#actually I’m curious to know what exactly was the question here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jarofstyles · 5 days ago

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Teach Me?

Hello love bugs, we've got a huge one shot here. I see a lot of writing where the guy helps the girl out with inexperience, but I thought I'd like to write something where he's the one asking for help. I had a lot of fun putting this together so I hope you guys like it. I may do more but I have a lot of other stuffed planned but let me know your thoughts!

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WC- 12.3k

Warnings- mentions of insecurity, anxiety, oral, soft!Dom H, soft!Dom Y/N, switchy vibes but mostly Dom!H, Y/N pokes fun at him for being nerdy but she loves it,

"Hey..." Harry began casually, wiping his hands on a towel after washing. Her best friend had invited himself over for dinner, which meant he was going to do the dishes. It was an unspoken rule of their friendship. If you invite yourself, you clean up. But seeing as Y/N was the one who cooked nine out of ten times, it had become a normal to see him at her kitchen sink. Her eyes peeked up at him from her phone, giving him a look to continue. "Can I ask you something? It's a kinda...weird request." He scratched the back of his neck nervously, looking at her with an attempt at puppy dog eyes. He wanted something and it made her narrow her eyes.

“I’m not going to the convention with you again, Har. It’s not my scene, I told you. I’ll watch any series of movies until our brains leak out our ears but if I have to sit through panels and Q&As where they ask what the characters favorite food is again I may lose my mind.” She knew it was coming up… but apparently that wasn’t his point. Thank God.

"No! No. Adam is going with me this year. Rude. But besides that…” It made her a lot more curious as to what it could be because he did genuinely look nervous. “It's a weird question, actually." He sat down next to her on the couch, twisting his hands together. "And you can totally say no... but..." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Would you... maybe..." The hesitance had her sitting up a little straighter, raising her brow higher to urge him forward. "God..." He muttered softly, trying to find the words. "You promise not to judge?" He saw her raise an eyebrow. "I mean it. No making fun of me." He watched as she slowly nodded, waiting.

“I make fun of you for a lot of things, but if you’re asking me not to, I won’t. Are you okay?” Y/N asked softly, unused to his behavior. He was usually playful and could take any joke, so it wasn’t exactly like him to ask her not to do it.

"I'm okay." He assured her, but still had the nervous look in his eyes. "It's just... I've recently realized... kinda an embarrassing thing about myself." He shifted uncomfortably, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I don’t think… I don’t think I’m actually making girls finish properly when I hook up with them. At least not every time. And I feel like shit about it.”

That was a surprise to her. Harry had the whole hot and nerdy thing going on, and he pulled plenty. Not that he always attempted or took them up on the offers, but he’d had a few girls he had hooked up with that she knew of. Usually he kept pretty quiet about it, but that didn’t bother her. Y/N had assumed a lot about him because… He did have some big dick energy going on. He had really nice hands too. The idea of him being unskilled in bed didn’t feel like it was right, but she was hearing him out. “What’s making you think this?” She asked curiously. “Did someone say something?”

"No, no one's ever said anything. Not to my face." His face flushed slightly pink as he shifted again, trying to get comfortable. "I just... well. Sometimes I noticed they'd tense up or seem kinda disappointed later. Like they were expecting something else. More? I dunno. And they don’t usually text me again, which is fine and all but I hate thinking I let someone down. It’s embarrassing." He avoided looking at her while he talked, staring at his fidgeting fingers instead. "I don't want to be one of those guys who only thinks about themselves. That’s the last thing I want to do." He trailed off, clearly embarrassed. So unlike him that it made her heart hurt a little bit. Harry was a happy guy and seeing him not like that was like seeing a wet puppy in the street. She had to fix it.

“Well the fact that you even care at all is really good. I know, the bar is on the floor but, unfortunately a lot of men don’t give a shit if we finish or not.” Y/N knew plenty of men- had experienced them herself- that didn’t care if it felt good for her. They wanted a quick nut and go. Harry never seemed to be the type. Honestly, he was very thorough in most things and she’d assumed that would properly bleed over to sex.

“Wanting to be better is half the battle. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. The first time I sucked someone off I gagged really awfully, the sound made him go soft.” She laughed at her own bad time. “We all start somewhere.”

He laughed softly at her story, feeling a little more at ease knowing he wasn’t the only one. Y/N was far more experienced and open about being a little freak, so it felt better to know even she had some weirder experiences. It wasn’t just him. "Yeah, I can imagine." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Gagging on dick is not the most pleasant experience, is it?" He turned to look at her, his eyes serious again. "But, um, thanks for listening and all that. I just... I want to be good at it. For them, and for myself." He looked down at his hands again, picking at his fingernails nervously. He needed to paint them again so he would stop doing it. His pink polish was chipped. "And that's why I was wondering…” He bit his lip, his heart racing as he tried to work up the nerve to ask his best friend a very personal favor. The most personal you could probably get.

"Would you... would you maybe let me practice on you?” The silence lingered for a moment longer than he was okay with, panicking slightly as he continue. “I promise I'll listen to everything you say, and we can stop anytime you want. We don’t even have to! You can say no, obviously.” The man was babbling as he tried to untwist his tongue. “But I really trust you and I think you'd give me good feedback. Honest feedback." He looked up at her with pleading eyes, his cheeks flushed a darker pink that she hadn’t seen before- all the way up to his ears.

“Me?” That… was not at all what she had expected. To be fair she hadn’t been sure what to expect but that would probably be lower on the list. “You want to… practice eating pussy or something, on me? I just want to make sure I heard you correctly.” Because she sure as hell didn’t know if this was some sort of dream or delusion.

Harry nodded quickly, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red. "Yeah, you. I mean, if you're comfortable with it. I know it's a really fucking weird request and all, I swear I’m not trying to make anything weird with us but... you're my best friend, and I trust you. And I know you'd be honest with me." Y/N was known for being honest even if it wasn’t the most appropriate time to be. He looked at her with those big, hopeful eyes, his bottom lip worried between his teeth. "Please? I promise I'll do everything I can to make it good for you, if you let me. I just really want to get better at this."

It could fuck up the friendship. Y/N knew that, because it was every sort of cliche thing that tells you do not, under any circumstances, hook up with your best friend. But… it had been a while. Harry didn’t ask much of her besides her dinners and to go to some events with him so he wasn’t alone. He listened to her rants and brought her food when she was hungry and didn’t want to go out. He made her bed for her sometimes just because he was near and tidy like that. He swept the kitchen after dinner. He bought tickets to movies and concerts on his card and told her to pay him back whenever she could. He protected her if people acted weird at the rare chance they went out to the bar. Harry was a really fucking good friend, the best she’d ever had.

She also couldn’t lie to herself and say she didn’t think he had a spectacularly pretty mouth and even better hands. They had always been really nice. Soft, long fingers, big palm. The tattoos that trickled down… Fuck. She was going to say yes. Fuck it. “Okay. I guess we can, but I’ve got some rules.”

He blinked, surprised but trying to hide it, his heart racing faster at her surprisingly quick answer. "Rules?" He nodded, leaning forward slightly, completely focused on her words. "Of course. I mean... I'll do anything you say." That came out a bit too smooth, and they both caught the double meaning. He cleared his throat, trying to appear casual and failing miserably. "What are they?" His eyes were fixed on her, his hands folded in his lap to stop them from shaking nervously.

“I mean, I’m being a little dramatic. It’s only a few.” She laughed, leaning back on the couch. “One being we don’t tell anyone. Our friends are already weird about how much time we spend together. Two, you don’t touch me and then another woman. If you find someone else that’s completely fine, but I don’t want her germs and shit on me.” That was not something she liked at all. “If you’re practicing on me, it’s me. I won’t fuck around with other people either, but I don’t fuck with STIs and all that.” It was doubtful he would need to be reminded of that.

“I’m assuming this is going to be a couple times because the way you get good at stuff is practicing. I won’t complain if I get a few orgasms out of this.” She shrugged as if this was a normal thing to be discussing. Best friends having sex. “But the last one is you don’t make things weird after you’re all good with your skills. Don’t make stuff weird.”

"Those are..." He cleared his throat, trying to process everything she had just said. "Those are actually very reasonable rules." He nodded, making sure to emphasize each point so she know he heard her loud and clear. "One: Not telling our friends is smart. Two: Of course, no cheating. We aren’t dating but I’m a one woman type of man. My mother raised me better than that. You know she would kill me." He managed a small smile. "Three: I, uh, plan on practicing. A lot, if you let me." His eyes lingered just a moment too long on her lips, then quickly flicked away.

“Good.” Harry was efficient in most things. It’s exactly why she understood how much it probably bothered the hell out of him to not really be able to get a woman off, or so he thinks. She was just being a good friend, right? helping him out. “So walk me through what you usually do when you bring someone home. We start there. I can tell you if something you’re doing is weird.”

He swallowed nervously, trying to collect his thoughts as he shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Well, uh... usually I'd start by kissing them, ya know? Get them a little worked up before moving down." He gestured vaguely with his hands, as if physically trailing kisses down an imaginary body. "Then I'd kinda... kiss around the area, maybe use my fingers first to make sure they're wet and all..." He trailed off, wincing as he realized how clinical it sounded when he said it out loud.

“That sounds decent, but kind of like a routine.” Harry was like that, she knew, but sex wasn’t. “Not all women are the same, though. We’re all different. You don’t experiment at all to see where her sensitive spots are? Do you keep kissing to the lips and her cunt?” The question was blunt, but she usually was.

"Well... No, actually. I kinda just do the same thing every time." He ran a hand through his hair nervously, realizing how basic that sounded compared to how she spoke about sex. "And yeah, I guess I do stop kissing once I get down there. Why?" He was listening intently, genuinely curious about her approach. For all his perceived experience with women, he was suddenly feeling very inexperienced in this one area. Something about the way she talked about sex was... different. Confident, like it was no big deal.

“Because women are sensual creatures, Harry. Sure, we have similar biological things that happen but the way we get horny is with our minds. Teasing a little. Dirty talk, if you’re good at it, ease into it. Kissing places that aren’t just the obvious.” Shifting to face him, she grabbed one of his hands and put it on her shoulder. He was definitely nervous. It was a little cute. “I’ll give you a cheat sheet for me. I really like to be kissed under my ear, over my throat. Sometimes a lick or a suck. A bite, if I’m in the mood. I like to be kissed over my stomach, tops of my breasts, inner thighs, hips. They aren’t necessarily obvious, but the exploration is nice.”

Taking his hand, she moved it to her neck and then dragged it down past her tits, down her stomach to the waistband of her joggers. “You can have a general path, but you need to be comfortable deviating from it when that’s what she responds to.”

"Fuck..." The curse slipped out quietly as his breath caught, noticing how comfortable she was with his hand on her body. His fingers lingered at her waistband, acutely aware of the sensitive skin just inches beneath. "I never really thought about it like that. I always just went straight for the pussy." He cleared his throat, realizing how crude that sounded coming out loud. "I mean..." She chuckled at his flustered state, finding it endearing. "So you're saying I should take my time? Like, really tease her out?" He moved his hand slightly, fingertips brushing the bare skin of her lower abdomen just beneath her shirt hem. "Kiss other places, see what makes her squirm?"

His gaze flickered down to where his hand rested, then back up to meet her eyes. There was a new spark of understanding there, like pieces clicking into place. "And if I find somewhere she likes? I should... explore that?"

“Yeah.” Her stomach had jumped as he moved his hand but didn’t say anything about it. “Every person is different. I’m sure you have places you like to be touched that people haven’t tried yet either. Being in tune with your body and hers, being able to read the cues that’s what could be your strength.” It was something a lot of men didn’t bother to take into consideration.

"Like, if she makes a certain noise or tenses up?" He was genuinely intrigued now, his mind racing with possibilities. "What if she pulls my hair or digs her nails into my back?" He shifted his hand lower, fingers splaying out on her stomach curiously. "Does that mean she likes it?" He was so focused on the hypotheticals that he almost missed the way his hand resting on her stomach made her stomach muscles twitch slightly beneath his palm.

“Yes, exactly that. Sometimes you’ll be able to feel her pulse if you’re holding her wrist, or.. Well, if you’ve got your hand around her throat. We’ll talk about proper choking another day, but you can see if her pulse jumps from that.” His hands were perfect for that, honestly, and she shouldn’t let her mind wander. Nope. “The noises she makes, if she pulls you further in, bucks her hips, those are all good signs. Not everyone is extremely vocal, but checking in to make sure she likes it, if she wants you to give more, it can help.

"Checking in?" He repeated, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he tried to wrap his head around the idea. "You mean like... asking her if she likes it?" He shifted his hand lower still, fingertips brushing the hem of her joggers. "Like, 'is this okay?' Or 'do you like this?'" He could see how that might be helpful, especially with quieter partners. "But wouldn't that ruin the moment?" He looked up at her, genuinely curious and seeking approval.

“You don’t have to ask in such a sterile way. You can just say something like ‘does that feel good?’ or ‘that’s nice, baby?’ and see her response. You’ve got a nice voice, Har. Use it.” She gave him the compliment easily. He did need a bit of confidence boosting, that much she could already tell. “Checking in shouldn’t ruin the moment. It’s safe, it’s a sign of a good partner. You’ll figure out how to check in in a less… abrupt way.”

"Right... fuck me." He muttered under his breath, actually feeling slightly embarrassed about how little thought he'd put into this before. "I've been a clueless fuck, haven't I?" He sighed, running his fingers along her waistband more deliberately now, testing how she responded. His heart stuttered slightly when she complimented his voice."So like..." He traced patterns on her lower stomach with his fingertips, almost unconsciously. “Feels good?” Testing out the way she had suggested.

Y/N swallowed, feeling a bit of a shift. He had seemed to be having a good time touching her stomach, the light tracing on her skin making her heat up a little bit. She wasn’t blind- Harry had most definitely gotten hotter over the years, and he was just attractive in general. Though she hadn’t allowed herself to look at him as anything but the quirky best friend he was, getting to see a different side of him was something she was intrigued by.

“Mhm.” She tilted her head slightly to the side. “See? It doesn’t have to be straight into it. Just touches like that can get a girl wet.” It was starting to get to her, weirdly enough. “Tell me about kissing. How do you usually start it?”

"Kissing..." He trailed off, his mind briefly distracted by the way her skin felt beneath his fingers. "Uh... well. I usually start with a simple peck, just to see if they're into it." His other hand came up to gently tilt her chin, exposing her neck to him. "If they seem like I have the go ahead, I'll press my lips to theirs more firmly- it’s kinda hard to explain with words." Being a little bold, he let his thumb brush over her bottom lip absently as he spoke, his gaze fixed on her mouth.

“Well if you’re going to eat me out, I don’t see why you can’t just show me.” Kissing Harry had not been something she had anticipated actually doing, really ever, but she can’t say she hadn’t thought about it. The man had an incredible mouth. Soft looking lips, deep pink, the cute little birthmark, all of it was appealing- it was just that it wasn't a possibility for her prior. “Show me how you do it with them.”

His thumb brushed her bottom lip again, his breath hitching slightly at the idea of kissing her. It was just an exercise, he reminded himself firmly. This was just a dry run, to help him figure out his technique. But as he slowly leaned in, his heart rate picked up, eyes flicking between her lips and onto her eyes. "Like... this." He whispered hoarsely, sliding his hand back into her hair to tilt her head further. His lips pressed to hers gently, just a soft brush at first to test the waters. His lips were soft and warm against hers, the kiss gentle at first. He waited for her to react, to see if she would pull away or lean into it. As she didn't, he took it as his sign to keep going, slowly increased the pressure, his lips molding to hers in a soft, sweet kiss.

Feeling emboldened when she began to press her lips back to his, Harry peppered her lips with a series of short, sweet kisses. His lips brushed against hers once, twice, three times in rapid succession, each kiss a little firmer than the last. He could feel her starting to relax into it, her lips softening beneath his own. Encouraged, he let his tongue flick out briefly, a teasing taste before pulling back slightly to gauge her reaction. She tasted like the lemon lime soda she’d had with dinner, a sweet surprise. All of this had been. He hadn’t been sure if she would say yes and if this would potentially make things weird, but thankfully Y/N seemed at least a little receptive to it. His hand remained in her hair, holding her gently as he studied her face for any signs of discomfort or approval. “Okay?”

Y/N knew he would be a good kisser, but he was playing it safe. However, even with the safety still on, she knew he had it in him. He wasn’t as shy as he had been before and that had surprised her a bit when he had gripped her to keep her in place. That had been exceptionally hot. At least to her. “Yeah. You did well.” She cleared her throat to rid herself of the rasp. “You’re playing it safe, though. Here.”

Swinging her knee over his lap, she pushed him back against the back of the couch so his posture was more relaxed. “You’re stiff. Pun not intended.” She snickered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You’ve got to relax a little bit. I don’t know if it’s just me or you get anxious when you kiss other girls too. The thing you did holding my face still? That was hot. It’s gonna depend on the girl but you seem to have an idea on what to do.” Placing her hands on his broad shoulders, she settled her weight on top of him. Hm.. he really had been doing well at the gym. “You okay with me on your lap?”

Harry blinked in surprise, trying to catch up to the fact that she was currently in his lap. Closer than she usually got to him, voluntarily hopping on up. “Y-yes! I mean, yes, please. Go on." His voice cracked slightly at the end, betraying his nerves. He wasn’t sure if it was from the unexpected closeness or just the sudden shift in dynamic between them. Her weight felt nice on his lap, but besides a cuddle or two this was definitely the closest they’d ever been. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nervous.”

Y/N nearly cooed. His frown was precious, really. He was precious. Sliding a hand over his jaw, she tilted his head to meet her eyes. “It’s okay to be nervous, but it’s just me. I’m not going to judge you. You asked for my help, and I’m gonna give it to you.” Slipping her fingers in his hair, she made herself familiar with touching him. They hadn’t been super touchy to begin with but she knew Harry liked physical touch. He was clingy with their other friends physically, but he had always respected that Y/N typically wasn’t the type. Now though? It was free game. “You can touch me how you want. Get familiar with me.”

Y/N wasn’t the type to truly judge if you really needed her and he knew that. Hell, that was why he had come to her in the first place- but she was intimidatingly beautiful. It set him off to be even more nervous. His mind briefly wondered if this was how he was in bed- overthinking everything- maybe that was why he didn’t get calls back.

“Shit.” He muttered softly, then snapped back to attention as she told him to touch her. He wanted to do that, he had always wanted to but Y/N only really liked to be cuddled when drunk. When she was, she would be giggly and happy, hold on to his hand and swing them back and forth, especially when he helped her get into the car. It had always made him feel special, but this? It was a privilege to touch her. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arms loosely around her, testing the waters. “Like this?” He spread his fingers out slightly on her back, his thumbs nearly brushing the bottom of her bra strap under her top.

“Yeah, that’s nice.” Leaning into him, she let her fingers run over the rims of his glasses. “These are cute. I like them.” His new glasses suited him. They were a little bit thinner than his old ones and it was a tad bit more modern. She hadn’t been lying to him when she said he had the hot n’ nerdy advantage. “You’ve got really nice hands, Har. Use them.”

He blushed slightly at the compliment on his glasses, his fingers tightening slightly on her waist possessively. "You really think?" He asked softly, tilting his head to the side to give her better access to his face. He liked when she did little things like that, adjusting his glasses or messing with his hair. Maybe it was because he felt touch starved, particularly from her, but the simple brushes of her fingers made him feel that heat in his lower stomach. It was so simple but the air felt a lot thicker than it had before. He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves to be more bold as he slowly dragged his hands over her hips.

“Mhm.” She nodded, gently running her nails over his scalp. “See? I’m not too scary.” Though she had to admit that the feeling of his big hands pawing at her and running over her hips and waist made her feel a little bit giddy. Maybe she could attribute it to the fact it really had been a while since she had been touched in a way that wasn’t friendly, but her body liked the way it felt. “You’re being polite, which is nice. But as cute as your little gentleman thing is, I know you want to grab my ass, Harry. You can do it.”

Harry's breath caught as she said that, his eyes darkening slightly behind his glasses. He had definitely been thinking about it, doubted there was anyone who saw it and didn’t want to, but he hadn't wanted to overstep. Hearing her give him permission was like a green light and he couldn't help himself. His hands squeezed her hips before slowly sliding down to grip her ass, his fingers spreading out to knead the soft flesh. "Fuck..." He muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse. "You're so soft."

His grip on her ass tightened reflexively as he pulled her more firmly against him, a low groan escaping his lips. The heat of her pressed deliciously against his hardening cock, and he couldn't help but roll his hips slightly, seeking friction. "Shit, Y/N...Sorry. I don't want to get carried away." He breathed, his face flushing darker. Here he was, rock hard with his best friend in his lap, from a little ass grab. It was embarrassing how quickly he had gotten worked up- But God, it felt good.

There was a sigh out of her mouth as she felt him start to relax and do what he wanted to do. This was closer to where she wanted him to get, but she hadn’t expected it to feel as good just being rubbed over his lap. “There you go- it’s okay.” She whispered. “That’s hot. You want to show her that you’re eager for her.” With her grip in his hair, she tugged his head back slightly to look at his pink cheek. “You’re a faster learner, I know. But you remember what I told you? Try kissing my neck. I told you the spots I like.”

His eyes fluttered shut as she tugged on his hair, his throat exposed to her. "Yeah. I can do it. S’long as you feel good, m’happy..." He whispered, his voice rougher than she had ever heard it. Leaning into her touch, he let her guide his face into her neck and followed instructions quickly to press open mouth kisses to her skin. He started at the spot just below her ear, as she had told him about, sucking gently on the soft skin. His hands continued to grab at her ass, pulling her flush against him as he kissed and sucked his way down her neck.

The kisses trailed lower, his lips hot and damp against her neck. Each press of his mouth made chills rise on her skin, his stubble lightly scratching her sensitive skin in the most delicious way. As he sucked gently on a particularly sweet spot, she couldn't help but tip her head to give him better access, a soft gasp escaping her lips. None of this had been expected, but liking his mouth on her skin hadn’t been. Maybe it really was just the fact it had been a while but… it felt better than her last hookup.

Harry was her friend and she trusted him. She felt safe, and that probably made her feel a lot more comfortable, just as it probably did for him. But having his hands all over her was something her whole body was responding to. A quick learner, he had realized how much she liked feeling the friction and did something about it. His strong hands gripped her ass harder, pulling her over his lap and letting feel the throb of him through their clothes.

He could feel her getting heavier in his lap, her breath growing shallow as he continued his adoration of her neck. It felt amazing, yes, but he was in a bit of awe. Harry really should have known that Y/N didn’t half ass anything. She was thorough in everything she did- apparently it extended to teaching him how to please a woman. His hands roamed freely as he adjusted, taking a risk in spreading her legs wider over his lap to better fit her between his thighs.

"Am I doing okay?" He mumbled into her neck, his voice muffled. "Is this warming you up enough? Or should I be doing more?" His fingers flexed on her hips before sliding down, spreading out to rest on her thighs.

“You’re doing good.” The thickness in her throat made her voice a bit raspier, unsure how she had managed to let herself get to this point. It felt really fucking good. His hands strong and so fucking big, splaying over her thighs. The heat of them seeming to radiate through her skin and down to her bones, she wanted to lean into that touch.

God, she was touch deprived.

He had done a good job in making her panties damp and it felt almost embarrassing that a little bit of heavy petting and kissing on the neck had her pussy throbbing, but she couldn’t exactly deny it. Lightly rubbing herself against him again to get more of the friction her body was demanding, she closed her eyes and let her head lean back before she admitted it to him. “You’re making me wet.”

His whole body seemed to tense up at her whispered admission, his hands flexing on her as he took a breath. "You are?" He whispered back, his voice not able to contain his surprise. He had hoped he was doing something right- especially after all the apparent failures he’d had- but hearing that she was wet from just his touch and kisses was... something else. He wasn't used to being this effective. His ego swelled slightly, making him bolder. "Can I... touch more?" He asked hesitantly, his fingers inching higher up her thighs. "Can I feel what I’m doing to you?"

His words had her gritting his teeth. Where the fuck did that come from, and why did it made her throb? Letting out a breath through her nose, she opened her eyes to look at him. It shocked her a little, seeing his lips swollen and eyes a little hazy, glasses a tiny bit crooked. He looked disheveled in a way he usually didn’t. Of course he had always been hot but this look in particular, knowing it was caused by her specifically? It fueled her ego too.

“Y-Yeah.” She nodded, clearing her throat. “Yeah, you can. That’s what I’d tell you to do next. You have good instincts.” It was a mystery to her how Harry, who was good at almost everything, had struggled to make a girl cum- but she was the teacher now. “You can slip your hand into the waistband.”

"Fuck. Thank you." Harry muttered under his breath. He couldn't believe he was actually about to touch Y/N intimately, after all these years of being just friends… It was insane. He wasn’t unable to see how insanely fucking hot she was, that had never been an issue. He’d had a few questionable wet dreams about her- but the actual idea of ever touching her hadn’t come up until recently, and he was liking it a bit more than he probably should be for a lesson.

With trembling fingers, he slowly slipped one large hand down the front of her joggers, sliding it along her stomach until he reached the top of her panties. "Can... can I? Under them?" His breath was warm against her neck as he asked permission, albeit a bit jumbled, waiting for her nod before slowly slipping under the final piece of fabric that kept him from her most intimate place.

At her nod, he released a deep breath through his nose. His heart was racing as he slowly pushed his hand under her panties, the back of his fingers brushing against the soft, damp fabric. He could feel the heat emanating from between her legs, his own body responded accordingly. His cock was pulsing in his briefs, surely starting to make a bit of a mess. "Holy shit." Harry breathed, his voice shaking slightly as he explored her with his hand. His fingers dipped lower, feeling the slickness coating her folds. “You really are fucking soaked.” Tilting his head up with an awed smile, he met her eyes. “I did that t’you?”

“Mhm.” It felt slightly harder to breathe as she looked at his eyes, seeing the pride in his face, feeling his fingers cupping her wet pussy and giving a little squeeze. It had her inhaling sharply, fingers on his shoulder digging into his shirt. “You did. I- I want you to show me what you do when you get to this stage with the girls you hook up with.” It was taking everything in her not to rock against his hand, staying still as she tried to ground herself.

His fingers trembled slightly as he tried to mimic what he thought he had seen in porn or heard from his friends. He had forgotten what to do. Another symptom of his damn nerves taking over. He roughly spread her lips apart, his thumb pressing against her clit as his middle finger pushed inside her soaked pussy. "Shit... I'm... I'm not really sure what to do..." He admitted, his voice shaking as he started to rub her clit in slightly sporadic circles while thrusting his finger inside her. It was clumsy and a bit rough, but he was trying his best.

“Okay- alright. Stop.” Making sure to keep her voice soft and not like she was scolding him, she held his face in her hands. “You’re jumping right into it a bit too fast, Honey.” The nickname fell from her lips a bit too easily but she decided to ignore that. “You need to ease into it. Find a rhythm. Pull your fingers out.” She instructed, gently stroking over his cheekbone. It was obvious he was embarrassed from his flushed cheeks, and she didn’t want that. He wasn’t doing too badly, but he’d asked for a lesson. That’s what she was going to give him.

“Hey… Look at me.” Tilting his chin up, she gave him a soft smile. “S’okay, Har. You came to me for help. I’m gonna help you. You didn’t do anything inherently wrong.” Still, she could see he felt some type of way about it, and she knew he needed a bit more comforting. Leaning in, her lips pressed against his in a soft peck. It was more intimate than it should have been, but she was again, going to ignore that. “Hi.” Smoothing the skin under his eye, she gave him a giggle. “Okay, so… You’ve got incredible hands. They’re so nice… and I know you can be good with them. So let’s start slow, okay? Do slow circles over my clit with your thumb. Nice n’gentle.”

His shoulders had dropped slightly after her small kiss, ignoring the flutter he’d felt in his chest from it. He hadn't realized how tense he had gotten, like he had failed the test- but this was Y/N. Y/N was safe, she was kind despite how blunt she was, and she was helping him. There was no evidence of her making fun of him in her tone, simply sweet. Unusual, maybe, but it seemed like she knew what she needed.

"Okay." He mumbled softly, his cheeks slightly less red. Her compliments helped a bit- He had always had confidence issues when it came to this. "Like this?" He asked shyly, his large thumb slowly making small, loose circles over her clit. He was careful to keep his touch gentle like she asked, watching her face for any signs that he was doing it wrong again.

He felt her body tense pleasantly at his touch, a soft exhale escaping her lips. Encouraged by her response, he maintained the slow circles, his thumb brushing over her clit with deliberate gentleness. Her hips gave a tiny involuntary roll against his hand, seeking more of the pleasant friction. Harry's fingers twitched slightly, wanting to increase his pace but remembering her instruction. He resisted the urge, keeping the rhythm maddeningly slow.

“Yeah. That’s so nice.” She whispered. It was experimenting, letting him explore and get the hang of it. “Every woman is different. Some people will want it faster, some will want it rougher, but I like this to start.” She admitted, leaning into him. “Here.” Dragging the cropped top off of her body, she exposed the lacy bralette she had heard good reviews for to him. It was quite nice, holding her tits up in a way she hasn’t expected- but she’d chosen correctly today, unknowing that a man would be able to see it firsthand. “When you’re doing this, you keep kissing her. Licking. Sucking her nipples, if she’s into it.”

His eyes roamed over her bralette-clad breasts, the delicate lace contrasting with her soft, smooth skin. He felt his mouth watering, the urge to taste her growing stronger as he watched them move as she breathed- but thankfully, thank god, she had given the go ahead to touch. To taste. "Okay. I definitely can do that." He murmured, his thumb continuing its slow circles on her clit as he leaned in to press open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone.

His lips trailed lower, his kisses growing more intentional. The lace of her bralette tickled his lips as he worked his way down. He could see her nipples hardening beneath the fabric, making his mouth water. His thumb continued its steady, slow rhythm on her clit, causing her to shift slightly in his lap. It was surreal to feel her breathing, hear it so close up as he kissed over her pounding heart.

He was doing this to her. Harry was making her wet, making her squirm. The confidence the breathy moan she let out had him pushing for more. With one hand, he gently pushed the lace down to expose one breast fully, making her gasp softly. His lips immediately found her hard nipple, surrounding it completely and sucking gently.

“Oh, Jesus.” The words were pathetically, a mewl that came from the back of her throat as his hot tongue lapped over her swollen nipple. The suction was light, soft, just like his thumb on her clit- and it was enough to make her feel like she was going insane. “T-That’s really fucking nice.” She praised, raising her hand to card it through his fluffy curls. He must have just washed them, they always looked pretty when he did.

Hearing her moan like that, praising him so freely, sent a jolt straight to his cock. He hummed around her nipple, the vibrations deliberate this time. His tongue flicked over the hardened bud before he switched to sucking harder, desperate to elicit another gorgeous noise from her.

“Yeah- like that.” Rocking her hips slightly into his hand, she pulled his head closed onto her breast. It felt too good, too hot to stop. Yeah, this was a lesson, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t enjoy teaching him. “Some girls won’t get much enjoyment out of this. Their nipples aren’t sensitive to it as much. If they aren’t responsive, you can keep it moving- or a-ask them if they want you to keep going.” Her voice was higher in pitch than she had meant for it to be but it wasn’t possible for her to control that right now. “I really like it, though. So it’s doing the job. You can rub my clit a little harder- give it more pressure.”

Her words had him nearly purring around her nipple. The little thrill went up his spine as her hips rolled into his hand, knowing that now he had a decent idea of what he was doing and could feel less nervous about it. Listening to instructions like he had promised he would, Harry added more pressure to his thumb, rubbing it harder over her little bundle of nerves. It was impossible not to feel her getting slicker against his palm, her breast filled his mouth perfectly, his tongue swirling around the peak before sucking it back between his lips. Almost overstimulation for his mind, but he wanted to keep going. He was trying his best to be good with his hands- he really was- But damn. Her body was so responsive.

Y/N wanted to continue this as long as she could. She wanted to feel him get more and more confident with it, but he seemed to have a grasp on it. There would probably be… a few times where they’d get to do this, and if she was honest? If they kept this up, she was going to cum and be too sensitive for his mouth. And by the way he kissed? She wanted to feel his mouth.

“Mmmm.. Har, Honey.” She whispered, gently tugging his mouth off of her tits with a gentle tug of his hair. “Hi. Hello.” It was stupidly cute, the slightly lost look on his face. “S’okay. You were doing good. A bit too good actually. I just think that we should get to teaching you how to eat pussy. I’ll cum if you keep going.”

He blinked rapidly, a slightly dazed look on his face as he tried to process why he’d been pulled away when he’d obviously been making her feel good. It felt incredible to have her nipple in his mouth, hearing her soft noises of pleasure. The haze of lust in his mind slowly cleared at her words, realizing she was probably right, even if he selfishly wanted to keep going. "Oh..." He murmured softly, a slight blush spreading across his cheeks. "Right. Okay." He adjusted his glasses, trying to regain some semblance of focus.

“Good.” She stroked his hair back with a tender smile, pulling him to kiss her again before taking a look at his face. “I’m gonna lay back, like this.” Sliding off his lap, Y/N settled against the arm of the couch pulling a pillow to rest her head on. The position had her sitting up slightly, but gave a more relaxed vision. Hopefully that would have him feeling calmer. “And you’re gonna lay between my legs once I get these off.” Her bottoms needed to get off immediately.

When he sat back, she tugged on the waistband and squirmed to get them off, haphazardly kicking them to the floor- along with her panties. There wasn’t much hesitance in showing her body to him. Y/N liked her body, she felt proud of it, and she embraced it. There was always those nerves though, being intimate with someone new- even if it was for a lesson. Spreading her thighs, she placed a hand over her cunt and motioned for him to lay down. “Do you remember what I said, Honey? About teasing?”

He nodded slowly, trying to remember all the instructions she had given him. "Tease first..." He murmured softly, adjusting his glasses nervously as he positioned himself between her thighs. Using his elbows to keep him up a bit, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he watched her spread them wider for his body to fit between. "Kiss, lick, don't go straight for the... the main event?" He asked hesitantly, his hands resting on her inner thighs.

“Very good.” Her face lit up as he looked at her for reassurance. “It’s the little things that get me. You know? The soft brushing of fingers on the thighs, the stomach, right above my pussy…” She trailed off with a sigh. “Kiss my thighs, Har. Can you do that for me?” Taking her hand off her cunt, she properly revealed it for the first time for his eyes to see.

Harry felt the breath catch in his throat as the sight of her bare pussy caught him off guard. It wasn’t lost on him that he was very lucky to be able to experience this. Y/N was beautiful and he adored her, but there was a new appreciation in him for how kind she was being. This wasn’t something you could just ask anyone. "Fuck..." He whispered, his hands squeezing her inner thighs gently as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to the delicate skin. "Like this?" He murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her sensitive skin, his lips brushing over the crease where her leg met her hip.

“Mhm.”

He could see her body relax into the touch, her thighs parting a bit more to give him better access. Her skin was so soft and warm under his lips, and he could smell her scent growing stronger the closer he got to her center. Harry took his time, pressing gentle kisses along her inner thighs, his hands brushing along the skin in a featherlight touch. He could hear her breathing growing a bit shallower, her chest rising and falling a bit faster. It emboldened him to continue, to keep teasing her like she had told him to.

"You're... you're doing so good." Y/N breathed out, one hand coming to rest in his hair as she spread her legs wider, hooking one over his shoulder. She could feel herself growing wetter with each kiss, more aroused knowing he was taking his time to learn her body. Such a good little student. "Lower. Just a bit..." she whispered, guiding his head with gentle fingers. Her other hand drifted down to her breast, plucking at her nipple as she watched him between her legs. "Kiss right above my cunt.”

Eagerly following her guidance, he moved up to press a soft kiss just above her pussy, his lips brushing against her soft curls. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, smell her arousal. It was intoxicating, and he found himself nuzzling into her a bit, his nose pressing against her. "Fuck, you smell so good..." he murmured, his voice muffled against her skin. He pressed another kiss right at the top of her slit.

“Oh fuck- that was good.” She gasped in surprise. “That’s filthy. Rubbing yourself against me but… it’s so hot. Showing how eager you are to make the person you’re gonna pleasure, it’s really sexy.” Brushing his hair out of his face, she felt the heat of his breath over her cunt. “Tell me you want to eat me out. Talk to me.”

"I do..." His voice came out huskier than he'd planned, his eyes flicking up to meet hers briefly before focusing back on her exposed pussy. "Fuck, Y/N... I really want t’taste you." Without waiting for further instruction, he used his fingers to spread her open for him and pressed a gentle kiss directly to her clit, making her gasp loudly. "You're so fucking wet… Can’t believe I did this." His finger traced down her slit slowly, as if showing instead of telling how aroused she was.

"Your cunt is fucking glistening. I can already tell your pussy is sweet..." He muttered against her skin, his tongue peeking out to give her one soft lick. Tasting her for the first time, savoring the flavor on his tongue, he was proving that fact. She was perfect to taste- a pussy like this deserved the best of the best, and he wanted her to show him exactly what she liked. Y/N moaned loudly, her hips rolling slightly, a clear indication that she liked what he was doing. "Yeah? You like that? S’good for you?" Harry asked, his voice encouraging as he licked her again, this time a bit slower, applying a bit more pressure.

“Uh-huh… Shit.” She cussed, feeling his tongue swipe up and over her clit. “D-Do what you want. Let me see where it’s going wrong because right now from my perspective, you’re doing perfectly.” Why would he even need help? Was it a ploy to fuck her? That was doubtful considering Harry really, really wasn’t like that. The worst part was that she was liking it a lot more than she was supposed to. If she was training him on how to pleasure how she liked it, it was going to be hard not to lose it.

Harry smiled slightly at her words, feeling a bit more confident in his actions. He started slowly, his tongue flicking out to lap at her gently, his fingers keeping her open for him to fully access her. He could feel her wetness spread onto his chin, and he couldn't help but push himself, wrapping his lips around her clit and sucking softly. He looked up at her, checking her face for any signs of discomfort or pleasure.

He was learning, trying to remember how she had said she liked it. His tongue swiped up again, swirling around her entrance slowly before pushing inside slightly. "Like this?" He mumbled softly, his chin wet with her juices. He kept his movements slow and unhurried, his touch soft. He was tentative, like he was scared of messing up. "Is this good?"

“I.. Normally would say that’s a bit fast to push your tongue in but fuck, that felt nice.” She giggled breathlessly. “Here…” Her fingers were careful as she took his glasses off and tossed them further down the couch so they wouldn’t get in the way- or worse, crushed. “Wanted to see those pretty eyes.” Her fingers kept the hair out of his eyes as she felt a few kisses over her mound, in the thatch of curls above her cunt. His face was slightly wet, but it was erotic. “That feels so nice. The kisses…” She hummed. “You have the instincts. Don’t think too much about it. Doing things like that- That’s good. Just make me feel good. See what I respond to.”

Harry blinked owlishly at her, surprised by the sudden loss of his glasses but pleased when he realized she liked his eyes. His face flushed slightly at the praise, his tongue darting out to lick over her clit hesitantly. "Okay. You’ll tell me if y’don’t like it, yeah?" He asked, his breath ghosting over her sensitive flesh. He leaned in, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her pussy, the sound drowning out the tv playing at a lowered volume.

She nodded slowly, watching him between her thighs. He was almost shy like this, his face buried in her pussy as he kissed around it sweetly. His lips were soft, his kisses unhurried. He spread her wider with his thumbs, his tongue poking out to give her one slow lick from bottom to top. Her hips shifted slightly, chasing the feeling. "You taste so good." He mumbled softly, his voice sending vibrations against her. “I didn’t expect you t’get so wet for me. Soaking my chin. I love it.”

His words seemed to have struck a chord in her, judging by how sharply her breath hitched and her legs involuntarily tried to press around his head. She visibly flustered, clearly flattered by his filthy compliments- and shocked. Had he always had that in him? "Harry..." She whimpered, the sound of his wet mouth against her flesh combined with his sweet, dirty words making her pulse against his tongue. "You... should be careful with that mouth." She whispered, her hand tangling in his hair again, guiding him slightly without putting any pressure.

He chuckled softly, the vibrations traveling pleasantly through her core. "Why's that?" He murmured teasingly against her skin, his tongue darting out for another long, slow lick. He could feel her practically melting under his mouth, her thighs quivering slightly. This was how it was supposed to be. Maybe it was because he didn’t feel as anxious with her, they had repor, he truly trusted her- but it felt like he had a better sense of her body and what she liked.

She’d given him clues and tips, but he was finding out on his own what she liked. It was something he was enjoying the longer he did it, feeling more eager to bury his face in her pretty pussy and never leave. Especially when he felt her hand tighten in his hair and her body shift to get more. "Worried I might make you cum too hard?" His tone was playful, a little more confident now, and that was dangerous for her. Feeling him nipp gently at her clit, soothing it with a flicker of his tongue immediately after was enough proof of that. Looking up at her he tried to see if that was okay, but the noise she let out had him feeling fairly sure it was.

"Fuck, Harry... You smartass.” The giggle turned into a pitched moan very quickly after though, her back arching as he sucked on her clit in retaliation, her hips rolling against his mouth. Harry could feel her getting closer, her pussy getting wetter. He knew the signs, she was teaching him. His hands gripped her hips tightly, holding her in place as he licked into her eagerly. She was so responsive, her body reacting to his every move. He felt powerful, in control- and it was a heady feeling.

"Jesus, your pussy is perfect." He mumbled between kisses, not caring if she could hear him. He could see her getting close- her thighs trembling, her breathing quickening, and the way her fingers were now tight in his hair. That was his goal. He wanted to make her cum so fucking bad it hurt. His cock was a mess in his trousers but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make her cum, hard. He wanted to clean it up as he made himself messy. "Do you want my fingers inside you?" He whispered, not missing a beat with his mouth returning to his suckling. He kept the pace steady but increased the pressure just slightly, wanting to hear her response.

"Yes..." Y/N breathed out the single word, squirming helplessly against his face. His mouth felt incredible and he obviously felt better about what he was doing now, taking more risks that only worked out in her favor. "So good, honey. You’re doing so good, your mouth is perfect."

How had he been bad with these other women? All it took was a little bit of instruction with a soft voice and he was licking into her like she was his last fucking meal.

She gasped, her nails nearly digging into his scalp as he slipped one finger inside her easily. "Your fingers are so big. Holy shit..." She panted, grinding down on his hand. "More..." She begged, knowing damn well she hadn’t wanted to be this needy for it but god damn. He was a good student. A very fast learner. "Please." The woman’s voice cracked with need. "Harry, please..."

He curled his fingers slightly inside her, hitting that spot he’d read about but had never actually found on a woman before. He must be doing it right, because she was practically sobbing his name, her hips bucking against his hand. He added another finger, stretching her slowly but surely, his tongue never stopping its slow, deliberate lapping.

It was obvious what she liked, what made her feel good, and he wanted to keep doing it. Memorize it so he knew how to do it perfectly next time- or continue practicing until he had it down. His head felt fuzzy with the need to get her there, to make her feel hot under the skin like he had been clueless about before. "Look at me." he mumbled against her, his voice muffled but insistent. He wanted to see her face contort with pleasure, wanted to watch her get closer.

It felt like her entire world had narrowed down to his fingers inside her and his tongue on her clit. It really had been far too long since she’d been touched and even longer since she had been eaten out with this amount of vigor. Maybe it hadn’t ever happened prior to him, but her brain wasn’t fully working. She was so close, teetering on the edge and he just... he just kept pushing her. Adding more, curling just right, licking and sucking in a rhythm that seemed designed to drive her insane.

Y/‘ couldn’t see him fully, not with his face buried smugly between her thighs, but she managed to lift her head, her eyes finding his own as he had demanded. The intensity in his gaze, the desperate need, it was too much. “Just like that, you’re going t’make me cum. Just like that, keep it like that- fuck.” Her groan seemed angry but it was anything but. She was worked over and sulking at how good it felt. “Shit, you love eating pussy. Don’t you, Harry? Just needed s-someone to show you how they like it.”

"Fuck yeah." He breathed against her, his eyelids drooping with pleasure at her accusation. He loved this, every fucking second. The slick sounds of her arousal, the way her pussy clenched around his fingers, the taste, how she grabbed at his hair, the sounds she made, the changes in her breathing, her squirming, the way her words slurred a little bit, the pulsing against his tongue.

God. Harry fucking loved it- he just didn’t know it could be this good. Addicting.

The vibrations as he groaned happily between her lips had to be adding something extra. "Knew I'd love it. Jus’ want to be able to make you feel good."

"Cum on my face baby, okay? Just let go. I wanna taste you." He whispered hoarsely, pressing a sloppy kiss to her clit before sucking it back into his mouth. His fingers curled again and again inside her, hitting that elusive spot over and over as she dripped all over his fingers and down the back of his hand. He wanted to make her shatter, wanted to feel her cum all over his face and fingers like he had been working toward.

There was no way she could even respond properly. The constant stimulation to her g-spot, his repeated sucking on her clit, the way he sloppily ate her cunt with little regard of the mess she was making on his face- the only thing he seemed to give a fuck about was making her cum. Who was she to take that from him?

Her body tensed, her back arching as she let out a long, drawn-out moan. It was a sound of pure pleasure, her entire being focused on the overwhelming sensation of him working her over. She came hard, her pussy clamping down on his fingers as she gushed all over his face and hand. Her hand was tight in his locks, tugging as a garbled moan left her mouth and she attempted to writhe. He kept her held still as he moaned loudly against her.

In fact, Harry didn’t stop. Even as she came, he kept eating her, his fingers still curled inside her as he lapped up her cum, cleaning her up. He was fucking starving for it, for the taste and the sound and the feeling of her losing control. He sucked and licked her pussy, feeling it spasming occasionally, until he was certain he had cleaned up every last drop- And her weak push of her hand against his head. Only then did he slowly pull his fingers out, his face and hand coated in her.

She was a goddess, slumped back against the cushions with a flushed, dazed expression. Harry couldn't help but kiss her inner thigh as it twitched before wiping his mouth. "Fuck, you’re amazing." The man murmured. Crawling up her body, he claimed her lips in a messy kiss, letting her taste herself. “Thank you.” It was mumbled between lazy kisses. “Thank you, Thank you.”

His hands roamed over her as he continued to kiss her sloppily, his body heavy on top of hers. He was still fully dressed, his erection painfully trapped in his pants. "Y/N... I’m sorry, but can I?" He asked softly, his fingers already working at the button of his jeans, his intent clear. "I gotta cum. Can I cum on your cunt? Please?” If he wasn’t so horny he would be embarrassed for doing this, but he was losing it. When it died down, he would definitely be embarrassed for how insane he sounded, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe the lack of blood flow to the head, it was going directly to the other.

“Shit.” Y/N laughed weakly, her body feeling like pins and needles as it came down from the orgasm. The idea was one she had considered, especially with how good he had listened- a reward. “Yeah, Honey. As a reward.” She sighed, leaning her head up further. “I wanna watch.”

He almost whined at her words, practically tearing his jeans open wide enough to pull out his stiff cock. He pushed his pants down towards his calves, staying there between her spread legs. His hand gripped his dick tightly, squeezing as he looked up at her face from his spot between her legs. "Yeah- yeah, please watch. I love being watched.” His hips moved forward unconsciously as he ran his cock over her, the head of his dick smearing pre-cum all over her cunt.

“Cute little exhibitionist.” Y/N cooed, running her hand over her stomach. “Go ahead. You’ve got such a pretty cock, but it looks like it hurts.” Her lips formed a soft pout. “Stroke yourself and cum all over that pussy, Harry.”

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." He chanted under his breath, his hand moving faster over his shaft. With his tip pressing against her clit, he ran it up and down her slit. "You're so pretty. Your cunt is beautiful- all of you, so fucking gorgeous." He complimented her, his words coming out in short gasps. It was so hot, the way her lips spread around him, how she looked all fucked out and messy from his mouth. "I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum all over you, baby."

Y/N looked up at him with a soft, encouraging smile, her eyes staring into his with that tinge of desire. "Cum for me, Harry. Cum all over my pretty little pussy. I wanna see it, I wanna see you lose it." Her hand moved down to spread herself, holding herself open for him. "You've been so good, so obedient. You deserve it. Such a good student, a fast learner… You can have it. Cum on my cunt." Her voice was gentle but commanding, the perfect blend of sweet and dirty that had him right on the edge.

"Fuck, Y/N..." Harry whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut as her words pushed him over the edge. With a final thrust of his hips, he came undone. He felt the first spurt of his hot, sticky cum hit her pussy lips, coating them in his release. He groaned loudly, his body shuddering as he pumped out rope after rope of cum, covering her cunt completely. "Oh my god... Oh my god."

Even as he finished cumming, a few last spurts dribbling out to make a mess across her lower stomach, he couldn't look away from where his cum coated her pussy lips, right in her thatch curls and the surrounding skin. It was obscene, filthy, and he loved it. Y/N had made him lose his mind a bit, but he didn’t really want to find it.

Breathing heavily, he finally met her gaze with a slightly embarrassed but mostly pleased grin. "Holy fuck, that was hot." He murmured, swallowing hard. "Never done that before. Came so fucking hard..."

"Good, cause you made a mess." She giggled, watching him as his chest heaved. The sight of his stomach and abs glistened with a light sheen of sweat- his hair was ruffled and he looked like he’d had a workout instead of jerking off on her body. "You like that, I think. Making a mess." She asked softly, watching as he continued to stroke himself slowly, milking himself. Her eyes were drawn back to his dick. It really was beautiful- and really fucking big. “Where the hell were you hiding that? God damn.”

He couldn't help but chuckle at her comment, glancing down at his slowly softening dick with a smirk. "Guess I just needed the right inspiration, huh?" He teased lightly, finally releasing his grip on himself and leaning forward to rest his forearms on either side of her head, caging her in slightly. His face was mere inches from hers now, his glasses gone and his hair disheveled in the sexiest way possible. “Just need t’do this before we clean up and act normal again. Don’t yell at me.”

His mouth claimed hers slowly, lips moving softly against hers. He licked into her mouth slowly, like he was savoring her taste, his body half covering hers. His hand cupped her cheek as he deepened the kiss slowly, like he was trying to imprint himself onto her. Just as quick as it started though, it was over. She shouldn’t have been so sad about that. He pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against hers. His eyes opened slowly to find her watching him softly, their lips still wet and swollen from the kiss. He grinned slightly, licking his lips again. “See? Not so bad.”

“Yeah.” She laughed, feeling dazed. Who the fuck was this? And why did he kiss so good it made her toes curl? Who was this and what had they done to her best friend? “I think your problem isn’t that you don’t have skill. Naturally you seem to get it. I think you’ve just gotten into your own head and you think too much.” She had been a safe person and it was easier for him to lose that anxiety with her, knowing she had already agreed to teach him.

“It can be hard to perform if you’re not able to properly get into it. Your dick can be hard as nails, but your mind not being in it will be a mood killer and they’re gonna know.” The smile on her face was slightly sad but she knew it was what he had to hear. “Because honestly? I haven’t orgasmed like that in ages. All it took was a few tweaks and you had it down. Maybe you just aren’t a hookup guy. Did that feel a lot different than the other people?” Maybe he needed someone who could openly communicate. The expectation of someone just knowing wasn’t always fair.

"Yeah." He hesitated, shifting slightly to prop himself up on one elbow next to her. His other hand traced patterns on her stomach absentmindedly. "It was... different." He seemed to struggle with the words for a moment. "With those other girls, I was always nervous. Overthinking every single fucking thing. Like you said." He glanced at her face, a slight blush forming across his cheeks. "With you... it felt natural. Real. And fuck, listening to you moan like that… Where did those lungs come from?"

“You freak!” She laughed, pushing his shoulder to get him to sit up. Adjusting her bralette back over her breasts she didn’t bother with the bottoms yet, because she really needed to go clean up. Secretly she was pleased that she had been different. It was so cliche to say it, but she wanted to be different than them. She just… wasn’t quite sure why yet. Her brain hadn’t come back down to earth fully and she couldn’t be bothered to truly question it. “You won’t need many lessons on how to pleasure a woman with results like that, I’m telling you that. Good job.” Reaching out, she squished his cheeks with a soft coo before he shot her a look.

"Oi!" He laughed, swatting her hand away playfully but with a big smile on his face. "Don't treat me like a puppy. And..." He hesitated, reaching up to cup her face gently, his thumb brushing her lower lip. "Did it really feel that good? I mean." His voice dropped to a slightly embarrassed whisper. "Am I actually good at this stuff?" For someone who had just made her orgasm so hard, he suddenly seemed insecure again. Like he needed validation. "I know you don’t lie like that, but it just feels weird. Cause everyone else seemed disappointed… I thought I’d be completely awful.”

“Oh, H.” She frowned at his vulnerability. “It was really good for me. I think maybe you just need some lessons on how to let go and relax when you’re being intimate. And I’m happy to teach you that.” Brushing her hand over his stubble she gave his chin a pinch. “Trust me. I’d tell you if you needed a lot of work. It can be hard for women to cum from oral sometimes too. It’s hit or miss for me, and you had me cumming so easily so, I would say it was probably a mix of feeling safe and you having some good natural instincts you couldn’t tap into before because you were anxious and your brain was in overdrive.” Pulling him into a hug, she squeezed him lightly as she inhaled his scent. He smelled like mint and sex, with a tinge of laundry detergent. Appropriate.

“When I’m done with you, we’ll have it all squared away and figured out. Okay? Don’t think about those times. Think about the fact you’re gonna get to fuck your really hot best friend.” Standing up from the couch with a laugh and a pat to his head, she walked to the bathroom to get herself clean- and take a minute to breathe. Her chest was doing a weird thing it hadn’t before and she didn’t want to think about it. “Hey, can you order something from that cookie place to be delivered while I shower please? Use my phone, my card is already in the app. Thank youuuu.”

He watched her leave, a small smile on his face at her words. It was a relief to hear that he wasn't completely incompetent. Flopping back against the cushions, he stared at her ceiling fan as it whirred around with a content sigh.

As requested, he ordered a batch of her favorite cookies from the nearby bakery, adding a special request for extra chocolate chips with a small chuckle. She had ordered quite a few times recently, so he had tried to replicate it while adding white choc macadamia for himself. A classic, even if Y/N would wrinkle her nose for them sharing a box.

After submitting it for the delivery, he found himself humming softly, a warmth spreading through his chest at the thought of learning more from her. That had been so good, he felt so relieved that he wasn’t defective- but he did have to wonder how he was going to be this comfortable with anyone else. Y/N was easy to unwind around. It was hard to imagine him getting as comfortable with anyone else in the way he was with her.

Getting closer to her in a vulnerable and intimate way was sure to grow their friendship. He couldn’t really see it backfiring. Their friendship was too strong.

Right?

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ladyfocalors · 2 months ago

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Trappola's Guide To Winning (Your Heart)

summary: Ace overhears that you have a crush on someone, and for whatever reason, it bothers him. His solution? Offering to "help" you impress your crush, all while acting like he doesn’t care. His advice is half-serious and half-sabotage, but as time goes on, you notice his mood shifting.

pairing: ace trappola x gn!reader

warnings: miscommunication(?).

word count: 2.3k

ace trappola time! he is such a lying liar and a big denier. writing him was a bit tricky so i went a bit with my gut here. i will just have keep writing/reading about him until i get it! also thank you so much for the love on the riddle fic. i promise i read all your replies and reblogs! they make my day <3

Ace Trappola wasn’t the type to get so hung up on things (that was debatable). So when he overheard you telling Deuce and Grim that you had a crush on someone, he should’ve just let it go.

But he didn't.

"You have a crush?" he had repeated, standing behind you with his arms crossed.

"Were you eavesdropping?" You had turned around, startled.

"Not my fault you were talking so loud," he had shot back, avoiding the question. "Who is it?"

You had pressed your lips together, glancing at Deuce and Grim for help. Grim just cackled and said, "Why do you care? You jealous or somethin', Ace?"

Great question. Why does he care? And no, he was not jealous. Imagine being jealous of an idiot you liked! (He actually didn't know why he cared. Maybe because he was curious. Yeah. That was it.)

"I don't," Ace lied immediately. "I'm just shocked, that's all. I mean, really, Prefect? I thought you had better taste."

You narrowed your eyes. "You don't even know who it is."

"Exactly!" Ace threw up his hands. "I'm already questioning your judgment. What’s so great about this mystery person anyway?"

A small smile tugged at your lips. "I don't know. They’re just… fun to be around, I guess. They always know how to make me laugh."

"Sounds like an idiot." Ace scoffed.

"I like idiots."

Ace scoffed but found himself momentarily stunned into silence. That was the kind of thing people said when they were absolutely down bad, wasn’t it? His stomach twisted uncomfortably. Gross.

"Prefect, you should just ignore him," Deuce advised, probably sensing trouble. "He's just messing with you."

Ace was messing with you, sure. But also, not really. Kind of. His stomach was twisting in an unfamiliar way, a strange discomfort settling into his chest. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit.

Why did you have to go have a crush? Most importantly, why did he feel like he was losing to someone?

But he was Ace Trappola, and Ace Trappola didn’t lose. Not even to some mystery crush of yours. So he grinned, masking whatever this weird feeling he didn't want to feel was, and said, "Well, whoever it is, you’re in luck. Because, out of the kindness of my heart, I’m willing to help you win them over."

You gave him a questioning look. "Kindness? You sound like the Headmage with that talk."

"That hurts, Prefect. Comparing me to Crowley of all people?" Ace looked very offended.

"Well, forgive me for not trusting your kindness."

"Wow. No faith in me at all, huh?"

"Yeah, ‘cause you're totally not up to something shady." Grim snickered.

Ace shot Grim a withering look before turning to you. "Listen, I'm a romantic genius. Who better to help than me?"

You gave him a flat look. "I can think of a hundred people off the top of my head."

"Wrong," Ace said, leaning in with a grin. "You won't find better advice anywhere else."

"Okay, fine. I will take your so-called advice." You said with a defeated sigh.

Ace had won. Well, sort of.

Winning would be getting you to drop this whole crush thing entirely—something he was starting to want more and more as each minute passed. But for now, he’d settle for the next best thing: being the one you turned to for help.

That meant he had the advantage. That meant he could steer this however he wanted.

(And definitely not in the direction of some other loser getting your attention.)

"Alright, first things first: you gotta get their attention." Ace said, laying on your couch as you busied yourself with assignments, while Deuce peeked at your notes and Grim laid flat on the bed. "Make them notice you. You know, stand out."

You frowned at his words. "I feel like I already stand out. I'm the only magicless student in the whole school."

Ace waved that off. "Yeah, but that’s not the right kind of standing out. Make them curious about you. And you make them jealous."

"What?"

"You heard me." Ace said, tilting his head smugly. "Nothing gets people to realize their feelings faster than a little jealousy. Trust me, works every time."

Deuce looked dubious. "That sounds kind of–"

"–like bad advice?" you finished.

Ace scoffed, sitting up on the couch now. "C’mon, it’s basic psychology. If they see you getting cosy with someone else, they’ll start thinking, ‘Oh no, I’m gonna lose them!’ and boom, feelings unlocked."

"And how’s the Prefect s’posed to do that, huh?" Grim asked.

Ace shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe flirt with someone cool and charming." His grin widened. "Like me, for example."

You felt uneasy. It was stupid. You knew it was stupid. Ace didn’t know he was your crush, which meant you had no right to be upset. Still, hearing him offer you advice even if it sounded terrible and also offer himself so casually made your stomach sink.

You forced a laugh. "How noble of you to volunteer."

"What can I say?" Ace grinned. "I’m a giver."

Deuce frowned. "I don’t think lying is the best way to-"

"Okay, okay, plan B then," Ace cut in. "You should act a little harder to get."

"Harder to get?" you repeated.

"Yeah. Make them work for it." Ace leaned forward with an amused glint in his eye. "I mean, you’re not easy, right?"

Grim made a noise of disgust, and Deuce turned pink. "Ace, that sounds–!"

"I mean personality-wise, you weirdos," Ace huffed, cutting Deuce off for the umpteenth time. "Jeez, get your mind out of the gutter."

Ace ignored him and then turned to you. "But yeah, you should be a little distant. Y’know, act like you don’t care too much."

Act like you don't care too much. The words echoed in your mind. If he liked you, he would be jealous and wouldn't try to help you. Right?

It was fine. You would just take his advice and use it on him. After all, he was your crush. And if he really didn’t feel the same way, then at least you’d have your answer.

For the next few days, you followed Ace’s advice to the dot.

And Ace didn’t catch on. At first.

You made sure to get his attention, like he had said. Not in an over-the-top way, which would be very weird for you, but just enough to throw him off. Like sitting next to Deuce more often during lunch. Smiling a little too enthusiastically at other people. Being just out of reach whenever Ace tried to tug you into whatever ridiculous scheme he had cooking up that day. When he complained, you shrugged and told him, "I’m busy, Ace."

"Oh, busy now, huh?" Ace had scoffed, but he didn’t seem too bothered. Not yet.

The jealousy part took a little more effort, mostly because you weren’t great at flirting and Grim had outright refused to help you with any ideas, calling the whole thing "a pathetic excuse for a love scheme." But you had to be committed to the bit, so you pushed on, casually dropping compliments around Ace—never to him but always near him.

"Deuce, your hair looks nice."

"Jack is really strong, don't you think?"

"Isn't Silver so pretty? He looks like a prince."

Ace didn’t think much of it at first.

Well, he thought about it, but not in the way that meant anything. It was just weird, that’s all. A little annoying. Maybe a tiny bit irritating. But not because it bothered him. No, he wasn’t one of those weirdos who got all jealous just because their best friend was paying attention to other people. That would be ridiculous.

It was just that… who even complimented Deuce’s hair? Deuce had the most normal hair. And Jack? Sure, the guy was strong, but you sounded way too impressed about it. And Silver? Pretty? Like a prince? Okay, maybe, but why did you have to say it out loud?

And why were you so out of reach?

It wasn’t a huge difference, not really. Just enough that made him confused. He’d reach for your sleeve to drag you somewhere, and you’d slip away with some excuse. He’d call your name, and sometimes you’d brush him off.

It didn't matter, he told himself. (He told himself a lot of things lately.)

Things didn't change until Deuce had to smack him (not physically) out of the denial phase.

"You’re so obvious."

Ace blinked out of his daydreams. "What?"

Deuce stared at him like he was the dumbest person alive, which Ace took immediate offense to. He was not dumb. He just… hadn’t figured out whatever Deuce was talking about yet. Which wasn’t his fault, obviously.

"You like them," Deuce said, as if that explained anything.

Ace scoffed. "Duh, I like them. The Prefect is my friend."

"How do you know I was talking about the Prefect?"

Oh… crap. When did Deuce get so smart?

"Because who else would you be talking about?" He tried to play it off, but the heat rising to his face betrayed him. "You’re making weird assumptions, Deuce."

"You like them," Deuce repeated.

Ace let out a sharp laugh, crossing his arms. "You're insane. I don't, I helped them. With their crush. You think I'd do that if I actually liked them?"

Deuce gave him a long, exasperated look, then exhaled through his nose. "Okay. Let’s say you don't like them. Then explain why you have been sulking so much and acting so bothered?"

"I am not!"

"You nearly bit my head off when they complimented my hair."

"Well, maybe I don’t like lying," Ace shot back. "Your hair is just hair, Deuce."

Deuce’s eye twitched.

"And anyway," Ace went on, louder, "you’re ignoring the important part here. The Prefect has a crush. Not on me. So whatever you’re implying is wrong."

"No."

"What do you mean no?" Ace burst out. "What happened to backing up your friends?"

"You’ve been helping them impress their crush, right?" Deuce asked. "Then why does all your advice sound like sabotage?"

"That’s not–" Ace began, then stopped. The words stuck to the roof of his mouth, unwilling to come out, because… well.

He liked you.

Ace felt the world shift uncomfortably. That gross twisting in his stomach he had been ignoring for days? The irrational irritation every time you looked at someone else for too long? The fact that he had been so convinced that you having a crush was some sort of personal loss?

Everything made sense now.

"This is bad." he stuffed his hand into his pocket, turned on his heel and left his dorm, setting off on a long, aimless walk. Maybe fresh air would clear his head. Maybe it would make this realization feel less like a punch.

You didn't like him. You never told him who you liked and he was so caught up in denial that he didn't even bothered you to ask.

No, no. That wasn't fair. He liked you and made you follow his terrible advice (you didn't have to but you did). He already came so far and he didn't want to pretend he didn't like you.

The least he could do was be honest with you.

And, Ace Trappola wasn't a coward.

(Okay, maybe he was. A little. But not about this. Not about you.)

So after what was possibly the longest walk of his life, he turned back toward Ramshackle, his heart thudding against his ribs.

Ace had already spent enough time being an idiot. He wasn’t going to waste another second.

You had just finished dealing with Grim’s latest round of whining about dinner when a knock at the door made you pause.

You weren’t expecting anyone. Grim was still sulking about his empty stomach, so with a sigh, you moved to open the door, only to be met with the last person you expected.

"Uh," you started. "Are you in trouble with Riddle–"

"I like you." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. He looked vaguely horrified, like he hadn’t planned on saying it so fast. But now that it was out there, he couldn’t take it back. "Like, really like you."

You froze at the admission.

Ace sighed but continued. "Look, I get it, okay? You like someone else, and I already dug my own grave, but I had to tell you. Because, because if I didn’t, I’d be lying, and it sucks, and–"

"Ace–"

"–I mean, I probably made things worse by trying to help you and made you follow bad advice, which is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, and–"

"ACE!"

He finally shut up.

You exhaled, heartbeat loud in your ears. "You are my crush. I used your advice on you, idiot."

He stared at you, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

"Huh?" he said, very eloquently.

You rolled your eyes but smiled. You moved ahead to pull him in a hug. He immediately froze, standing stiff as a board. It took a few seconds for his brain to finally catch up to him and he returned your hug with a laugh.

"So all of that–"

"–was me following your advice." you finished his sentence, pulling back enough to look at his face. "You sabotaged yourself without realising it."

Ace groaned dramatically, letting his hands drop to his sides. "I played myself. I actually played myself!"

You laughed, shaking your head. "But at least now you know I like you back?"

Ace looked at you, then his usual cocky grin came back to his face. His hands settled awkwardly on your arms. "Yeah… yeah! Of course you like me. Who wouldn't fall me?"

You smacked his arms away. "Don't get too smug about it. Just be grateful I like idiots."

He could only smile at you, happy to have you back again.

He felt lighter, his heart fluttering with joy.

#[𓇼] The Steambird's latest #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #twst ace

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sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth · 2 months ago

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Treat your mouth as if it's heaven's gate

(Sam Winchester x female reader)

Summary A case brings you and Sam to church, which means Sam needs to dress up as a priest. It's not your fault that it brings such sinful thoughts to you, but it is your fault that you start acting on them… CWs Priest!Sam. They're gonna have to burn down this church. Is it a daddy kink if you call someone Father? Rated 18+. 5.4k words.

Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

You walk into the church dressed as one of the parishioners, right behind an elderly couple who nod and smile at you, but then your eyes fall on Sam and you have a hard time controlling your expression. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson don’t need to know that the sight of their new priest just made you very wet.

Sam and Dean are off to the side, greeting everyone coming in. Dean looks damn nice too - it’s hard for him not too, but your eyes are glued to Sam. The way the black accentuates his long limbs, his broad shoulders. The way he’s just listening intently to someone telling him something, slowly nodding along. It makes your mouth feel dry. You’re a lapsed Catholic so you weren’t exactly excited about this case. But things are looking up.

You make it to the front of the line, where Sam and Dean make a show of introducing themselves, some throwaway Irish names.

“Deloris Van Cartier,” you say with a coy smile as you shake Dean’s hand. He only makes a face that shows his renewed annoyance at the name you insisted on, but when you extend your hand to Sam, you see the small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. His mouth that you’re really taking an interest in right now. He must notice, because when you look up into his eyes again, his hand still hasn’t left yours, his index finger splayed over the inside of your wrist.

“Anything?” Dean mutters and you blink to break the eye contact with Sam, look over at him.

“Nothing so far,” you say, then look back at Sam, only to catch him looking down at you with an unreadable expression. “But I’ll keep watching.”

Service is boring, but it allows you to keep looking at Sam. He and his brother are sitting in the front row, exchanging low words every once in a while, both looking around. It allows you to see his strong profile, expression awake and curious. His hair is sticking out a little on one side, and you want nothing more than to brush it behind his ear. Or tug your fingers into it, make him look at you. You shift in your seat, earning you another friendly nod by Mrs. Johnson. If only she knew.

After mass, the church empties. Some people stand around, talk, and it’s a good way to ask about the recent murders. The downside is that the Johnsons introduce you to their single neighbor, Jerry. Jerry talks at you like he’s trying to say something like I’m gonna give you the night of your life, then rub at your thigh for two minutes, before asking if you came. You manage to disentangle yourself from that conversation quickly.

When Sam, Dean and you finally check in with each other again, everyone else is gone.

“There’s something suspicious about that padre,” Dean says, blue steeling hard, so you know he’s picked up a trace. He’s capable, so you don’t feel bad about what you suggest.

“Maybe you go and follow him,” you say, “and Sam and I make sure there’s no other clues here?”

For once, Dean doesn’t catch that you’re just trying to get his brother alone. It’s shocking actually, but you’re not gonna question it. Maybe the idea of you and Sam fucking in a church is a little too salatious, even for Dean. He pretends to be the sex-crazed one, but you’re almost certain he’s pretty vanilla.

Not Sam though. Sam is a goddamn freak. Literally.

So Dean leaves, but then Sam, to your utmost disappointment, actually starts searching the fucking church for clues. That’s okay. You’ll get him where you need him.

You watch Sam as he moves, all the way on the other side of the church. He’s got that intense look on him, the one where his lips are pressed together, his forehead knotted. You stop where you are, two rows of pews between you and him. Take a careful look around to make sure there really is no one else there. Then your hands go to your knees before travelling under your dress and quickly pulling down your panties. You push them into your handbag, then put the bag on one of the seats. You also take off the cardigan you were wearing over your summer dress to cover your shoulders, lay it next to the bag. Clear your throat.

“Sam, I think I found something,” you say and his head snaps up, eyes searching you out. You nod at the ground. “Some kind of weird inscription. Looks like it was scratched in recently.”

And Sam, sweet lamb, he thinks you really found something, walks over to you with long strides, expression attentive.

He looks at the ground before you and you can immediately tell he doesn’t see the made-up scratches, but is too polite to say it. He stops at arm’s length from you, head bent down.

“I don’t see it,” he says and you point at the ground.

“That’s cause you’re all the way up there, giant man,” you say and Sam huffs and then lowers himself, drops into a squat.

You step forward before he can tell you again that he doesn’t see anything. You gently lay your hand on the back of his head and then you’re pressing his face against your crotch.

Sam’s hands shoot to your thighs and for a second you wonder if he’ll push you away. Sam has a hard time initiating stuff, but when you do, he’s like a switch that’s flicked.

His hands wander up, quickly, under your dress, up the back of your thighs, roughened, tough hands against the milky softness of your skin there before his big paws find your ass cheeks, squeeze them hard and then pull you harder against his face.

He takes a deep breath, so deep and lustful that it makes your eyelids flutter, and you make a fist of his hair at the back of his head, pull it without pulling him away, while Sam keeps massaging your ass.

You can feel the tip of his strong nose pressed against your softest parts, the thin fabric of your summer dress still separating you, but not by much. Sam’s shoulders rise again as he takes another deep breath. He must smell your wetness, the earthy musk. The one that's all for him.

He pulls back his head a little, lets go of your ass cheeks, but only to grab the hem of your dress, push it up. His eyes are on your pussy, and he groans when he sees you're not wearing any underwear. He tilts his head up, chest rising and falling slowly while his strong fingers press into your skin.

“For me?” he asks, voice husky and you feel a messy grin sneak onto your face.

“Always for you,” you say with a smile that you’re only pretending is coy. Sam narrows his eyes up at you.

“Is it a… priest thing?” he asks, just slightly tilting his head. You shrug, all innocence.

“It’s mostly a you thing,” you reply, then bite your lip, drawing Sam’s gaze there. “But the priest thing isn’t hurting.”

You see the small tug at the corner of Sam’s beautiful mouth, the slight raising of his chin, the same one he does when he discovers something interesting in a book, but also the one you’ve learned to spot when he’s thinking up something nice for you.

With your dress still bunched up in his fists, Sam pulls you in.

His mouth lands high on your thigh, warm breath fanning over the skin before determined lips press against it. You feel another gush of wetness join what is already there as you scratch your fingernails down the back of Sam’s head, eliciting a low groan from him, but then he detaches from you, looks up at you.

“Sam,” you breathe, “don’t stop.” But he just raises his eyebrows a little.

“Sam?” he asks. You need to swallow, almost painful arousal shooting through your core, a tight fist of need.

“Father,” you say instead and Sam nods slowly.

“Keep your hands by your side,” he says, voice low, but you’d think he shouted with him quickly your hands leave his head and drop to your side. One side of Sam’s mouth twitches into a half-smile.

“Good girl,” he says and then lowers his head again.

Your eyes nearly roll up and a needy whimper leaves you at the mix of his words plus the feeling of his open mouth pressed just to the side of your pussy. He’s kissing you, strong lips and wet, hot tongue darting out, like he would kiss your mouth, but he’s keeping an inch of distance from your clit, taking his time as his mouth makes you wetter than you were before.

His stubbled cheek brushes against your lips and it feels like a hundred volts pumped into you, only that little touch making your breathing come out chopped, your hands form into fists to keep them where he told you to keep them. You can feel your wetness start to travel onto the inside of your thighs, desperate and waiting for any relief, and at the same time sure that direct contact will kill you on the spot.

Sam’s tongue and lips are still exploring you, taking his sweet time, and if you had the wherewithal to look down, you’d see his eyes are closed in reverence as he is lost to the taste of your skin, the warmth of it.

“Please,” you mutter, the word leaving you without intention, just the single thing your brain can still come up with. But if anything it makes things worse, because he pulls his head back and looks at you again.

You must be a pretty sight - cheeks flushed, eyes closed, brow knotted, hands tight fists at your side. Sam squeezes your thigh where one of his hands is holding it, and you manage to blink your eyes open, look down at him.

“What do you want?” he asks, his voice stern and challenging. You lick your lips, try to calm your breathing, concentrate on what you’re saying.

“Your cock, Father,” you breathe out and you can see the effect it has on him, the tensing of his beautiful features.

Sam lets go of you, presses himself up to stand. He briefly sways, his hands already going to the fly of his pants, his large, imposing body so close to you you can feel his body heat radiating off him.

“Oh yeah?” he says, his own breathing heavy as you hear the clink of his belt buckle. “Down your throat or in your cunt?”

You press yourself closer to Sam, his words nearly making you dizzy, but not as dizzy as the need between your legs. Still, there is nothing better than seeing Sam lose it like this, watch all his self-control and strength come apart.

“My mouth,” you reply, voice breathless, and you’re almost certain Sam didn’t expect that, because he looks away from where he’s opened his pants, at your face, eyes going wider for a second, before his hand shoots to your neck.

He pulls you up towards him so hard you feel the stretch in your neck and calves as you try to meet him as much as possible. Sam’s kiss is hard, all lips and teeth and uncoordinated as he pants into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunts, “you’re gonna drive me crazy.” You just have time to grin against him before you drop down again and then go lower, your hands wandering down his body.

Your knees meet the cool stone floor as you keep looking up at Sam’s face. He looks even more hulking from down here, miles and miles of long, lean limbs, making you feel tiny. Since you no longer need to hold on to him, your hands go to his opened fly, one diving in and taking him out.

You can’t help the moan that leaves you at the sight of him, thick and quickly hardening. Since you don’t have the self-control Sam has, you lean forward immediately, lips wrapping around his head, gently suckling.

A long, deep groan leaves him, making your eyelids flutter. Two things you were more than happy to learn about Sam once you started hooking up: he’s well-endowed, fitting his large frame, and he’s vocal.

Popping your lips off him, you stick out your tongue, begin running it along Sam’s length, the soft skin of him kissing your cheek and lips, spreading your saliva over your chin. His hand wanders to the base of your neck, long fingers tangling in your hair there and gripping it hard, whether to encourage you or control your onslaught impossible to say.

You go back to the head of his cock, suck it into your mouth as you hollow out your cheeks, before taking in more of him. Sam grunts again, his hips slightly rocking forward before he controls himself.

“Touch yourself,” he breathes out and it takes a moment for the words to seep into your cockdrunk head. Your eyes open, just for a moment, and then your hand drops between your legs and you begin petting yourself.

You’re careful with how sensitive you are, your thighs slightly twitching. You’re uncoordinated, blind with lust, can’t settle on a rhythm, on a spot. Your middle and ring finger dip into you, their entry easy with how wet you are, but they feel all wrong, they’re not bringing you any relief, only more need, more want.

The sound you make around Sam’s cock must betray your frustration, because with his grip in your hair, he pulls you back, tilting your head so you look at him. There’s spit all over your mouth and your eyes must be misty as you open them, your chest rising and falling quickly. Sam’s raised eyebrows ask a question without words.

“Can’t reach where you reach,” you press out, unable to form a full sentence. “Doesn’t feel as good as you.”

Sam’s upper lip pulls up and then suddenly the hand at the back of your neck is gone, only for it to wrap around your upper arm like a vise.

Sam pulls you to your feet and then forward, and you nearly go tumbling with your needy lack of coordination. But he’s there to hold you up, and when you see where he is dragging you, renewed arousal makes your knees buckle.

Your front meets the altar at the head of the church, not too hard, but hard enough that your hands go out to steady yourself. Not that you could go anywhere, not with how close Sam crowds in behind you. One of his hands flies to your front, under your breasts, running over the fabric of your dress, blindly searching but only touching, only taking you in, while his other pulls up your dress again.

“You need my help to go deep?” he pants and you nod, before Sam’s other hand pushes against your back, making you lean forward until your cheek meets the surface of the altar, cold marble burning against your hot skin. “Need me to show you the depth of His love? Of mine? Hold up your dress.”

Your hands go to your hip, bunching up your dress and how exposed it makes you to Sam sends an intense shudder through you. His hand wanders higher, to rest between your shoulder blades, keeping you down and in place where you belong, while his other moves behind you.

It’s his finger that enters you, though, not his cock, and despite that being a significant improvement, you still mewl in disappointment.

“No, need more,” you moan, your voice cracked and broken. “Need your cock, Father, please.”

Sam huffs as he slightly twists his finger inside you, making you feel how deep his long digit is going as he explores your inner walls.

“Don’t be greedy,” Sam answers, his finger only blurring the edges of your need. “You’ll get what I give you.”

You flex your fists, bite your lip, then clench your pussy in the hope of feeling more of him, but Sam is taking his time, until he finally pulls his finger most of the way out of you, and pushes in again with two.

You turn your head, your forehead pressed against the surface below you, as a long drawn-out moan leaves you. The urge to rock your hips back is overwhelming, but you’re too worried that Sam will take the game to the next level, will withdraw to teach you a lesson. Still, it’s almost impossible not to.

“You need to be opened up,” you hear his low voice, the sound of it making you feel like a feral animal. “Be a receptacle for the Lord.”

You have something brewing in your brain and on your tongue about what you’d much rather be a receptacle for, when suddenly you hear voices.

Your eyes fly open and Sam’s fingers stop moving. You’re pretty sure the voices are coming from the vestibule, the door luckily closed. The volume of the voices remains the same and it sounds like they’ve stopped outside, but still. They could walk in any minute.

Sam pulls his fingers from you, and you’re getting ready to push down your dress, mentally already flattening your hair, calming your breathing, even though you know there is no way someone could walk in now and not know what you have been doing. But that’s not what happens.

You feel the pressure of it against your entrance, and for a second, you are struck dumb by what is happening, and then Sam’s cockhead penetrates your folds, slipping into you and you know.

The sound that leaves you is accidental and animalistic, the surprise and stretch making you feel like you’re losing your mind. One hand lets go of your dress and shoots forward until your hand is resting just below you, and you lean down, sink your teeth into the skin on the back of your hand to stop any other sounds from leaving you.

It’s a good thing, because Sam presses deeper, your whimpers muffled against your flesh, eyes squeezed shut. He’s breathing hard, but low, his fingertips squeezing you where he’s holding on to you.

“Can you be quiet?” he half whispers and you’re honestly not sure you can. But the alternative is having him pull out, and that is not an option, so you quickly nod. Sam must see your head move because he presses deeper.

The voices are still there but either retreating or just difficult to hear with the sound of blood rushing in your ears. You can feel Sam disappearing into you, know that the sight of it is like a magic trick being performed, how much of him fits inside of you. It’s why you love being able to see how he fucks you. But right now, you can only feel.

Sam bottoms out, his pelvis pressing against your ass as if he’s hoping to bury even more of himself inside of you, but there's no room, no more room anywhere in you with how absolutely he fills you. You concentrate on your breathing, in through your nose, out through your mouth, but already you can feel your own desperate clenching around him, your body looking for friction, release, anything.

And then Sam pulls out and you can’t help but arch your back, needing to feel as much of him as possible. The pull in your back muscles is almost painful, but it’s a wonderful accoutrement to the drag of Sam’s cock. He pushes in again before he’s fully left you.

Your clit is screaming for attention, your body is screaming to come and you want nothing more than to grab all parts of Sam, inhale him, suck on his skin, but all you can do is lie there and take what he is giving you. His thickness rubs along your most sensitive spots, begging for more stimulation, but you get what you get.

Sam pulls out and pushes in a few more times, and then you’re finally sure the voices are retreating. Your body relaxes somewhat and Sam lets out a long, tense breath. His hand on your back finds your shoulder, squeezes it.

“Oh God,” you whimper, finally daring to make a sound again and his hand moves again, wraps around your face, fingers pressed against your lips.

“Never heard that thing about using the Lord’s name in vain?” he asks, voice shaking a little, but you can barely hear him, instead press your tongue against his fingers, then suck two of them into your mouth. Sam groans roughly, his next push into you harder, less controlled.

“Fuck,” he grunts and then pulls his fingers from your mouth and his cock from your pussy. You whine, but only until his hands grab your hips, turn you around.

He is a sight to behold, when you turn around and face him. He looks like the Almighty himself, wrathful and powerful and beautiful. He leans his head down, presses his forehead against yours and you press back, desperate to touch him.

“Need to taste you,” he says, and you moan at his words. “And then I need to really fuck you.”

With that, he leans down a little, his arms going around your waist, yours around his shoulders, and then Sam lifts you up onto the altar. He pushes you back, bullies you into position until you are lying down. Roughly hoists up your dress again.

This time there is no preamble, no playing around. Sam goes for your clit, sucks it into his mouth and your body bucks up at the sudden assault, loud whimpers bursting from your mouth. He lets go of your clit, then drags his tongue along your entrance, swirling as if he’s tasting ambrosia, before running it up and going for your clit again. He must be tasting so much of you, plus his own pre-come, and momentarily you’re jealous that he gets to savor the cocktail of both of your essences mixed, and you don’t.

You want to grab his head, press him against you, but you remember his words from earlier. Keep your hands by your side. Maybe he still wants you to do the same. So instead, you extend your arms to both sides, hoping that keeping your hands as far away from him as possible will do the trick.

You raise your legs though, and Sam uses his big hands to press them up against your torso, slings his arms over them to keep you in place. The last glimpse of him that you see is him staring down at your pussy, his own lips parted, heavily panting.

Sam dives in, licking and sucking and even nipping at you when he can’t control himself. He’s pressing his face so hard against you you’d be worried how he’s still breathing, if you had a single coherent thought left in your brain. You feel his thick nose crush against you, the press of it making the muscles in your stomach contract.

You can only lie there, eyes closed, lips parted, needy, desperate and pathetic noises leaving you. A high whimper when Sam sucks on your clit hard, making your lower body buck, half to meet him, half to get away from him, but Sam keeps you in place. There’s no way for you to move.

You feel your orgasm approaching rapidly and for a moment, you let your eyes flutter open, the darkness of your eyelids making you feel almost too much. You look up, at the vaulted ceiling, the rich, gold decorations and then, as you press your head back, your shoulders twisting up, pushing yourself down to feel more of Sam, your body making the choice for you, you see Him.

His arms are stretched away from his body in a mirror position of you. Long, dark hair, on his head and shorter on his face, a lean but muscular body. His face filled with such deep longing. Just like yours must be.

You burst into your orgasm, fingers desperately trying to hold on to something, body bucking up as Sam keeps tongue-fucking you roughly, and you are filled with so much light and heat you think you’re about to implode. Your cries are high and loud. Someone walking in wouldn’t know if you’re in pain or ecstasy.

As your body stops its shaking Sam gives your clit another quick suck, making you gasp and flinch. He lets go of you and you drop your legs, then close them, roll onto your side. You’re painting and shivering.

You feel Sam’s hand low on your spine and you turn your head when you feel him lean over you, meet his lips. His kisses are frenzied and you can taste the sweet tang of your pussy on his lips and tongue.

You shuffle, bring one leg under him and then to his other side, Sam now between your thighs and his lips twitch, a sinful smile on them, before he grabs your hips and with one hard tug pulls you closer to the edge of the altar, closer to him. He straightens a little, positions himself to penetrate you again and you raise yourself on your elbows, chase his jaw with your lips.

“Make me good, Father,” you pant, licking at him, only getting the dimple in his chin. “Fuck your goodness into me.”

Sam pushes one of your legs open, then looks at your face as he presses his cock into you. Your eyelids flutter as you’re tossed between the shores of feeling too much and already feeling like you could come again. He leans over you, his hair falling into his face, and sinks home.

You kiss him again as Sam starts fucking you, deep, intense thrusts that immediately respark the flames of your arousal. One of the straps of your dress has fallen off your shoulder, and Sam hooks his finger into the fabric, pulls it down, revealing your breast to him. You move your leg higher on his side and in response, Sam hooks it over his elbow. He drops his head, finds your nipple and runs his tongue over it, then sucks it into his mouth and gives it a gentle bite. You moan loudly, grab his biceps to have something to hold on to as Sam begins snapping his hips against you.

The stretch of Sam’s thick cock is rooting you perfectly in the moment, your body rejoicing at the intense intrusion. He’s breathing hard now, low grunts leaving him as your pussy drags pleasure from him, your lips meet his cheek and lips, your fingernails dig into his arms. He’s got you under him, strung like a taut wire, but it’s his groans that are becoming more intense, more uncontrolled.

“You want me to make you full?” he asks, voice deep and cracked, so raw you feel it in the tips of your fingers and down to your toes. “Make you full of His love?”

“Yes,” you moan. “Make me so full, so full it runs out over your big cock.” Sam groans, picks up his speed.

“Come with me,” he pants. “I want you to.” You’re pretty sure you nod, but you can’t be fully certain. What you do know is that you bring one hand away from Sam’s arm to between your legs, to where Sam is opening you up so perfectly. It’s all wet and warm there, and you begin petting yourself.

“You’re gonna come on my cock?” he asks, his voice becoming strained.

“Yes,” you breathe, barely able to make any sounds anymore.

“You’re gonna let me ruin you?” he asks, interrupts himself with a loud moan.

"Yes," you gasp, your orgasm within reach, so close you can taste.

“Gonna let me make you a sinner?” Sam asks, voice raw and forced.

You open your mouth to answer, but it’s too late - the feeling too intense, too overwhelming, as a high whine leaves you to accompany your second orgasm.

Sam grunts loudly, maybe at how tightly you’re squeezing him, how eagerly your walls are pressing against him, trying to keep him there, sucking him in, and in the next second, just as you barely manage to open your eyes, he comes too.

His shoulders are heaving, his eyes squeezed shut, the most sinful, perfect moans leaving him. He presses his open mouth against your jaw as he keeps grinding into you to fuck his come deeper into you.

Sam goes slack over you, his big body untensing, his broad chest expanding against you on every breath. His face is still pressed against your neck and you run your hands from his arms to his back, stroking him, just needing to keep touching him.

You both lie there as your breathing slows and ultimately syncs, as you both come back to yourselves and each other.

“What the fuck? ” he mumbles against you, sounding very much like himself again. All you can reply with is a fucked-out chuckle.

“I think I skipped Sunday school when we covered this part,” you say, your fingers running into his hair, twirling one strand between your fingers. “I only remember the part about the good Samaritan.” And Sam doesn’t react, just keeps breathing delicious warm breath against you, so you poke his shoulder.

“Get it?” you say. “Sam-aritan?”

Sam’s shoulders begin shaking, and then he presses himself up, the breath and the press of his nose against you disappearing, but at least you’re rewarded with seeing his face. He looks down at you, expression amused and critical at the same time. The way you know him.

“You just got me to fuck you in a church,” he deadpans, “and now you’re making bible puns?” You shrug.

“I contain multitudes,” you reply. Sam raises his eyebrows.

“That’s Walt Whitman,” he corrects you. You press your lips together.

“It’s a good think you’re handsome and fuck like a god,” you reply, “because you’re a goddamn smartass.” Sam chuckles, making your heart bloom with warmth, and then he pushes himself up.

"Language," he says, but there's little authority in it now.

Once he’s standing, he slowly pulls himself out of you before helping you sit up. He wraps one arm around you to help you drop off the altar, and you can’t resist getting both your hands on him to steady yourself. And as if you’re not swooning enough already, Sam’s hand goes up, runs over your hair where it must be messy from how hard he fucked you.

You both flinch when you hear the creak of the door and then you turn, and there’s Mrs. and Mr. Johnson walking in. You drop your hands off Sam quickly, forcing a polite smile, while Sam clears his throat, crosses his hands in front of his body.

There’s a short moment where the four of you just stare at each other, no one saying anything. You blink repeatedly and hope no one notices your shifting around when you suddenly feel Sam’s come begin to run out of you.

“There’s a…” Mrs. Johnson starts, pointing over her shoulder at the door leading to the outside. “We were… looking for you…” You nod, widen your smile.

“Father and I were just…” you start and then you realize you have no idea where you meant for that sentence to go.

“Praying,” Sam quickly adds. “We were praying.”

“How… nice,” Mrs. Johnson says, and her husband nods along.

“But now we’re gonna go outside,” you say, and then you quickly cross the distance to the bench where you left your things, strategically holding the cardigan in front of you. Sam is right behind you, throwing the older couple another friendly smile. The two just continue staring.

Sam presses his hand against the small of your back to get you moving, and then you’re both hustling it out of the church. However you can’t stop yourself from grabbing his hand once you’re out of sight, just as you’re about to walk out of the church into the sunlight.

You squeeze Sam’s hand and he squeezes back, and when you look up at him, you see his dimpled grin, barely contained.

Maybe you should consider going to confession this week, you think, as you try to hide your own grin.

#supernatural #spn #spn fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x you #priest!sam #sorry's fics

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the-winter-spider · 6 months ago

Text

Mine | One Shot

Parings: Bucky x Reader AU

Word count: 10k+

Warnings: Probably the fluffiest thing ive ever written, of course angst.

A/N: Yall this AU bucky branch ive extended has been life changing for me lmaoooo

The first time you meet Bucky Barnes, he’s already looking at you, a soft, open look in his eyes that sends a jolt through you. You’ve just started a new job in town and ended up here at a cozy, dimly lit bar one night after work. You sit down a few stools away, glancing over at him—he’s warm, approachable, not exactly the type you’d expect to find sitting alone.

You look away quickly, heart suddenly racing, though you’re not sure why. He’s a stranger, just someone you’ll see tonight and probably never again, but something about him feels safe in a way you haven’t felt in years.

A few minutes later, he moves closer, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Rough day?” he asks, voice gentle, as if he’s been waiting for you to say something first.

You nod, a little surprised by both his forwardness and the kindness in his tone. You’re used to handling things on your own, keeping walls up that no one’s ever bothered to climb. But something about Bucky makes you want to drop your guard, if only for a moment.

You offer Bucky a small smile, feeling strangely at ease under his gaze. “Yeah, you could say that,” you reply, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s been… a long week. Just finished my first week at a new job, and I’m still finding my footing. Everything’s just a bit overwhelming, you know?”

Bucky nods, understanding flashing in his eyes. “New job, new town?” he asks, his tone inviting, like he genuinely wants to know, not just make conversation.

You nod, surprised at how easy it feels to open up. “Yeah, both, actually. I just moved here, so it’s been a lot of… adjustment.”

He tilts his head, his expression warm and reassuring. “That’s a lot to take on. I remember when I first moved here… let’s just say it wasn’t exactly a smooth transition.” He chuckles softly, the sound low and comforting, and you can’t help but smile.

“Really?” you ask, curious despite yourself. “What brought you here?”

His gaze softens as he considers the question, as though he’s debating just how much to share. “Needed a fresh start,” he says simply, a hint of something unspoken in his eyes. “Figured this was a good place to do that.”

You feel a pang of recognition—you understand that need to start over, to build something new. “I get that,” you murmur. “Sometimes… sometimes you just need a change to get things back on track.”

“Exactly,” he replies, his eyes brightening as he leans a little closer. “Sounds like we might have a bit in common, then.”

There’s a brief silence, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s like the two of you are sharing something without needing to say it outright. You feel your usual guardedness slipping, replaced by a warmth that’s both thrilling and unsettling. It’s strange—he’s still a stranger, and yet he feels familiar, like someone you could trust, someone who understands.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asks, his voice gentle, his gaze steady. “Just to celebrate surviving the first week. It’s no small thing.”

You smile, nodding as a rush of gratitude fills you. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Bucky signals to the bartender, ordering two drinks and settling back beside you, his posture relaxed. Bucky leans in, a warm smile lighting up his face as he listens, his full attention on you. It’s like he’s hanging on every word, nodding and chuckling at all the right moments, his eyes crinkling at the corners every time you say something that amuses him.

“So, then,” you continue, trying to hold back a laugh as you recall the memory, “I walked into what I thought was the meeting room, you know, just trying to make a good first impression… only to realize it was the break room. And everyone just kind of stared at me like I was some intruder there to steal their coffee.”

Bucky lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head. “Oh no! And you didn’t just play it cool?”

You grin, rolling your eyes. “Nope, not at all. I panicked and mumbled something about being ‘lost’—in the most literal sense. And then, to top it off, I nearly backed into a coffee machine trying to escape!"

He laughs harder, the sound warm and genuine, filling the space between you. “I think that’s endearing,” he says, his tone sincere. “Bet they thought you were charming.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say sarcastically, unable to hide your smile. “If by ‘charming’ you mean they think I’m the odd one in the office now, then yeah, absolutely. As if being the 'new girl' wasnt enough"

He smirks, leaning his chin on his hand as he watches you, that mischievous glint still in his eyes. “Hey, at least you’re memorable. It’s not every day people meet someone with personality.”

You laugh, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, so I have ‘personality’ now?”

“Definitely,” he teases, taking a sip of his drink. “You’re… different. In a good way.” His gaze softens, and for a moment, you see something more serious flicker in his eyes, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

Trying to ignore the fluttering feeling in your chest, you shake your head, focusing on lightening the mood. “So,” you say, grinning, “what about you? Any embarrassing first-day stories?”

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, way too many,” he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “When I started at my last job, they had this big company lunch. I was so nervous that I accidentally grabbed the CEO’s sandwich off his plate, thinking it was from the catering table.”

Your jaw drops. “No! What did you do?”

He laughs, shaking his head at the memory. “Honestly? I didn’t even realize until I’d taken the first bite. The CEO looked at me, just stunned, and I kind of just froze, sandwich halfway to my mouth. I thought for sure I was going to get fired on the spot.”

You’re laughing so hard you nearly spill your drink. “So, did he say anything?”

“Oh, he said plenty,” Bucky says, chuckling along with you. “But, somehow, he found it funny. Or maybe he just took pity on me, who knows? Either way, I survived, but I don’t think I’ll ever live it down.”

You both sit there, laughter fading into comfortable silence as you sip your drinks, sharing those lighthearted moments and embarrassing stories that somehow make you feel closer. After a few beats, he glances at you, his expression softening.

“It’s nice, you know… hearing all this,” he says quietly. “Feels like I’m getting to know the real you.”

Your cheeks flush, but his words make you feel seen in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying. “Yeah… I think maybe you are,” you say softly.

His gaze holds yours, an unspoken understanding passing between you. And as you sit together, in the dim light of the bar with laughter still lingering in the air, you realize that this—this feeling of being understood, of being truly known—is something you didn’t even know you were missing. And with Bucky, it feels like you’re finally finding it.

By the time you’re finishing your second drink, you’re feeling lighter, the weight of the past week fading away, replaced by a warmth that seems to linger between you and Bucky.

“Well,” he says after a moment, glancing at his watch but making no move to leave. “Thank you for letting me share your first-week celebration. I don’t know about you, but I’d say this is the best part of any first week—meeting someone you didn’t expect to.”

You blush, looking down with a shy smile. “Yeah… me too.”

A comfortable silence settles between you, and in the back of your mind, you realize you’re hoping this won’t be the last time you see him. Maybe he feels the same way, because as you gather your things to leave, he clears his throat, a hint of nervousness flickering in his eyes.

“So, listen… if you ever want some company after work or need someone to talk to about the craziness of starting over, I’d be happy to be that person,” he says, his voice soft, a little uncertain.

Your heart skips a beat, and you smile, feeling that warmth spread through you again. “I’d like that, Bucky. I’d really like that.”

With one last shared smile, you both exchange numbers, a quiet promise lingering in the air that this, whatever it is, isn’t just a fleeting moment.

“You know,” he says, after a quiet moment, “if you’re free tomorrow, i can show you the best place for coffee in the morning.”

For reasons you can’t explain, you say yes. And it’s the first of many yeses you’ll say to him, even if you can’t shake the feeling that opening up to someone can only lead to getting hurt.

The next morning, you meet Bucky outside a quaint little café, the kind with mismatched chairs and hanging plants that give it a cozy, lived-in feel. Sunlight spills across the sidewalk, and there’s a crispness in the air that makes everything feel brighter, more hopeful.

You both order coffee and pastries and find a table outside. As you settle in, he looks over at you with that same soft, open smile that feels like a balm to your heart. You’re not sure if it’s the warmth of the coffee or his presence, but somehow you feel yourself letting go, leaning into the morning with him as if it’s a part of something bigger.

“So, did you always know you wanted to be here?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving yours.

You shake your head with a little laugh. “Not exactly. Moving here was… spontaneous. I just needed a change, I guess. I don’t know if it’s where I want to end up, but it feels like a good place to be, at least for now.”

He nods thoughtfully, a smile tugging at his lips. “I get that. Change is… good sometimes. Scary, but good.”

There’s a brief silence before you turn the question back on him. “What about you? Have you always been here?”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “No, I bounced around a lot before I landed here. I’m from Brooklyn, actually. Grew up in a small apartment with my mom and sister, Rebecca. It wasn’t much, but it was home.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting, and you can see a fondness there, mingled with nostalgia. “My sister used to make me these ridiculous lunches for school. You know those sandwiches where it’s way too much peanut butter, like it’d practically glue your mouth shut?”

You laugh, picturing a young Bucky struggling with a lopsided sandwich. “So what, she was trying to get you to stop talking?”

“Maybe! It probably worked a few times,” he says with a grin. “She was older than me, and she loved teasing me. But she’d also defend me to the ends of the earth if I needed it. She was tough but loyal—still is. We used to spend summers playing stickball in the streets or riding our bikes down to the pier until the sun set. Those were good days.”

You find yourself smiling, caught up in the warmth of his stories. There’s something about the way he talks about his sister and his childhood that feels so genuine, so open, and it makes you feel safe somehow, like you could share parts of yourself that you usually keep hidden.

“Sounds like you were close,” you say softly.

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding. “We still are, even though we don’t see each other as much these days. But you know how it is. Life gets busy, people drift….” He trails off, looking a little pensive, but then he catches your gaze and offers a reassuring smile. “But we still check in. She likes to give me a hard time about how I’ve ‘softened up’ over the years.”

“Oh, so you used to be a real troublemaker, huh?” you tease, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe a little,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But only in the fun ways. My friends and I—especially my best friend, Steve—always found ways to keep things interesting. Steve was the wild one, though, always dragging me into things. He’d get these ideas—like, one summer, he convinced me we could make a raft and take it out on the East River.”

“Wait, you didn’t actually try that, did you?” you ask, laughing as you imagine two boys clinging to a makeshift raft.

“Oh, we tried,” Bucky says, shaking his head with a chuckle. “It was a disaster. We were out there for maybe ten minutes before the whole thing started falling apart, and we ended up soaking wet, half-drowning, while everyone on the shore was just watching and laughing. My mom nearly had a heart attack when she found out.”

You laugh, clutching your coffee cup as you picture the scene. “So, I guess you didn’t end up the next great explorers of Brooklyn?”

“Nope, that dream died real fast,” he says, grinning. “But that was Steve for you—big dreams, no plans. I think that’s why we were close, though. He’d always push me to do things I wouldn’t even think about trying. He’d challenge me in ways that I didn’t know I needed. Kind of made me who I am today.”

You see a glimmer of nostalgia and perhaps a little sadness in his eyes as he talks about Steve, and you wonder if they’re still close. But before you can ask, he leans forward, his expression softening as he looks at you.

“So, how about you?” he asks, changing the subject. “Any siblings?”

You nod, taking a small sip of your coffee. “Yeah, an older brother. We were close growing up, but life kind of… pulled us in different directions. He was the one who kept me out of trouble, actually. He fled home as soon as he was old enough” You chuckle sadly “Always thought he was the responsible one, and I was the daydreamer. Guess some things never change.”

Bucky’s eyes light up, as if he’s seeing a new side of you. “Daydreamer, huh? What kind of dreams?”

The question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to answer. But then you feel that familiar warmth between you, the kind that feels safe, inviting you to share a little more of yourself.

“Honestly, I don’t know anymore,” you admit softly. “I guess that’s part of why I moved here. Trying to figure it out, trying to find something that feels… real.”

He nods, his gaze understanding, as if he sees right through you in a way that’s both comforting and a little terrifying. “Well, I think that’s brave,” he says quietly. “Taking a leap, starting fresh… not everyone has the guts to do that.”

The way he says it, so genuine and reassuring, makes you feel like maybe you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be, like maybe the path isn’t as uncertain as it once felt.

The conversation drifts into comfortable silence, and you both take a moment to sip your coffee and enjoy the warmth of the sun. After a while, he leans back, his expression thoughtful as he looks over at you.

“You know, meeting someone like you… it’s kind of a rare thing,” he says, his voice soft but full of a sincerity that takes you by surprise. “I don’t know how to explain it, but it feels… right.”

His words settle into your heart, and you feel a warmth spreading through you, a connection that feels deeper than anything you expected to find in a new town, with a man you’ve only just met. And in that moment, with the sunlight catching in his eyes, you feel a quiet certainty that this—whatever this is—might be the beginning of something real.

Over the next few weeks, life begins to settle into a new rhythm. Days are marked by coffee dates that turn into long walks down the quiet streets, and those walks stretch into late-night conversations on park benches under streetlights. Bucky has quickly become your favorite part of the day, and even though neither of you has spoken about how you feel, there’s a growing closeness—a feeling of inevitability that’s hard to ignore.

One night, after a cozy dinner together, you find yourselves lingering on a quiet bench, watching the lights of the city reflected on the river. The silence between you is easy, comfortable, but there’s an unspoken tension there, too—something that hovers in the space between words, in the quiet glances you both share.

Bucky looks over at you, a warm smile playing at his lips. “I can’t believe it’s only been a few weeks,” he says, his voice soft. “Feels like I’ve known you… longer.”

You nod, feeling your heart race at the sincerity in his eyes. “I know what you mean,” you murmur, glancing down to hide your own smile. “I don’t usually… open up to people like this. But with you, it just feels easy.”

He grins, a mischievous glint sparking in his eyes. “So you’re saying I’m easy to talk to?”

You laugh, nudging him with your shoulder. “Don’t get too cocky, Barnes. I’m just saying you have… potential.”

“Oh, potential, huh?” he teases, giving you a mock-hurt look. “Wow. Just when I thought I was doing well.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling a lightness you hadn’t felt in a long time. Somehow, Bucky has a way of making you feel like yourself, like you don’t have to be anything other than exactly who you are.

As the night deepens, you both head home, reluctantly parting with lingering glances and unspoken words hanging in the air. But when you finally get home, your phone lights up with a text, and you feel a thrill run through you as you see Bucky’s name.

Bucky: So, I’m not getting cocky, but… any chance I passed the “potential” test?

You laugh, typing out a reply.

You: I’d say you’re doing okay… so far.

Almost immediately, he texts back.

Bucky: Just okay? You’re killing me here. I might have to try harder.

You: I think I can handle that.

There’s a pause, and you watch as the typing bubble pops up again, wondering what he’ll say next.

Bucky: Just so we’re clear, I’m pretty sure you’re the highlight of my day. Don’t tell anyone—I’ve got a reputation to maintain.

You feel your cheeks warm, smiling at your phone. It’s strange how quickly he’s managed to find his way into your heart, and even stranger how natural it feels to be talking to him like this.

You: Highlight of your day, huh? That’s some big talk, Barnes.

Bucky: It’s not just talk, sweet girl....I mean it.

You pause, taking in the sincerity of his words. For a second, you wonder if he can feel the same pull you do, the same feeling that this could be something real.

You: Guess I’ll see what you come up with next time.

Bucky: Oh, so now I’m being challenged? I’ll have to think of something special.

You: Good luck with that, I’m a tough critic.

Bucky: Challenge accepted, darling.

His use of the word “darling” sends a thrill through you, and you feel yourself blush, biting your lip as you smile at the screen. The lighthearted back-and-forth carries on into the night, each text feeling like another step closer to something you’re both tiptoeing around, something you’re both afraid to fully acknowledge yet.

And as you finally say goodnight, you feel a contented warmth settle over you, the kind that promises there’s something real here, something waiting to unfold. But for now, the unspoken words, the quiet glances, and the sweet, flirty texts are more than enough, leaving you falling asleep with a smile on your face.

One night, you’re both walking through a nearby park, the cool evening air wrapping around you. It’s late enough that the world feels almost empty, like the two of you are the only ones who know this quiet part of the city. You’re talking about your favorite childhood movies, laughing over memories, and you feel a lightness in you, a happiness that’s been dormant for so long you’d nearly forgotten it was there.

“So you’re telling me,” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow as he glances over at you, “that you actually dressed up as an elf for three Halloweens in a row because of Lord of the Rings?”

You laugh, feeling your cheeks flush. “Yes! I was obsessed. It was all I wanted to do for years. I think I had pointy ears stashed in every drawer.”

Bucky grins, his eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe I missed out on that... bet you made a cute elf.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes, trying to stifle a laugh. “It was… an intense phase. I still cringe a little thinking about it.”

“I don’t know,” he says, nudging you playfully. “I think it sounds perfect. I used to dress up as a knight when I was a kid. One time, I even convinced Steve to be the dragon.”

You laugh, picturing a younger version of him, full of life and laughter. “Please tell me there’s photographic evidence of that.”

“There might be,” he teases, smirking. “But I think you’re going to have to stick around a little longer before I start sharing the embarrassing childhood photos.”

Something in his tone, playful yet sincere, makes your heart skip a beat. You realize how much you look forward to these moments, how he’s become a part of your life in a way you never saw coming. There’s a softness about him that pulls you in, a kindness that makes you feel safe, and the thought of seeing where this goes fills you with a quiet excitement.

You walk a bit further, the silence between you comfortable, and he glances over, a question lingering in his eyes. “So,” he starts, a little hesitant. “Are you… happy here? I mean, you said you needed a change. Do you feel like this is it?”

You think about his question, about how you arrived here hoping to find a fresh start, not knowing if it would ever feel like home. But now, as you stand beside him, there’s a sense of belonging that surprises you.

“Honestly?” you say, your voice soft. “I think I am. It’s strange, but being here… it’s like I can breathe again. Like maybe I can finally be myself, without all the expectations I left behind.”

Bucky nods, his expression thoughtful, and he stops walking for a moment, turning to face you. “I’m glad,” he says quietly, his gaze holding yours. “You deserve that. You deserve… to feel free.”

His words sink into you, and for a moment, all you can do is look at him, taking in the gentleness in his eyes, the warmth in his smile. It’s almost too much—the idea that someone could see you this clearly, understand you so deeply.

“Thank you,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

He reaches out, brushing his fingers against yours in a simple, tender gesture. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs, his voice low. “I’m just glad I get to know you.”

There’s a vulnerability in his words that catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re both standing there, the world around you quiet and still. You want to say something, to let him know how much he’s come to mean to you, how his presence feels like a light that’s brought you back to yourself. But the words catch in your throat, so instead, you simply squeeze his hand, letting the warmth of his touch speak for you.

----

Another evening, you’re both sitting on a small bench at the edge of the park, looking up at the stars. Bucky has his arm around you, pulling you close against the chill of the night, and you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling a peace you haven’t felt in years.

“Do you ever think about the future?” he asks suddenly, his voice soft, as though he’s been thinking about the question for a while.

You’re quiet for a moment, surprised by the question. You used to avoid thinking about the future, unsure of where you fit in, always second-guessing yourself. But now, with him, the idea of the future doesn’t feel as daunting.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “I do. But it’s different now. I guess… I’m not so afraid of it anymore.”

He nods, a small smile on his face. “I’m glad,” he says, his voice filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. He hesitates, glancing over at you. “I know we’re just… starting this, whatever it is, but I hope you know that I’m here, for all of it. I don’t… plan on going anywhere.”

The sincerity in his words makes you catch your breath, and you feel that familiar warmth rising in your chest, a mixture of gratitude and something deeper. You don’t say anything, instead reaching up to brush a gentle hand against his cheek, letting him know that you feel the same, even if the words are still forming in your heart.

As the night deepens, you sit there in a comfortable silence, his arm around you, his steady presence grounding you. And as you look up at the stars, you realize that for the first time in a long time, you’re not afraid of what lies ahead.

But yet, every time he leans a little closer, touches your hand, or tells you something vulnerable, you can’t help but feel that old anxiety creeping in, telling you to be careful. It’s as if you’re back to being a kid, watching your parents’ marriage shatter right in front of you. You’ve told yourself for years that love can’t be trusted, that letting people in only leads to pain.

---

One evening, when you’re sitting beside him at your favorite spot near the river, he reaches over, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re safe with me, you know?” he says softly, sensing the hesitation in your gaze.

The words linger in the air, and you look down, feeling your defenses rise again. “I don’t think you understand,” you murmur. “People leave. Or worse, they hurt you without even meaning to.”

Bucky takes your hand, holding it gently, grounding you. “I know,” he says quietly. “But maybe… maybe you don’t have to do this alone anymore.”

The river flows quietly beside you both, the soft murmur of water filling the silence between you. Bucky’s hand is still gently wrapped around yours, grounding you with a warmth that feels both comforting and unfamiliar. Part of you wants to pull away, to shield yourself from the vulnerability you feel creeping in, but there’s something about him that makes you feel safe, even when the memories are so raw.

You take a shaky breath, finally letting your eyes meet his. “My parents… they didn’t have the kind of love that you read about, or see in movies. It was messy and… destructive. They fought constantly—screaming, blaming each other for everything wrong in their lives. Growing up, I thought that was just how it was supposed to be. That love was meant to hurt.”

Bucky listens intently, his expression softening as you continue, no hint of judgment in his gaze. He’s just… there, holding space for you in a way that makes you feel seen, like you don’t have to hide.

You swallow, feeling the ache of those memories resurface. “I used to tell myself that when I grew up, I’d find someone who was different. Someone who wouldn’t treat me like my father treated my mother.” Your voice drops, barely a whisper now. “But when I left home, I fell for someone who was just like him. He was… careless, selfish. I gave everything I had because I thought that was what love was. And he hurt me, Bucky, over and over, but I convinced myself it was my fault, that if I just tried harder, he’d change.”

Bucky’s grip on your hand tightens, his gaze filled with a fierce protectiveness that you didn’t expect. You can see his jaw clench, as though he’s holding back words he wants to say, but he lets you continue, giving you the space you need.

“When he finally left,” you continue, your voice breaking slightly, “I felt… empty. Like I’d failed. Everyone always leaves, and somehow, I believed it was because of something I did or something I wasn’t. For a long time, I thought I didn’t deserve anything better.”

You feel a tear slip down your cheek, and before you can brush it away, Bucky reaches out, gently wiping it with his thumb. His touch is so tender, so careful, that it breaks something inside you, a wall you didn’t realize you were still holding up.

“You didn’t deserve that,” he says softly, his voice full of conviction. “None of it. And it wasn’t your fault.”

You try to look away, the old shame rising up, but he places a gentle hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Look at me.”

You meet his gaze, and the kindness there is almost too much to bear.

“I don’t care what your past looked like,” he says, his voice steady and certain. “None of that changes how I feel about you. You are worth more than any of the pain you’ve been through. You deserve love that feels safe, that feels steady. You deserve someone who chooses you, every single day, this is worth the risk to me, you're worth it to me"

The words sink into you, healing in a way you never thought possible. His hand rests on your cheek, grounding you, and for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be right. That maybe love doesn’t have to hurt.

Bucky leans in, his forehead resting gently against yours, his voice a soft promise. “I’m not going anywhere. I know it’s hard to believe, and I know trust doesn’t come easy. But I want to be here for you. Every single day.”

Your eyes close, and you feel his warmth surrounding you, filling the empty spaces you’ve carried for so long. He stays close, his presence steady and unyielding, like a lifeline you didn’t know you needed.

When you finally find your voice, it’s soft, almost trembling. “How can you be so sure?”

He smiles, a gentle, understanding smile that melts every last piece of fear you’re holding onto. “Because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I also know that finding someone who understands, who sees you for who you really are… that’s worth everything.”

In that moment, you feel a shift inside you, a glimmer of hope where there used to be only fear. Bucky is everything you thought you’d never find—kind, patient, willing to fight for you even when you’re not sure you can fight for yourself.

You let out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down your cheek, but this time it’s not one of sadness. It’s the relief of knowing that maybe, just maybe, you’re not alone anymore.

“I don’t know if I know how to love like that,” you admit quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s hand gently trails down to your chin, lifting it so your eyes meet his. “Then we’ll learn together,” he says softly, his gaze filled with a warmth and patience that takes your breath away. “One day at a time.”

And as he pulls you into his arms, holding you close against the quiet backdrop of the river, you let yourself believe that this—this love, this kindness, this man—might just be the home you’ve been searching for all along..

You stay there together by the river, wrapped in the warmth of Bucky’s arms as the soft murmur of the water flows beside you. His steady heartbeat under your cheek is calming, and you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the safety of the moment. It’s as if time has slowed, like the world has paused just for the two of you, letting you both breathe.

After a while, he pulls back slightly, enough to look down at you, his hand still resting gently against your cheek. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability that mirrors your own, as if he’s waiting for just the right moment.

His thumb traces a soft line along your cheek, and he hesitates, as though he’s searching for the right words. Finally, he takes a deep breath, his voice low and steady, full of a tenderness that makes your heart ache.

“Will you do me the honor,” he begins, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine, “of being mine, darling?”

The question hangs in the air, his words so simple yet carrying so much weight, so much love. You feel the familiar urge to pull back, to put up your defenses, but with Bucky standing there, his gaze unwavering, you realize that you don’t want to run anymore. Not from him.

A warmth spreads through you, a quiet happiness that feels like it’s been waiting for this moment all along. You meet his gaze, feeling every ounce of his love and devotion, and you realize that, with him, you don’t have to be afraid. Not of love, not of loss—because he’s here, and he’s choosing you.

With a soft, shaky breath, you nod, a smile breaking across your face as you whisper, “Yes, Bucky. I’m yours.”

A look of pure joy lights up his face, and he pulls you close, pressing his forehead against yours as he lets out a relieved laugh, as if he’s been waiting for this moment as long as you have. His hand cups the back of your neck, and he murmurs softly, his voice full of warmth and certainty, “I'm not going anywhere ever, your stuck with me angel"

He leans in, pressing a gentle, lingering kiss to your lips, and in that moment, everything else fades away. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of each other, and you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

As he pulls you back into his arms, holding you close against the night, you know that this—this love, this connection, this man—is home. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe love doesn’t have to hurt; maybe it can be kind, steady, and true.

---

Over the next few months, Bucky weaves his way into every part of your life, becoming as familiar and comforting as home itself. He’s there for all of it—the quiet, mundane moments, the small victories, and the heavy days when the past creeps in and weighs on you. It’s as if he knows exactly when to be there, a steady presence who never asks more of you than you’re ready to give.

One day, after a long day, you find yourself curled up on the couch with him, your head resting against his shoulder. You’re both wrapped in a comfortable silence, but he can sense that something’s weighing on you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently, his fingers trailing soothingly along your arm. He doesn’t push, just leaves the door open, giving you the choice.

You hesitate for a moment, the familiar fear creeping in, but with him, it’s easier to let down your guard. You take a breath, leaning into his warmth as you begin to speak.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’ll ever stop carrying all of it with me,” you admit softly. “My parents… their anger was everywhere. They’d go from silence to shouting, always blaming each other. As a kid, I used to hide in my room, but I could still feel it, like their anger was seeping through the walls.”

Bucky’s hand stills, his fingers curling around yours, grounding you. He doesn’t interrupt, just listens, his eyes filled with a quiet empathy that makes it easier to continue.

“I used to think it was normal, that that was just… how love looked. Chaotic, painful. When I got older, I started building walls, just to keep people at a distance. It felt safer that way.”

He nods, squeezing your hand gently. “That must have been so hard,” he says quietly, his voice laced with understanding. “To grow up thinking that’s all there was to love.”

You nod, letting out a shaky breath. “I know it sounds strange, but I thought maybe I’d somehow inherited that anger, that chaos. Like… if I let anyone close, it would just repeat. That I’d end up hurting them, or they’d hurt me.”

Bucky’s gaze softens, and he shifts slightly, turning so that he’s fully facing you, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek. “You’re not them,” he whispers, his voice steady and sure. “And you don’t have to carry their mistakes.”

The kindness in his eyes, the unwavering gentleness, makes you feel like a knot is loosening in your chest. You hadn’t realized how heavy those fears had become, how deeply they’d settled into you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “For being here. For listening.”

“Always,” he says, his hand still resting against your cheek. “I’ll be here, no matter what.”

On a lighter day, Bucky’s there for your small victories, too, celebrating them as if they’re his own. You remember a Friday afternoon, when you’d finally completed a major project at work, one you’d been stressing over for weeks. You’d texted him, excited but exhausted, and by the time you got home, you found him standing in your kitchen with a bottle of champagne and a cake with “You did it!” iced onto it in wobbly, uneven letters.

“You did all this… for me?” you ask, laughing as you read the words on the cake.

“Of course,” he says, grinning as he pops the cork on the champagne. “You’ve been working so hard, and I thought you deserved a little celebration.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling the warmth of his joy for you radiate through the room. “You know, no one’s ever celebrated something like this with me before.”

“Well,” he says, pouring two glasses and handing you one, “then it’s about time someone did, and in honoured it gets to be me"

You clink glasses, and as you take a sip, you realize just how much he’s become part of your life, filling the empty spaces you’d once thought would always be there.

You sip the champagne, feeling the bubbles dance on your tongue as you look at Bucky, the warmth of the moment settling over you like a blanket. He’s watching you with that easy, genuine smile, the kind that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. You’d been working so hard, pouring everything you had into that project, and it was like he knew exactly how much you needed someone to see you, to be there, to celebrate this small victory with you.

“Really,” you say, setting down your glass and shaking your head with a laugh. “I still can’t believe you did all of this… for me. The cake, the champagne… It’s so thoughtful.”

He shrugs, but there’s a softness in his eyes. “You deserve it. I know how hard you’ve been working.” He glances at the cake, chuckling a little. “Even if the cake looks like it was made by a five-year-old.”

“It’s perfect,” you say, a laugh escaping you as you look at the uneven letters again, and he grins, that familiar glint of mischief lighting up his eyes.

Over the past few weeks, he’s taken to saying those three words to you—quietly, simply, as if he’s known them all along. It usually happens in those gentle moments, the ones that sneak up on you and make you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. The first time he’d said it, you’d felt the words catch in your throat, and he’d squeezed your hand, smiling softly.

“It’s okay,” he’d whispered. “You don’t have to say it back. I just… wanted you to know.”

And he’s been true to his word, never pressuring you, never expecting more than you’re ready to give. He says it without hesitation, as though his love for you is as natural as breathing, and each time, it feels like another piece of the armor around your heart softens. You’ve been holding those words close, letting them settle, and tonight, with him standing here in your kitchen, celebrating you, it’s like they’re finally ready to take flight.

You take a breath, setting your glass down and looking at him, really looking at him. He’s so patient, so steady, just waiting for you to be ready, and in that moment, the words slip out, simple and true.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

For a moment, he looks surprised, his eyes widening just slightly. Then a slow, radiant smile spreads across his face, and he lets out a soft, relieved laugh, like he’s been holding onto a breath he didn’t realize he’d taken.

“Yeah?” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, and there’s a gentleness in his gaze that makes your heart feel like it’s glowing.

You nod, a warmth blooming in your chest as you watch him, feeling the weight of those words sink in, wrapping around the two of you. “Yeah,” you say softly. “I love you.”

He takes a step closer, reaching out to take your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours in that familiar way that makes you feel safe, cherished. He doesn’t say anything else—he doesn’t have to. The way he looks at you, like you’re the most precious thing in his world, says it all.

You stand there together, the sound of quiet laughter and clinking glasses filling the air, and as you look into his eyes, you know this is just the beginning of something beautiful.

---

One night, over a year after that moment by the river, you’re sitting on the back porch with him, wrapped in a blanket as you watch the stars. It’s quiet, peaceful, and he has his arm around you, pulling you close as you lean into him.

“Can I ask you something?” you murmur, breaking the silence.

“Anything,” he replies, his voice soft.

“Do you ever… I don’t know… feel like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop?” you ask, the vulnerability of the question catching in your throat. “Like things are too good, and maybe it won’t last?”

He’s quiet for a moment, as if he’s considering your words, and then he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I used to,” he admits. “But then I realized that waiting for something to go wrong just robs you of all the good things you’ve got right here, right now.”

You nod, letting his words sink in. He has a way of grounding you, of making the fears that once felt so overwhelming seem smaller, more manageable.

“Look,” he says, pulling back slightly so he can look into your eyes, “I know you still have walls up baby, I know you’ve been through things I can’t even imagine. But none of that changes how I feel about you. You’re it for me sweet heart"

The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart race, and you feel that familiar warmth, that sense of safety you’ve come to cherish with him. You open your mouth to respond, but he reaches out, crashes his lips to yours, as his lips meet yours, everything else fades away. The quiet of the night, the cool breeze, the blanket wrapped around you both—none of it matters except the feel of him, warm and steady and here. His hand cradles the back of your head, gentle yet certain, as if he’s savoring this moment just as much as you are. There’s a tender urgency in the way he kisses you, a depth of feeling that words could never fully capture.

His other hand moves to your waist, pulling you even closer, and you find yourself letting go, allowing the barriers you’ve held up for so long to slip away. In his arms, every lingering fear, every shadow of doubt feels smaller, quieter. He’s the one constant you never thought you’d find, and here, beneath the blanket of stars, you feel safe enough to let him see all of you.

You run your hands along his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the solidity, as if to reassure yourself that he’s real, that he’s yours. He senses the hesitation in your touch and gently deepens the kiss, pouring his own quiet reassurance into each soft brush of his lips against yours. He’s unhurried, savoring the closeness, the warmth shared between you, as if he has all the time in the world.

When you finally pull back to catch your breath, his forehead rests against yours, his eyes soft and full of that familiar warmth that’s always steadied you. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering as he looks at you, his gaze tender and unguarded.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp. “I hope you know that.”

Your heart swells, and you can’t help but reach up, your fingers tracing his jaw, memorizing the lines of his face. “I do,” you whisper, smiling as you take in the love shining in his eyes. “And you’re everything to me, too.”

The moment is gentle, intimate, a quiet affirmation of all that you’ve come to mean to each other. As the night drifts on, you find yourselves wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging soft kisses and whispered promises, the world around you falling away until it’s just you and him, together in the safe haven you’ve created.

---

It isn’t until months later, on a quiet afternoon in your small apartment, that you realize how much he’s changed you. You’re both in the kitchen, making dinner, when he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. In that moment, feeling the solid warmth of him, something inside you finally softens, and you feel that long-buried fear of love start to melt away.

Turning around to face him, you look into his eyes, your heart pounding but steady. “You’re… you’re home,” you say softly, finally daring to voice the truth you’ve been feeling for so long.

Bucky smiles, and it’s the warmest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen. “And so are you,” he murmurs, brushing a gentle kiss across your forehead. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

As you lean into him, you feel a deep sense of peace—a peace that tells you love doesn’t have to be perfect to be real, that sometimes, it’s okay to let yourself be someone else’s. And for the first time, you let yourself believe that you can be loved without fear.

In his arms, you know that no matter where life takes you, he’ll always be there, steady as ever, reminding you every day that you’re his, and he’s yours.

The soft simmering of the pot on the stove fades into the background as you hold each other in the kitchen, wrapped in a quiet warmth that feels like it’s seeped into every corner of your life together. The room is filled with the comforting scent of herbs and spices, but all you can focus on is him—his arms around you, his steady breathing, the familiar warmth of his presence.

You look up at him, and there’s a softness in his eyes, a light you’ve come to recognize as the kind of love that expects nothing but offers everything.

“I don’t know if I tell you this enough,” he murmurs, running his fingers gently along your back. “But you… you make me feel whole. Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

His words settle over you like a balm, soothing any lingering fear you still carry. There’s a deep sincerity in his gaze, a warmth that has become your comfort, your safety. You feel your heart swell, a surge of gratitude that he’s here, that he chose you even with all the jagged edges you thought would push people away.

“Bucky,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, “I never thought I’d find this. Find… you.”

He smiles, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. “I know it wasn’t easy for you to trust me. But you’re everything I ever wanted… everything I never thought I deserved.”

You laugh softly, the sound breaking through the quiet as you realize how much he’s come to mean to you, how he’s become the constant in your life, the calm in your storms. “You deserve all of it, love....Every bit of happiness there is.”

His eyes soften, and he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, lingering as if he’s savoring the moment, as if he’s savoring you. “Then stay with me,” he whispers, his voice low and full of emotion. “For as long as we have… let’s make this our forever.”

Your heart races as his words sink in, and you feel a warmth bloom within you, a peace that you’ve only known with him. The future, once clouded by fear and doubt, now feels open, full of possibility, and you realize that with him, you’re no longer afraid of what lies ahead.

You take his hands in yours, feeling the roughness of his palms, the strength that’s always there, supporting you. “I’m not going anywhere,” you say, looking up into his eyes. “I’m yours, Bucky. Completely.”

He smiles, a look of relief mixed with pure joy lighting up his face, and he pulls you close, his arms wrapped securely around you as he holds you like he never intends to let go.

“I’ll remind you of that every day,” he murmurs against your hair, his voice a soft promise. “You’re mine. And I love you… more than I could ever put into words.”

In that quiet moment, held close in his arms, you feel it—this deep, steady love that you never believed could be yours. And you know, as long as you have him, you are finally, truly home.

Bucky’s arms wrap around you a little tighter, pulling you closer, and in his embrace, you feel every ounce of love and devotion he’s offered you so freely. His hands rest at the small of your back, gentle but firm, grounding you. The simmering sounds from the stove fade into the background as he holds you, the world narrowing down to just the two of you in this shared moment.

He dips his head, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that’s unhurried, tender, but filled with an intensity that leaves you breathless. His hand moves to cradle your cheek, his thumb tracing a gentle path along your jawline, a soft reverence in his touch, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

You feel the roughness of his palms as his hands settle along your waist, his fingers splaying across your back, drawing you even closer. The air between you feels charged, a steady, simmering warmth that’s both comforting and thrilling. You let your fingers trail up his shoulders, feeling the strength and warmth there, feeling safe and cherished.

“Bucky,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you lean into him, pressing soft kisses along his jawline, savoring the way his breathing hitches ever so slightly at your touch.

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze soft but intense, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. “You’re everything,” he whispers, his forehead resting gently against yours as he closes his eyes, breathing you in. “Everything I never knew I could have.”

---

A few months later, everything feels like it’s slipping out of your hands. Work is stressful, you’ve hardly had a moment to yourself let alone with Bucky, and the anxieties that you thought you’d buried start creeping back in, tainting every small moment of happiness with doubt. Bucky notices, of course. He’s always paying attention, always picking up on the little things.

After a long, exhausting day, you come home and find him waiting for you in your small, cluttered living room. He’s made dinner, and the smell of pasta fills the apartment, a small act of love that you know he did just to make you feel better.

But instead of feeling grateful, all you feel is overwhelmed.

As you set your bag down, you glance at him, trying to ignore the pressure building in your chest. “You don’t have to keep doing this, you know,” you say, your voice sharper than you intended. “I don’t need you to take care of me all the time, i can do it myself!"

He blinks, taken aback by the edge in your tone. “I know you can baby, ” he says carefully. “I just wanted to make things a little easier tonight"

“Yeah, well, maybe I don’t need you to!” you snap, unable to hold back the frustration boiling over inside. “I’m fine on my own....I’ve always been fine on my own!"

Bucky’s face falls, and he sets down the plate he was holding, his gaze steady but pained. “Where’s this coming from?” he asks quietly.

You don’t know how to answer, not when everything feels so confusing and raw. “Maybe… maybe we were a mistake,” you murmur, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Maybe we got too close too fast.”

His jaw clenches, hurt flashing across his face. “Do you really mean that?” His voice is low, almost breaking. “Or are you just scared?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut, because he’s right. You are scared—scared of getting hurt, scared of being vulnerable, and scared of what it means to love someone so deeply. And yet, instead of admitting it, you double down, pushing him further away.

“What if I am scared, Bucky?” you snap, crossing your arms. “Maybe I don’t want to put myself through this. People always leave, and were in so deep! I, I’m just—” You stop, your voice catching as the memories of your parents’ fights come rushing back, the anger, the silence, the way love had turned to something dark and painful.

Bucky steps forward, his expression softened but resolute. “I’m not your Father, we're not your parents” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m not going to walk away just because things get hard.”

You turn away, trying to hide the tears that have started to well up. “How can you say that? You don’t know… what it was like.”

He takes a breath, his hand reaching out to yours, fingers warm and steady around yours. “Then tell me,” he says, his voice steady but full of emotion. “Help me understand, so I can be here for you the way you need.”

The walls you’ve built around your heart feel like they’re crumbling, and you struggle to keep them in place, to hold onto the safety they give you. But Bucky’s still there, holding your hand, his eyes never leaving yours.

With a shaky breath, you finally let go, everything you've been keeping inside for the last couple weeks pours out of you, your eyes like waterfalls. Bucky has his arms wrapped around faster than you could wipe your tears away. His grip firm, as he rubs circles on your back. Holding you close, and you feel the weight of his presence, grounding you, filling the empty spaces with a warmth you were about to let yourself lose.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs softly, his fingers brushing soothingly along your back. “No matter how scared you get, I’m here. You’re not alone, you’re worth it, i promise angel”

You pull back, looking up at him, feeling the truth of his words sink into you. The fear is still there, lingering around the edges, but somehow it feels smaller now, less overwhelming.

As you hold his gaze, you realize that this—this moment, where you’re both standing on the edge of your fears and still choosing each other—is what love is meant to be. It’s not about perfection or never fighting. It’s about standing together, even when things get messy, even when it feels like everything is falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean it, ant of it Bucky I’m just… scared of losing you.”

He smiles, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Then hold onto me,” he says softly “Because I’m not letting you go"

---

Bucky has been working long hours lately, pulling extra shifts and coming home exhausted. You’ve noticed how he’s barely had a moment to breathe, how he comes home later every night, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes as he falls onto the couch. You’ve asked him if everything’s okay, and every time, he just smiles, brushes a kiss across your forehead, and says he’s fine, just a little busy.

What you don’t know is that Bucky’s been saving up for something big, something he’s been dreaming about since the day he realized he couldn’t imagine a life without you. He’s been setting aside every extra dollar to buy you a ring, one that feels worthy of you. But between work and stress, his nerves are stretched thin, and even though he tries to be patient, exhaustion is starting to get the better of him.

You come home from work and find him in the kitchen, staring blankly at a half-prepared dinner, his face worn and tired. You reach out to touch his arm, concerned. “Bucky, you don’t have to do everything, you know. I could’ve picked something up.”

He doesn’t look at you, just sighs, his voice tense. “I’m fine doll, I can handle it.”

You press a little further, sensing something beneath his words. “Are you sure? You’ve been so… distant lately. I just feel like we barely talk anymore.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffen, and he glances over at you, a flicker of frustration in his gaze. “I don’t get why you’re always questioning me,” he snaps, voice sharper than usual. “I’m here, aren’t I? It’s not like I’m going anywhere, i've told you"

You flinch at his words, feeling a familiar ache settle in your chest. “I’m not… I just don’t understand why you’re shutting me out.”

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’m not shutting you out, alright? Not everything has to be a big deal.”

The words feel dismissive, and something inside you snaps, the old fears rising up. “I just… I need to know what’s going on, Bucky, you know this, I-I....You say you’re here, but it doesn’t feel like it right now, It’s like you’re already halfway gone already..."

The moment you say it, his expression changes, a spark of hurt flashing across his face. “Are you serious?” he asks, his tone suddenly defensive. “I’ve been working myself to the bone for us, trying to make things better. I’m here every night, putting in the effort, and you’re just waiting for me to mess up. Waiting for an excuse to push me away! "

Your breath catches, his words cutting deeper than you expected. “That’s not fair,” you say, voice trembling. “You know why I have a hard time trusting people, why I get scared. You’re the one who made me feel safe again. And now it’s like… it’s like you’re proving me right.”

He looks away, jaw clenched, but the frustration and exhaustion finally get the better of him. “Maybe I don’t know how to prove it to you, then,” he mutters, anger shading his words. “I don’t know what more you need from me!"

The words hit you like a punch to the chest, and suddenly the air feels too thick, the walls of your house are suddenly too close. Without thinking, you grab your coat, needing to escape the pain before it breaks you completely.

“Where are you going?” he calls after you, the anger giving way to worry as he realizes you’re actually leaving. “It’s 2:30AM! Y-you cant just walk out!

You pause at the door, tears streaming down your cheeks as you look back at him, the hurt and fear finally spilling over“I’m leaving before you leave me,” you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “I told you would! Everyone always does.”

With that, you slip out the door, stepping into the quiet, empty street. You start walking, the chill of the night biting into your skin as you try to hold back the tears. The memory of his words lingers, replaying in your mind, amplifying every insecurity you’ve ever felt.

But then you hear footsteps behind you, and before you can turn, Bucky’s voice reaches you, a soft, desperate sound. “Wait, Baby please, just… stop for a second"

You hesitate, swallowing down the sob that’s caught in your throat as he steps closer, his face a mix of regret and something you can’t name. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says, his voice breaking slightly, his own tears spilling over “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

You take a shaky breath, your voice full of the hurt you can’t hide. “You’re right, though. I don’t know how to believe you’ll stay. I can’t get rid of this feeling that you’ll change your mind.”

He closes the gap between you, his gaze softening as he reaches out, brushing a tear from your cheek. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice gentle, grounding. “I’m not going anywhere. You know why I’ve been working so much?”

You shake your head, your mind still reeling.

He lets out a deep breath, pulling something from his pocket, a small, worn ring box. “This...This is why I’ve been putting in those hours. Because I want to be with you, forever....For good.”

You stare at the box in his hand, the realization washing over you like a wave. Bucky steps closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been saving up to buy you a ring. Because all I want is a life with you. No running, no more fears. Just us...till death do us part and all..."

The words sink in, and your heart feels like it’s breaking open and mending at the same time. “Bucky, I… I didn’t know.”

“I know, you weren't suppose to sweet girl” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. “I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was just… scared, too. Scared that maybe you’d never really believe I’d stay or be too scared to stay yourself.."

You cling to him, feeling the warmth of his embrace seep into you, grounding you. For the first time, you let yourself feel the truth in his words, the steady, unyielding love he’s shown you all along.

As he holds you in the quiet of the night, you finally feel something shift deep inside, a sense of peace replacing the old fears. And as you look up into his blue eyes, you know, without a doubt, that this is what home looks like.

Bucky holds you close, his arms wrapped around you as you both stand on the empty street, the quiet stillness of the night surrounding you. You can feel the steady beat of his heart as he holds you, each thump anchoring you back into the moment, reminding you of everything he’s done to show you he’s here to stay.

After a few moments, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze soft and full of a warmth that nearly takes your breath away. He glances down at the small ring box in his hand, then back up at you, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“I was planning this whole big thing, you know,” he says, a soft laugh escaping him as he looks at you, his eyes bright with a tenderness that makes your heart ache in the best way. “A perfect night, the right words… I wanted it to be special. Because you deserve that, you deserve everything.”

Your breath catches, your eyes filling with tears again, but this time they’re tears of joy, of a hope that’s finally free of the shadows that used to hold you back.

“But somehow,” he continues, his thumb brushing softly across your cheek, “this feels right. Standing here with you, just… us, no walls, no fears.”

Slowly, Bucky lowers himself down onto one knee, opening the small ring box to reveal a simple but beautiful ring that catches the glow of the streetlight. His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, his voice thick with emotion.

“I know we’ve both been through a lot, and I know we’ve still got our fears,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, each word carrying the weight of everything he feels. “But there’s no one else I’d rather face them with. You’re it for me. You’re my home, my everything.”

He takes a steadying breath, his gaze unwavering as he holds the ring up to you. “Will you marry me? Will you let me spend the rest of my life proving to you that I’m never going to leave?”

You feel the tears spill over, but this time you don’t bother wiping them away. Nodding, you barely manage to whisper, the easiest words you ever said before “Yes...Yes, Bucky, I’ll marry you"

A bright smile breaks across his face as he slips the ring onto your finger, then rises to his feet, pulling you back into his arms. He kisses you softly, a lingering kiss filled with every unspoken promise between you "I love you Bucky Barnes"

As he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, a smile playing on his lips. "And I love you, forever" he whispers, his voice filled with warmth and certainty. “You’re the best thing that's ever been mine,”

#Spotify #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky banres #james bucky barnes #james barnes x you #james barnes fanfiction

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batsandbirdbrains · 12 days ago

Text

I’m half asleep so have a half baked idea that’s keeping me awake

The one where Dick and Bruce troll everyone

Set during season one of young justice. Dick is just an overall menace who loves to make everyone question everything they know. His favorite topic to cause mass confusion amongst unknowing Justice league members and every member of the young Justice team? His relationship with Batman

There are days where he insinuates Batman kidnapped him off the streets of Gotham.

“He saved me from Killer Croc eating me like a chicken wing.”

“I was supposed to go with the nice CPS lady but then Batman showed up and shoved me in the Batmobile and now I’m here!”

“I was walking home from school one day and he snatched me out of the shadows (he was hiding behind a dumpster).”

Sometimes they act like brothers who can’t stand each other half the time

“You’re such a buttmunch I hate you!” “Literally all I’m asking you to do is shower after training before you come home. You stink, Robin. You’re smelly.” “You’re smelly! Did the bats crap on your cowl before you came here?” Batman’s sigh is long, drawn out, and dramatic. He turns on his heel. Robin sticks his tongue out at him.

“Hey if I get this training sim completed at 100% will you get me Batburger on the way home?” “Fine. Don’t tell Agent A.” “Only if you also promise to get me a milkshake.” “Fine.”

“Yes.” “No.” “Yes!” “No!” “YES!” “NO!” This goes on for three full minutes. They’ve forgotten what they were arguing about. They’re not sure who wins.

Sometimes Batman is such a dad it feels like they’re not supposed to be watching even though it’s in the middle of Mount Justice where anyone can see.

After a particularly tiring mission and the subsequent debrief, Robin leans against Batman and definitely doesn’t close his eyes. He’s just resting them. It’s a slow blink, nothing more. Batman has a hand very softly carding through Robin’s hair, and he’s basically carrying him to the zeta tubes a couple minutes later to go back to the batcave.

Sometimes there’s a new video game out or something that Robin really wants, and he’ll whine and hang off Batman’s arm until he weasels Batman into buying it for him. He has to pinky promise. No take-backsies

They’ve absolutely heard Batman call Robin “chum” in a soft, proud voice that sounds nothing like the big bad Bat they all know.

Sometimes he just says wild shit to send them way off base:

“I dunno Conner, maybe you’re not the only clone around here.”

“He made me by mixing his own DNA with an actual bat, that’s why I’m so acroBATic. Haha, get it? Acro-BAT?”

“He stole me from the circus.”

“He’s actually a cryptid. He asked lady Gotham for light and hope and she gave him me!” “Does that make you a cryptid too?” “I dunno, maybe!”

“I’m his love child with justice.”

He’s only said the circus one exactly once because Bruce told him off for it being too close to the truth, but they did both get a laugh out of everyone’s reactions.

And then one day someone just straight up asks Robin, in front of Batman, if they’re related. And Robin blinks once, twice.

“He’s my roommate.”

It’s said so matter of fact, Robin just shrugs, and goes about whatever he was doing. Batman grunts in a confirmation sort of way, busy looking at a data pad.

Artemis, standing a little ways away behind Conner (who the rest of the team elected to go ask the question), shoves her face in a couch pillow and lets out a muffled scream. M’gann and Conner are confused. Wally is laughing. Kaldur tries to remember different surface customs in when children move out and get roommates.

“Wait but so how old is Batman then?” Wally’s question makes them all now wonder if Batman is even that much older than all of them.

In the other room, away from curious, prying eyes, Dick is smothering a giggle behind a gloved hand and shoving his face in Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce lets his lips quirk up just a little.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #robin #batman #young justice #for the sake of this AU let’s say Wally doesn’t know Robin’s secret ID yet #that or he’s in on the joke. but personally I think it’s funny if no one knows #dick and Bruce’s actual relationship is like a cross between teen dad and son & brothers with a very big age gap

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tinlune · 1 month ago

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The Discovery

Kaiser’s taken?

Everyone in Bastard München got quite the shock when a woman suddenly showed up at one of their practices out of the blue. A real, live woman. That was unfathomable to the teenage boys, most of whom were painfully awkward when interacting with a member of the female species outside of their immediate family.

Everyone was still, the silence deafening. No one knew who she was, except for Kaiser who began to walk up to the mysterious woman with his signature cocky grin.

“You just can’t get enough of me, can you? Was it too long for you to wait mein engel?

The team just stared on as Kaiser flirted with this woman but with an obvious degree of familiarity. Why was the team’s ace calling this random lady a sweet nickname, romantic nickname..oh. Oh. Wait, Kaiser was in a relationship? And that just opened up a whole new can of worms.

Strangely enough, Noel Noa wasn’t doing anything about the disturbance. In fact, he looked bored. Like this was a completely normal thing to happen..or he was expecting it.

“You’re so full of yourself but what if I did miss you?”

“Then I would think that’s adorable. Now, let’s go somewhere else to talk, where we won’t be looked at like we’re the entertainment for the night.”

“Whatever you want.”

And they walked off, Kaiser guiding her to some unknown location.

When the pair was out of sight, the team erupted into chatter. “Who is she? Do you know her? Does Kaiser actually have a girl? More importantly, how did she get in here? Why?” Many of the Blue Lock guys were lost navigating this new dynamic, especially when they were still acclimating to this new team.

After allowing them a few moments to process and talk amongst themselves, Noel Noa spoke up. “Why are you all standing around here doing nothing? Is this not a place for you to hone your skills?”

A collective mumbling of sheepish “yes Coach” followed, the crowd dispersing and going off to the practices they were doing before, albeit more distracted.

Noa simply sighed. It was tiring dealing with teenage boys day in and day out, not to mention push them into their full potential.

The next day Kaiser was back, acting as if yesterday had never happened and the rest of the team had collectively hallucinated it. No one tried to ask him about it, which culminated in the entire team just sort of awkwardly glancing at Kaiser, hoping that he’ll take the hint and just start talking about it, which he thankfully did.

“If you all are wondering about yesterday, yes I have a girlfriend.” Wife actually but he didn’t exactly want to deal with the whole line of questioning about being married.

And Isagi couldn’t just keep his mouth shut and asked the question for everyone. “How?”

“Oh Yoichi, what do you think? We confessed to each other and we’re dating, simple as that.”

But Isagi didn’t look convinced and neither did anyone else except Ness who was just nodding along like every word Kaiser said was an indisputable fact of life.

“No I mean how did you get her to stick around? You two clearly have been together for a while so how does she deal with you?” The filter between his mouth and brain clearly must have been removed somehow because there was no gap between what he was thinking and what he was saying.

“You act as if I’m the most unpleasant person to ever traverse the Earth, you wound me Yoichi. And to answer your question, she sticks around because she wants to.” Kaiser was actually quite amused by this whole questioning thing, who knew it would be so funny to watch his teammates be dumbfounded that he had a relationship?

Isagi still looked at him like he was saying grass is blue but fortunately, the filter between his mouth and brain had come back so he wisely chose not to engage further.

“Oh Yoichi I know you are so curious about what goes on in my life but stick to your own won’t you? The attention is flattering really but it can get annoying if you keep going.”

Isagi just walked away to another area of the pitch, deciding to be the bigger person this time.

Kaiser merely sighed. It was hard work being the center of attention, always having eyes on you. At least he had you to come back to.

#bllk #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bluelock x reader #bllk x reader #fluff #fem reader #not so secret relationship #yoichi isagi #isagi yoichi #bllk isagi #blue lock isagi #blue lock kaiser #michael kaiser #bllk kaiser #micheal kaiser #kaiser x reader #kaiser michael #michael kaiser x reader

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reignpage · 3 months ago

Note

hello reign *bows down* i had a bit of a horny question heheheheheh what do you think the jjk men say in bed? i saw a prompt like this a while ago and if it’s okay with u i was curious abt how it would be like for the eden jjk men. i offer u this nanami in return 🙏

I will take the Nanami yes thank you

Okay so,

Gojo: he’s a simp

He whispers and whines about how amazing reader is in every way shape and form. “You’re so beautiful oh my god thank you god thank you thank you,” he groans, skimming his lips down your body, stopping here and there to lick and suck the sweet salt of your skin.

“Oh you taste so good. Like the sweetest candy. God do you have to be perfect in every way, you’re killing me. You’re literally killing me. Wait, actually, can we fuck missionary? Yeah I know it’s basic and vanilla, but god I just really want to see your face. Please? Oh thank you! Baby, I love you so much. Gonna buy you whatever you want later. Yeah I know you can buy it yourself but I just wanna pay. Okay, let’s get to orgasm number 3 with head and then we’re fucking all night old people style.”

It’s literally worship, at every given second. Just praise upon praise upon praise. He always asks too if he’s making her feel good. He wants to be sure he’s giving reader everything she could ever want and more. The type btw to crawl into a ball and cry if he ever EVER came before you.

Geto: instructions and praise

Being a dom, he guides reader through. Talks her through it. “Right there, pretty girl. That’s it. Such a good girl, aren’t you?”

Does occasionally degrade her, but it’s not really her thing and it doesn’t make him feel good so they just don’t do it most of the time

He’s very keen in knowing she’s feeling comfortable and great at all times so he does ask quite a few questions and encourages her to be vocal about how she’s feeling. “You like it here, sweet girl? Yeah? Use your words or I’ll stop. Hmm, that’s more like it.”

Choso: doesn’t do much talking

He’s overwhelmed and overstimulated 24/7 with his reader. He’s being teased left right and centre and he just CANNOT get his bearings omg. He has no idea if it’s night or day, where left and right is, sometimes he even forgets his name.

“W-what? Ngh oh no! Not there p-please! I-I don’t know! Yes yes whatever you -ha- want! T-take it all! O-oh thank you yes yes yes thank you thank you!!”

Toji: oh man

This guy never shuts up once he gets going. He’s just so cocky ugh it’s disgusting. He never gets fucked out like reader and he’s always in control even when he’s not so he knows exactly what buttons to push. Mix of praise and degradation.

“Oh, come on, baby. You gotta ride me better than that. Doll, you’re gonna have to join me in the gym and build up your stamina because this is poor performance on your behalf. Coach would be so disappointed if he knew my girl could barely get three pumps in before giving up. Alright alright, no need to pout at me like that, you’re gonna make my heart stop. biiiiig stretch there we go, my turn yeah? I’ll take care of ya, put my training to good use. There we go, oh yeah. Much better isn’t it? You like it when I fuck you like this no? Damn, the silent treatment? You’re gonna be cruel to your loving boyfriend when he’s kissing your cervix? Oh, damn you’re blacking out. Christ, you’re making a puddle of drool, god you just want me to lose my mind don’t you? Alright, just gonna have to fuck you back to consciousness. Here. We. Go. Oh hey, ma. Good nap? Fucking missed you.”

Nanami: sweet man

Mostly simpy and worshippy. He’s always a gentleman. When he’s leading he’s kinda more on the quiet side, apart from the occasional grunts and moans and ‘oh fuck’. He just doesn’t like the sound of his own voice, he much prefers to listen to reader fr.

But when reader takes control, wanting to be a brat and tease him, he comes under her mercy and he just has no choice but to be vocal.

“No, s-sweetheart, I’m -ha- sensitive there. Oh goodness, t-that feels good yes, where did you learn that? No, never mind, I-I’d rather not know. Oh no, please! T-that’s -oh- that’s no good, you have to stop, I-I only want to cum inside you. May I, sweetheart? Please? It’d be such a waste otherwise.”

Sukuna: degradation.

“You’re a goddamn whore. What would they all think if they knew their president likes to be fucked like this? Hmm? Answer me! You’re useless. Always so fucking naggy, bossing me around and snapping your fingers at me. Who the fuck do you think you are? Oh that’s right, you’re my girl aren’t you? Yeah, my girl who likes it rough. Is this good for you and your needy pussy? Harder? Ha! Any harder and I’d kill you, idiot. Think with your head not with your pussy once in a while yeah?”

Only sweet after sex.

“Not too sore? Good. No, don’t complain. It was your idea to do it here. Just needed to be fucked on the Dean’s desk, didn’t you? No, I’m not judging you, babe. I’ll fuck you wherever you want. Just musing how amazing you are at holding grudges. It was a nice touch to make me tie you up with his spare tie. Who the fuck keeps a spare tie in their drawer? What a fucking loser. Well, anyways, you took quite a beating there. My bad. Hungry? Nah, you gotta eat something. Come on, wipe the cum from your thighs and let’s get going I’m starved. No? Always gotta be such a princess don’t you? Alright, get on the desk and spread your legs.”

#reignpageasks #modern au

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lemonlover1110 · 2 years ago

Text

𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

Toji Fushiguro

[Chapter 7] First Ultrasound

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Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

On what you’re assuming is the start of the third month of your pregnancy, you finally manage to make an appointment for your first ultrasound. You debate if you want to tell Toji or not. Would he want to come? You’re not too sure if you’re being honest. He’s told you that he wants to be the best possible father for your child, but you don’t trust him. Given his track record, you can’t exactly trust him.

“I’m just here to drop off your money.” Toji can easily transfer money through the bank monthly, but he chooses to give it to you. Every two weeks he’s at your door with your money. You agreed to quit your second job and take his money; you still have your second job, but the nights that you know he’s coming, you take off. Toji invites himself in even if he’s just handing you an envelope. He never comes just to give you that.

“How’s work?” You ask, closing the door when he enters your apartment. You find it ironic that you talk more now than when you were married. He actually engages in conversation now, and he tries to talk to you as well, asking how you’re doing.

“Exhausting.” He answers. You can tell that he’s been working more lately, or at the very least he’s not getting proper sleep. There’s visible bags under his eyes, and he’s slowly letting himself go, at least he doesn’t give the proper care since he has a bit of a stubble; he’s also due for a haircut. “How about you? How are you holding up?”

“I’m doing okay… I’ve been dealing with a bit of morning sickness but nothing crazy.” You answer. You leave out any other of your symptoms. How your breasts are sore, you’re extremely tired (which can also be alluded back to your second job), how you’ve suddenly been having the weirdest cravings. Sure, you’re talking, but you don’t want him to know more than necessary. You try to change the topic since you don’t like having the spotlight on you, “How’s Megumi doing?”

“He’s doing fine… He has a baseball game next Thursday, if you want to come.” He informs you and you take a note of it. You’ll try to go since you have a soft spot for Megumi, but you’re not certain that you’ll make it.

“I’ll try. Hope I’m doing better then.” You respond. He slowly nods in response, and he tries to think of something to talk about, but nothing comes to mind so he begins to walk to the door. He won’t try to waste both of your time. Before his hand wraps around the doorknob, you speak up,

“Toji…” He completely stops. Not a single breath comes from him until you speak again, “I know that you’re busy so, I’m just inviting you to be courteous… I have my first ultrasound tomorrow, if you want to join me.”

“What time?” He asks, and you tell him. At noon. He nods, and tells you, “I’ll come pick you up.”

He stands still for a moment, wondering what to do next. Wondering if you’re going to do something else. You stand in completely awkward silence for a minute before Toji realizes that nothing else will happen, so he walks out. He doesn’t say goodbye, although you don’t mind it because he never does.

Toji hasn’t been a man that’s usually punctual, so you’re surprised when he’s early. You might’ve told him that the appointment was earlier than it actually is so you wouldn’t be late, but there’s not much you can do when he’s right in front of you, thirty minutes before your appointment. The place isn’t even a twenty minute drive.

“Hi.” You awkwardly smile at him. You notice how he’s finally shaved the stubble, and you’re curious if he did so last night or this morning. “So… I might’ve– The appointment was pushed back to twelve thirty.”

“Oh– Okay.” He answers. You almost tell him the truth, but it might incite an argument so it’s best if you ignore it and tell a little white lie. He won’t question much, he never does, so you’re safe. “Did you eat something already? Do you want to grab something to eat?”

“I don’t have much of an appetite.” You respond, and he nods his head. He isn’t going to argue with you that you should eat something regardless, you’re pregnant and you have to keep yourself healthy for the baby– He isn’t your father nor your husband, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. And while Toji wishes he could say he was worried about this pregnancy, he simply isn’t. As fucked up it is to even think about it, he’s more worried about you than the child you carry.

“What do you want to do then? Do you just want to head out and wait?” He asks, and you nod your head in response, if you get lucky, your appointment will start earlier. You disappear out of his sight for a moment to grab your purse, but you’re back quickly. You exit the apartment and you begin to walk to his car.

The car ride is silent, you don’t have much to talk about. You don’t sense him being as excited… Or excited at all about this so you’re quiet. You don’t pay him any mind. You’re over the moon at the thought of looking at your baby for the first time. You’re in disbelief that you’re about to become a mother. Finally.

You get to the place and check in. Waiting feels interminable as you sit next to Toji. He simply looks around, while you begin to play a game on your phone. Toji finds himself bored, and since he doesn’t have anything interesting to do, he chooses to try and talk to you. He clears his throat, and speaks up, “So how far along are you anyway?”

“Hm… I think, maybe three months along? I do have a bit of a bump.” You share, and Toji’s brows raise, he looks over at you, but your shirt is baggy which doesn’t let him really figure anything out. His eyes keep staring, and he finds himself frustrated at the fact he doesn’t know. If you lived with him he’d see your body better, and he’d notice every small change. At least that’s what he thinks.

Your name is called and you stand up, following the woman to the ultrasound room. Toji follows behind, walking much slower, trying to see if he does notice a bit of a bump. The previous night you were wearing a tank top– He didn’t notice anything then. He isn’t all too observant anyway so maybe he missed it.

Toji watches as you lay down, and you begin to talk to the technician. He doesn’t pay much attention to what’s going on between you two. Until you finally lift up your shirt, and he does see a bit of a bump. It’s nothing that’s really noticeable but it’s there when you lift up your shirt, it’s definitely something he would’ve noticed if you lived together.

You squeal as the cold gel is poured on your abdomen, and the transducer is then pressed on your skin. Your eyes then fall on the monitor, and an immediate smile comes to your lips. A little kidney bean. Your eyes well up with tears as the technician points out their little head.

“It’s just one baby, right?” Toji asks, and the technician assures him that it’s just one baby. It makes him breathe a sigh of relief. He notices you stick out your bottom lip, and he rolls his eyes. You seriously didn’t want twins, did you?

You look over at Toji, trying to see if there’s a bit of excitement behind his eyes when he looks at the ultrasound, and while it’s not clearly written on his face, you see a spark in his eyes as he looks at the monitor. He perks up when he hears the sound of the baby’s heartbeats. It’s in that moment that Toji realizes just how big this is–

He’s a father, he knows the birth of a baby is a big deal. Toji would give up his life for Megumi. But your pregnancy… The beginning of it didn’t excite him the way that his first wife’s did. Maybe it’s because he was set on not being a father again, or maybe it’s because you’re separated. Perhaps it’s because even though he wanted to use your pregnancy as a means for you to stay, you still left. He’s just focused on you and your relationship, not the fact that he’s actually becoming a father again. Doing it all over again.

He isn’t sure if he’s ready to do it all over again; but he feels the excitement slowly grow by looking at his baby and listening to their heartbeat. It’s nothing too crazy though.

When the technician finishes up, you’re handed a napkin to wipe off the gel. You do so, and you’re told to wait for the doctor. You’re smiling foolishly, thinking that you’re becoming a mother even though you had given up on that dream a while ago. Given that dream up for the man that’s waiting next to you.

“You seem really excited.” Toji comments when you’re left alone. He watches your hand go to your lower abdomen as you look up at him.

“I am. I can’t wait to meet my baby.” You answer. Toji chuckles, your excitement radiating and infectious. “Do you want a baby boy or a girl?”

“Hmm… A baby boy since I already know how to deal with boys. I have no idea how I’d raise a girl.” He responds. “How about you? Do you want a girl or a boy?”

“I don’t have a preference, I just want a healthy baby. Boy or girl.” You reply, and Toji wonders if that’s how he should’ve responded. Would that have gotten him positive points with you? Did his response fuck everything up a little more?

The doctor walks in, and she tells you what you want to hear. The baby is healthy, and growing the way they should be. You’re around fourteen weeks along– Which means you’ll be due around December, and that you’re further along than what you assumed. Your baby wasn’t conceived the night that you told Toji you’d be leaving him.

You get your ultrasound pictures, and Toji takes two, even though he tries to act like he isn’t excited.

#toji x y/n #toji zenin #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji fushiguro #daddy toji #fushiguro toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji x you #dilf toji #toji fushiguro x you #toji fanfic #toji fic

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maddie0101 · 3 months ago

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guilty pleasures ౨ৎ

౨ৎ summary: dean sees reader blushing from afar and finds out exactly what his best friend reads in her spare time.

౨ৎ warnings: sexual tension, dean and reader are both eighteen but are in high school. no minors here! mentions of porn, smut, sexual themes but no actual smut. tension. fluff if you squint?

౨ৎ wc: 958 words

You’d brought a few books like this to school before. Usually, you’d stick to your young adult books so you didn’t have that much of a reaction when a steamy part came up but you just couldn’t help it lately as you were reading a series that you couldn’t put down.

You had some extra time during study hall, so you decided to grab the book out of your bag and enjoy some of the series you were currently obsessed with.

“Whatcha reading sweetheart?” The sound of Dean’s voice startled you, making your heart leap in your chest. A soft blush crept across your cheeks, the vibrant pink hue evident as you nervously swallowed hard, feeling a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. You quickly closed the book, just enough to shield the page from his curious gaze.

“Oh…uhm. Just this boring series…” you tried to play it off, cursing yourself for not only reading a book that contained smut but also being in a place where the smut was.

Dean’s eyes scanned over your features, noting the red tint of your cheeks. “Sure…if it’s so boring then why’re you reading it?”

“Cause I have nothing better to do?” You spoke, watching as Dean’s eyes shot to the cover of the book, before plopping himself into the seat next to you.

“What’s it about?” Dean questioned, not leaving the topic alone because he was now intrigued as to why you were so nervous.

“Ohh….you know..just girl stuff.”

“Like what?” Dean pushed, amused by the way you seemed to squirm in your seat under his innocent questions.

“Why do you want to know so bad Dean? When have you ever been interested in what I read?” You laughed nervously.

Dean’s lips pulled into a smirk. “Because I saw you blushing while reading whatever it is that you’re reading about and now I’m very interested in finding out what is going on in that story to have you a blushing mess at study hall.”

Your eyes quickly widened and your mouth fell agape as you realized you’d been caught.

Dean cocked his head to the side as he realized exactly what you’d been reading. “Wait a second. You’re reading some dirty stuff, aren’t you? Like porn but in a book?” The thought of his sweet little best friend, who he was secretly in love with, reading such dirty things lit a fire inside of him. You were a sarcastic, funny, and very sweet girl but Dean had no idea his best friend was like that.

Sure, he’d dreamt about the things you’d say to him while he made sweet love to you but this was entirely something else that made his cock twitch in his pants.

“You are!” Dean’s teased you, causing your cheeks to transition into a bright shade of red. “At school too?”

“Look most girls read it, okay!” You tried to defend yourself.

“Sweetheart you don’t have to explain yourself, I’m just shocked that you read that kind of stuff—at school.”

“Yeah well, I usually don’t. I just couldn’t put this series down and brought it with me. Didn’t think I’d get caught and made fun of by my best friend.” Your cheeks started to cool off as the embarrassment started to fade a little. You honestly thought you were going a little crazy, watching how Dean was looking at you with an odd expression on his face. Something about the look in his eyes had you physically restraining yourself not to squirm in your seat.

“Can I read some of it?” Dean questioned, extremely curious as to what words written on a piece of paper had you blushing so hard.

You bit your bottom lip as you flicked your finger, pushing the book open. Dean’s scent quickly invaded your senses as he scooted closer and leaned into your space to read a few sentences. Your eyes trailed all over his face, watching as his gaze followed from left to right on the page of your book. You silently watched with your bottom lip still between your teeth, noting Dean’s eyes widening slightly as he got to the dirtiest part.

Your cheeks burned from embarrassment and the warmth of your best friend so close to you. Dean cleared his throat as he put a small amount of distance between the two of you, quickly shifting in his seat to hide his problem.

“That’s straight up—“

“Porn. I know Dean.” You interrupted, “Men watch it and women read it….well a lot of us do.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised before he noticed the way you’d crossed your legs, had red completely tinting your cheeks, and bit your lip. He’d teased you countless times and made you blush but never this much. You were an absolute mess and it turned Dean on so much to where he couldn’t think straight.

Dean only nodded as he took in the sight of you and the information he’d learned today. Watching as you finally released your bottom lip from your teeth, Dean leaned forward before he could even stop himself. Swiping his thumb across the crimson on your bottom lip, Dean watched as your breath hitched. The tension was thick as Dean took his time wiping the blood off of your lip and you could’ve sworn you stopped breathing as the moment between two best friends felt extremely sensual.

Just as fast as the moment came, it quickly went as the loud blaring of the school’s bell signaled to everyone in a mile radius that it was time to go to the next period. The loud noise broke the trance you and Dean seemed to be in because as soon as the bell went off you quickly jumped apart.

author’s note: if you guys would like a part two please lmk. I guess if this gets enough attention I might write a smutty pt.2?

If anyone would like to be tagged in anything I write, comment and I’ll tag you! (currently only writing for dean atm)

also shoutout to @wendichester for the inspo. (your fic inspired me to write about teenage!dean and now i’m obsessed w the idea, haha.

౨ৎ my works

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester #teenage!dean #supernatural #dean x you #spnfandom #spn fanfic #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles

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takenbypeter · 2 months ago

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Pastry Shop Stop

Matt Murdock x reader

Words: 609

Part 2 of suspicious activities of a blind man, it’s just a lil blurb nothing too fancy but figured I’d add a little more to the story. Maybe there will be a 3rd part who knows 👀

Here’s part 1 for those of you who haven’t read it: Part 1

After that initial interaction at the bar it didn’t take long for you to see Matt again.

Actually it only took two days before he actually was in the shop that you worked at.

It was silly but you felt a bit of excitement when you saw him standing at the end of your line, it was like that feeling you felt when a special guest that you really liked appeared on your favorite television show.

Although you tried your best to calm yourself you did feel a bit anxious as he made his way to your counter.

Pulling yourself together you said the normal greeting. “Welcome to our little shop, what can we get for you today?”

You heard him let out a single chuckle, “well I’m not too sure I can’t exactly see the menu.”

“Ah, right.” Trying to move past your own blunder you began to list out some of the delicacies. From danishes, to eclairs, you listed each item.

“That’s an overwhelming amount of options,” he said after you’d finished.

“I know.”

“What’s your favorite?”

The questions surprised you a bit, a good surprise. You hesitated giving it a good thought before ultimately coming up with an answer, “I like the cinnamon buns. They’re warm and delicious and they’re pretty filling.”

“I’ll take three cinnamon buns, one for each member of my team.”

“Alright, that’ll be twenty ninety-five, and I’ll put those in right now.”

After giving him his change and putting the order in, you turned to him again. He was now the only customer in the store.

After a moment of staring at the man while you both waited for your coworker to finish his pastries, you tried to fill the silence that no doubt only you felt was awkward, “is it bad that I’m still not completely sold on the whole blind thing?”

His lips tugged, revealing his teeth as he laughed, almost like he was glad you wanted to banter with him. “What am I going to have to do to prove it to you?”

You looked up contemplating what it would take before blurting out the first thing you could think of, “I don’t know, fight me.” And for a moment you feel you went a bit too forward as he grew quiet before he laughed again.

“You’re funny.”

“Thanks I try.”

You shared a look before your eyes widened, “Wait, does not believing you make me ableist?”

Matt tilted his head, “I think it actually does.”

“Oh no, does that make me a Karen? I don't want to be a Karen.”

“I happen to know a pretty great Karen.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it, Matt Murdock.”

Matt’s lips never dropped from their curve. He liked the way his name sounded coming from your lips, but that didn’t stop his eyebrow from lifting.

Sensing what he was about to question you pulled out the card that you had in your pocket. “This card fell from your friend’s pocket, I did some research and found you guys online.”

Matt couldn’t help but feel a bit of pride that you were curious enough to search him up.

He opened his mouth to say something else but your attention was grabbed by the motion behind you.

“And here are your cinnamon buns. Let me know how they taste.”

“Will do.” Reaching up with one hand he takes them and smiles offering you a wave.

“Bye, Matt Murdock.” You shout behind him before the front door shuts.

Eyes fixed on him, you watch as he crosses the road.

Still there was something strange about him and you didn’t know what.

#marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu x reader #mcu imagine #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock x reader #daredevil x reader #daredevil imagine #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil fanfic

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anancientlegacy · 4 months ago

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you'll never guess -- s. sallow

Pairing: sebastian sallow x reader

Genre: fluff, some angst with reader's father, but that's all

Note: I use “MC” to refer to the reader, but I also explain why in the fic itself! This is still in fifth year even before the player meets Anne, so they don’t do anything crazy. Merely mentions of kissing. Sassy Sebastian and sassier Imelda.

Trope: Instead of fake dating, everyone is convinced that you aren’t actually dating.

Word count: 2.2k

Crossposted to ao3!

“Hey, Garreth, Ominis, the lot of you that have only grown up in the wizarding world, I’ve got a question.”

It’s the first words you’ve spoken to everyone around you, your entire friend group sprawled or stretched out on one side of the summoner’s court. All of you have been watching Samantha and Leander make a go of it, over and over and over again — you don’t always have positive things to say about Prewett, but you can’t help but acknowledge his tenacity. Samantha’s final Accio resounds all around you, cutting through the air as she pulls her ball in for another 50 points, blowing her opponent out of the water despite having won the game by her second ball.

“You can say purebloods, MC, it won’t hurt any feelings.” You know Leander doesn’t mean anything by this — you’ve heard Zenobia call him a “no-talent moonmind” in passing — but you can feel Ominis bristle beside you at the mere implication of an impending blood status discussion. You’re quick to shake your head, muttering a ‘no, not exactly what I meant’ while rummaging through your newly-sewn bag (one made up entirely of garments you’d found no use for, because really, what use is a fedora to anyone) for something. Professor Weasley had helpfully enchanted it to be almost endlessly deep, but you find yourself cursing this now. The fact that everyone pauses to watch you is not lost on you at all, and you can’t help but feel some sort of embarrassment.

“All I was asking, well, really, all I’m curious about, is what wizarding world courtship is like. Do you have calling hours, or daily tea, or anything of the sort? Ah, here it is.” You brandish a marriage manual with much gusto, having received it in the mail from your otherwise heavily detached father a few days ago. You’d offhandedly mentioned accompanying Sebastian to the Three Broomsticks to him in a letter, mostly assuming he wouldn’t read it — too busy with overseeing shoddy police work in Whitechapel, and ignoring the realities of magic and whatnot — but he had, to your surprise, replied. The first response all term.

My daughter,

Do not allow yourself to be charmed by young men with no prospects. Surely I raised you better than this. I have given this infernal creature a young ladies’ guide for you to peruse. Certainly letter vi. There are girls dropping like flies here, and I would greatly dislike to find you in a similar situation.

Read it and report back. If you can send regular post rather than an owl I’d rather you that. Can’t have the neighbours asking too many questions.

You’d left the letter upstairs under your bed to gather dust, not even bothering to take it with you to the room of requirement. The idea of Sebastian having no prospects is practically laughable to you, considering he’s one of the brightest wizards in your year… even if he is, simultaneously, one of the most troublesome. Your father has been pretending as if magic is pointless at best and a silly trick at worst ever since your magical mother left him with a toddler.

You dislike him, but you suppose you’d despise her if you knew her.

Summoner’s court is all but entirely forgotten as even Samantha steps down to join the other fifth years as they fully form a gaggle around you. Amit, to everyone’s surprise, grabs the manual right out of your hands, his nosiness — which he would and does tell you is simply Ravenclaw curiosity, despite you being in the same house — overcoming all societal norms. Poppy, ever one for any sort of gossip, reads the title aloud: “Letters to Young Ladies on their Entrance into the World, to which are added sketches from real life… quite a mouthful, isn’t it?”

“Are you asking if we have these preposterous things?” For once, you can agree with Prewett’s assessment of something. Judging by the slow, rising murmur of consensus around you, everyone else is surprised by themselves for the very same reason.

“I’ve never seen something like that in my life.” Garreth tacks on to his housemate, and Ominis, never one to miss a prompting, says a swift “me neither” that brings forth a laugh from you and uneasy chuckles from those that don’t know him as well.

“My father told me to read the sixth letter about unequal marriages because I went on a date, something that seemed to single handedly convince him that my destiny is to become another Whitechapel murder victim, as if those poor girls were the reasons for their untimely demises.” You’re prattling on, you know this, but the insult of receiving the book in the first place still smarts. Natty places a hand on your shoulder, one of the few to know the true extent of your parental issues.

“That’s sort of hilarious, isn’t it?” Imelda pops up out of nowhere, sly as always, and you surmise her arduous, somewhat pointless three-hour self-inflicted flying practice must be over for the day. There really is quite a crowd gathering around you — in fact, there’s basically only one person missing.

“Hold on.” It’s Leander this time, eyes squinting as if he’s having a difficult time puzzling something out. “A date? Who’d you go on a date with?”

“She was never going to say yes to you, mate, give it up.” Imelda is quick to start fires that she knows she won’t put out herself, and the case of Prewett pursuing you, something both you and him like to pretend doesn’t exist for very different reasons, is one such thing.

“Come off it, screw off.” He fires back, the best he can come up with as everyone watches, and you so badly want to laugh but settle for turning away and taking the manual back from Amit and Poppy. As long as they’re occupied, nobody will think to follow up —

“Honestly, MC, I want to know too.” Natty breaks your overly-optimistic train of thought, and the glance you send her way is withering. You and Sebastian are still feeling things out, after all: Not too casual, not too serious. Perhaps this is the best time to let everyone know.

“Well…” You draw the word out, pulling it out into several syllables. “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to tell you all without him being here. He should get a say in the reveal, too.”

The resulting group groan is pure cacophony. Poppy dreamily wonders aloud if it’s an older man, while Imelda scrunches up her face as she relays the idea of it being someone younger. Amit whines about never being in on the secret, and you suspect Natty is gearing up to silently jinx you. Even Ominis breaks his kind aloofness by shoving your shoulder in a way that makes you wonder if he really can’t see anything at all, and Garreth furrows his brows, surely wondering if he can slip veritaserum into your drink at supper. Samantha, one of your roommates, murmurs something about putting a hex on your pillow tonight.

“I see.” Leander says, too smug for your liking. “MC won’t tell us who because she isn’t actually dating anyone.”

“That’s worse for you, you git,” Imelda snaps. “Means she dislikes you so much she’ll lie about a boyfriend.”

“Goodness!” You speak again, finally incensed by everything that’s happening. Prewett never fails to put you in some sort of mood. You don’t really have room for one more secret as it is, what with everything Professor Fig and the Keepers have entrust to you, and Ranrok’s brewing rebellion. “If you really must know, really and truly, it’s Sebastian. Happy?”

Silence. Sudden and significant silence.

“Sallow?!” For once, Leander and Imelda are on the same page, their voices surprisingly harmonious together as they break the sound barrier. Garreth and Ominis both look unsurprised, though they may just be stoicists at this point. Even Poppy, who’s literally seen the two of you out at Hogsmeade together, seems taken aback.

“What have I done now?”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear.

“My dad sent me a ladies’ manual about propriety and sorts because I told him I’d gone on a date, and this lot couldn’t handle me not saying who with.” Your shoulders untense themselves naturally,as he walks up beside you, and you swipe a spot of grease off of his nose with an index finger before wiping it back on his own robe.

“How was detention? Midday is a terrible time to serve one.”

“Sharp just had me manually cleaning cauldrons, it wasn’t the absolute worst. Incorrectly prepared Ashwinder eggs smell positively noxious, though.”

“Serves you right, frankly –”

“You’ve got to be fooling us.” It’s Amit this time, eyes wide as saucers as he interrupts you. “The two of you bicker constantly.”

“More than.” Ominis supplies, and you stick your tongue out at him, eliciting an “I felt that!” from your decreasingly dear friend.

“They fight like brother and sister.” Leander seems to be holding on to his belief in the idea that your budding relationship is merely a ruse. “Worse — they’re completely opposite each other. MC is witty and charming, and Sallow is, well… Sallow.”

“I think they’re good for each other.” Garreth shrugs. “She’s a bit of a kleptomaniac and he’s somewhat addicted to getting caught doing stupid things.”

“MC is -” Leander tries one more time at pulling something over Sebastian, or you, or both of you, but your sort-of-boyfriend decides he’s had enough and doesn’t let him finish.

“The whole lot of you only call her MC because of me, you know. I doubt you even know that it starts for ‘my charge,’ because I was put in charge of her when she first went to Hogsmeade.

“Where a troll attacked her?”

“Opposites can attract!” Poppy, ever the believer in love, chimes in before you can defend Sebastian from Leander’s latest barb. “And friends fall in love all the time. They’re both quite lovely to us and to each other when you aren’t around.” Her sweet tone is even more devastating as she aims her cutting words at Prewett.

“It’s just been a few dates.” You interject, reeling from how quickly everyone is quipping at each other, cheeks heating up at the idea of love. The school year has really only just begun — you and Sebastian just happen to get along.

“Well, a few official dates.” Sebastian knocks your shoulder with his bicep, and you look up at his teasing smile knowing full and well that it’ll just warm your face further. “Ask me why I had detention.” Your cheeks cannot physically get any hotter, and you stop yourself from self-incriminatingly scowling at Sebastian. The story is embarrassing for him but you know he doesn’t care because it’s sure to embarrass you, too. His words are aimed at Prewett because he really wants to twist the knife, but he has everyone else’s rapt attention too. The two boys engage in a bit of a staring match, reminiscent of your very first Defense Against the Dark Arts class when you’d walked in on them, both aggravated, dueling each other.

“Why?” Leander spits out, curiosity finally getting the best of him.

“Sharp heard some, er, snogging noises in his private potions store at night. We’d gone in to nab some fluxweed but realized that we rarely get time to just be alone together. This one was smart enough to disillusion herself the moment we heard the door unlock, but I was so taken aback that I couldn’t do the same in time. He walked in and I, unable to think of anything else, told him that I’d found myself increasingly attracted to leaping toadstools. Of course, he assumed I was fulfilling some sort of bet, but I ended up with detention and she got off scot free.”

“Go on, tell them the details of my astrological chart too, won’t you.” You hiss, but Sebastian only laughs, reaching an arm out to toss over your shoulder and pull you in. “And it wasn’t snogging exactly. We were just… lightly kissing. Very chastely, I might add.” You know nobody believes you even as you’re telling the truth — Sebastian is more respectful than he lets on.

“Chaste kissing?” Garreth whistles as Ominis says this, and you prepare yourself for sarcasm from the latter. “Maybe your father was right to send you a marriage manual.”

Now it’s Sebastian’s turn to become beet red.

“M-marriage manual? I thought it was just a thing for young ladies to read. Your father sent you a what?”

Before you can say anything in response, Imelda breaks her uncharacteristic silence to begin humming a tune popularly played at wedding ceremonies, and you forget everything in the moment as you lunge at her. She calls her broom to her with ease before jumping on and, before you can think, you do the same, leaving your bag and the manual on the grass to chase after your friend.

All Sebastian can do is gaze up at you hopelessly and totally smitten as he, still red-faced, gathers your things up and closes your bag. Perhaps it’s time for another Three Broomsticks date. By the looks of it, you and Imelda are on your way there via air travel anyways.

#sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x reader #hogwarts #harry potter #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow x mc #slytherin #ravenclaw

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kararisa · 4 months ago

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darling, starling

— 27. through it all — ✦ (wc: 0.8k)

notes: this took longer than expected ^^ hope you guys enjoy the chapter!

To Yae Miko's credit, she cut straight to the chase.

Not that Scaramouche would give her much credit in general, given that she had always treated him with such indifference over the years before he finally moved out. But he'd take his small blessings whenever he could.

It was a cut-and-dry deal: Yae Miko would interview Scaramouche regarding the recent scandal between his partner and one of the band members of Windborne. He would get the chance to clear the air with the help of one of the most influential news outlets in all of Inazuma, while Yae Miko would get an exclusive story people could only dream about.

It should have been over the moment they ended the interview. But here they are, making casual conversation. At least as casual as it gets between a son and his estranged mother-in-law.

Scaramouche has seen these tactics before. Whenever Yae Miko wanted information, she’d make casual conversation with the interviewee to get them to open up. And that’s when she strikes.

Ironically enough, it was also Yae Miko who taught him how to avoid this. She was the one who taught him when to give information and when to hold back; how to satiate people’s curiosity enough so they leave you alone. Basic media training — training he and Kaori knew by heart.

Yae Miko tilts her chin downwards, the way she does whenever she gets curious. “You’ve been back in Inazuma for a little over a year now. Is it nice living with them? I’m assuming so since no one’s spotted you packing your bags just yet.”

“I still live with them. But that’s none of your business.”

“Oh come now, you saw me turn off the recorder. Everything we’re saying right now is off the record.”

Against his better judgment, he yields, “It’s... nice. On the days when they actually wake up early, they help me cook. It’s become a routine of sorts.”

He knew that was exactly what she was looking for when he saw the hint of satisfaction in her eyes.

It’s a slippery slope, trusting a journalist. Some will risk their lives for the truth while others will stab you in the back while shaking your hand. But if it’s Yae Miko, he has no doubt she’ll only publish the truth, if only a little embellished. She has to sell stories, after all.

“You’re never usually this civil with me,” Scaramouche doesn’t attempt to mask his suspicion. “What do you hope to gain with a conversation that’s off the record?”

Yae Miko offered a cryptic smile, her eyes revealing a flicker of sincerity. “Am I not allowed to be curious? People are actively looking for you just for the chance at an interview and you reached out to me in the hopes of clearing the air about your relationship.”

He’d be loathe to admit that she was one of the few people he trusted to handle the story properly. But he still had to ask, “And now you’re just this so-called off-the-record conversation as some sort of blackmail?”

She sighs, “I’m getting an exclusive interview with the author who’s dating an Inazuman pop star. Would you blame me for asking a few questions? Besides, you’ll see none of this conversation mentioned in any articles.”

“How do I know you’re not just bullshitting me...”

“I can understand your apprehension, but words hold power, Scaramouche. Everyone in the industry knows this. And so do you.”

Scaramouche has never really seen eye-to-eye with Yae Miko on a multitude of things, but one of the few things they can agree on is that people shouldn’t just blindly believe what people say just because they have a large following. The Narukami Press has always strived to publish articles that are reflective of the truth.

But bias is inevitable, whether you work in journalism or public relations.

“A large majority of people are always going to want to chase the latest drama without caring if it’s true or not,” she starts. “You’ll find no such motivation in me to keep fanning the flames. I want them to die down as much as you do.”

“People like us have a responsibility to be careful with what we say and how we say it,” she continues. “The drama with Zenith was blown out of proportion, that much is for sure. People were hungry to see their downfall given that they were on top for so long but they were just as eager to drag you down with them.”

“Setting the record straight by yourself will be nearly impossible,” she states matter-of-factly. “But your friends have been preparing their statements to defend your partner, yes?”

He isn’t even surprised that she knows about this, especially a PR move this big. Working with his friends will be the best way to get the rumors to die down to a manageable level.

“Your word and Xiao’s will be what people hang onto the most. Make it count.”

“And fight for them, Scaramouche. They need you now more than ever. If you decide to ignore all my advice, then that’s fine by me. But never stop fighting for them.”

“Like hell I’d ever stop. No matter what happens, I’ll be with my partner through it all.”

✧— previous — masterlist — next —✧

summary: being the world-famous singer-songwriter "zenith", the limelight has been on you ever since the start of your career. however, the media becomes relentless when leaks of music you never meant to release begin to circulate. your friend scaramouche, meanwhile, seems to have gotten stuck while writing his second book. with a deadline fast approaching, he comes to you with a deal: act as if you're dating him so he can gather reference material and, in turn, he'll help keep the press' eyes off of your leaks until you release your next album. a win-win in your book, so why not help a friend out?

author's notes:

i lied, this was my favorite chapter to write by far

happy new year everyone!! updates will probably slow down from here but i hope you enjoyed the chapter ^^

taglist — currently CLOSED:

@aestherin @your-kuya-pogi @yourstrulykore @krnzysh @vxnuslogy @yumiaur @featuredtofu @kodzusmiles @meigalaxy @nymphxie @motherscrustytoenailclippings @samyayaya @hiimera @beriiov @e0nssadrift @dazaisboner @nillajhayne @chluuvr @deffenferofjustice @romyoia @xiaomainlmao @hotgirlshit5 @potabletable @letthewindlead @esuz @toriiee @kclremin @angelkazusstuff @phoenix-eclipses @sakiimeo @mayuumine @lilybythevalley @one-and-only-tay @keiiqq @what-just-happened-huh @haunts-gh0st @layla240 @miaakai @duckyyyx @cinnaniyoom @kgogoma @xtobefreex @mechanicalbeat1 @feiherp @venturinea @nnasv @retiredmommylover @onmywaytoteyvat @tiredslepz @saccharine-sucks

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the-winter-spider · 5 months ago

Text

Invisible | Part 23

Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Tiny smidge of brief angst, but flufffff

A/N: Only a few more chapters to go..... 😭🫶🏻

The warm scent of roasted vegetables and garlic filled Sam’s apartment as he moved around the kitchen, Wanda and Natasha chatting at the table. A few candles flickered on the counter, their soft light casting a cozy glow. The night had started lighthearted, with jokes and reminiscing about old times, but there was an underlying tension—Sam had been quieter than usual.

As the three of them sat down to eat, Sam finally cleared his throat, breaking the casual flow of conversation. “So, there’s something I need to tell you both.”

Wanda and Natasha exchanged curious glances, but Natasha was the first to speak. “What’s up?”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “I’ve been offered a big promotion at the VA. It’s… it’s a lot more responsibility, a lot more pay, and honestly, it’s kind of my dream job.”

“That’s amazing!” Wanda said, clapping her hands together. “Congratulations, Sammy! You deserve it.”

Natasha smiled, but her brow furrowed slightly. “That is amazing! Buuuuut, why do you look like someone just told you your dog died?”

Sam let out a nervous laugh, fiddling with the edge of his napkin. “Because there’s a catch. The job’s in Washington... I’ll be moving in a week and a half.”

The table fell silent. Wanda’s excitement dimmed slightly, her smile softening. “Oh, Sam… that’s… wow.”

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her lips pressing into a thin line. “That’s a big change.”

“It is,” Sam admitted. “But it’s the right move for me. And don’t get me wrong, I’m excited, but leaving all of you behind? That’s the hard part.”

Wanda reached across the table, placing a hand over his. “We’re happy for you, Sam. Really. We’ll miss you, but this is huge.”

Natasha nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll miss you like crazy, but you’ve got to do what’s best for you, and we'll always be here you know that"

Sam smiled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks, guys that really means a lot.”

Sam took a sip of his beer, his eyes darting between Wanda and Natasha as if he was working up the nerve to say something else.

“Who else knows?” Wanda asked cutting him off, taking a sip of her beer.

“Well, now that you both know, I should probably let you in on a little secret,” Sam said, his tone teasing but hesitant. “You two are actually the last ones to find out, don't hate me"

Natasha raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “The last ones?” she asked, her voice tinged with mock offense. “Wow, Sam. Save the best for last?”

Sam chuckled. “Exactly. Had to save the best for last, thats right!.... I told Bucky first—obviously…then Y/N, then Steve.”

Wanda leaned forward, smirking. “So, basically, you told everyone else first.”

“Listen,” Sam said, holding his hands up defensively. “I wanted to tell everyone together, but, uh, let’s just say there’s been a lot going on lately.” His gaze flicked to Natasha for a split second before he looked away.

Natasha narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sam hesitated, taking another sip of his beer. “Well, I, uh… I heard about what Steve said to her after the whole thing between you two.”

Natasha froze, her expression hardening. “What do you mean? What did Steve say?”

Sam’s lips parted, then closed as he struggled to find the right words. Wanda’s head whipped toward him. “You’re not just gonna leave us hanging, are you?”

Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Look, it’s not really my place to say what exactly happened. But… yeah, I heard about it all"

Natasha’s jaw tightened, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “We haven’t talked all week. After I told her we, I needed space, we’ve been taking that seriously this time.”

Wanda nodded slowly, her voice soft. “She hasn’t mentioned it to me either. We’ve just been talking about the little trip Bucky planned for them.”

"What trip?" Natasha questioned "I didn't know about a trip"

Wanda sighed "They're at that Cabin you all went to for summer when you were kids, and too be fair you asked for space from her not the other way around, probably why she didn't tell you...."

Natasja groaned rubbing her hands over her eyes. Sam’s gaze softened, his usual teasing edge replaced with concern. “Nat, I think she's been through a lot lately. She didn’t tell me much, but I know she ran into Steve after she left you, and well he said some pretty outta pocket things to her.”

Natasha blinked, her mouth opening and closing as if trying to process his words. “What… what things?”

Sam shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell.... But from what I’ve pieced together, She’s been carrying a lot on her shoulders—between the things with you, what Steve said both times, and just… everything.”

Natasha’s expression was unreadable, her eyes distant. After a long pause, she murmured, “I should’ve handled things better. I let my feelings get in the way, and now…”

Sam reached across the table, resting his hand on hers. “Nat, it’s not too late. You and her have been through worse and come out stronger. Just… don’t let this fester for too long”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Wanda gave her a reassuring smile. “Start by talking to her. You know she’s always willing to hear you out, you’re besties for a reason”

Sam nodded, his tone firm but kind. “Exactly. You’ve both been through too much together to let something like this tear you apart.”

Natasha exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “I’ll try. I just… I didn’t realize how much I let this all spiral. Ugh, thanks guys.”

He gave her a small grin. “Hey, what are friends for? Besides, I can’t move away knowing my kids aren’t playing nice.”

Wanda burst into laughter, smacking his arm playfully. “Your kids?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, shrugging with mock seriousness. “I need all my children to get along before I leave. I can’t abandon this dysfunctional little family otherwise.”

Natasha let out a reluctant chuckle, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. “Okay, Dad. We’ll figure it out.”

Sam raised his beer. “That’s all I ask. Now, who’s ready for dessert? I made brownies, and I’m not letting you two leave without trying them.”

As the brownies were passed around the table, the mood lightened, but Sam couldn’t shake the subtle tension radiating from Natasha. He glanced at Wanda, who gave him an encouraging nod, as if silently urging him to address the elephant in the room, the one between him and Wanda, the one Natasha didn't even know about. Wanda only knew because she got here 30 minutes before Natasha and Sam thought who better to ask if he should tell her what he knew than someone who lived with Natasha 24/7 and knew her like the back of her hand.

Sam took a deep breath, setting down his beer. “Hey, Nat,” he started casually, but there was a seriousness to his tone that made her look up. “There’s, uh… something else I think you should know.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, already bracing herself. “What now, Sam? You moving to the moon next?”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Nah, this one’s not about me. It’s about Steve.”

Her posture stiffened at the mention of his name, but she tried to play it off. “What about him?”

Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “When I talked to Steve recently, he mentioned something… about you.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed, her lips tightening. “What exactly did he say?”

Wanda’s gaze darted between them, her brow furrowing with concern. “Sam, don’t dance around it.”

He sighed, running a hand over his face. “Look, she told Steve that you’re in love with him.”

Natasha froze, her eyes widening for a split second before narrowing into a sharp glare. “She what?”

Sam held up his hands defensively. “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. She didn’t mean anything by it. It just… came out.”

Natasha pushed back from the table, standing abruptly. “Why the hell would she say that? That wasn’t hers to tell.”

Wanda reached out, trying to calm her. “Nat, wait—”

“No, Wanda,” Natasha snapped, pacing the length of the kitchen. “I didn’t want him to know! Not like that. Not—God, why would she do that?”

Sam stood, keeping his voice calm. “Because she thought he deserved to know, Nat. She wasn’t trying to hurt you. She cares about you, and she thought—”

“Thought what?” Natasha interrupted, spinning on her heel to face him. “That I needed her to play matchmaker? That I couldn’t handle my own feelings?”

“Natasha,” Wanda said gently, standing as well. “She didn’t mean to overstep. You know she’s just been trying to keep everyone together.”

Natasha scoffed, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “Well, she’s doing a great job of it, isn’t she?”

Sam sighed, stepping closer. “Nat, come on. You know her. She’s not trying to make things worse. She’s just… juggling a lot right now. And so are you.”

Natasha shook her head, her frustration palpable. “I don’t even know what to do with this. Steve hasn’t said a damn thing to me about it. Does he know how humiliating that is?”

Sam hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Maybe he’s trying to figure it out... You’ve had feelings for him for years, and he’s been untangling his own mess with her. It’s a lot for everyone.”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, her emotions warring on her face. After a long moment, she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I just… I didn’t want him to know like this. It feels so… exposed.”

The tension in the kitchen hung heavy as Natasha paced, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Wanda, seated at the small dining table with her glass of wine, raised her hands to diffuse the brewing storm. “Okay, but to be fair, Nat… you meddled between Bucky and Y/N for years. You practically shoved them together.”

Natasha stopped mid-step, her head snapping toward Wanda. “That’s different.”

Sam, leaning casually against the counter with a brownie in one hand and a beer in the other, raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? How exactly is it different?”

Natasha’s jaw tightened, her voice clipped. “Because they were obviously in love with each other. Anyone with eyes could see that. They just needed a push—a little guidance.”

Wanda wasn’t buying it, her expression skeptical. “And what exactly do you think you and Steve are?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, exasperated. “That’s not the same, Wanda. Steve doesn’t…” Her words faltered, the usually sharp edge of her tone softening just slightly. “He doesn’t feel that way about me.”

Wanda sat up straighter, her voice gentler but still firm. “You don’t know that. You’re assuming, just like Y/N assumed with Bucky for years. Maybe it’s not the same, Nat, but… if you’re not even willing to try, how will you ever know?”

Natasha scoffed, clearly uncomfortable, her fingers tapping nervously against the counter. “It’s not about trying, okay? Steve’s not… he’s still hung up on her. Everyone and there pet knows that. I’m not going to be someone’s second choice.”

Sam, who had been quiet through most of the exchange, let out a low whistle. “Yikes, this got real heavy, real fast.”

Natasha shot him a look, but Sam raised his brownie defensively. “Hey, I’m just saying. All this angst? It’s like being back in college.”

Wanda couldn’t help but laugh softly, the tension breaking slightly. Natasha’s lips twitched, but her frustration still simmered beneath the surface.

Wanda placed a comforting hand on Natasha’s arm. “You have every right to feel the way you do. But maybe this is a chance to finally have that conversation with him. No more guessing, no more waiting.”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes glistening slightly. “Yeah, because those conversations always go so well,” she muttered bitterly.

Sam reached out, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “Nat, you’re one of the strongest people I know. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “Thanks, Dad.”

Wanda smiled softly, her voice teasing. “Hey, he’s just trying to get all his kids on good terms before he leaves.”

That finally earned a small, reluctant smile from Natasha. She looked at Sam, her anger softening. “I’ll figure it out. But if this goes sideways, you’re explaining to Steve why I threw his ass out a window.”

Sam grinned. “Deal.”

Before anyone could say more, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the apartment. The door opened, and Steve walked in, looking tired but still managing to offer a small smile. “Hey.”

Sam perked up immediately, pushing off the counter. “Perfect timing Stevie. Brownie or beer?” He held up both as an offering.

Steve chuckled lightly, hanging his jacket by the door. “Why not both?” he replied, running a hand through his hair before stepping into the kitchen. “What’s going on in here?”

The three of them exchanged a quick glance before Wanda, ever the smooth one, piped up. “Oh, you know. Just solving the world’s problems over alcohol and baked goods.”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly as he looked at Natasha, who quickly busied herself with clearing a nonexistent mess on the counter. “You okay?” he asked her directly, his tone quiet and concerned.

Natasha didn’t meet his eyes, her voice brisk. “Fine. Just tired.”

Steve didn’t push, nodding slowly before reaching for the beer Sam had handed him. “Well, I’m gonna chug this beer and devour some brownies, long day.”

As he moved toward the living room, Wanda watched him go, then turned to Natasha. “You’re gonna have to talk to him eventually, you know.”

Natasha shot Wanda a warning look, but her shoulders sagged slightly as she leaned against the counter. “I know,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sam, finishing his brownie, clapped his hands together. “Alright, that’s my cue. I’ll let you ladies work out all the feelings. Steve and I are gonna dive into this six-pack.” He winked and walked toward the living room, leaving Natasha and Wanda in a lingering silence.

Natasha finally sat down across from Wanda, swirling her glass of wine but not drinking. “I don’t know if I can, Wanda. Talk to him, I mean.”

Wanda tilted her head, her voice soft. “Why not?”

Natasha let out a bitter laugh. “Because I’ve been standing on the sidelines for years. Watching him pine for her, knowing I’d never measure up. How do you even start a conversation after that?”

Wanda reached across the table, her fingers brushing Natasha’s. “You start by being honest. No more sidelines, Nat. You deserve to be happy too.”

Natasha’s eyes shone with unshed tears, but she quickly blinked them away. “Easier said than done.”

Wanda smiled gently. “Yeah, but the best things usually are.”

As they finished dessert, the conversation shifted back to lighter topics. Sam stood to start clearing plates, and Natasha leaned back in her chair, glancing over at Steve. “Hey, you mind stepping out to the balcony with me for a second?”

Steve raised an eyebrow but nodded, grabbing his beer before following her outside.

The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the warmth inside. The city lights twinkled in the distance, casting a soft glow over the balcony. Natasha leaned against the railing, her arms crossed as she stared out at the skyline.

Steve joined her, standing a few feet away. “What’s on your mind?”

Natasha hesitated, her fingers gripping the railing tightly. Finally, she sighed and turned to face him. “Sam told me you know.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

She rolled her eyes. “About me, how I feel about you.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his expression softening. “So it’s true.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said, her voice quieter now. “It’s true.”

Steve stepped closer, resting his beer on the railing. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter,” Natasha said, her tone a mix of frustration and resignation. “You were always looking at her. Always chasing after her. And I was… I don’t know. Just there.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, his gaze falling to the floor. “That’s not fair, Nat.”

“No,” she snapped, “what’s not fair is sitting on the sidelines, watching the person you love pine after someone else. Watching them hurt over and over, knowing there’s nothing you can do because they don’t see you that way.”

Steve’s eyes met hers, guilt flashing across his face. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Natasha said bitterly. “Because you were too busy looking through me.”

Silence hung heavy between them, the weight of her words settling deep in his chest. He opened his mouth to speak, but Natasha held up a hand, stopping him.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad,” she said, her voice softer now. “I just… I needed to say it. For me.”

Steve nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Nat. For not seeing you. For making you feel like you didn’t matter.”

She offered a small, bittersweet smile. “I know you didn’t mean to. But it doesn’t change how it felt.”

Steve reached out hesitantly, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You matter to me. You always have.”

Natasha shook her head, stepping back. “I can’t do this, Steve. Not right now. You need to figure out what you want—who you are—before you even think about coming back to me.”

Her words hung in the air, final and unwavering. Steve nodded, his heart heavy with regret. “I understand.”

“Good,” Natasha said, her voice steady. “Because I’m not going to wait around forever.”

With that, she turned and walked back inside, leaving Steve alone on the balcony, the weight of her words settling deep in his chest. He stared out at the city, his mind racing with everything he’d lost and everything he might never have.

The cabin glowed warmly under the soft flicker of candlelight and the crackling fire. The bottle of wine between you and Bucky was nearly empty, the two of you leaning comfortably against the couch on the plush rug. You took a sip from your glass, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, when Bucky suddenly set his glass down and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

Bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Thank you," he whispered.

"For what?" you asked

"For loving me, for letting me love you."

You smiled, nuzzling closer to him. "There's nothing and no one i'd rather have than you, Buck."

“I need to ask you something,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

You tilted your head, smiling softly at him. “Okay. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “It’s about what you told me… about Steve. What he said to you. That you shouldn’t be with me, that you should be with him.”

You exhaled slowly, setting your own glass down. “Bucky…”

“It’s been bugging me,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours, vulnerable and searching. “I mean, do you—do you think he really meant that? Or was he just… hurting?”

You reached out and took his hand in yours, rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. “Bucky, I think Steve was hurting. A lot. But there’s no way he really meant it. And even if he did… it wouldn’t matter. You’ve been my person since we were kids.”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Really?”

You nodded, your voice softening. “Do you remember the first time you tried to push me on the swing? You said, ‘Sit here. I got you.’ Then you fell on your ass and scraped your knee.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I wasn’t exactly smooth, was I?”

“No,” you teased, leaning closer. “But you’ve always been there for me, Buck. Always. I’ve never had a single doubt about that.”

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “Thank you. I just… I needed to hear it. With everything that’s been happening—with Steve, and now with Natasha.”

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. “What do you think is going to happen with them?”

Bucky sighed, leaning back against the couch and pulling you closer so you were tucked under his arm. “I don’t know. Natasha’s tough as nails, but Steve? He’s in his head a lot. They both deserve to be happy, though. Hopefully, they figure it out… together.”

“I hope so too,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder. “They both deserve a happy ending.”

The conversation lulled for a moment, the weight of the topic settling between you. Then you shifted, sitting up and looking at him. “Speaking of happy endings… Sam told me.”

Bucky blinked. “Told you what?”

“About his promotion, the big move.” You studied his face, waiting for his reaction.

Bucky let out a sigh, his thumb brushing against your hand. “I wanted to tell you, but he asked me not to. I’m sorry—”

“Absolutely not,” you cut him off, shaking your head. “You don’t get to apologize for that. Sam trusted you with something big. I could never be mad at you for keeping that promise.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. “It’s gonna be weird, though. Him being halfway across the country.”

“Yeah,” you admitted, your voice quieter. “It’s going to be weird for all of us.”

Bucky shifted, his hand gently cupping your cheek and turning you to face him. “We’ll figure it out. Just like we always do.”

You smiled faintly, leaning into his touch. “You and me, right?”

“Always,” he said softly.

You let the moment linger before a thought struck you. “So… what’s our next step?”

Bucky frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “we’re together, but we’re still living as roommates. Two separate bedrooms, two lives in one space. What do we want to do about that?”

Bucky tilted his head, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “What do you want, doll?”

You hesitated, your cheeks warming under the soft glow of the bedside lamp. “I’d love to get a house someday,” you murmured, your voice carrying a mix of hope and uncertainty. “Something with a backyard. Maybe even some space for… you know.”

Bucky’s lips quirked into a teasing smile, his blue eyes sparkling. “Kids?” he asked, his tone light but his gaze searching yours.

“Maybe,” you said softly, feeling your cheeks grow warmer. “What about you? Do you… want that?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the way his expression softened made your heart skip a beat. Slowly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead gently against yours. The weight of his next words felt like a vow. “A house, a backyard, a family. With you?” His voice dropped to a whisper, thick with emotion. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Your chest tightened, the sheer sincerity in his tone leaving you breathless. But then, his lips twitched into a grin as he added, “But… in New York?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, your fingers brushing against his scruffy jaw. “Maybe… Boston?” you offered, the word feeling both foreign and perfect on your tongue.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his grin widening into something radiant. “I don’t care where we are, as long as I’m with you,” he said earnestly. Then, his tone shifted, a playful but serious edge creeping in. “But you know, we don’t have to wait.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, tilting your head in question. “What do you mean?”

Bucky’s hands slid to your waist, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against your sides as he leaned closer, his voice low and certain. “I mean, I don’t want to wait to start my life with you—our life. I think we’ve waited long enough. If we both want this, why not now? Time’s never on anyone’s side, and I don’t want to waste another second without having all of this with you.”

Your breath hitched at the raw truth in his words, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. “You really mean that?” you asked, your voice a shaky whisper.

He smiled, his lips brushing softly against yours before he pulled back just enough to answer. “I do. I just want to live my life with you already. So…” His eyes searched yours, his voice dropping to something intimate and vulnerable. “Boston?”

You felt the word settle deep inside you, grounding and exhilarating all at once. “Boston,” you whispered back, nodding as your lips curved into a smile.

Bucky’s grin returned, wide and boyish, and before you could say another word, he cupped your face and kissed you, long and sweet, as if sealing a promise. When he pulled back, his eyes shone with happiness. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that.”

You laughed softly, running your fingers through his hair. “I think I have some idea.”

He pressed another kiss to your lips, this one lingering and slow. “Boston,” he murmured again, as if savoring the sound of it. “It’s going to be amazing, doll. Us, a house, a backyard…” His grin turned mischievous. “Maybe even a dog before the kids, huh?”

You giggled, your heart feeling impossibly full. “One step at a time, Barnes.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes au #bucky fanfic #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes x you #seb stan fanfic #sebastian stan

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pitchsidestories · 7 months ago

Text

all's well that ends well II Lucy Bronze x Reader

masterlist I word count: 2010

a/n: hi, we hope you enjoy the full length oneshot to the snippet we posted last week. 🫶🏻

“You!”

Your voice was high-pitched and cracked slightly at the end of the question.

You didn’t care.

There was no way, she was actually here. You had heard the rumours but hadn’t believed any of it. And now she was actually here, right in front of your eyes, on the Chelsea training grounds.

She actually did it.

You watched her through narrowed eyes, subconsciously clenching your jaw.

She smiled brightly at you: “Yes, me. Good morning to you too, pretty girl.“

There it was, that typical smug smile. Lucy Bronze, just like you wanted to forget her.

“Don’t call me that.“, you warned her.

Bad enough that she was here, you didn’t need her stupid remarks.

She remained unbothered, teasing you some more: “Oh, someone woke up in a bad mood.“

“No, only still stuck in a nightmare called Lucy Bronze.“, you replied, taking in the unfamiliar sight of her in the blue Chelsea training shirt.

From the look on her face she clearly interpreted it as you checking her out.

You cringed.

“A nightmare, huh?”, she repeated with a grin.

You wanted nothing more than to wipe that stupid self-assured smile off her face.

“Dressed in Chelsea colours. Why did you come back? And of all clubs you had to choose mine?!”

You half-expected her to crack another joke but instead, her face turned serious.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t come here for you. I came for what the club had to offer.“

“In other words, Barca didn’t want you anymore.“, you taunted her.

You watched, waiting to see her face fall but it never did. She just cocked her head and replied: “Cold. But essentially yes, they didn’t guarantee me a spot in the starting squad so I left.“

Before you could stop yourself, you released a humourless laugh.

Following Lucys confused look, you explained: “You always leave when it gets uncomfortable. See you on the pitch.“

You turned around and took exactly two steps towards the football pitch before you heard Lucy catching up to you.

“What’s that supposed to mean? If you really think that you don’t know me well enough.“, she asked, her voice finally conveying some anger.

“Oh, I do know you.“, you shrugged and left her standing on the sideline of the pitch, joining your teammates for the warm-up.

To your surprise, she jogged up next to you, clearly not done with the conversation yet. “Sure. Of course you know me better than I know myself. You’ve always been such a know-it-all.“

You huffed in offence but before you could protest, she increased her pace and left your side.

In her place, Sam Kerr appeared with a curious look on her face: “Wait, you and Bronzey got history?”

“Yes, it was a long time ago though and I don’t want to talk about it, okay.”, you revealed reluctantly.

“Aw man, I love a good break up story.”, the Australian forward replied pouting.

“I know you do Sammy, but you won’t hear that one.”, you told her.

“I’ll figure it out sooner or later.”, she declared confidently.

“Don’t you dare asking Lucy about us.”, you warned your teammate.

“I’m sure she’ll tell me.”, Sam responded winking.

Much to her actual surprise the English defender did open up towards her, once it was just the two of them in an empty room.

“Our story is quick to tell we were together for quite a while, I went to another club, so we tried to do long distance, yet it didn’t work out.”

“And she thinks it’s your fault?”, Sam questioned.

“Obviously and she’s talking about comfortable all she has ever known is English football.”, the older woman shrugged.

The forward took a moment to think about what she just said before humming. “Oh, this is going to be a very interesting season.”

“Admittedly, I did a few things wrong in the past and there isn’t much I regret but these I do.” Memories of the moment Lucy regretted the most passed behind her inner eye.

“That’s too much information. I didn’t come for a deep dive.”, Sam intervened chuckling.

“Come on girls, don’t dally.”, Millie who stood in the doorframe called for them.

“She thinks she has something to say around here now that she has an honours doctorate.”, the forward rolled her eyes playfully.

“We’re ready, Doctor Bright.”, the dark-haired defender reassured the blonde with a teasing grin on her lips.

“Good to hear, Doctor Bronze.”, Millie answered happily.

A few days had passed since your conversation with your ex-girlfriend. During and post training you tried your best to ignore her. You were about to leave the Chelsea grounds, but a familiar voice held you back.

“Can we talk?”

“Now?”, you wanted to know.

“Yes.”, Lucy nodded.

“Fine, but be quick, I don’t have much time.”, you stated in an icy tone crossing your arms impatiently.

“Then you’ve to make some time.”, she emphasized.

“What do you want to talk about?”, you asked short-temperedly.

“About us. This is getting ridiculous. How’re we supposed to play together when you ignore me all the time?”, the defender countered eagerly awaiting your response.

The late afternoon light enhanced her tan, and her green eyes were glowing. You couldn’t help to admire the woman in front of you, but when you remembered what happened between you two and acid formed in your mouth, so you spat out words as cruel as the taste of that. Sentences you knew would hurt her.

“You’re less quick and sharp nowadays. Also how am I supposed to trust you on and off the pitch?”

Lucy blinked at you. Her face frozen, not slightest slip. Shaking her head, she replied: “You really have a way of making someone feel welcome here.“

“I’m normally more welcoming to our new signings… making sure they settle well into London…“

You stopped yourself from continuing and bit your lip. Why did you now feel the need to prove to her that your were actually good person?

“But not to me, I got it.“, she said, almost reading your exact next thought. She should know that you didn’t welcome her here.

“You’re a whole different story.“, you said plainly.

Your eyes suddenly caught sight of her arms crossed in front of herself. The little hairs stood up, small bumps forming around them. She had goosebumps.

“You’ll need a jacket. The evenings can already get cold.“, you advised her, trying to let no empathy seep through.

At once, you felt glad that you remembered to wear a long-sleeved shirt to training. You absentmindedly pulled the sleeves over your hands.

Your ex just rolled her eyes: “You act like I’ve never been to England.“

“You’re freezing. I can see that from here.“

“Yeah, this is obviously not Barcelona. But I’m not new here.“, she replied with clear annoyance.

You refused to let her have the point. “True but you never played in London though.“

“No, I didn’t.“

“See.“

It was petty but you won. You turned to walk away from her like you had done so many times in the past few days but again she wouldn’t let you. Her hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you back in one swift movement.

“Where are you going? We’re not done here.“

You sighed in frustration: “I won’t ignore you in training anymore. Happy?”

“No.“

“There’s more?”, you frowned at her.

“Of course, it’s not done with that.“

Eyebrows raised, you waited for an explanation: “So?”

“We should talk about us too. And what happened.“, she suggested.

Your heart stopped for a second, your lungs felt deprived of air and you couldn’t do anything but stare at her for a second. There was no way you would bring that break up back again. You both knew how it had ended.

“Another time, okay?”

“Y/n…“

You forced yourself to a half-smile: “See you tomorrow.“

You found yourself in the starting line-up for the next friendly at Stamford Bridge. You would be playing on the right wing, in front of Lucy. And despite all your doubts, the game went well.

More than well, to be honest. It was like you had never been apart. Lucys typical runs forward gave you the opportunity to move towards the centre and position yourself in the penalty areas. One of her crosses was so precise that you only had to tilt your head to put the ball into the net.

“Amazing game, girls. The season is off to a great start.“, Millie cheered as she high-fived you way too hard.

“Yeah, thanks for the assist, Luce.“

“You’re welcome. I still know your movements on the pitch.”, Lucy waved it off while the look on her face was melancholic. There was a hint of fondness in her voice too.

“And I’m sorry for what I said about your playing style.”, you bit your lip guiltily.

“I know.”, the defender sounded almost amused.

“Good.”, you sighed relived.

“Don’t worry.”, the older woman added quickly.

“Bye Luce.”

“See you, y/n.”, Lucy watched you go with a sad smile.

“Lucy? You two are so weird.”, Millie tapped on the dark-haired defender’s shoulder.

Irritated she turned around to face her team’s captain. “What do you mean?”

“Why don’t you finally talk about it?”, the blonde asked frustrated.

“I try to, but she always runs away.”, the older player explained annoyed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out for you.”, Millie promised.

And the Chelsea captain stayed true to her words.

It was the next day when you found yourself locked in a room with your ex-girlfriend.

“Sam, Erin, that’s not funny, let us out!”, you commanded, hammering your hands against the door. You felt like a mouse stuck in a trap.

“Do you hear anything, Erin?”, you heard the Australian ask the Scottish midfielder. The reply wasn’t audible to your ears because Lucy had started to speak.

“They’ll open the door again once we talked about us.”

“That’s so childish of them. To talk about us? That’s history.”, you grumbled.

“Of course. It’s obviously not history for you if you keep pouting about it.”, the defender observed

“I’m not pouting, I’m so over you at this point.”, you corrected her.

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”, your former lover sounded unconvinced.

“You really broke my heart back then.”, you confessed quietly, your voice full of the sadness and hurt from days in the past when the breakup was still fresh like a open wound you thought would never heal.

“I didn’t do anything.”, she remarked calmly.

“Yes, you did you left.”, you disagreed fiercely.

“I left because I had to. After you assured me, long distance would work.”, Lucy defended herself.

A grieving smirk appeared on your face, you remembered your old self, what a fool she has been. “I thought it would, but it didn’t that happens.”

“Yes, it happens. So, stop blaming me for leaving it was a mutual decision.”

“It wasn’t your fault- Cam we leave now?”, you directed the question towards the people who kept you in that room.

“Nope, you know what we want to hear.”, Sam declared grinning.

“Lucy, what does she want from us?”, you wanted to know.

“I’ve no idea., she admitted before continuing, we won’t get back together, Sam. That won’t work.”

“Exactly.”, you added quickly.

“That’s not what we want. Keep talking and you’ll see.”, the forward insisted.

“What if we begin again? Like we just met for the first time.”, Lucy suggested.

“Wait, what?”, you frowned.

“We can start over.”, she offered in a hopeful tone.

“You mean as in strangers who get to know each other?”

“Maybe.” , she nodded knowing fully well you’d never be a stranger to her.

“And we don’t know where this leads to?”, you felt your heart flutter against your chest, the door was open again and you both stepped into the unknowing. The past was the past the future was uncertain, all you could influence was the present.

All's well that ends well. Yet this was only the beginning and the closing of one chapter of your relationship.

#lucy bronze #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze imagine #woso x reader #woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso oneshot #woso community #engwnt #lionesses x reader #lionesses #barclays wsl

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satorulovebot · 5 months ago

Text

so scarlet it was, maroon | chapter two

✧₊⁺ pairing — satoru gojou x journalist!reader

✧₊⁺ chapter summary — satoru comes home to his angry wife and he said some questionable stuff the night before. satoru meets suguru at a bar in shinjuku and they discuss what they should do with their nosy little journalist and they manage to come up with a plan on how they should deal with her, and it doesn't include the most moral of ways.

✧₊⁺ word count — 4.6k

✧₊⁺ warnings — nsfw (minors dni), alcohol use, drug mentions, manipulation, mentions of sex (not with reader)

✧₊⁺ notes — well hello to all my new readers this was very unexpected for me. i started this blog with max 4 readers interacting with my work (i love you btw) and now i have 1k interactions on my ssiwm masterlist which is crazy and anxiety inducing (i’m a wuss if you couldn’t tell). but thank you to my cursed seas babies who voted for the f1 gojo series and i thank them because they brought me here and i wouldn’t have kept writing without them and thank you for the lovely comments on the first chapter also short chapter because life longer chapter soon i promise :)

♪ on the floor — jennifer lopez ft. pitbull

series masterlist // pinterest moodboard // general masterlist

previous chap. tokyo, japan | next chap. (coming coon)

The world around Satoru was hazy when he opened his eyes, barely able to make out the details of the ceiling above him. His head throbbed and pulsed in time with his heartbeat. He let out a groan before rolling over on the couch in a desperate attempt to block out the morning sunlight.

Where was he? Oh, right. His apartment. The couch. Again.

He remembered stumbling into the house at some obscure hour of the night, unaware of how he swayed as he tried to navigate the hallway of his home. Memories of the previous night came rushing back and all of a sudden, a conversation came to him—a memory of the curious face that sat across from him in the dimly lit bar, asking him questions he would usually brush off with a smirk. What was it he had said about her last night? Something about a cute, nosy journalist being at the bar. He could only hope he didn't say that out loud.

“Oh, look who finally decided to wake up." Hana stood above him, her arms crossed, glaring down at him, “How nice of you to finally come home.”

Gojou grunted, pushing himself up, though he instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea hit him. “Morning to you too,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can you keep it down? It feels like I’ve been hit by a damn truck.”

“Maybe that’s because you came home drunk out of your mind, yet again,” Hana snapped. “And stumbling around the house at two in the morning, shouting nonsense about some ‘nosy journalist’? Really, Satoru?”

He blinked slowly, trying to make sense of her words. Oh right, maybe he had gone on a bit too much about that girl at the bar last night, hadn’t he? What was her name? No, she never gave it to him, had she? Or had he just forgotten?

“I wasn’t shouting. And… she was just doing her job, asking questions. It wasn’t anything"

“Just doing her job? Is that what you call it now? Going to bars and flirting with journalists instead of coming home to your wife?”

He groaned, slumping back against the couch. “Hana, I wasn’t flirting with her,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “She’s just a journalist. You know how it is.”

“Oh, I know how it is. I know exactly how it is. You spend every other night at some bar, ‘meeting’ people, and coming home like this.” She gestured at him, sprawled out on the couch, his shirt rumpled and hair a mess, the smell of last night’s whiskey still clinging to him. “And I’m supposed to just sit here and take it? Pretend this is normal?”

“Can we not do this right now?” he muttered. “It’s too early for a lecture.”

“A lecture? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually enjoy making a mess of everything. And let me guess, you were just at the bar for a ‘break’ from everything, right?”

“Yes, actually,” he shot back, finally sitting up. "I needed a break, Hana. Do you know what it’s like? Everyone expects me to be this… perfect person, and I'm not. And then I come home, and it’s more of the same.”

“So you’re the victim here? I’m sorry, but did I ask for this life of constant rumors and watching my husband stumble in drunk, muttering about some cute journalist?”

Did he really say that last night? He couldn’t remember, but if Hana said so… maybe he did.

“That’s not—Hana, it wasn’t like that. She was just… She’s just doing research on me for some project. You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Oh, of course. Just research. Because there’s nothing strange about you going off with some girl who’s practically a stranger and giving her everything she wants to know about your life while leaving me in the dark.”

He looked at her, genuinely surprised by her comment. “Hana,” he started slowly, “I don’t ‘leave you in the dark.’”

“Really? Then tell me, what about all the rumors, Satoru? The ones I have to read about in the papers? The ones I have to brush off every time someone asks if our marriage is ‘really okay.’ Do you have any idea what it’s like having to deal with that?”

Do you think I like having my life dissected by the media, or dealing with every fucking rumor about me? I didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” she shot back, “but you made it worse. Do you ever think about how your actions make me look? Every time you’re out drinking, showing up in those trashy tabloids with someone else, it’s me they look at, like I’m the one who can’t control her husband.”

“So what do you want from me, Hana? An apology? Fine. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I went out. I’m sorry I had a drink. I’m sorry I talked to some journalists. But I can’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

“You can’t pretend? Satoru, you’ve been pretending for years. You’re not fooling anyone but yourself.”

He stared at her, a sinking feeling settling in his chest. “Hana…”

“I can’t keep doing this, Satoru,” she said softly, her voice breaking just a little. “I can’t keep watching you spiral like this, hurting yourself, hurting me. I didn’t marry you so you could destroy yourself.”

Hana let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. “You’re not the only one with limits, Satoru. And I think I’m reaching mine.”

Without another word, Hana turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing down the hallway.

“Great job, Satoru,” he muttered to himself, dragging a hand through his hair.

He let his gaze fall around the room, landing on a few framed pictures scattered on the shelves. One photo caught his eye—a photo of his and Hana's engagement party. The two of them had looked so happy, so in love, but that was before he let the fame and pressure eat away at him and his marriage.

“God,” he muttered under his breath. He needed to get out before the walls began to close in on him. The last thing he wanted was to sit around in the empty house alone with his thoughts. Grabbing his jacket from the arm of the couch, he stood up, ignoring the fresh wave of nausea hitting him. With a quick glance down the hallway where Hana had disappeared, he slipped out the front door.

Satoru found Suguru in their usual spot—seated in the corner of a booth in a low-lit bar tucked away in Shinjuku. He was nursing a whiskey and a cigarette between two fingers, rolling the glass, and watching the ice melt. Satoru slid in across from him and ordered himself a whiskey.

“You look like hell,” Suguru said, his mouth twitching into a faint smile as he raised an eyebrow. “Long night?”

Satoru snorted. “You could say that.”

“Ah, the usual, then,” he replied, not even looking up. “Guessing it ended with a headache and Hana kicking you out onto the couch?”

Satoru grimaced, taking the glass of whiskey the server put down in front of him. “Something like that.” He took a long sip, letting the burn trail down his throat. “Or maybe I just wanted a break from the domestic life.”

“Right. Is that why you look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a wall and lost? What happened?”

“Same shit as always,” Satoru muttered, running a hand through his hair. “She’s pissed I was out last night. Probably more pissed that I came home talking about some journalist.”

“A journalist, huh? She’s probably wondering if she should be jealous.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t exactly help by calling her ‘cute’ and ‘nosy’ in the same sentence. Not my best moment.”

“You’re an idiot, you know that?”

"Tell me something I don't know." Satoru leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. "This girl… she's doing this project or something on me and TJR. She was in the press booth at the race yesterday and happened to be at the same bar as me after. Seemed a little too interested in getting into my head."

"Maybe she just wants a good story for her project. Or," He leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table, "maybe she's looking for more than that. Journalists are like that, especially extra nosy ones. They'll dig until there's nothing left, then still find a way to bring things up."

"She wouldn't be the first," Satoru scoffed.

“What exactly did she ask you about? Anything too close for comfort?”

Satoru swirled the whiskey in his glass, thinking. "To be honest, Suguru, I can't even remember half of what she said because I was too busy staring at her tits."

"Fucking Christ, Satoru. The hell?"

"What? She's got nice tits," he shrugged. "But in all seriousness, I think she was just asking the basics at first… and I might have opened my mouth a little too much."

"Sounds like she's already done her homework. If she's that determined, she's not going to stop at surface-level questions. Do you think she knows about all of it?"

Satoru knew what he was referring to.

“I don’t know, maybe. But if she is, she’s damn good at hiding it.”

“Then maybe you should start doing the same,” Suguru said quietly. Keep her close. See what she knows.”

“You’re saying I should let her in? What the hell do you think she’s going to do if she gets any closer?”

"You don’t have to let her in. Just make her think you are. Play the game, Satoru. You can be charming when you want to be. Distract her, keep her off your trail. If she’s nosy, then give her a story that’ll satisfy her and keep her from digging deeper. You’ve got the upper hand here; use it.”

Satoru thought over Suguru's suggestion, the gears in his mind turning. It wasn’t a terrible idea. It was probably his best option. If he was going to stay ahead, he’d have to play it better than her.

“Alright,” Satoru said, setting his glass down. “I’ll get close. Make her think I’m letting her in, give her just enough to chew on. And if she does know more than she’s letting on, maybe I can find a way to turn it against her.”

“Now you’re thinking like a true strategist. Just remember, don’t let her get under your skin. Journalist's loyalty is to their story, not to their subject."

Suguru's smirk widened, raising his glass in a mock toast. Satoru clinked his glass against his before downing the rest of the whiskey.

You had decided to get a closer look at the in's and out's of how Tokyo Jujutsu Racing worked. And for that, you needed to go to TJR's headquarters. You somehow managed to get your professor to get you inside the place, although it wasn't easy and he said your payment was a good project. The place was sleek and modern, with open spaces and luxury design elements. It was a playground for the rich as much as it was a workplace.

Earlier, you had been asking the staff about Gojou Satoru's training and habits, hoping to get some good information from them. They were surprisingly open to answering your questions, and you got some more information for your project, which was overall great.

Your media pass, which had thankfully been upgraded, hung around your neck as you waited for your tour guide to take you around the place. You decided to roam around for a bit while you waited and that led you down a hallway with team posters and trophies lining the walls.

You were so lost in your observations that you didn’t even realize someone had come up behind you. “Enjoying the view?”

Startled, you turned to find none other than Gojou Satoru leaning casually against the wall. He was dressed in his team's uniform, the red and black accentuating his tall figure, with dark shades covering his eyes.

He was probably high.

“Didn’t think of you as the observant type."

You composed yourself before speaking, “I'm a journalist. I like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

“And you think you’ll figure that out by staring at the walls?”

“Could be. I think they tell you a lot.” You shrugged. "Like how serious the team is about their image. Or how much they care about their past wins and not their current ones. That kind of thing."

“Oh? And what do you make of me, then?”

“Still deciding. I'd like to think you're more than a drunken idiot."

"I see you still remember that, unfortunately."

“That’s what a good journalist does. They remember."

He pushed himself off the wall, straightening up to his full height. “Well, since you’re here to observe, why don’t I give you something more to write about?”

Before you could respond, he turned on his heel and motioned for you to follow him. You hurried to keep up, glancing around as he led you through the winding corridors. Eventually, you entered a room with a massive window overlooking the racetrack.

Gojou leaned against the railing, gesturing to the track below. "So, this is where the magic happens. The place where we come to win."

You nodded, taking in the view. “It’s impressive, I’ll give you that. But it takes more than just a fast car to win, doesn’t it?”

"Oh, absolutely. It takes balls of steel, the reflexes of a god, and just the right amount of craziness. All of those, fortunately, I happen to possess.”

“Modesty isn’t your strong suit, is it?”

“Not when you’re the best."

"Right. The best has an attitude I see."

A silence hung in the hair for a few moments as you studied him.

“So, are you planning to spend the rest of your time here psychoanalyzing me?”

“Depends. Are you planning to keep giving me things to analyze?”

“Touche. Guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

At that moment, a team member entered the room, interrupting the moment. "Gojou, they’re ready for you on the track."

Stay here,” he said. “You’ll want a good view of this.”

With that, he turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the observation room. You watched as he made his way down to the track, confident as ever with not a care in the world either.

Cocky Bastard.

You stood in the observation deck for a little before you saw Gojou

You stayed in the observation room, your eyes fixed on the scene below. You saw Gojou greet a few team members, exchange words with his pit crew, and slip into the driver’s seat of his car.

Gojou maneuvered effortlessly, weaving through turns and accelerating with insane amounts of speed. You couldn’t deny, he was talented and he had clearly worked his ass off to get here as his talent isn’t something that can be taught.

After about forty-five minutes of observing Gojou racing, he brought the car to a halt and hopped out of the driver's seat. You watched him walk into the garage and disappear out of sight, presumably going to speak to his crew.

You couldn’t deny it—there was something magnetic about him.

Your pen scratched against your notepad as you scribbled down every single detail possible.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, his tall frame standing in the doorway.

“Eh,” you shrugged.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means it was okay you ass. It gave me something for my project but nothing really noteworthy.”

“You’re lucky you know that? Not many people get to see me in action.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Okay? I’m not like many people if you couldn’t tell.”

“Clearly,” he scoffed.

“Do you know you’ve racked up more racked up more fines and close calls than any other driver in the league this season?”

“Look, sweetheart,” he said, voice low, “everyone out there knows I can handle the shit I do out there. Besides…” He trailed off. “People love a driver who’s a bit dangerous. Keeps things exciting.”

You met his eyes, holding his gaze without blinking. “You think the world loves you, huh? Interesting. Because from what I’ve read, people seem split between calling you a genius and calling you a liability.”

“Hm. Is that so? Do you believe that?” he replied.

“Yes, and you would know that if you let me interview you properly.”

“Okay how about this,” he glances down at his watch. “We can meet up in the parking garage here in about an hour and you can ask me anything you want for thirty minutes.”

Wait What?

“Uh… Okay, I think I can make it,” you mumbled.

“Great! See you in an hour sweets.”

The roar of an engine echoed through the underground parking lot, the sharp screeching of tires signaling the arrival of the Gojou. You leaned against the concrete pillar, your arms crossed and your foot tapping impatiently. He was late.

You’d waited over an hour, hoping he’d attend the interview he promised you.

When his sleek black Porsche 911 came into view with his window rolled down, you got even more pissed off than you already were

“Glad you could make it,” you called out, voice tinged with sarcasm.

He stretched, not even acknowledging your tone. “What can I say? Traffic was a nightmare.”

“Sure,” you replied dryly, your patience wearing thin. “We were supposed to meet an hour ago. Some of us value punctuality.”

He pulled off his sunglasses, revealing those piercing blue eyes that could disarm almost anyone. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get another word out, he walked right past you, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Give me a sec,” he waved his hand over his shoulder. “Gotta take care of something.”

“Wait—” you started, but he was already striding off, leaving you standing there, seething.

The seconds ticked by, turning into minutes. Your annoyance morphed into frustration. After waiting a bit longer, you decided enough was enough. If he thought he could blow you off, he was in for a rude awakening.

Determined, you followed the direction he’d gone. The echo of your footsteps bounced off the concrete walls as you weaved through the garage and into the back corridors of the venue.

“Mr. Gojou!” you called out. “This isn’t funny. Where the hell are you?”

You rounded a corner and stopped in your tracks. The faint sound of laughter—his unmistakable laugh—came from behind a partially open supply closet door a few feet ahead. You narrowed your eyes, creeping closer.

At first, you thought maybe he was on the phone. But as you drew nearer, it became painfully clear that this wasn’t a casual conversation.

“Mmm, you’re so bad,” a woman’s voice purred, followed by the unmistakable rustle of fabric.

Your stomach sank. No. He wouldn’t. Not right Now.

Would he?

Against your better judgment, you stepped closer, your movements quieter now. Peeking through the crack in the door, you instantly regretted it.

There he was, pressed against the back wall of the closet, shirt unbuttoned, and his hair disheveled. His hands were tangled in the hair of a woman whose face you couldn’t see, her body pinned against his as they made out with a fervor that bordered on obscene.

Was this seriously how he’d chosen to spend the time he owed you for your interview? The audacity was almost impressive.

You cleared your throat loudly, and the sound echoed like a gunshot in the confined space.

The woman gasped, pulling away from him in shock. Gojou, however, turned his head lazily toward you, his expression unreadable. For a split second, there was something in his eyes—a flicker of annoyance, maybe even embarrassment—but it was quickly replaced by his usual, smirk.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite journalist.”

You folded your arms tightly across your chest, glaring at him. “Seriously?”

The woman, clearly flustered, muttered something about leaving and quickly ducked out of the room, her heels clicking against the floor as she disappeared down the hallway.

He sighed, buttoning up his shirt. “What?” he said. “You’ve never seen two consenting adults have a little fun before?”

“Fun?” you snapped. “We had an interview. You made me wait for over an hour before you showed up and then you go and do this?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “You’re the one who followed me. Maybe I would’ve shown up if you’d just stayed put. Plus, I had actually agreed to meet her here before I promised you the interview.”

“You make no fucking sense, do you know that?”

He grinned, running a hand through his hair, which only made it look messier. “I get that a lot.”

“Do you even care how this looks? You’re already under a microscope with all your scandals, and now this?”

“Why do you care so much? You writing a piece on my love life now, too?”

“No, but the media sure as hell is. What does your wife think of this? Of your reputation?”

“Reputation’s overrated,” he said, brushing past you as he headed for the door. “People are gonna think what they want, no matter what I do.”

You turned to watch him leave, your fists clenching at your sides. “Maybe if you gave them less to work with, they’d think better of you,” you called after him.

He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. “You don’t get it, do you?” he said, his voice low and tired. “This is who I am. Take it or leave it.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you alone in the empty hallway, your heart pounding and your mind racing.

The sound of footsteps reverberated through the corridor as you leaned against the cold, concrete wall, still processing what had just happened. You were about to leave and write off this night as yet another chapter in the disaster that was Gojou Satoru.

But then, you heard his footsteps return.

“You still here?” he called out, voice echoing through the silence.

You didn’t move. “Should I be?”

He walked towards you, his gait relaxed, almost predatory. “Depends.” He stopped a few feet away, eyes fixed on yours. “You want a story for your project or what?”

You frowned, arms still crossed. “I’ve already seen more than enough tonight.”

“Come by my garage tomorrow. I’ve got something to show you. Something you can use.”

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch.”

“Fine. Tomorrow. But this better not be another waste of my time.”

“You won’t regret it.”

The smell of motor oil and metal hung in the air the moment you stepped inside the dimly lit garage. The concrete floor was stained with years of grease with tool scattered across the workbench. The garage was big, to say the least, there were rows of high-performance cars lining the walls, their glossy bodies gleaming under the garage's fluorescent lights. It was a bit of a mess inside the garage, as there were different car parts strewn across the garage.

Gojou stood beside it, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged on his forearms. The sight was so out of place.

“Didn’t think you’d actually show up,” he drawled, tossing a wrench onto a nearby workbench with a clatter.

“Neither did I,” you shot back, arms crossed. “So, what’s the big secret? Planning on showing me how you avoid drug tests?”

“Always so sharp. No, this...” He gestured to the car. “This is one of my hobbies.”

You walked closer, eyeing the vintage vehicle with skepticism. “You? Fixing cars? Sounds like a PR stunt.”

He wiped his hands on a rag, smirking. “You think everything I do is a stunt?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to think otherwise.”

“Careful, sweetheart. I might start thinking you’re obsessed with me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Get over yourself. I’m here for my project, not for you.”

He leaned casually against the car, arms crossed over his chest. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

“So, what’s the deal with this thing?”

“It was my dad’s. He used to take me to the track in this.”

“And you think this will make a good addition to my project? What, ‘Gojou Satoru: The Man Behind the Wheel’?”

People love a good redemption arc. Makes me more... relatable.”

You snorted. “You? Relatable? That’s a stretch.”

He pushed off the car, stepping closer again, his eyes never leaving yours. “Maybe you just haven’t gotten to know me well enough.”

“Or maybe I’ve seen enough to know exactly who you are.”

His smile faltered, just for a second. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”

“I think you’re a mess hiding behind a pretty face and a fast car.”

“You might be the first person who’s ever said that to my face.”

“Good. Someone needed to.”

…

“You know, I could help you relax a bit. Take the edge off.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “Seriously? That’s your move? Pathetic.”

He grinned, unbothered by the insult. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Actually, I can. And I will.” You turned away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Cold as ever,” he muttered, almost to himself. “I like it.”

“Good for you.” You grabbed your bag, ready to leave. “Thanks for the... insight. I’ll be sure to include ‘Gojou Satoru: Amateur Mechanic’ in my report.”

“You really don’t give a shit, do you?”

You paused at the door, glancing back over your shoulder. “Not about you.”

You barely made it five steps outside the garage before his voice called after you. "Running away already? Thought you were supposed to be fearless."

You stopped, the night air cool against your skin. Turning slowly, you saw him leaning against the garage doorframe.

“I’m not running, Gojou. I’m just done wasting my time.”

"You say that, but here you are. You could've written this off as another scandal of mine or another fall from grace. But you’re still digging. Makes me wonder why."

“Because you’re a story people want. A cautionary tale. People love watching someone like you crash and burn.”

“And here I thought you saw me as more than just some headline.”

“You’re not that special.”

“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

“What’s your deal, Gojou? Really,” you asked, voice softer now. “Is this all a game to you?”

“Everyone’s playing a game. I just play it better.”

“And what happens when you lose?”

He stepped closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. “I don’t lose.”

“Everyone loses eventually. Even you.”

“Well then,” he said. “We will see.”

He turned, walking back toward the garage, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You coming or not?”

You frowned. “What?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ve got something else to show you. Unless you’re too scared.”

You hesitated, every instinct telling you to walk away. But damn it, you couldn’t. There was something here, something you needed to understand and against your better judgment, you followed him back inside.

Gojou walked over to the workbench, picking up a small, silver object. He held it out to you.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing it warily.

He shrugged. “Figure it out. You’re the journalist.”

“Why are you giving this to me?”

“Maybe I’ll let you know the truth. Or maybe I just like fucking with you.” He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Before you could respond, he walked away, disappearing deeper into the garage. You stood there, the key clutched in your hand. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot. Gojou Satoru was a puzzle, a mess of contradictions and lies. And you were going to unravel him, piece by piece.

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