived and bathed in candlelight, the ocean’s rhythm a soft pulse through the windows. Someone had come in ahead of you; peonies floated in the clawfoot tub, and bottles of water chilled beside a tray of honey-dipped figs and dark chocolate.

But you didn’t notice any of it right away.

You noticed Bucky.

He kicked the door shut behind him, jacket already off, shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his gaze raking over you like he was starved.

He’d kept himself in check all day.

Ceremony, photos, dinner, the toast that Peach gave that wrecked you both, he’d kept it buttoned up.

But now he was unhinged. It shocked him how much he wanted you.

“Come here,” he said, voice raw.

You turned slowly, silk rustling as you moved toward him like a dream he’d been chasing his whole life. And when you were close enough to touch, he did.

His hands found your waist and then lower, gathering your gown in his fists, dragging the fabric up inch by inch until the whole thing slipped off your body and pooled at your feet.

And Christ.

There you were.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your mouth. “You’re so goddamn beautiful, sweetheart. Look at you. Mine.”

His lips dragged over your collarbone as he walked you backward toward the bed, relishing the fact that you were bare under his hands. He groaned as his palms found your breasts, thumbs grazing over sensitive nipples.

“You’ve been teasing me for days,” he said, breath hot against your neck. “All that talk about the dress. And what you’d wear underneath.”

“You like?” you asked, breathless.

Bucky smirked.

“I love you bare. Shaved. Soaked for me. So gorgeous.”

He sank to his knees in front of you, pressing a kiss to the gentle swell of your belly. His hands were splayed over your hips, grounding himself.

“But it’s not just this,” he murmured, voice thick.

“It’s not just how perfect you look. It’s everything. Your laugh. Your voice. The way you make me feel. The way you look at me.”

You were already shaking under his praise, thighs trembling, breath catching. His tongue dipped into your navel and swirled, making goosebumps peak.

“It gets me hard, Frumoasă. Really fucking hard. But that’s not why I love you. You’re kind. You’re sassy. You’re good. And you’re real.”

You whimpered, hips twitching.

“To find someone gorgeous, sweet, smart, hilarious, and mine? That shit’s not real. It’s not. But you are.”

His mouth moved lower, and you barely had time to moan before his tongue slid through your folds, filthy and slow. He groaned like a man who’d been craving this all night, gripping your hips and dragging you closer.

You cried out, one leg lifting automatically over his shoulder, and he buried his mouth deeper. Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging hard. But he didn’t stop. Not until you shattered against his tongue, sobbing his name, your body convulsing from the force of it.

Only then did he rise, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stared you down.

“You’re already wrecked,” he rasped. “And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

He undressed without looking away. Shirt, belt, trousers, all gone in seconds. His cock was already hard, thick and heavy, flushed dark and wet.

And when he crawled over you, he took a beat to just look at you.

“Still with me, Mrs. Barnes?”

“Always,” you whispered.

And then he sank into you, slowly, inch by agonizingly thick inch, stretching you around him until he was seated to the hilt and barely breathing.

“Goddamn,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, eyes shut like he was in pain.

“You feel like…fuck, you feel like coming home.”

You whimpered, your hips rolling to meet him. He started to move, deeper with each thrust, building a rhythm that made the headboard knock the wall and your name fall from his lips like he didn’t know how to stop saying it.

He kissed your breasts, your neck, your mouth, his hand slipping between you to trace soft circles over your clit. But what wrecked him, what destroyed him, was when his hand slid to your belly again.

Right over where your baby was growing.

“We made something,” he choked out, voice breaking. “Right here. Inside you.”

“You made me yours,” you whispered.

“I always will.”

You came again, sobbing his name, your walls fluttering around him. And Bucky followed with a groan, burying himself deep inside you as he spilled, clutching you tight, and shaking from the force of it.

Later, he carried you to the bath, washing you gently, like something priceless.

You curled between his thighs as warm water lapped at your skin, the scent of gardenia rising with the steam.

He kissed your shoulder and the back of your hand.

“You’re everything,” he whispered.

“My love. My future. My family.”

You turned in his arms, pressing your lips to his.

“And you’re mine.”

——-

Well? Whaddya think? 🤔

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starconstruction · 12 hours ago

Text

Designated Ride

Yena x Male Reader (smut)

smut tags: pussy licking, blowjob, public sex, bathroom sex, throatpie, riding.

word count: 3312

forgive my britishness (i've been living a lie and autocorrecting to american spellings) for saying jumper 💔

after 4 months I have finally realized i have not been spacing my introduction properly, much love. Tried a few new things, I wanna write 9000000 yena fics, these pre-fic spaces are getting too long but i yap

Plans rarely make it out of the group chat between you four.

So it was a miracle you guys were here right now, in the glorious shining sun shining radiantly amongst your group. The skies were clean and crisp, shining a nice blue as all clouds decided to go on holiday which is certainly unusual here.

Its a shame that you were alone again.

Turns out being for lack of a better words (or more realistically Yuri's words) a "pathetic bitch loser" means you ended up here alone while they sat in a 2 and a half hour queue for a 30 second ride they swear is "worth it".

You don't necessarily believe them, but if they desire to do so there is no point in shooting down their excitement.

Besides its not all bad.

You get to waltz around the park entirely uninterrupted joyfully and do some rides that they stuck their noses up at.

Different tastes and all, it just so happens to be that you are the odd and obviously right one out.

You walked through the hundreds of people that walked in the way opposite. The full package deal so to speak; annoying children whining at their parents, teenagers randomly mantling each other's backs, the elderly who definitely didn't want to be here. You weaseled through them all just about, only pushing into like... 15 people.

You got to the ride that Minju called the worst, a simple blue water-slide. Sure it was made for children, probably those who haven't formed as much as an independent thought. But there's nothing wrong with enjoying the more simplistic pleasures in life. Climbing up the rickety staircase that almost certainly did not pass health standards, peering towards the ride those three went on. In their defense it certainly looked impressive, making everything its vicinity look miniature in comparison, considering how much they scream at the littlest things it did seem like an odd choice.

You let the minutes pass you by, waiting for the queue of children to slowly funnel down the slide. In your sightseeing you saw a blob of pink hair that looked almost familiar, she was looking down and you couldn't see much more than that.

"Sir how many?" The employee asked, holding the chain in his hand.

"One." You said quickly, getting nothing more than a curt nod before being allowed through. Mantling the orange raft and laying back. It only took a few seconds for everyone else to get into position before you were hurling down the slide, fingers grabbing onto the supports far tighter than the speed demanded. It only took a few seconds before you were at the bottom again, hitting a stylish jump (at least in your opinion) out onto the soft ground.

You would never fathom why Minju hated that ride with every fiber of her being.

"Hey!" A voice squealed to your left, a voice you'd recognize anywhere, Yena. Confirming your earlier suspicions.

You took a glance at her, wearing a cyan shirt with fabric far too thick for this weather. She almost certainly agreed, jumper wrapped around her waist, just not done particularly well by the arms dangling against her bare thighs. She gave you a quick smile and waved you over towards her.

"Oh hey Yena, you work here now?" You walked closer.

"Yep! Got the summer gig I wanted! I've loved this place since I was a kid." That was true, she didn't shut up about it, not that you minded. You've never seen joy quite as contagious as she talked about this place, probably why you ultimately came here in the first place.

"Sweet, does that not mean you have like... a ride to attend to?" Yena flashed a face of feigned offense, pulling her phone out from her pocket.

"Already trying to get rid of me?" She pouted. "But no, I haven't been assigned anything in particular right now. I guess I just get to walk around?"

"Fair enough, well I guess I can keep you company..." You rolled your eyes.

"How generous, anyways... Why have you came here alone? Do you not have friends?" She asked, stepping a bit too close as she intruded on your personal space carelessly.

"I'm not, they just wanted to sit in a queue for 2 and a half fucking hours." You grumbled.

Yena smirked, you knew what that look meant. It just surprised you it came so quickly, she moved you two slightly out of earshot.

"So what I'm hearing is we have some time to kill right?" The scent of her perfume intertwined itself with the scent of summer sweat and new clothes.

"I guess we do, would you happen to have anything in mind?" You murmured, playing innocent.

"I say we break this job in, you remember the last time right?" Oh god you did.

It was her first job, a number of years back. At the gas station not too far from the two of yours houses. She messaged you to keep her company in the middle of the night, expecting her to just want you to listen to her yap for a few hours.

That was certainly not what happened, Yena had black hair back then. You remembered it so vividly, probably because she backed you into the staff toilet and made you grab a handful of it. Pushing your far too erect cock into her ever divine mouth, there were very few words shared. Just the sweet gags of Yena taking your cock in as delightfully as possible, you didn't last long that night. Giving her the load she desperately craved, swallowing it all in one gulp.

You two made a bit of a habit after that, every night shift ended up with some form of messing around. Its honestly a miracle she didn't get fired from the job.

"Yeah, but this is a lot busier than that dingy ass gas station." She giggled.

"Yeah, but I'm staff silly! They so graciously offered me a hotel room since my commute is far too long. We just need to discretely make it that way" She pointed south, "If anyone asks I'm showing you where to go, got it?" You nodded.

Yena lead the charge, moving at a moderate pace. Evidently already enjoying herself in her head; legs not separating quite far as they normally do, her hand finding any opportunity to discretely brush against your thighs when nobody is looking.

The walk is also far too long for your own sanity, giving you chances to imagine all the things you could do to her in a personal hotel room. All depending on how much time she gives you. Maybe you could reunite your cock with her blissful mouth or possibly you could ram her against the wall, or the bed, or the floor, she'd look good in any. You knew first hand of course.

"Quick right here." You followed, the hotel coming into view, it was in the shape of a scrap fish. You chuckled at its sight. Yena was less impressed than you, possibly numb to the sheer absurdity of it.

You two had finally made it to the ocean blue door, Yena scanning her keycard in a rush. Her hastiness resulted in you basically being shoved into the metallic wall of the elevator. "Ow Yena, relax a bit."

She hit the buttons, taking you to the top floor. "I'm impatient, okay?? Is that what you want to hear, we don't have long." Truthfully neither of you knew how much time the two of you had, but she's right.

The elevator opened with a satisfying ding! Yena skipping straight ahead to the door in front of her, 832. It'd probably help to remember that just in case.

She slammed the door behind you, giving you no time to prepare before her hands were on you, fingers grabbing onto the fabric of your shirt hungrily. Tugging you forward, roughly catching your lips in a needy kiss. The agonizing walk must have only furthered her desperation, her tongue sliding into your mouth as you struggled to keep up.

You grabbed at Yena's clothed ass, fondling the firm flesh that you've enjoyed many times before. With your hands, your fingers and even your tongue. Another idea perhaps, but you turn your focus onto kissing Yena passionately. Her tongue resigning its control in exchange of you blissfully tongue fucking her mouth.

It only took a few moments for the two of you to run out of breath, Yena gasping for oxygen which you capitalized on. Lifting her up in your arms to which she yelped "Oh!".

You dropped her gently against the bed, Yena shuddered as she made contact. Looking up at your towering frame. "Fuck its been far too long Y/N" She gasped.

Oh god you agreed.

You definitely planned to make up for lost time, climbing over her. Getting rid of that bothersome shirt that dared to cover Yena's chest, giving it sloppy kisses on her exposed abs. The salty taste of her sweat gathering on your tongue, unashamedly licking on every crevice of her chest from her underboob that exposed itself under her maroon bra to her belly button.

She mewled out her words, "Mmh your tongue always feels good, but it'd feel better somewhere else..."

You smirked, continuing your tongue's long strokes against her chest "Yeah? Where would that be Yena?" You knew her so well and one of the things she loved the most was being fucking teased.

"Hm, just a bit lower than where you are now." She was purposefully vague.

"Oh? Here?" You asked, kissing just above the waist of her shorts.

"Psh– You know what I mean..!"

You pushed your hand between her legs, doing no more than just that. Watching her whine.

"Do I? For someone who was so desperate to rush you are oh. so. slow. in telling me what you want."

Yena finally relented, accepting the loss this time because she knows it'll only lead to greater victories. "Fine, I need you to eat me out, is that what you want to hear?"

You reveled in her confession, hands ripping off her shirt leaving her nearly bare. Saved for her underwear and shoes, you didn't fucking care for the rest of it, she wasn't wearing matching underwear, panties a shade of blue made only darker in the middle by her dripping arousal.

"Of course Yena." Your fingers rubbed the damp fabric, getting the desired affirmations you wanted in the form of a broken whimper.

You tugged her underwear down, revealing her wet pussy, wet could be understatement of the century. For she was drenched with little touch at all. The shoes acting as a barrier you did not care enough to overcome. Binding Yena's feet together -not that she had any intention or want to move- "Fuck you are so wet–"

You got closer, climbing onto the bed. The lack of being able to properly spread her legs made things a bit more difficult in terms of position, hands perching comfortably on her right thigh, blowing hot air on her entrance. She shivered, "F-fuck, come on... Stop teasing me already!"

Your breath hitched, only complying because you were equally as desperate. From the first lick you were quick, careless, demanding. sliding your tongue all over her folds, gathering Yena's ever plentiful juices. Her sweet taste being all you needed to keep going but the way her thighs twitched and shook were all the more reason to continue.

"Oh fuck! It's been so long!" Yena gasped at the first contact, you kept licking, twirling your tongue around her pussy, covering her in your spit.

"Far too long." You replied, you could discuss meeting later another day. For now you craved more.

Your lone finger pushed inside, then out, then inside, then out. Slower than your tongue, the two different speeds making Yena lose her mind. "Fuck– that, fuck–" far too stunned to speak, not that you could blame her.

You looked up at her as you licked, her hands didn't remain idle, far from it. Pinching her pink nipples firmly, her bra neatly fallen into the impromptu pile that formed somehow.

Her eyes were closed, scrunched. Mouth wide open just enough to let the sinful gasps and pleads come out, her face was flushed a deep red like she had been burnt by pleasure.

You could sense she was getting close, but it wouldn't be your tongue to finish the job. So you pulled away.

"Ah!– Why'd you stop?!" She groaned at the sudden edging, instinctively freezing her hands movement.

You moved suddenly, Yena suddenly being met with a clothed cock pitching a tent right in front of her eyes. She knew what you wanted, looking up with those fucking eyes that made you weak, giving a small kitten kiss to the straining fabric.

"You want me to suck this dick? So hard and you haven't even been touched..." Hypocrisy certainly was lost on Yena.

"Of fucking course, take every inch for me." Was all you needed to say and Yena gave her hands a new objective, pulling down the two obstructions in one fell swoop. Leaving you to be the one to finish the job.

Yena was still laying there, tongue out. Like she wanted you to claim the ultimate prize or at least the second ultimate prize. Such things are entirely trivial and semantic, you readjusted her. Tangled feet now placed at the pillow as she was given her the perfect access to your cock, to which she took happily. Hand gripping the base firmly.

"Such a good cock, you always were my favorite." You ignored any possible implication because your brain went numb at the sight of her slapping your cock against her tongue.

"Always tasting so good." She sampled it like a divine meal, giving it a barrage of kisses, making out with your tip. Beginning to take you inside her mouth, that made you weak in the knees, just barely avoiding falling backwards onto the bed.

"Fuck, Yena I've missed this..." You gasped, she responded with taking half way. Bobbing her head up and down as a frantic swirl of pink hair, "Like that." Her hands pumped what she couldn't fit inside her silky mouth.

She hungrily swallowed every inch that she could muster, cheeks hollowing out, mouth somehow even tighter than before. Yena relinquished her hand, moving them to your thighs. You knew the look she just gave you, its the please fuck my mouth look.

You grabbed the back of her head, grabbing onto enough of her hair to move her. Yena closed her eyes as you pulled her down to your base, taking you straight to the hilt. Gagging all over your length as she crammed it into her mouth, nose pushing against your crotch in satisfaction.

"Fucking hell Yena, always so good at this..." You pulled her up and down on your cock, letting your tip slam against the back of her vibrating throat as she deepthroated your cock sinfully.

She couldn't really respond, but made her presence known with as many mewls and guttural sounds she could. You bobbed her head quickly, using her mouth as a sleeve for the both of yours pleasure.

The sight of Yena choking herself on your cock was filthy; obscene, the only words that came to mind at this point. The sheer lust in your head drowning out any coherency you once had.

Yena drooled all down her chin, certainly not fit for work in how she looks currently. "Shit...."

ring

Nemonemo nemonemo sign

Well thats certainly not your ringtone.

"Shit." You said more firmly now, getting Yena off your cock.

"Damn buzzkills, hold on." She brought the phone to her ear. "Yep, i'll be over in just a second. On the other side of the park. K thanks, bye."

"I take it we are being interrupted?" You sighed, solemnly missing the feeling of Yena's mouth on yours.

"Yep, guess our luck ran out... You can jerk off if you want? Or something? I don't know to be honest." Yena quickly got to work, reclipping her bra around her breasts, tugging her panties upwards, grabbing her perfume from her bag and quickly making herself as presentable as possible. The event's that transpired here chalkable as just being slightly unkempt.

"Nah, I'll go on some more rides while I wait for the others. Fucking stupid job." You groaned as you put your trousers back on.

"Fuck I wanted to cum! I still do... I'll text you if i get a free minute!" She promised, the two of you discreetly getting out of there.

The opportunity presented itself a few hours later, just an hour before closing.

They wanted to go on another ride.

Yena texted you that she was free for the next 10 minutes.

The hotel was a luxury you didn't have time to reach.

This would have to do.

You were sat on the toilet seat, down to your shoes, cock pointing towards Yena's entrance. She sank down, taking every inch of you inside.

"Fuck... This is my favourite ride of them all." You ignored her cheesy comment, she was squeezing the life out of your shaft, bouncing up and down vigorously, slamming against your crotch as she rode the stolen high from earlier.

"Bounce on my cock for me Yena!" You moaned against her ear, hoping that there wasn't people this close to the stool. She was snug around you, your praise making her squeeze even tighter.

"Ah!" That was far too loud.

"Quiet... Don't want people to hear how well you are taking this cock do you?"

Yena nodded and kept bouncing up and down, she was fast, rolling her hips as she rode. "Fuck your throbbing..." You kneaded her ass in between thrusts, groping the soft flesh with pure desperation, want, need.

"We don't have very long, cum for me Yena." You cooed. Yena gasped in your ear, you couldn't expect her to do all the work, swapping positions as you pushed her against the stool door. Thrusting into her needy cunt with all the strength you had left, holding your hand against her mouth, muffling her sweet moans that nobody else deserved to hear.

Her legs trembled in the air, her face was beet red and sweaty, she was getting closer for you.

You could feel her get somehow even more tighter than before, she was getting close. Desperate to hit that high, the clock was ticking. Yena seizes in your embrace, gushing her girlcum all over your shaft, some dripping on the floor, her explosive orgasm nearly making you blow your load right inside her.

You had to act quick, pulling out of her warmth and descending her onto the filthy floor, pushing your cock into her warm mouth, fucking her hole with reckless abandon as there was no time to waste. She gagged up saliva as the new position made you go down her throat.

Your orgasm crept up inside of you, shooting the biggest load you've had ever down her throat, rope after rope filled Yena's throat as she took it all.

You were honestly impressed with how she endured all of that, pulling your cock out of her warm mouth as you fell backwards, "Shit... I'm gonna be late! That took 15 minutes... Help me quickly!" She gasped, you helped her dress herself, spray the perfume for the second time and hope she didn't get in too much trouble.

"If I don't get fired maybe you should come to this park alone... Perhaps you could spend the night."

"Sure thing, they are going to be out of queue soon so I've also gotta run, nice to see you again." You laughed.

"See ya! Hope I was up to customer satisfaction guarantee!" She blew you a kiss and left the stool, you secretly sneaking out a few minutes later when the coast was clear.

#kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #kpop x male reader #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #kpop fic #female idol smut #izone smut #iz*one smut #yena smut #girl group smut

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maraudereestauderelb · 2 days ago

Text

Lipstick & Bad Decisions (Nikki Sixx x Reader)

You're tired of bad dates and boring men in suits who only see your face and not your fire. But the last person you'd ever let yourself want is your reckless best friend, Nikki. That is… until one fight too many...

“The only reason I haven’t fucked you yet is because I have no interest in having daddy’s little girl next to me, crying in the morning when I tell her to leave.”

Warnings:

Friends to lovers, angst & unresolved tension, verbal fights, alcohol use, soft smut vibes / heated kiss, strong language

Also: Pre-Fame Nikki

You sighed as you looked at the mirror in front of you. Your night had been awful! The date you had, had been nothing but horrible. You really started to get sick of it. Rich men - usually older than you and better educated and yet unable to keep up an interesting conversation! You knew you weren’t stupid, but most of the time you felt like the men you dated would enjoy it much more if you were. Pretty to look at but without a brain.

You sighed again.

You just couldn’t help it! You weren’t into men in fancy suits, acting like real gentlemen, successful. Why were they all the same? So goddamn boring…

When your latest date had tried to kiss you over an hour ago, obviously hoping for an invitation inside, you had backed off, thanked him for the nice evening and had rushed through the door to your apartment. Next time was going to be better. The next guy was going to be the right one. As if that wasn’t what you always told yourself!

At least your best friend seemed like he had a great night. Nikki’s idea of a great night. Only a moment ago Nikki had given you a quick call asking for help and by now you already knew what that meant. Of course, you knew after years of being friends. It meant you would walk over to his place and make a scene.

After you had switched your fancy dress for a more comfortable blue jeans and a black shirt, you walked over to his apartment. Thankfully, he lived just down the road.

You took out the keys for his apartment and took a deep breath before you opened the door. You were ready for an Oscar-worthy performance.

You headed directly for his bedroom and opened the door to it happily exclaiming: “Hey baby, surprise!”

The girl next to Nikki in bed looked like she was about to have an heart-attack but by now you were used to any kind of reaction, so you kept going with an equally shocked face-expression: “Nikki! I- What the hell are you doing?! What is this!”

For a second a soft grin found its way to Nikki’s lips before he was back in character: “Oh shit, Y/N…I swear, baby, let me explain this!”

He jumped out of the bed, only dressed in his briefs, and tried to get close to you but you pushed him away: “Don’t touch me, you unfaithful little bastard!”

“You have a girlfriend?!”, the girl in his bed found her voice again. Your signal.

“Looks like he had a girlfriend!”, with these words you ran out of the bedroom again and out of the apartment, down the stairs. It had turned into a routine. You were doing this about twice a month, although it had started to become more often over the past weeks, and like every time you hid behind a big tree outside the building until Nikki’s one-night-stand had left before you made your way back to his apartment.

You had thought about going home this time, but you didn’t, although you were horribly tired and exhausted.

“Oh there she is, my sweet little girlfriend!”, Nikki laughed when you entered his messy living room.

He was sitting on his sofa and, thankfully, had put on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

“I’m really not in the mood, Nikki”, you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms in front of your chest.

“You alright, princess?”, he eyed you puzzled with a big grin on his lips before he opened himself another bottle of beer, which had been standing next to a few others on the coffee table. God, this man was slowly killing you …

“I’m great, thanks for asking. But if there is nothing else, I can do for you, I’ll go home now”, you had already turned around when his voice caught you between steps: “Hey, stop, Y/N! What’s wrong?”

You sighed but turned around.

“Nothing. I’m just wondering when you’re finally growing up and at least learn how to deal with your one-night-stands on your own.”

Ignoring your words he teased you: “Shitty night, huh?”

“Yes, Nikki. I had an awful night!”

“Another boring rich dude?”, he asked sounding a lot more bitter than he had intended.

Sometimes you caught yourself wondering what would have happened if Nikki had ever asked you out on a date. You wondered if you’d have accepted his invitation… But except some drunk flirting, you had never been anything but friends.

After all you both had pretty different expectations of life, so you had told yourself. Nikki was funny. Nikki was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Nikki was handsome. But besides that, Nikki was an asshole. He was impulsive, reckless and adventurous. He had absolutely no plan for his life! And that shit could be exhausting!

“Yes, Nikki, another boring rich dude, not like it’s your business.”

“I’m your friend. It’s my business”, he answered before he took another pull on his bottle.

“And you’re drunk.”

“Whatever. Sit down princess! Grab a beer and tell good ol’ Nikki all about your horrible date with that boring little piece of shit”, with these words he petted the place next to himself.

“I don’t drink beer, Nikki, and you know that”, you pursed your lips.

“I know, I know”, he grinned and got up from the sofa moving towards you. He came so close he left you unable to move. You hadn’t expected him to get this close.

“Look at that cute pout of yours, princess.” His thump swiftly brushed over your lower lip making your breath hitch in your throat before he turned around like nothing had happened: “Just let me check if I have something for you to drink. Because I like you so much better when you’re drunk.”

After biting your lip involuntarily his words got through to you while he was looking through a cupboard filled with different bottles.

“Beg you pardon.”

“What?”

“What do you mean, you like me so much better when I’m drunk?”

“You’re not that uptight and stuffy when you’re drunk”, he explained looking through the bottles without realizing how much he had offended you.

“Are you kidding me, Nikki?”

“No, why?”, he asked confused and finally found a bottle of cheap wine: “Here we go, princess!”

“Nikki, I’m serious.”

“What? You are uptight and stuffy.”

“I’m not!”

“Yes, you are! Otherwise you wouldn’t date all these boring, rich fuckers!”, he shouted at you.

Fuckin’ hell, this topic made him sick every damn time. Nikki despised your choices in men, not because they were boring and shallow, but because he could never be like them.

“You know damn well why I do that!”

“Yeah, this entire “A girl has to look out for herself”-bullshit!”, he laughed and sat down: “The way I see it, you have two choices. Either you go home, or you sit down and get drunk with me, so you and I forget how underfucked you are.”

“What?!”

“It’s true! That’s why your always so tense and bitchy! None of these other dudes manages to give it to you the way you would need it to loosen the hell up!”

He had no idea why he was saying this and he wanted to stop it, but he couldn’t. He wanted to stop shouting at you, but no one ever managed to rile him up the way you did!

“My sex life is none, I repeat: NONE, of your business, you insensitive asshole!”, you shouted back at him. Why was he saying this? How could he?

“I know it’s not!”, he got up again: “Besides the fact that it’s technically nonexistent.”

“Because I’m not like the girls you fuck every now and then?! I don’t sleep with the guys I date because I choose not to, but I could! I swear one word and even you’d take me to your bedroom to take me yourself!”

His eyes grew wide.

“What? Don’t tell me that’s not the truth, Nikki!” Tears started to run down your heated cheeks, making his knees weak. What had he done?

“Y/N…”

He had lost all confidence and slowly started to realize what he had just thrown at you. He shouldn’t have said that. It only took him the blink of an eye until he had run over to you.

“Fuck, Y/N…I…I didn’t mean to say that! I’m such an ass…please- please stop crying, babe”, he tried to grab your hands, but you escaped his touch.

“Answer me, Nikki”, you sobbed: “Is this what this is all about? You haven’t had enough yet? You want me to get this other bitch back here?”

Fuck, this man had you wrapped around his finger and didn’t even know it. Of course, your entire body was screaming for him, begging for his touch! But you couldn’t give in… you couldn’t lose him as a friend… you just couldn’t.

“No, no, no”, he quickly answered and wanted to press your body against his but you raised your hands in defense: “Don’t touch me!”

“Y/N…please, I’m sorry!”

“You’re my best friend, Nikki! How can you…why would you say that?!”

“Because you made me lose my shit!”, he let his shaking hands roam through his dark hair and over his face: “And I’m sorry!”

“I made you lose your shit?!”, you felt anger growing inside of you again: “Why? Because you can’t stand the truth?!”

“I can’t stand the truth?!”, he exhaled sharply: “Am I the one crying again because I don’t get what I want?! Fuck, the only reason why I haven’t fucked you yet is because I have no interest in having daddy’s little girl next to me, crying in the morning when I tell her to leave!”

Unable to say a word you stared at him for a while. Obviously he was as shocked by his words as you were and yet he couldn’t take it back, although it was one of the biggest lies, he had ever told anyone.

“Fuck you, Nikki”, you said before you turned around and wanted to leave his shit hole of an apartment. You had to go. You couldn’t look at him any longer.

You heard his steps behind you and tried to walk faster, not giving a shit what else he had to say. He wanted to hurt you? He had reached his goal!

“Y/N, wait!”, he grabbed your wrist and turned you around as fast as he could and before you were able to do anything against it or were able to understand what was happening, he had pressed his lips against yours. Your eyes widened in shock before they suddenly fell shut.

You didn’t want to return the kiss, but you couldn’t resist. You had waited so long for this, his presence took over all your senses. One of his hands was still wrapped around your left wrist and the other against your back, pulling you closer, while his lips tenderly moved against yours. God, you had always wondered what he would taste like. You wanted him. Fuck, how badly you wanted him. But not in the way he wanted you…

And the moment, you remembered this fact, you finally escaped his lips and before you were able to control yourself your palm had hit his cheek with a loud smacking noise.

“Why did you do that?”, you shouted at him angrily and still out of breath.

He had kissed you. Nikki really had kissed you. Fuck, and it was hard for you to stand properly. You needed more of this. More of his kisses. More of him.

“Why did I do that? You just slapped me!”, he looked at you shocked.

“Because you kissed me!”

“Yeah? That’s a reason to slap me?”

“Why did you do that?!”, you shouted again, ignoring his words.

Exactly. Why had he done that? He wished he had the answer to that.

“I…Y/N- I knew if you had left this time, I never would have seen you again…I had to stop you from leaving and I didn’t know what else to do…”, he answered honestly and for the first time you were able to see the pain behind his eyes.

“I can’t let you leave me, okay?”, he answered: “I shouldn’t have kissed you, baby…”

Breathless you were staring at him. You didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t let you leave. What was that supposed to mean? Wordless you reached out for his lower lip, to wipe away the stains of your lipstick, but he reached for your hand to stop you in your way.

“I swear, princess, if you do this now, I can’t guarantee anything”, he growled with a deep voice, you weren’t used to but send a shiver down your spine.

“Nikki…”, you whispered still not sure what to say, only inches away from screwing all your principles. And you hated him for it, but yourself even more.

“Yes?”, he leaned his forehead against yours.

“W-what is this supposed to be?”, you were looking down to your hands nervously: “Because I really want you… listen, you won and I-”, but he interrupted you, gently lifting your chin up, so you would look into his eyes: “Y/N, don’t…”

Was he really about to do this? After all those nights he had spent awake thinking about you, about this exact situation, he was telling you to stop, when you finally wanted what he had wanted this entire time? Fucking hell, he loved you! He felt like he had been thrown into ice-cold water when the realization hit him like a train. He loved you. And he couldn’t risk you leaving.

“Y/N”, he sighed, not knowing where to start. He knew there was no way you’d feel the same. He wasn’t good enough for you. He had known it right from the start. But he couldn’t hide it any longer. He was sick of lying to himself every damn day!

“The truth is”, he inhaled deeply: “The only reason I haven’t had you in my bed already is because I'd have no fucking idea how to treat you right in the morning, Y/N.”

“W-what?”, you asked puzzled.

“I don’t know anything about this, okay? I want to treat you right. I want to give you what you deserve. But I can’t! I just can’t, Y/N…I want to but I can’t…”

“Nikki, are you- what?”

“You know it’s true… I don’t have a fucking job! I don’t have a perspective! I’m just hopping from one band to another, drinking and fucking around! I am not what you want!”

“But you are, Nikki!”, you demanded the second you understood what he was trying to say and softly placed your palm against his cheek: “You are what I want!”

“No, you don’t mean that! You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into!”

“You’re right…”, you admitted almost crying again: “I don’t know that. But I don’t care, Nikki.”

“I’m just going to disappoint you…sooner or later.”

“You won’t! I trust you, okay?”

Without hesitation he sealed your lips once more and this time you weren’t backing off. You quietly moaned into the deep kiss, filled with so much desperation you forgot to breathe. He immediately took his chance to caress your tongue with his. Your fingernails were buried in his shirt and excitement flooded your entire body. Fuck, how much you loved this man.

You kissed until you were gasping for air, your faces still so close you could feel your hot breaths against each other’s sensitive skin.

“You’ll have to be patient with me, Y/N…”

You chuckled: “I promise.”

“Fuck, you are so beautiful”, he exhaled as his thumb caressed over your soft cheek.

“You are doing great so far.” You smiled up at him.

“Tell me, princess, what am I supposed to do now?”

You hesitated a moment while you were caught up in a fight with yourself, before you answered: “After I already screwed over one of my rules tonight, I’ll better go now. And tomorrow morning you are going to call me so you can ask me out on a proper date.”

“You want to go now?”

“We want to do this slowly, right?”, you grinned.

“Do we?”

“Yes, we do!”, you placed another sweet kiss on his lips: “So please be a gentleman and see me to the door.”

#nikki sixx x reader #nikki sixx fanfiction #nikki sixx x you #nikki sixx #mötley crüe #motley crue #selina writes

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broad-shouldrs · 4 hours ago

Text

Hold On To Me || Chapter 8

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

word count: 5,043

summary: you weren’t supposed to be here-stuck at a summer camp your dad signed you up for. but joel’s here too: your neighbor, your boss, a single dad, frustratingly competent and infuriatingly attractive.

you shouldn’t want him. he definitely shouldn’t want you.

warnings: dbf! Joel (but he didn’t know you as a kid). age gap. au!no outbreak. pining. slow burn. phone sex. f!masturbation. m!masturbation. oral sex f!receiving. angst.

a/n: tags updated because there's finally some smut.

I have written and unwritten this chapter so many times...

also, the way Joel goes from using darlin' to baby and then to kid devastates me

find me on a03

As much back and forth as Joel had put you through recently, there was no real scenario in which you would have declined his call. Especially not tonight, when it seemed like he was so painstakingly close to kissing you again. “You answered…”, he says quietly, almost surprised that you’d give him a chance. There’s a pregnant pause and it’s almost as if you can hear his brain going a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to navigate the messy situation in front of you.

You don’t say anything, you just wait, anxiously picking at your cuticles. You think maybe the lines gone dead but then you hear his heavy sigh. For a second, you think he’s going to hang up.

“I been tryin’ to be good,” he finally admits, the tenor of his voice hesitant. “Tryin’ to do the right thing n’ stay away. But you—you’re…” He pauses again, thankfully this one much shorter than the previous.

“I could barely keep it together when I kissed you that first time. And then today… fuck .” You can imagine him nervously pacing back and forth in his living room, passing his hand through his hair. “If your daddy knew the things I think about. The things I dream about.”

“Tell me.” It’s more of a whisper than anything — a hushed plea. He doesn’t say anything right away and you’re sure he’s just going to apologize and you'll have to pretend once again like this conversation never happened. But you don’t want that — you want him. Your fingers tremble where they’re curled around your phone. “Joel…”, you breathe, giving him one more chance.

You hear him exhale like he’s been holding his breath. “God, you don’t know what that does to me when you say my name like that, darlin’.”

You hadn’t even registered the heat that had rushed between your legs, but hearing him say that — hearing him call you darlin’ with a completely new context — has made you all too aware.

“I meant what I said… I think about you all the time, darlin’.” His voice drops, thick and wrecked, “How you’d sound. How’d you’d feel. How good you’d look comin’ apart for me.”

You let out a small gasp and had anyone asked, you’d swear that your heart stopped for a full minute.

“I think about that time with the rock climbin’ harness. What it’d be like with nobody there. Just me behind you. Slidin’ my hands under your shirt, just feelin’ your skin.”

You suck in a breath and press your thighs together to quiet the ache building between them. It’s not just the words — it’s his voice, like he’s imagining it as he speaks.

“I think about the way you’d arch back into me, when I put my hands on you. Mouth on your neck, whisperin’ things I’d never usually say out loud.”

Your fingers began to trace the inside of your thigh, your thumb just skirting over the hem of your sleep shorts.

His voice drops lower, rougher. “N’ you’d grind your ass into me when I got my hand on your chest. Thumbin’ your nipples.”

In all your texts and phone calls, you had never actually imagined getting to this point. You definitely had not expected Joel to be so unabashed with how much he actually wanted you let alone have a mouth on him. Now you don’t ever want him to shut up. “Joel…” you whimper, keening up as you slide your hand beneath the waistband of your shorts, fingertips skimming hot skin. “Don’t stop.”

He pauses — just a second — like he knows. Like you’re on Facetime. He fucking feels it. “What are you doin’ right now?”

Any embarrassment you thought you’d feel is gone, but your voice is so thin and shaky when you reply. “Touching myself.” Your fingers move lower, grazing over the damp material covering your pussy. You gasp softly, not even trying to hide it.

“Fuck.” A rough sound crackles through the line, something between a groan and a grunt. “You gonna be a good girl and let me hear you?”

Your eyes flutter shut as you brush over your clit, making your hips rise from the mattress and your words catch in your throat. “I—“

“It’s a yes or no, darlin’.”

“Yes,” you say breathlessly, repeating the same movement.

You hear the soft clink of Joel’s belt followed by the tentative pull of a zipper. Joel lets out a relieved groan and the sound sends a pulse straight through you. You squeeze your eyes together, trying to imagine what his cock looks like in his hand — trying to imagine what he looked like as he stroked himself. “Wish it was you. Your fingers… ‘stead of mine.”

You hear Joel groan in agreement. “Still dressed?”

You nod.

“Can’t hear you, darlin’.”

“Yes” you breathe out, “just sleep shorts and a shirt.”

You can picture the smirk on his face as he speaks, “Take ‘em off. Your shorts.”

You rush to follow his request, your breath quickening as you put the phone on speaker and wrestle your shorts down past your thighs and kick them off your ankles. “You do that for me, darlin’?”

You let out the smallest noise and let your legs fall wide. “Mm-hmm”

“Good girl.”

Something in you stirs and you move back to touching yourself over your underwear.

“If it were me,” he continues, “I’d push your pretty little panties out of the way. Bet you’d be soaked just from pressin’ back on me. I’d touch her so nice. Get my fingers all nice n’ wet.”

You let out a soft moan and mimic his words, pushing the damp fabric of your panties to the side and pressing your middle finger to your core, lightly circling your clit.

“Oh, fuck.” Joel grunts and you hear him spit into his hand. “Think I could just slip two fingers right inside you? Start openin’ you up for me?”

Your pussy desperately clenches around nothing. “Please…Please Joel”

“Go ahead n’ do it for me. Two fingers, nice n’ slow.”

You do as he asks, slicking your ring and middle fingers through the folds of your pussy before pressing them deep into you. You gasp, clamoring for air, gripping the bed sheets with your free hand.

“Slow” he repeats, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "I wanna hear every fucking second of it.”

You start to move. Slowly, just as instructed. You moan soft, your hips beginning to move in sync with your hand. You can hear Joel on the other end of the line breath matching your own — heavy and ragged. “Jesus,” He groans and the sound shoots straight through you.

Your body responds to his voice, your inner muscles clenching around your fingers, wishing it were him instead. His hands are much larger than yours and you can almost feel it — the stretch, the heat, the sheer size of him. “Keep going. Little faster now”

You whimper, fingers still moving, the rhythm more urgent. Your breath stutters, hips arching up into your own touch. “Joel…”

“Yeah, baby. Just like that. Keep sayin’ my name.” You can hear the slick sound of his fist stroking his cock. “Wish I could see you right now. Fuckin’ hand between your thighs n’ pretty mouth all open and sweet for me.” Joel groans. “Wish I was the one makin’ you feel that good.”

You’re spiraling, every nerve lit up, every part of you aching for more. And Joel’s right there with you — his voice, a tether, a promise, a need so sharp it almost hurts. “You are.” You don’t bother holding back as your fingers move faster — the moan that slips from your lips is needy, trembling, and loud enough that you know he hears it. That he wants to hear it.

Joel groans in response, like the sound of your pleasure hits him as hard as a fist to the gut. “That’s it. That’s it, baby,” he pants.

You’re close. Your legs have started to shake and you can feel your orgasm building — damn near impossible to hold back.

“You let me fuck you, baby?” he murmurs, his voice more desperate. “Huh? You gonna let me push your legs apart n’ fuck your perfect little pussy?”

“Yes,” you gasp, fingers working faster, pressing the heel of your palm into your clit, your hips rolling against your hand. “Please, Joel—”

“Fuck—make you feel so good.” he growls. “Wish my cock was stretchin’ you open, keepin’ you right there on the edge.”

You whimper, nails digging into your thigh.

Joel hears it in your breath, the stuttering rhythm of your moans. “C’mon baby. Need to hear it. Need to hear you come.”

Your body tenses and you let go, his name falling from your lips as pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your fingers curl inside you as you ride it out, pulsing around nothing but the fantasy of him.

On the other end, Joel groans, deep and broken, and you know he’s right there too. “Oh fuck — just like that. Just like that, baby. So fuckin’ — oh fuck. Shit” He comes with a muffled groan, his breath punches out of him like he’s been holding back for too long.

You remove your fingers from inside yourself and there’s a long silence, just the sound of both your breathing returning to normal. “Y’alright?”

“Mmm.” You smile, and something in your chest settles.

"Good. Call you tomorrow?"

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You’ve lost count of how many times it’s happened. Not every night, but enough. Sometimes, the calls are harmless. You can tell by his voice that he’s tired, and he tells you about his day, what Sarah said at dinner, or how something reminded him of camp. He says your name a little too softly, lingers a little too long in the silences. But that’s all. You hang up warm, restless, aching for something you can’t name.

But other nights, it starts the same way. A quiet, ”Thinkin’ ‘bout you, darlin’” and the unspoken need curling around the words. Those nights he says your name like it’s a secret and then it quickly spirals until it’s nothing but need. You touch yourself because he asks. He listens because he needs to. Sometimes, he talks you through it in vivid detail — every filthy word soaked in the weight of what he can’t do. What he would do.

Sometimes he’s quiet when it’s over. You think he might be trying to say something else but it never comes, just a quiet, “night, darlin’.” leaving you panting in the dark, still thinking of him. Other times, he stays. He keeps talking until your heart stops racing.

Either way you don’t care because even if it’s messy — even if neither of you says the words — you know what it means. You want each other and you’re both terrible at pretending you don’t.

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It’s been two weeks since you spent any significant time with Joel. You’ve been getting by on interactions spanning less than five minutes and even then they were filled with knowing glances and subtle movements that made it hard to think. Makes it hard to forget the teasing, the whispered confessions in the dark, and the way Joel’s voice goes soft when he says your name.

You and your Dad have plans that afternoon to barbeque at Joel’s — it’s been planned for weeks. You don’t know why or what you expected but you’re ready hours before the game, restlessly bouncing your leg until you’re driving your Dad nuts with it. “Go on over already, you’re stressin’ me out.”

When Joel answers his door, he looks shocked. He didn’t expect you. Just you — alone and two hours early. Every late night call, every breath, every moan, every fucking image he’s had of you in his head, slams into him all once. Even worse, you look good.

“Hey,” you say. “Brought peach cobbler.”

Joel doesn’t even look at the Tupperware. He stares at you. You raise an eyebrow. “You gonna let me in?”

Joel steps aside, wordless. He lets you in, eyes laser focused on you as you slip off your shoes at the door. He doesn’t even make it five minutes. You say something, laugh too easily, and the sound breaks something in him.

He steps in close. Grabs your wrist, gentle but firm. Your eyes widen. You know that look. You’ve seen it before. You saw it at camp right before he kissed you. He says your name like it’s a confession. “Why’re you here?”

“I wanted to see you,” you admit, looking up at him from under your eyelashes. “Joel—“ You start to say something else, but he cuts you off. His mouth crashes into yours before you can finish. It’s not soft. It’s not careful. He kisses you like he’s starving. It’s everything he’s been holding back. Weeks of restraint, of wanting, of needing you in ways that feel all wrong and all right at once.

His hands are on your waist and it’s already too late. No pretending this is nothing. Something’s snapped and neither of you is going to be able to put it back. You don’t breathe. Not when he deepens the kiss, his mouth brushing against yours, his hands trailing up your back, the other cupping your jaw. You thread your fingers into his hair and kiss him back, desperate and aching, your whole body thrumming with need.

“Joel,” you whisper, when his lips move to your jaw and down the slope of your neck, open-mouthed and hungry. “Sarah?”

“Out.” he mutters into your skin, voice rough, hands sliding under your shirt, calloused fingers spreading over your ribs. “We have time. Just need to —”

He lifts you onto the counter like it’s nothing, standing between your knees, pressing in close so you can feel every inch of him. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him in tight, gasping at the friction. “You’re like a fuckin’ dream,” he says, voice already wrecked. His head rests against yours as his hand skims up from your ankle to thigh. “Thought about this. So many times.”

“Show me”, you whisper.

Joel surges forward, grabbing your face with both hands like he can’t stand another second of distance. The kiss is messy, breathless, teeth knocking into teeth until you open for him with a soft, desperate sound, and he groans like he’s finally getting air after being underwater. His hands are everywhere. Tangling in your hair. Shrugging off the jersey. Sliding under your crop top. Tugging at it with clumsy urgency until it’s over your head and tossed aside.”Fuckin’ hell. So goddamn perfect.”

Your bra is off a second later, and his mouth is on you — hot and wet and relentless. He sucks hard at your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple, lips sealing around it like he wants to leave a mark. Like he wants you to feel him there for days. Your fingers tangle in his hair, back arching into him with a sharp cry of his name, and he hums around you, pleased. You claw at his shirt, dragging it up his torso with shaking hands. He lifts his arms, lets you pull it off, then leans back just long enough to let you look — broad chest rising with rough, shallow breaths, dark hair scattered across tanned skin, a trail leading down to where his jeans are already unbuttoned.

Your gaze drops, and your stomach clenches. He’s hard. So hard. Pressed against the front of his briefs and straining for you. You make a sound — something low and broken — and hook your fingers in his waistband, but he catches your wrist. “Wait,” he pants, forehead pressed against yours. One hand slides between your thighs, pressing the heel of his palm against the heat shielded by denim. “Just—let me.”

He kisses you again, slower this time, swallowing the moan coming out of your mouth. He pops the button and ekes down the zipper of your shorts before turning his hand and slipping it beneath the waistband of your panties. And then he feels you.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your mouth,. “You’re soaked.”

You gasp when he strokes through you, thick fingers sliding through slick heat with no resistance. His thumb brushes your clit — just once, just enough — and your hips jerk.

“Joel—”

“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough, fingers circling with slow precision. “I know. You like this, huh?”

You nod, too breathless for words. His other hand grabs your hip, holding you steady as he keeps going, two fingers teasing at your entrance, barely pushing in.“Want you to come on my fingers first,” he says, like it’s a goddamn promise. “Okay? Then whatever you want.”

Your head tips back with a shaky breath as his fingers slide deeper, spreading you open. He watches your face as he sinks his middle and ring finger in, slow and deliberate, like he wants to memorize the way your lashes flutter and the soft gasp that slips from your lips. “Jesus,” he mutters, “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby. So fuckin’ soft.”

Your hands find his shoulders, fingers digging in as you try to stay grounded. His other hand is firm on your hip, anchoring you while he fucks you with just his fingers — slow at first, a careful rhythm that curls into you and makes your thighs shake. His thumb moves in circles over your clit, slick and sure. You whimper as he presses in deeper and finds the spot that makes your whole body tighten.

“That’s it,” he breathes. “You’re doin’ so good, baby. So fuckin’ good for me.”

You nod again, helpless, hips rolling to meet each thrust. He can tell by the way you’re clenching around him, that you’re close. He leans in, mouth brushing against the shell of your ear and whispers. “C’mon, baby. Let me see you come.”

Your orgasm hits hard, consuming you and jolting you forward until you’ve leaned against Joel’s sturdy frame. Your hand digs into his shoulder as you cry out his name between pants.

Joel keeps going, slow and steady through it, watching the way your body clenches around his fingers like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Goddamn,” he whispers, voice tight. When your breathing finally slows and your limbs go limp, he gently slips his fingers out and brings them to his mouth. You watch, wide-eyed, still dazed and trembling. He drags his tongue over his ring finger and hums deep in his throat like you taste even better than he imagined. It’s so fucking filthy and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. Your cheeks burn, thighs still twitching from aftershocks.

Joel’s eyes meet yours, and he lets out the cutest little breathy laugh. “Shit, darlin’. Couldn’t help myself.”

You make a strangled sound and cover your face with your hands, but he pulls them away gently and kisses your knuckles. “You okay?” he murmurs, a thumb brushing your cheek. You nod.

“More than okay.” You try to catch your breath, blinking at him through the haze of your orgasm. Your thighs are still parted around his hips, and he’s still fully dressed—his jeans undone, shirt rumpled, chest rising and falling like he’s the one who just came. His gaze skims over your face, your throat, the flushed skin between your breasts, and then lower.

“You’re wreckin’ me.”

You grab Joel by his shirt until he leans in and kisses you like he’s starved. Every drag of his mouth, every shift of his hips, is thick with hunger. You grab at the waistband of his jeans and this time he lets you. You tug the zipper down and shove his jeans past his thighs with one hand, quick and clumsy, dragging his boxers along until his cock presses hot and heavy against your thigh. You gasp into his mouth, your jaw left hanging open as you rest your forehead against his. “Need to feel you.” Joel’s hips twitch and he fumbles for his wallet on the counter behind you and pulls out a small gold packet, holding it like a trophy he’s just won. He takes a half step back and lets you take a moment to look at him, hand wrapped loosely around the base of his cock, the head flushed dark and wet where he’s already leaking. He’s thick, bigger than you imagined. Your breath stutters just watching him stroke himself once, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jesus,” you whisper, voice caught in your throat.

Joel’s eyes flick up, and the look he gives you makes your stomach twist.

“Joel—please,” you whisper, chest heaving.

Joel tears the foil open with his teeth and rolls the condom on with shaking hands. “M’right here.” He strokes himself again, just once, and then you feel the blunt head of him just barely nudge against your entrance.

Then — a knock at the door.

Both of you freeze. Your heart plummets . Joel stills completely, breath caught in his chest. His hand balls into a fist as he glares at the door.

“Maybe they’ll go away” you say, hopeful, your hand squeezing Joel’s bicep.

Another knock. Louder this time.

Joel’s jaw ticks. He doesn’t move at first. He’s still inside his own storm, chest rising like he’s counting backward from ten. Your body is buzzing, thighs still trembling, and Joel’s still hard, still thick against you. You can feel it. So can he. Then, reluctantly — agonizingly — he pulls back, pressing a rough kiss to your forehead, one hand cupping your face. “I swear to God,” he mutters under his breath, “if it’s another fuckin’ Jehovah’s Witness…”

Joel grabs your clothes from the floor and gives you a minute to button your shorts and re-fasten your bra as he tugs his jeans up just enough to pass for decent. “Gimme a minute”, he yells out. You try not to laugh as you pull your shirt back over your head — all nerves and frustration. You jump down from your place on the counter, and move towards the couch, flushed and dazed, trying to breathe like a normal person as Joel throws his shirt back on and opens the door.

“Hey,” your dad says, like it’s nothing. “Sorry, I was bangin’. I tried your phone but you weren’t answerin’. Did you need the cooler for tonight?”

Joel stares at him, silent for a beat too long. Behind him, you choke back a groan and sink into the couch cushions. “That’d be good,” Joel says finally, voice gruff and flat “Bit busy right now.” There’s a pause and Joel continues, lying through his teeth. “On the phone with the…cable company.”

Your dad squints his eyes, and then leans to the left slightly, looking to glance past Joel, then seeming to think better of it. “Sorry. My kid here?”

Your heart’s in your throat. Joel shifts just slightly, his arm leaning against the door frame, like he’s trying to make himself bigger and block your dad’s view. “Just me. Her n’ Sarah stepped out for a sec. Went to the store.” He says it smooth, casual — but his voice is a little hoarse.

Your dad lingers for a moment, shifting on his feet and then nods—like he’s letting whatever thought he had go. “Alright. See you in a few.”

Your dad’s already halfway down the steps before Joel closes the door again. The silence that follows is louder than anything. Joel doesn’t move. Just stands there with his hand on the doorknob, staring at the ceiling like it personally betrayed him.

Finally, Joel turns to you, brows drawn, mouth in a hard line. “Guess we don’t have as much time as we thought.” He moves to sit next to you on the couch, knees knocking together and hands twitching where they lay in his lap. “Maybe Tuesday when Sarah’s at soccer.”

You wince, eyes fixated on the frayed edge of one of the cushions. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

Joel’s face changes — just slightly. His jaw tightens. “Tomorrow?”

“Early.”

You watch the breath leave his body, like the wind was knocked right out of him. He scrubs a hand down his face, then over the back of his neck letting out a defeated sigh. After a beat of silence, you will yourself to look up at him and are faced with the most devastating, pleading eyes. Joel looks like he wants to say something else, but all he can muster up is, “Okay.”

You don’t know what to do with yourself after that, so you slowly get up from the couch and swallow hard. “M’gonna wait for Sarah upstairs. You should probably get the grill goin’ before my dad gets back.”

You don’t see his head fall back or his palms push into eyelids as he wills away the ache building in his chest.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The smell of smoke hits you before you even step outside.

Joel’s at the grill, beer in hand, tongs in the other, working like it’s just another Saturday. Like he didn’t almost fuck you in the kitchen half an hour ago. Like his mouth hadn’t been on your skin, his hands between your legs, his cock thick and heavy against you.

You stand next to the cooler your dad dug out earlier, twisting the cap off a bottle of water just to have something to do with your hands.

Sarah’s laughing at something your dad says, feet kicked up on one of the patio chairs. She’s wearing sunglasses and sipping soda from a can, talking about some friend of hers who just got a tattoo on a dare.

The moment feels suspiciously normal. But your body’s still thrumming, aching in the worst way. You swear you can still feel Joel’s breath on your neck, the weight of him pressing into your hips. You take a steady breath and look over at him. Joel’s already looking at you, and there’s a flicker of something barely restrained, before he drops his eyes to the grill like nothing happened. Your throat tightens.

Joel keeps his distance. His voice is steady as he talks to your dad about last night’s Rangers game . His hands are steady as he mans the grill. But, you can feel it, you can see it barely there — the tension of his shoulders and the pulse that beats in his jaw.

You take a seat next to Sarah at the patio table and Joel sets a plate in front of you, his fingers brushing yours just enough to make you jolt. “Thanks,” you murmur, not quite looking at him.

Joel sits across from you. You feel the heat of his gaze even when you’re not looking at him and you try to focus on the food in front of you. You feel something brush against your leg under the table and your heartbeat is thrumming in your ears. You hesitate, debating on pulling back but decide against it. Joel’s thigh shifts, just barely and you feel the press of his knee against yours. Solid. Warm. Grounding.

You nearly stop breathing.

The conversation hums around you but Joel is just watching you, quiet and unreadable. Your dad stands up, his hand clapping Joel on the shoulder, making him jump. “Gettin’ another. You want one?” Joel shakes his head and Sarah stands to follow him to get dessert from the kitchen.

Joel’s elbow rests on the arm of his chair and he leans in just enough to whisper to you, “Can I see you tonight?”

Your pulse jumps. You look at him. He’s not smiling. Not teasing. There’s something heavy and unguarded in his eyes that catches you off guard. It’s like he’s carrying a weight he’s been trying to hide, but now it’s pressed up close, and you can’t look away.

You swallow hard and shake your head.

Joel leans back in his chair, jaw clenched, and nods. His voice is somehow quieter this time. “No, you’re right. You deserve more than that.”

You blink. The weight of his words settles deep inside you, aching in a way you hadn’t expected. Before you can say anything, Sarah calls your name from the kitchen, breaking the spell. Joel shifts back in his chair, eyes falling to his plate like none of this ever happened.

After dessert, the patio’s gone quiet, the summer air thick with smoke and something heavier. Joel sat at the table, nursing the last of his beer, his chair turned halfway toward the yard. You’ve left Sarah and your dad inside packaging leftovers when you slip outside. The door clicks shut behind you, and Joel doesn’t look up. He just lets out a slow exhale, like he knew it was you by the sound alone.

“I didn’t wanna leave without saying goodbye,” you say softly.

Joel nods, eyes on the treeline. “When’s your flight?”

“Before sunrise.”

He finally looks at you, not just a glance. He looks — heavy with everything you’ve both felt but never said aloud. One that holds your whole summer — the heat of long, restless nights, the ache of words left unsaid, the barely-missed chances.

You step closer — not too close as your dad’s still in the house and the screen door doesn’t always latch right, but enough that you can see the tight line of Joel’s jaw and the way his fingers tap restlessly against the side of his beer bottle.

There’s a silence that stretches between you that neither of you wants to break because you know what comes next.

You shift your weight. “I don’t know when I’ll be back...”

He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know how to when inside, he’s conflicted over feeling selfish and hollow all at once. He wants to beg you to stay, but just as much, he wants to tell you to go. Not only so you can finish school and move on, but so he can finally let himself fall apart. “Ready to go?”, you hear your dad call out, breaking the unbearable silence. “Goodnight Joel”, you finally breathe out.

“Night, kid.”

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller ff #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #fic: hold on to me

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camficdiner · 2 days ago

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Hellooo! Can I request (1.5), (2.11), (3.6), (4.3)? Maybe where it's when he had an upper body injury (well say it was his back) and he's liked her for a while, but she's the PT. During the initial session she says no sex, and he's more obsessed with her after each session, and then one session everything changes and you can figure out the rest hehe 🤭 Please and thank you! I LOVE your writing!

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 029

🍒 thank you for ordering, babe! here’s your rookie with a back injury, his too-hot-for-him rehab doc, and the slowest, neediest, most forbidden confession-turned-sin you’ve earned all week 💌

💬 “Patient Confidentiality”

✨ description and prompts:

character: Will Smith (hockey)

prompt: you’re his physical therapist after a back injury. he’s obsessed. you said no sex during rehab. one session changes everything.

word count: ~1.2k

type: mixed fluff & slow, sensual smut

🛼🍒✨🧁

You were assigned to Will Smith two days after the diagnosis.

Upper-body injury. Minor back strain. Cleared for rehab, not for contact. Young, high-performing, probably cocky.

You’d seen his type before. Way too many times.

What you didn’t expect was how quiet he was. Not shy — just careful. Controlled. Like someone had told him not to fuck this up. Like someone had warned him about you.

You were older, composed, known for being strict with boundaries. Especially with athletes. Especially with him.

Good.

Because from day one, your rule was clear:

“Absolutely no sex during rehab. Not even flirting.”

He’d blinked. “I wasn’t—”

“You were. I’m not flattered. I’m your physical therapist, not your fantasy.”

He’d swallowed hard. “Right. Of course.”

But after that, it got worse.

—

The fourth week, you were doing mobility drills.

He lay flat on the table, shirt bunched under his shoulders, sweat at his collarbone. You guided his leg through slow, controlled range of motion. His hip flexed. Your hand moved to support his lower back.

And that’s when he twitched.

Not in pain — in tension.

Like your palm burned.

“You’re stiff,” you said, neutral.

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice low. “Been like that a while.”

You didn’t acknowledge it. You didn’t have to.

His eyes followed every movement you made. His breathing shifted every time you leaned over him. You’d worked with professionals who hid it better.

But Will? He was young, aching, and unraveling.

—

Today, it breaks.

You’re in the private rehab room — low light, doors closed. Will’s flat on his stomach, doing controlled lifts against your palm. He’s shirtless again, sweat clinging to his neck.

You press into his lumbar with steady fingers. “Tighter here. Breathe into it.”

He exhales, but it’s choked.

You pause. “That hurt?”

He shifts. Turns his head. Eyes locked on yours — something darker behind them.

“No,” he says. “But I can’t do this anymore.”

You raise a brow. “Can’t do what?”

He pushes himself up, slow, like his body’s too heavy with whatever he’s holding in.

“You touch me,” he says, “and I can’t think. You talk to me, and I hear it at night. I don’t even care about my back anymore — I just want you to fucking look at me like you feel it too.”

Your heart knocks hard once, but your face doesn’t move. “Will—”

“I know it’s wrong,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “I know what you said. But I’ve been so good. I’ve done everything you told me. I held back. But if you don’t want me… tell me now. Because I swear to God, I’m going out of my mind.”

The room is silent.

You’re staring at him — jaw tight, mind racing, body heat crawling up your spine — and he’s standing there, shirtless, wrecked, waiting.

You should shut it down.

You should tell him this is over.

But instead, your voice comes out lower.

“Lie back down.”

He blinks. “What?”

Your hand comes up — two fingers against his sternum. “Table. Now.”

He obeys. Almost too fast.

You walk slowly around to his side, watching his breath pick up. He’s hard already, trying to stay still. Trying to be good.

“You’ve wanted this,” you murmur.

He nods. “Since day one.”

Your hand runs lightly down his chest, over his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his shorts. His whole body twitches.

“You know this doesn’t mean you’re cleared for sex,” you say flatly.

“I don’t care. I just need to feel you.”

You don’t rush. You drag your fingers under the band of his compression shorts, slow enough to make him flinch. He’s aching — thick and already leaking.

“God,” he breathes. “Please—”

You wrap your hand around him, and he gasps — hips twitching, teeth clenched.

You start to stroke.

Slow. Controlled. Firm.

“Keep still,” you whisper.

His eyes flutter closed, head falling back against the table. “Shit—”

Your thumb brushes his tip, smearing it down as your wrist moves in a steady rhythm. Every breath is a moan caught in his throat. His thighs flex. His fists clench the padding under him.

“You’ve been holding this in?” you ask, voice low.

He groans. “I’d come to every session just hoping you’d touch me again.”

You lean closer — your mouth at his ear, your hand moving faster now.

“This isn’t sex,” you say. “This is just a clinical response test.”

“Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re gonna kill me—”

“You said you could handle it.”

“I lied.”

He comes with a choked whimper, thighs shaking, hand fisting the table, back arching like you just hit every nerve in his body at once. You stroke him through it — slow, gentle — until he’s panting and dazed.

You clean your hand in silence. Toss the glove into the bin.

Will’s still lying there, shirtless, sweat-damp and blinking up at the ceiling.

You pass him his water bottle.

He takes it with shaking hands. “So… still no sex during rehab?”

You smirk. “That wasn’t sex.”

He stares. “You’re serious?”

You lean down, lips grazing his jaw. “That was me being generous.”

Then you turn and walk out.

You don’t have to look back to know he’s already obsessed.

#camficdiner #will smith hockey x reader #ws2 x reader #will smith fic #wsmith #will smith hockey #ws2

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wanderingxrivers · 9 months ago

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I've done it! I have a finished object! Finally seamed together the panels for the Peek A Boo Tee (https://www.kniftyknittings.com/the-peek-a-boo-tee-free-pattern/) just in time to wear it for mandatory fun at my job in a couple of weeks. Slowly bit surely working my way through all my WIPs so I can cast on even more things.

#wanderingxrivers knits #knitting #finished object #knitblr #knitwear #handmade #there are so many swear words in this shirt #i stg #but its done!

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exopelagic · 1 year ago

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i said i wouldn’t do it this time but it’s 3am and mods asleep. boy

#welcome to another episode of Luke is insane abt hockey boy!#this time featuring a guy who is actually this time almost (ALMOST) confirmed to be queer #the almost is partly me being insane because I don’t trust anything anymore #but like. there are only so many reasons you wear pride converse. that is not ally behaviour #it just threw me this time I think bc I’d been like no. heterosexual. bc I think I became aware of him when he joined the real hockey team #because the OTHER problem is that the whole time I’d been thinking he was cute as hell (bc he is) and simultaneously being like no. bad.#anyway this meant that I have actually talked to him a bunch without overthinking it this term which honestly has been very cool #not like a whole lot but we’ve played together a decent amount and hopefully will keep doing that #and yesterday discovered hes recommending other people talk to me abt goalieing which is insane to me bc I am truly not that good #but apparently I made an impression!#anyway it does not help that this guy has gotten incredibly good at hockey in the past few months #idk man I make bad decisions (I say as if this was a decision) bc it is now the end of term once again <3 #which means absolutely nothing can or will happen until after summer. which isn’t an issue #I’m just frustrated by my tendency to realise these things right before I’m about to not see the guy for X period of time #I also desperately need to stop crushing on hockey boys I swear but in my defence that is the main way I meet people #I think I’m cursed actually. that would explain many things #anyway he also has exams until next Tuesday which means he’ll be at hockey next week but idk abt this week which is devastating #i just wanna have talk to the guy more honestly to see how that goes bc we’ve not rlly talked individually for an extended time yknow.#in other words we have not had A Conversation it’s been groups or like quicker exchanges #he’s kinda quiet but i can’t quite tell which way yknow. I know he’s Watching basically all the time. and he is slightly awkward #which is also kinda cute. he gets a lil rambly when he talks abt hockey and I wanna push that button more #i. topsy if you’re reading this you’re gonna laugh so hard I just realised. he’s captain of the team now.#which sidenote is INSANE bc he started playing with them THIS YEAR #but oh my god. okay.#anyway. I need to start complimenting guys more for multiple reasons but also #1. he dresses very cool 2. he caught me looking at his shirt last week without saying anything (BEFORE I caught the rainbow converse)#i compliment women on their clothes and jewellery and hair and shit all the time but I do not with men bc. I mean do I need to explain.#but this is so unfair I am haunted by existence of boy and here we are once again. posting on tumblr with the possibility of seeing him lik #two more times before summer. might be three or four depending on what he comes to #luke.txt

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novaimperia · 17 days ago

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★ asking roommate!sukuna if he’ll pretend to be your boyfriend

“what? no?”

at the moment, you’re both at a frat party you didn’t know the other would be at. if you knew sukuna would be here you still would have gone but, judging by the look of complete and utter irritation on his face, he probably wouldn’t say the same. actually, it was pretty funny to walk into the party, make eye contact with him and watch that ‘you’ve got to be fucking with me’ look manifest in his body language.

what isn’t as funny is the weird guy in your lecture who can’t take a hint and keeps touching you. he’s here now and the shudders running up and down your body tells you very clearly he’s aware of your presence and has plans to do something about it.

“sukuna, please. i’ll owe you one.”

sitting on a packed sofa, legs spread, he scowls up at you, piercings glinting with the movement. “i don’t need you to owe me one.”

“sukuna, come on. you’re a scary motherfucker, just be touchy with me for a second and intimidate him.”

he takes a swig of his beer. “put your big girl panties on and tell him to fuck off.”

okay, so clearly he’s not going to change his mind anytime soon. groaning, you stomp away from him and to your friends. you walk over to the kitchen, intent to enjoy this party to the fullest. shots go down in flashes, music blares and deafen, you sway and grind and laugh. nothing will take away this burst of youth where recklessness meets lack of conceivable consequences.

that’s what you think, anyway, until sweaty hands start rubbing your shoulders. you stiffen.

“aw, you didn’t need to wear something so slutty for me. you’ve already got my attention.”

you can’t see your friends anymore – there are too many people, too tightly packed together, the lights are too dim and the music too loud to do something about the body pressed up behind you. hairs on your arm standing on end, you fight the disgust recoiling deep in your bones and firmly say, “i’m sorry, i’m really not interested. please leave me alone.”

“don’t be like that, baby. i see the way you look at me.” gripping your hips, he tugs you hard back into him when you try to shuffle away. his clutch is punishing and his nails dig into your skin. you hiss. “let’s go back to my place and i’ll show you a good time.”

pulling you away with him, your friends disappear in the crowd. you’re powerless against his strength. he’s too eager, too clumsy, too drunk to even have any semblance of sense. guys like him are dangerous. guys like him get what they want. guys like him don’t stop at ‘no.’ “let me go! let me fucking go!”

“don’t be a bitc–”

“you hard of hearing or something?” sukuna yanks the guys away by his collar, snatching him up like a puppy. “get the fuck outta here before i beat your ass.”

the guy scoffs, forcing a bravado on. "who the h-hell are you? this is none of your business; she's my girl."

sukuna takes a step forward. a cruel sneer twists his face into something dark, something sinister, practically malevolent. "yeah? explain to me how she finds her way into my bed then."

people are whispering; they've noticed the scene playing out. some are already getting their phones out to record, hoping for a fight. others are taking a step back. they whisper your roommate's name like it's a curse. it reaches your creepy classmate even through his drunken stupor.

"s-shit." he raises his hands in surrender. "listen man, i didn't know she's with you. i swear. i'll go, alright? just forget about it."

personally unsure why he switched up so quickly when he was doing a fine enough job pretending sukuna's height itself wasn't pissy pants-inducing, you don't dare say a word that might bring his attention back to you. instead, you huddle a little closer to your roommate, who doesn't shake you off when you pinch his shirt for comfort. just like that, the guy that's been bothering you for weeks fades in the background, never to be seen again. hopefully.

you sigh. “thanks, sukuna.”

he grunts. he’s about to leave, to go back to minding his own business and pretending he doesn’t know you, but then, as if he can’t really help it and he hates himself for it, he eyes you up and down. in that moment, whatever he sees, whatever assessment he makes of your appearance, contrasted with the scene you two find yourself in, urges him to say something that almost sounds painful, so unnatural, so alien to him it brings a shit-eating grin to your face.

“i’m bored with this place. let’s go…” he winces, rolling his shoulder back. “let’s go home.”

#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk drabble #jjk oneshot #sukuna smut #sukuna drabble #sukuna oneshot #sukuna x you #jjk x you #jjk sukuna #jjk sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna fluff #jjk sukuna x reader #jjk college au #Sukuna college au #Sukuna x reader

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artficlly · 3 months ago

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his girls [one-shot]

marvel au bucky x reader alpine barely tolerates anyone but bucky, so when she curls up in your lap without a second thought, the team is left reeling—especially when it leads to the not-so-subtle revelation that you and bucky have been sneaking around for months.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, alpine is a troublemaker, secret dating, swearing, kissing, alcohol, tony knows all, natasha too, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: hello! once again a fic no one asked for lol. i'm supposed to be on hiatus buuut i took some time this afternoon to write this because i'm procrastinating a uni assignment. i'm sure this concept has been done before, but i was thinking about that scene in rivals with the dog (iykyk) and yeah! step away from the usual angst and heartbreak i normally provide you all with. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

You were careful.

Or at least, you thought you were careful.

For months, you and Bucky had kept your relationship under wraps. It wasn’t that you wanted to keep secrets from the team, but there was something thrilling about stolen moments and hushed conversations. About Bucky’s hand on the small of your back as he guided you through a crowded room, or the way he’d brush a kiss against your temple before disappearing down the hall.

You figured no one had noticed.

Until today.

It all started with one of many white hairs stuck to your t-shirt.

Natasha plucked it off you mid-conversation one morning in the kitchen while you were praying—desperately—to whatever all-seeing god might finally make the coffee machine work faster. Between the groaning, spluttering sounds and the blinking lights, it felt like the damn thing was possessed. With flawlessly manicured nails, Natasha held the hair up to the morning light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the compound.

“Is this Alpine’s fur?” she mused aloud, twirling the long, pale strand between her fingers.

“Probably.” you replied absently, more concerned with the coffee machine’s latest refusal to cooperate. You jabbed the buttons harder, ignoring the way Natasha’s eyes flickered with something dangerously close to amusement.

“For all of Tony’s money, you’d think we’d have a coffee machine that actually works,” you grumbled.

“Turn around?” Natasha asked. There was a particular lilt to her voice, that barely concealed intrigue she tried—and failed—to mask whenever she was onto something. It set you on edge instantly, the tone that meant she was clicking a mystery into place, giddy with excitement beneath a thin veil of indifference. You didn’t trust it for a second.

“No, just—” You smacked the machine in frustration. It whined pathetically before the lights blinked off entirely. You let out a long, exasperated groan. “Why won’t this stupid fucking thing ever work—”

“Jesus, you’re covered in it—”

You froze mid-motion as Natasha yanked at your shirt, effectively grooming you like a monkey. Her sharp lips had turned up into a wicked smirk, the type of smirk that made dread pool in your gut.

“Everything is covered in her fur,” you said quickly, still trying for casual. You reached for the plug, praying Natasha would drop it. “She sheds everywhere, especially on the couch.”

“Mm.” Natasha tilted her head, her smirk deepening. “And yet, I thought Tony hired cleaners for that? Especially with Kate always bringing Lucky around?”

You yanked the plug from the socket a little too forcefully. “Honestly, Nat, I don’t know. I just want this damn machine to work.”

Right on cue, a familiar voice rumbled behind you.

“Machine giving you trouble again?”

Your heart stuttered in your chest before resuming its normal rhythm—though maybe a little faster. You turned just as Bucky strolled in, looking frustratingly good despite the early hour. His hair was a little dishevelled, sleep still clinging to him in a way that made him look too soft for someone who could snap a man’s spine in half.

“There’s a trick to it, remember?” He stepped in close beside you, skin brushing yours as he reached for the machine. The scent of his aftershave lingered, warm and familiar. You tried—and failed—not to watch the way the muscles in his forearm tensed, veins shifting beneath his skin as he pressed a series of buttons.

“Barnes, you’ve got cat hair all over you,” Natasha noted, not even bothering to be subtle. You didn’t dare look at her. Instead, you busied yourself wringing your hands, pretending you weren’t hyper-aware of Bucky standing so damn close.

“Huh?” Bucky barely spared a glance at his shirt, where Alpine’s fur was unmistakably clinging to the fabric. “Oh. Yeah, guess I do. She always wants attention in the morning.”

Then, with one final smack, the machine roared to life. The rich aroma of coffee filled the air as liquid finally poured into your mug. You sighed in sheer relief.

“There you go,” Bucky said, looking down at you with a small smile, a few strands of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Your stomach did a stupid little flip. You smiled back, warmth creeping into your face. “Thanks.”

The machine beeped again, snapping you back to reality. You quickly grabbed the mug with both hands, muttered another thanks, and let Natasha tug you away.

“What was that?” She hissed, voice low as she turned to you with narrowed eyes.

“Huh?” You weren’t entirely listening to her words. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder, a ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. You could still see Bucky standing in the kitchen, both hands braced on the counter as he waited for his own coffee. His back was turned, but even through the thin material of his fur-covered t-shirt, you could see the way his muscles shifted beneath it—

Natasha didn’t even humour your innocence. She crossed her arms. “You and Barnes?”

“What about him?” You mumbled, pulling your gaze away as the elevator dinged, doors sliding open.

Her lips twitched, amusement clear. “Are you two—?”

You made a face at her. “What are you on about?”

Natasha didn’t look convinced, but she let it go.

For now.

As the elevator hummed and Bucky was cut from your view as the doors shut, you took a sip of coffee, the liquid a few degrees between too hot and burning. It scalded your tongue, and with the phantom smell of Bucky’s aftershave no longer haunting you, you felt your mind snap back into action.

Right. Focus.

“We’re going to be late for the meeting,” you declared, shaking your head. “And that damn machine is the reason. You know what? Let’s take a detour to Stark’s lab and demand a better one.”

Natasha chuckled, pressing the button for a different floor.

“I like the way you think.”

—

You knew Alpine would be your downfall.

The little white menace was notoriously selective. If you weren’t Bucky, she wanted nothing to do with you. Everyone at the compound had suffered her wrath at least once—Sam even had the scars to prove it. Alpine liked to play dangerous games that usually ended in blood or a yowl of pain. You swore the Avengers bled more dealing with the feline than fighting aliens, wizards, or whatever else tried to obliterate Earth every other week. She was a cunning little creature, lurking around corners, hiding under tables, prowling along bookshelves. And just when you least expected it—bam. Teeth and claws bared, she would pounce, latching on like a tiny, vengeful spectre. This was her idea of fun. The Avengers had learned to tread carefully, tip-toeing around the compound whenever they knew she wasn’t safely curled up in Bucky’s room, where she ruled with an iron paw.

So, when you sat down on the couch one evening, and Alpine immediately hopped onto your lap, you knew you were fucked.

She didn’t hesitate, didn’t so much as sniff at you in consideration before curling right up, purring loud enough to be heard over the football game droning on in the background—which you were only half paying attention to.

You stiffened, caught between awe at the rare privilege and sheer dread at the witnesses currently gaping at you.

Bucky, for his part, had been sitting at the other end of the couch, flirting with danger in his usual way—stolen glances, conveniently placed touches as he shifted in place. Alpine, just as obsessed with him as you were (Bucky had taken to calling you both ‘his girls’ in private, which always managed to make you swoon.), had immediately perched in his lap when he sat down. Only when he carefully pried her off to grab another round of beers did the little white she-beast decide you were a worthy substitute, strutting over with lazy, languid confidence before settling down, blissfully unaware of what she had just unleashed.

The room fell into stunned silence. Several pairs of eyes locked onto you, breath collectively held. They were waiting for the yowl, for the inevitable attack, for you to tense up and leap to your feet in pain. But to your horror, the little sadist simply settled in. Cosy, unbothered, as if this had been the plan all along.

“Okay, what the hell is this?” Sam finally demanded, pointing an accusing finger.

You blinked down at Alpine, then up at Sam, stroking the soft fur like nothing was amiss. “Uh… a cat?”

You were foolish and desperate enough to pretend this was completely normal, to gaslight the others into believing Alpine was a perfectly gentle and affectionate cat. A sweet, loving companion. Not a tiny, vengeful menace who had terrorised them all—and definitely not a creature who had only warmed up to you in recent months because you spent more time in Bucky’s bed than your own.

“The same cat that tried to claw out my eyeball for getting too close? And now she’s just—” He gestured wildly at Alpine, who flicked her tail with the smugness of a queen on her throne. “—cuddling with you like you’re her best buddy?”

“She likes me, I guess.” You blinked innocently, turning back to the TV, hoping he would drop it, but Sam, ever the dramatic, was not satisfied.

“Are you kidding me? That cat has tried to kill me.”

Natasha snorted into her drink.

Alpine smugly licked her paw before resting her head upon your thigh and blinking her wide blue eyes at Sam, who shook his head with an exaggerated shudder. “This is bullshit, and you know it—”

“Maybe she just doesn’t like you, Sam.” You huffed, scratching Alpine behind her ears. “She’s always been fine with me.”

“That is not true!”

“She took a chunk out of my arm once,” Natasha added, ever the instigator.

“Remember when I gave her a treat and she bit me?” Steve piped up.

Bucky returned at that moment, frowning as he saw the conversation unfolding before him. You turned to him with wide, desperate eyes, silently pleading for help. Alpine, the little traitor, merely pressed her pink nose to your hand, rubbing her face against you with a contented sigh.

“She only likes people she’s comfortable with,” Bucky offered, setting the beers down with a clink, but his pitiful attempt to be helpful only added fuel to the fire.

The room exploded into a series of overlapping voices.

“I didn’t realise you spent so much time with Alpine?” Natasha’s sharp gaze flicked between you and Bucky, her smirk primed to taunt you both.

“Buck, doesn’t she spend all her time in your room—?” Steve leaned forward, forearms braced against his thighs, invested now.

Sam jolted upright like he’d just solved a murder case. “Now, hold on a second—”

“You have been covered in cat fur a lot lately,” Natasha mused. “And you two have been suspiciously close—”

As you glanced over at Bucky, you couldn’t tell if his repeated blunders were intentional or borne out of genuine panic. He cleared his throat, his brows raising as he casually popped off the cap of one of the beers with his vibranium thumb in faux nonchalance.

“Coincidence.” He muttered with a shrug, tipping back a mouthful of the brew.

Alpine, completely oblivious (or entirely aware of the chaos she’d caused), didn’t budge as Bucky sat back down beside you, levelling you with a look that screamed we are so screwed.

“You two aren’t even going to try to lie?” Natasha pressed.

“Lie about what?” You feigned innocence, but the act was flimsy at best. The jig was well and truly up.

Bucky, clearly done with this little charade, let out a long-suffering sigh that might’ve sounded exasperated if not for the telltale smirk tugging at his lips. Without another word, he slung an arm around your shoulders, pulling you effortlessly against his chest, Alpine still coiled contentedly in your lap. The smug little she-beast didn’t even stir. She just purred loudly—too loudly, like she was taking credit for the entire thing.

“Wait a second!” Sam pointed a dramatic finger between the two of you. “How long has this been happening?”

“How long has what been happening?” Tony strolled into the room, a glass of amber liquid that looked suspiciously like whiskey in hand.

“Her,” Steve announced, gesturing between the both of you. “And Barnes.”

Tony didn’t even blink. “Oh, I already knew that. You didn’t know that?”

Bucky turned so fast you were surprised he didn’t give himself whiplash. “You what?”

“Oh, come on,” Tony drawled, making himself comfortable on the armrest of the couch like this was all just another day at the office. “You really thought I wouldn’t notice her sneaking out of your room at ungodly hours for the past six months? F.R.I.D.A.Y. kept flagging intruders, and, shocker—it was just you two, utterly failing at stealth.”

Sam threw up his hands. “Did you say six months?!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, but instead of answering, he just turned to you and, without hesitation, kissed you.

It was sudden but warm, his lips soft against yours like he’d been waiting for an excuse. The room erupted into even more noise, Sam shouting something unintelligible, Natasha making a sound of smug satisfaction, and Steve groaning like he should’ve known, but it all faded into the background.

You laughed against Bucky’s lips, breathless but entirely unbothered. “This is definitely her fault.”

Alpine, still purring in your lap like the devious little mastermind she was, flicked her tail.

Bucky just hummed, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Not complaining, though.”

And, truthfully, neither were you.

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

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rawme-price · 17 days ago

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Yall please consider hybrid!141 x secret!hybrid!user...

Wolf!Soap who is so eager to befriend the new human! He's worked with plenty of humans before, but since hes joined the 141 hes been exclusively with hybrids. Sure, you smell a bit different than he remembers humans to smell, but you did mention having avian hybrids in your old team, so its probably just their scent lingering :]

Eagle!Gaz who swears you can understand him. Not just his words, but the unique subtleties of his squawks and chirps. He has no proof, but the way your eyes lock onto him when he trills, as though you are listening intently, makes him think you understand more than just the vague sense that most humans know. But you had avian teammates in the past...maybe you just learned more intricacies than the normal human?

Tiger!Ghost who watches you. He sees the way your muscles coil during a spar, the way your eyes darting across a battle field. Its different, its not human. Then again, not many people survived battle and came out totally human. It changes you. Simon knows, so he doesn't question you no matter how differently your body moves compared to a human.

Komodo dragon!Price who after a duo mission with you that went to shit, bodily drags you into a secure location. You're bleeding alot, and he needs to stabilize you. His tail lashes anxiously as he tears off your shirt to assess the stab wound on your back, only to freeze. There, in puffy keloids and gnarled flesh are two parallel scars running from shoulder blade down to the small of your back. Where your wings would have been.

#cod #cod x reader #tf 141 x reader #hybrid 141 #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #simon ghost riley #john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #hybrid reader

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em1i2a3 · 25 days ago

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Crying Lightning

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Lab Tech!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You have been studying a flower that Bucky brought back from one of his missions. When Bob comes to visit you in the labs to bring you lunch and messes with the unbloomed item you realize the sinister effects of it very quickly.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Ahem…We got a sex pollen fic, so there is smut, and fluff afterwards, and aftercare as well. Reader and Bob are close, and both of them have feelings for one another but it has all gone unspoken…Until now at least lol. There is swearing too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (…Y’all know what I’m gonna say. Wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Handjob, There’s a little bit of dominance from Bob/Sentry…And he talks you through it ahhahahahahah (oh god), Messy/Sensual Sex, There are like hints of primal energy sprinkled in here, but nothing too major, there’s mentioning of pheromones and stuff like that, Praise/Worship Kink, Spitting, Dirty Talk, Scratching, Some Choking (not rough), Cum eating, Aftercare.

Author’s Note: Woot Woot! We love a good sex pollen fic lol. Did I expect to be writing one? No. But I’ve always liked the concept and I’m so glad @mccinnamon-bun asked me to do this! Thank you <3, I really loved writing it! So so fun! Enjoy!

Word Count: 15,684

“I brought you something,” Bucky announced, stepping into your lab just as the doors slid open with their usual quiet hiss.

You didn’t look up right away. Perched cross-legged on the edge of your workbench, you were half-buried in mission reports that were a week overdue, scribbling notes with one hand and nursing a cold cup of coffee in the other. Your head snapped up, however, the second you heard the rustle of fabric and gear–a familiar sound you’d grown used to distinguishing in crowded hallways.

Bucky stood in the entryway, wind-tousled and still in partial tactical gear. The sleeves of his black shirt were pushed up to the elbows, revealing the flex of muscle and dull gleam of vibranium beneath. He had a look in his eye that was hard to read–half sheepish, half pleased with himself–and he was already fishing through one of the many compartments in his bag. He didn’t speak again until he pulled something out with a sort of slow care.

”Ta da.” You raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him pull something from his bag like it was a treasure he’d smuggled across enemy lines. You hopped off the bench with a soft thud and crossed the room toward him, curiosity instantly piqued–mostly because Bucky Barnes was not one to say ‘ta da’. Not unless he was hiding something behind that half-smirk of his.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of what he was holding.

The flower hadn’t bloomed yet, but even in its dormant state, it was breathtaking. The outer petals were tightly furled, each one smooth and iridescent like the type you would find on shells of certain mollusks–but it was shaded in a gradient you couldn’t quite place. They started as an inky, oil-slick blue at the base, then rippled out into smoky violets and blushing wine tones near the tips. Delicate veins shimmered faintly across the surface, catching the lab lights with a strange metallic luster, almost like the petals were dusted in powdered silver.

The stem curved gently, a deep green tinged with gold, and the leaves were narrow, slightly translucent, and lined with fine threads of coppery red. Even when it wasn’t fully bloomed, it had an energy to it. A heat, almost. As if it were responding to the proximity of warm skin and breath. You squinted at it.

”Bucky, if this is your idea of asking me out on a date, you really need to brush up on your courting skills.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, head dropping forward briefly with a grin.

“Hey,” He said, handing the flower over to you carefully, “You’re the one who told me, if I saw anything weird, unknown, alien, or otherwise ‘botanically suspicious,’ I should bring you back a sample.” You gingerly accepted the stem, trying not to touch the tightly closed bud itself.

”Yeah, I meant specifiers, not some interstellar looking thing.” You shot back. He leaned against a nearby counter.

”Don’t say I never do anything for you.” He commented back. You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your fondness.

”You absolutely broke every rule of containment protocol by walking this thing straight into my lab, but…” You gave the top of the flower another slow once-over, still entranced, “Thanks for thinking of me.” You turned, crossing to your bench and plucking a clean beaker from the rack. You filled it with a few inches of distilled water, and set the flower inside, watching it float just enough to stay upright. The petals didn’t open, but they flexed slightly–like they were stretching, or drinking the water you had put the stem in.

”So,” You started, glancing over your shoulder to where Bucky was still leaning, “Where’d you find it?” You asked, watching him give you a small, casual shrug.

”There was a patch of them, right off the tree line. I spotted them on my way back to the quinjet. Figured I’d snatch one up before anyone else trampled it.” You hummed, turning your head away–not noticing the way his gaze lingered on the flower for a beat too long. You were too busy cataloguing the possibilities in your head. It was too vibrant to be terrestrial, but it wasn’t necessarily alien. Possibly hybridized. The energy you felt coming off of it could’ve been psychosomatic–but you weren’t one to write something off without running tests.

“And you’re sure no one else touched them?” You asked, looking back over at him to see if you can spot any of the tells he had when he was lying. His brow lifted toward you.

”I mean…I touched one obviously.” You gave him a pointed look, and he immediately held up both hands.

”Didn’t eat it. Didn’t stick it up my nose. I was the only one that touched anything. Scout’s honor.” You snorted, and shook your head.

”Alright, Barnes…I’ll bite. I’ll run some diagnostics. Spectrograph, chemical composition, basic pollen analysis when it blooms…All the sciencey things that you don’t understand, then I’ll get back to you.” He gave you a mock salute and pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, going toward the door.

”Just make sure you name it after me if it ends up trying to kill you.”

”Noted,” You called, “But if it ends up giving me superpowers instead, I’ll be naming it after myself.” He was still laughing as the door slid shut behind him. You turned back to the flower, now gently swirling in the water–its petals flexing once more, as if hearing your voice. You leaned in just a touch, and breathed in slightly.

You could’ve sworn it hadn’t smelled like anything before, but now…

Now it smelled faintly of summer rain, citrus, and the soft trace of jasmine. It was warm, soft, and inviting, like it was trying to beckon you to come closer to it. You straightened slowly, then reached blindly across the workbench for a spare sheet of scrap paper, grabbing the pen you had tucked behind your ear.

”Initial scent: None. Notable change after water exposure–New profile: humid, citrus notes, floral base (jasmine like). Unsettling–shift occurred in under two minutes.” You tapped the end of your pen lightly against your chin, your gaze never leaving the beaker. The flower was still half-closed, petals fluttering slightly in the water like they were breathing–like they were aware. The surface tension of the liquid shimmered faintly around the base of the stem, as though reacting to something within the plant.

You didn’t like that.

Flowers didn’t just change their chemical profile that fast. Not unless they were highly volatile. Not unless they were engineered.

A muscle tensed along your jaw.

You slid the note aside and moved quickly now, grabbing a glass containment dome from one of the side drawers–a heat-tempered cloche you typically used when running long-term decay tests on bio-samples. It wasn’t hermetically sealed, but it would be enough to contain most airborne particulates.

Just in case.

You placed it gently over the beaker and the flower with practiced care, watching as the edges sealed against the bench with a soft thunk. The scent dimmed immediatel-ybut didn’t vanish. It clung to the air like it had already soaked into the fibers of your clothes, your skin.

You took a step back, and another, suddenly aware of the way the heat of the room felt a degree too warm.

Your eyes narrowed. You made another note.

“Mild thermal increase noted (subjective). Investigate potential volatile compounds. Possible synthetic ancestry. Unknown reaction to water exposure–possible activation trigger?”

You stood still for a moment longer, arms crossed over your chest now, staring at the flower like it might start humming.

Then you exhaled through your nose, gave your head a small shake, and muttered, “Okay, mystery plant. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

You turned on your heel and crossed to the far side of the lab, grabbing gloves, pipettes, and a test slide. You didn’t see the way the petals quivered beneath the glass dome. Or the way the center of the bud pulsed–slowly, rhythmically–as if something within it had begun to wake.

You were too busy prepping your tools.

You’d get your first sample from the outermost edge of the petal, where a small amount of condensation had begun to form–right where the flower had interacted with the water. It wasn’t much. Just enough to suggest a subtle chemical discharge. A secretion, maybe. Or pollen.

Your gloved fingers hovered just beside the dome.

You paused.

A thought scratched quietly at the back of your mind, the way instincts sometimes do when they’re not fully formed.

You didn’t ignore it.

You stepped back again.

Instead of removing the dome outright, you retrieved your small fume extractor arm—used mostly for soldering–and wheeled it over until its head hovered just above the cloche’s apex. You flicked the switch, and a soft hum filled the room as the extractor began to filter the air directly above the sample.

Another note:

“Smell is still detectable after containment. Strong. Possibly psychoactive. Proceeding with caution.”

Still, despite your wariness, you found yourself walking back toward the glass.

One more glance. Just to be sure.

The flower was still closed–but now its bud looked fuller. Like it had begun to swell. One of the petals had unfurled the tiniest bit. Barely a sliver.

But just enough for you to see a glint of gold pollen resting in the shadows of its center.

It shimmered like dust caught in a sunbeam.

You stared.

And then, carefully, you reached over to your comm unit and tapped the call button for your assistant team over in the biocontainment lab.

“Hey,” You said when the line clicked open, voice low. “I’ve got a…Weird one. Found by Barnes. It’s stable, but I want a second containment unit prepped in case things escalate.”

A pause on the line. Then:

“Escalate how?”

You glanced back at the flower. That scent. That impossible shimmer. You didn’t know yet.

“Just…Prep it,” You replied. “I’ll send over a sample in a few.”

And then you muted the line.

You looked down at the flower one more time.

It was no longer just beautiful.

It was waiting.

———————

It had been three days since Bucky dropped the flower off, and by this time it had bloomed. Not delicately, and certainly not in the way flowers usually did–with gradual graceful predictability. No. This thing had opened like it knew it was being watched and studied by you.

When you came down to your lab the morning after Bucky brought you the mysterious flower, the petals had fully unfurled–broad, sweeping things with a high-gloss sheen and hypnotic gradients that shifted from gold to scarlet to bruise-dark purple depending on the light. The stamen in its center now pulsed visibly, a slow inhale-exhale rhythm that made the entire structure look…Alive. The pollen shimmered every time it moved, a near-invisible cloud that never seemed to settle but floated in still air like it was defying gravity. Or logic.

You had kept it sealed tight under the reinforced cloche, and had the triple-filtered vents on and the entire section of the lab cordoned off with containment protocols. Your notes had doubled in size, and still, nothing definitive had come back from the biocontainment team. There were just vague updates telling you that they were behind on other specimens and that they would get around to it when they could.

So you worked around it. You monitored. You wrote. You catalogued symptoms–your own included, though they were still annoyingly ambiguous: mild temperature spikes, random surges of adrenaline, difficulty concentrating in bursts. But no rash, no lesions, no hallucinations. There was a kind of pressure, similar to urgency but just on the cusp of it, desire maybe–but for what, you had no clue. You had only inhaled a bit of the pollen and hadn’t been exposed since, so you didn’t dwell on it–not with your schedule stacked, and not with your own lab being as backed up as it was.

You were just rinsing a pipette when the door to the lab slid open with a soft hiss.

”H-Hey,” Came the voice you’d come to recognize more easily than your own thoughts lately. You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Bob, but you did anyways, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was towering and soft-shouldered in a dark grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, worn sweatpants hugging the curve of his hips, and his crown of light brown hair was in absolute disarray, like he had it tied up and decided to let the locks fall free in front of his face. He looked like someone who didn’t have the slightest clue what he did to people around him, and he truly didn’t know.

The plastic takeout bag in his hand swung gently as he stepped inside, smiling at you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Brought y-you lunch.” Your stomach growled at the word lunch, and it echoed through the moment of silence that settled between you, which only made Bob’s grin stretch wider.

”Let me guess,” You started, pulling off your gloves and throwing them into the biohazard bin, “You timed this perfectly because you knew my stomach would start making monstrous noises, didn’t you?”He shrugged, with a small smirk on his face, setting the bag down on your cleared desk near one of your monitors.

”You skipped b-breakfast.” You held out a finger.

”No no…I postponed breakfast.” He shook his head.

”You always p-postpone breakfast,” He said, moving past you to pour you a cup of water from the cooler, his big hands making it look smaller than what it actually was, “And if I d-dont show up with something d-decent by 2 p.m, you would just end up inhaling the vending machine c-crackers and freeze-dried apple s-slices…Which is not s-sustainable i-in the slightest.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his comments.

”Seems like someone has been watching me a bit too closely.” He turned and handed you the water, fingers brushing yours as he didn. His hands were boiling as usual, and it left the paper cup feeling warm from where his fingers had been holding it. His eyes lingered on your face a beat longer than necessary.

”I-I always watch you c-closely,” He said softly, like it slipped out before he could catch it. Immediately his eyes glanced down away from you, dropping to the floor for a second, before flicking away toward the cluttered end of your bench like he suddenly remembered a far more interesting smudge on the tile. His cheeks were red–not just a flush, not just a tinge, but a slow bloom of color climbing from the collar of his hoodie up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing in response. Not because you didn’t notice–because you did. More because if you said anything, if you so much as looked at him with any kind of expression that acknowledged the truth buried in his voice, he might self-destruct on the spot. So instead, you took a slow sip of the water he handed you, letting the quiet hum of the lab fill the air between the both of you.

Then you turned on your heel toward the takeout bag.

”So what’s on the menu today, Chef Bob?” You asked lightly, pulling the plastic open and peeking inside, “Please tell me it’s not another one of your hot dog stir-fry’s.” He let out a groan.

”Listen…I-It was one time, I-I know nobody was a fan of it.” You grinned as you pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped container, unraveling it with careful fingers. A rich, savoury scent wafted up–soy and sesame and something sweet under it, like cane sugar with more of a freshness that was unexpected, “So what am I looking at?”

”Sticky rice, soy-glazed chicken, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “T-There’s some grated g-granny smith apple in the glaze…C-Cause I didn’t have honey.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Pretty decent alternative.” You replied.

”Yeah,” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, “You know how S-Sentry gets with processed s-sugars in his system. Makes him a-all buzzy.” You let out a soft laugh.

”So this is officially Sentry-approved, then?”

“F-For the most part,” He mumbled, “I-I think you’re the real t-test though.” That made you pause, glancing up at him, still holding the half-unwrapped meal in your hands, finding his gaze had landed on you again. This time it held something quiet but vulnerable. Expectant, even. Like he really cared what you thought.

And that was the difference between Bob and everyone else–you knew he didn’t make things just to impress. He made them because it gave him joy to offer them. He brought you food not because he wanted credit–but because he worried you wouldn’t eat otherwise. He brought you books because he remembered which ones made your eyes light up. He let you take his blood every month without protest, even when the Sentry made his pulse unpredictable or his veins hard to find, because he trusted you with every part of him–even that. And because of those little things, you always made sure to praise him.

Even when he burned the eggs.

Even when the pasta came out overcooked.

Even when the hot dog stir-fry almost gave you heartburn.

You forked a bite of the rice and chicken, chewed, and let your eyes widen a bit as the warmth hit your tongue. “Okay. Wait. This is actually good.”

He blinked, caught between shock and a smile. “Y-you don’t have to lie.”

“I would lie,” You said, pointing at him with your fork. “But not this convincingly. This? Bob. It’s delicious.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. He rocked back slightly on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair, trying to hide the shy little grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. You watched the way his fingers threaded through the strands, the way his forearms flexed under the soft stretch of the hoodie.

You took another bite and leaned against the counter beside him, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Y’know,” You said between chews, “If Val found out you were secretly good at this, she’d start expecting meals during debriefs.”

”She’d want a report first,” He said, playing along, “T-Then she’d make Walker taste it for poison.” The both of you laughed lightly. The silence that followed was companionable. Safe. You brushed your shoulder lightly against his as you leaned forward to set the food container down beside the monitor.

His body went still at the contact.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did. You knew that reaction well by now–the micro-freeze, the way he’d let the warmth of your hand or arm settle into him like he was still learning he could have it. That it was for him.

You let your arm linger against his for just a second longer.

Then you pulled back, slow and easy.

He looked at you from the side of his eye. His voice was low when he spoke.

”H-How’s the flower?” You glanced toward the containment dome instinctively. The petals shimmered under the harsh lab light, colors shifting in slow gradients like they were part of something fluid, something still breathing. It looked even larger today. Full-bodied. Restless.

“Still haven’t heard anything back from the biocontainment lab,” You said, turning back to Bob and picking up your fork again. “Apparently they’re still backed up from the Skrull fungus incident.”

His face pulled slightly. “God…D-Don’t remind me of t-that.” You nodded grimly.

“I won’t…But this?” You took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “No movement. Just… opened. Big. Loudly. Like it knew I was looking at it.” Bob followed your glance as you continued to speak, “I breathed in a little bit of the pollen when I first got it–just a trace. It made me really warm. Flushed. But otherwise nothing dramatic. No side effects. No changes. So I think it was just my body reacting to whatever compound it’s putting off–probably a weird hybridization. Something experimental maybe.” Bob’s brow furrowed at this comment.

”You s-should’ve been wearing a m-mask.” You huffed a laugh, nudging your shoulder into his again.

”Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve been exposed to worse.”

“S-Sure,” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on you now, “B-But definitely not like this.” There was something layered in his voice—concern wrapped around protectiveness, softened by something you didn’t dare name.

You didn’t say anything to it. Just took another bite of the meal he made, let the flavor distract you from how closely he was watching you now. He shifted beside you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before–

“How’s the Golden God doing, by the way…Totally forgot to ask.” Bob rolled his eyes, “You know you’ve got bloodwork today, and I know how much he looks forward to that.” He grimaced.

”D-Darn…I f-forgot that was today.”

“You always forget,” You mumbled between bites, mockingly stern in tone, “Even though we’ve had the same schedule for, what–eight months?”

“Nine,” He corrected, “You count too?”

“Only because I have to track your blood chemistry, Bob.” He gave you a crooked smile, “Stick around,” You said waving your fork at him, “Let me finish this delicious lunch and I’ll get everything set up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a faux salute, backing off to give you space. You watched him for a moment out of the corner of your eye as he wandered slowly around the perimeter of the lab, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft beneath his hoodie.

Bob moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb anything. Not just the tools and data, but you–your space, your rhythm, your day. Even now, when he stopped in front of the containment dome, he didn’t lean close or peer in like most people would’ve. He just stood there, quietly watching.

The flower didn’t move. But the pulsing in its center seemed to slow, slightly. Steadying. As if recognizing something.

Bob tilted his head faintly.

But said nothing.

You finished your lunch in a few final bites, wiped your hands on a cloth, and pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves.

“All right,” You called, walking over to the locked cabinet beside your centrifuge. “Time to sacrifice a little plasma for science.”

Bob grumbled playfully as he headed back toward the stool you always set aside for him during these sessions. “Sentry’s gonna make it d-difficult again. Last time you had to chase the vein for like five minutes.”

“Oh how could I forget,” You said playfully, drawing the phlebotomy kit from the drawer, “I’ve never met a God who’s afraid of needles. He flared your heart rate on purpose and kicked the adrenaline response. Your veins were literally jumping.” Bob winced at the memory and sighed.

”I-I don’t think he m-means to be a jerk a-about it.”

“No, he just is,” You turned with a teasing smile and raised your brow, “You listening in there Sentry, I called you a jerk.” A flicker of gold passed through Bob’s eyes, and his expression shifted just slightly. A pressure just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. You saw the way his jaw flexed. The way his breath caught on the edge of a heartbeat. It was gone just as fast as it appeared. You gestured to the stool.

”Alright, you know the drill.” Bob sighed and tugged his hoodie over his head with one hand, letting it fall across the nearby stool in a heap of worn fabric and static-charged threads.

Your breath caught for just a second–not that you’d ever admit it.

He was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Simple, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. The fabric clung in all the places that mattered: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso. His arms were sculpted, the muscle built from the serum and his own training he did on the side with Walker–solid biceps veined faintly beneath pale skin, his forearms thick and freckled with golden hairs. Even through the shirt, you could see the subtle rise of his chest when he breathed. His body wasn’t exaggerated or showy like some of the other enhanced agents. Bob’s strength was honest, clean and quiet. The kind that didn’t beg to be seen–just was. He sat on the stool, leaned slightly forward, and offered you his right arm without hesitation–palm up, wrist relaxed, fingers curling just slightly where they hung over the edge of your tray. As always, he was warm. Always a degree or two above everyone else. Like the Sentry lived just beneath the surface, pulsing against the skin.

You pulled your chair close and gently cradled his arm in one gloved hand, “You good?” He nodded, jaw ticking faintly.

”Sentry’s a-already getting stirred u-up.”

“I figured,” You murmured, swabbing the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad, watching the way the fine blond hairs on his arm caught the light, “You twitched when I called him a jerk.” Bob exhaled a shallow breath, half-laugh, half-wince.

”Y-Yeah he–uh–didn’t like t-that.”

“Well, tell him to behave,” you said, voice softening as you spoke, instinctively adjusting your tone. You’d found, over time, that it wasn’t just what you said–but how. The Sentry didn’t respond well to authority. But he did respond to calm. To care. To you.

“I’m going to insert the needle now, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He said quietly, “Keep talking through the process, t-that would help.” You gave him a smile–genuine and soft.

“All right…Just a little pressure here…” You slipped the butterfly needle in with smooth, practiced hands, watching the dark blood flood into the first vial like a ribbon of garnet. He didn’t flinch. His fingers curled just slightly, but that was it. You could feel the tension in him, though–not fear, not even discomfort, really.

Just a heightened presence.

You always felt it when the Sentry was nearby. Like a third set of lungs had begun breathing somewhere in the room. Like the molecules in the air shifted their charge.

“I’m taking five tubes,” You said gently. “You’re doing fine. Your blood flow is nice and steady today.”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob said, watching you with his head slightly turned. His voice had dropped to something deeper. Thicker. “That’s because o-of you.”

You glanced up.

He blinked, quickly. “Your voice. It…I-It helps.” You kept working, carefully switching out the first full tube for the second, then the third, eyes flicking to him only briefly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Or a cosmic honor. One of the two.” That got a smile out of him, even if it was small. The rest of the draw passed in familiar quiet–soft beeping from your equipment, the slow, gentle swirl of the containment fans, the hum of the overhead lights. His blood was warm in your hands. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you reached the fifth tube and carefully capped it.

You retracted the needle in one smooth motion, placing it in the sharps container before gently pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site.

“Pressure here, please.”

Bob complied, two fingers resting lightly over the spot. You retrieved a bandage, peeled it open, and pressed it into place over the cotton. Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. His skin was flushed warm beneath your glove. He smelled faintly of cedar and limes, probably from his shampoo. Then you leaned back in your chair and gave him a mock-serious look.

“So,” You said, cocking your head, “Does Sentry want a lollipop for his troubles?”Bob groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“D-Don’t get him riled up…” You laughed at the way his cheeks turned rosy again, as he attempted to hold back a smile, which failed.

”You sure?” You teased, “You don’t want me to pull out the glittery sticker chart?”

“W-We talked about this…He remembers t-things like that.” You both burst into soft laughter again, the kind that curled at the edges of your ribs and left everything just a little lighter.

And somewhere behind you, the flower twitched.

The petals shifted.

The pulse in its center matched his heartbeat.

But neither of you noticed.

——————

The next day, just after 2:00 p.m., the soft hiss of the lab doors made your head snap up again.

You were halfway through a long-winded notation on the flower’s latest chromatographic analysis when you heard the now-familiar rustle of footsteps and the unmistakable creak of someone cradling a takeout bag with too much care.

“Brought you lunch!” Bob announced.

He looked warm again–an oversized hoodie only blue this time, the same worn sweatpants from yesterday, and hair pulled back messily like he’d tied it in a rush. His free hand shoved deep into his pocket, but the other held a paper bag from a café you liked downtown. He wore the same small, crooked smile that made it difficult to think straight.

“Careful,” You warned playfully, turning in your seat to face him, “If you keep feeding me, I’ll start to expect this kind of treatment.”

Bob shrugged, walking in slow, casual steps toward your workstation. “M-might be worth it…Just to s-see you eat.”

You smiled at that–too caught up in the rare softness between you to notice the way the flower behind its containment dome had begun to stir.

Not much. Just a twitch of its outermost petals. A subtle change in the shimmer of its stamen. But you were facing Bob. You didn’t see the way it reacted to his voice.

“I-I got you the g-grain bowl you like. The one with roasted squash, the f-feta, that spicy vinaigrette you always try to recreate in your lab notebook–”

“I do not take vinaigrette notes in here,” You interjected, grinning.

Bob set the bag down gently on the corner of your cleared space shaking his head at you, glancing over at the dome just as the hum of your equipment shifted slightly. The air changed. Subtle, at first. Like something pressurizing behind glass.

He leaned over–only just–peering closer at the flower inside.

That was all it took.

The dome fogged instantly with a pale gold haze. Then–without warning–the containment glass shuddered with a sharp, pinging sound, like internal pressure had snapped a seal.

Then it ruptured.

The top of the cloche blew off with a muted pop, and a cloud of glittering golden dust erupted from the flower in a slow-motion burst. It expanded like fog, like breath in cold air–drifting, floating–straight into Bob’s face.

You froze for half a second. Then your instincts kicked in hard and fast.

“Shit—Bob!” You yelled, already leaping from your stool and hitting the emergency switch on the wall.

Red lights flashed as the isolation protocols kicked in. Vents slammed shut with a metallic clank, and the air filtration units hummed to life. Your console blinked through a security override as the lab sealed itself airtight. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat.

Bob had staggered back, coughing hard and pawing at his face, blinking rapidly. The golden dust coated his cheeks, his lashes, the curve of his nose, and clung to his stubble like cosmic pollen. It shimmered with a strange, otherworldly sheen–like it was alive, almost.

“Hey–hey–Bob, come here.” You grabbed him gently but firmly by the wrist, leading him toward the decontamination corner. “Don’t rub your eyes. Just come with me. You’re okay, just–just keep breathing.”

He nodded, still coughing, blinking fast. “I-it got in m-my face–feels like sand, b-but–s-sticky, maybe–” He stumbled slightly as you pushed the lever on the eyewash station.

“Lean in,” You ordered, voice steady. “Both hands on the sides. I’m gonna guide you.” You pressed the large silver button. The twin streams of water erupted instantly, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the cold hit. You steadied him, one hand braced on his lower back as he tilted forward.

”Keep blinking,” You instructed, “Get it flushed out. It’s probably just pollen but I can’t take chances, we still don’t know what that stuff is.”

“It’s–f-fine,” he said, spitting water out, breath hitching. “It doesn’t b-burn, just f-feels weird–” His voice was strained, breathless. You didn’t like the way his skin had started to pink at the edges, how the golden dust had clung even beneath his collar.

When the two-minute flush was over, you helped him lean back slowly, grabbing a towel from the stack nearby and pressing it gently to his face.

“We’re not done yet,” You said, pulling a second towel out and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Blow your nose. Three times. Then cough hard. I want that stuff out of your lungs if you inhaled any of it.”

He obeyed without protest, still coughing lightly between ragged breaths. The dust had left faint shimmer marks down the front of his hoodie, now slightly wet from the eyewash station. You reached over to the wall unit, flipped on the emergency fan array, and turned your console back toward manual override. The air slowly began to cycle through a localized carbon scrubbing system.

You turned back to him, grabbing a disposable cloth and wiping under his jaw, where a little gold still shimmered. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. Breathing shallow, but not distressed.

You stepped back, hands braced on your hips, the overhead scrubbers humming louder now as the first cycle of filtered air began to push through the sealed lab.

Bob sat perched on the deacon bench, towel still clutched in his hands, his lashes dripping, cheeks damp, and glittered with flecks of gold the eyewash hadn’t quite cleared. He looked flushed–not sick, not distressed–just… warm. Lit from within, like something in him was beginning to glow. But you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Not yet.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, kneeling slightly so you were more at eye level with him, voice softening as you scanned his face for any irregularities. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Anything weird?”

Bob blinked slowly, the water still dripping off the tips of his hair as he met your gaze.

“N-No…” He murmured, voice rough with lingering grit, “Just…Feel kinda like I s-snorted fairy dust.” He gave a weak little smile. “M-might be glowing in the dark now.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a half-relieved breath, giving him a playful–but firm–swat to the arm.

“This isn’t funny. You know we have to be in isolation for twenty-four hours now, right?”

Bob groaned, slumping back slightly against the bench. “Ugh. Great. Cool. L-love that.” You crossed your arms.

“We’re both trapped in here. With no way out. The lab is in full lockdown. Airlocked. Everything. Biocontainment protocol 9A.” He sighed, tilting his head toward you dramatically. “

It’s not like we don’t already spend the majority of our free time together or anything.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like this is some cozy movie night. You almost got yourself pollinated into another dimension.” Your voice was softer now. More affectionate, more playful. Your gaze dropped briefly–to the faint shimmer still clinging to the edge of his collarbone–and that’s when you noticed it.

You looked down at yourself.

Tiny flecks of gold sparkled faintly across your sleeves, dusted across the dark wool of your sweater and even the collar of your lab coat. The stuff was finer than you thought–so fine you’d barely felt it settle.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bob asked, alarmed.

You pulled your lab coat off immediately, shrugging out of it and tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin. Your sweater followed next, leaving you in the tank top you had underneath–thin, breathable, already damp with nervous sweat. The cold air bit at your arms, but it was better than risking more exposure. You grabbed a clean disposable mask from the supply drawer and tugged it on.

“You got exposed?” Bob asked, sitting up straighter.

You gave him a wry look as you reached for a pair of gloves. “You think that cloud only wanted you?”

He flushed again and shifted where he sat. “S-Sorry…”

“Not your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t provoke it.”

Bob’s eyes slid to the corner of the lab where the flower still sat in its shattered dome, motionless now, but unmistakably altered–its petals twitching like cooling muscles, the last of the pollen still floating down like it hadn’t quite obeyed gravity yet.

You pointed to his hoodie.

“That’s gotta come off too.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

“Bob. Your hoodie is covered. You’re basically wearing a glitter bomb.”

“Oh…Right.” He looked down at himself and, reluctantly, peeled the hoodie off over his head, careful not to shake loose any more of the clinging dust. The fabric crackled softly as the static gave way. You moved forward with a biohazard bag already open and waiting.

“Drop it in,” you said, and he obeyed, his white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. You caught a glimpse of pale skin, faint golden freckles across his lower ribs, the subtle cut of his hip. You averted your eyes quickly, pretending not to notice.

But he noticed.

You didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“Okay,” you said, stepping back with the sealed bag in hand, “Contaminated clothing secured. Isolation timer has started. We’ve got twenty-four hours to kill and a potentially sentient flower that just gas-bombed the strongest man on Earth.”

Bob blinked at you, then gave the tiniest smirk.

“Th-this gonna be in the report?”

“Oh, absolutely,” You muttered, deadpan. “‘Subject A leaned into mysterious glowing flower. Subject B now has fairy glitter in her bra.’”

He laughed. Harder than you expected. The sound echoed softly in the sealed room and you let it hang there for a moment. Eventually his laughter faded, but the heat that was beginning to build in the lab didn’t.

It wasn’t just the tension between you anymore–it was physical. Palpable. You could feel it crawling along the inside of your spine like static. Your skin felt…Tight. Like your clothes were holding in too much warmth. Like the fabric of your tank top was suddenly too heavy in all the wrong places and far too light in others.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, towel now draped loosely across his lap, chest rising and falling more steadily than before–but even from a few feet away, you could see the faint shine of sweat beginning to gather at the hollow of his throat.

You squinted slightly.

“Is it just me,” You said slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your neck, “Or is it…Hot in here?”

Bob lifted his head toward you, blinking slowly. His cheeks were still pink–flushed in that way people only got when they were either just out of a fever or just getting into something much more compromising.

“I-I thought it was just me,” He said, adjusting how he sat. “I figured the air filters w-weren’t moving much cool air yet. It’s… It’s an enclosed space, so…” He trailed off, eyes catching briefly on your arms, the exposed slope of your collarbone, and then darting away again, as if ashamed of the glance.

You nodded, trying to focus–but it was getting harder. Your tank top clung to the skin beneath your ribs like a second layer of sweat-dampened silk. You could feel the heat collecting at your lower back, a slow, stoked furnace of warmth that wasn’t just the room. Your breathing shifted slightly. Shallower.

There was a kind of pressure building behind your sternum. An ache–not painful, not sharp. Just…Present. Gnawing. Low in your belly. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel weird?” You asked, keeping your voice as casual as you could. “Like… more than just warm? Any lightheadedness? Sensory changes?” Bob didn’t answer right away. His shoulders rolled back slowly, and his hand came up to drag across the back of his neck. You watched the way his palm moved over the sweat-damp strands of hair, the tension in his forearm, the way his biceps flexed just slightly under the tight stretch of cotton.

He wasn’t looking at you now. But his voice was quiet when he answered.

“M-My heart rate i-is up,” He admitted. “But I d-don’t feel sick. I just feel–” He stopped. Swallowed. Then: “Wound up. I-it’s like I’ve been waiting for something to happen and m-my body’s just trying to stay ahead of it.” You stared at him, hearing as he listed out the same symptoms you were feeling.

Then there was the ache again–twisting low and slow, enough to make you shift your thighs closer together without thinking. You noticed the way Bob’s eyes tracked the motion and immediately flicked away. His chest was rising faster now. His jaw clenched, breath audible through his nose. Something was happening. Something chemical, something hormonal. Something Induced.

You took a slow breath, then glanced at the ruined containment dome, the flower sitting quietly like nothing had happened. Its stamen pulsed gently, and the last wisps of pollen still hovered in the filtered air like gold-lit ghosts.

”You said it didn’t burn when the pollen hit…” You murmured, “Just felt weird…Right?” He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward your face, then to your mouth, then away. You swallowed hard, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. ”How weird?”

Bob exhaled a shaky breath. His hands flexed against his thighs, fingers twitching.

“It just felt really…Light,” he rasped. “Like ash. N-Not like sand–softer. Barely even there. But now–” He trailed off, and when he looked at you, it was like being seen for the first time. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of ocean-blue clinging to the edge. His voice lowered.

“Now I feel like my skin is on fire. L-Like I’m burning…And everything’s so damn sensitive. I c-can’t stop–” His voice cracked, “–I can’t stop looking at you.” Your breath caught. The ache between your legs deepened sharply, twisting upward through your belly like someone had plucked a string that now hummed through your bones. The realization slammed into you with full force. The heat. The ache. The scent. The shimmer. The reaction.

Fuck. You staggered backward from the bench slightly and slapped your hand down on the comm panel by the edge of your lab table, hitting the line for Bucky.

“Come on, come on, pick up–”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the line. “What’s up?”

“Bucky,” You said, trying to steady your breathing. “Where exactly were you when you found that flower? Be specific. What were the surroundings?”

“I told you, it was near the tree line,” He answered, confused. “On the way back from the ridge. Why?”

“Was there anything else? Anything that stood out?”

There was a pause. Then, “Uh…There was kind of a–garden? Like, a bunch of them. Just a whole patch. Maybe fifty or sixty, I dunno, they were all clumped together.”Another pulse of heat ripped through your core, and you clenched your thighs, biting back a soft, involuntary groan. You half-collapsed, catching yourself on the table edge before sliding down the side of it, pressing your forehead into your forearm.

“Where were they, Bucky?” You grit out through clenched teeth. “Was there a lab? A compound? A goddamn marker on the ground–anything?”

“What? Y/N, I don’t–wait, there was a lab…But it wasn’t even close. Maybe two miles east of it. Looked abandoned. You think it’s connected?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, voice rough, stomach clenching. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges. “That’s not wild growth, Buck. That’s a planted field. That was cultivated. You brought me a fucking bioweapon.”

There was silence.

Bob had shifted, and when you looked up, he was no longer on the bench. He had crouched behind one of the heavy lab tables on the far end of the room, head bowed, palms braced hard against the floor like he was praying—or like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I-it’s getting worse,” he called out, voice hoarse and echoing faintly off the tile. “I—I can feel it in my hands, my back—like I’m buzzing from the inside out. You need to go to another room, Y/N. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

“There is no other room,” you snapped, clutching your own torso, fingers digging into your tank top like it could peel the sensation off your skin. “We’re sealed in. Remember? Isolation. Twenty-four hours.”

You turned back to the comm, swallowing back the pulse building low in your belly. “Bucky, something happened in that lab. This isn’t just a flower. It’s engineered—enhanced. There’s pheromone manipulation in the pollen. Maybe synthetic hormones. We both got exposed.”

“What kind of exposure?”

You hesitated.

Then you exhaled shakily, voice lowering. “The worst kind. I think it’s… I think it’s sex pollen, Bucky.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then:

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I was,” you hissed, grinding the heel of your hand into your temple, heart pounding. “And unless I get a suppressant cocktail in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to lose it.”

“What about Bob?”

You turned your head just slightly toward where Bob was crouched, shaking. His knuckles had gone white.

“He’s already losing it,” You whispered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” you said, too fast. “Just…We’re locked in for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing anyone can do. Just… Just keep the others out. Don’t let anyone near the door.”

There was a long pause. Then Bucky’s voice dropped.

“Y/N. What exactly happened in there?”

You clenched your jaw and gave the only answer you could.

“I’ll tell you if we survive it.” Then you hung up the comm, bracing your hands on your knees as the ache spread like wildfire across your thighs, your chest, the hollow between your hips. Everything was overstimulated–fabric too rough, air too dry, skin too tight.

And then there was Bob.

You looked up slowly, panting now, vision swimming with heat and color. You could barely see his face in the shadow of the bench, but you heard his voice.

“I-It’s in me,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is. I can feel it in m-my blood. My skin feels like it’s too small. I’m–I’m shaking. I c-can’t stop it.” His breath hitched, voice breaking apart. “I can smell you. I c-can hear your heart. I can feel every molecule in this goddamn r-room. God, what is this stuff?” You were already dragging yourself across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the nearest storage cabinet, yanking open drawers for anything–anything–that might help regulate internal chemistry. You were half-crazed with heat, sweat dripping between your shoulder blades, your whole body lit up like it had been set on fire from the inside.

“Okay,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “We’re gonna–we’re gonna figure this out. Just don’t come near me, Bob. Not yet.”

You couldn’t see him now, but you heard the thick, wet swallow from where he hid behind the bench.

“I w-won’t,” He rasped. “But…If you don’t figure it out soon…” His voice was barely audible now. “…I d-don’t know if I’m gonna b-be able to stop myself.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they hit you like a blow to the chest. A sharp pulse rippled through your core–your muscles tensed like a wire had snapped in your belly. The ache between your legs twisted again, hot and hungry, and a broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.

A whimper. Soft, shaken, and needy.

”Shut up,” You gasped, your voice hoarse with panic and arousal, hand bracing against the cabinet, “Just…Stop talking, Bob please…Your voice. Fuck sake.” Another wave of heat surged under your skin like a current of electricity. You curled slightly into yourself, arms trembling, every breath catching high in your throat.

“I–I’m sorry,” Bob groaned from across the room, his voice cracking with guilt and something far darker. You heard him shift, heard the thump of his back hit the cabinet behind him like he’d braced himself against it, like he couldn’t trust his limbs to obey. He let out a loud breath, shuddering.

”G-God, I’m–I’m sorry, I c-can’t even think straight–“ His voice broke on the last word, thick with restraint. You dragged open another drawer with shaking fingers, rummaging through cold metal and sterile pouches, tossing one after the other to the side. Glucose packs. Emergency syringes. No suppressants. No hormonal regulators. Nothing for this kind of exposure.

Your vision blurred as your stomach clenched again. You could feel sweat beading at the base of your spine, making your tank top stick like a second skin. You couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t stop trembling.

”Fuck…” You hissed, almost on the brink of sob. You slammed the drawer shut with a metallic clang, the sound too loud, echoing in the sealed lab like it was mocking you. ”I can’t–I-I can’t find anything.” You wheezed, voice cracking. You braced your hands on the cold tile, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

The need was crawling over your skin like insects. Every breath was friction. Every shift of your body felt like dragging yourself through static. Your nipples were tight beneath your tank top, aching. You could feel your own pulse in places it didn’t belong.

“Shit–shit,” You whispered, eyes welling with frustrated tears. “Oh my god.”

Behind the bench, Bob made a low, strangled noise.

A grunt. Guttural. Desperate.

You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

Because you could feel him.

You could feel the way the air changed when he moved. You could feel the ripple of heat that seemed to follow the sound of his voice. And worst of all–you could feel your body answering it.

Every cell in you was lit up with something heavy and humming. Something wild. Something designed.

You curled forward against the floor, pressing your forehead into your arm. You were panting now–wheezing, almos-trying to hold on. Trying not to cry.

You didn’t hear him crawl over, not until it was too late. Your breath was ragged, and your vision was swimming–and then warmth touched your arm. A large hand. Familiar. It closed over your bicep–but it lit your nerves on fire. You jerked away violently, scrambling back on instinct, collapsing onto your ass with a gasp. Your palm slammed against the tile and you skidded slightly, breath hitching as you spat out–

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice cracked, sharp and wet with panic. The motion made your spine arch, your tank top riding up slightly as your hip knocked into a rolling stool, the metal clattering away. Bob’s eyes widened in horror, hand halfway outstretched like it had betrayed him. He dropped to both knees in front of you instantly, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth coming off his body like a wave.

“Y/N–” He breathed, his voice hoarse, chest heaving, “Y/N I-I feel it too, I p-promise. I feel everyth-ing” His hand hovered near your shoulder again, hesitant. Then, slowly, gently, he reached behind your neck, cradling it with a trembling touch. His fingers were hot against your skin, too hot. “Look at me. W-We’ll be okay. We’ll be o-okay.” You shook your head, lip quivering as the tears came faster now. Not the kind you could hide or blink away–these ones slid heavy and helpless down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were trembling all over, shoulders shaking, thighs clenching without relief.

”I-I feel like I’m dying,” You whispered, voice raw, “Fuck, Bob it’s so painful.” He nodded once, his face contorting with shared agony, as his hand slipped from the back of your neck to your jaw, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you or let go.

“I-I know,” He rasped, his other hand gripping his thigh so hard it shook, “I-I’m burning from the inside out. I can smell y-you…I can s-smell everything–“ You swallowed, chest rising in short, hard jerks. Because so could you.

His scent was all over the room now. Thick and devastating. It rolled over you in waves—heat-warmed cedarwood, sweat, and something deeper. Instinctual. Masculine. Not cologne. Not soap. Something completely and totally him. A biological beckoning, chemical and holy and blinding.

It made your thighs twitch and your breath break.

And your own scent…You could smell it, too. Like heat-glazed citrus and clean skin. Something golden and heavy, threaded with notes of sun-warmed vanilla and fresh-cut stems. Like the wild edge of spring. It filled your nostrils, clung to your skin, hung in the air between you like a dare.

Bob’s eyes fluttered, jaw clenching again. He let out a low grunt, like the effort of staying still was costing him something visceral. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I-Isn’t there…a-any way we can stop this f-from getting worse?” You didn’t want to say it, you really didn’t. But the truth came out anyway, scraped and raw from your throat.

”Only if…” You swallowed. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, “Only if we have sex…” The words dropped like a stone.

Bob’s breath hitched so hard it almost sounded like a choke. His throat bobbed, and he blinked down at you, eyes wild and dilated, dark lashes damp with sweat and desperation.

There was a pause–long and shaking.

Then, softly:

“W-Would it be t-that bad if…If we did?”

You flinched. Just barely. The air stilled, vibrating between you. And then you shook your head slowly, tears welling again–not from heat this time, but from something deeper.

“I really didn’t want our first time together being l-like this.”

That stopped him cold. All the breath punched out of him in a single exhale. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His hand fell away from your jaw like it had been burned. His whole posture shifted–still close, but paralyzed with guilt.

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him now–if you looked into that face, flushed and desperate and filled with longing–you’d give in. Your breath hitched sharply—twice—before you folded forward on a gasp, one hand clutching your lower stomach like it might soothe the throbbing pulse building between your legs.

“God,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I—I can’t fucking take it.”

The ache had bloomed into something unbearable—wet and slick and throbbing through your core with every heartbeat. You were drenched, panties stuck to you, heat radiating off your skin like you were about to combust. Across from you, Bob made a strangled sound, his fists tight on his thighs, chest heaving as he forced shallow breaths through his nose—like if he didn’t, he might do something reckless.

“I c-can’t smell you,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “I–I can’t smell you–I can’t–”

But he could. You both could. Your scent was everywhere–sweet and sharp and thick with want. It hung in the air between you like perfume, like bait, and you knew it was driving him mad.

You twitched again as another rush of slick gushed between your thighs and a broken moan slipped past your lips–soft, needy, involuntary. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hand pressed harder against your stomach, trying to contain it.

But it was useless.

“I can’t–fuck, I can’t take it–” You gasped, and before you could stop yourself, you were lunging forward.

You grabbed his face with both hands–hot, flushed skin beneath your palms–and crushed your mouth to his like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

A mess of lips and teeth and spit.

You moaned into his mouth the second you felt him gasp beneath you–his lips parting wide in helpless surrender, his hands flying to your waist like magnets. The second he touched you, it was over. You melted into him, mouths sliding and sucking and devouring with sloppy, panting need.

Spit slicked your chin, his chin, your mouths, your skin. It dripped down between you as your lips broke and reconnected over and over in increasingly desperate, wet smacks. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and hot, and you whimpered into the kiss like your whole body was unraveling.

His hands squeezed your hips, hard–fingertips digging in, dragging you toward him roughly until your knees bumped his thighs and your chest hit his. You felt the tremble in him, felt the heat pouring off his body as he let out a low, feral grunt into your mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together and failing.

You pulled back just an inch, breath catching in your throat as a strand of spit still connected your lips, both of you panting so hard it echoed in the sealed lab.

“Fuck–” He gasped, chasing your mouth again, not even giving you time to respond before crashing back into the kiss, even hungrier this time. “You taste like–God–l-like sunlight–like h-honey–fuck, I can’t–can’t stop–”

“Don’t,” You moaned, sliding your tongue into his mouth again, letting it tangle with his, swallowing his sounds, his heat, his everything. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking at the damp curls as his hands roamed, gripping your waist so tightly it made you whine. He guided you into his lap without thinking, until your knees straddled his thighs and your body pressed flush to his. You could feel everything–the twitch of his erection beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed his, the way his hands couldn’t stop moving–gripping, sliding, needing. Every inch of you was pressed tight to him, and he felt all of it. The heat. The wetness. The hunger.

”G-God…” He gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder for a split second, voice thick, “I c-can’t–can’t stop–need…Need something–“ And then his hands flexed, dragging you forward–against him. You cried out, the sound strangled and high as he rocked your hips into his, grinding you against the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction sent a lightning bolt through your core, and your whole body spasmed in response, clutching at his shoulders as the contact jolted through your nerves.

“Oh–God–” You moaned, tearing your mouth from his as your head tipped back, spine arching. “Oh fuck–do that again–” He didn’t even answer. Just groaned–loud, filthy–and rolled your hips again. Rougher. Harder. Enough that your soaked panties dragged hot and slick over the outline of him, soaking into the soft cotton of his clothes and yours.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap. Your hands found his hair and tugged–hard–and he moaned so deeply it vibrated through your ribs. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging over sweat-slick skin. His tongue was everywhere–greedy and reverent–and then you felt him kiss the top of your chest, right along the edge of your tank top.

You were panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and arousal. You couldn’t stop grinding down against him now, couldn’t stop chasing that friction as you rolled your hips again and again, letting your swollen heat drag along his cock in slow, devastating passes. The pressure built fast, sharp and aching, pulsing low in your belly with every movement.

Bob’s mouth trembled where it kissed just below your collarbone. His fingers slipped up your sides, shaky but sure–and then they hooked under the thin straps of your tank top.

“P-Please–” He rasped, looking up at you like he was about to fall apart. “Can I—can I see you?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait. He dragged the straps down your arms, kissing the slope of your shoulder as they slipped, one by one. Then he tugged the neckline down–slow, desperate–and bared your breasts to the heavy, sweat-damp air.

The second your nipples were exposed, he let out a groan–a sound so broken, it barely sounded human. His eyes glazed with worship, with hunger.

And then his mouth was on you.

He wrapped his lips around one tight, aching nipple and moaned–like he was dying for the taste of you. His tongue flicked, sucked, lapped, over and over, and you cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably in his lap as you rutted down against him.

“Oh my god–Bob–“ You gasped, fingers burying in his hair, yanking him closer, needier. “That–fuck–you’re so good…” He didn’t stop. If anything, he got more desperate. His tongue traced circles around your nipple, sucking it deeper into his mouth with each slow pull of his lips. One of his hands gripped your ass, guiding your hips faster against his erection, grinding you down until your whole body was quivering.

“Y-You’re so warm,” He panted between kisses. “So soft–God–“ And then he took the other nipple between his lips, just as eager, just as mindless. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe across the swell of your breast and you sobbed at the contact, your whole body arching into him. Bob groaned around your nipple one last time before pulling off with a wet pop, his mouth red and slick with spit. His eyes were blown wide, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left–but there was something else swimming behind them too, something ancient, hungry, waiting to surface. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in close, nudging your jaw with his nose, mouth grazing your cheek. Then suddenly–

He surged forward.

Your back hit the cold tile in one fluid motion, the breath punching out of your lungs as he guided you down with firm hands, mouth still dragging across your chest. The contrast between the icy floor and the furnace of your skin made you cry out softly, arching up into his touch.

“Bob–” You gasped, but your words cut off with a moan as his hands slipped low, gripping the waistband of your pants and underwear in one practiced motion.

“L-Lift your hips,” He instructed–voice rough and tight with restraint. You obeyed instantly, and he peeled both garments down your legs in a single fluid movement, baring you to the air, to him, to everything.

Your thighs quivered as the rush of cool air met the wet heat between them. You leaned up, grabbed the hem of your tank top, and tore it over your head. It hit the floor behind you just as Bob stripped off his shirt–his chest gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing, dusted with faint gold shimmer and a constellation of freckles across his collarbones.

You barely had a second to breathe before he dropped between your thighs again, mouth finding yours in a kiss so urgent and deep it knocked your head back against the tile. It was messier now–hotter, more desperate, his tongue fucking into your mouth with wild hunger.

Then he broke away just far enough to speak.

“I-I’m going to c-crawl on my fucking knees,” He growled, “And you’re gonna spread those thighs wider for me, and let me eat you until you come on my tongue.”You arched up with a moan, hips twitching off the floor. Your hands reached for him blindly, pulling at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest, your ribs.

“I need you so fucking bad,” He whispered, his voice darker now–lower, smoother. The stutter was gone.

You blinked through the haze, the heat, the sweat clinging to your lashes–and that’s when you saw it. The eyes. Not Bob’s soft blue. Gold. Molten.

“Sentry,” You whispered, breath catching.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped gently along your stomach, sending electric pulses through your nerves, and then he kissed the inside of your hip bones like he was worshipping an altar.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” He murmured, nose dragging through the crease where your thigh met your core, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I can’t wait to have a taste.” You sobbed his name as your thighs opened wider for him, your body obeying without question. He slid his hands beneath you, lifting your hips off the floor, draping your thighs over his shoulders–his palms spreading across your lower back to anchor you in place.

“Look at you,” He groaned, lips brushing against your soaked folds without yet tasting. “You’re drenched…You’re so fucking wet I can see it drip.”

Then he leaned in.

And licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You choked on a scream. Your hips jerked hard against his mouth, and his arms tightened around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue moved again–sloppier this time. Messier. Hungrier. He licked into you like he was starving. Long, deep strokes. Quick flicks. Circles around your swollen clit that had you crying out his name.

“God, fuck–yes–”

You gripped his hair hard, yanking at the sweat-damp strands, and he groaned like he liked it–no, loved it. The vibration of the sound against your core made your whole body shake.

“You taste like summer, like heat, like stars.” He moaned. “Absolutely fucking sinful.” He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his mouth wet, chin dripping with slick.

“I can’t wait to make you come on my tongue,” He growled.

And then he dove back in.

Tongue sliding flat against your clit, then swirling, sucking it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your vision blur. You cried out, grinding into his face, your hands clutching his hair, your whole body vibrating with sensation.

“P-Please–” you whimpered, barely able to breathe, “Please don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

He licked and sucked and groaned like you were his favorite meal, like he could do this for hours. His hands gripped your ass, dragging you tighter to his mouth, keeping you from squirming away.

You were going to come.

It was building fast–tight and white-hot and burning like it had nowhere else to go. You were right on the edge when–

He slipped one thick finger inside you.

You let out a loud gasp. It wasn’t pain–it was too much. Too good. The stretch, the pressure, the way his mouth never stopped moving.

“That’s it,” He murmured against your clit. “Take my fingers…Just like that…You’re so tight, fuck…I’m imagining how you’re going to take me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned again–louder this time–and slid a second finger in, stretching you open. His fingers curled up, rubbing slow, teasing strokes into that perfect, devastating spot. Your walls fluttered, your thighs trembled.

“Oh god, oh god–”

“Come for me,” He growled. “Right now. Let me feel you.”

And he sped up.

Fingers pumping hard, mouth sucking your clit with filthy precision. You sobbed his name, your back arched clean off the tile, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, like lightning–your thighs locking around his head, your hands gripping his hair as you wailed through it.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you cried out.

Not when you begged.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking his fingers into you as your body convulsed.

Your body was still twitching when he pulled his fingers free–slick and trembling, your core fluttering from aftershocks as he slowly sat back on his heels.

His chin was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes–those molten, god-touched eyes–burned down the length of your naked body like sunlight through stained glass.

“I should feel sated,” He murmured, voice too calm for the storm coiled in his chest. “I should be full from what I’ve just taken.”He leaned in. Slowly. Pressed one open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another–hot and reverent, just shy of your folds. His breath dragged over you, still sensitive, and it made you whimper.

“But I’m not,” He said low, his nose skimming up the inside of your leg as he worked his way toward your face. “I’m still starving.”

You were trying to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. Not with your pulse echoing in your throat, not with the ache between your legs still pulsing with the memory of his tongue, and certainly not with him looking at you like that.

“I’ve waited…So long to taste you.”

His voice was velvet heat–slick with need, rich with something that throbbed like want and worship tangled together.

He braced a hand on either side of your head as he crawled up over you, hair wild around his face, sweat glistening on the slopes of his shoulders and chest. The weight of him caged you in. It wasn’t heavy–it was all-consuming.

You reached up with a trembling hand and cupped his face. His skin was flushed, warm and slick, his jaw tight as though holding back something enormous.

“I can still feel you,” You whispered, voice raw. “On my mouth. On my thighs. Inside me.”

He smiled at that–but it wasn’t gentle.

It was hunger.

“You’ll feel me even more soon.”His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and his gaze flicked down–watching the way your mouth parted for him instinctively. He leaned in again, voice now a whisper of thunder against your cheek, “Imagine what it’s going to be like when I fuck you…” Your hips bucked helplessly beneath him, but he only smirked, catching them with a firm palm.

“Sentry,” You gasped, voice trembling as your thighs clenched under the weight of him, “P-Please. God—don’t you feel it too?!”

His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your cheek. He didn’t answer at first–just let that small, dangerous smile curl across his lips, teeth barely catching his lower lip before he released it.

“Of course I feel it,” He murmured, hips dragging downward, grinding his clothed cock into your slick heat. “It’s everywhere in me. In my chest, in my spine, my teeth.” His voice dropped to a darker pitch, and the gold in his eyes flared one last time before dimming. “I-I just know I’m going to get what I-I need…

Bob sat back on his knees between your spread thighs, hands sliding slow and sure down his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. “I-I already came once just from eating you out,” He confessed, voice timid now, “I t-think I have more in me…”

Then he tugged the sweatpants down.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His erection sprang free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip, already slick with the evidence of his earlier release. A thick bead of cum sat heavy at the crown, dripping slowly down the curve of his shaft, and your whole body twitched at the sight of it. The raw, shameless arousal surged in your belly like wildfire.

“Fuck–” You whispered, pupils blown wide.

He was beautiful. Veined and heavy and so hard it twitched with every breath. You couldn’t stop yourself. Your hand moved without thought–licking your palm once, slow and deliberate, before wrapping your fingers around him.

Bob groaned immediately–deep. His head dropped forward, curls swinging around his jaw, and his hips bucked into your touch as your hand slid down the length of him in a slow, sticky stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip. Hot. Pulsing.

“Mmmf–fuck,” He growled, the sound rattling against the walls. He dropped one hand down to your thigh to steady himself, the other bracing behind him as you worked him with your slick hand–up and down, tight and wet and slow, like you wanted to savor every second.

His breath came out in sharp pants, his face flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb rubbed just beneath the swollen head, gathering that leaking slick and spreading it over his cock.

“God, I didn’t even have to touch you and you came.” You whispered,

“That’s what y-you do to me,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I couldn’t help it—god, I couldn’t fucking help it—” He surged forward, kissing you hard, and you moaned against his mouth as his hips began to stutter forward, chasing the motion of your hand with every pass.

It was hot, the way he kissed you–messy. His mouth was open, panting against yours, lips dragging along your tongue, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned into you with every stroke of your hand, deep in his chest, growling like it hurt not to move faster.

He kissed like he was about to fall apart in your arms.

Like he wanted to ruin you and thank you at the same time.

And you could feel it–he was close again. Already.

“G-God–don’t stop–don’t stop–” he choked out, hips bucking into your grip, his cock twitching hard in your palm.

Then his mouth tore from yours with a ragged moan, his body going rigid as he came–again.

Thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach in hot, wet spurts–slicking your skin, painting the swell of your belly in messy, sticky heat. Bob cried out, breath catching, his hand clutching your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints as his hips jerked against your hand one last time.

You watched it all, feeling it dripping down your skin. You slowed your hand, and then looked up at him. His eyes were fluttered closed. His mouth hung open, panting raggedly. His cheeks were red and damp with sweat, hair curling against his temples in loose, disheveled strands.

And then–

You ran your fingers through the puddle of cum on your stomach.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

He watched, transfixed, as you dragged two fingers slowly through the mess he left on you–slicking them up, glossy with white.

Then you brought them to your mouth.

And sucked them clean.

He groaned–low and guttural, more animal than man. He surged forward and kissed you, hard–his mouth hot and open, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste what you’d just tasted.

And when he pulled back–just barely–he looked drunk. Starved. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“W-We taste so g-good together,” He whispered.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glassy.

And then your voice broke.

“I need you inside me.”

His breath hitched sharply. His eyes searched your face like a prayer–like he needed to make sure this wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just chemical.

But your body told him everything he needed to know. The slick between your thighs. The tremble in your voice. The way your legs fell open without fear. He saw your hand reaching for him–trembling, open, desperate–and instead of just taking it, he kissed it.

One slow kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then each fingertip in turn, reverent and breath-warmed. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even when his lips brushed the soft pads of your fingers. It felt like something sacred.

“I-I’m yours, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice wrecked–hoarse and honeyed, lined with awe. “All yours.”

Your chest trembled. Not from the pollen. Not from the heat. From the weight of it–his words, his body, his need. You brought your other hand to his cheek, touching the sweat-slick curve of his face, thumb stroking over his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up,” You whispered.

“So are you,” He breathed back.

But the ache had shifted now. It was lower. Thicker. No longer frantic. Just heavy. Full. Demanding.

His lips met yours again–slow this time, almost trembling. Not chasing. Not crashing. Just pressing. Full and warm. Your mouths moved in sync, deeper with every pass, until he adjusted his weight above you, one forearm braced beside your head while the other hand snaked down to your thigh.

His fingers curled around the underside of it, tugging you closer until your legs wrapped around him again and your slick heat pressed against his length. He groaned into your mouth at the contact.

“G-God, Y/N,” He muttered, dragging his mouth down to your throat, kissing the line of your pulse. “You’re s-still dripping. I can feel it–so hot, so wet for me…”

His hand shifted, reaching between your bodies. He stroked himself once. Twice. The glide was obscene, slick with both your arousal and his release from before. He cursed low under his breath–voice strained with restraint–and guided the thick head of his erection to your entrance. Then–he paused, letting his forehead press to yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered

“T-Tell me you want it.”

”I want you, Bob,” You breathed, “I’ve wanted you for so long…Please I want you inside me.” You begged, almost on the brink of tears just from the sheer anticipation that wracked through your body. He let out a long sigh and slid in, with such slowness you felt your whole body tense up.

You both gasped at the same time–loud, broken, raw. Your back arched and your thighs locked tighter around him as he pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching you wide with the thick, pulsing heat of him. He groaned above you, mouth falling open as your walls clenched around him, impossibly wet and tight.

“Oh–f-fuck…” He stuttered, his voice cracking like it couldn’t contain the feeling. “You feel…God…You feel like…Like e-everything.”

You whined under him, nails scraping lightly across his back. Every inch dragged through you like it was carved for you–hot, thick, filling. It was too much and not enough at once.

“You’re stretching me so good,” You gasped, voice shaking. “Bob–go slow–I wanna feel all of it.” He obeyed, hips moving with devastating care, sinking into you until he bottomed out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. The moan that left your mouth was guttural. His wasn’t any better. It came from deep in his chest–an animal sound, trembling and wrecked.

He stayed still inside you, just for a moment, just to feel everything, just to breathe.

Your chest rose beneath him in shuddering gasps, your nails pressing into the flex of his back as your hips trembled beneath the weight of him. He was deep–so deep it was hard to breathe–but it wasn’t painful. It was perfect. Like a lock clicking into place after too many years of holding the wrong key.

His forehead dropped to yours, your sweat-slick skin sticking where it touched, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His arms trembled faintly from the restraint, from the fire still licking through his blood, from the unholy grip of your body around him. His hands slid slowly from the curve of your thigh up to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if memorizing them. One hand trailed higher, tracing the line of your ribs, his touch light, soothing, trembling.

”You feel–“ He choked on the words, voice wrecked and shaking, “–Like…L-Like you were made for every inch of m-me.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your back arched slightly, hips shifting. The movement made him twitch deep inside you, and the sound he let out was hoarse and broken. Your lips brushed his, breath mingling.

“I need you to move,” you whispered. “Please, Bob. I need you to–”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not desperate. Not wild. Just deep. Intentional. His lips dragged against yours in slow, soft strokes, his tongue slipping into your mouth like a secret. You kissed him back with a whimper, your hands cupping his face, fingers sliding into the damp curls at the base of his neck.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first.

A long, slow withdrawal that had your breath catching in your throat, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made you moan into his mouth. His hips rocked forward again, harder this time, but still slow. Still deliberate. Still savoring.

You felt every inch.

And he felt everything.

Your slick heat around him. The way your body welcomed him, tightened for him, trembled from the fullness. He moved like he wanted to stay inside you forever–long strokes that dragged through you with devastating patience, hips grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to feel the slick press of your clit against his skin.

He kissed you between thrusts–messy, wet kisses that dragged across your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. His lips caught your whimpers. His tongue tasted your gasps. He moaned into your mouth when you clenched around him.

And then–

His hand slid up your chest, broad and warm, until his palm cupped the base of your throat. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. Anchoring. Feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You’re burning,” He whispered, lips dragging across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “S-So warm…So soft…So alive…”

His hips rolled again, slow but deep, pressing into you until your breath stuttered beneath his palm. Your body arched into him helplessly, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, your mouth parting on a moan that he caught with a kiss–hot, slick, and panting. He swallowed it greedily.

The pressure of his hand on your throat didn’t restrict. It grounded. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat just to believe this was real.

You whimpered, and he pulled back enough to look at you–his curls dripping sweat, his lips swollen and damp, and those eyes, half-lidded and molten gold at the edges.

“G-God, I could be inside you forever,” he rasped, voice trembling like the words themselves threatened to undo him. “I–I never want to l-leave this. Never wanna stop feeling you like this…”

Another thrust–this one deeper, grinding. Your head dropped back with a gasp.

“Bob–” You sobbed his name like it was the only word you remembered, your fingers twisting hard in his hair. He groaned, deep and wrecked, his hips stuttering slightly as you tugged, his body responding like you’d yanked something primal out of him. His mouth found yours again, frantic and hot, tongue flicking into your mouth with messy, desperate hunger.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face–flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes glassy and wide.

“Y-You’re close again,” He murmured, like it was something holy. His hand still cradled your throat lightly, thumb stroking gently beneath your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I–I can feel it, you’re tightening every time I move–you’re doing so good for me Y/N.” You whimpered beneath him, your hands clutching at his back, at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, harder, anything–

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, rocking into you again, the friction slow and devastating. “Let go for me. Come around me. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You moaned–high and soft and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Just like that. You’re doing so good—G-God–you’re so perfect.” Your thighs shook around his hips. His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, splaying wide over your sternum, as if he could feel the orgasm building beneath your ribs. His other hand slipped to your hip, holding you still as he gave one slow, deep thrust that hit the exact spot that made your vision blur.

Your mouth dropped open in a cry.

“Come for me,” He begged, hips rolling again, steady and relentless. “Please–I wanna feel you–let me feel you come around me–”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the floor, your breath catching in a series of sobbed gasps as the orgasm ripped through you. He kept moving, kept whispering praise through your climax, voice ragged with awe.

“That’s it…That’s it, Y/N…You’re so beautiful like this–“ You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing beneath him with every wave of pleasure. You could feel yourself pulsing around him, feel how it dragged a strangled moan out of his throat.

“I-I’m so close,” He gasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering. “W-Wanna fill you up–please–can I–?”

You nodded, breathless and trembling. “Yes–yes, please–I want it–give it to me–” With a broken groan, his hips jerked forward one last time–and he spilled inside you. His whole body shook as he came, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold every part of you to survive it.

You could feel it–every throb, every pulse of warmth deep inside you. His moans, soft and shaking, buzzed against your throat as his breath caught in your skin.

He didn’t move for a long while.

Just stayed there–buried inside you, mouth warm against your neck, arms tight around your waist like he was anchoring himself to this moment, to the rhythm of your heart against his chest. His breath was still coming in short, shaken bursts, and yours wasn’t much better. You were both trembling a little–not from fear, not anymore–but from the rawness of what had just passed between you. Like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the aftermath of something so explosive, so full.

But the heat was different now.

It had shifted. Softened. Still warm. Still thick. But no longer blistering, no longer maddening. Just…Lingering.

Your hands slid slowly up his back, fingers tracing through the sweat that slicked his spine, dragging across the faint bumps of his vertebrae. He let out a soft, shaky sigh against your skin. Your fingertips wandered to his sides, palms smoothing gently over the curve of his ribs as if to say I’m here. Still here. I’m okay.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder—soft, damp, reverent. His skin tasted like salt and breathless devotion.

Bob shifted then, his arms loosening around you as he lifted his head just slightly, enough to look down at you. His hair was a light brown mess, damp curls stuck to his temples, a few clinging to his cheeks. He blinked at you–slow, still dazed–but there was something clearer in his eyes now. Something tender. His hand dragged along your side, skimming your ribs, and he leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill–like maybe he never would. He kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck, peppering slow, breathless kisses along the column of your throat. You giggled once–just a little–as his nose brushed the underside of your jaw, tickling your skin.

He pulled back just enough to blink down at you, lips wet and parted, chest still heaving.

”Y-You know I like you, right?” Your breath caught. Your fingers paused where they rested near the nape of his neck. His voice had cracked slightly on the word like, and you could tell he meant something so much more than that. Of course you knew his feelings for you, it was easy to spot, but hearing him say it aloud–even after the both of you just had the most carnal sex ever–still made you a bit breathless. You swallowed, then nodded–eyes searching his face, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“I like you too,” You whispered, your voice shaky and soft. “Always have…” Your cheeks burned, and not from residual heat. You traced a finger over the curve of his shoulder. “T-The circumstances right now are a bit c-crazy…But…Maybe after this…”You tried to continue, but your nerves tangled the words together.

He finished them for you.

“I-I’ll take you out,” He said, nodding once, as if promising both you and himself. “We…We can go to your favorite r-restaurant. And we can do this right…” He ducked his head a little, voice lowering to a smile. “W-Without the sex pollen.” You let out a laugh–helpless and bright–and leaned up to kiss him again. He grinned into it, just a little, and kissed you twice more, slower now, like sealing the agreement. When he finally pulled back, his thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his other hand still lazily tracing your hip.

His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment, then back to your eyes. “A-Are you still aching?” He asked gently.

You paused, body still humming with the memory of him, but no longer sharp with urgency. You shifted slightly, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs, the throb finally quieting to something warm and dull.

“It’s dulled a little,” you admitted. “But I think we should wash up…”

He blinked, nodding. “R-Right. Yeah.”

You offered a small smile, brushing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “We’ve got that little makeshift shower unit in the corner storage. Emergency setup. I-I can activate it.”

He looked at you, eyes soft, one hand trailing lightly over your ribs again.

“I-I’ll come with you,” He murmured. “Just to m-make sure you’re okay.” His curls hung loose now, wild and slightly matted from where your fingers had yanked at them during your climax. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the low lab lights, making him glow faintly where he hovered above you.

“Aww,” you murmured, brushing a hand lazily over the sharp line of his jaw, “That’s sweet, Bob. Really. But we both know that’s not the reason you’re joining me.” Bob flushed immediately, lips twitching into a bashful grin.

“O-Okay,” He said quietly, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “M-Maybe it isn’t…M-Maybe I just wanna wash you, and k-kiss you under the water…Until all this heat dies down inside me.” Your chest stuttered at that, heart tripping over itself. His voice was so soft, so wrecked, so full of you.

“Now that’s much better,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled into it, and you felt the way his arms curled tighter around your middle, the way his cock–still half-hard inside you–twitched slightly at the praise. He sighed, then slowly pulled out, both of you gasping a little at the drag of it. You shivered, and he was already reaching for a nearby towel to cover you while you sat up. His hand cradled the back of your head as you steadied yourself. Always gentle, even now.

You stretched your sore limbs and started for the far corner of the lab where the emergency hygiene setup was stored. Still naked, still glowing with post-orgasm daze, you knelt beside the console and started activating the emergency rinse station–a compact but functional retractable stall with hot water access, a single pressure-nozzle head, and sealed drainage for contamination containment. You flipped open the sanitation kit, pulling out the packet of unscented soap, a washcloth, and the emergency towels folded like paper bricks.

Bob padded over behind you, and you heard him laugh softly as you organized the supplies with shaky hands.

“What?” You said over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “N-Nothing. Y-You just look really focused for someone who’s still naked and covered in glittery sex pollen.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, standing and turning to face him, “Remind me to access the cameras in here later and delete the footage of what happened…”

Bob raised his brows. “You think there’s audio?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. We shouted at each other and cried out mid-orgasm while covered in science glitter. If there’s audio, we’re already blackmail material.”

His face turned scarlet.

“Y-You think they’ll–”

“I don’t think we want our sex tape leaking,” You interrupted, grinning wickedly as you flicked the shower head on. Warm water streamed out with a pleasant hiss, filling the space with a light mist and the sound of soft rainfall. You stepped under it first, pulling him gently in after you. The water hit your skin and instantly began washing away the gold flecks still clinging to your chest and thighs.

Bob’s hands found your waist again.

“…M-Maybe I’ll take a copy,” He mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him with mock exasperation. “You’ll have the real thing almost every night, Bob,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need a copy.” His breath hitched–barely–and then you felt his mouth press to the back of your shoulder, his arms circling your waist from behind.

“I-Is that so?” He asked, lips trailing kisses up your damp neck.

You tilted your head back against him, smiling into the steam.

“Oh, it’s definitely so,” You said, reaching back to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as the water cascaded around you both–cleansing your skin, but not your hunger.

3K notes · View notes

bejeweledinterludes · 4 months ago

Text

i was made for lovin' you.

OR after years of unsaid emotions, supressed feelings and goddamn urges— you and dean finally confront the thing you'd both been avoiding: how there's so much you wanna do in the darkness. and you're gonna make all come true. tonight.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : dean winchester x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 5.6 k.

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS LOOK AWAY !!!, lateish seasons (if you squint) dean winchester x reader's first time (not virgins though), unprotected (mostly) soft sex with feelings, feelings, feelings!, aka porn WITH plot!, p in v, handjob, dean being a munch ofc (this is canon. go argue with the wall.), swearing. please let me know if i missed anything!

𖤐 ────────────────────────

from the moment you first met dean winchester while working a case, you knew you wanted to fuck him.

which was a little strange, because you didn't think like that outright about too many men— not ones you knew in real life, anyway.

but here the stupid bastard was, with his annoyingly pretty face and those stupid, big, rough fightin' hands that could touch you everywhere, pull the prettiest sounds right from you—

oh, we're getting way too far ahead of ourselves. you shoved those thoughts away. come on, this was a freakin' case. lives were at stake.

and once the initial secret lust you had finally went away, you realized you were experiencing something much greater than some stupid crush on dean.

because the more hunted with him, you got to see not just the tough, hard-as-nails side of him— but you saw the other side.

his people side.

you got to see the way he interacted with every single person he encountered on a case, not resting until the threat was completely gone and ganked. and sometimes, when a case hit too close to home, he treated victims and affected family no less than his own fuckin' family.

and you knew from your own personal experience that he'd do just about damn near anything for the family he did have. saw the way he got all soft and sweet around kids— and after a good while, even around you.

and that's when you knew you were in trouble.

you'd known dean for years now. and nothing had ever come of you two except him being one of the greatest friends you'd ever had.

but god help you if you didn't want more.

and nothing like a quick fuck, either. no, you wanted to be there for everything— even on those deathly-quiet nights when dean's thoughts got too loud and the debilitating weight he was carrying all alone just got too heavy, you wanted to be the one keeping him afloat.

it was something dangerously close to love.

you tried to ignore it at first. push it down. and it did work-- for a while. until fucking dean started acting weird around you, too.

and now things were... complicated.

you didn't know exactly when things had shifted so much to the point that it almost became unbearable to even be in the same room as dean without either of you knowingly holding back just spilling your guts-- but god, it was worse than dying.

inevitably, one night, it all just snapped.

there was no dramatic fight, or screamed confessions from either of you. no, it happened late in the darkness, when you both were sharing a motel room.

which would have made you fond of all the times you guys had shared motel rooms in the past— you would've smiled at the thought of younger you trying to make the most out of the fact that you had to share a room with a fucking boy.

but dean was now much more of a man than ever before now.

thank god there's two separate beds, you initially thought.

now, though? there wasn't a need for two beds anymore.

because you still somehow ended up in dean's that was closest to the window.

in his lap.

and kissing him.

you were sure you were in just another one of your dreams or fantasies you conjured up to get off— but you could feel dean's hands on you through your shirt, grasping at the fabric. so this had to be real— but just for precaution, you roll your hips into dean's a little.

yeah. that sound he made when he grinds his hips up into your own was definitely real— and right in your mouth.

you knew you were probably moving too fast— but fuck if you cared. your hands sneak in between you both and trail downward on the front of dean's shirt, not stopping until you reach the hem— and your voice is a whisper against dean's kiss-swollen lips.

"arms up, de."

and dean obliges in a heartbeat, raising his arms up over his head immediately— and he's silently praising the fact he decided to just wear a t-shirt to bed.

you actually somehow had only seen dean shirtless once or twice over the years— the latest being last summer when the air conditioning in the bunker was broken, and you conveniently and hurriedly stated that you had to stay in your room the entire day—because it was so much more skin than you were used to seeing.

but now?

you're staring.

dean's looking at you looking at him— and if the motel room wasn't so dark, you could've sworn his face got a little pinker under your gaze.

but you don't dwell on that for too long. because your hands are itching to reach out and just touch— and the moment your fingers start to graze on dean's biceps first, his eyes flutter shut and he lets out a shaky exhale, fighting to keep himself under control.

because it's you that's touching him.

you're still touching him when you lean back and kiss his lips again— and dean is very aware of the fact that you still have your shirt on.

but you have to break the kiss after a while to get stupid air— and your hands are reluctantly taken off of dean's skin, much to his protest. but the words he was about to say die in his throat when he sees where your hands were going.

you grasp the hem of the oversized shirt you were wearing, tearing it over your head and discarding it in the same motion— all while you were silently thanking whatever had possessed you not to wear shorts to bed.

or a bra.

and now, dean thinks he might die.

it was his turn to stare, eyes raking and flicking over every inch of you as you're straddling his lap like he didn't know where to look first— and dean's just so in awe, he says what he was thinking out loud in a barely-audible.

"god, you're beautiful."

you can feel a blush burning your cheeks at dean's words-- and judging by the way his eyes widened ever so slightly when he uttered those words, you knew he meant it. you smile softly down at him, your voice just as quiet as his once was.

"you're not so bad, yourself.''

and that makes the corner of dean's lips turn up in a small, soft smirk. god, he loves you. and he's gonna show you that.

all night long.

dean starts with his hands, the rough callouses trailing up your thighs, hips, waist, stomach, tits, arms, back— fucking everywhere on your bare skin as he stares up at you.

but your hands move on dean, too— touching him everywhere you could reach before you go lower, your fingers grazing on the waistband of his boxers— but you look back up at him again, a silent question in your eyes.

dean looks confused for half a second— until he realizes you're asking for permission. then he nods, his heart feeling warmer than it was before.

you tear his boxers off in one fell swoop— and holy goddamn.

you stare— again. and dean's fighting the urge to roll you over onto the mattress and just taking you.

instead, he forces himself to stay still under you— because the urge to do that and see what you do next is stronger.

dean's smirking up at you. the damn idiot. and then he quietly murmurs out—

"your turn."

you'd almost forgotten you still had your underwear on— oh, but dean didn't forget. the speed at which you yank down the fabric and discard it somewhere in the motel room should be a world record.

you look back down at dean again when you get situated back on his lap— but he's not looking at you anymore.

no, the man gulps at the sight of your pussy being exposed to him— and it takes him a while to look back up at you, his voice low and rough.

"c'mere."

you obliged, one of your hands reaching down and grasping dean's own that had been resting on your thigh.

this was new. oh, so new. dean wasn't new to you by any means, and that familiarity, that bond was still there— but he was new in this sense. this was different.

this was real.

dean was a man who rarely ever got what he really wanted— so you wanted dean to get whatever he wanted out of what was about to happen between the two of you.

"tell me what you want, dean," your voice is a mere whisper. "tell me what you want me to do, and i'll do it."

dean really thinks you should be illegal. you're all he's ever wanted—and you're asking him what he wanted.

he doesn't answer right away— dean's eyes rake over your naked form in his lap, and he's got his hands resting on your thighs as he meets your gaze once more.

"touch me."

you knew what dean meant by that. dean knew what he meant by that. and you both were fully aware of the line you were about to cross. but you weren't even nervous. and neither was he.

so take your hands, reaching down and trailing a path on dean's lower torso before you take him all in your hands.

and dean thinks he might die.

again.

because you start stroking him slowly— you weren't an idiot, you knew if you went too fast at first, it would hurt dean like a motherfucker rather than feel good.

and you're just looking at him, reading his reactions, making sure that it feels good.

all dean can get out at first is your name. he had opened his mouth to say something, but that's all that came out in a broken groan. he's letting out these little broken noises of pleasure— and his head has to fall back on the shitty motel room’s headboard so he doesn't cum right there.

you keep your pace of your hand on dean's dick steady, only increasing the intensity after a few moments when you can tell he needed more— by the way he gripped onto your hip, his rough fingers curling into the meat of your skin— and by the way he was fighting back the moans that had been treating to escape his throat.

it was definitely embarrassing how close dean was to cumming already, he knew that. but he also knew it was because it was you who was bringing him there. not some quick fuck with a chick he'd met that night, or his own hand— no.

it was yours.

and that thought combined with the way you're still looking at him— in awe, like he's something out of a museum, gets him way closer to the edge you were guiding him to.

"i'm— fucking christ, jesus—"

your name along with the man upstairs' son had come out of dean's mouth in a desperate attempt to warn you that he was right there, all because of you.

"i gotcha, dean," you whisper, and your free hand not jerking him off reaches to cup the side of his face as his head's tilted up towards you.

"just let it happen."

and that does it for him.

dean cums hard, his hands clutching on your thigh and part of your hips with all he's got, gasping and groaning, letting little out broken moans the whole way down.

you just guide dean through it with your hand, watching him under you as his skin was all flushed and red now, hair sticking up everywhere (courtesy of your hands), his pupils blown out and half-lidded before shutting fully.

"y'okay?" you whisper, your eyes flicking over dean under you. his own eyes continued to be closed— and you take that time to grab a tissue from the nightstand, wiping your hand clean before looking back and giving dean your full attention.

your other hand was still on his face, your thumb grazing on his cheek now, and for a split second, you almost think dean must not have liked it, or you went too far, because he wasn't saying—

"holy shit."

the curse leaves dean's mouth as his eyes open— and all he can do is reach his free hand up that wasn't grasping yours between the two of you already and rest it on the one cupping his face.

you can't even open your softly smiling mouth to respond, because the next words are coming out of dean's mouth, his voice still raw and rough from the way you just broke him apart.

"you know what i wanna do right now?"

you tilt your head a little to the side, still looking down at dean below you with his back resting against the headboard as you so desperately wanted to know.

"what?"

dean's downright devilish smirk reappears— and his eyes flick down to your almost dripping pussy that was spread as you straddled his legs before looking back up at you, his voice still rough as ever.

"I wanna taste you."

and a strangled sound gets stuck in your throat at the mere thought of dean eating you out. maybe it was a little embarassing how breathless your voice sounded when you leaned just a fraction closer to him.

"then go ahead."

an actual growl escapes dean at that— and you don't need to tell the man twice. he's got you flipped over and pinning you down, your scorching back hitting the cold motel sheets before you can even blink. you stare up at him when he hovers over you, both hands on the sides of your head, holding him up— and he's just looking at you.

but dean doesn't stay like that for too long. his lips hit your neck immediately after he leans down enough— and he starts just attacking at your skin, nipping, biting, sucking— he draws a path all the way down, until he reaches your now sopping pussy.

dean changes his position when he does, spreading your slick inner thighs further apart and settling between your legs, wrapping a strong arm around the meat of your thighs.

but he hesitates for a brief moment. he likes eating out pussy, but did you enjoy it? his pussy-drunk eyes flick up to yours— and you're a sight all spread out for him, your back against the pillows and sitting up a little so you could watch.

"i ain't gonna be gentle. y'know that, right?"

you knew that dean had always been considerate of you, long before this night— for as long as you'd known him, for that matter. but hearing him tell you that he didn't want to be gentle made your gaze soften and a smile tug on your lips as you nodded in response.

"yeah, i know."

and in that moment, dean thinks he loves you.

well, in all actuality, dean knows he loves you— but seeing you all soft and just so goddamn pretty in the moonlight that's filtering in through the motel room window, he's well aware of the blessing that's before him.

dean gives you one last smile— softer this time. then he dives in, burying in his face and going at you full force, his tongue flat and working against your puffy, slick folds before letting out a groan that vibrates everything.

and dean was right.

he was not gentle about it.

your eyes threaten to flutter shut as dean's tounge works on you— but you force them to be half-lidded as you look down at the sight of dean eating you out like a starved man.

and he's looking right back at you as he does it.

your hand flies to grasp onto dean's that was still resting on your thigh as his mouth continues to attack you— and he gladly takes it in his, not faltering his pace once.

you couldn't help but bite down hard on your bottom lip, attempting to contain the moans and noises that were threatening to spill out of you— and dean isn’t having it.

“nuh uh, darlin’,” dean shakes his head between your thighs, talking right into your pussy between flicks of his tongue on your clit. “i wanna hear you— wanna hear how goddamn good i’m makin’ ya feel right now.”

and with that, your mouth drops open almost immediately. it's like a switch flipped in you— and the first moan you let out is his fuckin' name.

"dean..."

christ on a cross. dean had wanted to hear just anything come out of your pretty mouth, but his name being the first thing on the tip of your tongue does things to him.

dean's imagined you moaning his name countless times, of course, but nothing can compare to the real you right now— tits heaving, groaning and eyes fluttering a little each time he brushes on a few sensitive spots on your pussy with his tongue.

now, it's embarrassing how close you are to cumming on dean's tongue. and oh, he notices. he holds your bucking and writhing hips down with his free hand that's not grasping and holding onto yours—

and goes to fuckin' town.

"fuck— dean!" you think you're gonna pass out— because you could barely hear the sounds of dean slurping up your juices and sucking on your clit when you cum without warning, back arching off of the sheets and grinding into his tongue, your grip on his hand becoming almost bruising as the pleasure cascades over you in waves.

dean doesn't look away from you for a second as your pussy flutters on his tongue, moving his mouth slower once more to not let a drop of you go to waste, making sure you're completely spent, pulling soft groans and gasps from your lips.

your legs tremble and shake under the arm that dean had wrapped around your thigh— and he takes a second to just watch you in the post-orgasm state you're in.

"y'okay?" dean's voice is rough but soft at the same time, looking up at you from his position between your legs like you're the night sky itself.

you open your eyes again, lifting your head off of the pillows just enough to see dean's eyes looking right back at you— and oh, he's a sight, his lips, nose and chin absolutley covered in your slick— and his hair's even more messy than before now.

"yeah", you breathe out softly, managing a nod against the pillows. "yeah, i'm all good. c'mere."

dean sees the soft look in your eyes— and his own gaze melts as he obeys, lifting off of the mattress and out from between your legs to hover over you, your faces just inches apart again.

dean can't look away.

and he never wants to.

"you're goddamn gorgeous, y'know that?" dean murmurs as he looks down at your moonlit face.

at that, you reach your hand up in the distance between you two, cupping the side of dean's face— and his head immediately leans into your touch before you whisper back.

"and you're perfect, dean."

dean's chest tightens at that— and his gaze somehow softens even more. no one's ever called him perfect before, and he couldn't think of one person in his life who even believed that to be true.

but you were looking at dean like he was.

you notice dean's reaction immediately— it was hard not to with how close you were.

you meant those words you said to dean— because being perfect wasn't about having absolutely no flaws or weaknesses.

it was about knowing that, and still carrying on anyway.

and then it clicks. because you could talk all you wanted to dean.

or you could show him how perfect he was.

"lemme show you," you whisper before dean could even open his mouth to deny it. "let me show you how perfect you are, dean."

and those words are completely breaking down what little resistance dean had left. his eyes actually get a little misty as he’s looking down at you— because he can't believe you're here, telling him everything he's never heard before.

dean nods— and his voice is shaking with anticipation mixed with pure awe.

"yeah. yeah, okay."

and that's all you needed. you look at dean's face one last time before lifting your head to close the little distance between the both of you, kissing him with everything you had to give him.

you didn't kiss dean like before— that was in a state of pure lust, desire, and want. now, you're kissing him softer, slower, and with purpose.

and purpose was exactly what dean needed. he tries to keep himself upright and hovering over you, but the way you're kissing him has his arms trembling as you're literally melting him.

you only take my lips off of dean’s when the air he and you had been breathing through your noses wasn’t enough— and your thumb grazes on his cheek again as his forehead rests on top of yours, eyes fluttering a little as i whisper against his lips.

“lay down for me.”

you don't have to say it again. dean obliges in a heartbeat, lifting off of you and rolling onto his back in one fluid motion— and you follow behind, tossing your leg over his to straddle him once more

dean’s hands go to your hips once you’re straddling him, looking up at you now— he still looks a little wrecked from earlier, and his chest is rising and falling in a slower, steadier rhythm than before, like he’s trying to calm himself down.

but seeing your naked form straddling him like this once more is just making his heart start to thump against his chest— again.

your hands find dean’s own on your hips,your fingers trailing on his skin, grazing past his wrists and up his arms— you're not exactly slow, but you're also not very fast with it, either.

no, you take your time touching dean all over again, fingertips tracing over every scar and dent you could see and feel as you're straddling him. your eyes flick up to his face, meeting his gaze once more— but you just keep touching him.

"oh, look at you," your voice is an awed whisper while your hands move on dean’s chest, grazing on the anti-possession tattoo he had on his skin. "see? you’re perfect."

and dean can’t help the little shiver your touch brings him right now, even though he's literally just laying below you, half-propped up by the pillows like you once were. he just can’t help it, because you’ve always been able to get the best reactions out of him.

dean swallows hard as your hands continue their journey over his body— your fingertips roaming over his skin, tracing all the scars he’d earned, right across his chest and down to his stomach.

and his breath actually hitches when you touch his anti-possession tattoo again.

your fingers trace on dean’s tattoo, watching and loving his reactions to just your freakin' hands.

and your hands stay resting on dean’s chest, but a little closer to his shoulders, shifting closer to him in his lap, pressing the entirety of your bare body completely against his.

your voice is still a whisper when you talk again, searching his face as you ask him to do what you've always wanted to.

because you needed to show dean how much you wanted him.

"can i ride you?"

if dean was hard before, it's nothing compared to the way his dick almost hurts now, throbbing at the way you asked permission to ride him.

"god, yes" is what comes out from dean's clenched jaw, and his gaze is locked onto yours as his hands rest on your hips.

a soft smile tugs on your lips again, your gaze flicking down for a brief moment when you hear how strained dean’s voice was— and the sight of him hard for you sends a wave of heat that pools in your stomach, making you clench around nothing.

because you needed dean just as badly as he needed you.

your eyes flick back up to dean’s green ones. and you notice that neither of you are nervous for his to happen. this was dean, after all. you'd wanted him in the least friendly way possible for as long as you could remember— and now? it was actually going to come true.

you didn’t have to ask dean anything else, or even say something. he wanted all of you— and you were going to give it to him.

so that’s why you shift a little, reaching down and guiding yourself to sink onto dean, keeping his gaze while your hands are still on his shoulders.

a broken groan escapes dean when you start to lower yourself down on him— and his own body’s reaction to your walls sucking him in just makes him want you even more.

dean lets his gaze travel all across your face— and he’s still looking right into your eyes when he lets himself go completely slack underneath you, letting you take the lead.

your fingers dig a little into dean’s shoulder at the burning sensation of your pussy being stretched— and your breath hitches, hard. your head falls forward a little as you screw your eyes shut.

your mind had felt like it was going over a thousand miles per second, but when your legs finally hit dean's and your pussy hits the base of his dick, everything just... goes away.

and dean couldn’t keep himself completely still anymore. he actually growled a little when he felt you fully sink down on him, and the sound that left him when he feels your tightness around him was a little more primal-sounding than he’d like to admit right now.

"oh, fuck," he breathes out your name, "you’re tryna kill me."

you can only respond to dean’s words with a strangled noise as the burning sensation was becoming full-throttle now, your grip on dean’s shoulders a little tighter, your head still hung as you try to keep my breathing steady.

because you literally couldn’t move yet. it was still the best feeling you'd ever felt— but you had to get used to dean's dick being buried deep inside of you before you could actually start to move on top of him.

and the way you’re holding on to his shoulders right now and how you’re trying to hold back little noises is driving dean insane.

he’s gripping your hips so tight that it has to be almost painful, and his eyes are fixed on you, still watching you while he tries to stay still for you. but it was taking a hell of a lot of effort on his part.

dean's chest is rising and falling fast, and he can’t help it when he finally chokes out your name in a whisper, unable to keep it in anymore.

"move. please."

at dean’s plea, you flick your hips just a little to see if you were adjusted yet.

and oh, were you ever. your fingers finally release their death grip on dean’s shoulders, one of your hands finding and grasping one of his own that was on your hip— and you finally start to move on top of him, rocking your hips into his.

the groan that escapes dean is the deepest one yet, his hand clutching onto yours and his eyes shutting for a moment as he feels you moving, his free hand tightening on your hip again.

"oh, god," dean gasps out, "jesus—"

you let out a raggedy exhale mixed with a moan, attempting to stop your eyes from rolling back into your head as you continue to ride dean's dick. it was hard, but you managed to keep your eyes open and half-lidded and on him, wanting to see his face— and you grind your hips into his faster and harder.

seeing you like this was getting to be borderline unbearable for dean.

your tits are bouncing a little in dean's face, and you're just not letting up, and you're so tight and warm, and he just fuckin' loves you—

dean realizes he's gonna cum if you keep this up.

and the embarrassing part is you barely even started riding him.

so it’s a damn good thing he’s still got a shred of control over himself right now.

"je— s— slow it down for a sec, darlin'," dean manages to get out, gritting his teeth as his eyes screw shut. "please."

the moment those words leave dean’s mouth, you immediately do as he says— you don’t abruptly stop, instead gradually slowing your movements to allow for an easy transition.

your hand trails up from dean's shoulder to cup on the side of his face while your're still on top of him— your eyes then search his when you breathlessly whisper to him.

"you okay?"

dean opens his eyes when you ask him if he’s okay right now, knowing that was pure concern in your words. he’s taking a moment to let his body level out a bit, since you stopped like he asked you to. and when he does, he manages a nod once he’s able to somehow form words.

"yeah, 'm good, darlin’—" dean swallows and takes a big gulp of air. "just got a 'lil too close to the edge for a second there. don’t wanna blow it right now."

an exhale of relief you didn’t know you were holding in was let out at dean’s confirmation— and your thumb almost absentmindedly grazes on the skin of his cheek as your hand was still on the side of his face.

"oh," you also nod, gaze softening as you look down at dean under you still. his words make you feel warm inside, along with a little sense of pride, too— but you still had to confirm. "it doesn’t hurt, though, right?"

"doesn’t hurt,” dean responds immediately. and that’s a bit of a complete understatement, because being inside of you right now felt like heaven. his own hand comes up to where yours is, his fingers skimming over your skin as he smiles softly up at you once more. "just wanna be able to last a 'lil bit longer for you, 's all."

your eyebrows scrunch together at that, and your expression is almost goddamn melted at this point as you look down at dean. you weren't sure why those words impacted you so much, but your chest tightens with emotion before you speak again.

"oh, de," you literally whisper, your thumb still skimming back and forth on dean’s cheek. "y'know you don’t have to do that."

"yeah, i do," dean murmurs immediately in response, looking right into your eyes the whole time he talks. "i've wanted this— you for goddamn years. i'm not lettin' this end yet."

so you don't.

you nod, leaning in and pressing a kiss on dean's lips before you talk again.

"okay," you nod against his forehead. "just move me when you want to, alright?"

dean gratefully nods, too, appreciating your understanding. his hands find and hold your hips again—this time, with less of a death-grip. and after he takes a steadying breath, he starts to move you.

you just let dean work and grind your hips into his own, holding his shoulder and face with your hands, allowing him to take what he needed and set the pace.

after a while, though, dean lifts you up off his dick by your hips a few inches before setting you back down fully, repeating the motion— starting to actually fuck you a little.

you'd been quiet for the most part so far— but once the head of dean's dick brushes against that spongy spot deep inside of you, a string of broken moans and gasps spill from your lips.

and that just spurs dean on.

you'd both waited long enough now. it's been years of stolen looks, suppressed jealousy, unspoken thoughts and feelings— and tonight, you're making it all come true in the darkness of the motel room.

thank god dean's hands had been guiding your hips— because you're starting to unravel faster than you can comprehend. and so is dean.

dean's fucking up into you now like he'll never be able to fuck you again— which you both know wasn't true. and after tonight, you know you'd happily sleep with dean's dick buried inside of your pussy.

it takes only a whimper falling from your lips for dean to know that you're close— and your hand flies down to one of his on your hips again. he gladly takes it, wanting to hold your hand when he cums inside of you—

wait. is he allowed to do that?

"y— oh," dean groans out your name— he has not been silent throughout this entire ordeal, either. broken noises of pleasure and little groans of your name escaped his lips whenever your walls clenched around him. "can i— god—"

you didn't have to ask what dean meant by that. you nod almost frantically as his hand are still gripping your hips, guiding your pussy up and down his dick— and you squeeze his other hand tighter, the one you were holding.

and only then does dean let himself go, again.

your orgasm comes at the same time dean's does— and you both arch into each other and trembling as your moans echo off the motel room's walls. dean's face buries between your tits and groans into the skin while he spills up into you, your juices mixing with his.

you both stay like that for a while, naked, sweating, slick and gasping for air for god knows how long— until dean's raw and breathless voice vibrating on your breasts breaks the silence.

"i think i was made for you."

──────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new message from the author ! ↓

oh heyyy... are any of y'all still here ??? but seriously, on a real note— if you have stayed to the very end: first, THANK YOU for reading! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write, and i want to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

OH i also used a very special headcanon from @figthoughts' mastermind brain for this one because mr. dean winchester holding your hand while he eats you out is very much and totally 100% canon for me as well. fig you match my freak like no other and i hope to one day write as good and absolutely filthily as you do HEHE smooches to you my pookie <3

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine + if i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

#faith’s works . . . @bejeweledinterludes!#dean winchester x you #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #smut #dean smut

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kateschi · 7 months ago

Text

the katsuki bakugou effect

synopsis: where your husband, katsuki, has a way of calming your daughter like no one else can.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

katsuki’s ability to calm your daughter is nothing short of magical.

it doesn’t matter how fussy or inconsolable she gets; the moment he holds her, everything changes.

her tiny fists are no longer clenched in frustration, her loud cries slowly taper off, and her little body relaxes in his arms. his presence soothes her in a way no one else’s can.

you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve been at the end of your rope, trying everything you can think of to calm her.

you’ve rocked her gently, hummed her favorite lullaby, even tried a little soft talking, but nothing works.

when your baby’s tears start to escalate, and her little body trembles in distress, you find yourself on the edge of exhaustion.

but then katsuki walks in.

he steps over to you, and with a quick kiss to the top of your head, scoops her from your arms, then instantly, the tension in the room lifts.

his rough hands gently cradle her, and he murmurs something too quiet for you to catch.

you can’t help but watch in awe as she goes from wailing to calm in just a few seconds, her little face nuzzling against his chest. it’s like a switch flips, and you swear you can see her sigh in relief.

it’s always the same. as soon as katsuki’s around, she settles. she looks at him with a calmness that’s impossible to ignore, her tiny lips pouting slightly as she stares up at him.

her little hands grasp weakly at his shirt, her body relaxing into his hold as if everything is suddenly right with the world. and katsuki just holds her, always.

“you’re a softie,” you tease one day as you watch him rock her back and forth.

katsuki shoots you a glare, but it’s softened by the sight of your daughter curled peacefully in his arms. “shut up,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. and you can’t help but smile.

you cross the room, leaning in to plant a kiss on his cheek. he stiffens for a moment, but the warmth in his eyes tells you everything you need to know.

“I’m serious,” you say. “you’re the softest guy I know.”

he lets out a gruff chuckle, his scowl deepening, though it's clear he's enjoying your attention as he places a gentle kiss on your forehead.

a few weeks later, you’re all at a class 1-a reunion, gathered at the old dorms. the atmosphere is lively, with the familiar banter of your old classmates filling the air.

midoriya’s sitting on the couch, holding your daughter carefully in his arms, cooing softly at her as the rest of the group laughs and talks around them.

but suddenly, the peaceful mood shifts. your girl begins to fidget in midoriya’s arms, her little face scrunching up in that all-too-familiar way before the whimpers start.

a soft cry escapes her lips, and then it builds, escalating into the full-blown wail you know so well. midoriya looks startled, glancing around as if searching for some way to calm her.

“uh, uh, it’s okay,” midoriya says, trying to gently rock her in his arms. “it’s okay, sweetheart."

but your baby’s cries only seem to grow louder, her face turning red as her hands flail helplessly. you glance at katsuki, already knowing what’s coming next.

without a word, katsuki stands up from his seat, the others giving him a bit of space as he walks over.

his eyes lock on your daughter, and there’s something about his gaze that makes everything else fade into the background. he’s not rushing, not frantic.

he just calmly steps in, his arms outstretched.

midoriya silently hands the little girl over. as soon as katsuki has her, everything shifts. he holds her against his chest, and his rough hand gently pats her back.

his thumb brushes against her little arm, his voice soft. “it’s me,” he murmurs, his tone low and steady. “it’s okay.”

your little girl hiccups, her cries fading almost immediately, and then she stops. her lips jut out in a pout, still a little upset, but no longer in distress.

she stares up at him, her wide eyes searching his face as if recognizing him. and then, she settles into the crook of his arm, her tiny hands grasping weakly at the fabric of his shirt.

the room is silent for a moment, everyone watching in awe as your girl rests peacefully in katsuki’s arms. he doesn’t even seem to notice the attention.

his focus is entirely on her, his expression softening as she calms.

you smile to yourself, watching him from the sidelines. even after all this time, katsuki never ceases to surprise you with how much he’s grown, how much he’s learned.

you remember when he first found out he was going to be a father, and how nervous he’d been (though he would never admit that).

but now, here he is, effortlessly calming your daughter.

“man, you’re a real softie now, huh?” kirishima teases from across the room, a wide grin plastered on his face.

katsuki’s eyes narrow immediately, and he glares at his friend. “shut the hell up, red.”

but the teasing doesn’t stop there.

kaminari, who’s been silently watching the entire scene, leans forward with a smirk. “I can’t believe it…the ‘explosion hero’ is actually the baby whisperer now?”

katsuki frowns, and his glare remains trained on the two of them. but there’s a slight restraint in his movements—one that’s only noticeable to you.

he’s trying to stay calm, and it’s all because he doesn’t want to wake your little girl up. you can practically feel the tension in the air as his patience wears thin.

sero, naturally, chimes in with a smirk of his own. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, man. I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be ‘aww’ing over a baby like some mushy ball of fluff.”

katsuki’s mouth opens, ready to fire back, but then he glances down at your sleeping daughter, her little chest rising and falling peacefully, and he shuts it again.

for a split second, his fierce expression softens. he takes a deep breath, holding the baby a little tighter.

“you’re lucky she’s asleep, or I would've blasted your asses to oblivion,” he grumbles, but the threat is half-hearted.

kaminari lets out a nervous laugh. “jeez, man, alright, we get it.”

you can’t help but chuckle softly, leaning against the doorframe as you watch them.

katsuki’s eyes narrow in warning, but despite his frown, there’s a warmth to his expression that doesn’t go unnoticed when he looks back at d/n.

it’s moments like these when the rest of the world seems to disappear, and it's just him, her, and the quiet calm they share.

sighing in resignation, he shifts slightly, walking over to you. you watch as he makes his way across the room, still cradling your daughter in his arms, her tiny hands gripping his shirt as she drifts into a deeper sleep.

you don’t say anything at first, but as he gets closer, you meet his gaze with a soft smile.

there’s no denying the softening effect he has when it’s just the two of you—well, the three of you, if you count the tiny bundle in his arms.

he leans into you as he steps to your side, his broad shoulders brushing against yours, and without a word, he tilts his head slightly toward you, seeking the quiet comfort of being beside you.

“I told them to shut up,” katsuki mutters, his voice lower now, quieter. his usual fiery energy is subdued, and he seems content to just be in your presence.

he exhales slowly, letting the weight of the situation fade away. you reach up and gently touch his arm, a soft laugh escaping you.

"she's lucky you’re her dad," you murmur, your eyes flickering down to where your daughter is curled against his chest. "you’re so patient with her."

katsuki scoffs lightly, rolling his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays his true feelings.

“I’m not some damn pushover,” he mutters, but there’s a softness in his tone that makes you want to kiss him.

and you do.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

#bnha x reader #mha x y/n #mha x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugou x you #bakugou x fem!reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #katsuki x y/n #katsuki bakugo x reader

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sceletaflores · 8 months ago

Text

I COULD PLAY THE DOCTOR (I CAN CURE YOUR DISEASE)

pair: logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, established relationship, logan's pov, written with origins!logan in mind, nat veering dangerously closer to a/b/o territory with every passing day, rut cycles, oral sex (fem!receiving), fingering (fem!receiving), multiple orgasms, gratuitous amounts of dirty talk, p in v, rough sex, biting, hair pulling, size kink, belly bulging, pussy pronouns, one (1) single use of the word daddy, scent kink, pain kink, breeding kink ofc, knotting (don’t look at me…), squirting, porn w/ plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: don’t look at me…i don’t know how many times i swore up and down i’d never write something like this but i’m a confirmed liar apparently so…here. i mean i just figured i'm in a rut artistically so therefore the only answer is writing logan in a rut physically...i can do what i want and i don't need to explain myself or my horny thoughts. also, i debated posting this in the wake of everything that's gone down over the past two days that is still escalating and will continue to escalate in the coming weeks, but i think everyone could use a little escape from how scary things may seem right now. take a break from all the terrifying news sites and read about logan wanting to breed you :) kisses!

divider by angel @saradika-graphics!

it's been another six months, and logan needs your help...

The burn starts on the walk home from work, a pulse of heat deep in Logan's gut that grows with every step.

It spreads slowly, sinking into his muscles and seeping up his spine as he rounds the last corner, your place less than a block away now.

It caught him off guard this time, an itch burying itself under his skin earlier in the day only to get worse and worse as he worked.

He usually knew the signs well enough to feel them start creeping in, and he was dead sure it wasn't for another few weeks.

Apparently, he was wrong.

Logan’s jaw clenches as he picks up his pace, every nerve ending in his body straining to break into a full blown sprint at the thought of you, all alone and waiting for him.

His fingers curl into tight fists, nails pressing into his palms to ground himself, though it’s hardly enough. The faint scent of you drifts up from his shirt, not even a long day at the lumberyard enough to drown it out.

By the time he reaches your door, his heartbeat is a heavy thud in his ears, syncing with the building ache of desire wracking through his body like the earth rattling boom of a raging thunder storm.

He fumbles through getting his key into the lock, hands unsteady as he tugs the door open with a little more force than necessary and finally steps inside.

The second he closes the door behind him, the heat surges, thrumming through his veins and flooding his chest. Your scent fills the air completely, stronger now, wrapping around him so thick and sweet.

"Darlin'?" His voice comes out rougher than he intends, but he's beyond caring.

Your voice floats from the other room, casual, warm enough to send a jolt through him. Logan drops his axe from his shoulder, leaning it against the door as he starts down the familiar path to your bedroom.

You're spread out on his side of the bed—oblivious, curled up with a book, wrapped in one of the flannels he must have left the last time he stayed over.

Just the sight of you does something to him, like a match dragged against a strike pad, damned on setting everything ablaze.

You glance up, and the soft smile on your lips falters as you catch sight of him.

Logan knows what he must look like, his eyes all dark and predatory, chest heaving as he rakes his hungry gaze over you like a wolf watches a lamb grazing too close to its den.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stalks toward you with a purpose that’s as undeniable as the heat pouring off him in waves.

The book slips from your fingers, forgotten, as you lean back, the small sound of your breath hitching under the weight of his gaze is music to his ears.

Logan pauses at the edge of the bed, towering over you, letting himself drink in the way you look. So soft and serene, like some kind of invitation that begs him closer. His flannel draped loosely over your shoulders–shrouding you in his scent.

The urge to pounce on you fights against his normal instinct to savor every second, to draw it out until the heat pooling in his gut becomes downright unbearable.

“Been thinkin’ about you all damn day,” he mutters, voice thick and dark as molasses, rough from restraint he’s quickly losing. His knuckles brush against your thigh, then tighten, holding you in place as he leans down, his breath hot against your neck. “Thinkin’ about what I was gonna when I finally got my hands on you.”

Your skin blooms with warmth beneath his touch, and he grins against your neck, the edge of his teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm. He growls low in his throat, that itch he’s been fighting nearly all day clawing its way up to the surface with a vengeance.

The primal urge inside of him screaming to claim claim claim take take take mate mate mate breed breed breed.

You tilt your head to the side with a soft sigh, freeing up more space for him to nose along your skin. “Is it time?”

Logan's breath catches as your question hangs in the air, thick with anticipation. The soft simplicity of it ignites the wildfire burning in his gut, every ounce of restraint slipping away like sand through his fingers.

“Yeah, baby,” he growls, slipping his fingers under the worn cotton of your shorts, feeling the bare skin beneath. “It’s time.”

You shift, hands going to the buttons of his flannel like you’re going to take it off. Logan stops you, taking your wrists in his free hand.

“Don’t,” he breathes, shaking his head hard enough that his hair flows with it. “Leave it on.”

The thought of you covered in his scent, of his scent mixing with yours to claim you on a level only he can discern sends his mind buzzing.

You look up at him with those wide, trusting eyes, and something in him cracks wide open. The tenderness of your gaze pulls at him, like a tether pulling him back from the edge, but that heat still smolders in his blood, fierce and unyielding.

Logan runs his thumb along the racing pulse of your wrist before he drops them. His hands venture lower, fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh, tracing a deliberate path that makes your body tremble under his touch.

You let out a shuddering breath, the scent of your arousal swirling through the air is enough to make him crave more.

In one rough tug, Logan yanks you towards the edge of the bed as he falls to his knees. Your hips held tight in his hands as he lurches forward, burying his nose in the soft junction where your leg and inner thigh meet.

He inhales deep, greedy lungfuls of your scent. A guttural growl rumbles through his chest, his eyes screwing shut at the sheer amount of too much that courses through him. He feels dizzy with it, high on the pheromones pumping from you in waves.

You’re soaked already, the wet fabric of your shorts melded to the shape of your cunt. He can’t help but run his nose along the slick seam of you, reveling in the way your legs twitch on either side of his head, in the short gasp you let out.

“Logan.” Your voice is nothing but a mewl, pleading and desperate.

“Missed you,” he rasps, his voice rough, almost unrecognizable. The edge of need in him makes his hands shake, sliding up your thighs, urging them even further apart as he settles between them.

Logan’s fingers dig into your skin, he lets his thumbs brush up, hooking them into the waistband of your shorts to tug them down your legs in one sharp yank. He groans at the sight of you completely bare, no underwear.

“Fuck, look at you,” he grates, his thumb coming down to slip through your dripping cunt. Your hole flutters desperately around him, needy little clenches like it’s trying to suck him in. “She’s all ready for me, huh? Been waiting for me to come home and give her some attention?”

“Please,” you whimper, your voice thick with longing, the sound going straight to his head, clouding his thoughts.

Logan’s pulse races as he watches your body arch instinctively toward his touch, the desperate need in your eyes igniting the raw urges coursing through him.

He can’t deny you; he never could. You’re a feast laid out before him, and he’s starving.

Logan leans closer, letting his tongue flick out to taste you like he’s wanted to since he left for work this morning.

“Fuck,” he breathes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the moment. He licks a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the way your body responds, the way your legs tremble and your hips twitch against his mouth, seeking more. “Tastes like fuckin’ heaven, sweetheart.”

The taste of you is intoxicating—sweet and tangy, flooding his senses with every drag and swirl of his tongue.

Logan can’t help but moan against you, the sound vibrating through your body as he dives deeper, his nose nudging against your slick entrance as he shakes his head back and forth like an animal—rubbing the plush skin of your inner thighs red and raw with each rough drag of his coarse beard.

Every flick of his tongue sends a shockwave through you, and he revels in the sounds you make—each whimper, each moan, a siren’s call urging him deeper. He laves his tongue around your clit, sucking it gently, pulling at it with his lips as you writhe beneath him, begging for more.

He keeps your thighs spread wide, two strong hands pinning them to the mattress so he can devour you just the way you deserve, the sharp dig of your heels into his shoulders only spurs him on.

Your hands bury themselves in his hair, tugging him closer, and he groans into you, letting his tongue delve deeper, seeking out every bit of sweetness he can coax from you.

It’s pure sin, each sound you make, each shiver that runs through you as he takes his time, drinking you down like a man starved.

The ache in him intensifies, his own need growing, pulsing. He’s hard, has been hard since he walked through the front door.

His cock strains against the zipper of his jeans, need pulsing in time with each pump of his blood through his shaft, circling around the base, threatening to expand even without the tight grip of your pussy surrounding him. His hips jerk up on their own volition, desperate for any friction.

“Just like that, Logan,” you gasp, voice breathy and trembling with pleasure.

The way you say his name—raw, desperate—makes his blood run hotter. He grips your thighs tighter, anchoring you to the bed as he drinks you in, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

Logan pulls away just long enough to catch his breath, looking up at you with lust-drunk eyes, drinking in the sight of your sweaty cheeks, your heavy-lidded gaze, the way your chest rises and falls with each shuddering breath.

The pulse of his cock intensifies, urging him to speed things along. The base desire of his own instincts is getting harder and harder to ignore under your adoring stare.

He feeds his fingers into your clenching hole with no warning, a satisfied smirk tugging his lips up at your sharp gasp. He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, the entire lower half of his face still shining with your essence.

Your cunt swallows him, two thick fingers sinking into the velvety heat like it’s nothing.

Logan groans as he feels you clench around him, your walls fluttering and drawing him in deeper. “That’s it, baby,” he mutters, his voice hoarse with need. “So fuckin’ ready for me, so ready for daddy’s fingers in your pussy.”

Your mouth drops open in another devastatingly desperate noise, your hands twist his hair roughly, soft breasts rising and falling each time you gasp for air. The dim light of the sunset filters in through the blinds, highlighting the curves of your body, slick and shining with a thin sheen of sweat.

Every clench of your walls around his fingers shoots a thrill straight to his cock, making him ache with the urge to bury himself inside you. The overwhelming need to take you completely, to mark you and fill you, pulses through his veins until he feels like he might explode.

But he’s not done tasting you yet. Not until you’re practically dripping onto the sheets.

He lowers his mouth back to your core, sucking your clit into his mouth as his fingers pump faster. The sudden intensity makes your thighs shake around his head, and he grins against you. He wants to see you fall apart—wants to feel it.

“Logan—please, I…” You can barely get the words out, voice breaking as your whole body strains against him, desperate and needy.

The wet slap of his palm against your spit soaked cunt is loud in the quiet of your bedroom, blending with the loud keens that fall from your parted lips. He crooks his fingers, rubbing at that soft, spongy spot inside of you.

“Come on,” he mutters, slick lips brushing against your clit as he speaks. “Give it to me, baby. Show me you're ready for my cock."

He drags the sharp edge of his canine against your pulsing clit with barely any pressure, and you're coming.

Your whole body tenses, back bowing off the mattress as you let out a broken cry of his name. The bite of your nails digging into his scalp feels harsh enough to draw blood, a feeble attempt at grounding yourself against the onslaught of pleasure.

Your trembling thighs tighten around his shoulders, gripping him like a vice as your shaking cunt gushes around his fingers. Logan groans at the feeling, eyes slipping shut as you drench his wrist and chin in your juices.

Even then, he doesn’t let up, fingers pumping relentlessly as he draws out every pulse, every aftershock of your climax, every tiny spray of your release splashing against his wrist.

He’s lost in the feel of you—slick and trembling under his hands, the scent of your release filling his lungs, thick and intoxicating.

You slump back against the bed, body limp and spent. His own need is a driving, aching force now, clawing at his insides, demanding more.

He slips his fingers free from your dripping heat, dragging them through the wetness coating his chin as he licks them clean with a growl, savoring every taste.

“Good girl,” he purrs, voice thick with pride and satisfaction as he pulls back, leaving your thighs twitching in the wake of his touch. But he still isn’t finished. Not even close.

You barely have time to catch your breath before Logan crawls up the bed, his eyes locked on you, pupils blown with need. He looms over you, hands planting on either side of your head. His cock grinds against you through the rough denim, and you can feel just how thick and hard he is, throbbing through the fabric, demanding to be freed.

With a low groan, he shifts his hips, dragging his bulge along your soaked cunt, sending another jolt of pleasure racing through you. His hands are all over you, gripping your waist, hot and possessive.

“Feel that?” he asks, pressing his lips the wild flutter of your pulse, the need to sink his teeth in the soft skin of your neck raises the hair on the back of his neck. “That’s what you do to me baby. Got me hard as a fuckin’ rock, just aching to be inside you.”

Your arms circle his shoulders, clawing at the fabric off his shirt. “Need you inside me, Logan. Please, want it so bad.”

The pure need lacing your words, your scent calling out to him, the way he can feel the front of his jeans getting soaked through with the slick pouring from your cunt all pull him deeper into the recesses of his hind-brain.

The mounting desperation to stuff you full of his cock finally reaches a fever pitch.

With a deep growl, Logan rears back as far as he can bear, just enough to tear his shirt over his head before he fumbles with the heavy buckle of his belt to free his aching cock.

He shoves his jeans down, boxers quickly following until there’s nothing separating him from the cool air of your bedroom. His cock springs free, hot and flushed an angry red color, drooling from the tip enough that it drips down to stain the pretty floral sheets of your bed.

Your eyes zero in on him, mouth dropping open at the sight. His cock so heavy it doesn’t curve upward to slap against his stomach, instead it hangs down to sway between his thighs as he moves closer.

Your legs spread as he nears, slick covered thighs parting to make room for him to slot between them. So obedient, so good, so well trained.

Logan takes himself in his hand, nearly wincing at the blazing temperature of his skin. He secures his hand around the base, squeezing where his knot threatens to pop before he’s even got in you.

He slips the angry head through the folds of your cunt, slapping it against your clit with a wet ‘thwack’ sound. He can feel the way it twitches and shakes, just as desperate as him.

“Look at that,” he mutters darkly, eyes glued to where he’s laid his cock flat against your stomach, leaking pre-come all over your soft skin. “How’s it gonna fit, baby?” He shifts his hips, sawing his length back and forth to see just how deep in you he’ll be.

Your glassy eyes drop, a broken moan passing through your slack lips when you take in the sight. Your hips rise off the bed, grinding your cunt along the seam of his heavy balls, along the prominent vein trailing up the underside.

“Don’t worry, baby,” Logan grits out, eyes hooded and dark as he watches you grind against him. “You’re gonna take it all. Gonna make you feel every last fuckin’ bit of me.”

He groans, gritting his teeth as he presses in further, each inch a battle against the tight, molten heat that grips him like a vice. Your body shudders as he fills you, your slick warmth pulling him deeper and deeper, and he sinks down until he’s fully seated, his hips flush with yours.

The pressure is mind-numbing, your walls clenching around him in rhythmic pulses that make his vision blur. He stills for just a second, savoring the way your body stretches around him, hugging him in a way that feels like it was made for him alone.

Logan watches your face as you adjust to the stretch, your brows pinched together, each breath coming fast and shallow, your eyes glazed with pleasure.

Then, your hands come to his shoulders, nails digging little crescent moons into his skin as you nod your head, ready.

It’s all the confirmation he needs. His hips pull back before he slams in again, the force of it jolting your whole body. He presses his forehead to your shoulder, teeth bared as he muffles a snarl against your skin.

Logan thrusts again, and again, and again, hips setting a merciless pace as he watches the way your breasts bounce with each thrust, each little shudder.

His mouth waters with the need to taste, to sink his teeth into your supple skin hard enough to pierce clean through, hard enough to scar.

Sweat drips down the length of his spine, across his brow. It mats down the hair scattered over his chest, his dog tags slick with it when they bounce off his skin with each thrust. The grip of his hands tightens on your hips, it’s taking everything in him to hold back and yet he knows you’ll still bruise tomorrow.

Pretty hues of dark purples and yellows in the shape of his fingers, ones he’ll catch you admiring in the bathroom mirror, pressing your own fingertips into them to feel the dull ache—to remember this moment.

“Made for this, aren’t you?” he rasps, his voice dark and possessive. “Made to take me, to be mine.”

The words barely leave his mouth before he’s bending down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries as he drives into you, pushing you both closer to that sweet edge.

“Fuck, Logan,” you gasp, breaking the kiss as your body trembles under him. “Can–ah!–can feel you in my stomach…”

Your hand drops from his shoulder, slipping between your bodies to rest over the sweaty expanse of your belly. Logan’s eyes follow your path, a feral growl bursting from his chest before he can stop it.

He’s transfixed by it, sure that if he pressed his hand to the soft skin of your lower stomach right over your own, that he’d feel it. Feel the way his cock punches up against your insides, so deep it's like he’s rearranging your guts to make room.

“Fuck.” His voice is nothing but a gravelly rumble, hoarse and dark as midnight. His hips speed up impossibly faster, chasing the feeling of your clenching walls choking the length of his cock so tight he thinks it might snap off at the base.

The flimsy headboard of your bed slams against the wall, creaky mattress springs screaming under his ministrations.

You feel like salvation, like the first rays of light after too many years spent in the dark.

He feels it with each kiss of his cock against your cervix, in the way your lips fit in the junction of his neck, in the red welts your nails leave on the skin of his back. He feels alive, truly alive, for the first time in decades.

“Say my name,” he grates, his hand cupping the back of your neck, coaxing you to look up at him, lips close enough to taste the heat radiating from his skin. “Tell me who you belong to.”

"Logan," you gasp, your voice breathy, edged with desperation as he pushes you closer to the brink. "Yours. Only yours."

A broken, shaky noise falls from his lips as he buries his face in your neck. He mouths at your skin desperately, presses his nose to where your scent is the strongest.

Flashes of his release spraying your insides play behind his closed eyes, thoughts of drenching you so thoroughly that it has to take only forcing his hips to slam against the rippling muscle of your ass like you have your own magnetic pull. He feels it building, the slow swell of his knot presses against your folds, ready to burst.

“Come on, honey,” he begs, thumb coming down to rub slow circles over your slick clit. “Come with me, soak my cock. Show me how much you love it, how much you love me.”

Pathetic little uh uh uh’s fall from you with every thrust, broken up only by the breathy whines of his name as he pounds into you hard enough to push your body higher up the mattress. Finally, with a loud roar, he stuffs his growing knot inside of your cunt.

Logan’s teeth sink into your neck before he can even think twice about it, the thick spray of his come filling you as his hands pull your hips down even further over his cock. He needs to be as deep in you as possible, to press forward until he can’t anymore, until his aching balls are flush with your gushing cunt.

He watches with rapt attention as you come with a loud wail, just from the feeling of his knot slotting into place. The clamp of your thighs over his hips is nearly as tight as the way your cunt seizes around him like it’s scared he’ll leave.

He groans at the over stimulation of your cunt milking his cock. Your slick leaks around the base of him, your shaking hole plugged so full it can only slip along the creamy ring to splash weakly against his thighs and hips.

Logan licks along the spot where his teeth pierced your skin, planting one last kiss before he’s taking you in his arms and rolling onto his back atop the mattress. The plush comforter sticks to his skin, your own sweaty body slipping against his as he tries his best to not jostle you too much while keeping you stuffed full of his cock.

He holds you to his chest until your breathing evens out, until your body stops trembling on top of his, until you’re nosing along the column of his neck.

“Logan?” Your voice is tiny, hoarse and scratchy. He feels your hand drawing absent minded shapes along the skin of his stomach. A circle, a star, a figure eight, a heart.

“Yeah baby?” he says, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, eyes slipping shut at the content feeling that spreads through him.

“Love you,” you murmur, voice soft but sure, the words slipping out without hesitation.

It’s the first time you’ve said it today, and hearing those three words from you sends warmth flooding through him.

Logan shifts slightly, pulling you even closer, his hand moving to the back of your head, cradling you with a kind of tenderness he used to think he’d never be capable of. “I love you too, darlin’. More than you know.”

Your body relaxes against him, the lingering effects of your shared intimacy still buzzing through your limbs, but now there’s a sense of peace, of safety, and a deeper connection.

He can feel the way your fingers curl lightly against his skin, the quiet smile that must be tugging at your lips as you press a kiss to the side of his neck.

And in that moment, with everything settled around him, Logan knows that this, right here, is everything.

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