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perdidosbucky-yyo · 5 hours ago

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I apologize in advance for the person this fic turned me into 😮‍💨😍😩

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more

“Can you blame me, baby? You walk in and suddenly it's like no one else exists,” his tone is softer, yet serious when he says this. Your heart skipped a beat when he called you baby. The weight of his attention felt in every fiber of your being. Bucky only ever called you baby when he wanted to really affect you. Reminding you of the pull he had over you.

THE SEXUAL TENSION IS PALPABLE and Bucky is so charming 🤭

Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

I-

God damn he is just yummy and so protective 🥹🥵

Almost instantly, a protective grip pulls you away from the drunk guy. A familiar warmth encases you as Bucky pulls you into his chest, your back to him. Your hands find their way to hold his arms to ease the displeasure the drunk had caused

“What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,”

“You and your compliments,” you give a breathless laugh, letting your guard down for once and going with the flow. Bucky can sense it. Sense the way there’s a shift between you, the blossoming of something bigger being accepted and not pushed away by you anymore.

“Plus, if I’m going to fall for the most beautiful girl in the world, I have to know how to fight right?” Bucky says this like it's the most obvious thing, smirking at the way you don’t hide the smitten grin he elicits from you.

This made me feel bubbly and warm 🤭 I would be constantly blushing next to that man

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response.

In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

“If you want something use your words, sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, you suppress a groan, “You know what I want. I don't have to say it,” you retort impatiently. Bucky shakes his head, smiling despite himself, “I want to hear you say it,” he dips his head to the crook of your neck, his teeth nipping at the skin. The hands on your ass give it a light squeeze emitting a small gasp from you. You can feel the shit-eating grin on your neck.

👁️👄👁️ I want this energy I need it, I love the way you write

“Y/n, I…I wanted to give you some time. Time to figure things out—to figure out what you wanted. I tried pretending I was okay with pieces of you, but I’m not. I want all of you. I want to be yours,” Bucky confesses with sincerity. You reach out to interlock your hands with his, a floodgate of emotions engulfing you.

JUST WHEN THINGS CAN'T GET ANY HOTTER WE GET THIS FLUFFY MOMENT I LOVE IT😭

He is so needy and precious and he knows what he wants and I love it I love it I love it

Lines Crossed

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: You and Bucky have danced around the lines you've placed ever since that weekend camping trip. Months later, when Tony Stark hosts an extravagant party, he finally makes a move to cross them.

Word Count: 9.3k

Warning(s): 18+ mdni / drinking / jealousy / forced proximity / smut / female reader / drunk jerk (stranger) / tension / will they won't they oh they will 🫣❤️‍🔥 / sex w/protection / pet names / sprinkles of possessive + protective Bucky so be prepared / there's a build-up so enjoy ❣️

Prompt: oops, we were just hiding in this closet, but then the close proximity get us too turned on not to fuck

a/n: Please be kind this is my first time writing something like this. 🥺🩶 I decided to challenge myself and join @mercurial-chuckles‘ smutty September fest. A tad late on the deadline because Hurricane Helene decided to take the power out. 😭 This is a standalone fic, but you can most definitely read it (and is intended to be) as a continuation of the events of A Night of Frights & Delights. Likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! ❤️❤️

part one backstory // divider // ambiance 🤍

You step into the foyer of the Stark Manor, a grand staircase greets you, its golden railing glowing underneath an ornate chandelier. Various guests mingle around the manor, the buzz of conversation accompanying the music that pulses throughout. Everything about the sight in front of you screams old wealth and elegance.

Your eyes scan the luxurious home with an expression of awe. Despite being invited before, you had never come to one of Tony’s parties. Choosing the comfort of your bed and your favorite show instead. However, this time knowing a certain captain of the baseball team would be here—and your history with him—well you just had to come.

As you take it all in, your gaze locks on a pair of beautiful blues. The very same ones you were thinking of all day. And by the way he was looking at you, you knew he was awaiting your arrival just as much as you had been waiting to see him.

There was no denying he most certainly had been.

Bucky had arrived about half an hour earlier with some of his teammates. His impatience grew by the second at your absence. He was dying to see what you wore for the party. You denied him any sneak peeks, which only fueled his excitement. He tried distracting himself by greeting anyone he could and making conversation, but he continuously gravitated to the foyer, waiting for the moment you stepped in through those doors.

When you finally did, Bucky knew with the utmost certainty that the wait was worth it. When his eyes met yours you knocked the air straight out of his lungs with the black dress you were wearing. The satin dawning your body accentuated your silhouette perfectly—and the high slit at your right leg showed off the right amount of skin. The way you did your hair and your makeup complimented you perfectly, and Bucky was losing his goddamn mind because of it.

Sincerely, he was close to whisking you away and keeping you all to himself.

You looked nothing short of beyond stunning. Bucky had been holding back for months, staying within the lines you drew that night in the tent, and honestly, he deserved a medal for that. It’s the hardest thing he's ever done. What he felt for you couldn’t measure up to anything else in his life. Never had he felt so over the moon in his feelings for anyone. Yet, you brought on those sentiments by just being you. He was sure if he wasn’t in love with you yet, he was damn near close to it.

And right now, seeing you in that dress, his mind is going to places it shouldn’t. Places that only belonged to him and his bed on those nights you left him wanting more. Thoughts and scenarios where the night ends with him tearing that dress right off you and showing you just how serious he is about wanting you.

He’s not so sure he can be on his best behavior tonight.

Bucky discards the drink he had been holding and saunters over to you. Your heart races in your chest when you see the way his blues darken when he rakes his eyes over your form—shamelessly drinking you up. You take in his figure as well, the all-black suit giving him an aura of class and sophistication that was stirring something dangerous within you.

Bucky cleaned up good, real good.

He stops a mere foot away from you, his eyes twinkling with intentions both of you long for. You didn’t realize you had been holding your breath until his voice broke you out of your trance.

“There’s no way I’m letting you leave my side tonight, not in that dress,” Bucky’s voice is deeper than usual, contrasting the charming grin on his face. You roll your eyes playfully, “I don’t need a babysitter, Bucky,” you reply amused at the thought. Having Bucky by your side all night would definitely lead to you two enjoying each other’s company in other ways.

Not that you would object if it did.

Bucky’s hand reaches out to touch you, your heart skipping a beat as he adjusts the strap of your dress on your shoulder. His touch lingers for a second more as a light chuckle escapes him. “Maybe not you sweetheart, but I might. Someone’s going to have to keep me in check tonight. I already have a hard enough time keeping my hands off of you and now you walk in looking like a masterpiece and I'm supposed to keep my hands to myself?” He bites his bottom lip for a moment, almost as if to stop himself from saying too much.

“Something tells me you’re going to lay it on thick tonight, aren't you?” You tease him, all the while your body thrums with the way he compliments you. Bucky always knows exactly what to say to make you feel like the only girl in the room. An effortless gift he had only when it came to you.

The spell you two were under was suddenly broken by Darcy, who rushed over to where you were standing and linked your arm with hers. “Sorry! I’m going to steal her away for a bit there Bucky!” She says unapologetically as she tears you away from the man who looks like he could have devoured you if your friend hadn't interrupted. Your protests fall on deaf ears so you're left waving a small—but not definite—farewell to Bucky.

It seemed Bucky’s friends had been waiting for the right moment to steal him away too. As soon as you were in another room Sam and Steve went up to Bucky and dragged him to whatever antics the baseball team was up to. His disappointment matches yours, but if there was one thing he had proven all these months was that he had a lot of patience. He knew you two would end up crossing each other’s paths more than once tonight. It was only a matter of time.

“You forgot you promised to stick by my side tonight. My ex is here, I need the support,” Darcy reminds you with a slight pout. She looks like a ball of fire with the way she pulls you through the crowd in her crimson dress. Her eyes dart to every guest looking to avoid her ex at all costs.

“I didn’t forget. I was just saying hi to a friend,” you explain emitting a snort from Darcy, “A friend? If he’s just a friend than I’m the Queen of England.” You roll your eyes, a small huff of a laugh leaving your lips. Darcy wasn’t wrong. You and Bucky weren’t just friends, but you also weren’t anything more—and that was by your account.

You and Bucky have fallen into a grey area of what you are to each other. At first, after the camping trip, you tried avoiding him. Not because what happened upset you—but because you couldn’t trust yourself around him after that. Making out with him in that tent made you realize that what you thought had been an annoyance towards Bucky was actually the beginning of a deep-rooted crush. One that bubbled to the surface after that night.

Avoiding him altogether was an impossible task when he lived in the other apartment in the duplex you rented. Especially after he insisted on giving you rides back and forth from campus with the excuse that now that you two were friends it's only natural for him to be more friendly. By his definition, it also included things like buying you food on days he knows you’ve been too busy to get something for yourself, walking you to your classes whenever he has the chance, and going with you to art exhibitions to dabble in your passion with you.

Oh, and it also included kissing you mercilessly during tutoring sessions.

Around the time that fall semester began, Bucky asked you if you could tutor him on a few subjects. He hadn’t done the greatest academically last semester and he wanted to keep his grades up before baseball season started. You were hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in when you realized how sincere he was about needing the help.

Tutoring Bucky meant spending lots of time with him after classes. The sessions were innocent at first, but after the first time kissing on your bed, Bucky made it a tradition to have his lips on yours, and his hands wandering your body at every session. He even stopped hosting parties at his place, preferring being in your room and getting drunk on the taste of you.

Bucky was too infatuated by you to ever want to do anything else. Studying was an afterthought whenever you were around, and yet he was doing better than he ever had before in all his classes. Being someone you could be proud of was honestly the best motivation he could ask for.

Deep down you knew you were falling for him. There was a bit of apprehension on your part as you hadn’t known Bucky to ever have a girlfriend. From what you can remember, ever since you’ve known him, he was the kind of guy who preferred flirting and casual encounters. And there was no guarantee you would be the one to break that. So to keep yourself safe you drew those lines—built those walls up high to guard your heart. Bucky respected those lines and never crossed them. No matter how badly he wanted to.

Some days, like today, made you want to say screw the lines and just give in to what you desired most. However, when that desire included lowering those walls you put in place, you weren’t brave enough to risk it—so you didn’t. Instead, you and Bucky danced around those lines until it drove you both mad.

Your thoughts follow you for the next hour as you stay by Darcy’s side. Bucky has this natural way of consuming your mind lately—and your sketchbook. You wish you had it with you right now because when your feelings decide to overflow you channel that intensity onto the paper. For months, every page had been filled with graphite drawings of Bucky. His smile, his eyes, his determined expression when studying, his confident stance during baseball games, and everything else that sparked the creative fire in you. You found a lot of solace in drawing him.

Bucky was undoubtedly your favorite muse.

You're so lost in your thoughts you don’t register you’re in the kitchen of the manor until the guests around you cheer. It seems Darcy and Thor have fallen into a friendly competition of sorts to see who could down more shots than the other in one minute. A group of spectators and friends have gathered in the kitchen to watch the showdown go down. Your eyes dart to Jane who only gives you a half-amused, half-exasperated look. She is not looking forward to having to drive those two home later.

Contrary to your friends, you weren’t drinking much tonight. Bucky’s lingering presence at the party was all your senses needed to feel like you were in a daze. For appearances, however, you decide to grab one of the red solo cups to blend in with the rest of those around you.

“Hey, Y/n! Enjoying the party?” A male’s voice comes from your right and when you turn to see who it is a friendly smile appears on your face. It was Ian Boothby, a fellow art major at your university. You’ve had him in enough of your classes to consider him a friend.

“Hey, Ian. Yeah, I’m having a good time. Are you?” Your question is a catalyst for a much longer chat with Ian. The two of you fall into light conversation about the semester, art, and other relevant topics. It's a nice breath of fresh air compared to the thoughts that had been consuming you tonight. Especially when he tells you the story of one of his painting mishaps causing you to laugh along with him.

Soon after, a hand snakes its way around your waist, and when you smell that familiar woody muskiness you know exactly who it is.

“Having fun without me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s voice has a slight edge to it as he speaks, his lips forming a smirk. You face him and the look in his eyes stills you.

Bucky does not look pleased.

“Bucky, hey man. How’s baseball prep?” Ian beats you to it by addressing Bucky first. Bucky's eyes flick between you and Ian before he presses you into his side by the hold on your waist. This does not go unnoticed by Ian.

“Boothby, it's going good. How’s the cross-country season treating you?” Bucky asks, his tone giving away how uninterested he is in continuing this conversation. If Ian picks up on the animosity he doesn’t show it as he goes on and on about the sport. Bucky’s impatience grows the more he speaks and his hold on you gets a little more firm. When Bucky’s expression finally gives way to how he genuinely feels Ian finds a way to excuse himself and exit the conversation.

A beat passes before you finally speak, “Ian’s my friend. You didn’t have to scare him off like that,” you say with slight annoyance. Bucky clicks his tongue as he eyes you closely, “I didn’t, but I felt like it,” he shrugs cooly. “Didn't like the way he was looking at you.” He adds, his thumb rubbing small circles on your waist.

“Oh? And how was he looking at me?”

“Like in the way only I should be.”

The possessiveness in his voice catches you off guard. The air electrifying around you both at his words. You weren’t going to drink, but you suddenly felt the need to. You take a sip of the substance in your cup, the bitter liquid doing little to ground you. Bucky can tell how he’s affecting you and joins you with his drink. His eyes never leave yours as he gulps some of it down.

You have to stop yourself from inhaling the entire thing in one go.

“Ian’s harmless. He’s just comfortable with me because he’s an art major too. I’ve had a lot of classes with him,” you do your best to continue the conversation and ignore the way your body heats up when Bucky gives your hip a possessive squeeze. Massaging the area afterward in gentle strokes.

“You do a lot of bonding over paint?” Bucky’s response is slightly mocking, licking his lips to catch a drop of alcohol that wanted to escape. His eyes twinkle with mischief as he relishes the way you're looking at him now. Your gaze trained on his lips. When you realize he’s noticed, the heat from your body goes straight to your face.

You wouldn’t let him have the upper hand though. Never.

“Well, when you have to sketch someone’s naked body you obviously become friendly,” your reply causes Bucky to choke on his drink, the hand at your hip falling as he uses it to grab a few napkins from the granite counter behind him to wipe at the mess he made. You hide a wicked grin behind the rim of your cup.

He narrows his eyes at you, “Excuse me? What does that mean?” He knows what you mean, but he’s giving you a chance to tell him you're joking. He’s not hiding the jealousy that crawls up his spine at your revelation.

“It means Ian’s a nude model for some of my classes. He may not look like it but underneath those layers, he’s got the most gorgeous—” Bucky cuts you off with a fierce kiss, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into him. There’s been plenty of times you’ve shut him up with your mouth and it was his turn to return the favor. Because hearing you talk about the naked body of another man gets under his skin in ways he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t going to just stand there and hear another word of it.

The kiss catches you by surprise, but soon your drink is discarded in favor of pulling him closer by his blazer. Not caring who sees or what anyone thinks, since it’s the first time you’ve ever kissed in front of others. Your craving for him was far too loud to ignore anymore. Your lips stay locked until your lungs burn begging for air.

Bucky pulls away with a smug smile, his voice an octave lower as he moves to whisper in your ear, “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart. I know you love getting a rise out of me, but just so we’re clear—next time you want to mess with me like that—I’ll make sure you can’t even stand after I’m through with you,” his declaration causes a shiver to make its way up your spine.

You swallow hard, your mouth opening to say something, but no sound comes out. Bucky lets out a rough chuckle, ghosting his lips against your cheek before pulling away to stare at how speechless he’s left you. He’s blatantly savoring every second of it.

You want to say something—anything. Something witty or playful, but the thought of him making good on his promise—the image it conjures in your mind—keeps you silent.

“Buck! You’re needed at beer pong! Tony’s team is winning and the bet is up to five hundred,” Steve rushes into the kitchen, breaking through the bubble you two were in. His eyes dart between you and Bucky with a knowing look. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling at the sight of you two.

You start to register there’s still an extravagant party happening around you.

Bucky sighs with slight irritation as he once again gets his moment with you interrupted. He reluctantly tears his attention away from you to call back to Steve, “I’ll be right there!” Steve nods in approval before going back the way he came.

Now’s your chance to say something, but Bucky pulls away from your body before you can. A coldness replacing where his touch used to be. “Hold that thought, baby. Looks like my team needs their star player,” he winks at you before placing a tender kiss on your forehead, “you keep thinking about what I said while I’m gone,” he says in a gruff whisper, brushing his thumb across your bottom lip in a barely there touch.

He knows he needs to leave before he takes this somewhere you can’t go back from.

Bucky doesn’t give you a chance to say anything as he makes a smooth exit. Heading out of the kitchen in the direction of the beer pong game. Your body prickling with an ever growing sexual frustration. You were embarrassingly close to snatching Bucky away and giving in to all your desires in one of the many rooms of the manor.

“You two need to get a room,” Jane seems to read your mind as she teases you. Appearing from behind you once Bucky was no longer in sight. You can’t deny her words, letting out a small huff, “I don’t know what good that would do. I’ve been clear about not wanting to take things further.” You explain to her, not sure if you could go back on your words for the sake of giving in to what you want now. Jane has had this conversation with you a few times before, and it appears she's hit her limit today.

“That man is absolutely head over heels for you. How can you not see that?” Jane shakes her head at you, wondering how she can make you realize what you already know yet deny. There's a vulnerability that overcomes you when you reply, “It’s not that I don’t see it. I just—I’ve never seen him be serious about anyone. The only thing he’s ever serious about is baseball.” Jane looks like she’s about to do something drastic at your denial.

“Y/n, Bucky is serious about you. He’s literally all about you—he’s chosen you over baseball many times. I’m not around him like you are and even I can see it clear as day. Do you know Thor and like half of the baseball team thinks you two are secretly dating? Stop denying what you know deep down is true and just give in—be happy,” Jane tells it like it is, her tone leaving no room for argument or denial.

For so long Bucky has shown you another side of him—one not many get to see. He’s given you priority and importance when he didn’t have to. Care and consideration when you needed it most. A shoulder to lean on and a steady support to rely on. Time and time again Bucky has demonstrated how much you mean to him.

Perhaps, you both have been something more to each other for a long time and Bucky’s kept his wishes at bay to make sure things developed at your pace.

When it finally hits you, you almost feel exposed by how skillfully Jane can read you. At how easily she can see the situation for what it is and not for what your worries twisted it to be. If Bucky had made it clear to you how he felt, what was stopping you from taking things further than they had been before?

At this point, nothing, nothing was stopping you but yourself.

This realization follows you to the dance floor. A very drunk Darcy had pulled you to it along with Jane, babbling tipsily after losing the drinking competition to Thor. You had never seen a living room with such high ceilings before or enough room to host a makeshift dance floor and a DJ booth. The living space had been stripped of its furniture and supplied with top-notch equipment to make it resemble the inside of a club.

At least in the near darkness, it resembled one.

You’re in a huddle of your closest friends, all of them letting the music guide their movements to their heart’s content. You sway absentmindedly, so you're not merely standing there awkwardly. The kaleidoscope of party lights strobe and kiss your skin with an array of colors as the music thumps around your body.

A loud cheer catches your attention, the source of the sound coming from a table on the far left end of the room. Tony and his friends were boisterous as they made a shot against their opponent's team in beer pong—Bucky’s team. You had a clear view of it all from where you stood.

Bucky’s team seems to be taking turns on who drinks every time Tony’s team makes a shot. They look amongst themselves until Bucky steps up and chugs the liquid in the red solo cup. It's like he can feel the shift in the air because as soon as the cup is away from his lips his eyes scan the space and find you, and suddenly it's like you two are the only two people in the room.

You want him—all of him. You enjoy the teases, the banter, the back and forth, but you know you’d enjoy calling him yours more.

The music picks up in tempo as your boldness grows. Keeping your eyes trained on him, your hips begin to sway provocatively, tempting him to say screw the game and make his way towards you instead. Bucky’s not even paying attention to the game anymore his eyes soaking up your every move as it fans the flames of desire between you. The atmosphere around you buzzes as the ground shakes due to the sea of dancing bodies, and yet nothing thrums within you more than your need for Bucky.

The little show you’re putting on for him continues as you roll and wave your body in ways that seduce him. Ghosting your hand along the curves and dips of your figure showing him exactly where you’d like his hands to be. Bucky’s mind is reeling with everything he wants to do to you and none of it involves the dance floor and all of it involves you and him in some private corner of the manor where he can show you exactly what his hands are capable of.

You are making it impossibly hard for him to concentrate on anything else.

Slowly and with shady intentions a group of drunk guys circle the huddle of you and your friends like vultures. Finding their way to snake themselves into any corner or crevice they can fit into. Their bodies bumping and grazing against yours. There’s one guy in particular that has his sights set on you. Getting closer to you on the dancefloor and creeping his hands along your waist. You swat his hands away, but he doesn’t disperse immediately. The alcohol on his breath fanning your face causing you to gag. The more you dismiss him the more adamant he was about keeping you close to him.

Bucky glares at the drunk guy, his gaze cold and unapologetic, “Alright, that's enough.” The drunk guy sneers, his words slurred, “What the—what’s your problem bro? We’re just—” Bucky doesn’t let him finish, “Shut up. You’re not doing anything. You’ve got two seconds to back off or we’re going to have a problem,” Bucky’s reply is sharp and menacing. He directs it to all the men that had swarmed you and your friends.

Shifting you so you stand at his side, Bucky steps forward to let the guys know he’s not messing around. Your hold goes to his right arm where you’re watching the exchange unfold anxiously. You hope things don’t escalate, not wanting Bucky to get into a scuffle. You know he can handle himself, but the idea of him getting hurt in any way caused your heart to ache.

The guys size Bucky up and it seems some of them think they can take him on. Until the strobing lights illuminate Bucky’s darkened gaze enough that in their drunk haze, they finally recognize him as captain of the baseball team. That means that fighting Bucky meant taking on the entirety of the team. And with the way Sam and Steve were looking over to see if they needed to step in, and Thor was already storming over—they knew they didn’t stand a chance.

It was comical the way the drunk men scramble to get away as fast as they could. Muttering incoherences and apologies under their breath. They don’t get far as Tony’s hired security for the night promptly kicks them out.

Thor comes up to check on everyone, giving special attention to Jane who keeps assuring him she’s fine. You turn to Bucky, who’s already inspecting you to make sure you are alright, “Bucky I—” You almost tell him not to worry, that you had things under control, but in reality, you’re glad Bucky stepped in.

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, Bucky’s tense demeanor softens at your words. He moves to get a better hold on you, his grip at your waist protective teetering on possessive.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, sweetheart. I got you—always,” Bucky’s genuine response makes your heart flutter and your pulse quicken. Your senses are awakened by his proximity, completely enamored with the way he looks at you.

“Only for my girl,” he says this like a promise. His right-hand goes up to gently brush against your cheek. You lean into the touch, that same hand cupping your cheek in response. Bucky has never felt more elated knowing that maybe finally you two can go to places he’s only dreamed of.

“Yours?” You question him playfully, which causes him to chuckle, the sound a low rumble, “You and I both know you are, sweetheart. I told you I had all the time in the world to make you fall for me—and I meant it,” he smiles, an intense fire in his eyes that only accumulates when you respond, “You don’t have to wait any longer, Bucky.”

He wastes no second to connect your lips, kissing you with a loving purpose. His lips have a slightly bitter taste to them from the beer that still lingered there. And yet, the bitterness disappears when one kiss turns into two and then three. His arms encircling you to pull you into his chest, your hands finding their way to the nape of his neck.

Bucky pulls away to ghost his lips against your jaw until his lips brush against your ear, “Those little moves you were doing for me earlier, do them again,” his husky tone sends a shiver down your spine as he tugs you in to dance with him. Your bodies mold to one another, hips swaying in rhythm with the vigorous music. The beat allows you to gyrate and grind in ways that drive him to the edge of his control.

His hand rests on the small of your back, holding you close, fingers splayed out as if making a silent claim. You can feel the way his gaze burns into you, the air getting hotter making it harder to breathe. Your hands trail up and down his arms as need be. The rest of the party fades away leaving you two alone in this space of this charged energy. Every lingering touch and longing glance is layered with unspoken urges that would soon intensify to the brink of madness.

“You have no idea what you do to me do you?”

“I do. I’m not immune to what’s going on between us, Bucky.”

Your body, your voice, the way you plead with your eyes for him to take this further—it causes a stirring within his pants—the fabric getting tighter the longer the dance goes on. He needs to get you away, to get you alone. Bucky needs to satiate this hunger for you that threatens to consume him or he is going to end up doing something Rated R on this dance floor.

The throbbing between your legs agrees.

An idea pops into Bucky’s mind when he glances at his group of friends. He increases the volume of his voice so you can hear him over the music, “The baseball team was going to host a game of hide and seek. Should we play?” Playful mischief glimmers in his eyes as he asks you.

“Hide and seek? Seriously?” You raise a brow, wondering how that was going to work in a mansion full of a million rooms.

“Yeah, come on. It'll be fun,” Bucky draws you away from the dance floor and over to where his friends are mingling and taking a few shots. Steve sees Bucky approach and they have a quick whispered exchange. Your eyes dart between them, curious as to what they're discussing.

“Seems like we’re getting a head start,” he comments to you as he leads you away from the main party and down a few intricate hallways. His hold on your hand is firm, yet careful—almost as if he’s afraid you’ll get lost in one of the many corners of the manor. The thrum of the music fades the further you slip away from the party. Your pulse spikes, both from the adrenaline of the game and the heat that still simmers between you.

Bucky has been to Tony’s parties plenty of times before, so he knows the layout of the manor pretty well. The clicking of your heels along the marble floors echoes at the pace of the beating of his heart. He tries to focus on the expensive artwork that lines the halls instead of the way your hand perfectly fits in his. The artwork is what’s guiding his path through the manor and you are the best distraction he could ask for.

“Where are we going?” Your voice echoes down the endless hallway.

“Somewhere no one will find us,” he winks at you, your heart skipping a beat at his words, his pace steady and purposeful as he turns one more corner and slips you two inside a room. You're encased in darkness, blindly feeling for a light switch until Bucky uses the flashlight on his phone to illuminate the space. You faintly make out your surroundings. You seem to be in one of the many guest rooms of the manor. The attention to detail in the room was no short of the attention paid to the rest of the place.

You knew Tony’s family had money, but seeing how they splurged for a mere guest room, meant his family was beyond loaded.

Bucky whispered something to you, but you didn’t catch it as he took you by the hand and ushered you into the room’s closet, clicking it shut behind him. He reaches up to turn on the small lightbulb to cascade the enclosed space in a soft glow, turning off the flashlight on his phone and putting it in his pants pocket. The tension is now thicker and more palpable in the small space, causing goosebumps to rise across your skin.

If you had a dollar for every time you and Bucky ended up in a tight space together, you would have exactly two dollars. While maybe strange, it somehow seemed fitting for you two.

Bucky steps closer to you, your bodies inches apart, the dim light doing nothing to dull the intensity in his eyes, “Now that I’ve got you here—I think I did a good job with the hiding spot, don't you?” His heated whisper brings your breath to a hitch.

You have to clear your throat to compose yourself, “I don’t know…We had a whole mansion to hide in, and you chose a closet?” You can’t help but tease him, trying to lighten the unbearable tension.

“Would you rather go hide in the library? The wine cellar? The arcade?” His voice is dripping with mirth taking another step closer to you. He knows what you're doing, but he’s not going to let the tension die down—not this time.

“The arcade sounds fun,” you quip, leaning back against the wall.

“Hm, maybe, but I prefer the closet. It’s a lot more private and it has its…advantages,” he reaches out to pull your hand up to his lips, planting a soft kiss across your knuckles. You go to use that hand to lightly push at his chest, but he catches it in time and intertwines your fingers instead. Your heart is racing a mile a minute.

“Maybe the closet isn’t so bad, but these heels…Worst decision I made tonight,” you shift slightly, not meaning to change the subject, but your heels are torturing you. In the quiet of the closet the pain begins to creep up on you, begging to be acknowledged. After hours of walking on them, dancing, and standing overall—your feet were killing you. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to stand upright while hiding.

“Are they hurting you?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“Lets get them off then,” Bucky slides his hand underneath your right thigh, eyes locked on yours, as he hikes it up against the outside of his leg. Your hips brush up against his front, your breath catching at the intimacy of the moment. He watches your every reaction as he slides his hand down the underside of your leg until he reaches the strap of your heel. He’s able to undo it effortlessly, relieving you of the discomfort, his fingers grazing your ankle as he slides your right heel off. His every touch leaves heat in its wake.

“Bucky you really don't have to—” he cuts you off with a soft smile and half-lidded eyes, switching his hold from your right leg to your left one, “I want to, sweetheart. Just let me help, ” he removes the other heel with the same tantalizing tenderness he used for the first one. Putting them to the side where they won’t get in the way.

The relief you feel is immediate.

“Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.”

A moment passes before he speaks, his voice quiet with an underlying devotion, “You don’t get the hold you have on me, do you?’’ His right hand dances along the outside of your thigh while his left plays with the strap of your dress, twirling it between his fingers. The hand at your thigh traces patterns onto it. Trailing intricate swirls across the flesh, along your hips, ascending to your waist, and all the way up to the space between your breasts. The touch lingers there when you let out a soft sigh.

You honestly forget how to breathe.

“Say the word and I’m all yours, Y/n,” his voice is rough as his lips ghost against yours—seductively grazing against them. Going so far as licking his lips with an invigorating grin to really drive you crazy.

Bucky is waiting for you to make the deciding move. When you realize this, you throw all caution to the wind, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. You waste no time in granting him access to deepen it. Bucky follows your lead ardently. His hands snake down your body to cup your ass and pull you impossibly close to him.

Your hands get lost in his hair, a groan rumbling through him at the way you tug at it. You two aren’t sweetly kissing, you're devouring each other. Yearning for the other all night leaves no more room for taking things slow or holding back. You’re both now giving in to what you want most—each other.

The heat between you intensifies until it crescendos to a boiling point. The aching between your legs imploring you to do something about it. You reach down to tug at the waistband of his pants, causing Bucky to let out a husky laugh.

“Bucky….I…” your words are cut off by a soft moan when Bucky’s left hand sneaks its way through the slit of your dress until he reaches the inside of your thighs. He massages the flesh there, his thumb brushing against the hem of your panties.

Your arousal pools impossibly more, and the lustful haze only increases at the way you feel his hardened cock straining against his pants—right against your hip.

“Mm? What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you over those pretty noises you're making,” his every word drips with cockiness.

“You're insufferable.”

“That’s my girl.”

Bucky kisses your neck with more fervor. Sucking and nipping at the skin hard enough to leave marks. Your thighs involuntarily close together at the way he calls you his girl. He eases them back apart with his deliberate touches. Kneading the soft flesh in his hands as his breathing goes ragged along your neck, tickling your skin. He was on the brink of losing what little control he had left.

You suck in a sharp breath, losing what little semblance of control you had left the higher his touch gets. He only goes so far, barely brushing across your clothed cunt to give you a taste of what he can do if you just let him hear it. You were desperate for more and he knew it.

“Fuck me, Bucky,” you manage to whimper out, hooking your fingers into his empty belt loops and yanking him towards you. Bucky lets out a low growl at the brief friction, his eyes darkening to an almost unrecognizable color. For a moment, his brain short circuits at your words, processing that you really said that to him accompanied by that alluring sound. He’s heard those sinful noises from you before, but never like this. Never with the assurance of more.

“Say it again.”

“Bucky, please just fuck me already.”

You don’t have to tell him another time. Bucky crashes his mouth onto yours with a new intensity, mumbling lustful promises into your mouth. How he wants you, how badly he aches to make you feel good, how he yearns for his pretty girl to lose herself with him, and so many more things that make you dizzy.

He moves to bunch up your dress, hiking it up your legs until it's bundled at your waist. His breathing strains at the sight—your black lacy panties luring him in—his muscles tensing at the growing need to be inside you. His left arm reaches down to hook his forearm under your knee and bring it up to his hip. You wrap that leg around him, steadying yourself on your other foot as you grind against each other. You can feel the way his cock aches to be freed and it causes you to arch deeper into him. Your moans mingle into one, the slight relief overwhelming you.

Bucky takes his free hand and splays it at the small of your back, offering strong support as your bodies continue to grind against one another. A chorus of moans and yearnful whines erupt from you both. All of the pining and hunger for one another amalgamates into one as you continue to rub against each other. You swallow each other’s sounds, tongues tangling carnally as neither of you leaves any room for air.

“Do you have—?”

“Back pocket. Wallet.”

Your lips barely disconnect at the brief exchange. You reach behind him, patting down his backside until you feel the outline of his wallet in his pocket. You take hold of it and bring it forward. Meanwhile, Bucky decides to leave wet kisses along the valley of your breasts. You can barely contain yourself and your soft moans as you pull out the condom. The wallet almost slips from your grasp as the attention to your breasts causes you to tremble.

You hold it tighter intending to put it back in his pocket when something catches your eye. In the clear slot where his identification should be is a polaroid picture from the weekend camping trip. You’re in that picture sitting next to Bucky on a couple of logs surrounded by your friends and peers. There’s a bright smile on Bucky’s face, his arm around your shoulder as you make bunny ears behind his head.

You love this picture. You have a copy of it taped to your bedroom mirror back home.

At your stillness, Bucky looks up to see what’s going on. When he notices you staring at the picture, he smiles fondly. " It's the only picture I had of us,” he utters softly, causing a warmth to spread throughout you. You gaze at him in tender awe, marveling at the fact that Bucky is real.

Why had you ever doubted he was anything but yours?

You kiss him this time with all the unspoken feelings you’ve bubbled up and kept inside. The wallet falls from your hands, but it's no matter as Bucky kicks it to the side with his foot, and shudders at the way your lips claim his. This goes beyond lust. Your heart beats with reason, and that reason is the man in front of you.

“Bucky, I want this. I want you. All of you,” you whisper passionately, your hands lowering to help him unbutton and unzip his pants, the foil neatly tucked between your fingers. A guttural moan leaves him when you push the layers of fabric down and free his cock, pumping it a few times to get a feel of it. His head falls to your shoulder, sighing softly in a near whine as you tear the foil open and roll the protection down his length. It twitches in your hands, his hips bucking at the contact.

His arms are preoccupied with keeping you close and steady, so you gently guide him to your center. Moving your panties to the side as he tantalizingly slides along your folds before he slowly enters you. Your mouth goes agape at the sensation while Bucky has to do everything to make sure he doesn’t cum right then and there.

This was so much better than what he had imagined in his dreams.

It's been too long since you’ve done this and the burn at the stretch causes you to cry out quietly. Bucky peppers your face with sweet kisses and whispers of devotion. Trying to do his best to comfort you as he lets you adjust inch by inch. The hand at the small of your back rubs circles into it with his thumb, your own hands shooting up to grip his biceps for support.

“I’m not gonna last if you tighten up like that sweetheart,” he hisses a groan at how tightly your walls envelop him. You’re really making it hard for him to not come undone in a short amount of time.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, baby, just relax for me.”

His gentle words are accompanied by thrusts that are slow with a deliberate purpose. He’s careful with his pace as he wants this to go at whatever speed you need. It takes a bit, but his soft kisses and comforting touches coax the burn away until you're left with the ardent ache of needing more.

“Faster, Bucky,” you plead breathily. He rests his forehead against yours.“Can you handle it, baby?” His question is full of loving concern, prioritizing your pleasure over everything.

“I can…fuck…please,” you assure him, your leg pulling him in tighter causing him to bottom out. Bucky curses and moans all in one. At your assurance, he picks up the pace of his hips, rocking them against you with a fiery velocity. The lewd sounds bouncing off the walls of the closet in waves.

He gives it to you exactly how you asked him to. That man would do anything for you—just say the word and its done.

Bucky is on cloud nine at the way you take him. The way your bodies mold and arch into one another’s like you can’t get enough. As if all you ever needed to consume to live was each other. When he goes to kiss you, you can barely kiss back as you’re too lost in the way he slams into you.

“Fuck, baby, if only you could see yourself. You’re so fucking gorgeous making those pretty expressions for me,” Bucky grunts out, drinking up the sight of your face. A string of mewls leaves your lips at the keen attention he keeps on you. Everything about you right now is a work of art in his eyes he wants framed and kept at his bedside. A constant reminder he’s the one who gets to make you look and feel so damn good.

“Don’t stop, please don't stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to, sweetheart.”

Your words egg him on to go harder, causing your back to press tightly against the wall. Hiking your leg just a tad bit higher to thrust into you at another angle. This was the best decision he ever made as he hits the perfect spot within you. One that leaves you clinging onto him desperately as your walls tighten on the brink of release.

It takes a few more fierce drives into you until your orgasm hits you and you're cumming with a feverish intensity. Moaning Bucky’s name in a euphoric mantra that’s music to his ears. It's what brings him over the edge and he stills at the force of his orgasm, his head collapsing into the dip of your neck as he releases into the condom.

“My girl. My sweet girl. You feel so good, baby,” Bucky softly whispers against your neck. Planting small kisses as both of you come down from your highs. Your arms wrap behind his neck to embrace him and keep him close to you. Bucky continues to mutter sweet praises along your skin, as your hands thread through his hair tenderly. Both of you steadying your breaths as you come back down to Earth.

If it weren't for Bucky holding your right leg up, it would've fallen from its position at his hip long ago. You’re even more grateful for it now as your body felt completely boneless. And when he pulls out, its the grip he has on your body that keeps your knees from buckling.

Bucky lifts his head so his gaze locks on yours. His blues are swimming with a vehemence that steals your breath and causes your pulse to race.

“Bucky—” you start, but he’s not hearing it, afraid you’ll want to go back to a place that would devastate him. “Wait, just hear me out. Everything I ever did was to get you to notice me. From the moment we met there was just something about you that kept pulling me in. And I knew—I just knew I had to get to know you. And then one thing led to another and I fell for you—hard. Now I can’t imagine my life without you. There's only you. It’s always been you. Give me a chance, let me prove it to you every day, that I’m yours. That I have been for a long time,” Bucky’s tone borders on pleading, you give his hands a light squeeze to ease the worry in his features.

“Bucky you have nothing to prove—”

“Y/n—”

This time you stop him by clamping a hand over his mouth.

“Bucky, you have nothing to prove because I’ve felt the same way for a long time. I just fought it for so long out of fear that maybe you weren’t serious about me. But I can see now I was wrong. I’ve been yours for a long time too, Bucky. I just pretended I wasn’t—and I’m done fighting it. I’m done being in denial. I want to have something serious with you. I’m ready for it,” your heartfelt confession immediately melts away the tension in Bucky’s shoulders.

You wanting this as much as he did made him feel like he was on top of the world.

He mumbles something into your hand, the biggest grin on the other side of it. You laugh adoringly at the sight as you remove your hand to replace it with your mouth instead. Both of you sink into the kiss as a deeper devotion is exchanged.

“Whoever is seeking is horrible at it,” you remove yourself with a light giggle, taking a jab at whoever the seeker of the hide-and-seek game is. A game that was long forgotten by Bucky until you mentioned it.

Bucky smiles sheepishly, “About that…there's not actually a hide-and-seek game. And if there is they don't know we’re playing,” he confesses with a twinkle in his eyes. You shake your head at him, laughing in disbelief, “Bucky, then what were you and Steve whispering about?” Your curiosity is met with a boyish grin from Bucky, “I was just letting him know not to come looking for me. I wanted to get some alone time with you,” his hands find your hips again to give them a gentle squeeze.

Bucky is far from done with you yet.

You roll your eyes lightheartedly at his revelation. Of course, he’d come up with a way to get you all to himself. Can you blame him?

After a few more stolen kisses and lingering touches, you both start to compose yourselves. Adjusting your outfits and collecting your items from the ground. Thankfully, the guest room has its own bathroom where the two of you can clean up much better than in the small closet. Tousled hair, smeared makeup, and sweaty skin required a deeper attentiveness.

You both take your time in freshening up. The bathroom lighting does wonders to reveal every piece of evidence of your sexual encounter. You can now clearly see all the red marks that would eventually turn into hickeys that scattered your neck and chest. Bucky beams pleased at the markings he’s left as you scold him for making them so prominent.

Bucky doesn’t give a damn. He’d gladly make more in an instant.

By the end, all that's left is to get your heels on, which Bucky insists on helping you with. He offered to carry you for the rest of the party or even giving you his shoes, but you declined both options. You paid good money for these heels so whether you liked it or not, you were forcing yourself to wear them.

Bucky helps you up onto the expansive marble counter. Lowering down onto his knees in front of you to slide your heels back onto your feet. Nimble fingers work the straps into place, making sure they're not too tight at the ankles. When he looks up at you, a devilish grin appears on his face. That spark of desire is back in your eyes when you see how good he looks knelt between your legs. Your mind was reeling with ideas as the heat once again pranced across your skin. Bucky’s gaze bore into yours, almost as if he could read your mind. He can’t help but get turned on again.

You were in the same boat.

“You know, I have a big stats test on Monday. I could use an emergency tutoring session right about now,” his tone is laced with suggestion as his fingers trace along your ankle. You hum, “Hm? Do you? I think I could accommodate that.” Your reply gives Bucky the go to start kissing up your legs until he reaches your knees. He never breaks eye contact as he places a tender kiss on each one before standing up and giving that same attention to your mouth.

“Perfect. Let’s get out of here, sweetheart,” Bucky mutters against your lips, the kiss a promise of the fun awaiting you for the rest of the night. Now that the lines were blurred beyond recognition, into something deeper, something real, you were both completely all in.

#carrot's fic recs

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timesnewreader · 2 days ago

Text

Huh, huh okay. Bro my brain is so fuzzy after reading that that I am struggling to come up with a coherent thought. And that is one of the highest compliments I could ever give🙏 That was so FUCKING HOT MINT!!! Shouta PUSSY EATER Aizawa I SWEAR TO GOD!!!!!!! What a munch what a mench got damn.

There’s so much to be said about how beautiful your prose are and the bit at the beginning about reader’s mother and childhood give so much context to her life. It adds a layer to the melancholy that surrounds her and helps us understand her relationship with Touya even more. I also think it’s genuinely beautiful to see her start to get comfortable with the idea of letting herself be happy. Like she doesn’t have to feel guilty for just enjoying life and enjoying this new found connection. I’m glad that she’s giving in to her desires!! And that she’s with someone who will help her to do so with care and attention!! And pussy eating!! God she deserves it so much. IT’S SO TELLING AND SO EVIL THAT SHE’S NEVER BEEN EATEN OUT BEFORE WTF TOUYA YPU BITCH!?!! I’m manifesting for her, let that man go down for hours, he would fucking love it😭😭😩😫😭

And then I must say, as per usual, your smut is so FUCKING INCREDIBLE. As I said previously, I was in a daze as I started writing this, and I want to ravish that man so bad but I can only assume he’s not gonna allow that for quite some time!!! YOUR HONOR I WANT HIM SO FUCKING BAD AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! He makes me insane, you make me insane for writing him so well, and this whole series makes me insane because it’s so fucking good.👏👏

Thank you so much for the excellent chapter, and for sharing your writing with us!! This series has me so fucking invested!!🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️💜💜

Inevitable Things : chapter eleven

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. CONSULT AO3 FOR FULL TAGGED CONTENT WARNINGS

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Your mom used to tell you that love was a choice that she made every day. She woke up and chose to love your father, chose to put in the effort that a relationship needed, chose to stay by his side through the good and the bad. It was a point of pride to endure at all, a smile slapped on her face. She told you that until he left one night, bags in hand and another woman’s name on his lips.

After that, love was no longer a choice. It was nights of tears and screaming matches, begging and pleading, obligatory phone calls and visitations out of state. Love was no longer a choice, but a shackle, something that you say at the end of a conversation because you must. Love is a pain you bear because you are human, and someone must hold these feelings you have.

Your mother still wants your father to call her.

You wait for Touya to come home.

It haunts you all morning, as you twiddle away time before the convention floor opens again. You end up calling your boss with an update, only to chat with him over coffee. His niece is over again - she screams hi into the receiver- and his sister says hello as well. You try to end the call there, but he stays on, asking questions about who you’ve seen and how they've been. The conversation drags, but neither of you seem to mind.

“You aren’t watching Shouta.” It’s an observation, posed as a question. He’s speaking better today- you aren’t sure why. Death ebbs and flows.

“He asked me not to.” The truth feels right at this moment. It doesn’t betray anything changing between you two; Toshinori is probably aware of the tense air between you too. Now, it’s just tense in a different way, a way that makes your toes curl to think about.

“Don’t take it personally,” he says, “Shouta is a very private man.”

More so than you know, Yagi, you think. Aizawa is very different behind closed doors, behind that wall he’s so carefully crafted. You fear you’ve only cracked one layer of him only to uncover a different veneer.

At the end of the call with Toshinori, you let slip a little “Love you.” and he laughs, surprisingly boisterous for his frail lungs.

“I didn’t mean it,” you try to say.

“It’s okay,” he says once he catches his breath. “I understand.”

You don’t.

The rest of the morning is spent in your room, pouring over your emails. Technically, the company is on crunch time; your newer model hits the market within two months and panic has set across the office. Everything is ready, technically, but also nothing is; every day is a new little fire, begging to be put out. Being away on a friday was actually a gift, you realize now that you’re scrolling through what you’ve missed. Your inbox is filled with random issues and scheduled meetings for the upcoming weeks. Your DMs are alight with notifications too-- these, less urgent.

Izuku Midoriya -> are you alive? or did Mr. Aizawa murder you?

Oh, if only he knew how quickly things change.

we're both alive and well somehow <-

Another message comes through, this one in a different tab.

Hizashi Yamada -> I see you online!

Trying to sneak some work in before I get out of bed. <-

Hizashi Yamada -> Send me your room number.

He arrives in less than five minutes. As usual, Hizashi is put together in a respectfully ostentatious way. His all black outfit might be velvet because of how it eats the light, equally matte and shiny all at once. It’s the type of clothing you wish you could pull off-- or afford --but he wears it so easily, with a confidence you could never have. No, you could never so gracefully enter a room and throw off a jacket like some supermodel.

“How was the presentation?” he asks as he flops into bed beside you. It's a different feeling than being next to Aizawa; he’s perched like a girl gossiping during a slumber party, hair tosselled on your silk pillow. You close your laptop and carefully place it aside. There’s no way you’ll be working with Hizashi around. That was probably his plan all along.

“I didn’t go-- you didn’t go either?” You playfully shove him. “You're a bad friend!”

“I woke up late.” He shrugs, feigning sympathy with a content smirk. “And had other things to do this morning, if you catch my drift.”

He throws in an unnecessary wink. Your cringe is a reflex- you don’t really mind hearing about Hizashi’s conquests, but it does make you think about last night again. All you did was kiss, but your skin prickles as if you did more, as if you want more.

And maybe you do. You’ve been tossing the idea around all morning, trying to figure out exactly what you want, not only from the man, but from yourself, but every time you think about it too hard, the image of Touya flashes in your mind, and your thoughts are tumbling once again.

You think of your mother. It used to be your worst fear to become her, but each day that passes, you see more of her in your eyes, in the thinness in your skin.

“You okay, babygirl?”

He points directly at the space between your eyes, where you’ll one day have the same worried creases your mother has.. “You’ve got a face on your face.”

You try to wipe away whatever he’s seeing, but it clearly doesn’t work. Hizashi looks at you harder, expression especially soft.

“Oh, yeah, I’m just-” you shrug. Is there a word for what you're feeling? Ennui? Horror? Somewhere in between? “Shaking off a weird feeling.”

“Weird feeling-” Hizashi throws you a wink. “I think we call it a hangover.”

“I’m not hungover--”

Before you can protest, your friend gasps, so violently that you nearly jump out of your skin. He backs up, hand over his heart and jaw dropped to the floor. “Oh my god. Oh my goooooooodddd.”

“What? What? Am I dying?”

“Your neck!” Now he points to you with a fully straight arm, like he’s accusing you of being a witch. You slap a hand over the spot instinctively. “Hello, that’s a hickey!”

Oh. Oh no. You had been too distracted this morning to notice, but apparently Aizawa’s lips have left a mark on you. Heat flushes across your face; a hickey? Who do you think you are? Kaminari? You’ve had a secret for less than 24 hours and it’s already threatening to come out.

“You got laid last night? With who? Where? When? Tell me everything!” Hizashi pushes down in the mattress to bounce himself, jimmying you up and down in the process.

“Well, uh--” You can’t even begin to make something up. The irrational fears start to take over- what if he figures out exactly who’s mouth left that mark? Hizashi’s a whore-- he might know some sort of mouth forensics or something! Or, you don’t know, maybe you still smell like Aizawa, even

“You dirty dog, is that why you didn’t see Aizawa’s thing?” Your stomach somehow sinks lower. “Because you and Tensei fucked?”

Tensei?

“Tensei?”

“Oh my god, you totally did. You’re all flustered!”

You had completely forgotten the man even existed. Beautiful Tensei Iida, the ‘sexy’ doctor Hizashi wanted you to have… it’s funny how things never work out the way you think they will.

“It wasn’t Tensei!” You scooch away. “And it’s not a hickey!”

Hizashi sees through that lie. He crawls on his hands and knees after you. “You gotta tell me, please-”

Crap. He’s not going to let this go. Sex and all that comes with it is Hizashi’s catnip; once he’s gotten a taste of it, he’s deranged.

Telling the truth certainly isn’t an option. You and Aizawa? The absolute nuclear fallout that would hit the office if that came out would be catastrophic. Hizashi can’t keep his mouth shut, so even hinting at what happened last night could be the end of whatever weird thing you and Shouta have, killing it before you can even name what it is.

And being so close to launch? It could potentially hinder Aizawa’s image--

And your and Touya’s relationship.

“It was someone I met at the restaurant after you left-” Not completely a lie. “We just-- kissed, I guess. I didn’t want to, you know, do more.”

Hizashi kicks his feet in excitement. His shoes are on your bed- gross.

“Good for you, setting boundaries!” he says. “That’s growth!”

He goofs around for just a moment longer before settling.

“Why do you look so sad about it?” He’s quick to say. “Did they do something?”

“No! No, it was nice, but-” you start. The truth feels heavy, yet silly at the same time. You know the reaction you’re about it get, and yet you say it anyway- “I don't know, I started to think about Touya this morning and-”

Hizashi’s face falls so hard that you swear you can hear it. His hatred of Touya has never been a secret, but before Touya made his disappearing act, he at least kept his comments to a minimum. With no Touya, there’s no limit to Hizashi’s public loathing.

“I love you. So much.” He takes your hand in his. He’s still on his knees, hunched over you awkwardly, those damn shoes still on the bed. “But thought you were over this shitbag.”

You want to protest. He’s not a shitbag, he’s just having a hard time. He’s not a bad guy, the drugs just make him that way. He’s a good boy underneath all of the troubles, you know it’s true.

But you’ve run out of excuses years ago. All you can say is the truth: “I think I still love him.”

Compassion contorts your friend’s face. “Oh, girl. Girl. You don’t.”

“Hizashi-” You try to slide away, but he doesn’t let you.

“He treated you like garbage for years. Years!” The blonde squeezes your hand. “And he wasn’t loyal, he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t kind or sober or-”

“It's not like he abused me or something.” You say it so quickly that it feels tinny on your lips. Both of you go quiet for a second and Hizashi throws his hands up in surrender. He ducks his head low, not in defeat, but in a humble act, like a dog that’s pushed it’s boundaries a bit too far. With a sigh, he sits back on his knees, allowing there to be space between you.

“I didn't say that,” he says carefully. “It doesn't have to be abuse, that doesn't mean it's healthy.”

There’s a hesitation, then he reaches out his hand again. You don’t take it, but he keeps it there, in the air, waiting for you.

“I just care about you. I know ‘muri and I get a bit too pushy and wild sometimes, but it’s because we want you to have fun for once. We-- we want you to be with someone that makes you feel good-- who thinks you’re the best thing in the world,” Hizashi says. “We want you to get what you deserve and Touya isn’t that.”

A different type of warm runs over you- a watery one, one that stings at your eyes. You aren’t sure where the well of emotion has come from, but it’s there, bubbling just under the surface. You try to sniffle without giving yourself away.

“Would it be so bad to let yourself move on and try something new?” Hizashi smiles. “Let yourself have a little fun for once?”

Reluctantly, you take his hand. He squeezes and coos, pulling your hand into an awkward faux-hug, right about his heart.

“Let yourself have fun, let yourself live.”

“I’m gonna try to try.”

The convention itself goes smoothly. More people ask about Yagi, but the word seems to be spreading: he’s not here. He’ll never be here. The air is bittersweet, but Hizashi always recovers it for you. He keeps the conversation flowing back to work and the bed, with much more ease than you’ll ever have.

The only time you see Aizawa is when he’s in your periphery. He’s in the corner, caught in some conversation with people whose names you’ve already forgotten. Tensei’s by his side, basking in the probable praise, while Aizawa just nods along. The presentation must have gone well, you gather from the attention they’re both getting. That’s both good and bad; the work deserves credit, but Aizawa…

What a heavy secret to carry. What a prominent shame. He didn’t want you to see, but he was okay with all of these strangers ogling him like a science experiment.

Does that make you more important than those strangers? Or less?

You try to look for an opening to leave, but one never seems to come.

Only once do you catch him staring back at you, his expression too far away to be read. The thump of your heart steps out of rhythm for a moment before you get yourself together.

“I see you eyeing up Tensei,” Hizashi teases. “Are you sure he isn’t your mystery man?”

You deny it, but Hizashi is unconvinced.

----

The three of you finally reunite over dinner. This time, Hizashi swears he will stay the whole time.

This time, you don’t want him to.

You’ve settled into a different booth than you were in last night. Again, the chip basket is empty before Aizawa can arrive. He’s always running late for these things, either through lack of effort or lack or lack of time management. If he didn’t have a presentation tomorrow, you’d be annoyed, but you decide to give the man a break.

Though, you do wonder if you’ll be allowed to see this one. You’ll have to go, right? It’s about your company.

“I still can’t believe you managed to pick up Tensei with Aizawa right there.” Hizashi leans back into the booth.

“It wasn’t Tensei,” you insist. “And he was distracted.”

“By what?”

You aren’t a quick liar.

“Some girl.” Or a good one. “They went off together.”

You know you’ve fucked up by the look on Hizashi’s face. He sits up, staring at you from over his glasses with a slack jawed amazement.

“You're lying.” He sits up even more. “You're lying straight to my face right now.”

Fear thrums you so hard that your stomach almost revolts on impact.

“I’ve never seen Shouta pick up a stranger, ever.” Hizashi throws his hands up in the air for effect. “Never, ever. Not even in college! ”

Looking back, you should have said he was struck by lightning. That would have been more believable. From what you remember, Aizawa doesn’t date very often - or at all. You can’t remember if he’s ever brought someone to a work event or even mentioned a partner. (Which makes you feel equally bad and… special. Are you an exception to his rule? Are you different?

…Or, more likely, he’s just a private guy. But you can pretend.)

“Well, uh, I dunno what to say.” You still haven’t come up with a better lie. “Ask him yourself.”

“I will!”

Good. That gives you time to text Shouta and warn him about that shit storm he’s about to enter. The two of you can come up with a lie that makes sense and won’t send Hizashi screaming. Suddenly, you’re grateful that Aizawa can’t show up on time for-

“Again with the chips?”

Fuck!!

As if summoned, Aizawa is behind you, shrugging off his jacket. He’s in the same suit as he was earlier, but a lot more disheveled after making it through the day. The social interaction really took it out of him; no wonder he’s so quiet at the office. You pat the seat next to you and he practically slumps into it.

“Please tell me you aren’t escaping again tonight,” he says to Hizashi.

“Oh, no, I’m not going anywhere, trust me.” That smile sets the whole table on guard. “I have too many questions.”

“If you had questions, you should have shown up to the talk,” Aizawa says. “Which went well, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to ask, asshole.”

“Should have been the first words out of your mouth.”

“Well, sorry, Mr. Sensitive. I didn’t think I needed to stroke your ego today! Should I start singing your praises now, or after we verbally jack you off for a bit?”

“We are in public, Mic, stop talking about jacking off.”

“How was your presentation, oh smart one?”

“It was--” Aizawa stops himself mid sentence, brow furrowed as he turns directly towards you. “You’re being quiet.”

“Me?” you point to yourself as if you don’t know the answer. The accusation makes your heart race- or maybe it’s those sharp eyes, boring down into you.

“Why are you being quiet?” he says with an accusatory glare. “What did you do?”

Hizashi erupts into a giggle and the attention is finally turned away from you.

“I heard that you went home with someone-”

Aizawa’s gaze snaps to you. It takes effort to press your lips down and keep a neutral expression; anxiety is trilling inside you, high and frail and wild, like a little flute in a marching band finale. The man tilts his head just a bit, eyes sharp and questioning, clearly trying to interrogate you while completely silent.

“Where did you hear that, Yamada?” Aizawa’s tone isn’t flat now. No, it’s pressed, stressed; he thinks you’ve told him everything. You try to gesture with just your eyes -- three normal blinks and wide eyes, like a makeshift morse code. This obviously fails.

“Little miss girl here-” Hizashi waggles his eyebrows and Aizawa’s pupils dilate with fear- “told you you went home with a stranger from the restaurant.”

Realization hits Aizawa’s expression, then, relaxation. His whole body turns to you with a belabored sigh. “You little snitch.”

The smile you’ve been trying to fight erupts across your face. You burst into a nervous giggle, one that you have to silence with your own hand. This is a dangerous line you’re walking; Hizashi isn’t a stupid guy- he’s going to figure out something’s wrong if either of you slip up.

“It’s true?” Hizashi gasps. “What? You? You?”

“Is it really so weird that I had sex with someone?” Aizawa says. “You do it all the time.”

“You aren’t a hook up guy!” Hizashi peers from over his glasses. “You’re a ‘third date and a bottle of wine’ guy!”

“When have I ever had a bottle of wine?”

“Okay, ‘third date and an air of desperation.’ How's that?”

Aizawa wrinkles his nose and bares his teeth, barking out a canned laugh. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Fuck off.”

The shorter man sits back in his seat and uses his drink to gesture to you. “Why don’t you harass Miss Hickey over there instead?”

The attention shifts to you for only a moment before Hizashi waves you away with the back of his hand. He shifts forward on to his elbows, directly towards his friend..“She just made out with a guy, I don’t care about that-”

“-Hey!” you object. As if Aizawa isn’t the reason you’re bruised in the first place! The dark haired man is purposefully looking down his nose at you, expression taut.

“Sorry, but I need every nitty gritty detail of Shouta’s night ASAP. “ Hizashi grinds you back on track.

The two of them have been friends since college, you remember. You’d never really been able to see the connection before; they’re both so different that they almost seem like they’d never mesh, but today they are huddled together like boys, mirroring each other’s movements. You wonder if there were lots of nights like these, gossiping over girls and wild nights.

Did Hizashi know him before the car accident?

“I’ll tell you later, Mic,” Aizawa says. “After she’s gone.”

It’d be best to stay quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to be purposefully excluded.

“You don’t want to get dirty in front of me, huh?” you tease. Besides, you’d like to see what he comes up with. “I can handle it.”

He doesn’t take the bait. “I’m not a sharer.”

You turn away with a little shrug. “Hm.”

Aizawa almost doesn’t respond. The gears turn behind his eyes, slowly grinding away at his patience until he grits out a little: “What?”

His knee bumps into yours under the table. It’s fleeting, but there.

“I was just thinking-” you start. “Maybe you’re a bit of a coward.”

“Coward?” he replies.

“Afraid to gossip-”

It’s Aizawa’s turn to huff. “Gentlemen don’t gossip.”

“Since when are you a gentleman?” Hizashi barks out a laugh.

With another exhale, Aizawa closes his eyes. A moment, then another passes, before he opens them again, one brow raised. It’s the same expression a teacher would give to the class after too much clownery. No wonder the interns are terrified of the man, you’d be scared too if you weren’t so excited to see where this is going.

“You really want me to tell you what I did last night?” He’s deadpan. “Really?”

Both of you nod.

“Fine.” He throws his hands up in defeat. “I met this woman at the bar. Bought her a cocktail-”

“What kind of cocktail?” you interject.

“What?” Aizawa stares at you, lip curled in frustration. You’re making lying harder and you know that, but excitement is driving you forward. The risk doesn’t outweigh the reward quite yet. “I don’t know- something sweet.”

“Hm.”

“Margarita. The spicy kind. She tasted like it all night.”

Aizawa is alarmingly good at lying. He does it with a straight face, minus the telltale curl of his lip, but Hizashi doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy sitting on the edge of his seat. You’re still trying to reconcile all of the versions of him inside your head: the work version, the ‘lover’ you met, and this lackadaisical liar.

“Keep going.” Hizashi urges.

“Then we went back to her room. Didn’t even make it to the bed.”

The way he lays down each word is slow, meticulous, purposeful; the narrative he builds is crafted especially for you, but you aren’t quite sure of his goal.

“ Is that enough detail?”

“Boo-” Hizashi’s fanning the flame now too. “Not the fade to black storytelling!”

Aizawa ducks in close, resting on his forearms as he talks. His gaze flicks between you and Hizashi, but lingers much longer on you, flickering down to your lips every now and again. His timbre drops lower, gritty, rolling as he whispers.

“We went back to her room-”

You’re watching his mouth a bit too intensely.

“- I got on my hands and knees-”

He enunciates it slowly, so neither of you miss a moment. A shiver goes up your spine. There’s a weight to his breath, a genuine enjoyment. Would he get on his knees for you?

“And I begged to eat her out.”

He’s proud of it. Oh, he would get down for you. He’d plead for the privilege. His leg brushes against yours again, this time with pressure and purpose, and your skin crawls with excitement. It’s just a story. You know it’s not true.

But the glint in his eye says that he wishes it wasn’t.

“And?” your voice shakes a bit. That’s his goal, isn’t it? To get you riled up? To make you regret forcing him into this situation?

Aizawa rubs the spot where his jaw connects with a slow, purposeful circle, like he’s trying to rub out a kinked muscle. It’s borderline boastful. “And that’s how I spent the night.”

Hizashi tips his head back and laughs so loudly that the table next to you stares. “Good for you!”

“Good for her,” Aizawa replies.

Hizashi rolls his eyes. “I almost forgot you’re a munch. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten any, so-”

“Watch it, Hizashi.”

You regret the question before you ask it. “Uh, what’s a munch?”

Both of them look at you.

“Well, it’s clearly not Touya,” Hizashi mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

“It’s a slang term for someone who really enjoys…” Aizawa trails off, cocking his head expectantly.

“Eating pussy,” Hizashi finishes for him.

Another thrill of excitement goes up your spine. Enjoys it? Is that even possible? The idea has you woozy.

“Yeah, that’s totally not Touya,” you manage to say.

Hizashi makes another comment, but you can’t force yourself to focus on that. No, not when your heart is beating like this. It’s just words, a fake story, but there’s a silent promise to it as well. You wonder what would have happened last night if you said yes. Would he have spent the night between your legs, eating simply for your pleasure?

Want trembles in your hands as you pretend to check your phone. Is it pathetic? To be worked up over a silly little story, made up to cover your tracks? The waiter comes, you all order. Aizawa’s knee pumps against yours- once accidentally, once on purpose. You hope he doesn’t notice how you’re squirming in your seat, trying to ignore the way your body is craving pressure and attention. You think, maybe, if you move right, you could get the seam of your pants to hit just right-

What are you doing? This is pathetic.

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You don’t wait for a response. Pushing up from the table, you turn down the back of the restaurant. The signs lead you into a little back hallway, tucked by the kitchen, where the lighting is respectfully dim. You have to wait a moment because the door is locked, but you don’t mind. It gives you time to mull over everything.

Maybe Hizashi is right; maybe it’s okay to try something new. It’s been years since you’ve felt this alive with someone, this excited to get something more. With Touya, sex became more of an obligation. Maybe it could be different with someone else. Maybe it could be something fun, something-

A hand catches you by the back of your shirt, not hard enough to yank you backwards, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks. A gasp squeaks out of you as you stagger back into the chest of the man behind you. You crank around to see- only to relax when you realize it’s just Aizawa.

“You scared me,” you mumble out a lament.

“You little sneak.” With a thumb, he tilts your chin up, so far that you’re looking back at him. His other fingers press ever so nicely into the length of your neck, drawing you back into his chest. There’s nothing constricting your breath, but suddenly your lungs are empty, breathless, and your parted lips pull nothing in. Aizawa’s dark eyes are narrowed, boring straight down into yours.

Oh, he’s pissed.

And, for the first time, that excites you.

“You like making me sweat, don’t you?” His free hand is looped around your waist, holding you much tighter than the other. “Almost getting us caught-- You make me so mad sometimes.”

The kitchen is full of mumbled orders and the clang of dishware. It echoes through the dark hall you’ve trapped yourselves in, you aren’t alone, no matter how badly you wish it to be true.

“Thought you liked me,” you whisper.

You swear there’s a subtle dilation to his eyes, involuntary. Real. “I do.”

He leans over and dots a simple kiss on to your forehead, right where your hair meets skin. It’s simple, soft, but, god, it sets everything inside you into this wet, wobbly, needy heat, something soft and harsh all at once.

“Even when you piss me off.” The hand around your neck twitches playfully, with no real constriction.

It’s cliche, you think, how you just sort of watch each other, breathless, patient. Neither of you tries to make a move, locked together. He smells good. Not like anything you can name, just… good. It’s the same good you feel in your chest and an equal good to how your hands feel when you reach backwards and grab his hips.

“I’m starting to think you like making me mad.”

“Shouta-” you say his name because he likes it, because it makes him lean in closer to you-

The bathroom door flies open and you both pull away like you’ve touched a hot stove. The woman who exists definitely knows something’s up; she rolls her eyes and sends a text on her phone as she passes. The two of you share a look; you, relieved, Aizawa amused. It’s as if you're sixteen again, with this fluttering feeling in your stomach you can’t quite swallow down. It’s too bright to be anxiety.

Aizawa steps back a bit with a nod. Oh, right, the bathroom. You don’t actually have to go, but it would be silly to not go in now. Maybe you can just try to go-

You look back at your Aizawa.

Or maybe.

Or maybe you can have some fun.

With uncharacteristic confidence, you hook a finger under a button of his shirt and tug. Aizawa’s face goes bright with realization. He falls into following as you guide him forward into the bathroom, step by awkward step, backwards until the door opens against your weight. Aizawa glances around before the door closes after him, making sure to remain unspotted, then turns to you with a wicked, narrowed, glowering look.

The bathroom is simple, but nice. The lighting is sharp and bright, the floor is white and clean. A decorative table is wedged into the corner, topped with extra towels and real flowers in water. Your brain can’t process more than that- not with a dark haired man wrapped around your finger. He has the forethought to lock the door behind him.

“What are you doing-?” he grumbles wickedly, ducking down to catch you in a kiss, but you don’t let him make contact. You dip away, drawing him further and further in, until you’re backed against the little decorative table. With his weight, he shifts you back until your ass is seated properly on that wiggly table, one hand back to brace yourself. Finally, he traps you, stubble rough against your cheek, lips soft against yours.

“I thought we were going slow,” he says into your lips. You don’t respond-- you can’t. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, the need to breathe replaced with the need for him, the need for touch-

You hook a leg over his waist and his hand flies to it, folding it higher, pulling it tighter.

“Oh, you can’t help it, can you?” he mumbles. “One little story about eating pussy has you desperate for it, huh?”

“Y-you-” You hate that you can’t dirty talk smoothly like he can.

“Yeah?” He’s almost condescending. “Yeah? What does my girl want?”

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat. Aizawa waits for it, hovering above you. Oh, he won’t give it to you until you really ask, will he? You have to physically brace yourself to say it.

“Will you kiss it?” you ask, much meeker than intended.

“Kiss ‘it’?” You expect him to keep picking at you, but instead his hands are busy unbuttoning your pants, guiding them down. “Do you mean-”

His lips find your hickey and the spot aches under the connection. “Here?”

Creeping lower, he hunches over your chest. This time, he pecks at the hem of your shirt. “Here?”

Down he goes, on to his knees. This kiss lands in your stomach, right where the tightness of want sits-

“Here?”

“Shouta-” You’re mad and annoyed and you’d frankly settle for him kissing you anywhere at this point-

Hands slip your pants down past your knees. When the air hits your skin, you suddenly realize just how wet you are, how it’s bled through your panties and smeared across your thigh. Before you can process anything, his mouth is over your clothed cunt, wide mouthed and kissing. The drag of his tongue is a lot, even though the fabric; the contact has your spine flexing all on its own.

“Here?”

“There, there,” You’re clinging on to handfuls of his hair already. “Right there.”

But Aizawa doesn’t kiss you again.

“In a public bathroom?” He’s watching you from the floor. Your leg is looped over his back. He’s surprisingly wide and thick under you; your legs have to spread so far to fit him. God, your body is plaint enough that it just gives to his pushing hands and demands.

“You like it nasty.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond. Your brain is fried with a deadly combination of horny and embarrassed. Is this really what you want?

“No, you don’t like it dirty, do you?” It feels like he’s reading your mind, hands kneading your thighs with a growing hunger. He plants a kiss where your legs meets your underwear and your cunt pulses in response. “My girl just needs it so bad, doesn’t she?”

Teeth sink into your inner thigh and you kick in response: another fucking hickey. The thing that got you into this mess-

“That’s right, my girl.” He’s talking to himself now, mumbling just under his breath. A finger loops under your panties, the same way your finger looped under his button, and there’s no time to feel shame before he exposes your pussy. “You went home with me.”

You expect him to go straight for your clit, to devour you with the fucking need that’s been building between you all goddamn night-

But, instead, he touches his lips to the crest of your mons and breathes. It’s hot, molten, pours down you like molten lava. It’s the faintest, tickling touch, but it’s enough, it’s more than enough. A moan rips out of you, so unexpected that you jump at your own voice.

Usually, when you have sex, you’re worried about the small things. Whether or not you’ve shaved, whether you look thin enough or pretty enough, but now, the only thing you can think about is being touched, needing touch, desiring touch.

And the time.

“We-” He hasn’t even started and you’re quivering for it. “We gotta hurry before Mic-”

“I promised you-” Aizawa says, firmly. “That we’d go slow.”

Finally, gloriously, you feel the hot press of his tongue, dragging up through your excitement. Every inch he takes is painstakingly slow until he hits the nub of your clit. That contact is fast, fleeting, but it still sends you keening and gasping. Every important muscle inside you is bunched and coiled, filled with enough potential energy to set the whole fucking restaurant on fire. You’re going to cum. You’re going to cum from practically nothing.

The vase of flowers on the table is overturned. You don’t even remember knocking it over. Water pools under your ass and everything is wet, from you, to the mess, to his drool across your inner thigh. His mouth closed over you the same way someone would eat a peach, sucking with this absurdly lewd sound as if he’s afraid to let any of your excitement escape. His jaw moves slow - just like he fucking promised- and doesn’t miss an inch of skin as he closes his mouth, lips coming closed around your clit. The pressure feels heavenly against the already puffy parts of your pussy and your hands clasp his dark locks tighter. You aren’t sure if you’re trying to pull him away or pull him closer; your body is just reacting, like neurons are firing all on their own.

Fingers clamp around your thighs. Aizawa is groaning, voice so low it vibrates against you, as if he’s the one receiving it, not you. Enjoys eating pussy… the memory rings through your skull. Fuck, what an understatement; he eats pussy like he needs it to live. His eyes are lidded heavy with pleasure. Every lick and suck and touch along the tapestry of your cunt is wet and wild, but aggravatingly skilled. The heat of his mouth against your clit - firm, but not hard- is enough to steal your breath away.

Then, he pulls away, and your pleasure begins to unravel-- unfairly fast. You hadn’t realized how close to the precipice you had been until you started falling away. The feeling is disastrous.

He speaks with a heady exhale, warm and not nearly enough. “You taste-”

“Shut up,” Now you’re definitely pulling his face back towards you this time. “Shut up, shut up, shut up-”

He silences himself with your cunt.

This time, there’s no savoring. His lips and tongue are on your clit, sucking in mouthfuls of your folds, bouncing against the involuntary roll of your hips. Everything inside you is hot and sticky, thick like honey. You’re saying something, maybe, but it’s all high pitched and garbled. The rub from Aizawa's stubble sends a chill up your spine and the hot and cold inside you melts into something smooth-

You can feel your orgasm coming long before it hits, everything inside you pulling high and tight, like the ocean rolling before a wave. The crest hasn't hit, but it's going to come, you're going to cum-

And then you look down, and Aizawa's staring back at you, with those dark, hooded eyes, and you unravel. It’s not my other orgasms you've had: a full body feeling, like the flush to warmth you get when alcohol hits your stomach. It rolls, through you, away from you, against you- in every fucking direction until every ounce of tension is smoothed from your muscles. Boneless had always sounded silly, but now you understand exactly what it means; you slump back and try to catch your breath.

Aizawa’s movements slow, but never stop. He runs the flat face of his tongue against you until you gather the energy you shove him back. For a split second, a string of your cum ties between you and his mouth.

“Shit,” you breathe. Your surroundings feel more tangible suddenly. The sink drips, the walls echo the restaurant’s soft muzak, Aizawa’s cheeks glimmer with your wetness: it’s all suddenly real.

“I cannot believe-” He wipes his face on his sleeve.

“Shit,” you repeat. That was insane. You were insane! Your friend is waiting at the table, probably wondering what happened to you two-

“-that you let me do that. You came so--”

“Shit.” This is exactly what you needed. “I’ve never-”

Aizawa sits back on his knees with a stiff grunt. “Don’t tell me you’ve never orgasmed before.”

“No! I’ve totally-” You awkwardly shimmy up your pants and instantly regret it. It’s wet. It’s cold. “No one’s ever gone down on me before.”

Aizawa gives you the slowest, longest blink you’ve ever seen. Then, he shakes his head and stands up, brushing his pants off. You debate asking if his leg hurts, but decide against it. “How do you continuously say things that make me want to go insane?”

He huffs about it, but you’re starting to unravel the strings of affection he weaves into his sentences. You shrug, biting back your smile.

“I’m just special, I guess.”

Eyes closed, he gives you a nod, tempering himself.

“Go back to the table before we’re caught.”

Fuck-- that’s right. You two have been gone for long enough that it's starting to get suspicious. Besides, there’s going to be a line outside the door if you don’t get moving soon- if there isn’t a line already. You quickly check your outfit and adjust your hair in the mirror; your skin looks brighter than usual. The power of an orgasm, you guess.

“Don’t you want me to…?” You give a little jerk off motion and Aizawa rolls his eyes at the behavior-- as if he didn’t just eat your pussy in a fucking bathroom.

“I don’t want you to do anything to me,” he insists. He helps you off of the table with a hand, then ushers you towards the locked door. “I want to lay you down and eat you out until your brain factory resets like a cheap Macbook.”

He’s already done that, but okay, you could be down for more-

“But we are in a bathroom.” He gestures around him. “In a restaurant.”

You add: “With Hizashi waiting.”

“With Mic waiting. He’s smart- he’ll figure us out if we aren’t careful,” he agrees. “Now, get out there and cover me.”

Suddenly, Aizawa leans over and kisses you. It’s not deep, but you can taste your musk on his lips and that makes your spine thrill with excitement. It’s illicit in a way that makes you feel young and happy and, and, and-

And all those weird, indescribable highs you get when your brain is drowned in dopamine and oxytocin. For a fleeting moment, you reach out and grab his hands, holding on for only a squeeze.

“Your room tonight?” you ask when he pulls away. Your head is still racing, head still swimming-

He grimaces. “Yours has better pillows.”

“I brought them from home.” He was in your bed last night, in your pussy moments ago, but the fact he knows your pillow feels so strangely intimate. “I like silk pillowcases.”

The expression in his face softens, just at the crowed corner of his eyes. “Of course you do.” He jerks his chin towards the door. “Get going.”

“Sho-”

“Get.”

And you walk out with wobbly knees.

#YOUR HONOR YOUR HONOR YOUR HONOR #I WANT HIM YOUR HONOR #god damn #hes so hot for that holy shit #this was amazing #i need to sit down angbjangnsngnnf #inevitable #aizawa x reader #aizawa smut #timesnewrecs

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