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thebarneschronicles · 3 days ago

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Closer To Home VI

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 10.8k

Last night was a turning point—love laid bare, no more running, no more doubt. In the golden light of morning, wrapped in Bucky Barnes’ arms, there’s nothing left to question. He loves you. He’s yours. And for the first time, he’s not afraid to show it.

What started as teasing and lazy touches turns into something deeper—an unspoken promise of everything you’ve built together. A chance encounter at breakfast forces Bucky to confront his past, to see himself not as the weapon he once was, but as a man worth remembering. Worth loving.

He’s still learning, still finding his way, but one thing is certain—he isn’t hiding anymore. Not from himself. And never from you.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of emotional distress, angst, and relationship struggles, a hint of jealousy and abandonment issues, emotional withdrawal, implied PTSD and survivor’s guilt, explicit sexual content (light dominance, possessiveness, overstimulation, and loss of control), moments of mental and emotional turmoil, slightly rough sex with lingering soreness and bruising, public teasing with suggestive dialogue, discussions of war and past violence, themes of self-worth and struggling with identity.

Closer To Home Masterlist

Author’s Note: Surprise, surprise: I couldn't resist it. I wrote the morning after. This one is lighter, more fun, they're just basking in the glow of their 'i love you's' and being menaces to each other. Bucky has a little moment later on and I thought it was something nice for him to have. Give me your thoughts! Love, B xx

The first thing you register is the light. Too much light.

It pries its way through the towering hotel windows, an unrelenting golden-white glow bouncing off the surrounding buildings and flooding the room with an almost holy brightness. It’s intrusive, obnoxious—offensive, really. It cuts through the haze of deep sleep, before warmth, before soreness, before the lazy, satisfied hum curling through your limbs, steeped in the lingering echoes of the night before.

A groggy, disgruntled noise escapes you as you burrow deeper into the warmth beside you, determined to outlast the sun’s persistence.

"Shut the blinds," you mumble, voice thick and heavy with sleep, pressing your face into the solid wall of heat next to you.

Bucky barely stirs, barely even acknowledges the request beyond a vague grunt. "You do it."

You groan, shifting just enough to crawl over him before immediately abandoning the effort, nuzzling into the crook of his neck instead. "You’re bigger."

He exhales a breath that might be a laugh, a slow, lazy sound still drowned in exhaustion, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t push you away. Instead, the arm draped over your waist tightens just slightly, fingers ghosting up the bare expanse of your spine in slow, absentminded strokes. The sensation sends a pleasant shiver rippling down your body, soothing and grounding, the contrast between his warm skin and the cold bite of vibranium a familiar comfort.

"Mm, sweetheart," his voice is a low rumble against your hair, thick and rough with sleep. "You tryna merge with me or somethin’?"

"Yes," you grumble against his throat, tucking a leg over his hip in silent declaration.

You're both still bare from the night before, neither of you ever quite bothering to reclaim your clothes. Your body—drifting in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness—has yet to register the full extent of your so-called reunion. Not just the dull ache in your limbs, the heaviness in your muscles, but the deeper, lingering soreness between your thighs—a telling reminder of just how thoroughly he’d taken you apart.

Bucky shifts under the covers, adjusting to accommodate your relentless burrowing without complaint. And for a little while, sleep drags you both back under, a quiet, contented peace settling between you, until the light finds you again.

No matter how much you twist and turn, how much you try to sink deeper into the safe haven of Bucky’s body, the glare sneaks through the gaps, prying you from the depths of sleep. A frustrated groan pushes past your lips, muffled against the firm plane of his chest. Bucky, to his credit, doesn’t complain when you press yourself impossibly closer, seeking shelter in the broad expanse of him. Instead, he shifts, muscles flexing beneath your touch as he pulls you closer, his breath fanning warmly across your temple.

"You’re real fussy for someone who should still be asleep," he murmurs, voice laced with amusement.

"Light’s in my eyes," you grumble, tightening your arms around him. "You’re supposed to be my fortress."

"And you’re supposed to be my peace and quiet," he counters, voice still hoarse with sleep. "Guess we both lost."

Your heart stutters at the admission, warmth blooming in your chest, but you ignore it—ignore the way it makes something deep inside you melt and ache in the sweetest way. Instead, you huff dramatically, fisting your hands against his side as you try to roll both of you over. "Shield me."

A lazy chuckle rumbles through him, vibrating against your skin. "What?"

"The sun is attacking me. Be useful. Please."

Bucky exhales a slow breath but doesn’t resist. Instead, with a tired grunt, he rolls onto his side, tugging you with him. The shift in position grants you the reprieve you seek, the imposing strength of his body blocking out the unwelcome morning glare. You hum in approval, pressing yourself flush against him, sighing contentedly as his arms tighten around you.

"Better?" he rasps, his lips grazing the top of your head.

"Mmm." You shift, pressing a sleepy kiss against his collarbone. "You make a good blackout curtain."

Bucky hums, the sound already half-lost to the pull of sleep. "Glad I could be of service."

For a while, it works. The warmth of him, the solid weight of his presence, the quiet rhythm of his breathing—all of it lulls you closer to the edge of slumber once more. But the longer you lay there, the more aware you become.

Of the dull ache lingering in your muscles. The faint bruises imprinted against your hips, still ghosting with the memory of his grip. The soreness between your thighs, the undeniable evidence of the night before.

And then, the memory crashes into you.

A quiet, breathless whisper escapes before you can stop it. "…You said you love me."

Bucky’s breathing stutters, just for a fraction of a second. Then, a low, sleepy hum, his grip around you tightening. "Mmhmm."

His lips press lazily against your forehead, like he can shush the thought away. "I do," he murmurs, the words warm, half-drowned in sleep, but no less true.

A slow, unstoppable smile spreads across your face. Your heart stumbles over itself, a pleasant, grounding weight settling in your chest. You are his. Claimed. Wanted.

But then, other memories filter in, fragments of the night resurfacing in sharp detail—the fight, though resolved, is not forgotten. The way he had lost himself inside you, scared to lose you. And because you don’t know what else to do with the overwhelming weight of it, you deflect.

"Can’t believe you folded mid-stroke," you tease, breaking the silence. "Didn’t realize my pussy was a safe space for emotional and psychological breakthroughs."

Bucky snorts sharply, his chest shaking with laughter, but his grip on you tightens in retaliation. His vibranium fingers dig into the curve of your bare ass in a firm, vindictive squeeze.

“O-ow!”

"What’s wrong with you?" he accuses, voice thick with amusement, his teeth grazing your shoulder in a playful nip.

"I don’t know, you tell me," you shrug, smug. "You were deep enough in me to find out."

Bucky guffaws, in disbelief. Then, a slow and satisfied smirk spreads over his lips. "So if we’re calling each other out—" He trails his nose along your jaw, his stubble a delicious scratch against your skin. "You said you wanted to marry me."

Your breath hitches. Heat blooms over your cheeks.

"Marriage and babies, if I remember correctly," he adds, his tone dripping with triumph.

Your face burns. "Oh, shut up."

"Nope." His lips graze the sensitive skin beneath your ear, smug and lazy. "You said it."

"I was delirious. You were inside me."

"You sounded pretty serious, sweetheart."

You exhale sharply, feeling his grin against your skin as he presses slow, lazy kisses along your shoulder. It’s not fair how effortlessly he can turn the teasing into something tender. How he can have you giggling one second and breathless the next.

You shift against him, sighing as your fingertips trace slow, lazy patterns over the scars on his shoulder. The ridges are familiar beneath your touch, a testament to everything he's survived, to the strength beneath the softness he reserves only for you. His skin is warm, solid, grounding. Your body aches in a way that makes you want to stretch and wince all at once—every muscle tender, every inch of you still thrumming from the way he’d taken you the night before. And when his thigh shifts slightly, pressing just enough to remind you of exactly where he had been, exactly how thoroughly he had ruined you, a small sound catches in your throat. A tiny, involuntary “ouch”.

Bucky notices immediately.

His movements are unhurried, fluid, but in a blink, you’re on your back, his body hovering over yours, the weight of him pressed into his forearm as his sharp blue eyes roam your face. Concern flickers in them, furrowing his brows, lips pressing into a firm line. He reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch achingly gentle in contrast to the roughness of his grip from hours before.

"You okay?" His voice is still rough with sleep, but there’s a new sharpness to it now, an edge of worry threading through the drowsiness. "Did I hurt you last night?"

You blink up at him, surprised by the sudden shift in his demeanor—how easily he can go from teasing and smug to careful and serious, how deeply attuned he is to you. A slow smile tugs at your lips as you reach up, brushing your fingers through his hair, sweeping it back from his face. His concern is sweet, but unnecessary.

"No," you murmur, smoothing your palm down the side of his face. "I mean—" You stretch slightly beneath him, only to feel another pang of soreness settle deep in your bones. You shift, letting out a small, amused huff. "I am kinda sore. Like, all over. You weren’t exactly gentle."

Bucky’s smirk is immediate, smug and devastatingly cocky, his gaze dipping down, dragging slowly over your body, drinking in the marks he left behind—his marks, his evidence of last night. He lets out a low, satisfied hum, thumb brushing idly over your hip, tracing the faint outline of his own fingertips pressed into your skin.

"Didn’t hear any complaints at the time," he says, voice dipping, rough with amusement.

"That’s because I was too busy getting railed into the mattress," you deadpan, watching as his smirk grows into a full-fledged grin.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, dipping his head slightly, his nose brushing along your jaw, voice teasing. "You sound like you wanna complain now."

"Nope. Definitely not a complaint," you clarify, shaking your head. You weren’t about to have him backtrack on you. "Just an observation." You pause, letting your fingers trace slow, absent circles over his shoulder before adding, "I’ve always wanted you a little rough."

Something shifts in his expression at that—subtle, but unmistakable. Amusement gives way to something darker, something deeper. His fingers drag over your stomach, slow and teasing, his touch lighter than before, more deliberate. His gaze follows the movement of his own hand, eyes darkening as he takes in the faint bruises along your ribs, the places where his grip had been firm, possessive, the crescent moons of his nails etched into your skin.

"You look good like this," he murmurs, voice dipping lower, rougher.

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Like what?" you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

Bucky shifts, his lips barely grazing over your jaw, his hand sliding lower, his thumb pressing slow, deliberate circles into your hip bone. The touch is featherlight, teasing, the contrast against the soreness making your stomach tighten, heat curling low in your belly.

"Marked," he says simply, voice thick with satisfaction.

Your stomach flips.

For a moment, you don’t say anything—can’t say anything. Your heart beats a little faster, your breath a little shallower. You can feel the warmth of him everywhere, the solid weight of his body, the press of his hand.

“I like it too,” you confess, feeling your body heating up from the inside out.

His nose brushes yours, the heat of his breath mingling with your own. "Think I wanna finish what we started last night."

Your lips part slightly, your breath coming just a little quicker.

"Yeah?" you whisper, tilting your chin up, inviting.

"Yeah," he breathes, his lips grazing over yours, barely there, teasing, tempting. "If you’re up for it."

You hum softly, letting your hands slide up his back, fingers curling at the nape of his neck. "You really never got to cum…" you murmur, your voice laced with playful sympathy, your nails dragging gently down his back.

Bucky exhales through his nose, nuzzling against your lips, his smirk pressed to your skin. "I didn’t," he confirms, his tone heavy with exaggerated pain.

A grin tugs at your lips. "Poor you, huh? Must be hard."

"Very," he nods solemnly, though the corner of his mouth betrays him. You can feel his smirk against your cheek, the amusement threaded through his voice. “I’m in deep suffering.”

You let out a quiet giggle, biting your lip as you shift slightly beneath him. "Oh, are you?" You arch a teasing brow. "Do I not satisfy you every other time?"

Bucky’s lips quirk, amusement flickering behind his eyes as he presses a slow, lingering kiss to your jaw. "You do, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice dropping into something lower, something that makes your stomach tighten. His fingers drag lazily over your skin, tracing the path of last night’s indulgences. "But you were the one who said your pussy had healing properties."

Your breath catches. A laugh slips out, unbidden.

“Bucky Barnes–” you shake your head. “So you did have a revelation," you tease, grinning against his skin.

"Well, if your pussy's got that kind of power..." His hand slides lower, fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping between your legs. He tilts his head, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, letting his teeth scrape just slightly. "Think I might need another hit. For, y’know... therapeutic reasons."

You pretend to consider it, tipping your head back slightly, giving him more room to roam. His mouth is warm against your skin, his tongue darting out to taste, his teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver and his fingers tease your slit, light and gentle.

"Well," you murmur, voice light, playful, but already breathless, "I wouldn't want to deprive you of something so… essential to your well-being."

Bucky hums, low and pleased, his lips still moving lazily against your throat, like he’s savoring you. "Sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice rich with amusement, "you're a goddamn saint."

His fingers part your slit, teasing, barely there as he dips into your entrance—just enough to make heat coil low in your belly, tight and simmering. It’s a whisper of a touch, more suggestion than satisfaction, and it leaves you aching, desperate. You arch slightly into him, hips tilting instinctively, trying to chase more, but his touch remains infuriatingly light. Barely a ghost of pressure, just the tease of his fingertips skating over your slickness. He’s playing with you. Taking his time. Drawing it out just to watch you squirm.

Your breath hitches, frustration curling alongside arousal. You can feel him watching you, feel the weight of his stare as he drinks in every little movement, every twitch, every shaky breath. You look down between you, your gaze roaming the broad expanse of his chest, over the ridges of muscle shifting as he moves. The way his arm flexes between your spread thighs, corded with strength, veins prominent and beautiful. And lower—

Your breath catches.

His cock, thick and flushed, stands hard between you, the sight of it making your stomach flip, making the need pulse hotter in your core. It’s beautiful—he’s beautiful. Every inch of him, from the strong slope of his shoulders to the delicious cut of his abs, the sheer strength in his arms, to the way his lips quirk ever so slightly as he watches your reaction. Like he knows. Like he’s savoring every second of it.

And God, you love him. You love him so much it hurts. Sometimes, the sheer weight of it presses down on you like an unstoppable force, consuming and unshakable, taking up so much space inside you that you don’t know how to contain it. He was warmth, he was kindness, he was something thoughtful and rare, something that made you feel safe even in your most vulnerable moments.

But the desire—the desire was something else entirely.

It was its own beast, wild and insatiable, growing every time he touched you, every time you looked at him and saw something new. A different angle of him bathed in low, golden light. The way his muscles flexed beneath your fingers. The sound of his voice when it dropped lower, when it got rough with want. He was a work of art, sculpted and breathtaking, but unlike the admirers who could only appreciate from afar, you got to touch. You got to experience every part of him—the heat of his skin, the way he tasted, the shiver in his breath when you kissed the right spot, the sounds he made when he lost himself in you. Sometimes, it was too much for your body to comprehend. The pleasure, the need, the sheer overwhelming reality of him.

“Oh God, okay,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling too fast, the air catching in your throat. “Shit, this is—”

Bucky’s fingers pause, just barely, the tips of them still pressed against the slick heat of you. His gaze flicks up to yours, sharp and curious, assessing. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head quickly, trying to gather yourself, but it’s useless when your whole body is buzzing—pulse pounding in your ears, breath hitching. “I might be the one having a meltdown,” you admit, voice unsteady.

His smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, playful, but there’s something softer behind it, something knowing. The cool weight of his vibranium hand slides up, smoothing over your thigh, grounding you. “Yeah?” His voice dips lower, warm and teasing, but there’s an edge of concern, too. “Why’s that, sweetheart?”

A breathless laugh escapes you as you shift slightly beneath him, parting your legs further, like instinct. Like an invitation. Your hand moves without thought, reaching down to wrap around his wrist, fingers curling over the strong tendons, needing something solid to hold onto. “You,” you murmur, squeezing his wrist lightly, looking up at him with something raw in your eyes, something vulnerable. “You’re—unreal. You don’t even know…”

Something flickers in his expression. His pupils blow wide, not with lust but something deeper, something unreadable yet unmistakable. And then—

“I love you,” he murmurs, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like the words belong to him the same way you do.

Your heart stutters, chest squeezing tight at the newness of it, the weight of it still fresh enough to send a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I love you.”

Your lips part, an overwhelmed, breathless sound escaping before you can help it. “Do you?” you mumble, swallowing against the emotion building fast in your throat. “’Cause truly, I just want you for that insane body.”

Bucky lets out a laugh, low and warm, shaking his head as he steals a smacking kiss from your lips. “You’re gonna cry, aren’t you?” he teases, voice laced with something affectionate, something utterly wrecked with fondness. “Is that why you’re trying to joke?”

“Maybe,” you pout, reaching up to hook your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. This one lingers, your lips parting against his, a gasp slipping out when his index finger glides up—circling your clit in slow, deliberate strokes before dragging back down to your entrance and dipping inside. Your eyes flutter shut, body going tight around his digits, the noise alone - wet, filthy, loud - making goosebumps rise on your skin.

Bucky watches you, taking in every reaction, every little shiver. “You gonna tell me you love me?”

“I love you,” you give in immediately, the words leaving you on instinct, overwhelmed, helpless to anything but this. “I love you. God, I really do.”

His lips brush against your cheek, and when he speaks, his voice is lower, deeper—commanding. “Look me in the eyes, sweetheart.”

You whimper, your body trembling, pleasure pressing in from all sides. “Gimme—” you gasp, barely able to get the words out. “Gimme a second.”

“Nuh uh,” Bucky nuzzles into your neck then, his nose brushing against your skin, his lips pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses over your pulse before his teeth nip, dragging a groan from deep in your throat. “I wanna see you.”

“Damn it, Buck—fuck, wait!”

Your whole body jolts when he presses two fingers inside, stretching you open, filling you with the same slow, thorough care that’s unraveling you inch by inch. Your back arches off the bed, an arm wrapping tight around his neck, clinging to him as pleasure surges up your spine, hot and dizzying.

His other hand strokes over your thigh, soothing, a steady contrast to the relentless way he works you open. “Baby,” you pant, voice a little shaky, pleading. “I’m still sore.”

Bucky stills, just for a second, a flicker of hesitation passing over his features. And then he softens, his lips pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, his nose brushing against yours. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice all honey and gravel. “I got you, sweetheart. You just tell me what you need.”

God, you love him.

“Just… be gentle?”

His lips twitch, something fond and teasing playing at the edges of his mouth, but his eyes—God, his eyes—are dark and warm, deep pools of blue that hold you still. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice softer now, roughened at the edges. “I’ll be gentle.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down your spine, because it’s not just words—it’s a promise, one that settles into your bones, warm and unshakable.

His fingers move again, slow and deliberate this time, easing deeper, stretching you open with aching patience. He watches every flicker of expression on your face, every shift in your breathing, his vibranium hand smoothing over your thigh, keeping you grounded. “This okay?” he asks, voice low, reverent.

You nod, exhaling a shaky breath. “Yeah,” you whisper, your fingers tightening around his wrist. “Yeah, it’s—”

Your words cut off in a breathy moan when he curls his fingers just right, pressing into that spot that sends heat coiling low in your belly. Your hips twitch, moving instinctively, chasing the feeling, noises pouring out of you, and Bucky makes a low, approving sound, something rough and pleased rumbling from his chest.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your cheek, then your jaw, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your skin. “That’s my girl.”

Your breath catches. His girl. The words send a dizzy rush through you, lighting up something tender and desperate in your chest and you feel yourself getting even wetter, easing up the glide of his fingers against your walls.

“You like that?” he teases, dragging his lips lower, down the curve of your throat, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts. His tongue darts out, teasing, and glides over your nipple, making your breath stutter. His fingers keep working you open, slow and steady, pushing in and out, spreading warmth through every inch of you. “Like bein’ mine?”

“Fuck,” you breathe, your head falling back against the pillows, your body trembling as your fingers curl into the back of his neck, your free hand gripping the chains of his dog tags. “Bucky—”

His name spills from your lips like a whispered prayer, and the sound of it sends a shiver of satisfaction through him. He groans low, the sound vibrating through his chest as he shifts closer, his bare skin scorching against yours, his cock heavy and hot against your thigh, leaking against your skin. You can feel the weight of him, the need rolling off of him, pressing into you and your walls pulse, desperate to take him.

“Wanna rub your clit for me?” he murmurs against your skin, voice thick and low with the heat of the moment. “It’ll help, sweetheart. Get you ready faster.”

You shake your head, a desperate sound escaping your throat as you grip the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him closer. “N-no, no, please,” you manage, breathless. “You do it.”

His smirk is audible, a teasing lilt to his voice, but there’s something more underneath it—something darker, more possessive. “Kinda busy,” he says, his fingers inside you moving at a maddeningly slow pace, teasing the edges of your control, making every nerve in your body stand on end.

Your hips roll, instinctively chasing the rhythm of his fingers, but it’s not enough. You want more. You need more.

“Use the other hand,” you whisper, your voice trembling, the desperation coating every syllable. You tilt your head up, pulling him down by the chains, seeking his mouth for a kiss, but you don’t quite meet it, your lips brushing the side of his jaw instead. You can feel the heat of him radiating through his skin, all hard angles and smooth muscle, and you can’t get enough.

Bucky makes a sound deep in his chest, something rough and low that sends a bolt of heat straight through you. His forehead presses to yours for a moment, his breath warm, ragged, as if he’s barely holding himself together.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his flesh fingers still working inside you, slow and deep, stretching you open with aching patience. His metal hand, the one you just begged for, twitches where it rests on your thigh.

Your grip tightens in his hair, your lips brushing against his in a breathless, pleading kiss. “Please,” you whisper, eyes hazy with need. “I need it, Buck. Wanna cum for you. Just you, baby.”

Something dark flickers through his gaze, something possessive and molten, and then you feel it—the cool, smooth brush of vibranium tracing over your stomach, deliberate and unhurried, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, teasing, his lips brushing yours but never quite kissing. “That what my girl wants?”

A desperate little sound escapes you, your hips rolling instinctively toward his touch. “Yours,” you breathe, voice barely there. “You know I am.”

Bucky groans, and then, finally, finally, the cool pads of his thumb presses against your clit, the rest of his hand putting pressure low on your belly. He starts slow, circling with feather-light strokes that have you gasping, twitching beneath him.

“Fuck me,” he hisses, watching you unravel beneath him.

Your eyes flutter shut as you let your words tumble out. “Oh my god–” Your pulse jumps. Your hips roll up, fingers pulling at his hair. “Fuck me, fuck me, f-fuck–”

“Look at you,” he hisses, watching you unravel beneath him. His voice is rough, strained. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

Your thighs threaten to clamp shut around his wrist, but he tsks, spreading them wider, keeping you open for him. “Nah, sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips brushing along your jaw. “Let me see you.”

You whimper, overwhelmed, heat coiling tight in your belly as he works you over with devastating precision. He’s everywhere, flesh fingers curling inside you, metal fingers slick against your clit, mouth on your breasts and it’s too much.

“Bucky,” you gasp, arching into him, your whole body taut, trembling. “I—I’m gonna—”

He lifts his head then, his gaze locking onto yours, burning and unyielding. “Look at me,” he orders, his voice pure sin, low and commanding.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his just as he presses a little harder, a little faster.You’re slick now, no resistance at all for his fingers, and he’s in to the knuckle, teasing sensations out of you that your own fingers hadn’t managed to. It’s too much, too good, your body shattering beneath his touch. Your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and consuming, your breath hitching as you cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders, his hair.

Bucky groans at the sight, vibranium thumb still rolling your clit, working you through it, drawing out every last pulse, every last tremor, until you’re gasping, crying out so loud you’re sure the room next door knows his name, overstimulated and shaking.

His lips find yours then, kissing you slow, deep, like he wants to pull every last whimper straight from your lungs. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice filled with something tender, reverent. “Always so good for me.”

You shudder, boneless beneath him, your body still humming, your mind floating in the aftermath of the intense release. Every inch of your skin seems to still vibrate with it. His touch lingers, almost too much, too soon, but you don’t want him to stop. You need him to stay close, to remind you of the fire he just ignited in you.

Your fingers trace the ridges of his neck, the taut muscles there, then slowly, lazily, drift down his back, ghosting over the sweat-dampened skin of his broad shoulders. Your other hand curves along his waist, the heat of his body still radiating off him, every inch of him solid and real beneath your touch. Finally, you let your palm rest against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart echoing your own.

“Holy shit,” you finally manage, breathless, dazed, your voice still a little ragged. The words feel foreign on your tongue, yet somehow fitting, because you have nothing else to say—nothing that could adequately describe how his touch has shattered you.

Bucky chuckles, a deep, low sound that hums in his chest, full of satisfaction. His lips brush against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Yeah?” he drawls, his voice thick, slow, and heavy with the weight of his own pleasure. “You still with me?”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head against the pillow, eyes fluttering as you try to keep yourself grounded. “Yeah,” you breathe out, every nerve still buzzing, still tingling. The aftershocks of your release still pulse through your veins, but the hunger in you only grows.

His smirk returns, slow and lazy, and you can see the way it stretches across his face—there’s something possessive about it, but it’s soft too, something warm and tender beneath the surface. He nudges your nose with his, and you feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His lips brush over yours, soft at first, a gentle reminder that this—this between you—is more than just physical. You lean into it, your lips parting slightly as you deepen the kiss, your heart catching in your throat. It’s unbearably sweet, making your chest ache as both of you whisper soft, barely audible ‘I love you’s’ onto each other’s lips before he breaks away.

“Think you got another one in you, sweetheart?” he murmurs, his hand already trailing down between your thighs. His fingers are still wet when he finds your sensitive clit again, teasing with a touch.

You whimper, body jerking instinctively at the contact. “Bucky—” You can barely form words, your voice tight and ragged with desire. The air around you feels thick with tension, with the need for him that you can't deny. Your hands move to him, finding his hips, gliding behind until your hands can drag over the curve of his ass. It’s ridiculous, really, how much you love his body.

His grin widens, and there’s that dark, knowing glint in his eyes—the one that makes everything inside you tighten with anticipation. “That a yes?” His words drip with teasing, but underneath is something else—as if he’s already planning how he’s going to take you apart all over again.

You bite your lip, your hand moving down and around to wrap around his cock, gingerly at first, but it doesn’t take long for you to find a rhythm, your fingers curling around him, drawing him closer. You pull him, softly, and the sound he makes—a low, guttural moan—sends a shiver racing down your spine. It makes every nerve in your body stand at attention.

“You still haven’t cum…” You tsked in disapproval.

“I will,” he nods, his voice rasping with need. “Just checking if you’re ready for my cock.” His words are thick with lust, and even though it makes you clench, there’s a rawness to it that makes you crave it even more.

“My cock,” you correct him, the words tasting different when you say them like this—laying claim. The thought makes your pulse race, your mouth water. Your eyes lock on his, a challenge in your gaze, and without hesitation, you drag him down towards you by the neck, pulling him in.

He’s stronger, bigger, taller than you—everything about him demands attention—but when he falls into you, surrendering, it’s almost as if the roles have reversed. He lets you guide him, lets you welcome him in between your spread thighs, the weight of his body settling against you. His breath hitches as he shifts, and you feel every inch of him, pressing against you, urging you to take the next step.

“Cause you’re mine, right?” you whisper, the words thick with desire, a challenge laced with vulnerability, as you stare up at him. Your breath comes out uneven, the ache between your legs undeniable, a desperate plea for him.

For a long moment, he just stares at you, his gaze intense, searching. The tension between you thickens, and you can almost taste the shift in the air. He smiles then, a slow smile that ignites something deep inside you. “Yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravelly, “I’m all yours, sweetheart.”

“Then come on,” you urge him, voice sultry, your hand lining his cock to your entrance, gliding up and down, teasing both you and him with the promise of your heat, your wetness. Your free hand finds his ass again, your nails into the supple skin. “Fill up your pussy, James. Wanna see you cum.”

“Shit.”

–

“Buck… You got your wallet?”

“Yes.” His voice was flat, but the subtle twitch of his lips betrayed his amusement.

“Jacket?”

“Yes, doll.”

“Phone?”

“On my pocket.”

“Sunglasses?”

“Your purse.”

“Gloves?”

“On my hands.”

“You know you don’t have to wear those, right?” You glanced up at him as you adjusted your purse strap over your shoulder.

He flexed his fingers, glancing down at the black leather that hugged his hands snugly. “People are weird about it.”

“Well, fuck people,” you huffed, annoyed on his behalf, rising up on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

A faint chuckle rumbles in his chest, but he doesn’t argue. Getting him out of the hotel had already been an ordeal, requiring the kind of patience you weren’t exactly known for. He had been content to keep you locked away in bed, tangled up in his limbs, his hands exploring, grounding, claiming. Both of you had a new found love for how much you seemed to unravel around his fingers, an addiction he seemed eager to explore. But after hours of indulgence, your stomach had started growling loud enough to rival an engine, and the dull throb behind your eyes had made it clear that skipping meals wasn’t an option.

In the end, it was that—not your pleading, not your half-hearted threats, not even your puppy-dog eyes—that had finally made him relent.

So here you were, strolling down the sidewalk in the crisp morning air, Bucky keeping you anchored to his side with an unwavering grip on your hand. Never much for PDA, he seemed to make an exception today. His fingers curled securely around yours, his thumb occasionally sweeping over your knuckles like he was reassuring himself you were still there. You stole a glance up at him—his expression was relaxed, content even, though the sharp-eyed vigilance never quite left him.

You’d picked out a cute little restaurant—Martin’s Tavern. It had that old-school charm that you figured would appeal to him, the kind of place that smelled like fresh coffee, warm maple syrup, and nostalgia. When you stepped inside, the soft murmur of conversation and the clinking of silverware against plates filled the space. A waitress led you to a corner booth, and as soon as you slid in, Bucky followed, pressing against your side as if you might disappear if he let even an inch of space form between you.

His palm found its way between your crossed legs, dipping between your thighs, a firm, possessive hold that had been a constant since the moment you stepped out of bed. His thumb traces slow circles against your tights covered skin, and you feel it through the thin fabric.

You exhaled a soft, amused sigh, letting the moment settle between you before shifting slightly in your seat—just a test, just to prove a theory. And as expected, his grip tightened, a subtle yet unmistakable response.

You swallowed down the flicker of emotion that stirred in your chest, resting your cheek against his shoulder as you wrapped both hands around his bicep, feeling the solid muscle beneath his jacket. “I’m not gonna disappear, you know.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched against your thigh. His grip wasn’t painful, wasn’t desperate, but it was firm. Resolute. Like he needed to feel you there, needed the confirmation that you were real, that this wasn’t just some dream that would dissolve into nothing the moment he let go.

His voice was quiet when he finally answered, his words laced with the heaviness of someone who had spent a lifetime losing himself and the people he loved. “You could.”

It wasn’t a dramatic declaration, but rather a simple, painful truth.

Your heart clenched, and you pulled back just enough to look at him. His expression was calm—carefully so—but his eyes betrayed him.

“I’m right here, Buck,” you murmured, your fingers squeezing his hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And you felt it—the way the night before had cracked him wide open. Stripped him down to something raw, something unguarded. He wasn’t hiding it from you anymore. The love. The need. The desire. The fear. It was all there, simmering just beneath the surface, clear as day.

But that didn’t mean he was different with the rest of the world.

Outside of this little bubble the two of you existed in, he was still Bucky Barnes. Still the man who scanned every room like a soldier walking into enemy territory, still the man who tensed at loud noises, still the man who carried a century’s worth of ghosts on his shoulders.

You saw it now—his jaw tightening, his gaze flickering toward the window, his instincts kicking in even in a quiet, cozy little restaurant where the biggest threat was a waiter with a tray of mimosas.

You knew better than to push. Instead, you reached for his gloved hand with slow, deliberate care, bringing it to your lips and pressing a soft kiss against the worn leather stretched taut across his knuckles.

It worked. You felt it—the way his fingers flexed slightly beneath the material, the way his grip on you tightened, grounding himself in your presence.

“You know…” you began, voice light with gentle mischief, “this place has been here since the thirties. It’s a hundred years old.” You let the words hang for a moment, feigning innocence as you watched his brow twitch ever so slightly. Then, just as his attention finally shifted fully back to you, you smirked. “Like you.”

His reaction was immediate. He turned from the menu he had just picked up, slow and deliberate, blue eyes narrowing as he gave you a long, assessing look. The kind of look that said he was both entirely unimpressed and, at the same time, completely taken with you.

You bit your lip, failing spectacularly to smother the grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. But there was no hiding the sparkle in your eyes, the amusement dancing just beneath the surface.

Bucky exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I can’t decide if that was thoughtful or just plain rude,” he mused, his voice edged with faux-offense. But you caught it—the way his lips twitched, fighting against a smile.

You hummed, tilting your head in mock consideration. “How about both?”

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and you caught the way his gaze dipped to your mouth before he sighed, long and suffering. “You’re impossible.”

Leaning in, you closed the space between you, brushing your nose against his in a fleeting, playful nuzzle. He seemed to be letting you get away with so much more than he usually would. The warmth of his breath ghosted over your lips, and for a moment, everything stilled. His fingers flexed against your thigh, his hold on you tightening just slightly, and you knew—knew that if you weren’t in a public place, he wouldn’t be hesitating right now.

“I contain multitudes, you know,” you teased, letting your voice dip into a lilting whisper.

He groaned, low and deep, shaking his head. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t let go. If anything, he only held onto you tighter, his fingers pressing into the soft skin of your thigh, his arm heavy around your shoulders.

You could see it—the war inside him. The part of him that wanted to roll his eyes, to grumble about your antics. And the other part, the one that wanted to pin you against the back of the booth and kiss you until you forgot your own name.

He sighed, but this time, it was different. Less exasperation, more surrender.

And then, suddenly, he leaned in, pressing a shockingly lingering, deliberate kiss to your cheek before murmuring against your skin, “You’re a damn minx.”

You grinned, victorious, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the way his stubble grazed against your touch. “And you love me.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips twitching as he finally let that smirk break free, something softer—something unguarded—lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice rough, gaze warm. “I do.”

The words hit you like a bolt of lightning, electrifying and impossible to contain. Your breath caught, and before you could think better of it, before his own aversion to public displays of affection could catch up and stop it, your hand was on his cheek, pulling him into a kiss.

And God, it was unbearable. Addictive. The knowledge that Bucky Barnes loved you.

It burned through you, this deep, desperate need to hear it again, to feel it, to breathe it in like oxygen. You wanted to beg him to say it every second, every minute, every hour of every damn day, to brand it into your skin like something permanent.

But you knew better than to push too hard.

So instead, you settled for touching—for kissing.

The taste of him was your favorite thing, the slight burn of his stubble against your lips like a shot of adrenaline straight to your veins. There was no amount of him that could sate you, no dose that would ever be enough.

You sighed into him, fingertips curling at the nape of his neck, ready to melt further, ready to let the rest of the world slip away when—

A cough.

A single, awkward, throat-clearing cough.

“Sergeant Barnes?”

You both froze.

Bucky was the first to pull away, moving like a soldier caught off guard, instinct sharpening his gaze. But not before he flicked his eyes toward you, giving you a quick, almost reluctant once-over, like he was making sure you were okay before engaging with the unknown voice.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering, reaching up to cover your kiss-swollen lips with the tips of your fingers, heat flaring across your cheeks as you turned.

Standing just beside your table was a man—maybe mid 30s, dressed casually but with an undeniable nervous energy rolling off him in waves. His hands were wringing the life out of a battered baseball cap, twisting and untwisting the fabric with the kind of anxious reverence people reserved for childhood heroes.

His eyes flickered between you both, a little sheepish but determined nonetheless. “I’m—Jesus, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he rushed to say. “I just—are you—you are Sergeant Barnes, right?”

Bucky’s posture shifted, his shoulders squaring up ever so slightly, that razor-sharp caution sliding into place.

He nodded, slow, deliberate. “Yeah.” His voice was gruff, edged with wariness.

The man grinned, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Couldn’t be sure without the arm.” His gaze flickered down toward Bucky’s gloved hands before snapping back up, his expression open, earnest. “Man, I just—I wanted to say thanks. My grandpa, he was 107th. Always talked about you and Captain Rogers like you walked on water. He passed last year, but he’d have lost his mind if he knew I ran into you.”

Bucky blinked. You watched him shift in his seat, like he wasn’t sure whether to brace for impact or brush it off. But beneath it—just for a second—you saw something else. A flicker of surprise.

The man barely seemed to notice, barreling forward like he had rehearsed this in his head a hundred times. “He used to tell me a lot of war stories. Always said you were the best shot he ever saw.” His voice dipped with genuine admiration. “Said you could hit a moving target in the dark, wind kicking, rain coming down sideways—didn’t matter. Never wasted a bullet, never missed when it counted.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His fingers flexed against your thigh.

“Was a long time ago,” he murmured.

The man nodded, like he expected that answer. “Yeah, well. He also said you weren’t just some guy with a good aim. You knew how to handle yourself. Wouldn’t go down easy, fought until you were the last one standing.” A small, knowing grin pulled at his lips. “There was this story—think it was in Italy—he swore he saw you take on two Hydra guys with nothing but a knife and a bad attitude.”

Bucky huffed out a breath, shaking his head slightly.

But the guy wasn’t finished. “He told it like you were born for the fight.”

Something flickered across Bucky’s face then. You saw it—the way his throat worked as he swallowed hard, the way his fingers tightened around yours.

You stayed still. Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just let him take it all in.

The guy’s voice softened a little. “But he always said the best thing about you wasn’t the fight.” His gaze met Bucky’s, steady and sure. “Said you were smart. That’s the part he never shut up about. You weren’t just a soldier. You were a strategist. You were one of the ones making calls, keeping people alive. Figuring out how to get in and out before the enemy even knew you were there.”

He cleared his throat, shifting his voice into something rougher, gruffer—mimicking an old man’s tone.

“‘Barnes didn’t just fight, he thought.’”

The air between you went still.

Bucky swallowed, jaw working as he exhaled slowly, glancing away like the weight of it sat heavier than he knew what to do with.

You squeezed his hand. Just once.

His grip tightened in return.

“Your grandpa sounded like a good man,” Bucky finally said, voice quieter, more careful.

The guy nodded. “Yeah. And he thought you were one, too.”

You watched the tension in Bucky’s shoulders slowly unravel, watched the way his mouth softened at the edges. His hand in yours, steady and warm, not trembling, not running.

Just here.

“You said he was 107th?” Bucky murmured. “That’s—yeah. They were good men.”

The guy’s throat bobbed, his hands twisting that poor, battered hat between his fingers like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. His voice was quieter this time, more careful, like he knew the weight of the words before he even said them.

“Yeah. He was proud to serve with you.” His eyes flicked up, searching Bucky’s face. “Said you never left a man behind.”

Bucky’s breath hitched—just barely. So small a shift that most people wouldn’t have noticed.

But you weren’t most people.

And God—the look in his eyes.

It could split your chest open.

There was something raw there, something old and aching and too much. A storm breaking just beneath the surface, quiet but powerful, stirring up ghosts of the past like they still had unfinished business with him.

He swallowed hard, lips parting like he wanted to say something—like there were a thousand things caught behind his teeth, all trying to claw their way out at once.

But in the end, he just nodded. Once.

Quiet but steady.

“Thanks for telling me that.”

The guy hesitated, shifting on his feet, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck before letting out a nervous breath.

“I don’t wanna take up your time, but—uh, could I shake your hand?”

Bucky blinked.

It was almost comical, how blindsided he looked—like the request hadn’t even been in the realm of possibility. As if of all the things he had braced himself for, this had never crossed his mind.

Like maybe—just maybe—he didn’t believe he was the kind of man people wanted to shake hands with anymore.

The air between you all felt delicate—like something sacred, something fragile, balancing on the edge of a blade.

You didn’t dare breathe. Didn’t dare move.

Until you did.

Without thinking, without hesitating, you reached for the edge of his glove.

Your fingers brushed against his wrist, slow and deliberate, peeling the leather away, like you had done it a thousand times before. Bucky didn’t stop you. Didn’t even flinch.

Just let you do it.

Let you bare his hand to the open air, to the world—to the man standing before him, offering something he wasn’t sure he deserved.

And then, with a touch so light it was almost imperceptible, your other hand skimmed his elbow. A quiet, steady anchor.

A nudge forward. A silent reassurance. A reminder. That this was real. That he was allowed to have this.

Because if anyone deserved to shake James Buchanan Barnes’ hand—

It was the grandson of a man who still believed in the good in him.

Bucky hesitated, just for a second.

Not out of reluctance. Not out of fear.

But out of something heavier. Like the weight of it all, of being remembered this way, was something he didn’t quite know how to carry.

Then, finally, he moved. His fingers flexed, curling slightly before he extended his bare hand, offering it in quiet acceptance.

The guy took it immediately, gripping firm but not forceful. A show of respect. Of gratitude.

“Thank you, Sergeant.” His voice was steady, but his expression was something softer—genuine. “For everything.”

Bucky’s throat bobbed, and you could see it—the way his jaw tightened, the way his grip lingered just a moment longer than necessary. Not because he didn’t believe it was happening. Because he needed it to be real.

His Adam’s apple bobbed, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. That the weight of it would press too hard against his ribs, keep the words stuck in his throat.

But then, finally—softly, barely above a murmur:

“…You’re welcome.”

The guy nodded, giving Bucky’s hand one last, firm squeeze before finally stepping back, letting go. His smile was small but earnest—the kind of expression that wasn’t forced, wasn’t for show. The kind of gratitude that didn’t need to be loud to be heard.

The guy pulled back, exhaling a little laugh, like he couldn’t believe this had actually happened. Like he had just checked something monumental off his list.

The guy smiled, like he knew when to step back, when to leave a moment untouched, but before he turned to leave, he hesitated just once more.

“He would’ve liked to see you like this,” he said, almost as an afterthought, but his eyes flicked to you for the briefest second—just enough to make it clear what this meant.

Bucky didn’t say anything. Just pressed his lips together, gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. You didn’t react, just let your eyes widen slightly at the stranger, brows rising the tiniest bit in acknowledgement.

And then, just like that, the guy was gone.

The space he left behind felt heavier —thicker. Charged with something unspoken.

Bucky exhaled, long and slow, his shoulders dropping just a fraction as he leaned back into the booth. You could still see it in the way he held himself—the tension, the weight of old ghosts settling deep in his bones.

His whole body was taut, tense in a way you recognized—a tension that wasn’t from anger or wariness, but disbelief. Like he didn’t know what to do with this feeling. Like he had been bracing for something bad, something heavy—but instead, he’d been given kindness.

Your heart ached for him.

For a long moment, you just watched him, time unchecked.

You watched, your heart aching in that deep, familiar way—the way it always did when you saw him like this. The part of him that still didn’t quite believe he could be seen as anything other than what he had been made into.

Watched the way his fingers flexed like he could still feel the handshake lingering. Watched the way his eyes flickered to the spot where the guy had been standing, like he was replaying the words over and over again, letting them settle in places that had been empty and hostile inside of him for far too long.

Then, gently, you reached for his hand again—his bare hand. Lacing your fingers through his, grounding him in the present, in you. His gaze flicked to you then, something soft, raw, vulnerable in those blue eyes.

You squeezed his hand. “How’s it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“To know people like you.”

A sharp exhale—halfway between a scoff and a laugh.

“Yeah, well.” He shook his head, glancing down, rubbing a thumb absentmindedly over your knuckles. “Just one guy.”

You arched a brow, a smirk playing at the corner of your lips. “One guy whose grandpa thought you walked on water.”

He rolled his eyes, but it lacked any real irritation.

You leaned in just a little, voice softer now, more serious.

“And you never left a man behind. You’re not that different now, Buck.”

Bucky swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his grip on your hand tightening like you were the only solid thing in a world that still felt unsteady beneath his feet. His skin was warm against yours, calloused fingertips pressing into your palm like he needed proof you were real—that you meant what you were saying.

Your thumb brushed along the inside of his wrist, slow and deliberate, tracing the faint ridge of a scar that had long since healed. His pulse quickened just slightly beneath your touch, a quiet, steady reminder. Alive. Present. Yours.

His eyes flickered over your face, searching. For what, you weren’t entirely sure—reassurance, maybe? Permission to believe you? A reason to let go of the doubt curling at the edges of his mind?

A question lingered behind his gaze, wrapped in something softer, something hesitant. Do you really think that? Do you really see me like that?

“Am I not?” His voice was quiet, rough around the edges like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

You shook your head, unwavering, holding him there with nothing but the truth. “No.”

The breath he let out was slow, like he was bracing himself, but this time, when he squeezed your hand, his grip was steadier—more certain.

A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as you nudged him lightly, leaning into his side just enough to feel the solid warmth of him. “Pretty cool, you know?”

Bucky tilted his head, brow furrowing as he picked up the menu again, his arm coming around your shoulders, really tucking you against his side. “What is?”

You shrugged, playing it off like it wasn’t that big a deal, like your heart hadn’t just cracked wide open for him to see. “To be a war hero’s girl.”

His fingers twitched, his head turned to your, and for a second, he didn’t say anything—just looked at you, blue eyes dark and unreadable. But then Bucky’s lips twitched, a breath of a laugh escaping before he shook his head, eyes dropping back to the menu like he was pretending not to be affected. Like the weight of your words hadn’t settled somewhere deep in his chest.

But you knew better.

You felt it in the way his fingers curled just a little tighter around your shoulder, grounding himself in the warmth of your touch. You saw it in the way his jaw worked, like he was chewing over what to say, like he wasn’t used to this—being spoken about like that.

Like he wasn’t used to being someone’s hero.

“War hero, huh?” His voice was light, but you caught the thread of something deeper beneath it. Something careful.

You hummed, tilting your head playfully, hand gliding over his stomach to squeeze his waist. “Mhm. Big damn hero, actually.”

Bucky scoffed, flipping the page of the menu. “I don’t know about that.”

You nuzzled his shoulder. “Oh, c’mon. You heard the guy. You were a legend before you even hit twenty-five. The best shot in the 107th, a strategist, a fighter, an all-around badass.” You grinned. “And you didn’t even need the serum for that part.”

His brows lifted just slightly, but his expression was unreadable. “That what you think?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I know it. You forget, but I’ve read your files.”

That got him.

Bucky finally dropped the menu, his blue eyes settling on yours, unwavering. You could feel it, the weight of it—the years, the ghosts, the history that still clung to him like a second skin. But underneath all of it, there was him. The man who had never stopped fighting, even when the world had tried to make him forget who he was.

The man who had never left anyone behind.

The man who had fought for his life and found his way to you.

A comfortable silence settled between you, his body now loose, relaxed, in a way you knew wasn’t always easy for him.

And then, because you couldn’t resist, you grinned. “Should I start calling you Sergeant Barnes in bed? I think it has a nice ring to it.”

Bucky groaned, head tilting back against the booth as if the ceiling could save him. “Don’t.”

You pressed a kiss to his cheek, smirking. “But it sounds so official,” you teased against his ear, dragging out the words just to watch the corner of his mouth twitch. “So dignified. So—”

Bucky cut you a look, unimpressed but visibly bracing for impact.

“—authoritative.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “If you do, I’m leaving.”

You gasped dramatically, hand flying to your chest as if he’d struck you. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His expression didn’t change. Not even a little. You hated when he used his poker face on you. “Wouldn’t I?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for any crack in his resolve. There was none. No amusement, no indulgence, just the same flat stare he used when threatening to take an enemy’s kneecaps off.

Which meant, obviously, you had to double down.

Resting a hand on his thigh, you leaned in like you were about to whisper some dark, forbidden secret, something the rest of the restaurant couldn’t know. “You wouldn’t leave me, James,” you murmured, voice sweet, head tilting as your fingers traced lazy circles through the fabric of his sweats. “We’ve had unprotected sex, you can’t leave now.”

Bucky blinked at you, his expression a slow unraveling of exasperation and disbelief, before a choked laugh escaped him. He scrubbed a hand down his face, shaking his head as if he could physically wipe away the absurdity of this conversation.

“Jesus Christ.”

“No, but you did say I’m a miracle worker… last night,” you quipped, a lewd grin spreading over your lips. “That also makes me your military wife by default. We should get one of those tacky 'Proud Army Wife' little wall hangings for the—"

"Oh my God, shut up," Bucky interrupted, huffing out another laugh, one hand catching the back of your neck as he pulled you in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Enough of that,” he muttered, voice warm and resigned, pulling you into a kiss to shut you up.

By the time you finished your meal and asked for the check, it had already been taken care of—a gift from the 107th soldier’s grandson. The waiter handed Bucky a small note, neatly folded, the edges slightly smudged like it had been held for a while before being passed along.

"Thank you for your service—both then and now. My grandpa would’ve been honored to buy you a drink, but I figured brunch was the next best thing. Hope you two have a great day."

Bucky stared at the words, fingers gripping the edge of the receipt a little tighter than necessary. He stared down at the note like it didn’t quite make sense, like his brain was still trying to process the kindness folded neatly into a stranger’s handwriting.

You reached for his hand beneath the table, lacing your fingers through his. He let you, his grip firm but a little dazed, like he needed something solid to hold onto.

“See?” you murmured, voice softer now, letting the teasing fall away for just a second. “Told you. War hero.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, a quiet, humorless huff. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

You grinned, squeezing his hand. “Not a chance in hell, baby.”

His lips twitched, but there was something else in there, something he was trying to wrap his head around still. A flicker of acceptance still trying to take root.

But you saw it.

And maybe that was enough.

He glanced at the note one more time before folding it carefully, tucking it into his jacket pocket. He didn’t throw it away. Didn’t brush it off with some self-deprecating remark.

Progress.

By the time you stepped outside, the air had shifted—lighter, easier. The early afternoon sun had burned away the morning chill, casting soft gold over the quiet street. Bucky’s arm slid around your waist without hesitation, tucking you close as you walked.

You let the moment settle for a beat before sighing dramatically. "Well, Sergeant Barnes, looks like we’ve got a theme going. First a free meal, next thing you know, people are gonna start saluting you in the street."

Bucky groaned, tipping his head back. “Don’t start.”

"Oh, I’ve only just begun." You grinned up at him, eyes bright with mischief. "Wanna go to the Smithsonian? They've got that Howling Commandos exhibit. Bet they’ve even got some of your old army uniforms on display."

His gaze snapped to you, sharp with suspicion. “What do you wanna see my old army uniform for?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think about it, but the glint in your eyes betrayed you.

"I mean…" You dragged out the word, biting back a smirk. "If I’m gonna be a sergeant’s girl, I should probably start practicing. You know… learn to follow orders, stand at attention, maybe even salute you properly."

Bucky let out a strangled cough, his whole body tensing for half a second before he stopped, eyes on yours—half amused, half warning.

"You really shouldn't say shit like that unless you mean it, sweetheart."

Your grin widened. "Who said I don’t mean it?"

Bucky exhaled through his nose, nose to nose with your, mouth hovering over yours. "You’re a menace."

You batted your lashes at him, all faux innocence. "Guess you must like it."

His lips twitched, but he said nothing. Just reached over, resting a warm, heavy hand on the back of your neck—lingering there, fingers flexing just slightly. Enough to make your breath catch, just for a second.

You swallowed, pulse kicking up a notch. "Something you wanna say, Barnes?"

His thumb brushed idly over your skin, slow and deliberate. "Just thinking you talk an awful big game."

You raised a brow, feigning offense. "Are you implying I wouldn't follow through?"

His eyes darkened just enough to make your stomach flip. "I’m saying you better be careful what you start. ‘Cause if you really wanna play soldier, I don’t half-ass my missions. Never missed a shot, remember?" His free hand tapped the note in his pocket.

Your breath stuttered. The weight of his gaze, the heat of his palm against your neck—it was enough to send a thrill down your spine.

Still, you refused to back down. Instead, you smiled, all slow and syrupy sweet. "Oh, I know. I can still feel all the shots you didn’t miss last night. And this morning."

His jaw tightened. His grip on your hair did too.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you thickened, humming with something electric, something inevitable.

And then, just as you thought he might actually call your bluff—might lean in, might do something—he huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled away.

"You’re real lucky we’re in public."

You let out a breath, your pulse still racing. "Wish we weren’t."

Bucky shot you a knowing look, something dangerous flickering in his eyes before he pulling into a hug, lips pressed to your ear, casual as ever.

"So do I."

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englishisaboutconfidence · 2 days ago

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Just Another Day

Why were you here? Once again you had let your friends drag you to a party that while you didn't despise it, you certainly didn't fit in. Your friends, loving and as great as they are, love to hype up a party, assuring you that you will have a great time while there and as always, the first 30 minutes to an hour are great. Then they get distracted or pulled away by other people you know. You follow them for a while but eventually you just feel like a burden and let them do their thing while you wander around the party aimlessly. After wandering into what looks like a small lounge area, you quickly take the seat vacated by someone who clearly has other plans for the rest of the night and you open up your phone to browse Reddit. Yep, you are one of those people. After browsing it for a few minutes, the background behind your phone changes from an endless movement of bodies, to one static body. Looking past your phone you are met by the gaze of one Anna Tanaka or Anna Jang as some like to call her.

She is staring at you like your mere presence offended her and in a way it did. She's one of the campuses IT Girls and you are just a nerd who has charismatic friends who got you into this party. Knowing that she won't leave you alone until you do what she wants, you put away your phone and start to get out of your chair. Seeing you start to move, Anna turns around and leaves the room. Following her around like a lost puppy, you follow Anna throughout the house until she enters a room on the second floor. Entering a few seconds after her, you realize where you are: her bedroom. After realizing where you were, your eyes found Anna staring at you, stone faced. Tracking her eyes, you realize that she wants you to sit on the bed with her. Sitting down, you turn to her expecting a lecture; but instead you are met by a pair of eyes staring into what felt like your soul. Clearing your throat to try to cut through the awkwardness, you realize that she was waiting for you to talk. "Hey Anna, how are you". crickets "Okay yes I know this is a bit weird me at your party announced. I didn't realize the party was here and I didn't even want to come in the first place. Okay I wanted to at the start but then I remembered how much I like not being at parties." still no response from Anna "Okay Okay, I'm sorry that I'm here… unannounced. I should've told you that I was going out to a party and once I realized it was here, I should've texted you the situation." "And?" she finally responded. "And… I love you?" SHe cocked her eye at you waiting for more "and I'm going to spend the entire weekend making it up to you?" "Good". Sighing a breath of relief, Anna quickly gives you a soft peck. "And I love you too Y/N".

Oh yeah, you forgot to mention something. You and Anna have been dating for the past 2 years in secret. Well maybe not secret, you two never hide your relationship in public, but you also never actively showcased it. Anna's friends knew because well they knew everything that happened at the school; but also because they had caught you one of your first times sneaking into the house to meet Anna. You two had met during freshman orientation and while you never expected anything other than maybe the occasional greeting in passing to come from it, you two had actually bonded quite nicely. You were an Econ major and she was a Psych major, but surprisingly you shared 2 of classes your freshman year. The first day of classes, you had arrived early and sat in the back. She arrived a few minutes later and after scanning the room plopped down right next to you. Seeing her sit down, you gave a slight nod in acknowledgement and before returning to your phone. "A slight nod, that's it? Didn't your parents teach you any manners or at least sociable niceties?" Anna spat out with a clear annoyance in her voice. "Sorry, how are you Anna?" "Fine, whatever". Unsure how to proceed you just sat there quietly until class began.

Your following class went well enough that you almost forgot about your incident with Anna, your professor even dismissed you a few minutes early so you could get to your next class with plenty of margin for tardiness. Seeing that no one else had gotten there yet, you proceeded to sit in the back again and hop on your phone. Being too absorbed in your phone, you didn't notice something sitting down next to you until you heard an exasperated sigh. Taking your eyes off your phone, you look to see who made the noise and you are met by the annoyed yet exceedingly beautiful face of Anna Jang. Realizing that she was looking at you expectantly, you ask her how the rest of her day has been. "It's been good. Nothing crazy, just lunch and syllabus day in my other class". "How about you Y/N?" You began to answer her but you were interrupted by the professor starting the class. 70 minutes later, your first day of classes was finally over.

After an awkward first day of classes, you and Anna actually were able to have a pretty good rapport. You and she would talk throughout your shared classes and would partner up whenever you had to pick a partner or do a group project. She quickly became famous throughout the school. You , on the other hand, stayed relatively unknown except to the few circles you ran in. One night, you were playing LoL with your old highschool friends when you started to get a FaceTime. Picking up your phone to answer it, you are surprised to see that it was Anna. You had texted for projects or just to go over homework; but you had never FaceTimed her. Quickly fixing your headset hair, you answer the FaceTime. "Y/N-a, where are you" You hear Anna slurred out. "Anna, who did you FaceTime?". you hear her friend and fellow IT Girl Ella Gross yell out. Seeing her come into picture, you see the a surprisingly unsurprised Ella. "Oh hey Y/N". Caught off guard by how nonchalant she was, you quickly shake off your surprise and answer her "Not too bad, how about you? Seems like y'all are having a good time" "you know what, not too bad too. Although, it's only been 15 minutes and Anna is already acting buzzed and FaceTiming you." Confused by what she meant, you suddenly here Anna, fully sober sounding, "Yaaah, Ella you can't tell either of those things". Realizing what she said and how she said it, Anna shyly turns back to the camera and you can see a blush creeping up her neck. "Hey Y/N" "Hey Anna". Neither of you knew what to say next, you two let the gap in the conversation become filled with awkward silence. Finally Ella decided to butt in and save the two of you, "God you guys are terrible at this. Y/N, Anna is wondering if you would like to come out and hang out with us?" "Uh, yeah I'm down." "Perfect, we are at The Reserve." "Cool, I'll see y'all in a bit". You say goodbye to your friends and quickly throw on some acceptable clothes and head out to meet up with Anna and her friends.

15 minutes later, you arrive at The Reserve and start to look for Anna. Looking around lost, you feel a tap on your shoulder and you are greeted by a blushing Anna and an annoyed Ella. "Hey Y/N" "Hey Anna" "God not this again, you two need some drinks" you heard Ella say before marching off to the bar. "So uhh, how are you Anna?" "Pretty good, I've been working out more recently so that's been great and my classes have slowed down so that's good. How about you?" "Good too, just hanging out, playing games, and chilling." Unsure what to say next, you feel the awkwardness start to take over; but luckily your shared savior Ella returned with 6 shots. "Bottoms up you two. You both clearly need this to get the conversation going". All 3 of you grab a shot in each hand and quickly knock them back. After letting the liquid courage take hold, you and Anna's conversation quickly picks up. You two spent the rest of the night dancing, talking, and taking more shots.

The next day, you woke up extremely groggy. Blinking rapidly trying to clear up your vision, you felt an unfamiliar weight on your chest and an unknown warmth around your nether regions. Regaining your vision, you realize that your not in your room and that a woman is laying on top of you. You then start to get flashbacks of what happened the previous night after taking those shots with Ella. You and Anna had spent the rest of the night attached at the hip and when it was time to leave, Anna asked you to walk her home. Being the gentlemen you were, you had of course accepted and when she had opened the door to her dorm, she quickly turned around and pulled you in. Pulling you like she was walking a dog, she dragged you into her room and shoved you onto her bed. You couldn't remember what happened next, but the next thing you remembered was you locking eyes with Janna before burying your cock inside her warmth. Your mind then skipped some more and all you could remember was her having to tear your mouth off her tits so she could kiss you and you filling her with load after load of your cum. You then remembered that you had never actually pulled your cock out of Anna's creampied pussy. That realization along with your memories from last night caused your cock to quickly return to fall mast. You started to feel Anna slowly move her hips, looking down you are greeted by Anna smirking at you. "Oh hey Y/N. Fancy seeing you here" seeing you completely flustered, Anna sat up to straddle you and started to move her hips even faster. "Y/N, you are going to need to start to take more proactive actions if our relationship is going to work". You open and close your mouth like fish while trying, begging your brain to come up with a response. Seeing you struggle, Anna decided to save you. "Yes, I said relationship. You. Me. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Okay?" Still unable to form a sentence, you just respond with a nod. "Good. Now stop thinking and just fuck me". That got you to regain your composure. 2 rounds later, you carried Anna into her bathroom and indulged in your first instance of shower sex.

"Y/N?" "Sorry Jagi, I was just remembering our first day." "Don't you mean the day after our first night" Anna smugly responded. Pushing her back onto her bed and hovering over her, "No actually, I was remembering when I first realized that you were a little slut who loves getting her cunt filled with load after load". "Oh really, you sure I'm not just a little slut for the man who took my first time?" "Jagi, don't you forget that you took my firs time as well and that you initiated it". "Oh did I? I don't remember exactly what happened that night" Anna coyly answered. "Oh really? Why don't I remind you then" you whispered into her ear. Giving you a quick kiss on your lips, Anna smirked at you "Finally, only took you 2 years to become proactive. Now Jagiya, why don't you stop yapping and instead fill my pussy with the cum it so sorely needs". Lining up your cock with her entrance, you give her a loving kiss on her head before saying "Trust me Anna, I am going to make sure never forget who owns this cunt".

#anna smut #meovv smut #anna tanaka #anna jang #kpop x male reader #male reader #kpop smut #kpop x reader

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ghostgirl-22 · 7 hours ago

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hear me out… remote vibrator follow up where they do it again when Tashi’s around and she doesn’t know what they’re up to right away. naturally, she picks up on it. Art puts up a little fight about doing it in front of her, but Patrick knows the idea is secretly just as thrilling to Art as it is to him

oof! This is from 100 years ago. Sorry my love!

CW: 18+, NSFW, sex in public, not quite exhibitionism but also not, not exhibitionism.

—-

One of Tashi’s favorite things is when they talk without saying anything. one doesn’t even have to complete a sentence for the other to understand it. the way they act, mirroring each other, it’s like how lovers act when they’ve known each other forever. She clocked them right away. Longing looks. Biting sighs. Her boyfriend and his best friend want to fuck each other if they haven’t already. They’re barely able to hide it anymore. and god does it turn her on.

She admits, she does get a little frustrated sometimes, it’s like trying to have a conversation with two people where everything they say is an inside joke.

Like tonight.

Only Patrick would let his best friend crash a Valentines day date. Only Tashi would put up with it. it’s like she’s dating both of them. It’s like they’re dating each other. Patrick’s just grinning at Art all through dinner, while Art glares back at him antsy and barely able to meet his gaze. “Okay what’s going on?” She finally asks, looking between them.

“Hm… nothing,” Art says quickly.

“One of us lost a bet,” Patrick smirks. “Again.”

She grins and focuses on Art. “What did you bet on?”

“Uh it doesn’t matter.” Art says quickly and he looks to Patrick, eyes glassy, cheeks coloring.

“He thought he could handle his liquor better than me but I’m the undisputed champ,” Patrick pets her thigh and then drops his phone on the table in front of her. It’s an app with what looks like a volume button labeled from 0 to 10. Right now it’s at a 1.

“What is this?” She asks.

“His punishment,” Patrick says gently.

Tashi cocks her head, looking between him and Art, a little smile on her face. “I don’t get it?”

“Well… pick a number.” Patrick says and Art shakes his head.

“Patrick don’t, come on… she’s…”

“Ten,” Tashi interrupts.

Patrick grins and Art’s mouth falls open. “You really wanna do that to him?”

“I don’t know what the fuck we’re doing, Patrick so yeah. Let’s go all the way.” Tashi says, only mildly annoyed. “He’s not gonna die is he?”

“Nah,” Patrick says,”unless you can die of embarrassment.”

art shakes his head. “No Tashi you don’t understand, It’s a restaurant… this is public we could get in trouble.” his blush is getting out of control, he’s kinda gorgeous.

“Oh come on, it’s packed,” Patrick grins. “No one’s even paying attention.” He slides the dial up slowly. Tashi’s a pretty quick study. Something inside her had a feeling they were doing something sexual. Still, watching Art squirm in his seat, skin heated, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut as he sits on his palms, gently rocking, trying not to come from whatever device Patrick is controlling… Tashi squeezes her thighs together.

Patrick chuckles and slides it back down to one. Art is still squirming, sitting on his hands. Tashi’s a little fixated on him. His chest rising and falling rapidly. He looks at her, pleading in his eyes, like she might be the only one who can save him from big mean Patrick. There’s something else in his expression too. Something dirtier. Needier. He fucking likes this.

“What do you think?” Patrick asks. His eyes are all sparkly, mischievous, Tashi can practically see through to the deceptively charming boy that he probably was as a kid.

The idea of Art losing a bet and Patrick’s first thought being to make him wear a sex toy that he can play with. The idea that Art would just…go along with it. There’s something so deeply fucked up about them. So fundamentally messy.

“What kinda toy is it?” She tosses her ponytail over her shoulder, trying to act nonchalant but she’s wet. This whole thing has her feeling a little crazy.

“Vibrator,” Patrick says, pulling her ponytail back where it was, he leans in close because he’s got no concept of personal space but also so he can whisper. “Cock ring tight over the head of his dick.”

Tashi swallows and glances back at Art.

“He’s crazy…it’s his crazy idea.” Art says like he’s not complicit, like he’s not wiggling in his seat, voice all breathy. Eyes shining.

“Oh you’re both crazy,” she says softly but she reaches for Patricks phone anyway. “Maybe I should be in charge for a while.

Patrick smirks at her. “Whatever you want.”

Art looks relieved for a moment before she slides it back up to three. He can barely focus on his desert. Instead he’s just trying to hold it in, sucking on his spoon, eyes dilated. Can’t even look at the waitress who’s been flirting with him all night when she comes back with the check.

It goes like that for the rest of the night. Tashi takes a turn and then Patrick. Art getting more and more desperate. He seems to realize that Patrick is the one playing good cop. He gives Art a little break after dinner, they share a cigarette while they wait for a cab to the club, Patrick standing too close to him, fingers in his hair. Telling him he’s taking it so well. Art with his lips parted, like a little magnet, drawn to Patrick’s every lingering touch. Tashi thinks she knows what he needs.

She makes Art sit in the middle seat when they crowd into the cab and snatches the phone back from Patrick.

Their driver is so talkative. Wants to know everything about them and tell them everything about San Francisco. And Patrick’s just engaging him. “Oh we all go to Stanford,” he lies. “Straight As.”

“Tashi please,” Art whispers but she just smiles.

“Relax. I’m just checking to see if he’s texting other girls.” She pats his upper thigh and immediately she can feelthe hot, hard line of his dick resting on his thigh, the device fixed over it. He lets out a sharp intake of breath. Patrick’s watching them as their driver goes on and on about the city. Patrick’s got a silly little grin on his face as Tashi slides her palm up and down Art’s length, it has the same effect on Art as if she’d turned on the device. He’s breathless, kicking his leg forward gasping, biting back on a whispered “fuck.”

Tashi uses her free hand to turn it up and she can feel it vibrating against her palm. Eventually he’s turning into her. Breathing in her ear, hot and heavy. She wiggles in her seat. “It’s okay,” she whispers.

It’s barely five minutes before he’s moaning, lips pressed against her ear, her cheek. “Fuck. Fuck. Oh fuck. It’s… I’m gonna… I’m…I’m…” he can’t help getting a little too loud. She feels it as his dick spasms and he’s probably spurting come all inside his boxers, gasping softly into her ear.

“Everything okay?” The driver wants to know. Obliviously chatty with Patrick this whole time but his concerned gaze flickers to Tashi, to Art. “He’s not going to throw up is he? Because I can pull over.”

“Oh he’s fine,” Tashi says, her voice lighter than normal. She cups her palm around the side of Art’s face and turns down the device with her other hand. “He’s good.”

”A bit of carsickness but he’s fine,” Patrick waves it off.

“Well let me know. I can pull over.”

Patrick gives her an amused look and she pets art, letting him rest on her shoulder as he catches his breath.

They’re just outside the club waiting to get in and Patrick is playful. “You little slut, right in the backseat. You can’t control yourself, can you?” He teases, bodying Art up against the wall of the club they’re waiting to get into.

“‘m not a slut. T-Tashi… Tashi turned it up,” Art points out. Flustered for the way Patrick is using his size against him.

“Snitch,” Tashi says quietly to Art. She’s looking over other settings on the app. Pulse, vibrate, massage. She sets it to pulse and switches it back on to one. Art gasps.

“God Tashi,” Patrick leans against the wall next to Art and reaches for her, she steps closer and he pulls her by the wrist, closer still, before taking the phone back and wrapping an arm around her waist. “You like it too much.”

“No i don’t,” she says softly.

“Yeah right, you’re so fucking wet aren’t you?” he whispers. She rolls her eyes, but he knows her well enough by now. They’re basically standing directly in front of Art when he kisses her. So close, Patrick grins at Art when she pulls away. Hes such a brat.

He gets his turn inside the club. They’re downing shots. Patrick buys a bottle and they get a spot in VIP. They’re drinking way too much and dancing with strangers, with each other all night. Tashi with Patrick, Patrick with Art, Art grinding against her. That’s when Patrick turns it up, like he’s giddy to see what will happen with the vibration between the two of them.

She can feel it, pulsing hard against her wet panties as Art is basically pressed up against her. He falls onto the big square sofa seating in the center and she follows him, grinding down against his thigh and he’s immediately falling apart. Fingers in her hair, moaning into her. It’s basically simulated sex, dress riding up her thighs, panties soaked. knees dug in on either side, she’s riding the pulsation while the music sounds, TI Whatever you Like blaring too loud on the speakers. And before she realizes what’s happening she’s kissing him, gripping him, coming on his lap.

Art’s looking up at her after, breathless, like he’s in love. “Guess i took care of both of you.” Patrick says, grinning. “Two for the price of one.” He leans in to kiss Tashi and she sighs against his lips. Shivering for the gentle heat of it.

Then he sits next to Art… and teases his hair out of his eyes before pecking his lips. Art pulls him close and kisses him properly. Tashi giggles, still settled on Art’s lap while people all around their section are still screaming the song lyrics, drunkenly dancing, lifting drinks, spilling. It’s actually her favorite thing.

She snatches the phone from Patrick’s waiting hand. She doesn’t feel it anymore so he must’ve shut it off. But she thinks maybe Art has a little more in him. She opens the app and slides it back up.

(Playing fast and loose with time, technology, phones, apps, music and the challengers story/characters but… also… yay i think this vibrator could have fixed them!)

#challengers fic #challengers smut #art donaldson smut #patrick zweig smut #tashi duncan smut #art x tashi x patrick

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doppel-doodles · 2 days ago

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Thoughts and feelings on Poppy: Small analysis.

Didn't think I would make another one of these anytime soon buuuuut looks like my brain had different plans, so let's dicuss the knock-off Chucky shall we?

While by no means her biggest fan I feel like Poppy actions deserve a bit more civil discussion than hate. (That's not to say that you shouldn't hate on her. You should, it's hilarious.)

While not a good person by any stretch of the imagination, I genuinely think Poppy kinda has a point with her ambition to blow everything up.

Like- rationally that is the objectively the better choice to bury everything because be for real with me: These toys are not safe and neither is the world outside the factory.

There is a higher chance of them being locked up for research or being shot on sight than there is of anyone actually trying to integrate them into society, and even if someone did there is also a very likely scenario of any stress Inducing situation causing a toy to feel threatened and go into fight mode, which how you get a dead guy on the floor.

And even if they lived in hiding instead, exactly how different would that be from living in the factory? Now instead having to worry about murder toys they also have stuff like: weather,wild animals and of course humans-

So an ideal solution would be to bury it all, let the victims finally rest in peace, make these horrors public and never repeat this mistake again.

Of course there is the fact that these are not objects or mindless monsters, they are all still people with very real human emotions and thoughts who have shown themselves to be capable of being peaceful when feeling safe.

But even in an ideal world I doubt that there wouldn't be any incidents considering that anyone currently alive in the factory is or was at one point a murderer.

Where Poppy lost me is the part where she made it abundantly clear that SHE would get to live, not because it was a necessary step, no,no she just didn't wanna die. If YOU make the decision to sink the ship then you better be ready to go down with it captain.

She is part of this, a part of the horrors. They will live on with her just like they would with ANY other living toy she does not get a pass just because she is tall enough to be kicked around like a football, if Bobby bearhug overhere was able to maul me to death then so can she-

It's honestly just a dick move on her part and a massive "fuck you" to everyone else as it implies that she somehow is special or deserves to live more instead of them when she is no different than the others, but their sacrifice insures her survival.

That is why we side with Doey outside the game.

But-

A point people tend to brush aside is that she isn't just looking out for her own survival, the plan is that we,kissy and poppy are going to rescue the orphans sleeping in the factory but like, how do we know they are actually alive?

Even if we take Poppy at her word(which we shouldn’t as she is an unreliable narrator) that they weren't killed during the hour of joy and actually were put into a coma, that was years ago.

Once you think about the likelihood of that still being the case you start to see all the holes in that statement.

You tell me a bunch of children put into a medically induced coma for YEARS are still alive and well under the care of an insane monster in a factory that's falling apart?

If that's the case I want the prototype as my actual doctor he probably has already found a way to keep me young and healthy forever.

If 2+2=4

Stay with me here.

Then I ain't gotta be a genius to know this shit don't add up-

Like Poppy is also not dumb, I think she would’ve at least considered that possibility right?

Or maybe she didn’t.

Because she didn’t want to consider that scenario.

Poppy is a very flawed character: A coward,selfish and very headstrong in her plans. She’ll figure out how to get her way whether you like it or not and she tends to not pay the feelings of others not much mind, focusing on the bigger picture.

But she is far from the worst person here, she is a victim in all of this but that doesn’t mean she is incapable of being bad either.

Those flaws mentioned above as well as her fear to get locked up again or worse drive a lot of her actions in game and clearly she has ulterior motives.

I find her fascinating, similar to kevin she is not the perfect victim so I get the vibe that the fandom is way harsher to judge her.

People also don't simp for her like they do for the doctor and completely disregard all of his actions but I digress-

Anyway thanks for joining me fellas that's all I'm gonna say for now.

#doppel draws #doppel rambles #poppy playtime fanart #poppy fanart #poppy playtime chapter 4 #poppy playtime character #poppy playtime chapter four #ppt art #poppy playtime poppy #poppy playtime theory #poppy playtime analysis #ppt 4 #ppt poppy #ppt chapter 4 #ppt fanart #ppt fandom #poppy playtime #character analysis #poppy playtime fandom

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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 2 days ago

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I love love love ALL of your fics, you have no idea the intensity of my joy when I clicked on your profile and knew all of your fandoms.

If you're still doing the fic ask game, could you do Pez Dispenser Debris? It's my favorite mha fic ever bc you nailed the characterizations but it's also objectively like the funniest thing ever? and I feel like the background world is so rich even if it's not the primary focus of the fic.

Mirio is meant to be to Izuku what Izuku is to everyone else.

Everyone who talks about Izuku is like “he is unrealistically perfect. You can’t even be mad at him for it. He is all that is noble and pure and good. I’ve spent the last three years consoling myself with the fact that my classmate is the greatest person to ever live so it’s okay that he’s totally lapping me” and then you get to Izuku’s perspective and he’s just like a horrible mess of anxiety and crisis.

Izuku is ON THE RECORD that he thinks Mirio is the greatest man to ever live. He is #blessed to breathe the same air. God actually made him as a model for rest of humanity to follow and Izuku’s just here to be thankful.

And then you get to Mirio’s perspective. And he’s also kind of a mess.

I think Mirio excels at keeping the appearance of cheer up. Maybe a little too well. He defaults to it as a mask. So you end up with him wanting to cry at the idea of all might trying to fill in for nighteye and never telling anyone.

I also really liked the idea of him being slightly possessive over Izuku.

It’s not in a toxic way. He’s not trying to isolate Izuku or anything. But like. Mirio Does Not want to admit that he deserves anything resembling a second billing in Izuku’s life. They got incredibly close while he was prepping for his final licensure exam. He’s the one that’s starting an agency with Izuku. So every time Aizawa tries to get information out of him or send him away he’s like No I’m Sorry As Izuku’s Best Friend And Older Brother I Have Primacy Here.

He hides it from Izuku, because he doesn’t want Izuku to be pressured to stay by his side. There was this sort of golden moment before Mirio graduated where they were both completely unknown to the public and happy that way. They made a lot of plans about being heroes together before anyone had so much as made Izuku an offer.

A lot’s happened since then, and Mirio doesn’t want to lose what they are together. He doesn’t want Izuku to go where he can’t follow. But he also doesn’t want to hold him back. He’s been secretly very bothered by the idea that Izuku’s just staying by his side out of obligation and that he’s ruining Izuku’s hero career the way everyone says he was.

The text messages he sent were a rare moment of letting the mask slip, because he realized that he needed to tell Izuku how badly he wanted to still be heroes together before it was too late. He’s been trying to give Izuku an easy out, but he doesn’t actually want Izuku to take it.

He wants to be heroes with his brother, the way they promised they would.

#pez dispenser debris #I have this entire thing about how Mirio and Izuku mirror each other #they traded fates #I have a DIFFERENT thing about how Mirio and Bakugou are foils and how Mirio occupies the space in the narrative Bakugou would have had he #not behaved the way he did as a child #sometimes bakugou looks at them together. how they act. Mirio’s known him for less time than any of them but they act like they’re childhood #friends who promised to open a hero agency together one day. and they’re finally doing it.#Izuku and him. before the Quirklessness. they had a promise and. he doesn’t know. sometimes he wonders if Izuku remembers that too.

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koqabear · 1 year ago

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currently watching someone go through liking my entire masterlist and not reblog a single thing

#babe are you embarrassed of me?#are you trying to hide me from the public?#trying to hide our relationship?#do you not value me like i value you?#i thought we had something special #rambles

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duketectivecomics · 10 months ago

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‘Jason was Duke’s robin’ ‘tim was dukes robin’ YOURE ALL FOOLS

Steph as dukes most formative robin is RIGHT THERE

#duke thomas #guest starring:#stephanie brown #headcanon #randywrites #inspired bc I’m trying to be intentional abt adding stuff to the queue & breads post that’s abt to come out got me THINKING abt this #and idk if I ever shared this with y’all but like - OKAY HEAR ME OUT #if you smoosh pre & post New 52 and make Zero Year into NML (so say the Thomas fam does take Bruce in during the aftermath of theearthquake #or like when the us has closed off gotham or like you get it #and that was also the time that Batman was going back to cryptid status. Tim’s Robin was always hiding from cameras in YJ!!! Tim can’t be #dukes formative robin is he’s never seen!!!#but yknow who’s death was publicized pretty broadly as being related to the gang war that she started:) you get one guess :)#yknow who can also be a parallel for Travis in Robin War and who was FUCKIN LEFT OUT OF ROBIN WAR #DO YOU SEE IT. DO YOU SEE THE VISION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#IVE BEEN FOAMING AT THE MOUTH OVER IT FOR MONTHS NOW

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bunnieswithknives · 6 months ago

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You know, considering that Dale has a big interest in anything that can make him money

Would he use his newfound form to make a profit?

I feel as though, if it was Dev who got that bite, he'd totally use it for profit. Be it filming Dev like he's filming a odd dog, or caging him like he's some sort of attraction.

Oh, imagine all the promotions he could do! All the money he could make! All for the low low price of sacrificing his son

Too bad it wasn't Dev who got bit though

As addicted to money as Dale this is, quite literally, his worst nightmare come to life. He is horrified by his body and the idea of letting anybody see him like this is too mortifying to bare. not to mention he fully believes this is direct punishment for his actions.

As for using Dev a money making tool like that... horrifyingly, he probably would if he could get away with hiding that it was his child. That being said this never would have happened to Dev.

#fop nature au #He is also scared of being locked up in a lab to be experimented on #maybe one day he'll have a book written on this crazy supernatural experience he had #but right now hes much more concerned with trying to figure out if he can undo it #trying to think of a world where Dev has deer lycanthropy but Dale doesnt #If he's still recognizably Dev then like. tbh he'd proabably become the public face of werewolf acceptance #obviously it would be performative as hell #'give me money if you think my poor adorable son shouldn't be discriminated against for his lycanthropy🥺'#but like if you cant hide it profit from it you know #if he's not recognizably Dev then it'd proabably be darker

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tanicus-caesareth · 10 months ago

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guarana drama, damage control

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snekdood · 1 year ago

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i can tell twitter users are slowly going to make this website so, so much worse, and eventually do the impossible and make it go up in flames

#you thought tumblr was bad before... phew #bc the problem is.... more than likely its mostly just twitter leftists who came over here #and twitter leftists... are notorious for not getting along with anyone ever #and only getting along with people who agree w them exactly on everything #and also a lotta them are tankies :/#if you thought leftists were divided on here before its only gonna get worse lmao #twitter leftists are honestly really good at eating their own and they dont care thats what theyre doing. like at all.#literally the definition of doing politics for aesthetics also #like i thought tumblr was the bottom of the barrel but maybe its that way now bc of the twitter refugees #maybe that was the goal of rightwingers- to get all the leftists in one place where the right hardly even is and watch us #tear eachother apart as we try to search for the 'secret right wingers' in eachother #thats why they dont care about making twitter good- they want to destroy it bc it was originally a platform where the rights ideas #were challenged and it was easy to make a fool of them. but the right wants echo chambers for itself and wants ut to tear eachother apart #and what better way to do that ig than to get anyone whos disagrees w rightwingers away from them where they can #plot and come up w more bullshit to make the world worse while we're all infighting #and dont get me wrong there probably are secret rwingers but i dont think its who ppl think it usually is #like its probably not the guy whos outwardly ignorant about a topic- showing hes vulnerable enough about it to be #challenged on it.#no. the secret rwingers are gonna be nolife kiwifarm types. theyre not gonna be out in the open and public about their opinions #to where it can be challenged. theyre gonna hide behind accounts that LOOK like normal tumblr users #and sow division among all of us by talking the way ppl do on here and using the same buzzwords #and coming up with convoluted ways to 'callout' people over the dumbest shit imaginable #people who go around saying 'clearly this person meant this' in regards to a statement someone is making as clear #as they possibly can and the other person misinterpreting it in bad faith on purpose a lot? i dont trust it personally.#you have to ask yourself what ppl have to *gain* by doing that kind of shit a lot.#and if you cant come up with anything that benefits the left in any real capacity... well... i think you might have your answer

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narxcisse · 2 months ago

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★ — Leaving them hickeys

With: Viktor, Jayce, Mel, Vi, Caitlyn, Ambessa, Silco, Vander and Sevika

CW: suggestive, hickeys, s1

English isn't my native language / Reverse Ver.!

— VIKTOR

He is a mix of bashful and pleased. When you kiss and nip at his neck, he goes still, cheeks flushed as a soft, breathy chuckle escapes.

"You...really like marking me, don't you?" He tries to act unfazed, but when he looks in a mirror later and spots the darkening bruise, his fingers ghost over it.

He'd cover it with a scarf or high collar in public but secretly loves that you left your mark. It's a rare indulgence that makes him feel wanted.

— JAYCE

He leans into it and lets you do whatever you want, practically purring under your touch.

"You just can't keep your hands off me, huh?" He smirks, wrapping an arm around your waist as you kiss him.

He flaunts the marks with pride. If someone notices, he grins wider. "Oh, that? Yeah, my partner's got good aim."

— MEL

She doesn't stop you; she tilts her head to give you better access, enjoying the sensation as your lips press against her golden skin.

"Careful, darling," she murmurs, her voice smooth as silk. "You'll leave evidence of your affection."

She wears her hickeys like jewelry, unbothered by anyone's reactions, because who would dare question her?

— VI

She pretends to complain. She'll huff as your teeth scrape her skin, but she's grinning the whole time.

"Really? You're leaving me looking like I lost a fight?" She teases but tilts her head anyway.

She wears the marks like trophies. "Yeah, my partner did that. What about it?" If someone stares too long, they might catch her smirking.

— CAITLYN

She gets flustered. She tries to keep her composure as you kiss along her neck, but her blush gives her away.

"Are you... trying to make this harder to hide?" She scolds, though her voice is shaky.

Later, she's wearing a high collar. When Vi notices and teases her, Caitlyn glares but secretly feels proud.

— AMBESSA

She chuckles lowly, utterly amused by your boldness. She lets you have your way, resting a heavy hand on your back.

"Is this your way of staking a claim?" she asks with a smirk, tilting her neck for better access.

She wears the marks unapologetically, daring anyone to comment. She admires your daring streak and rewards you for it later.

— SILCO

His sharp intake of breath is the only indication you've caught him off guard. He doesn't stop you, but his hand tightens on your hip.

"Bold," he mutters, his gravelly voice filled with amusement. "Do you think this will deter anyone?"

He hides the marks beneath his collar but touches them absently, conflicted between annoyance and smug satisfaction.

— VANDER

He laughs softly, a warm rumble from deep in his chest as you leave your mark on him.

"You're enjoying this a little too much," he teases, cupping your face to kiss you.

He's not embarrassed about the marks and won't bother covering them. If someone comments, he just grins. "What can I say? My partner's passionate."

— SEVIKA

She smirks, tugging you closer as your lips graze her neck.

"Careful, sweetheart," she growls softly. "I might start thinking you're obsessed with me."

She doesn't cover the marks, wearing them like a badge of honor. If anyone so much as raises an eyebrow, she gives them a warning glare.

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joelsgoldrush · 7 months ago

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“guilty pleasure” | 8.6k

worst!logan howlett x f!reader

SUMMARY: After saving Earth-10005 from impending disaster, Wade convinces Logan, the alcoholic and easily irritated mutant, to stick around for a while. He’s convinced that nothing good can come out of this experience, until he meets you: the charming bartender with a soft spot for swearing that matches his own. Suddenly, sticking around doesn’t seem so bad after all.

WARNINGS/TAGS: mdni - smut 18+ fluff. drinking. dirty talk. slow-burnish. grumpy!logan x sunshine!reader. reader is really kind but cracks a lot of jokes. age gap (25 vs 200 - they’re basically the same age). oral sex (f receiving). fingering. finger sucking. soft dom!logan. wade being the funniest asshole. logan calls reader "kiddo/kid”.

A/N: HI! first of all, i'd like to thank you for all the support you showed me on my recent post. let me just tell you that i’m LOVING writing for logan. but none of this would be possible without YOU, so yeah, i fucking love y’all.

** regarding this story, i was planning on making it even longer, but writing these two has been so much fun, and i didn’t want it to end just like that (i have attachment issues as you may infer from this note). therefore, i’ve made the decision to write a second part to this fic, which will contain fluff and other stuff (you already know the drill). i don’t know when i’ll be posting it, but i’m sure it won’t take me that long.

*** i’m also working on other one shots (purely fluff/domesticity because i want this man to cradle me in his arms). anyway, i don’t know if anyone’s going to read this, but still, all I have to say is THANK YOU FOR READING MY WORKS! i hope you really like this silly story i made up :)

**** english is not my first language so if you come across any mistakes don’t hesitate to tell me :)

special recognition to @zloshy who allowed me to rant about my own fic 😭 the sweetest human ever

The bar is far from packed, but then again, it never truly is.

Studying your regulars has become your favorite hobby. Soon you end up knowing their names, the drinks they like, and what time they come through the door. It’s what happens when standing on your own two feet and refilling glasses lose all their charm. A part of you thinks you also do it to make them feel safe. No matter how much you try to deny it, you truly care about their well-being.

Is this your dream job? Nope. Definitely not. You’re pretty sure that holding some stranger’s hair while they empty their insides wasn’t on your bingo card for this year. But sadly money doesn’t grow on trees, and university isn’t going to pay itself. Plus, this was the only job in which your resume was not immediately rejected. It should also be stressed that the drunks happen to love you.

Perhaps this isn’t the life you had always imagined for yourself, but you were getting closer to it. You’d often talk to Adam, a retired psychologist in his seventies. He was without a doubt one of the most loyal clients you’d ever encountered. In the past, he’d even given you free advice on some of your failed hookups. You once told him that in less than two years, you’d be just like him when you got your degree in Psychology. To your surprise, he replied: “You’ll be much better than me, doll. I’m a mess, can’t you see it? You don’t wanna be like me,” his voice was hardly above a whisper as he continued. “I should be at my daughter’s birthday right now, but I didn’t get an invitation this year. Believe me, you don’t want to end up like this old man.”

Like Adam, most of the men who frequented the bar day-to-day saw it as an opportunity to hide within the shadows. In comparison to the other pubs in the area, the one you work at doesn’t receive that much attention from the general public. A dimly lit place where only music from the 80s is allowed. You’re certain that if a health inspector ever came down here, you’d be in serious problems. But hey, you know what they say: do not worry about tomorrow; instead, live in the now.

The atmosphere of the bar shifts dramatically as the main door slams shut with a resounding thud, pulling you abruptly out of your daydreaming. You turn to see who’s arrived, but as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re compelled to look away. Nevertheless, the brief glance you catch of the stranger’s features is enough for you to unlock your phone and send a quick text to your best friend.

You:

cutie patootie alert

there’s this really handsome guy at the bar

i don’t think i’ve ever seen him before

i think i’m in love with him

my night just got a 100% better

Allison:

age

what does he look like

is he bald?

You:

he looks like he could be in his early fifties??? it’s hard to tell UGH i wish you were here

brown hair, beard, 6’2 if i’m not wrong

i didn’t stare at him for too long

otherwise that would’ve been very weird

and no he’s not fucking bald

that happened only once and i was not aware of that gentleman’s lack of hair

Allison:

so you’re dating retired now

get it grandma!

You:

oh fuck you allison

Allison:

it’s okay girl we all have our flaws

just make sure it’s nobody’s father

wait it’s not mine right?

You:

nah your dad’s way hotter don’t you worry about it

Allison:

bitch

Even with the music blasting through the speakers that are attached to the ceiling, you can still hear the low murmur and the whispers. The mysterious stranger seems to have attracted the attention of the other patrons, some of whom have even raised their phones to take photos. Your eyebrows draw together. Why would they do something like this, approaching the man as if he were a celebrity? Since curiosity never fails to kill the cat, you decide to get involved.

“Do I have somethin’ on my face?” you hear him ask the crowd, his raspy voice making your knees wobbly. He sounds enraged. You step on your tiptoes, trying to see what all the fuss is about, albeit it’s pretty hard considering how these men are caging him with their bodies.

The glow of a phone’s flashlight catches your attention, and suddenly, a chair is dragged without much elegance. “Enough of that, y’hear me?”

Enter you now. “Okay, gentlemen, I’m sorry. I’m gonna need you to make some space for me, alright?” you mumble as you gently push them aside. “Thank you, thank you. Y’all can be real sweethearts when you put your minds to it.”

Then you spot him, and it becomes clear why everyone is making such a fuss.

Gary, your worst client ever, steps forward. His nasty breath clouds your senses as he rests one of his sweaty hands on your shoulder. “Doll, it’s the fucking Wolverine. Don’t ask him for a picture, though. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that.”

The last thing you needed to see today was a fight (despite your knowledge of who would be the winner). You locate yourself amidst them, shaking your head like a disappointed mother, so as to add a tiny bit of drama to the situation.

“Guys, what you’re doing here is completely inappropriate. I thought I’d taught you better. Imagine if I were to pull this crap on you. You wouldn’t have it.”

Adam presses his lips together, flushing a bit. “She does have a point.”

“Thank you, peanut. You’re still my favorite,” you flash him an honest smile. Scrutinizing the rest of the men, you continue with your speech. “You can still make up for it and fill my tip jar all the way to the top. Deal?” they all scoff, barking their disagreement. “Oh, you don’t like the sound of that? Then leave him alone, okay? Class dismissed! Back to your places,” you clap your hands repeatedly, signaling them to go away. “Chop chop. All this alcohol won’t be drinking itself.”

Just like that, everything goes back to normal in the blink of an eye. Wolverine sits back down in his chair, leaning closer to the table and resting both elbows on it. He examines you, lifting his chin while his brown eyes take in every inch of you.

“Thank you,” he utters, his eyes still trained on your features.

“No need to. It’s what I’m here for,” you point to your work clothes, which consist of an antiqued apron and a silly sticker that has your name written on it. “Can I get you anything to drink? It’s also Burger Night. You can get one for half the usual price.”

(No. It’s not fucking Burger Night. You just happen to find yourself deeply attracted to him.)

He doesn’t seem too eager to hear you talk. “Not hungry at the moment. But I could use some whiskey.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, kid. Very sure.” Well, now he does look annoyed.

“Great. I’ll be back in a minute,” you move as if you were in a race, returning to him after a hot minute. Setting his glass down on the table, you fill it with some old whiskey you don’t even know the name of. Still, he omits that detail, gulping down two-fingers of whiskey as if it were water. “I see you’re thirsty.”

“Could you leave the bottle here?” those brown puppy eyes are begging you to do as he says, and although you’d be happy to oblige, rules are rules.

“Actually, I can’t. The bottle stays on the counter. But you can always join me at the front,” your proposal doesn’t appear to have the desired effect on him. “I won’t talk to you if that’s what you want.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” he rubs his neck, drawing a long breath as he stands up.

You can feel many pairs of eyes searing into your soul. The others ask you for more drinks and you pour them, pricking up your ears when you hear them talking about him.

“What a weirdo. Didn’t you see it on TV? He’s not even from this universe,” Gary explains, looking for accomplices to hate on Wolverine. “Let me tell y’all something: he shouldn’t even be here. He’s fucking dead on this earth.”

Yeah… that you knew.

It had been all over the news for weeks. Some would even swear that he was back from the dead, but that was until the representatives from the TVA spoke their truth. If someone would’ve told you a month ago that multiple universes were a thing, you would’ve laughed in their face.

As if that weren’t already difficult to process, your mind does the job of reminding you that there’s a man with metal claws sitting a few meters away from you. Despite that, you can’t seem to be scared of him. There’s something magnetic about his personality and that don’t-come-near-me-or-there-will-be-consequences expression that he has. Why had you promised not to speak to him? Dammit.

“I can hear your thoughts,” a muscle in his jaw twitches after knocking back another glass of whiskey. He squeezes his eyes shut before tapping the table with two fingers, silently asking for a refill.

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk,” you raise one of your eyebrows, and you behold how the corners of his mouth turn up for an instant. “I can assure you your liver hates you.”

“Alcohol won’t kill me, so don’t be afraid. Keep ‘em coming.”

For nearly twenty minutes, he does nothing but drink. He attempts to light a cigar at some point, and you stop him. “You can’t smoke in here.”

“No special treatment?” he inquires, placing the cigar between his parted lips and tilting his head back. He’s so… dreamy. He has to know it.

“I saved your ass today. The least you can do is not cause me any trouble.”

His eyes widen at your words, blinking owlishly. “You saved my what?”

“Your goddamn ass. You were about to start a fight.”

“Blame the idiots you have for clients,” he says, jerking his thumb toward your direction. “I was just mindin’ my own business. They came for me, not the other way around.”

“Look, Wolvie. I–”

“Wolvie?” giving a bitter laugh, he rams a hand through his hair. “That’s the worst nickname I’ve heard in a long time,” he looks at you through his lashes, getting rid of his leather jacket. “It’s Logan.”

“Wow. Your name is very boybandish.”

You succeed in making him laugh once again. It’s the perfect opportunity for you to observe his face without feeling like you were just about to get caught. He has deep creases and worry lines etched between his eyebrows, a brown beard that perfectly frames his jaw, and a few white hairs scattered in his sideburns. Pearly teeth that go hand in hand with one of the most impeccable smiles you’ve ever seen, and a pair of brown eyes that make you feel weak in the knees. You know for a fact that he’s a lot older than you; his exact age remains a mystery, but his appearance is enough for you to start fantasizing.

Shit, you want him. You should feel sickened by the mere thought of being with him. He was born God knows when, has lived hundreds of years. Still, the idea of tracing his cheekbones with your fingers while lying on his chest doesn’t leave you. This is fucked up. You are fucked up. A fucked up Psychology student. The joke is pretty much self-explanatory.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding, you preening slut. Can’t even bother to answer my calls now?”

The tension between you shatters like a glass dropped onto the floor. He doesn’t dare to look in the direction of the owner of that voice, not even as the seat next to him gets taken. He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Wade, what the hell are you doin’ here?”

“It hasn’t been exactly easy, raising our kid on my own. I don’t even have money to hire a babysitter, Lo. I spent nine months carrying your child, and for what? You end up going after a bartender,” the masked man turns to you, giving a sly wink. “No offense, baby. You must be a real sweetheart. In fact, do you want my number? The name’s Wade, but you can call me whatever you like.”

“You dumb fuck. Are you flirtin’ with her?”

“No shit, smartass. You’re the future of this country.”

A soft giggle escapes you despite your attempt to hold it back. You take a step back, admiring the two men. “Well, aren’t you two a beautiful couple?”

“You should see our little munchkin. He’s got my eyes and Logan’s hair. His first word was gubernatorial.”

“Would you like to have a drink while you’re here?”

“A beer would be great. Thank you, sugarbear. You’re the cutest,” Wade sinks back into his chair, resting his chin on his palm. He jerks his head in Logan’s direction, bumping his shoulder. “She’s the cutest. Are you two together?”

Logan rubs his forehead, speaking through gritted teeth. “How did you find me?”

“It's the power of love, baby. I had It’s All Coming Back To Me Now on repeat for hours. Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Handing Wade a cold beer, your eyes scan Logan’s face. “I didn’t know patience was your strongest suit.”

“Me neither.”

“Enough of that! I can’t stand not being included in a conversation,” Wade throws his hands in the air, and you look at him. “There you are. So, what about you? Are you even allowed to be here? Did bars change their policies?”

You can’t help but snort. “I’m 25.”

Wade looms closer, lowering his voice. “Now that I think about it, you could totally be Logan’s caretaker. He’s been having some issues recently, given his age. Do you… know anything about adult diapers?”

But then Logan’s face contorts, turning crimson. He rises from his seat, grabbing Wade’s arm. “That’s it. We’re leavin’,” his eyes lock on you for a moment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house.”

The things you’re willing to do for a man, right? You should be ashamed of yourself.

(But you aren’t.)

His mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Kiddo, are you–”

“Completely sure,” you finish his sentence for him, bowing your head and clasping your arms behind your body. A tight-lipped smile takes over you. “Just don’t tell my boss.”

Wade shifts his gaze back and forth between Logan and you. “I usually don’t mind third-wheeling, but I sort of feel left out.”

“I’m gonna sew your mouth shut, Wade.”

“Oh, come on! I was just making small talk,” the masked man tries to excuse himself while Logan pushes him towards the door. “It was a pleasure meeting you, sunshine. I’m free on Thursdays. Hit me up if his whiskey dick fails to impress you! Mine’s way more agile and young!”

As you watch them leave the bar, you remain frozen in your place amidst the clamor of ongoing chatter and clinking glasses.

What the fuck had just happened?

“Patrick’s normally the first one to get wasted during weekends,” you explain to the blonde woman sitting in front of you, and she writes that information down in her notebook. “He can usually handle himself, but at some point, he’ll try to call his ex-wife, and that’s when you know you need to stop serving him.”

She clicks her tongue, the color draining out of her face. “This is… definitely a lot to remember. I think I already forgot half of what you said.”

You shake your head, shoving your hands in your pockets. “You’ll get used to it, believe me. I’ll be with you at all times, so if you have any doubts, just ask me.”

After a whole year of working solo at the bar, you finally get to have a coworker: Gwen, a mother of two teenagers in her forties. You had met her at the grocery store, and in the process of helping her find a specific brand of cookies, you found out that she had recently lost her job. One thing led to another, and now she’s your trainee.

Your savior complex strikes again!

It has been four days since your first encounter with Logan. The thought that he could show up at any moment makes your heart race and your hands sweat. Allison had received countless voice messages where you narrated the entire experience in full detail.

Touching your arm softly, Gwen’s face lights up. “Another man came in. Is he a regular? I don’t think you told me about him.”

Fuck, it’s him. Manifesting does work wonders. He locks eyes with you and raises a hand in greeting.

“Leave this one to me,” you tell her as your feet take you to where Logan’s sitting, contemplating the way in which his leather jacket hugs his wide frame. “Long time no see.”

“Hey, kid,” he grins. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much. Nobody has puked yet, so that’s a good thing,” you crinkle your nose, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Whiskey?”

“You know me so well,” a smirk takes place in his lips, and he smiles cockily. “Though this time, I won’t be leavin’ without payin’.”

“We’ll see about that,” you go back to your usual spot behind the counter, looking for a glass. Your cheeks kind of hurt from smiling so hard. Next to you, Gwen studies your reaction to seeing Logan. “Is that your boyfriend?”

You almost drop the whiskey bottle. “God, no. He’s not my boyfriend. Barely know the guy.”

“It’s funny,” she says, raising her eyebrows with a knowing look, as if she knows something you don’t. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you since he arrived.”

“It’s probably because of this,” you reply, lifting the bottle in her direction before pouring a small amount into a glass. Just as you’re about to walk over to him, a girl slides into the sit beside him, her long blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She’s wearing a stunning red dress and black heels. You wonder if she’s a model, because she certainly looks like one.

Her hand creeps up his arm, fingernails scraping against the worn leather. Although Logan’s expression is hard to read, he doesn’t even flinch.

“You know what? Here’s his drink– You take care of it. I’ll stay here,” you don’t give Gwen a chance to talk back, instead staying behind the bar, engaging in small talk with other clients.

“Doll, are you okay?” Adam asks you after noticing you struggling to open a beer bottle. He takes it from your hands and opens it with ease. “There you go.”

“Thank you, Adam. I’m fine, never been better. Why you ask?

“You sure?”

“Affirmative.”

“You mixed up our drinks,” he explains in his most psychologist-like voice. “This never happens to you. Michael has my wine, and I’ve got his martini.”

“Fuck! I’m so sorry. I just— I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you chew on your bottom lip, rubbing your temples. “I feel stupid.”

“Oh, please. Don’t say that. You’re far from being stupid,” he sits up straight, reaching for your fingers and giving them an apologetic squeeze. “If you ask me, I think you’ve got your mind on someone else,” he must notice how you visibly get tense because he adds: “Remember: I know when you’re lying. You didn’t charge him the other day, which means that you must really like him,” taking a tentative sip of the martini he didn’t even ordered, Adam shrugs. “I’m a great observer. That’s all.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blonde girl from before returning to where her friends are chatting. Logan is left alone, and you watch him grab his glass and head towards the counter.

“As I said, your mind’s somewhere else,” Adam sighs, a tiny smirk tugging at his lips. “Go get your man. I’ll survive.”

“Not my man. But thanks, older-and-wiser-version-of-cupid.”

Pretending not to have seen Logan, you continue with your work. He remains silent for some minutes before finally saying: “Hi.”

Hi? It sounds so out of character for him.

“Hey, claws,” you force a smile, still avoiding to meet his gaze. “Do you need anything?”

Logan points to his empty glass, like a toddler asking for more cereal. “I also wanted to talk to you.”

“I thought you were busy over there,” you say, surprisingly managing to sound nonchalant, despite the jealousy bubbling underneath your friendly tone. “Did you get her number?”

“What? No.”

“Why not? She’s cute.”

Yeah, maybe you don’t sound as collected as you think.

Whether Logan notices it or not, he chooses not to mention it. He folds his arms over his chest, fixing his brown eyes on you. “I’m not interested.”

“And what is it that interests you, champ?” your question elicits a low chuckle from him. Just as he opens his mouth to seemingly reply, Gwen appears out of nowhere to ask you about the price of a certain drink. Your gaze shifts between her and Logan, who remains focused on you while sipping his drink.

After that, Gwen leaves. The man in front of you goes poker-faced, pursing his lips, and his abrupt change in demeanor alarms you. “Wade wants to have dinner tomorrow at his apartment– well, our apartment. I live with him now. It’s complicated,” he adds with a dismissive wave of his hand, and you laugh. “Anyway, he asked me to tell you that you’re invited. I know we don’t know each other that much, but… he said you seem like someone worth havin’ around,” he mumbles awkwardly, eyes downcast. “I think the same as well.”

You could die at peace.

“You’re a lucky fucker because I don’t work on Sundays,” you quip, smiling. “I’d be more than happy to attend your feast.”

“Great. I thought you would turn down the invitation.”

“Now why would you think that?”

“‘Cause you barely know me– us,” he corrects himself rapidly. “Plus, Wade’s annoying as hell when he puts his mind to it. You’ll see.”

“Marital problems?” he actually in response. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Oh, I’ll bring the dessert.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But I do want to,” you tilt your head in an effort to hide your longing for him.

“Just want to get under my skin, huh? I can see why Wade likes you,” Logan beams, reaching out to tuck a $100 bill into the pocket of your apron. “The tip’s included.”

“I don’t know how things work in your universe, but you’re giving me way more money than you’re supposed to. I can't accept this.”

“Oh, but you will,” his gravelly voice fucks your system up, and you’re glad he can’t see how you squeeze your legs together behind the bar.

He writes down Wade’s address on a random napkin, holding his breath as he stands up. “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow then.”

Before he walks out the door, you stop him. “Logan? You didn’t answer my other question.”

His back shakes momentarily with laughter. Turning around to face you, his stare leaves you even more confused. “Good night, doll.”

This is becoming a habit: every time he goes away, you feel as though you’ve just run a marathon with no water available. Your mouth is completely dry, your fingers are numb and there’s a knot in your stomach that’s becoming all too familiar.

“Would you mind telling me where you got him?” Gwen’s voice makes you almost jump out of your skin.

“He’s not from around here. I think he’s Canadian.”

You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You’ve got this.

Knocking softly on Wade’s door, you step back, the container holding the tiramisu cold to your touch. It’s your first time trying out this recipe, so you’re expecting it to at least not taste like shit.

Wade answers the apartment door, acting surprised when you remain silent. “Well, look what the wind blew in: if it isn’t my husband’s lover. How dare you? We’re still going to couples therapy.”

You show him the container, and he squints at it. “Tiramisu. You want it or not?”

“I hate twenty-somethings,” he says with a defeated sigh, stepping aside to let you into the apartment.

Leaving your purse on the nearest surface, you scan the living room, wondering where Logan might be. There’s a small mirror beneath the couch, and you check yourself for the hundredth time tonight. “Don’t get too excited. He’s still showering,” Wade’s voice rings in your ears, and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows knitted. “Yeah. I noticed. You’re already drooling over that big piece of metal between his legs.”

“Keep quiet!” you cover his mouth with your palm, noticing the scarred state of his skin up close. “Wade, you fucking dog. Are you licking my hand?”

“Couldn’t help it. You taste like mascarpone cheese and espresso.”

Then Logan emerges from the bathroom, with only a white towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his wet hair, tracing the muscle of his abs, ending somewhere beneath his happy trail. Your eyes keep flickering between him and his torso until he clears his throat. “I thought you were comin’ later.”

“Me too, but I…,” you trail off, your brain struggling to catch up, “I didn’t know what else to do at my place.”

“It’s fine. Just– let me put on some clothes.”

“Please don’t,” Wade murmurs next to you, but Logan only scoffs. “I was just being honest. Communication is key.”

When Wade and you are alone again, he lets out a harsh breath. “That was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. My pants are really tight right now.”

“Thin walls, buddy!” Logan shouts from his bedroom, earning a laugh from you.

Like A Prayer starts playing. Wade moves his hips to the beat, getting lost in the melody. “Is that your phone?”

“Yeah, but I always take a few seconds to dance to it. Such a banger!” he says, then picks up his phone, accepting the call. “Hey, Ness! What´s up?” Wade covers the speaker before telling you: “It’s Vanessa. My ex-girlfriend. We fuck once a week, sometimes even twice.”

From behind, Logan nudges your arm with his, looking at you. ”Hey, kid.”

“No, I’m not busy at all,” Wade exclaims, grabbing his crotch and thrusting into the air. “I’ll be there in ten, cupcake. See you,” he spreads his arms wide and whistles. “Someone’s getting laid tonight!”

“You made me come all the way here… and now you’re leaving?”

“What? My friend Wolverine wanted to invite you over. I just had to provide the apartment,” in one quick movement, he presses a kiss to your cheek, then does the same to Logan. “Shave yourself, will you?”

“Go fuck yourself, will you?”

“Love you too, honey. Hope you two lovebirds have a good night, because I know I will!”

Wade throws a wink over his shoulder before heading out, the apartment going dead silent. Logan and you stand frozen, staring at each other, although he quickly drops his gaze, unable to maintain eye contact. A giggle threatens to escape you: he wanted to see you. Could he possibly enjoy your company as much as you enjoy his?

Logan watches the spot where Wave had just been. The absence of his chaotic energy makes the room feel strangely empty now. He coughs lightly, the sound awkwardly loud in the quiet room.

“So... I, uh, bought pizza,” he says, his voice a little too casual, as if trying to cover up his nervousness. Averting his eyes, he focuses on the pizza boxes on the table.

You catch the hesitation in his tone, your curiosity piqued by his discomfort. Tilting your head, a teasing smile forms on your lips. “Pizza, huh? You sure know how to impress a girl.”

Logan chuckles, the sound strained, as he scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I figured it was a safe choice. Didn’t want to ruin it, y’know?”

You move closer to the table, the warmth from the pizza boxes radiating against your hands as you open one of them. The rich smell of melted cheese and pepperoni fills the air, a comforting scent that makes your stomach growl softly. “Thank you. I’m a big fan of pizza.”

He sits in the chair across from you, taking a bite of his slice. You watch him quietly, your own thoughts churning. The truth of his origins had been a shock at first, but now, it just made you want to know more about the man. What was his life like in the other universe? Did he miss it? Was he happier here, or was he longing to return?

“Logan…,” you begin, your tone gentle but probing, “Can I ask you something?”

He glances up at you, eyes widening. There’s something in your eyes –an understanding, maybe– that makes him feel like you could see right through him.

“Sure,” he replies, trying to sound more at ease than he really feels. “Ask away.”

You hesitate for a moment, not wanting to push too hard. “I was wondering... would it be okay if I asked you some questions? About, you know, your life. Where you're from.”

The bite of pizza suddenly feels heavy in his mouth. He hadn’t talked much about his world, not even with Wade. Partly because it was too painful, and partly because he wasn’t sure how to explain how things turned out for him. He nods slowly, setting his slice down. “Yeah, it's okay. I’ll answer what I can.”

“I just... I want to understand you better.”

“Well, first and foremost, I’m no hero. You should know that by now.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Kid, I’m the worst Logan. A complete failure. Of all the variants out there, Wade just had to pick the one despised by every living soul on his earth,” Logan looks away, his voice low and heavy. You’re wondering if doing this was a good idea. “I need a drink.”

He gets up and you follow him into the kitchen. He rummages through the fridge, in search of a cold beer. Meanwhile, you attempt to find the right words. “I don’t think–”

With a sharp flick of his wrist, three metal claws sprout from between his knuckles. A gasp catches in your throat as he uses his claws to pierce the beer can, drinking from the punctured holes. Once he’s done, he goes back to staring at you. Your gaze, on the other hand, is still glued to the now-empty beer can. “What?” he asks, exhaling slowly.

“That was completely unnecessary,” you mutter, and he lets out a bitter chuckle, tossing the can into the trash. “But, back to what you said before– I don’t think you’re the worst Logan.”

“You didn’t know me back then, darlin’. I fucked it up,” he leans against the counter, arms crossed defensively over his chest. “Like the Logan from this universe, I once belonged to the X-Men too. I remember that Scott used to beg me to wear my suit. So did Jean, Storm, Beast– All of them,” his gaze grows more distant, and you can tell that memories are flooding his mind. “Wanted me to be part of the team, but I wouldn’t do it. Told them they looked fucking ridiculous.”

The pizza’s long forgotten. You take the risk and get a bit closer to him, your eyes never leaving his.

Logan’s silence stretches for a moment before he speaks again. “One day, while I was off on my own, the humans came. They went mutant hunting.”

Your heart clenches at the pain in his voice. He still remembers everything as if it had happened yesterday. “I can guess the rest. You don’t have to–”

But he cuts you off. “No, let me say it. I need to say it,” he takes a deep breath, lowering his head. “By the time I stumbled home, shit-faced from the bar, it was too late. They were dead. They called after me and I walked away.”

Reaching out, your hand gently brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away, but instead searches for your eyes. “My suit's all I've got to remind me of who they were. What I did. I found them and they were… dead. I started killing, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to stop. I turned the whole world against the X-Men.”

You tighten your grip on his hand, knowing there’s nothing you can do to change how he feels. “You’re not a bad person, Logan,” he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. “I mean it. What happened back then doesn’t define you. You took the blame for their deaths upon yourself. I can tell you loved them deeply, and I’ll never fully understand the pain you feel. I wish I could. I wish I could take it away, make you forget somehow, but I can’t. That’s not how life works. But you got your second chance: you saved this world. My world,” gently cupping his face in your hands, you allow your fingers to caress his cheeks. He leans into your touch, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “You’re my hero. I’m your biggest fan– after Wade, obviously, which is a lot to say.”

He grins, letting out a laugh. “Easy there, bub.”

“Should I give you some space?”

That’s the last thing he wants from you right now. You already know that as he looks you up and down, placing his hands on the small of your back, his thumbs drawing small circles on your skin. There’s no turning back– The warmth between you feels almost like a fever dream. “For a long time, all I wanted was to disappear. I couldn’t stand waking up every morning, knowing that another day awaited me.”

“And what happened?” your breath mingles with his, his closeness becoming nearly intoxicating. “What changed?”

“I met a pretty girl at a pub, that’s what happened,” he murmurs, his dilated pupils flicking up to meet your gaze. “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Do all your kisses come with a warning?”

“God, do you ever shut up?”

You don’t have time to respond because he kisses you there and then. His stubble scrapes your skin as your mouths meet again and again, needy hands that hold you as if you were prone to breaking. Logan licks into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours and swallowing every one of your whimpers.

“So this is what it takes to shut you up, huh?” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel him smiling, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

“Keep talking and you won’t get a single bite of my tiramisu,” you tease him, kissing him again, the taste of beer numbing your senses. “I really like kissing you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, but now that you’ve mentioned that tiramisu…”

“Am I that easily replaced?”

“No. You’re just a pain in the ass.”

Jokes aside, you’re as happy as a clam.

Since that night you and Logan kissed, you’ve been living your best life. Like a freaking schoolgirl with a crush. Some things never seem to change.

He hasn’t been to the bar in three days. Yes, you’re counting them. No, you haven’t lost your mind. You want to see him, but there’s something about making the first move that gives you the chills. What would his reaction be if you showed outside of apartment?

It’s been a long time since you’ve been with anybody. On top of that, all the guys you’ve dated were your age. Being with someone that older than you certainly wasn’t no your plans. You’d be lying if you said that the mere idea of being with him in that way didn’t excite you.

Oh boy, you miss him. You miss his scruffy voice, his gorgeous hair. And you two aren’t even official yet. To be honest, you don’t even know what he wants from you. Is he even the type to be in a relationship?

“Nighty night, gentlemen,” you say to Gary and his friends as you find yourself in front of them, smoothing your apron. Gwen had called in sick tonight, so it’s just you at the bar babysitting a bunch of grown-men.

“What’s up, doll? You’ve forgotten about us. We miss you coming in here to chat,” Gary’s eating his burger at the same time he speaks, something you find repulsive, but you’ve seen worse. “Y’know, I’d love to take you out someday. I have a place you’d like.”

The other men laugh and punch him in the back, just boosting his ego. Pathetic.

“I’ll let you know when I’m free,” you reply with the most polite smile you can offer, intending to go on. “What are you having tonight?”

“You always pull that shit, baby. I don’t think you’re so busy that you can’t accept a date.”

You hate the way he’s looking at you, as if you were wrong for not being interested. As if you didn’t know any better.

“You’re reading minds now? Shocking, Gary.”

“Oh, doll. That attitude of yours shows you’ve never been with a real man like me, that’s all,” he leans back in his chair, resting one of his arms on the table and the other one near his crotch, manspreading. “It’s alright. I like you bratty.”

“I’ll be back when you finally have something to order,” you attempt to turn around but he grabs your wrist, pulling you closer. Your eyes lock, and he seems to enjoy this: being in control. Like a predator hunting his prey. “Come on, Gary. I don’t want to have to kick you out.”

“It’s not that you don't like me, right? You’ve already got your mouth full.”

“Careful.”

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not fucking that useless mutant. I see you like ‘em older. Pretty little things like you drive me wild.”

You laugh in his face, showing him your teeth. “It was never about your age, Gary. You’re right: I do like them older. I’m just not into bald, vertically-challenged pricks.”

His entourage of idiots goes silent after that. He looks up at you, eyes burning with hatred. His grip on your wrist tightens, probably leaving a mark. “Fucking bitch.”

“Get your hands off her.”

Logan’s voice forces the two of you to look in his direction. It seems that he’s just arrived at the pub, his jacket still on.

“You joining us? We’re just getting started here, big boy.”

“Did you not hear me?” Logan lunges forward, his nose almost touching Gary’s. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Easy there, cowboy. I’m just having a chat with your girl. She’s one of the good ones, I’ll give you that,” arching a sly brow, his forehead puckers. “You don’t like sharing? We can even take turns.”

Logan clenches his jaw, lips set in a grim line. “Say one more word, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

“I’ll give you a full sentence instead: can you even get it up?”

The tension in the air is thick, every second stretching out as Logan's anger simmers dangerously close to the surface. Gary’s smug grin only makes it worse, pushing him to the edge. Before you can react, Logan’s fist swings forward, connecting with Gary’s jaw with a sickening crack. Gary staggers back, realising your wrist. Blood seeps from his nose, his white shirt becoming stained with it. “You fucker! You broke my nose!”

“We’re just getting started here, big boy,” Logan mocks him, repeating his previous words.

“Stop!” you shout, moving quickly to grab his arm, trying to pull him back. But he’s beyond hearing, his rage blinding him to everything else. He shakes you off, and with a fierce growl, drives another punch into Gary’s stomach. The latter doubles over, gasping for air, the wind knocked out of him. He then falls to the floor, curling into a ball. People start to gather around you, and soon your beloved bar becomes a box ring.

“That’s enough, Logan! He’s barely conscious,” you murmur under your breath, stepping between them, hands up in a desperate attempt to create some space. Logan pauses, chest heaving, fists still clenched, as he finally looks at you. The wildness in his eyes starts to fade, replaced by a dawning realization of what he’s done.

“He deserved it,” he nods vigorously to himself, as if trying to explain his point. “He was hurting you.”

“If you keep that up, you’re going to kill him. My bar is not a fucking cemetery,” your voice trembles a little bit, expecting to talk some sense into him. “I won’t let you do this.”

The room is quiet now, the only sound being Logan’s heavy breathing as he stands there, still tense, still processing. You turn to Gary’s friends, cold fury in your eyes. “Get him out of here,” you watch as they haul him up, practically dragging him to the door. The other clients continue to stare at Logan, their mouths hanging open. “Everybody out, right now! Go home. We’re closing earlier tonight.”

Adam is the last person to leave, slamming the door behind him. You rush to the counter, searching for a mop to clean the fresh blood off the floor. Still agitated, the images of Logan hitting Gary flash in your mind. He approaches you from behind, his fingers circling your forearm. “Bub–”

“Don’t. Now is not the time.”

“I was protecting you.”

“I told you to stop, and you didn’t. You just shook me off,” you snap, glancing at his knuckles which are not even bruised. Slamming your eyes shut, you get to your feet and wash your hands in the sink, the remaining water becoming reddish for a moment.

Logan moves closer, resting his chin on your shoulder. He wraps his arms lazily around your middle section. ”I’m sorry.”

You turn in his arms, your back flushed against the sink and your nose in the air. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have a phone.”

“But– Jesus, Logan. You could’ve come sooner. I thought you regretted what happened the other day,” you say and the muscles in his face twitch, his body stiffening at your words. “Thought you no longer wanted me.”

“No, bub. I– I still want you. I want all of you, trust me,” he murmurs, and you allow him to press his body against yours, the scent of the cigar he must have smoked recently enveloping your senses. “I just… don’t know how to do this. I have a habit of ruining things, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to be with you without hurting you.”

“Pushing me away also hurts,” your eyes flick up to meet his gaze again, and he whispers under his breath. “I can’t read your mind. You need to tell me what’s going on in that ancient skull of yours.”

His face falters, flashing you a mischievous look. His hand creeps under the fabric of your shirt, fingernails scrapping against your spine. “I’m sorry, princess. I truly am.”

“You can’t just say ‘sorry’ with that voice and expect me to–”

You’re cut off by his lips crashing down onto yours. You melt into the kiss, unable to deny what your body has been craving for the past days.

“I thought your kisses came with a warning,” you say, detaching your mouth from his, a smile spreading uncontrollably in your face as you see his toothy grin.

“Shut up and kiss me, will you?”

In a clash of tongues and teeth, your mouths meet once again. Tugging the hair at his nape, you feel him growl against your lips. His strong hands trace every curve of your body, kneading the flesh of your hips and undoing the knot at the back of your apron. You’re becoming one with the sink, but in a moment like this, you couldn’t care less. Logan’s hard on nudges your lower stomach, and he ruts against you like an animal.

“You said you wanted to know what’s on my mind, right?” his teeth nibble on the skin of your neck, syrupy voice going straight to your core. “Well, I’d love nothing more than to touch you right now.”

“Right here? On the counter?”

“Yeah, on the fucking counter,” he grabs you by your thighs, hosting you up and placing your body on top of the cold bar. He nudges your knees apart, his bulge meeting your clothed cunt deliciously. “Will you let me, baby? Can I make you come in here?”

“Please. I’m glad we have such a low budget. Camera installment is t–too expensive these days.”

“Do you always talk this much?” he slowly unbuttons your pants, and you help him to remove them.

“Yes. Next question,” your breath hitches in your throat as you feel the pad of his thumb circling your clit through your panties. Your eyelids drop, your head lolling back. “Fuck, that feels good.”

Logan hums, mesmerized with the way your hips roll into his hand, your whimpers sounding like music to his ears. “You have any idea how I felt when I saw him touching you? Wanted to rip his hands off you,” his eyes drift to your chest, how it rises and falls with impatience. “But it’s me who gets to have you like this. He can fantasize about you all he wants: I’m the only one who touches you, ain’t I right?” you sigh with content as his fingers graze your slit, aimlessly bucking your hips. He doesn’t go any further, and you tug at the collar of his flannel, needing more of his callousand hands on you. “Nuh-uh. You want something, you gotta use your words. Got it?”

“I w–want your fingers inside me,” you don’t even recognize your own voice at this point. The few guys you had slept with had never been very talkative during sex. But Logan isn’t like them. This is just the beginning and you’re already starting to realize that he has a dirty mouth, that expectant look on his face as he waits to see your reaction to his words. “Please, Logan. I want you so bad.”

“Oh, I know, bub. There’s something about me I don’t think you know,” he inserts one of his fingers in your cunt, your slick coating the palm of his hand. “These claws I have… they didn’t come on their own. Let’s just say my sense of smell is… pretty good,” Logan can almost see the gears turning in your head as you try to think coherently. He moves his middle finger in and out of you, stretching your walls. “And you… have been wet ever since the first time you saw me. Always nice to everybody, making sure they feel at ease,” you feel like you’re being stretched even further, another one of his fingers sinking into your warm pussy. “But you’re so needy, too. How long has it been since someone touched you like this?”

“Too long, f–fuck. Too long,” you’re squirming, a totally whiny mess. He retratcs his wet fingers and instead goes back to flicking your clit, this time with much less delicacy. His left hand squeezes your tits, and you hate the fact that you’re still wearing clothes. “Shit, Logan. I need you to fuck me. Please. Need your cock.”

His face comes to rest at your neck, and you feel lingering kisses and bites that keep you grounded to earth. “Not here. I need a bed to fuck you properly. You’re only getting my fingers now,” he positions them inches away from your entrance, testing your patience. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“L-logan–”

“Tell me and I’ll make you come,” his husky voice is making you dizzy, tears shimmering in your eyes. “Come on. Know you want it as much as I do.”

You succumb to the tentation, like divinity turned to sin. He kisses you roughly, and you struggle to find the correct words. “It’s you, Logan. You own my pussy. It’s f-fucking yours.”

With that, he goes back to nudging that spot that makes you see starts, that filthy squelching sound getting mixed up with your moans. The knot in your belly keeps growing tighter the more he pumps his fingers in and out of you.

“I said you were only getting my fingers for now, but fuck… I need to gest a taste of this sweet cunt.”

He’s on his knees in an instant, urging your legs apart to make room for his body. Your thighs tighten around his face as he licks a hot stripe up your folds, tracing a heated path on your cunt, not wishing to waste a single second. Pleasure builds quickly, your breath hitching as your hands find their way into his hair, pulling him closer when your body begins to tremble.

“I’m close,” you pant, breathing hard, grinding your hips against his face. “I’m so close.”

“That’s it. Come in my mouth like the good girl you are.”

Who had given him a damn script for this?

The release is explosive. Like the peak of a roller coaster: you go up up up, ascending higher. You think you almost see Jesus, but at some point, you also have to crash down with force. Your shoulders slump, your entire body cramping up; yet he doesn’t let you go that easily, his fingers still working, scissoring within you while you ride out the final waves of your high, drawing out every last moment of ecstasy.

Once you finally manage to open your eyes, there he is, staring down at you. He taps your lower lip with his fingers, and then mutters: “Open.”

And you do, because you’re just as messed up as he is. Your mouth parts, and he slides his fingers between your lips, dragging them smoothly across your tongue. His knuckles brush the back of your throat, and you gag around the intrusion, tasting yourself. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth, clearly satisfied with the way you’ve cleaned them off.

“I think we should really pay a visit to your apartment,” he suggests, groaning in defeat, and you feel his bulge poking your hip. He must be painfully hard. “I meant what I said earlier. I need a bed if we’re going to fuck. My back’s hurting.”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth curving into a smirk. “Why not go to yours?”

“Wade’s in there. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate.”

You can’t help but laugh, pausing a moment to collect your thoughts, heat rising to your cheeks. “So we’re going rodeo?”

Aiming to silence up, Logan kisses you, pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Only if you can handle it.”

part 2: “GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE”

dividers by: @/cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

12K notes · View notes

cumironi · 3 months ago

Text

I F☆CK HATE EMO BOYS s. geto & k. choso

☆ sum. you hate emo boys, you hate how they pretend to be all dark and mysterious, you also hate how they wear nothing but black. there are two emo boys in your class and they seem to notice the hate inside your body— if they d☆ck you down sooo good, are still going to hate emo boys?

warning. college au, dōuble-penetration, manhandling, ōral ( m receiving ), fingēring, semi-public space, anāl, unprotected sēx, geto is annoying,

you hate emo boys.

you sit cross-legged on the floor of the cramped music room, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you glare daggers at the two so-called emo boys sitting on the stage with you. it’s your final project for the semester, and of course, you got stuck with them—choso and geto. you’re already mentally drained by their whole “dark and brooding” shtick, and the fact that they’re in the same art and music major only ensures you’re forced to endure it day after day.

choso is hunched over his electric guitar, strumming out a tune that sounds suspiciously similar to every other broody song he’s ever played. his face is painted with that classic distant, “nobody gets me” expression that makes you want to roll your eyes so far back they might get stuck. meanwhile, geto, who is supposed to be helping with the composition, is lounging on the stage like he owns the place, cigarette dangling from his lips, blowing smoke rings as if he’s above it all.

your patience is wearing thin.

“you know,” you say, voice laced with sarcasm, “sitting around and looking like a dark cloud doesn’t exactly count as helping.”

geto tilts his head, smirking as he blows another lazy ring of smoke, seemingly unfazed by your irritation. his long black hair falls in messy strands around his face, half-tied up in some kind of “effortlessly cool” way that, unfortunately, does suit him. but god, it’s infuriating. the urge to yank that stupid ponytail and force him to actually do something is almost unbearable.

“i am helping,” he drawls, voice dripping with boredom as he stretches out, reclining back on his elbows. “just by being here, i’m setting the mood.”

choso stifles a laugh, not even bothering to hide his amusement at your irritation. you shoot him a glare that could freeze fire, and he just shrugs, clearly used to geto’s antics. “yeah,” choso chimes in, plucking a single, somber note, “besides, nobody asked you to be here either.”

“unfortunately, the professor did,” you mutter under your breath. you’re practically boiling with annoyance, fists clenching. “and we’re supposed to be collaborating, not indulging in whatever dark poet wannabe persona you’re both putting on.”

geto smirks wider, taking another drag of his cigarette as he looks you up and down. “oh, you mean you don’t appreciate my brooding, enigmatic aura? i’m just trying to channel my inner tortured artist,” he responds with mock sincerity. “we’re not all about sunshine and rainbows like you, princess. some of us have a deeper connection to music.”

choso is still snickering as he strums out another note, the two emo boys clearly enjoying your irritation. choso meets geto’s eye with a playful look, as though they’re both in on some secret joke, but you can’t decipher the silent communication between them. he grins, clearly enjoying how easy it is to rile you up. “yeah, it’s not our fault you have the musical taste of a high school pep rally.” his comment earns a snort from geto, who chuckles under his breath.

you scoff, rolling your eyes so dramatically that it’s a miracle they don’t roll right out of your head. their mocking expressions, geto’s cigarette-smoke smile, and choso’s silent snickers grate on you, pushing every button they seem to know so well.

“oh, please,” you say, voice thick with sarcasm as you fling your pen, first at geto and then at choso. it clatters harmlessly beside them, but the message is clear. “i have a deep connection with music too, you know.” your eyes lock onto geto’s, a challenge blazing in your gaze. “just because i don’t act like i’ve lived through a hundred lifetimes of despair doesn’t mean i can’t understand depth.”

geto’s smirk doesn’t falter; if anything, it grows. he leans back, tilting his head slightly, the cigarette dangling between his fingers as he studies you with feigned curiosity. “is that so?” he drawls, looking entirely unconvinced.

you ignore him, turning to choso, who’s still grinning like he’s just heard the best joke of his life. “and by the way, my music taste is nothing like a high school pep rally. just because i don’t sit around and strum sad songs doesn’t mean i don’t know good music when i hear it.”

choso chuckles, shrugging one shoulder as he casually strums another lazy chord on his guitar. “right. suuuure, princess,” he says, the endearment clearly meant to rile you up more.

you take a breath, hands curling into fists at your sides. “if anyone here is all talk, it’s the two of you. maybe if you actually spent half as much time doing the work instead of pretending to be these misunderstood, tragic geniuses, we’d actually finish this project.”

geto and choso share another amused look, enjoying how easily they can get under your skin. geto takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke as he smirks at your fiery response. “cute speech,” he drawls, his voice dripping with condescension. “but forgive me if i don’t quite believe it. you think you understand depth just because you listen to some shallow pop songs and think they’re deep?”

choso chuckles again, clearly enjoying the spectacle, and continues to idly play his guitar with his signature smirk.

geto lets out a low chuckle, leaning forward with an exaggerated sigh. he leans back on one elbow, cigarette balanced between his fingers. “you’ve got us all figured out, don’t you? we’re just two dark, brooding souls living tragically deep, tortured lives. and you’re just… what? some bright ray of sunshine, here to bring us out of our musical abyss?”

choso chuckles again, still plucking at his guitar as he shares another amused glance with geto. “yeah, how lucky we are. our very own little guardian angel, here to save us from our emo ways,” he responds, clearly finding the situation amusing.

geto nods, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing a perfect smoke ring into the air. he studies you intently, his gaze almost calculating as he watches for your reaction. “your enthusiasm is endearing,” he smirks, “but let’s not pretend that you’re anything more than a naive, hopelessly optimistic girl in a class full of brooding, misunderstood artists.”

you glare at geto, feeling the heat of frustration bubbling beneath your skin as his smirk widens with every word he says. the sight of him leaning back, exhaling another plume of smoke as if he owns the world and everyone in it, makes your blood boil. that condescending drawl, that cocky look—god, you hate emo boys.

without thinking, you reach down, grab his bag, and hurl it straight at him. it smacks him square in the chest, and he blinks in surprise, momentarily caught off guard as he catches it before it hits the ground.

“you’re an asshole, suguru,” you snap, voice sharp as you stand up, glaring at both of them. “i hate you and your stupid, tortured artist act. enjoy your ‘depth’ without me.” you turn to leave, gripping your things, determined to escape this room filled with cigarette smoke and smug grins.

geto rolls his eyes, his smirk never faltering as he watches you storm toward the door, clearly amused by your outburst. with a sigh, he stands up, taking his time before following you to the door. “don’t be sooo thin-skinned, sunshine,” he drawls, reaching out to catch your hand, which is already on the doorknob.

you yank your hand back, but he’s faster, his grip firm as he gently pulls your hand away from the door. and before you even realize what’s happening, he twists the lock, the soft click filling the air.

you narrow your eyes at him, frustration flaring again as he stands behind you, his presence way too close. he still has that damn smirk, looking down at you with a mix of challenge and amusement. his hands move to rest on your upper arms, a touch that’s surprisingly gentle but keeps you in place. you tense under his grip, but he’s already nudging you backward, guiding you away from the door, back toward the center of the room where choso is still sitting, half-watching the scene unfold as he idly strums his guitar.

“you know,” geto murmurs, that hint of laughter still in his tone, “maybe you’re taking all of this a bit too personally. it’s not like we don’t appreciate your presence or anything.” he’s leaning in, close enough that his words are more of a soft murmur against your ear.

you huff, rolling your eyes. “oh, sure. you just like having me here to entertain you with my ‘shallow’ music taste, right?”

geto chuckles, his breath ghosting over your ear in a way that sends a slight shiver down your spine. but you push the feeling away, refusing to let his subtle touch affect you. “hmm, something like that,” he replies, his voice a low murmur. “and your little temper tantrums are so cute.”

you slowly turning your head over your shoulder to give him a glare that could melt steel. the audacity. you arch an eyebrow, letting out a huff. “you’re a dog, you know that, right?”

but geto’s smirk only deepens, clearly unfazed. he leans in, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. “woof woof,” he murmurs, his voice low and dripping with a mock sultriness that sends a shiver down your spine despite yourself. he’s so close that you can almost feel his smile in that smug tone, knowing full well the effect he’s having on you.

you clench your jaw, trying to ignore the strange flutter that rises in your chest. why did he have to turn everything into a game, a challenge that he somehow always managed to win? your fingers tighten around your things, grounding yourself as you try to shake off the flush threatening to rise to your cheeks.

“ugh, seriously?” you mutter, yanking yourself out of his grasp as you step away, putting some much-needed space between you. “can you be any more insufferable?”

geto just chuckles, taking pleasure in your reaction. he’s clearly enjoying the game of cat and mouse, loving every moment of your frustration. and as you try to step away, his hand snatches the back of your shirt, yanking you back toward him, preventing your escape. he pulls you closer with a fluid motion, bringing you within inches of his smug face.

he leans in, his voice is low and laced with that same hint of mockery. “i can actually be significantly worse. i’m just holding back, princess. you should be grateful.”

choso snickers from his spot on the stage, watching the spectacle with a knowing smirk. he’s seen this song and dance between you and geto countless times, and yet he never gets tired of it. after all, the sight of you and geto at each other’s throats is always a thrilling one.

geto takes a minu step closer, closing the distance between you two. his grip tightens on the back of your shirt, keeping you in place. “so, what are you going to do now, sunshine? keep huffing and puffing, or are you going to give in?”

you roll your eyes, crossing your arms, but there’s a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “maybe i should start carrying a spray bottle for you two,” you snap back, though the playful edge in your voice betrays your amusement.

choso laughs outright, a sharp bark of laughter, while geto chuckles, a low rumble in his chest. “oh, a spray bottle? how original, princess,” geto teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “go ahead. i could use a good misting.” he takes another step closer, the heat of his body nearly close enough to touch yours. his grip on your shirt is still firm, but you can feel his fingers tracing small circles on the fabric, a subtle display of possessiveness.

choso chuckles as he strums out another chord on his guitar. “yeah, we’re not kittens you can just spray with water,” he remarks. “but we might respond to treats.” you roll your eyes, scoffing at choso’s words. “as if i’d give you two anything resembling a treat. you don’t do anything that deserves one,” you mutter, voice dripping with sarcasm.

geto smirks, clearly enjoying your reaction, and inches even closer, closing the already narrow space between you two. you can feel the fabric of his shirt brushing against your hands, which you’ve instinctively placed on his chest to push him back, but he doesn’t seem inclined to give you the space you need. instead, he just leans in further, his gaze unwavering and challenging as his fingers continue to lightly trace along the hem of your shirt, a subtle, infuriating reminder that he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

choso’s smirk deepens as he lifts his hand, extending his middle and ring fingers in a subtle, teasing wiggle that makes your cheeks burn instantly. “oh, i can do plenty that deserves a treat,” he murmurs, his voice carrying just the right mix of mischief and challenge, the playful gleam in his eyes only adding to his boldness.

your face flushes as you glare at him, momentarily stunned by his audacity. “pervert,” you snap, rolling your eyes in an attempt to cover up the blush creeping up your face. geto chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction, and leans even closer, his breath warm against your skin as he adds, “oh, i think we hit a nerve there, didn’t we, sunshine?”

you turn your glare back at him, trying to shake off the heat that’s already spreading across your face. “maybe if you two idiots put half as much effort into this project as you do into annoying me, we’d actually be done by now.”

geto snickers, unfazed by your insults. “oh sweetheart, where would the fun be in that?” he retorts, his voice dripping with mockery. “and honestly, annoying you might be more enjoyable than your whole music taste.”

choso chuckles from his spot on the stage, clearly enjoying the back and forth as he idly strums out a lazy chord on his guitar. “come on, admit it. you love the attention,” he teases with a knowing smirk. “how else would we keep you from fleeing the room?”

geto’s eyes glint with a devilish spark as he draws out the word, “but…” letting the silence stretch just long enough to make you tense up in anticipation. before you can even fully register his intentions, he wraps an arm around your waist, effortlessly lifting you off your feet, his strength catching you off guard. instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist to steady yourself, a surprised gasp escaping your lips.

“if you’re so eager for us to work on this project,” he murmurs, that familiar teasing tone laced with something deeper, “then i suppose we should oblige you.”

choso watches with a smirk, setting his guitar aside and leaning back on his hands, clearly entertained. he shifts slightly as geto carries you over to him, his gaze lazily tracing the scene as though it’s all some amusing game.

before you know it, geto lays you down, your head coming to rest on choso’s thigh, his fingers instantly playing with a strand of your hair while he looks down at you with a knowing grin. geto settles between your legs, his eyes alight with mischief as he leans closer, his weight pressing against you just enough to pin you there.

your eyes widen, heart pounding as you squirm, trying to push him away and hit his shoulder. “suguru, get off!” you snap, your voice sharper than you intended, but he only chuckles, entirely unfazed.

geto’s smirk only widens, clearly enjoying your flustered attempt to escape. as you try to push him away, he effortlessly catches your wrists, pinning them above your head, his body still pressed against yours, effectively trapping you.

he leans in, his breath hot against you as he speaks, his voice a low, amused murmur. “easy, princess. we’re just working on the project, remember?” choso chuckles from above, his fingers still idly toying with your hair as he looks down at you, clearly enjoying this moment. “yeah, relax. we’re actually going to be productive for once,” he teases, a smirk on his lips.

geto’s grip tightens on your wrists as he shifts his weight, settling himself more comfortably into the space between your legs. he’s so close that you can feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of cigarettes and something more distinctly him filling your senses. he leans in closer, his lips hovering just above your ear, his voice a low murmur. “or are you finally starting to enjoy this?”

your cheeks flush a deep red, the warmth spreading down your neck as you try to keep your composure. you look away, biting your lip as you feel your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of it almost deafening in your ears. taking a steadying breath, you clear your throat, desperately trying to suppress any hint of nervousness.

“this… this is not the project,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, but you don’t pull away. instead, you muster up the courage to meet geto’s gaze, your eyes locking onto his with a mix of defiance and something else—something you’re not quite ready to name.

geto’s smirk deepens at your whispered protest. he leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your skin, igniting a shiver down your spine. “sure it is,” he counters, his voice a low rumble, his eyes locked onto yours. “we’re getting acquainted with each other’s… skills, let’s say. it’s an essential part of the creative process.” choso snickers from above, his fingers still moving lazily through your hair. “yeah, consider it a team-building exercise,” he adds, his voice dripping with amusement.

your gaze locks onto geto’s, the challenge in your eyes unmistakable. you tilt your head slightly, defiant and intrigued all at once, a smirk pulling at your lips. “yeah?” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper. “and just what kind of skills are we talking about?”

geto’s smirk widens, clearly delighted by your question. he leans even closer, his lips ghosting over yours, almost but not quite touching. “well,” he murmurs, his voice a tantalizing murmur that sends a shiver down your spine, “the kind of skills that… require hands-on experience.”

choso chuckles softly above you, his hand in your hair, fingers curling lightly around a strand. “you’re in good hands, don’t worry,” he teases, his tone both playful and reassuring. “we’re professionals, after all.” you roll your eyes at the both of them, your heart racing despite your best efforts to stay composed. “oh? you do?” you mutter, though the way your voice wavers slightly betrays your flustered state.

geto’s smirk turns almost devilish as he notices the slight waver in your voice, feeling your resistance beginning to crumble. he shifts his body, pressing himself even closer against you, his hands still holding your wrists captive above your head.

“oh, we do,” he affirms, a note of confidence edging into his voice. “we’ve got plenty of… relevant experience.” choso chuckles softly, his fingers continuing to toy idly with your hair. “and we’re more than happy to give you a… hands-on demonstration,” he adds, his tone teasing.

a rush of heat floods your cheeks, but you don’t dare look away, meeting geto’s gaze head-on, even with your heart pounding so fiercely that he can feel the pulse beneath his fingers. you swallow, your defiance giving way to something more vulnerable, more curious.

“like what?” you whisper, barely audible, but he catches every word. the smirk on his face shifts, deepening into something darker, a spark of satisfaction flaring in his eyes at your words, the smirk on his face turns almost predatory.

choso’s hand continues to toy idly with your hair, watching the scene unfold. a soft chuckle escapes his lips as he witnesses the undeniable tension between the two of you, clearly enjoying the show.

geto leans in even closer, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes locking onto yours as you speak. “like this.” he moves suddenly, pressing his lips against yours in a firm, possessive kiss, his grip on your wrists tightening just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.

the kiss is demanding, almost possessive, like he’s staking his claim on you at that very moment. his tongue brushes lightly over your bottom lip, a silent request for entry, but doesn’t give you a chance to respond before his tongue pushes into your mouth, claiming it.

as geto kisses you, his lips move against yours with a mixture of rough possessiveness and subtle tenderness, the contrast making your head spin. he doesn’t give you any room to pull away, his body still pinning you firmly in place, his hands still holding your wrists captive above your head. it’s dominant, overwhelming, and you find yourself melting into the kiss without even realizing it.

when he eventually breaks away for air, his eyes scan your face, taking note of your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing. he smirks, noticing the way you’ve already lost some of your resistance.

you stare up at him, wide-eyed and breathless, struggling to steady your racing heart as you feel the lingering warmth of his lips on yours. your cheeks are flushed, and the remnants of the kiss—soft, glistening traces of shared heat—cling to your lips, a tangible reminder of the closeness that had just taken place.

geto’s smirk only widens as he takes in your expression, clearly pleased with the effect he’s had on you. he shifts, letting one of his hands trail down, grazing your cheek in a teasing, feather-light touch. “what’s the matter?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “cat got your tongue?”

you open your mouth to say something, anything, but the words catch in your throat, leaving you speechless. all you can do is glare at him, though the intensity is softened by the dazed look in your eyes.

geto’s smirk only deepens at your lack of response, clearly enjoying the power he has over you in that moment. he leans in closer, his hand tracing a path down your neck, his touch light and tantalizing. “tsk, tsk,” he murmurs between chuckles. “no cutting remarks? no snarky comeback?”

he leans down, his lips hovering just above your ear as he murmurs, “or are you just too distracted by my… skills?”

“n-no,” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper, betraying the mess of emotions tumbling around inside you. your gaze flickers from geto’s amused smirk to choso’s lazy, knowing grin, and you quickly lick your lower lip, still tasting the faint remnants of geto’s kiss.

choso leans over you, a sly grin on his lips, clearly amused by how flustered you’ve become. “seems like we’ve finally managed to render her speechless,” he teases, his voice laced with amusement. you swallow, trying to regain even a fraction of your composure, but the feeling of geto’s lips lingering on yours keeps replaying in your mind, muddling every sharp retort you want to throw at him.

“i don’t—” you start, desperately trying to sound defiant, but the slight quiver in your voice gives you away. “i don’t...” the words come out weaker than you intended, and even you can feel the doubt behind them.

you hate emo boys, right?

choso chuckles, clearly amused at your feeble attempt to hold onto your usual defiant attitude. he continues to toy with your hair, his fingers gently twirling strands around them as he leans back against the stage.

geto, on the other hand, takes your attempt as a challenge, his smirk widening into a sly grin. he tightens his grip on your wrists, pinning you even more firmly against his body. “oh, really?” he murmurs, his voice dripping with mockery. “you don’t what, princess?”

you frown, finally managing to push geto back just enough to sit up, shaking your wrists free from his hold. “you’re so damn annoying,” you mutter, trying to sound resolute, though your heart is still racing, and your cheeks are still warm.

but before you can even think of standing, choso’s hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you backward with a gentle yet firm pull. you lose your balance, falling back into his lap, your back pressing against his chest as his arms settle around you, keeping you securely in place.

“now, now,” he whispers, his voice low and smooth, right next to your ear, “we haven’t finished with the hands-on learning session.” his fingers trace slow, lazy circles on your arm, and you can feel the rumble of his chuckle against your back.

geto watches with a pleased smirk, his eyes glinting with amusement as he leans back, clearly entertained by the shift in control. “see, princess? you keep acting all tough, but you’re right where we want you,” he teases, folding his arms and tilting his head as he watches you, enjoying every flustered reaction.

your face burns, but despite the urge to throw out a sharp comeback, your mind goes blank with the feeling of choso’s closeness, his steady presence both soothing and entirely overwhelming.

your breath catches as choso’s arm slides around your waist, pulling you even closer against his chest. his touch is gentle yet firm, grounding you in place, and there’s no escaping the warmth of his body pressed against yours. when his chin settles on your shoulder, you can feel the soft scrape of his stubble against your skin, a contrast to the smoothness of his voice as he whispers.

“you keep resisting,” he murmurs, his voice teasing and warm against your ear, “but maybe that’s because we haven’t given you a proper, hands-on demonstration yet.”

his other hand glides over yours, fingers lacing together as he leans in, his breath tickling the sensitive skin along your jawline before running his fingers over your clothed breast, feeling the lace material over your shirt. geto, watching your reaction with that same devilish smirk, steps in closer, his presence filling any space left, his gaze sharp and intense.

with you pinned between the two of them, there’s no escaping their touch or their relentless teasing. choso’s hand, so maddeningly close to bare skin, moves confidently over your shirt, while geto leans in even closer, his smirk growing wider as he takes in the flushed look on your face.

he reaches up, lazily trailing his fingers down your cheek, his touch sending tingles down your spine. “or maybe,” he murmurs, “you’re just not ready to admit how much you’re enjoying this.”

“shut up,“ you mumble, squirming uncomfortably under their combined gazes. your cheeks burn hotter than ever, and it’s hard to focus on anything other than the sensation of choso’s fingers dancing dangerously close and geto’s intoxicating proximity.

you try to pull away, to put some distance between yourself and the two men who seem intent on breaking down your walls, but choso only tighten his hold, making escape nearly impossible. “let me go,” you demand, your voice shaky, but whether from anger or arousal, you’re not sure.

“what fun would that be?” geto retorts, crossing his arms over his chest. his smirk doesn’t falter, and if anything, it grows more pronounced as he watches you struggle in vain against choso’s grip.

choso, meanwhile, seems content to let geto handle most of the verbal sparring, focusing instead on the task at hand. his fingers continue their tortuous path over the fabric of your shirt, tracing the outline of your breasts through the thin material. his touch is light, teasing, but the effect is undeniable.

the room may be empty, but it feels like the walls are closing in, the heat between the three of you nearly palpable. you swallow hard, struggling to maintain your composure as choso’s fingers brush tantalizingly close to your nipples. you bite your lip, a soft whimper escaping your throat as geto’s smirk deepens.

“we should do our project instead... instead of this,” you stammer, trying to muster some semblance of defiance, even though your body betrays you with each passing second. your heart pounds in your chest, your breaths coming quicker as the tension in the room rises.

geto scoffs, rolling his eyes at your suggestion. “who said anything about stopping?” he drawls, shifting slightly in his seat to give himself a better view of your predicament. his dark eyes sparkle with mischief, and his grin widens even further, revealing his white teeth.

choso chuckles softly, leaning in until his lips brush against your ear. “this is a part of our project, no?” he purrs, his hot breath tickling your sensitive skin. his fingers finally dip beneath your shirt, finding your hardened nipple through your bra and pinching it gently, eliciting a gasp from you.

geto watches, his smirking eyes never leaving yours as choso continues his torment, his own hands moving freely now that you’re effectively trapped between them. with nowhere else to turn, you grit your teeth and glare at geto, even as choso’s fingers continue their wicked exploration. “i swear,” you seethe, “if you don’t stop—”

“and what would you do?” geto interrupts, raising an eyebrow in challenge. he leans in closer, his smirk turning into a full-blown grin as he gets a whiff of your scent. “because i’m not seeing much resistance here.”

before you can come up with a retort, choso’s hand snakes its way around your waist, his thumb brushing against your belly button. he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “relax, princess,” he coos, his voice dropping to a low purr. “it’s just sex.”

you wince as choso’s thumb brushes against your exposed flesh, a shudder running through your body at his words. you clench your fists, biting your lip to keep from moaning aloud. “t-that’s not true!” you protest weakly, though your body tells a different story. your cheeks flush darker, your heart pounding wildly in your chest as the heat between the three of you intensifies. god, you hate emo boys so much!

geto barks out a laugh at your weak protests, shaking his head in amusement. “oh please, spare us the indignation act. we all know you’re loving every second of this.” choso hums in agreement, his fingers trailing lower, dipping teasingly below the waistband of your skirt. “your body is far more honest than your mouth,” he murmurs, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

geto shifts closer, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, forcing you to meet his heated gaze. “why fight it? we both know where this is heading. might as well enjoy the ride, hmm?” his thumb brushes across your bottom lip, a clear invitation. behind you, choso presses closer, the evidence of his arousal evident against your backside as his hands roam your curves possessively.

geto merely laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “denial isn’t a very attractive trait, love,” he teases, reaching out to run a finger along your arm. the sensation sends sparks shooting up your skin, and you can’t help but flinch.

choso grins devilishly, taking advantage of your reaction. he slips his hand lower, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip before dipping beneath the hem of your skirt. his touch is feather-light, teasing, yet filled with promise. his hand slides lower to tease the edge of your panties. his fingers ghost along the delicate fabric, making you jump in surprise. “so tense,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with false sympathy. “let us help you relax. this is a part of the project, we promise. gonna show you how to used your fingers for guitar.”

geto chuckles darkly, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “that’s right, princess. we’re just giving you a private lesson,” he purrs, his voice low and seductive. “all part of the creative process.” he leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers, “but i think we can teach you something far more... practical.”

choso hums in agreement, his fingers still teasing along the edge of your panties. “indeed. music theory is important, but sometimes...” his hand suddenly cups your mound, applying firm pressure. “...hands-on experience is necessary for real growth.”

geto smirks, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. “what do you say, love? ready to expand your horizons and learn a new instrument?” his other hand trails down your side, fingertips grazing the side of your breast.

whimpers and squirms, you inhale sharply as choso’s hand boldly cups your most intimate area, his touch sending jolts of unwanted pleasure through your body. your hips jerking involuntarily into his touch. a needy whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, your resolve crumbling under their relentless assault. geto’s fingers in your hair and teasing caress along your breast make it hard to think straight.

“i... i don’t...” you stammer, but your body betrays your true desires. your thighs tremble, pressing together as if seeking friction, and your nipples strain against the confines of your bra, begging for attention. “that— that’s not,” you protest weakly, even as your body betrays you, arching slightly into their touches. your face burns with humiliation and shameful arousal. “expand your horizon, my ass.”

geto’s fingers in your hair send tingles down your spine, and when he grazes the side of your breast, you can’t suppress the shudder that runs through you. “fuck,” you breathe, hating how weak you sound.

despite your feeble objections, you make no real effort to push them away or escape their groping hands. the heat building between your thighs grows harder to ignore with each passing second. geto grins wickedly, clearly reveling in your flustered state and half-hearted resistance.

choso chuckles darkly, his fingers continuing their maddening exploration. he hooks a finger in the side of your panties, tugging them down just slightly. “see? nothing to worry about. just sit back and enjoy the music,” he murmurs, his hot breath fanning across your neck.

geto leans in, his lips barely brushing against your ear. “unless you’d prefer to take the lead? show us what those talented fingers of yours can really do?” he suggests, his tone laced with challenge and desire.

choso grins wickedly, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your panties to stroke your slick folds. “my my, someone’s already so wet,” he purrs, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “and here i thought you were resisting.” geto chuckles darkly, his hand tightening slightly in your hair. “resistance is futile, princess. your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is playing catch-up.”

he leans in, his tongue darting out to trace the shell of your ear before he nibbles on the lobe. “what was that about expanding your horizons again, princess?” he taunts, his other hand boldly cupping your breast, kneading the soft flesh. “seems to me like you’re already getting a crash course in advanced techniques.”

he leans in, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing any further protests. his tongue delves into your mouth, claiming you thoroughly as choso’s fingers begin to circle your clit with maddeningly light touches.

you moan into the kiss, your lips parting willingly as geto plunders your mouth. your tongue tangles with his, the taste of him both foreign and intoxicating. you find yourself kissing him back with growing fervor, your reservations melting away under the onslaught of sensation.

choso’s fingers work magic on your sensitive bud, circling and teasing until your hips are bucking shamelessly against his hand, chasing more of that delicious friction. wetness coats his digits as he easily glides through your slick folds, stroking along your entrance.

“ahh... fuck...” you gasp as geto breaks the kiss, leaving you panting and dizzy with need. your head falls back against choso’s shoulder, exposing the column of your throat.

geto smirks against your lips, clearly relishing your wanton response. “that’s it, princess. let go,” he encourages huskily, his hand sliding down to join choso’s between your thighs. together, they work in tandem, geto’s fingers joining choso’s to tease and explore your most intimate places.

“feel that?” choso murmurs, his fingers curling inside you, stroking along your inner walls. “this is just like playing a string instrument. you have to be precise, know exactly where to touch...” he demonstrates by finding that special spot deep inside, rubbing firmly. at the same time, geto’s thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub in tight, fast circles.

“mmm, and you’ve got to vary your rhythm,” geto adds, his voice a sinful purr.

behind you, choso takes advantage of your exposed throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. his fingers never cease their ministrations, now two digits sinking knuckle-deep inside your tight heat. he curls them just so, rubbing against that same special spot within you. “how about that, baby?” he murmurs, his voice a sinful rasp against your ear. “this is called the g-spot. it’s the key to creating the most beautiful melodies.”

a loud, shameless moan tears from your throat as choso hits that perfect spot inside you, his fingers curling just right. your back arches, pressing your breasts more fully into geto’s palm as he kneads the soft mounds.

“oh god— thaaat’s— shit!” you keen, your hips rolling shamelessly against their skilled hands. the dual stimulation of choso’s fingers pumping in and out of your dripping cunt and geto’s thumb circling your clit has you seeing stars. your inner muscles flutter and clench around the invading digits, trying to draw them deeper.

geto chuckles darkly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest pressed against your side. “listen to those pretty sounds you’re making,” he purrs, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. “like a symphony of pleasure.”

“indeed,” choso agrees, his own voice thick with lust. “she’s quite the instrument.” he increases the pace of his thrusts, fingers pistoning in and out of your soaked pussy with increasing urgency. “let’s see how high she can sing.”

geto redoubles his efforts as well, his thumb working overtime on your throbbing clit while he tweaks and teases your nipples. “come on, baby girl,” he coaxes, his breath hot against your ear. “give us that sweet release. let the music move you.”

the dual assault proves too much, your climax cresting like a tidal wave. a strangled cry rips from your throat as your body seizes up, back bowing as ecstasy crashes over you. choso and geto continue to work you through it, coaxing out every last tremor and spasm.

your entire world narrows to the intense sensations coursing through your body as you come undone. waves of pleasure radiate outward from your core, leaving you quivering and gasping for air. “ahh! oh fuuuck...” you wail, your voice raw and desperate as your orgasm rips through you. your inner walls clench rhythmically around choso’s plunging fingers, milking them for all they’re worth.

choso grins wickedly, his fingers picking up speed, plunging in and out of your sopping wet cunt. “that’s it, baby. let me hear that sweet music,” he growls, his thumb coming up to rub tight circles on your clit.

through the haze of bliss, you dimly register geto’s triumphant grin against your cheek, his praise and encouragement spurring you onward. even as the aftershocks slowly ebb, choso and geto keep you suspended on that razor’s edge, prolonging your pleasure until you’re a boneless, spent mess in their arms. when the final tremors subside, you collapse against choso, panting heavily.

choso holds you close, his strong arms cradling your trembling form as you struggle to catch your breath. “exquisite,” he murmurs, his voice filled with satisfaction. “a true masterpiece.”

geto, in front of you, watching you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. “not bad for a beginner lesson,” he remarks, his gaze roving over your flushed, disheveled state. he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. “but we’re far from finished. there are still so many notes left to play, so many melodies yet to compose.” his hand trails down your spine, tracing the curve of your lower back before settling on your hip.

choso chuckles, his fingers still buried inside you, gently stirring your sensitive insides. “let’s see how well our little protégée handles some more...advanced techniques.” he leans in, biting and sucking at your neck, determined to leave marks of possession. his free hand slides down to grip your hip, holding you steady.

without warning, geto captures your lips in a filthy kiss, all teeth and tongue, swallowing your desperate moans. behind you, choso scissors his fingers, stretching you wider, preparing you for something bigger. “brace yourself, princess,” geto growls against your mouth, his tongue delving deep to claim yours in a ruthless kiss. his other hand snakes around to cup your breast once again, squeezing the soft flesh roughly as he bites down on your bottom lip.

choso continues to work his fingers in and out of your stretched opening, scissoring and curling to hit all the right spots. “ready for the next piece?” he asks, his voice a low, seductive purr. “we’re going to add some strings to really make her sing.”

your mind reels from the overwhelming sensations, struggling to process the torrent of pleasure coursing through your veins. the feeling of being stretched and filled by choso’s fingers is almost unbearable, your body acutely aware of every subtle shift and movement.

geto pulls back from the kiss, his chest heaving with desire. “that’s right, let’s give her a full orchestra,” he agrees, his eyes blazing with hunger. “i’m thinking a nice, thick violin for her ass...”

when geto claims your mouth in a brutal kiss, you melt into it, surrendering to the dominant passion he exudes. his hand on your breast sends jolts of electricity straight to your core, making you ache for more.

you whimper against his lips, lost in the haze of lust. the thought of geto taking you from behind, filling you with his thick cock, has you squirming in anticipation. as if reading your mind, choso withdraws his fingers with a lewd pop, leaving you empty and wanting. he smirks down at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

they help you stand, with a shared look of carnal intent, both men begin shedding their clothing, revealing lean, muscular bodies honed from years of intense training. their cocks spring free, hard and proud, already leaking precum in anticipation.

geto lean closer, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly peels away his shirt, exposing his chiseled chest and abs. “time to put that ass of yours to good use, princess,” he purrs, his cock bobbing with each step.

choso follows suit, stripping off his garments with deliberate slowness, his gaze never leaving your body. “we’re going to fill you up so completely, you won’t know where one of us ends and the other begins,” he promises, his voice dripping with sensual promise. together, they guide you to the couch across the music room before peeling the clothes and skirt off your body.

on the couch, geto grips your hips firmly, guiding you onto his lap so you straddle him facing forward. your bare cunt hovers inches above his rigid cock, the head nudging your slick entrance. choso steps closer, his erection jutting out proudly from his groin, the tip glistening with pre-cum.

“let’s hear that beautiful song again,” choso purrs, reaching down to run his fingers through your folds, coating them in your arousal. he lifts your leg, placing your foot on the armrest beside geto, further exposing your sex to him.

geto’s eyes darken with primal needs as he notches the head of his dick at your entrance. “time to ride this melody, my sweet,” he rasps, his hands gripping your thighs as he starts to push upward, sinking into your heat inch by delicious inch.

a shuddering gasp escapes your lips as geto’s thick cock slowly impales you, stretching your inner walls to accommodate his impressive size. the sensation of being filled so deeply is intoxicating, your body instinctively clenching around him.

“oh shiiit! —fuck!” you manage to stammer, your head falling back on his shoulder in ecstasy as geto bottoms out inside you. the pressure is exquisite, bordering on pain, but you crave more.

choso watches intently, his own cock twitching with anticipation. “look at her take it so beautifully,” he comments, his voice laced with awe and desire. “such a perfect fit.” geto begins to thrust and you start to rock your hips, setting a slow, sensual rhythm.

choso’s cockhead brushes against your lips insistently, smearing them with his musky essence. “open wide, princess,” he coaxes, his voice husky with need. “let’s synchronize our movements and create a truly symphonic experience.” without waiting for any response, he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his thick length past your lips. “that’s it, wrap those pretty lips around my cock,” he encourages, one hand tangling in your hair to guide your movements. “let’s see how well you multitask.”

behind you, geto’s thrusts pick up pace, his hips snapping against your ass as he hilts himself fully inside you with each powerful stroke. the dual stimulation of his thick shaft dragging along your inner walls and choso’s hardness prodding your mouth has you dizzy with lust.

“fuuuck, she feels incredible,” geto groans, one hand sliding up your torso to palm your breast roughly. he pinches and rolls your nipple between his fingers, sending sparks of pleasure-pain zinging through your nerves.

overwhelmed by the dual assault on your senses, you moan wantonly around choso’s cock, the vibrations adding an extra layer of sensation. your tongue swirls around his thick shaft as you bob your head, taking him deeper into your throat with each pass.

geto’s relentless thrusts are hitting that special spot inside you dead-on, stoking the fire building in your core. the combination of his cock pounding your g-spot and choso’s member filling your mouth has you teetering on the brink of a mind-blowing orgasm.

your nails dig into choso’s thighs as you grind back against him, meeting geto’s thrusts with equal fervor. the obscene slap of skin on skin echoes through the room, mingling with your muffled moans and the creaking of the couch beneath you.

choso grunts in pleasure as your throat constricts around him, your enthusiasm evident in the way you take him so eagerly. “that’s it, just like that,” he praises breathlessly, his grip on your hair tightening as he starts to shallowly fuck your face. “such an obedient little instrument, playing our tune perfectly.”

behind you, geto’s thrusts become erratic, his control slipping as he chases his release. one hand moves from your breast to your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

geto leans in close, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he pants hotly against your skin. “listen to those slutty sounds you’re making,” he growls, punctuating his words with a particularly hard thrust that has your vision whiting out momentarily. “you are doing a good, sunshine, pretty sure we will get an A+ for this project.”

the dual stimulation proves too much to bear. with a keening cry muffled by choso’s cock, “gonna cum. . . hng! cum—”, your body trembles and quakes as the coil of tension in your lower belly winds tighter and tighter, poised to snap at any moment. geto’s skilled fingers on your clit combined with his relentless thrusts prove too much to bear.

with a strangled cry, your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave. your inner muscles clamp down on geto’s pistoning shaft, rippling along his length as you come undone. the force of your climax has you seeing stars for the second time, your entire being consumed by white-hot ecstasy.

choso groans deeply, the vibrations rumbling through his chest as he feels your throat flutter around him. “fuck yes, milk my cock just like that,” he demands, his hips stuttering as he nears his own peak.

as your body convulses in the throes of your intense orgasm, geto hilts himself deep inside you as your walls spasm around him, grinding against your cervix as he rides out your intense orgasm. “shiiit—” he snarls, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release.

choso buries himself to the hilt in your throat, his cock pulsing as he reaches his breaking point. with a guttural moan, he starts to unload, thick ropes of cum shooting directly down your gullet. “swallow every drop, princess,” he commands breathlessly, his hips rocking shallowly as he empties himself in your mouth.

geto continues to grind against you, drawing out your climax as long as possible. once choso pulls out, they switch position with now you sit on choso’s lap while geto kneeling on the couch behind you, ass slight in the air and back arched towards choso. “now, now, your ass need an instrument too, no?” he remarks, the tip of his cock kissing the puckered lips of your ass.

choso smirks at geto’s suggestion, his eyes gleaming with mischief and lust. “mm, i like the way you think,” he purrs, reaching around to spread your ass cheeks wider, exposing your tight rosebud to geto’s hungry gaze. “let’s give our little muse here a full symphony, shall we?”

he leans in, trailing hot kisses along your neck and shoulder as his hands roam your curves possessively. “just relax, baby,” choso murmurs against your skin, nipping lightly. “we’ll make you feel things you’ve never felt before.”

geto positions himself behind you, his hands gripping your hips possessively. the blunt head of his cock pressing insistently against your virgin hole, coated in your mixed fluids. he spits crudely into his palm, using it to slick up his shaft before rubbing the spit-slicked tip around your rim teasingly. “relax, sunshine,“ he murmurs, his thumb massaging small circles on the soft skin of your hips. “let me in nice and easy.”

with a gentle but persistent pressure, geto starts to sink into your tight heat, his girth stretching you deliciously. choso bucks up slightly, his still-harden cock sliding between your cunt as if seeking friction.

“fuck, you’re so tight,” geto groans low in his throat as he slowly sinks deeper into your tight heat, savoring the exquisite sensation of your velvety walls enveloping him inch by delicious inch. “holy shit, you’re like a vice around my cock,” he grunts, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he hilts himself fully inside you with a final, powerful thrust.

choso watches the erotic sight with hooded eyes, his own arousal growing as he feels geto’s cock slide against his through the thin barrier of your pussy wall. he rocks up against you, creating delicious friction. “goddamn, i can feel every twitch of your greedy little holes," he purrs, his voice rough with desire.

a sharp gasp escapes your lips as you feel geto’s thick length slowly sink into your virgin hole, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. the initial burn quickly gives way to intense, toe-curling pleasure as your body adjusts to the new intrusion.

“oh god, oh fuck,” you moan brokenly, your head falling back against choso’s shoulder as he peppers your neck with hot kisses and bites. your hands scrabble for purchase on his muscular arms, nails digging into the firm flesh.

the dual sensation of choso’s hard cock rubbing against your sensitive walls and geto’s thick shaft buried deep in your ass is almost too much to handle. every movement sends shockwaves of ecstasy rippling through your oversensitized body.

geto sets a steady rhythm, his hips snapping against yours as he fucks into your tight heat with increasing intensity. the lewd squelch of lube and your natural lubrication fills the room, mixing with your wanton moans and the creak of the couch beneath you.

choso takes advantage of your distracted state, his hands moving to roughly palm your breasts, tweaking and rolling your nipples between his fingers. he captures your lips in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure as he grinds up against you harder.

“that’s it, take it just like that,” geto growls, one hand took a fistful of your hair as he pounds into you from behind while the other pushing the hard wall, looking for a balance. the added stimulation has your walls clamping down on both their cocks like a silken fist.

lost in a haze of overwhelming pleasure, your body moves on pure instinct, rocking back to meet geto’s powerful thrusts while grinding down onto choso’s hardness. incoherent moans and pleas spill from your lips, swallowed by choso’s demanding kisses, arms wrapped around his neck.

the intense dual stimulation has your mind short-circuiting, all thoughts dissolving into a sea of blissful sensation. your inner walls ripple and squeeze around the two hard shafts stretching you so deliciously, as if trying to pull them even deeper.

“just— fucking gooood!” you manage to gasp out between kisses, too far gone to care how desperate you sound. “want... want to feel you everywhere...“ your hands clutch at choso’s shoulders, nails raking down his sweat-slicked skin.

choso breaks the kiss, panting heavily as he gazes down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes. “look at you, so beautiful when you’re fucked silly, completely lost in pleasure,” he rasps, his voice dripping with seduction. “keep taking what you need, baby girl.” he rolls his hips, grinding his cock against your clit with deliberate intent, sending jolts of electricity through your overstimulated nerves.

geto increases his pace, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing through the room as he slams into your ass with abandon. the couch creaks ominously under the force of his thrusts, but neither of them seems to care about the potential damage.

the combination of geto’s brutal pace and choso’s calculated stimulation pushes you closer and closer to the edge, your senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“fuck, your ass was made for my cock,” geto grunts, his grip on your hip tightening. “so damn tight and perfect.” he leans in close, his hot breath fanning across your ear as he whispers filthy promises. “i’m going to fill you up so good, sunshine.”

geto’s words send a shiver down your spine, your entire body tensing as the coil of pleasure within you winds tighter and tighter. choso senses your impending climax, his hands roaming your curves with renewed urgency as he kneads and squeezes, coaxing you higher.

“come on, princess,” choso coaxes, his voice a low, sultry purr. “give us what we want. let go and soak us with your sweet cream.” he nibbles at your earlobe, his teeth grazing the delicate skin before soothing the sting with his tongue. geto’s thrusts become erratic, his control slipping as he chases his own release. “shit, shit, shiiit, i’m close,” he warns, his voice strained with effort.

overwhelmed by the relentless assault on your senses, you teeter precariously on the brink of orgasm, every nerve ending alight with electrifying pleasure. geto’s guttural warnings only heighten your anticipation, knowing that his impending climax will trigger your own.

“please,” you whimper, your voice barely audible over the ragged sounds of your own panting. “want to come... need to...” choso’s skilled touch and the tantalizing drag of his cock against your sensitive clit prove to be the final push, sending you hurtling over the edge into ecstasy. your inner walls clamp down like your life depends around both cocks, milking them for all they’re worth as wave after wave of intense pleasure crashes through you.

geto lets out a hoarse roar as your tight ass squeezes him mercilessly, your spasming walls trigger his own release. his own climax barreling down on him like a freight train. with a few more powerful thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his cock pulsating as he unleashes a torrent of hot seed deep inside you, he floods your ass with jet after jet of hot cum. “oh, shit— fuck, naughty girl,” he bellows, his hips jerking erratically as he empties himself deep inside you.

choso follows suit moments later, his own orgasm ripping through him with the force of a tidal wave. “’m coming!” he snarls, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he grinds against you with desperate urgency. his cock twitches and spurts, painting your insides with his scorching seed.

the three of you collapse together in a tangle of sweaty limbs and heaving chests, the aftermath of your shared climax leaving you boneless and sated.

as the aftershocks of your orgasms fade, geto carefully pulls out of your ass, a small amount of cum leaking out and trailing down your thigh. he smirks down at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “well, that was a hell of a private lesson,” he says, giving your plump rear a gentle pat before rising to his feet.

choso, still nestled against you, lazily strokes your side, his touch warm and comforting. “we’ve definitely got a special grade now,” he muses, a note of possessiveness creeping into his tone. geto chuckles, moving to sit beside you both on the couch. “definitely,” he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with a tender gesture that belies his earlier roughness.

after everything, reality hits you. you’ve always sworn up and down that you hate emo boys, yet here you are, caught in an intimate moment with the two of them. now, you’re on the other side of the music room, hurriedly putting your clothes back on, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. you refuse to meet their eyes, sulking as you keep your back to them, still stealing a glare over your shoulder every now and then.

geto and choso just exchange an amused look, clearly unbothered by your attempt to distance yourself. they’re still lazily getting dressed, each of them watching you with a smirk, fully aware of the effect they’ve had on you.

geto smirks deepen as he continues watches you from across the room, clearly amused by the icy glares you’re shooting his way. he leans casually sits on the couch armrest— arms crossed, the smug look on his face telling you he’s entirely unbothered by your attempt to ignore them. beside him, choso chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he pulls his shirt back on, clearly sharing in the satisfaction of riling you up.

“oh, come on, princess,” geto drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. “don’t act like you didn’t enjoy every second of it.”

choso grins, tilting his head as he watches you adjust your shirt, still refusing to look at them. “yeah, don’t be such a sore loser,” he teases, his tone light but with that familiar hint of mischief. “you’re the one who kept us in check, remember? it’s not our fault you had fun.”

you shoot them both a final glare, cheeks still hot as you mutter, “i hate emo boys,” as if trying to convince yourself more than them. but they can see through it, both of them chuckling at your attempt to regain control.

geto and choso exchange another amused glance, knowing all too well that your muttered remark was more for your own benefit than theirs. they’re amused by your stubbornness, your desperate attempts to cling to control, even after they’ve seen the flushed look in your eyes, the way your body responds to their touch.

choso tugs his shirt fully on, his eyes roving over you as he takes in your disheveled state. “sure, princess,” he teases, his voice dripping with irony. “we totally believe you.”

geto pushes himself off the armrest, sauntering closer to you with a slow, confident swagger. he comes to a stop in front of you, his smirk widening as he looks down at you in mock sympathy. “oh, you poor thing. you must be so flustered and confused.”

he reaches out, lightly tracing a finger along the edge of your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “it’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice soft but mocking. “it’s normal to have conflicting emotions.”

you slap his hand away, a scowl firmly set on your face. “fuck off,” you snap, voice dripping with annoyance. geto just chuckles, clearly unphased, his smirk only widening as he steps back with that same infuriating calm.

“such hostility,” he teases, mockingly clutching his chest as if wounded. “and here i thought we were bonding.” you roll your eyes and turn your back to him, muttering under your breath about how annoying he is. meanwhile, choso, still lounging nearby, watches with a grin, clearly amused by the banter.

geto’s smirk only grows wider at your scowl and sharp retort. he steps back, arms raised in a gesture of mock surrender, though his eyes are still filled with that same mocking glee. “oh, princess, you really are so spirited.”

he glances over to choso, who’s still watching with undisguised amusement. “you really do know how to pick ‘em,” he mutters, chuckling. choso grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “yep,” he agrees. “she’s definitely a handful. but that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?”

you gasp in mock offense, turning to face geto fully. your backhand thumps against his chest, a playful but firm push, and your eyes narrow with feigned indignation. “pick me? what am i, a stray?” you ask, your voice teasing, lips curled into a pout as you look up at him with exaggerated shock.

geto simply rolls his eyes at your dramatic response, unfazed. he bends down, grabbing his bag from the floor with a lazy motion, effortlessly slinging it over one shoulder. his eyes gleam with amusement as he drapes his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close, his body warmth pressing against yours. “let’s go get you some ice cream,” he says, his voice smooth, dripping with playful sarcasm. his smirk only deepens as he adds, “maybe it’ll cool those anger issues of yours.”

you feel the weight of his arm around you, the proximity of his body stirring something familiar in you, but you don't let it show. choso, who’s been silently watching this little exchange with his usual mischievous grin, lets out a low chuckle. “yeah, ice cream’s on him for calling you a stray,” he teases, his voice light and playful as he steps up beside you, giving you a wink that makes your stomach flip.

as you start walking, you feel the tension of the earlier moments dissipate, replaced by the lighthearted banter between the three of you. despite your irritation, there’s a sense of warmth that settles in, and you can’t help but feel an odd mix of affection and frustration toward the two of them.

maybe, these emo boys aren’t as terrible as you thought.

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