#i wanna put this man in my mouth and shake him around and drop him on the ground and rip him to shreds

[intrepidacious]

time after time [7]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 11.1k

chapter warnings: self-deprecation, negative self-talk and canon-typical violence. this one's heavy on the angst. it's also my favourite so far. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: i return with a semblance of a posting schedule and a chapter that i'm well aware is absolutely insane. but that was always gonna be the case. enjoy my loves 💚

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

seven: spellbound

The slamming door made you flinch awake from where you’d fallen asleep on the couch, still wearing your extravagant jumpsuit. Bucky’s hands were clenched into fists, the frown on his face familiar and deep. He’d lost his tie somewhere on the way back.

"You alright?" you mumbled, getting up on one elbow.

He ignored you, facing Sam, who had his hands folded in his lap, back still hunched forward in thought or worry.

"You alright?" Sam repeated.

Bucky gave a short nod. "Can I talk to you?"

"Talk."

He did look at you, then, his gaze slowly and irritably dripping down your body. "I meant alone," he said pointedly.

"This is my home," you protested, sitting up properly.

"You’re a squatter."

"What do you want to talk about?" Sam interjected before you could snap back.

Bucky crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I want her out."

Your mouth dropped open. "What the fuck?"

"Tonight wasn’t ideal, I’ll give you that," Sam said tiredly. "But we got what we went in for and we didn’t cast any unwanted suspicion."

"Didn’t we?" Bucky said. "Because I feel like some of us remember tonight differently."

People murmuring in confusion as you blinked in and out of existence, knowing that something was off, even though they couldn’t put a finger on it. Agitated comm chatter throughout the corridors.

"Excuse me for saving your ass," you said hotly. Maybe it would have had the intended effect if you’d properly wiped the dried blood from your face.

"I didn’t ask you to do that," he pressed out.

"If it pissed you off so much, I’ll just let you get shot next time, then, see how that feels."

"Okay, I think we can all just calm down and continue this conversation tomorrow," Sam boomed.

Bucky gritted his teeth and turned his back on you, but you jumped up from the couch, your anger giving you enough energy to follow him to the stairs.

"No! He’s having a go at me for no reason at all and I would like to hear the rest of it. Tell me where I made a single fucking mistake. Because I can tell you when you did."

"I am sick of you pretending to fix stuff—"

"Pretending?!"

"Guys—" Sam called from the living room.

"—when we don’t even know what it is you’re changing!"

"How about you actually just trust me for once, like you said you would?"

"I said I trust Sam’s decision to take you on, and that I trusted Steve’s judgment. There’s a difference."

You threw up your hands. "You wanna know what I changed? Your fucking arm almost got both of us caught, tin man, that’s what I changed."

"Do you know what it feels like," Bucky said, voice shaking with barely restrained rage, "when people tell you things about yourself that you don’t remember choosing to do?"

"Must be nice to get to forget things."

Your fingers twitched at the same time as his, metal and flesh curling like you both wanted to clutch at something you couldn’t reach. In another universe, he might have turned on you, slammed you into the wall with his hand around your neck.

Do it, then.

But no. In this one, he just went very, very still. Like he’d simply turned to stone under your gaze.

"Stay out of my fucking head," he pressed out under his breath, so low you barely caught it at all.

"I have no interest in your fucking head," you said, rage and frustration blazing in your eyes. "You want me to be honest with you? Fine. I’m sorry about what happened to you and I get why my powers are touchy for you because of it, but you gotta stop telling yourself that I’m holding out on purpose or that I have any control over anyone but myself when I go back. I didn’t ask for this shit, so get off my damn back."

"Who did, then?"

You stumbled a half-step backwards involuntarily. "What?"

Bucky’s jaw was set so tight his teeth audibly ground. "How did you get your powers?"

You blinked several times, your nails digging into your palms again. "I don’t know."

He huffed, turning away with a shake of his head. "You gotta be shitting me."

"I don’t know, okay? I don’t remember. I have to remember every single reset I’ve ever made, but I don’t know when it started, or how, or why. It’s just always been a part of me."

"Then why don’t you try to find out?"

"Oh, because you’ve got me all figured out, haven’t you? Clearly, I have no interest in understanding the thing that’s ruined my fucking life. I’ve tried. I’ve tried everything I could think of, and none of it’s done me any good."

"And you’re just fine with that, and so we’re supposed to be fine with it as well. Not knowing what the extent of your powers is, or why you got them in the first place. Sounds like a great idea."

"It was enough for Steve." You laughed mirthlessly. "He told me once that we would’ve gotten along, can you imagine that?"

"Well, maybe he was wrong about both of us, then, but why don’t you do your thing and we can ask him ourselves."

"Because for the millionth time, it doesn’t work like that! Don’t you think I’d like that, too? To go back and undo all of this damage that happened over the past couple of years? But I can’t, I can’t do it, I can’t change anything that’s farther back than eleven fucking minutes, and that was when I still had a family."

The word fell apart on the way out of your mouth, breaking into pieces just like the actual thing. You pressed your shaking palms against your eyes.

"So. I’m sorry, Barnes, that I’m not good enough for anything like that. I know that. I know that my powers are essentially useless, and I don’t need you to remind me all the time, okay. I’m already very aware."

* * * * *

.

.

.

.

.

.

Darkness.

.

Darkness and pain.

.

.

The sound of dripping, ticking, tilting.

.

Something like a bright light.

.

.

And then—

* * *

Bucky comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, right as he’s about to turn his back on the brownstone front of the Central Synagogue. There is a strange itch on his left arm that almost feels human.

He blinks, disoriented, unsure how he got here. The last thing he remembers is—

A car honks and he staggers to the sidewalk, head still pounding, and his good hand flies to the side of it, as if checking for blood.

He doesn’t find any.

Another nightmare, then. Disturbingly vivid, though. He’s concerned that his only memory of getting up and going on his usual run has the tinge of the dream to it, like he hasn’t actually woken up yet.

And neither the memory nor the nightmare carries the usual haze.

Bucky grits his teeth and tries blocking the whole thing from his mind. His thoughts keep returning to your scream, instead, which might be worse.

He notices he keeps rereading the sign in the window in front of him, and when he realizes that it’s yet another fucking Starbucks, he’s about to cut his route short and just go home, like there’s something there that could fix this bad feeling curdling in his stomach.

Instead, he takes a few shallow breaths, pulls his cap more deeply into his face, and then he continues.

When he was younger, he took up running to keep him quick on his feet during a fight. These days, he probably doesn’t have to keep on it quite so regularly, but there’s something about the rhythmic, constant movement that usually does help clear his mind.

Damn, he hates when his shrink is right.

Today, his run takes Bucky eight minutes longer than average, but he can wholeheartedly blame that on his almost-incident with the car. His thoughts are still stuck on what he remembers from the dream, spinning around and around in a loop until the elevator dings and he has to shake himself because he’s already here.

Maybe a shower will help.

It does, a little, because he turns the hot water to cold several times until he thinks, of course he’s awake. It seems so obvious now.

This is real.

The water turns off with that little squeaking sound that he keeps forgetting to fix. He doubts that anyone but him can even hear it; one of the uncountable inconveniences of enhanced senses is the ability to find some of the tiniest noises insufferable.

He shrugs a new shirt on and hangs his towel up on the only free hook, grabbing a fresh cloth from the closet. There’s not many left; neither of you has gotten around to doing laundry post-mission yet.

His heart is still beating a little harder than usual when he cracks open the door to the gym, peering inside right when Sam hits the mat.

"Geez, what’s gotten into you?"

You shrug and roll your shoulders, pulling him back to his feet. "I’ll dignify that with an answer when I see you kick above your waistline, Sammy."

Bucky can’t help but smile a little at the smugness in your voice. No matter what that terrible voice at the back of his mind is still whispering, you’re fine. It was all a strange, bad dream; end of story.

He watches the two of you circle around each other for a moment longer. There’s a grace to your movements as your eyes stay focused on Sam, calm and unwavering, like you’re anticipating the right moment to pounce on him. It’s mesmerizing.

Then again, you usually have that effect on him.

Bucky quietly slips away when you’re about to call it a day. Normally, he’d probably sit in your company to dry off his prosthetic, listening to your heartbeat return to normal levels and then watch you trot off to the showers with that little indignant shake of your head. In fact, there’s a significant part of him that wants to do just that; maybe he’ll catch a glance of that annoyed glimmer in your eyes that seems to be reserved solely for him.

It’s the one thing he gets.

He tries not to read too much into the fact that Sam gets things like an affectionate little suffix to his name when you tease him, even though that fact haunts him more than he’d care to admit. You probably don’t even notice you’re doing it, but it’s because you actually like Sam. Have learned to care about him over the past few months. And why wouldn’t you?

Bucky, on the other hand, is just Barnes more often than not. Which is fine; he’s used to it by now.

He opens the door to his room and a waft of stiff air hits him, familiar and suffocating all at once. For the first couple of months, he hesitated to even call it his room, even though he always picked the same one when it was easier than traveling all the way back to Brooklyn; the one upstairs with the large corner windows facing east and south.

It still doesn’t feel much like his out of anything other than habit. Blank, off-white walls, a half empty dresser, bed always made, the only source of disorder a couple of cat toys cluttered in the far corner. The only thing that reminds him of home is stowed in the drawer next to his bed.

He doesn’t open it now, instead reaching for the journal on the bedside table, flicking through until he reaches the latest entry.

But it’s strange.

Not the content itself, but the fact that Bucky could’ve sworn that he’d written it yesterday. He stares at it for a moment, flips the page over and back again, frowns slightly.

This nightmare is truly fucking with his head if he wasn’t even in a clear enough space of mind to jot down a couple of notes before his run.

He does it now, in as few words as he’s comfortable with, because something about all of this still doesn’t sit right with him but he can’t quite put his finger on it yet.

Out of some deep, dark instinct, his hand slips underneath his pillow, and he hates that his heart beats a little more calmly when he feels the cool metal of his gun right where he left it, where he always leaves it.

This is real.

Something nudges his side softly and when he turns, Alpine is nuzzling her head into the crook of his arm, mewling discontentedly. The sound melts a little more of his trepidation away.

"What’s wrong, sweetie?" he says with a quiet smile.

The cat observes him unblinkingly as he puts his journal down again and reaches out to pet her head, but she jumps off the bed before he can make contact, looking back at him in anticipation and, he’s pretty sure, annoyance.

She’s hungry, then.

Bucky sighs and follows her out of the room only for you to almost barrel into him. You’re sweaty and breathless, and he refuses to notice the way your training gear sticks to your body. In fact, he refuses to look anywhere but your face.

There’s an odd look on it, just as odd as the tone of your voice when you gasp, "Bucky!"

"Y/N!" he says, mimicking it. Adrenaline is still coursing through you, your heart beating so erratically he can almost feel it pulsating in his own skin. "What’s wrong with you?"

"Nothing," you answer quickly enough for him to know something is definitely wrong. "You look … normal."

"Thanks," he says dryly. "You don’t."

The nervous twitch of your ear is back, the soft tapping of your fingers against your thigh. At least he’s seen you like this enough times to know how to deal with it.

"You remember what showering is, right?" A tilt of the head, a hint of a scoff in his tone; you respond best to him pretending not to give a damn, and so he’s gotten quite good at it.

Predictably, your shoulders lose a little of their tension, even though your eyes don’t. "Fuck you, Barnes."

Really; he’s used to it by now.

Alpine meows again, like a reminder not to get hung up on things he has no control over, and it finally lets him look away from you. That’s always the hardest part, somehow, even though that makes him feel ridiculous.

Downstairs, he can’t keep his mind from wandering as he scrapes the contents of a tin can into Alpine’s bowl only for her to fall asleep in a spot of sunlight on the kitchen floor.

It’s then that he realizes the odd thing about you was that it almost, unexplicably, looked like relief.

* * *

Bucky’s been on enough missions with you and Sam by now to know you both use mindless chatter to calm yourselves in tense situations, and so he doesn’t mind forming the rear. Even if he doesn’t listen in on every word, he can easily tell if something about your situation changes while he’s covering your six.

There’s at least two guards patroling the grounds, according to Sam’s funny little computer bracelet, and so it’s no surprise that he asks Bucky to keep an eye on them while the two of you head up to find the entrance to the lab. You keep your hands raised halfway up, but Bucky can tell by your empty gaze that you’re tired. His grip on his gun tightens.

He nods to Sam once he’s in position, perched up on the roof just out of sight from any unsuspecting anarchists. Then, he watches you slip through the entrance of the barn-like building and lets out a deep, slow breath.

It’s been a weird day.

That gnawing feeling of déjà-vu has settled deep into his bones, like a pesky thought he can’t quite let go of. This, though? He can manage this.

The strange truth is—and frankly, this is something he’s looking forward to never disclosing to his therapist—that being on a mission like this one, having a specific set of tasks he can concentrate on, being keenly aware of all his surroundings … it has a calming effect on his brain. He’s not sure what to make of that fact, but it’s true.

He’s sick of the fighting, but he can’t let go of it, either.

Instead, he squints at the two white dots in the distance meeting on the other side of the block, gesturing for a while, and then slowly creeping closer.

Without taking his eyes off his targets, he tunes into your conversation again.

"—only scream when there’s good reason."

"I don’t wanna interrupt," Bucky murmurs, fiercely ignoring the untimely lurch his heart makes, "but they’re heading your way now, so get a move on."

"You’re no fun, Bucky."

He would love to roll his eyes, but he’s a professional. That’s also why he swallows his remark when you make a comment about your resets; it not like it’s surprising, anyway. You haven’t been sleeping well these past couple of weeks. Breakfasts have been particularly grumpy affairs since Marylebone.

The guards creep closer, and even though their faces are covered by the white masks, Bucky can tell they’re bored. Shoulders slumping, grip on their weapons loose, boots shuffling on the gravel. One of them has a pack of cards in her breast pocket.

If either of them were smart enough to look up, they’d spot him within a second. But since nothing unusual has ever happened during their shifts, it doesn’t even occur to them to do so.

Look at them, a voice inside him says. They don’t notice anything, do they?

Bucky’s jaw clenches, his finger tightening on the trigger. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"Reminds me of old times," Sam says.

"Can’t say that, bud," Bucky murmurs. The guards are only a couple of yards away now. "Twenty seconds."

Take them out now.

"—makes Barnes cranky."

"You forget he’s always cranky."

This is what he’s good at, what he’s always been good at. Being the lookout. The Howlies’ best sharpshooter. His aim is perfect. His mind is clear.

They might be dangerous.

He swallows.

One of the guards trips over his own feet, almost losing the rifle he’s holding. They’re both amateurs; it’s clear from their posture, the way their jackets aren’t quite crisply ironed, even the way they walk. Neither of them pose any real threat.

Still, the voice says. Why not make sure?

It’s easy, so easy, to aim at the center of their white jackets. To imagine them soaking red on the ground while he barely moves more than a single finger. Just a flash of a second.

So easy.

"Any time, Buck."

Breathe out.

The taller one gets a bullet in her right shoulder, just underneath the joint, missing her subclavian artery; the shorter one gets hit in the kneepit as he turns, his rifle skittering away as he falls, safety still engaged. Clean and quick.

With one last glance around, Bucky jumps to the ground right as the explosion sounds inside. No one is coming. Yet.

He knocks the guards out with two quick blows to their temples. Their wounds aren’t bad, of course; just enough to keep them out of the way and hurt a bunch later.

Сбой.

No, but it’s all too simple. Too obvious. This, he remembers from his nightmare as well; the lab with the hidden staircase, the metallic stench coming from the leaking containers, the data stick and then …

Another fight.

The voice leaves him alone when there’s no time to think, and so Bucky trusts his instincts for this one. It’s despicable, really, how much the rush of adrenaline makes his blood boil in the best possible way, blocking out all other thought, leaving nothing but the cacophony of noises and the flurry of movement surrounding him.

This is what he was made for.

His breath hitches when a memory catches him, and he steps out of the way of a shot aimed for his head like it was in the dream, just in case.

It fires into thin air, instead.

The fact that it does fire, exactly like he remembers, takes him a fraction of a second to process.

Talk of a lucky coincidence, he thinks, knocking another agent out cold. Breathe in. Breathe out.

"We better get moving," Sam shouts, and Bucky nods.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see you throwing another punch; you barely seem to have broken a sweat.

There’s something off about the way you move. It seems controlled, almost rehearsed in a way; as if your body knows exactly where to land your next attack without even thinking about it.

A little too perfect.

There’s a beat before you turn around to face him, and your eyes widen at the same time as Sam’s voice explodes in his ear, "Bucky!"

There’s a flash of pain and a burst of green light, and then he comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, and it’s like you’re still shouting his name, the sound echoing through his mind so clear and sharp it’s like you’re standing right behind him.

There’s something wrong with him.

Something wrong with his brain, something terribly wrong, because this—

He stumbles to the sidewalk when the same car as yesterday honks at him, comes to a halt next to the same street lamp, sweat beading on his temples in the exact same way while his bad arm itches and his head aches.

Bucky’s hand flies to his chest, pressing, feeling his heart beat erratically. There aren’t any holes. No broken ribs, no scars he doesn’t already know, every new trace of violence vanished like it had never brushed his skin.

Even though he just got shot.

Again.

He’s drawing attention now; he can feel the stares in his neck. It’s not going to take long for someone to recognize his face as well.

So he forces his breaths to slow, straightening his shoulders and tilting his head in the most unassuming way he’s taught himself. After a while, his thoughts start to clear.

There’s something wrong with his timeline. You told him once that going back felt a little like the moment before freefalling, and the bile in his mouth might just be proof for that hypothesis.

But how on earth would he have gone back, and why?

Maybe it’s his perception of time that’s warped.

He remembers the stories about people seeing their whole lives flash before their eyes before they die; and he remembers almost dying.

This feels like much more than a flash, though, and he’s not quite dead yet. This is real.

Right?

"This is impossible," he whispers.

His reflection in the Starbucks window does the same.

* * *

One more, he thinks as the shower washes away the cold sweat sticking to his skin. He’ll give this one more try before accepting that he’s either finally losing his marbles or that there’s something else going on.

His life’s been an assembly of unexplainable things. Twice might still be a coincidence.

Third time’s a pattern.

The shower squeaks off and he steps out in a cloud of steam, the cold tiles underneath his feet grounding, in a way. He wipes a streak of condensation off the mirror, staring at his own face for a moment, trying to find any signs of his mind starting to crack. His hair is long enough to stick to his forehead again, eyes tired as always.

Everything feels the same.

No one’s done laundry.

It’s like his feet automatically follow the same path they’d gone yesterday, turning left, waiting for him to push the door open, hesitating.

"What’s gotten into you?" Sam asks you again, and you shrug, again, neither of you noticing that you’re all retracing steps you’ve taken before.

Bucky thinks about the journal on his bedside table, and his fingers curl more tightly around the rag in his hand because he already knows, he knows it’s going to be incomplete again. The heavy feeling in his stomach settles as he sits down on the wooden bench, the sun hitting his arm at the exact same angle again. For a moment, golden spots dance around the room before he twists his torso just enough to make them disappear again.

He thinks about the journal, and he doesn’t want to have to look at it quite yet.

You flop down on the mat when Sam calls it a day, and Bucky nods back at him as he heads outside, rubbing a spot between his shoulderblades. Your face is still tense, even with your eyes closed, your heartbeat fast enough to make him tilt his head.

You’re so pretty. It’s not making the confusion boiling inside of him any easier to deal with.

The words are at the tip of his tongue without him having to think about them.

"You look like shit."

You blink at him in a peculiar way, like you’re just waking up from a dream yourself, and you let out a long, shaking breath.

"Oh, fuck you, Barnes."

It’s so normal for you to say it like that it almost puts him at ease. Almost.

"I think you nearly broke his nose, there." He presses the rag into another one of the crevices in his arm.

You hum noncommitantly. "Didn’t, though."

You haven’t put your rings back on, but your knuckles look fine, so you’ve probably managed to not do it in one try as well. Bucky’s gaze wanders up your arms again, slowly; your heart hasn’t calmed yet, and you continue to stare at the ceiling like you’re waiting for something.

Probably his leave, he realizes, standing up. He’s had his indulgence. "Take the towel on the right," he tells you again. "I already used the other one."

He doesn’t miss the shaky little exhale you let out as he turns his back on you, and his left fist clenches involuntarily.

One more.

He’s probably just going to have to take his mind off it all.

The air outside is sticky with heat; like the skies are supposed to break open but refuse to. Even when he squints, he can’t make out a single cloud in all that endless blue.

He keeps his head down even as his eyes scan his surroundings. It’s a little like being part of a movie he’s seen before.

There’s the woman with the two dogs, one of them barking at a garbage truck across the street. The banker on a phone call with his pregnant fiancée. The tired violin player busking near the subway station, playing the same song he did yesterday, something Bucky recognizes but still can’t name.

Everything is exactly the same.

He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets to fish for his ticket, joining the other people lining up to board the subway, their faces too familiar to distract him. He keeps expecting one of them to break, to call him out on doubling back every day, but none of them do. They don’t seem to notice.

He almost hesitates before he knocks on Sam’s door that afternoon, but the knot in his stomach hasn’t loosened. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

I thought you’d be there, he texts the number that never responds. He waits for a minute, two minutes, but of course there’s no answer.

There never is.

Just another thing to take his mind off of. Let his mind settle on something concrete that’s right in front of him. That he has complete control over.

Besides, maybe there’s something he’s supposed to get right here.

But when Sam calls, "We need to get moving," Bucky already knows, deep down, how this is going to end. His heart is beating frantically as the situation stays out of control, even though this should be easy. He’s seen this before. What is he missing?

The voice at the back of his mind hums dangerously, and he ignores it, punching out the agent in front of him and then whipping his head around to find you already staring at him with your eyes wide and for a moment, the world freezes because you look at him like … well, fuck.

Like he’s usually looking at you.

Desperate.

It’s his last thought before something right next to him explodes and there is nothing but pain.

And then he comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, and this time, this third time, he feels like he’s earned the right to be considerably less calm about the whole thing.

The car honks and the people stare and Bucky throws up on the sidewalk next to Starbucks because the world is still hung up on Friday and he’s died three days in a row. When he rummages through the pockets of his slacks for a tissue, his hand grazes something cool.

It’s a small, coal black ring that he’s seen many times before, and his stomach churns again as his hand closes around it so tightly it must leave an imprint. Of course, there are no coincidences in his life.

He really should’ve known better from the start.

* * *

He needs to talk to you.

He thinks it when he puts the ring back into his pocket and he’s still thinking it when he bursts into the Tower, doors slamming loud enough to startle Alpine awake from her spot on the couch. He needs to talk to you, and you’re going to figure this out together, because that’s what you do. It’s what you always do.

But she’s got time powers.

He presses his lips together tightly as he jogs up the stairs two at a time, ignoring the thought. Then again, there’s the piece of soap on the tiles next to the sink that he’s picked up three days in a row now, and his hand reaches for the same towel automatically, and how the hell does one get stuck in a time loop in the first place?

Месть.

Bucky turns the shower off so resolutely part of it dents. No, he thinks. If you knew, you’d get him out of this. He knows that you wouldn’t wish him harm.

Then how?

"You’re dead," he says out loud, staring at his own steamed up reflection. "You’re not real."

Neither of us is.

His heart beating out of his chest would disagree.

When he sits down next to you today, he watches you apprehensively. You still ignore him, but it seems to come so natural to you. As if all of this is normal, as if you don’t even notice something is wrong, even though you have to, right, you have to.

"You look like shit," he says out loud, but he feels like he’s still talking to himself.

Fuck you, Barnes.

And then it happens again.

Clearly, he’s losing his mind.

It’s the only explanation that’s left. He’s already been to hell and back and now he’s going mad, he’s finally going mad, he’s going insane—

No, you’re not.

His own heartbeat sounds so loud in his ears as the shower screeches off and something settles in his stomach like a stone, something as sure and familiar and uncomfortable as that voice that’s been getting louder each day.

You’re as clear-headed as you’ve ever been.

Which means that once again, someone or something else is trying to mess with his head, only this time, it’s already been screwed with enough for him to tell.

Here’s the thing about all this that keeps rubbing him the wrong way, keeps scratching at the very back of his mind just like the parts of him he’d rather keep buried for the rest of his days: If you truly don’t know this is happening, then why are you the only one doing something different every time?

Bucky’s spent the better part of his life honing in his perception skills, and he’s seen everyone else behave in the precise same manner four, five, six days in a row, but you … you’ll leave a room a few minutes earlier than the day before, or order a different lunch, or wear a different shirt.

It’s not easy to miss in the slightest and it makes him doubt you’re as clueless to this as you pretend to be.

Which leaves him with the version of events he hates the most, and which is therefore the most likely: If you do know this is happening, then why do you keep up this charade? Is it because you’re responsible for all this somehow? And if you are, is it on purpose?

That’s too many ifs for his liking. It all makes him think back to the Westview Anomaly, so he reads up on it.

And then he decides that he’d rather know whether the sinking feeling in his gut is right.

You’re staring up at the ceiling like you want to pretend he’s not even there, and his good hand is shaking too much to be of much use in drying the arm.

"Take the towel on the left," he makes himself say. "I already used the other one."

There’s a shuffling as you sit up, but he can’t bear to turn around. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said use the one on the left, because I took the other towel," he repeats.

"Right," you say, and then he can hear your rings clink against each other as you collect them from their dish.

Maybe he should return the one he found in his pocket. Maybe you just haven’t realized it’s missing yet, because this is your first time living through this day and you don’t know to ask for inconsistencies yet.

You shuffle towards the showers, and he’s startled to realize how relieved he feels. Strange, really, to put that much weight on a towel; but at least it means you don’t—

"Hey, Bucky," you say, hesitating at the door, and his stomach drops a little. "What day’s today?"

"Friday," he answers, his voice surprisingly level. "Why." It’s not really a question.

"No reason," you say, and the door clicks shut behind you. The sound seems to echo in the empty gym.

"Something weird is happening," he tells Sam as soon as he can hear him approach the kitchen.

He hates that he’s doing this, but it’s not like there’s a roster of people he could talk to. His shrink would probably just prescribe him some pills that won’t work again—that is, if Bucky could get a hold of him on a national holiday in the first place—, and even though Sam is going to laugh in his face about this whole thing, he at least has to try. Right?

"You sound like Y/N," Sam says, pouring himself a bowl of cornflakes.

Bucky grimaces, which earns him a concerned head tilt. Sometimes, Sam reminds him of all the best parts of Steve, and he doesn’t know whether that makes him calmer or furious.

"Talk to me, Buck."

He stares at the milk carton like it’s holding the solution to his problem. "I think she’s doing something to me."

Sam snorts. "Thank you, Captain Obvious."

He says it so lightly, almost jovially, and Bucky’s nails dig so hard into his palms one hand draws blood. "You know?" he says tonelessly.

"Are you kidding me?" Like he’s tickled. Like he’s been in on the joke for a while. "You two have been doing this dance for months."

Despite it all, his heart cracks a little more. "What?"

Sam hesitates for a moment before squinting at him. "We’re not talking about the same thing, are we?"

And Bucky supposes they’re not, they’re really not, so he says, "Today should be Tuesday."

A frown. "What do you mean?"

"What day is it?"

"Friday," Sam says.

"Wrong," Bucky tells him. "Yesterday was Friday. And so was the day before, and the one before."

He finally puts his bowl down on the counter. "Are you having a stroke?"

"Sam, listen to me. Today keeps repeating."

He frowns. "You mean like a time loop? Like you’re in Groundhog Day?"

"I don’t know what that is." A fun little name for his personal Gehinnom.

Just deserts, don’t you think?

"Have you talked to Y/N about this?" Sam asks. "I mean, that’s kind of her thing. I’m sure whatever this is, she can help you out." He still sounds a little incredulous, but he knows Bucky well enough to recognize when he’s not joking.

He’s never felt less like joking.

"There’s also this." He pulls out the ring. "I found this in my pocket. Why would it be in my pocket?"

Sam leans against the counter. "You tell me, man."

"I think she knows something."

"But that’s a good thing, right?"

Theoretically. Not when he’s died for a week straight, though.

"Then why didn’t she tell us?" He hates the despair in his words, the paranoia seeping through. He hates that Sam catches it, and that his features morph into something that’s supposed to look understanding, even though he doesn’t get what this is about.

"Maybe you’re wrong," Sam says gently. "Are you sure she’s not just as oblivious to this as everyone else?"

Bucky drags a hand through his hair. His left shoulder aches. "I don’t know."

Yes. You do.

"I’m telling you, there’s something going on."

Sam stares at him for a long, hard moment, and then he nods. "Okay. What do you want to do?"

He wants to sleep in on Saturday. He wants to stop feeling so confused. He wants the words in his throat to stop choking him.

But what he wants hasn’t mattered in eighty years.

And so he doesn’t say, I’m scared.

He doesn’t say, I feel so alone.

He doesn’t say, I don’t want to die.

And the only one who hears those things swallows them up whole until there’s nothing left.

"I’ll tell you when I find out," he says, because that’s the only thing that will leave his mouth. And if Sam looks at him doubtfully, well, maybe he knows him a little too well.

* * *

"I’m gonna go get some coffee. Do you want something?"

Bucky can hear your keys clattering as you pull on your shoes in the hallway, but he doesn’t move from his spot on the couch. He has to think.

"I’m good," he says blankly.

Are you?

Even Alpine looks at him doubtfully. He leans back a little until a spot of sunlight reflects from his watch, making her pounce at it playfully. Normally, it’d make him smile.

She jumps up on the coffee table and sniffs at the shreds of cardboard someone’s left behind. They weren’t there yesterday.

On the muted television, Sam enters the stage with his signature cap grin. Presumably, there’s thunderous applause, because it takes him a while to actually step up to the podium and begin his speech.

In the background, dozens of important-looking people gaze at him expectantly, with the exception of a woman with short blonde hair who’s turned away from the stage, holding both hands to her ears like she’s trying to understand a person on the phone. Bucky squints.

"You sure?"

Reflexively, he looks up at the sound of your voice, only to see you leaning in the doorway with a cautious expression that doesn’t help his muddled thoughts in the slightest.

Talk to me.

"Why are you wearing a jacket?" he asks.

You tug at the sleeves, not meeting his eye. It’s become a habit he doesn’t care for. "To be more like you," you deadpan.

It would feel so normal if only he could shake the feeling that something is wrong. Something is off.

He catches a glimpse of your hands just before they vanish into the pockets of your jacket. Not long enough to clearly see what color your rings are, but enough to notice one’s missing.

It’s flitting through his own fingers instead, and you would notice, too, if you would just look at him.

"You sure you alright?" he asks, and for a split second there’s something like a flicker on your face, but it washes away immediately, replaced by the usual unbothered exterior you’ve been wearing.

"Just fine," you say, voice even, face neutral.

And the problem is that he’s not sure if you’re lying. Normally, it’s so easy to tell, but right now …

Alpine rubs her head against his palm, your ring pressing into it like a reminder, and it sends a chill down his spine.

Bucky waits for the door to click shut behind you before slipping into his shoes and quietly following after you. He takes three steps at a time to keep up with the elevator, and in his rush he ends up having to wait for it to arrive in the lobby, glancing surreptitiously through the small window in the fire door.

A change has gone through you while you were out of his sight. The mask you’ve been wearing whenever you know he’s around has vanished, dropped like your shoulders. When you cross the entrace hall, the usual bounce in your step is gone and you just look tired.

The frown on his face deepens. He makes himself count to ten before following you.

Stepping outside at this time of the day always feels like getting slapped across the face by the noise and the heat. The sun is relentless today, and he can feel sweat beading on his neck, but you don’t so much as readjust your jacket as you make your way across the street, slowly, like you’re letting yourself be carried by the crowds.

Bucky keeps enough of a distance so even you won’t get a second chance to become aware of him. Just before you enter the Starbucks, your chin raises up again, your spine straightening.

It’s uncanny to witness your defenses going up as clearly as this, and it makes him stop in his tracks so abruptly someone almost bumps into him.

"Hey, I was just—oh, sorry, Sergeant Barnes."

"It was my fault," he mutters. The guy strolls towards a delivery bike, stealing a cautious look over his shoulder. Something about the way he moves feels oddly familiar.

There’s no time for Bucky to entertain the thought much longer, because a couple of minutes later you step out onto the sidewalk again, drink in hand, and he retreats a bit further into the alley, expecting you to pass him on your way back. You don’t, though. Instead, you look up at the sky and let out a sigh before turning and strolling down Lex.

You didn’t do that yesterday, either.

Bucky hesitates for a moment. He doesn’t want to outright follow you around for the rest of the day; he only wanted to see … what, exactly?

He groans quietly and then walks into the Starbucks himself. Maybe coffee isn’t such a bad idea after all.

Besides … it’s not like she’s that fast.

How strange to know that if he really wanted to, he could probably track your steps without much of a problem, even on a day as busy as today. It unsettles him more than he would like to admit.

The AC blasts a little bit of common sense back into him, even though the volume inside the store immediately makes him want to tear his ears out. It’s not that busy at the moment, but the amount of noise of the chattering people and the coffee grinders and the milk steamers is close to unbearable as usual.

The barista who has a crush on Sam is working the register again, fanning herself with a playbill. There are red, white and blue stripes running down her forehead, and Bucky briefly wonders how she keeps it from getting into her eyes.

"Hi there," she says with a knowing grin as soon as she recognizes him. "You just missed Y/N."

"I saw." Bucky shifts his weight. "Did she seem weird to you?"

She chuckles. "Apart from the fact that she ordered decaf?"

He frowns. "Something like that."

She shrugs and redjusts her cap. "Just the usual amount," she says in a way that would make him smile on any other day. The tag on her apron has the name Nora on it, but he feels like that’s not right. "Do you want to order something? I can put it on her card."

Normally, he’d refuse out of principle, but it’s not like anything he does today matters.

"Thanks," he says. "I’ll have a coffee, then."

He doesn’t even particularly like coffee, but it does help when he hasn’t slept a lot. And, truth be told, he’s not sure when the last time he slept was. He’s been awake for a week, but without feeling any of the usual side effects of insomnia.

Or the numerous head wounds.

"Mhm," Not-Nora says. "Little more specific?"

Well, shit. "Not decaf?" he tries.

"You’re useless," she smiles and then taps her screen a bunch of times. "Alright, move along. Tell cap good luck from me."

He almost smirks. "Why not tell him yourself?"

She huffs, blushing ever so slightly. "I’m not getting out of here ’til one and I’m already a sweaty mess."

And maybe it’s because his day has been nothing but a shitshow over the past week. Maybe it’s because Sam hasn’t talked about Leila in over three weeks even before Friday started, and Bucky doesn’t like his friends being quietly miserable. Maybe he just wants to see something work out for a change.

It’s been a while since he’s played matchmaker. His sisters would’ve laughed about this for weeks; maybe he does it for that thought.

"How about you put down your number and I’ll pass it on?"

Not-Nora perks up even as her flush deepens. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

When he leaves five minutes later, her phone number is scrawled along one side of his paper cup, and even though the coffee tastes just as disgusting as usual, he can’t help but feel like maybe he can do one tiny thing right. At least for a moment.

His feet carry him down Lexington Avenue without him even consciously thinking about it, and he gets as far as three blocks before he remembers that Sam’s speech started at 14:00. He jerks up his watch so quickly the coffee spills on his shirt, but he barely hisses at the burn.

14:47.

What’s the point? he thinks as he throws the empty cup into the closest trash. Or maybe he does.

* * *

He throws his punches a little harder each day.

It takes all of his might not to lose himself completely in the fight to come, not to unleash his full serum-powered strength on a couple of faceless fanatics who would be fine again in a couple of minutes, anyway, depending on how long he’ll make it today. Still, there’s a certain mindlessness to it as he repeats his own steps, ribs cracking and wrists twisting as he strikes again and again and again.

"I think I’m losing it," he tells Sam about a week in.

"Like a bad day or you’re about to go Shining on me?"

So far, there hasn’t been any shining, but it wouldn’t make a difference.

"Two o’clock."

He’s already half-turning when you say it, already pulling the trigger as the words leave your mouth, moving on muscle memory alone at this point. And you still don’t notice.

A single bead of sweat runs down the side of your neck as you kick another one of your assailants in the groin, and even though your eyes are focused, you’re not in it.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you were just concentrating; but he knows you can be in the moment and quip freely at the same time. He’s seen you do it countless times before today.

But it’s Friday, endless, sweltering, blood-stained Friday, and it’s like you’ve turned into a robot version of yourself, every move premeditated and precise, every look and word and nod planned and practiced just enough not to arouse suspicion in anyone who doesn’t look as closely as he’s had time to. It’s a game of pretend, and you’re almost winning. You’re almost perfect.

No. You’re too perfect.

Perfect in your display of almost-shock, of almost-pain as the knife cuts through Bucky’s kevlar vest like butter and lodges right above his heart. At first, he barely feels it; he only tastes the blood bubbling up his throat when his mouth drops open.

His eyes stay on you as he thuds to his knees, bones crunching, eyes watering. You catch him, barely, supporting his shoulders to keep him steady.

Your silence is deafening.

"What’s wrong with you?" he murmurs as the ringing in his ears gets louder, barely audible enough for you to hear, but clearly you do, because something shifts in your eyes, and oh.

There’s that glimmer in your eye he loves looking at so much, the one he only gets to see when he teases it out of you. That spark of mischief he’s missed during all this, like your fire has burned out.

He’s never hated it more.

And then he comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, and once again, he feels like a decision’s been made for him already.

He makes it to the side of the road and sits down on the boardwalk, ignoring the bustle of curious people around him. Instead, he stares directly at the synagogue on the other side of the street, and he doesn’t ask why.

He asks, Like this?

And just like he expected, there’s no answer. Not even from within.

He presses both of his hands to his heart to feel it beat against his palm, more steady than his thoughts and still there. He’s still there.

It’s Friday again.

Bucky thought, not too long ago, that with everything he’s come to know and … like about you, you were someone he could let in. That someday, he could let you see him, with everything he’s used to hiding away underneath all of the protective layers he’s built around his heart.

Maybe he was wrong.

He should confront you. No, he should just ask. Why can’t he bring himself to ask?

Сбой, the voice in his head reminds him again and he presses it down, down between his torn open ribs, shoves it underneath the wounds that keep reopening anyway because he’s sick of having to listen to it all the time, sick of never being alone in his own damn head anymore, of not being able to leave a single day behind, let alone anything else.

Something tugs at him from deep within, and it’s enough to make him get up, rub his palms against his pants, and then take out his phone as he starts walking again. He knows the number by heart, but he’s never been able to actually hit the call button before, even though he’s tried. He’s tried countless times.

His speed picks up with every ring of the phone because something about this makes him feel like running away. Like maybe he gets it now. Like—

There’s a click, and then the sound of the voicemail recording. Of course.

Bucky groans. "Damnit, I know you’re never gonna listen to this, but there’s something really fucked up going on and I don’t—I don’t know what to do, man."

He keeps walking, keeps his head up even when he bumps into people, because what does it matter, right now? He ignores the red light at the next crossing, mostly because he needs to move.

"It’d be real fuckin’ decent of you to just pick up the goddamn phone every once in a while, you know, because that’s what—"

"Buck?"

For a second, everything screeches to a halt.

He’s not sure what comes first, him dropping his phone or the car hitting him from out of nowhere, but the next thing he knows is he comes to in the middle of the crossing between Lexington and East 55th, right as he’s about to turn his back on the brownstone front of the Central Synagogue, and it feels like someone just ripped his heart open all over again.

He flips the car off when it honks, not even caring about the ache in his limbs. His phone is safely tucked away in his pocket, and when he pulls it out again, there’s not so much as a scratch on the screen, but right now, it’s not like he would have cared.

The next five times he tries, the call doesn’t even go through.

He knows that voice. He knows it just as well as his own, just as well as the one hiding inside some dark corner of his mind, and it shouldn’t sound like that anymore.

The thing inside stirs again, that other, softer voice, that part of him he hates just as much.

Keep trying, it says.

It’s the part of him that told him to jump from the helicarrier. The part of him that still refuses to believe he was past redemption despite all the evidence pointing to the contrary; the part of him that’s too damn hopeful for its own good, and somehow still persists.

Talk to her, it says.

He can’t go on listening to ghosts for the rest of his days.

Or day, rather.

His thumb hovers over the call button one last time, and then he shuts his phone off.

* * *

"You look like shit."

"Oh, fuck you, Barnes."

He scoffs, but his mind is still hurling with anger and pain and confusion, and it comes out like a growl. He’s vigorously scrubbing at the crevices in his arm. Maybe the inside is still stained with his blood; maybe that’s why it feels so heavy.

"Are you alright?" you ask and his head snaps up.

You look so innocent, almost concerned. Normally, he would enjoy it for the second it would last, but today, it sticks. Everything sticks today.

"What do you think?"

Your eyes widen just a little bit, but you don’t say anything. You still don’t fucking say anything, and that’s more telling than anything else in this endless nightmare so far.

You’re not asking what’s wrong with him, because you know. You know.

"How many times are we gonna go through this before we’re done?"

You bite your cheek, your fingers twitch. "I don’t know," you say, and your voice sounds so far removed it barely sounds like yours anymore.

Fine, he thinks. If you’re not telling him, then it really is some elaborate scheme to punish him. To make him think he’s lost his mind again, make him see that free will is nothing but an illusion, that things will always, always stay the same no matter what he does. He gets the point.

Then why does it hurt so much to know? Why does it hurt to know you?

Maybe because none of this, as terribly, horribly real as it’s been, has felt like it was true at all. He’s still missing a piece of the puzzle, and you’re refusing to give it to him. If he only knew what went wrong between the two of you—no.

You’re clearly done with him, and he’s not going to beg for answers he’s not going to get. People he cares for usually made a point of leaving him; why should it have been any different with you?

By the time Sam enters the kitchen, Bucky’s been glaring at the fridge for a while already. There’s a magnet in the shape of a blue alien with six arms holding up your shopping list; a couple of sticky notes with passive-agressive messages on them, most of them about the cat litter; a postcard from the exhibit at the National Air and Space Museum. Trivial bits and pieces.

He wants to set all of it on fire, starting with the postcard.

"She knows," he says without turning when he hears Sam’s steps behind him. They halt on the other side of the kitchen island.

"Knows what?" He doesn’t even ask who, and it fuels the anger.

"That I’m stuck in a time loop."

A choking sound, too short to be worrisome. "Come again?"

Bucky glowers at him over his shoulder, even though none of this is Sam’s fault. He gets a concerned stare in return, which cools his temper somewhat; he lets out a sigh. "What day do you think it is?"

"Are you feeling alright?"

No. "Humor me."

He grabs a mug from the drying rack, just to have something to do with his hands. It’s the one with cat ears that showed up outside his room on his birthday, wrapped in cheap brown packing paper.

How long ago was March?

"Friday," Sam says, and he sounds so sure about it. Bucky desperately wants to believe it’s that easy.

"It’s been Friday for a while," he says instead, his voice cracking.

To go through everything like this is both easier and worse than he expected.

"I don’t get it." Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "I’ve seen you fight before. Hell, I’ve fought you before. You’re near impossible to hurt, let alone kill."

Bucky huffs. "I heal fast, I’m not invincible."

"Then how does it keep happening when you know it’s coming?"

Unbidden, the glimmer in your eye comes to mind again. The line of your back turned towards him, the complete abandon of self-preservation in your fighting style, however streamlined it may be. Even through all this, you expect him to watch your six.

And why wouldn’t you? His eyes are continually drawn to you, anyway.

He knows that just as well as you do, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can just go and be slaughtered instead.

Bucky swallows. His throat feels very dry.

"I told you we shouldn’t have brought her on," he finally says, even though it’s not really an answer. Or maybe it is. You were always going to be the knife that cut the deepest, and maybe he’s known from the start. "Reckless idiot."

"Yeah, you said that. Almost a year ago. Hasn’t that changed?"

"Everything’s changed," he snaps, and the mug slips from his fingers. It shatters on the tiles, small shards flying off in all directions, and it hurts.

It’s just a mug. It shouldn’t twist his stomach, not like this. He keeps staring at the pieces.

"And why do you think that is?" Such a soft question.

Bucky’s hands clench into fists.

That other voice inside knows the answer, is desperate to scream it out, to share the burden and the weightlessness of it, but he can’t let it. He squashes it down, forces it back into its dark, hopeless corner. It has no place here. It can’t.

Somehow, Sam seems to hear it anyway.

"Have you talked to her?" He chooses his words carefully.

Bucky’s heart is racing like he’s dying, but he knows what that feels like now and it’s not this. This is worse.

Сбой, he thinks again, and this time, it echoes in his mind loud enough to drown out anything else. The shards on the floor are blurring. He has a sudden urge to spit or vomit, but he half-expects words to come out if he should. Of all things.

Can we leave before I do something he’ll regret?

His left hand makes a grating sound as his right palm opens underneath his fingernails, blood slowly dripping from one wrist. It brings him back into the kitchen, Sam’s gaze still heavy on him. He doesn’t want to meet his eyes.

"She’s not coming."

There’s something cold in Bucky’s voice he’s too fed up to care he recognizes.

It’s his own fault. He’s let his guard down around you, let you in, and it’s been a mistake. Of course it was. You’re the one who led him here, and he doesn’t want to follow your orders any longer.

"Let’s go on the mission without her. If she isn’t there, maybe I won’t …" He doesn’t have to say it out loud. He’s still bleeding, after all.

"Are you sure?" Sam says.

No. "I’m asking as a friend."

As expected, that’s enough.

He doesn’t feel bad leaving you behind without a single word, without looking back over his shoulder as he quietly drags the door shut behind him. He doesn’t feel bad sitting on the quinjet in silence, staring daggers at the wall. He doesn’t feel bad as he climbs out and soaks up the last few rays of sunshine, his focus unbroken for once.

He’s not haunted by you here; only by his own ghost.

Bucky’s been through this enough times to recall more than the broad strokes of it; he slips this mission on like a second skin, breathing through the absence of you with more calm than he’s thought possible. Then again: this is what he’s good at.

There’s a goal, and there’s a catch; but no more distractions. This will be a breeze.

.

…

That night, he dreams of you. If you could call it a dream, the few strange, hazy moments after he dies and before he gets put together again.

You look at him, almost reaching out but never quite touching, your eyes gleaming green.

His name still echoes in your voice when he comes to.

* * * * *

From his perspective, it made sense, of course, so really there was no point in going over it again.

And yet you did. Over and over.

I want her out.

It was quite simple, really. Bucky hated your guts because of something you couldn’t control, you were still seething because of it, and you were both perfectly fine with avoiding each other for the rest of your days.

You took an extra shift at the store the next day, just so you wouldn’t have to run into the two of them any more than necessary. You couldn’t wait until Sam jumped back on his flight to D.C. and Bucky fucked off to do whatever he did all day; the most important part was that they’d both be far, far away from you.

"Fucking Steve," you mumbled as you violently scrubbed the counters. Come to think of it, all of this was entirely his fault. No one would even know you existed without him blabbering on about you. And what you wouldn’t give to live in a world without being judged for your very existence by a bionic ex-assassin.

On top of everything else, some moron decided to steal the tip jar while you were distracted getting some ice, and by the time you made it home, it was nearing midnight, you’d had way too many espresso shots for a single human being, and you just wanted to cry in the silence of your own four walls. It was probably the single most terrible day you’d had since the first couple of weeks in the Tower.

Unfortunately, when you unlocked the front door, you immediately realized that your terrible day wasn’t over yet. There were too many pairs of shoes sitting in the hallway, and voices coming from the kitchen area.

You quietly pulled off your sneakers in the semi-darkness of the hallway. You were way too exhausted to attempt to use your powers, but maybe you could tiptoe past them to take a quick shower and then fall into bed without having to talk to anyone.

Slowly, you crept closer to the stairwell, keeping one eye on the shadows dancing across the wall to your left. Snippets of conversation got clearer.

"—not saying that, but whether you want to admit it or not, she’s good." Sam sounded annoyed.

"It’s not about that and you know it."

"Yeah, I do. You know what else I know? You need to go back to therapy."

You froze, shrinking back into the darkness of the hallway. You could hear Bucky huff an incredulous laugh.

"I made—"

"Amends, I’m aware. And was that your idea, or was that the assigned homework from your court mandated army doctor?" Silence. "You can’t just work through a list and at the end of it decide you’re done and everything’s magically alright again."

"'Course not. I don’t get to do that."

There was something about his tone that made your anger sink down slowly, heavily, until you swallowed it down entirely and you just felt wretched.

You weren’t supposed to listen to any of this. This was way out of your depth, and you had no idea how to get out of it. Their voices blurred into each other as your pulse was rushing through your head loud enough to make you dizzy, and you reached for your necklace in an attempt to ground yourself, to calm your breaths and reach out to something that could get you away from this moment in time.

It was useless.

"Like I said," Sam continued calmly. "You don’t have to work together ever again. But the two of you should talk it out first."

"Or how about this," you whispered, not loud enough for any but superhuman ears to pick up on, "should we ever get to the point again where I reset something around you and it’s important, I will let you know."

You barely knew why you offered, with your back pressed against the wall, not even standing in the same room as Bucky. But you didn’t want to fight.

There was a beat of hesitation, and then he said, "Promise?"

"Sure," Sam said.

You held up your pinkie finger in front of your heart, even though no one could see. "On the nine lives of the cat I will own one day."

You counted your breaths up to twenty before you heard one of them shift their weight, bare feet shuffling over your tiles.

"Fine," Bucky said finally. "She can stay for now. But I’m keeping an eye on her."

A familiar hitch went through you all on its own and you opened your eyes to find the world standing still. You took a couple of hesitant steps towards the stairs again, your head turning when you passed the kitchen area.

Sam had his back turned to you, stretching to reach something on the shelf next to the fridge, but Bucky’s frozen gaze was fixed on the wall you’d been leaning against, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Determination was a good look on him, you decided. It left a certain shine in his eyes that was hard to look away from.

That night, you dreamt of drowning at sea, and somehow you didn’t want to call it a nightmare.

chapter eight

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

this chapter was my best kept secret and i'm forever grateful to @marvelettesassemblenow for reading ages ago 🫶🏼 also no one talk to me about thunderbolts bc i still haven't watched it but it seemed like a good time for a comeback

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

"I may have said things to you that I invented Pete, but I have never lied to you."

relistening to junoverse, specifically nureyev lore heavy eps, and thinking about how honesty is the biggest thing Nureyev values. thinking about how he doesn't want to lie to Juno, he'd rather not say anything or run away. thinking about how he flits between aliases and how he comes back to being Peter Ransom.

[mywritersmind]

MARKS ON YOUR BODY - LN4||OP81

summary : In which it starts with strip poker and ends with questions about a specific hidden tattoo and some secret piercings. Or, Lando and Oscar are both hot for you and let you know it.

listen up : zakbrowndaughter!reader 18+ not fully smut but pretty suggestive (at least for me who doesn’t write smut lol) i’m blushing. STRIP POKER PHOTO INSPIRED!! tramp stamp and tits pierced??🙂‍↕️

words : 1425

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“Alright Lan, You wanna stop?” Oscar eyes Lando who’s in pants only. The only way Lando would lose strip poker is if he distracted me too much with his body.

He laughs, “Fuck no!”

“Fuck yes.” I throw down my cards and yawn, “I’m bored of winning.” Oscar had so many pieces of outerwear that he’s lost multiple times but still is wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

Strip poker is my game apparently, maybe the possibility of the guys being naked fueled my fire.

“I swear you’re cheating.” Lando shakes his head.

Oscar’s laughing as I scoff, “I do not cheat! Just accept defeat, Norris.”

He leans against the table, “I’m not losing to you, Brown.”

“I think it’s too late for that, Lando.” Oscar fiddles with a card in his hand as I lean my head back. Apparently, my hair moves with me and Oscar’s brow shoots up, “You have a tattoo?”

I blink, “Uh yeah.”

“What!?” Lando practically screams, “Let’s see.”

I move back my hair to reveal the tattoo that’s behind my ear, it’s a tiny 8 for the number I grew up racing with. “That’s hot.” Lando nods as Oscar hits his arm, “I want to get a tattoo.”

“No you do not!” Oscar argues as Lando sends him a dirty look.

He turns back to me, his arms crossed against the table so his biceps pull my attention, “Did it hurt?”

I shrug, “Yeah, but some of my others hurt more.”

Lando’s jaw drops, “You have more? How did we not know this?”

I laugh again, “I hide them from my dad.”

“Really?” Oscar asks, seemingly surprised at my sneaky nature.

The corner of my mouth pulls upwards, “You wanna see the rest?”

His eyes are deep as he nods and taps the card against the table. “I’m assuming they’re easy to hide.”

I sigh and hook my finger to the bottom of my shirt, pulling it upwards. He's right, of course. All of my tattoos aren’t easily seen by my father.

I pull my shirt until I reach my sternum. Lando’s smile dulls as his eyes zero in on my skin, clearly not wanting to miss anything. I have a star design that goes in a line with little details around it.

Oscar leans his head back against the headrest, biting his lip and checking me out. I don’t think he’s ever looked hotter.

Lando’s hair is a mess but in the sort of attractive way that makes you want to pull it. The two of them are my greatest desire with bright orange caution tape put up by my father.

Zak Brown hates when I'm with the two of them, no matter which, he doesn’t trust me. But coming back from the FIA awards, they offered me a ride since we were all going back to england, so it was only polite to accept.

I drop my shirt and I swear I see Lando’s mouth fall into a frown. “Damn… didn’t know you went against daddy’s orders.”

I smirk, “He hates tattoos…Thinks they’re trashy. Which is ironic because...” I stop myself before I can go on, trailing off and grabbing my water to play it off.

“Because what?” Oscar asks.

“Um…” I don’t really know what to say and I feel quite overwhelmed with these two men staring at me.

“You have one more. Don’t you?” Oscar’s trying to hide his smirk but is shit at it. Lando looks to his teammate, then me.

“Now we have to see.” The curly haired man stretches his arm on the table, his muscles rippling and making me bite my lip.

“Okay.” I situate myself so I'm sitting on my feet. I pause, looking at both of them for a second. The whole thing is so oddly erotic and ridiculously hot.

I turn around in my seat, pulling down the back of my sweats ever so slightly so my tramp stamp is in view. I look over my shoulder to see their reactions because neither of them say a thing.

Oscar is staring, face blank and directed at my lower back. Lando’s mouth is open just the slightest bit, his arm draped over the back of Oscar’s seat. It’s not huge, just thin lines that make up a butterfly and some swirls to compliment it.

“Fuck.” Lando whispers, Oscar looks at him but doesn’t tell him to stop, just mumbles along with his friend. “Yeah.”

“You like it?” I know they do. I’m not blind.

The two are staring at me like i’m fucking edible and the way they look right now, I might be. “I’d be an idiot not to.” Oscar says as I turn back around, my shirt still pulled up and my hair to one side.

“I think this is the first time Lando’s been speechless.” I joke as his eyes meet mine again and his cheeks go pink. “Am I making you nervous, Norris?”

I expect him to roll his eyes or scoff, but he just breathes out and says, “You’re really hot, Y/n.”

“Can’t argue with him there.” Oscar wipes a hand over his mouth before tapping the table, “I wanna see it closer.”

I realize that he means he wants me to sit on the table. “Not even a please?” I tease but I'm already turning and setting myself down on it.

I’m about to adjust my pants but Lando’s hand does it for me. His skin is cold and holds my hip as his fingers dip below my waistband.

“Why a butterfly?” Oscar asks, leaning against the table to get a better look. I lean back and rest against my arms as they look.

“Thought it was cute.”

Oscar laughs a bit, “How often do you mark your body because it’s cute?”

Lando slides out of his seat, moving into mine so I'm facing him. He doesn’t even ask, just slides a hand onto my hip and another on my shirt, pulling it up to see my sternum.

Oscar switches with Lando so he’s now holding the back of my sweats. I let my eyes train down Lando’s chest… his abs… his arms. He’s fit as fuck and the way he was acting during strip poker, he knows it.

I go back to Oscar's question, realizing I got distracted by Lando in front of me. “Very often actually, piercings too.”

This prompts Lando to push my hair behind my ear, admiring my jewelry, “How many do you have?” He sounds almost out of breath.

“Twelve.” His fingers drift over my earrings, counting.

“You only have five on each, though.” As soon as Lando says it, I hear Oscar shift in his seat.

I don’t even wait for Lando to catch on, I just grab his wrist and have my shirt go up with his hand. Lando lets out a noise, close to a whimper.

He stares at my bare chest, the only thing on me is my jewelry decorating each nipple.

I hear Oscar stand, his hand gripping my hip tighten as he gets closer. He’s looking over my shoulder, I lean back a bit so he has a better view of my tits.

Lando’s hand is resting on my neck, pushing my shirt against my skin, I can feel his pulse beat faster under my fingertips.

Lando’s gaze shifts to Oscar as the brown eyed man stares back at him. I feel like they’re having some telepathic conversation that I can’t understand, until Oscar looks back at me.

His eyes are darker, the air filled with tension. As my eyes flick to Lando, I see his chest rise and fall. I get it now.

My hand slips to Oscar’s face, his jaw and cheek warm against my touch. I hesitate purely to see how his breath hitches, then I kiss him.

Lando swears as Oscar’s tongue dips into my mouth, he freezes between my legs. I break the kiss with Lando, hooking my leg around his waist to pull him in closer.

“Are you still nervous?” I whisper as Oscar moves his lips to my neck. Lando looks like he’s dreaming, his head turning side to side slowly as I smirk.

He kisses me, softer than Oscar at first but he becomes sloppier when I start being affected by Oscar attached to my neck.

The aussie mumbles against my skin, “This your end goal all along? Strip poker… tattoo tour… fuck?”

I lean my head back and laugh, “No. I guess I'm just lucky.”

[yoiisa]

𝐁𝐋𝐋𝐊 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

all characters aged up (20+)! mean! Isagi Yoichi smut, AFAB reader, slight choking, hair pulling, rough sex, degredation!

mmmmm i have such bad mean isagi yoichi brainrot rn i can't even!

normally, isagi is so nice to you. he gives you presents, compliments, kisses, and just about everything you could ever possibly ask for, and you love it! he makes you feel like the most perfect person in the whole world, and you couldn't be happier.

but then you go to his games, and the man you see in the jersey is completely different. he's ruthless, hurling insults at the other players left and right. his eyes have a spark in them that ignites something in you as well. to make everything even more confusing, once the two of you reunite after the game, he's completely fine!

a little while later, the two of you are in your apartment, his head on your lap and you playing with his hair. The TV is showing reruns of the match, and you can't help but say, "I've never seen you that mean before."

"Hmm? Oh, yeah," he says a bit bashfully, "I can get a little mean, I guess . . . but not to you though."

" . . . shame. I thought it was kinda hot."

before you know it, your on the two of your's bed, getting pounded into from behind. Isagi has his hand on the back of your head, his hands fisted in your hair. you're drooling into your pillow, muffled moans pouring from your mouth.

"Is this what you wanted, hm?" he growls, his hips snapping into your ass. he revels in the way the flesh bounces and he tosses his head back when you clench particularly tightly around his shaft. A low sound emanates in his chest and he chuckles darkly. "Ohhhh~ you fucking slut. You needed this didn't you?"

"yes 'ichi!" he pulls on your hair, tugging your head up from the pillow. He lowers his whole body against yours, his chest flush against your back. "haaahh~ ahhh~ 'ichi . . . i love it . . . ah- harder!"

"ohhh, my fucking girl," he complies and nibbles at your neck. "you're so dirty, coming to all my games, hearing me shit talk my opponents, and all you could think of was me talking to you like that? you wanna be treated like my little slut?"

You nod, and he releases your hair. That same arm snakes around your neck and puts you in a chokehold. "ahhhh- yoichi! I . . . I . . ."

"i know, i know," he coos, "oh, are you gonna come for me baby?"

"yes!" you gasp.

he pushes himself up and twines his fingers again in your hair. He tilts your head back, staring down at your blown out eyes, open mouth, and flushed face. he leans down to kiss your forehead, pausing his ministrations for a brief moment, before straightening to his full height again and continuing to thrust into you.

the sight that meets your eyes now is tantalizing.

isagi is covered in sweat, his face glowing from the sheen of it. his deep blue eyes hold a firey passion in them, his heady gaze ready to light you on fire at any moment. but the cherry on top of it all is the shit eating grin on his face. it pulls his mouth to the right in a smirk and his teeth are bared as he watches your debauched expression. the sight alone is enough to choke a whimper from you.

"c'mon babygirl," he coos, his thumb brushing your chin. "lemme see it. lemme see you come after finally getting what you've been dreaming of."

"'ichi!"

"Fuck!" he roars, feeling your juices soak him. he ruts his hips into you a few more times, trying to drain everything out of you. "That's it! just like that!"

after a few more pumps, he finally finds his release as well, your name escaping his mouth if a roar.

he collapses again against your back, nuzzling into your shoulder blades. he whispers soft words against your skin, but it's mostly incoherent.

finally, once you've regained your sanity, you turn to him. "You can get really mean, huh?" you tease.

He chuckles and shakes his head, a few drops of sweat falling onto you. "Yeah, was it too much?"

You smile and shake your head. You kiss his cheek and nuzzle into his face. "No, it was perfect."

[maiiuelle]

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“take off your top.” the man on the couch across from you barks with a toothy grin, prying eyes focused on you as he puts a bottle of beer to his lips.

you know rafe doesn’t like playing games at his parties. it’s so below him, he’d rather sit back and relax, for once leaving the chaos up to everyone else. in the comfort of his own home he can truly let loose. now that tannyhill is technically his, he couldn’t care less if someone breaks one of the gauche vases rose picked out, or puts a hole in one of the walls — he’s too busy seizing the opportunity to drink, smoke, or snort whatever he pleases.

you like it when he’s chill, it gives you the opportunity to get exactly what you want out of him. you caught him at the perfect time — nursing a drink, swirling the brown liquid in his glass as he nodded along to something topper was saying. you seized the moment, attaching yourself to his side. “come on, rafey! please, it’ll be fun!” you bounced like a little bunny, slipping your hand in his to sweeten the deal. “please, please, please — i don’t wanna play by myself.”

“nah, babe. truth or dare? that’s some fuckin’ high school shit.”

“please, just this once?” you press your cheek against his arm, pushing your cherry-glossed lips into a pout.

that’s how you end up perched on his lap, your boyfriend tucked comfortably into the couch on his porch. you’re really regretting it all now, the feeling of everyones eyes on you makes your skin crawl. you wish you could just disappear, caught like a deer in headlights, sputtering as you peer around the room.

rafe breathes out a laugh, and the room quiets in anticipation. he adjusts his position to lean forward, his hand squeezing your thigh like a stress ball.

“what’d you say?”

“i think everyone heard me.” the boy gawks, still watching you.

“that’s funny.”

“i’m not joking. it’s the game, bro.”

your face feels red hot, matching the heat you feel radiating from rafe. you’re afraid to move, your eyes only shifting to your boyfriends face, who you’ve never seen so angry.

“nah, nah, you’re real funny, man.” he hooks his hand under one of your legs, the other arm around your back to lift you up off his lap, dropping you haphazardly on the couch cushion beside the two of you as he pushes himself out of the seat to confront the kid.

“rafe!”

he’s already got the boy by the collar by the time topper and kelce try to stop him, your hands fly over your mouth as you watch it all unfold before you. rafe shakes him, “you’re a comedian, huh? you think i’m about to let you disrespect not only me, but my girl, in my fuckin’ house?” he raises his voice, everyone else completely silent as he shoves the kid toward the door. “take that shit somewhere else, get the fuck out.”

rafe’s shoulders heave, watching the boy scamper away with his tail between his legs before he turns around, looking at you. “game’s over, let’s go.” he cocks his head, and you jump out of your seat to follow him, leaving the room stuck in a stunned silence.

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[rafey-baby]

hidden

outlaw!rafe holding pogue!reader hostage in her own house after banging his fist on her door in the middle of a stormy night, demanding to be let in with a gun in hand and wild waves in the sea of his eyes…

c/w: rafe being manipulative, mentions of murder & violence, he’s also weirdly soft in the end? 18+ mdni!

wc: 2k

he’s been stuck in my head for a while so hope u enjoy xx

series masterlist

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

There’s still sleep dust lingering in her lashes when she hesitantly cracks open the door at 3 am—revealing a tall, scary man with scarlet stains on his hands, white button up saturated in maroon and a scowl painted over his unsettling countenance.  

She stands there like a deer in headlights, unmoving while he looks down at her with arctic eyes as chilling as the frigid waters surrounding an iceberg. And at first, she thinks she’s still asleep, tired brain conjuring up some creepy murderer scenario where she’s the idiot who does everything the audience in the movie theater is screaming at her not to.

But as she properly blinks her sleepy eyes open, she comes to the realization that this is not a horror film and this intimidating stranger (with oddly appealing features) who’s definitely just killed someone is very much real.  

She’s about to open her mouth— unsure whether to scream for help or simply stare with her mouth hung open in shock, but she doesn’t get the chance to find out before he’s pasting his massive palm over her lips.  

“Don’t make a sound,” his low mutter makes a shiver run down her spine. And she doesn’t, instead she just blinks, too out of it to move a muscle— the reek of the dried blood on his hand hitting her nose and making her face scrunch up.

She doesn’t know why she’s not putting up any sort of a fight, blames it on the fact that half her brain is still swimming in the lake of her dreamland— soaking up the glittering sunbeams that never dull and dipping its toes in the grass that consists of misty nebula and twinkling stars. 

And he’s just so mean, manhandling her to his liking and ordering her around with a gun to her head; grumbling about needing a hiding place from the cops after dumping a body somewhere in the ocean and getting caught since apparently, his temper really just got the best of him at times.  

“Didn’t mean to kill the guy, alright? He jus’ kept bein’ a bitch ‘n pissin’ me off— I mean, I was, uh, I was provoked, what was I supposed to do?”

However, his explanation seems to do very little to soothe her overstrung heart that’s thudding in her ribcage; loud enough for him to hear and earning her an exasperated roll of his eyes.

“M’takin’ a shower now ‘n you’re not gonna move an inch, you understand? Cause if you do…m’gonna have to— m’gonna hurt you ‘n I don’t wanna do that, okay?” 

She merely nods her head, unable to string together a coherent sentence, and he takes note of the way her inhale gets caught in her throat when he takes a step closer. “You, uh, you live alone?”

She offers another nod of her head.  

“Dumb girl”, he tuts, shaking his head in disapproval. “When someone’s knockin’ on your door in the middle of the night you don’t— you don’t fuckin’ open, alright?”  

She’s making it entirely too easy for him.  

However, the second he’s in the bathroom, she forces her exhausted brain to think— hurriedly coming up with a rickety plan while she listens to the water streaming behind the door. She waits for only a a few seconds to make sure the coast is clear before she’s bolting towards her bedroom; trembling fingers grabbing her phone from her nightstand and trying to dial 911.  

Unfortunately, her shaky hands aren’t of any help when they clumsily drop the phone— the clattering sound of it hitting the floor echoing in the quietness of the room. And suddenly she can’t breathe.

Her brain short-circuits as she bends down in an attempt to reach for the wretched device that has somehow tumbled under her bed. However, when she finally catches it in an unsteady grip, she hears the shower turn off— an eerie stillness following. In her state of panic, she attempts to turn the phone back on and call for help, but it’s proving to be rather difficult since her lungs aren’t working and her heartbeat is ringing in her ears.  

“Boo,” a low whisper right behind her makes her flinch; a faint gasp leaving her while a shiver travels down her spine.

“Why’d you jus’ do that, huh? Told you I didn’t wanna— didn’t wanna fuckin’ hurt you ‘n then you go ‘n pull this shit,” a strong hand grips her by her throat when he turns her around to face him.  

“M’sorry, I— I don’t—” she’s paralyzed, respiration shallow while her blood runs cold.

“You don’t what, hm?” he stares into her horror-stricken eyes with an almost bored look, seeming to be entirely indifferent to her torment. 

“Can’t…can’t breathe,” her voice is nearly inaudible.

A grim chuckle bubbles from his chest in response. “Can’t breathe? Maybe you should’ve thought about that before, yeah?” he scoffs, cruel words mocking her.  

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid— want me to kill you? That what you want?” he grits out, squeezing her neck harder; making her feel dizzy.

“No! No, please. M’sorry…m’sorry, won’t— won’t do it again, promise, I’ll do anything—” she manages out, desperately gasping for air because he’s nearly crushing her windpipe in his unrelenting grip.  

“Anythin’ huh? That’s, uh, tha’s real temptin’ ‘n all but what I need you to do is not pull stupid shit like this, you get that?”  

“I won’t, I promise. You can, um, stay here for as long as you want and I’ll help, okay?” she thinks she’s going to pass out soon— little stars already peppering behind her fluttering lids and her weakened limbs beginning to feel heavy.

His coarse panting fills the room while he seems to contemplate her offer. “If you even think about runnin’ to the cops tonight, m’gonna fuckin’ find you, you understand?” 

She frantically nods and at last, his hold begins to loosen around her trachea, allowing for her greedy lungs to finally suck in air as she takes a step back in an attempt to even out her respiration.  

He doesn’t say anything for a moment— silently observing her while she clears her throat and swallows a few times, trying to pacify her racing heart and the thoughts running around her brain.

Then, she blinks up at him, noticing how he smells like her honey-scented body wash and orange blossom shampoo— nothing but a towel hanging low on his hips, leaving very little to her imagination as the room grows quiet.  

Once she feels the flat floorboards under her wobbly feet again, she tries a different approach; a nervous hesitation overlaying her creaky question. “What’s, um…what’s your name?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses her. However, when a small pout begins to mold her mouth the longer she stares at him, he lets out a discontented huff.  

“Rafe,” he finally responds, not bothering to ask for hers, seemingly not caring enough for it. She tells him, nonetheless, and he can’t help but laugh at her priorities— a literal criminal has broken into her home and she cares about fucking introductions.  

“So…have you— have you killed anyone else?”

She doesn’t know why she’s trying to make small talk with him but she figures that if she gets him to talk about something else, choking her to death won’t be at the forefront of his mind anymore.  

“You seriously wanna know?” he raises his brows. 

She thinks about it for a moment and then settles on a shake of her head, followed by a harsh chuckle rumbling from his chest.  

“So, uh— what do you do? Like besides…killing people and stuff?” she tries once more.  

“Listen, the less you know, the better, alright?” he states, causing her to let out a soft sigh in defeat when all of a sudden, thunder crackles behind her windows, an ablaze lightning illuminating her dimly lit bedroom soon after.  

She flinches at the sound and the nearly sinister way it momentarily lights up his face.  

“You scared of a little storm?” he feigns concern as he peers down at her. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe, yeah?” the mocking grin plastered on his face causes a shudder to travel through her as she swallows—wishing this was all just a really bad nightmare.  

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

After the little incident, Rafe thinks she’s just as sweet as sugar, offering to make him tea and asking if he wants a blanket or an extra pillow so he’d be more comfortable sleeping on the couch. 

And he can tell that she’s merely doing it because she’s terrified of him, which she should be. Nonetheless, he thinks it feels nice to be pampered and doted on— to have a pretty girl following his orders like a trained puppy. It makes him figure he’s gonna enjoy his stay just fine.  

The following morning though, he’s woken up by her shaky figure standing next to him— pointing his gun at him. 

He lets out a sigh, softened bones mellow from sleep while he rubs at his eyes and shifts to a seated position on the couch— teasingly lifting his hands up in surrender. “Puppy’s got a gun, huh? Tryin’ to be all tough now, are we?”

“I— I want you to leave,” she says, voice rickety and words unsure.  

And he’s trying to take her seriously, he really is, but it’s proving to be rather difficult when she resembles a scared little kitten more than someone who knows what they’re doing.  

“You want me to leave? Maybe you should, uh, work on your pitch a little more? M’not very convinced,” the lazy smile tugging at his mouth makes her brows crease.  

“Rafe, this is not a joke,” a scowl shades her face.

He thinks she looks rather adorable. “Come on, pup, you’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t even know how to use that thing, do you?” his voice is even, and it makes her hesitate.

“Well…it can’t be that complicated?” it’s more of a question than a statement and he lets out a humored chuckle in response. Her frown deepens.  

“Why don’t you give that to me, yeah? You don’t want death on your conscience, would break ya, you’re too soft for that shit.”  

“You don’t know me.” 

“Know you enough,” he says, finally standing on his feet, taking a slow step towards her, making her squeeze the weapon tighter in her trembling fingers.  

“If— if I give it to you…you’re gonna— you’re gonna kill me and I don’t wanna die,” her words are rushed, hysterical. 

His brows furrow. “Who said anythin’ about killin’ you? Listen, if you give me the gun right now, m’not gonna do anythin’. You have my word, okay?” he towers over her, solid chest grazing the barrel.  

“I don’t trust you,” her voice is a whisper.  

“I know, pup…but I also know that you’re not gonna use that,” his steady hands are a stark contrast to her own when he grabs for the firearm, slipping it from her weak fingers with ease.  

“There we go, no need to be so, uh, so fuckin’ theatrical, yeah?” he lowers his face in order to lock eyes with her. “See? Not hurtin’ you, am I?”  

She manages out a hum of agreement, and then her waterline is brimming with salty droplets as she chokes out a sob. “M’sorry. I don’t—”  

“Hey, hey s’all good. Mistakes happen, yeah?” he says before his strong arms are wrapping around her trembling form because he’s not a complete monster, and for some reason it only makes her weep harder. 

Her crocodile tears wet his shirt while his big paws rub against her back, but he doesn’t seem to mind. And she thinks it’s almost…comforting when he starts to sway her from side to side, like he’s trying to calm down a crying child. 

“There you go, just, uh, let it all out ‘n maybe you can chill out a bit, yeah? You pogues can be so fuckin’ dramatic sometimes,” he pats at her back, rolling his eyes as she takes in shaky inhale after shaky inhale until she’s feeling slightly more placid.  

“Shit, if I’d known you were such a fuckin’ crybaby I would’ve picked another house,” he grumbles, pulling away from her weakened form before pushing her back to stumble on her feet— setting the gun back onto the coffee table with a clank.

[cherriicou]

thinking about jealous!lee chan who would make you ride him as punishment for catching other guys attention..

‘you can do better than that,’ chan drawls, hitting your ass harshly with one hand, the other placed nicely on his abs. lee chan was being so fucking mean, way different than his usual polite self.

‘mm trying,’ is all you can let out as you try to bounce yourself harder on top of him. pretty eyes watering and your thighs are burning from how long you’ve been fucking yourself on him :< you wanted to protest, tell him to stop being mean, but your hips did the exact opposite -- dragging his thick cock in and out of your soaked cunt, savoring the stretch that he's creating.

when it came to sex, chan always made sure you were pleased first. whether it was using his fingers or mouth, you were his top priority! but right now, all he could think about was how his ‘friend’ looked at you when you came to drop him off lunch.

it pissed him off. he watched as you left cutely in your dress, hips swaying while you waved goodbye to everyone. he noticed that guy giving extra attention to your ass, smiling at you and even daring to touch your arm before wishing you a nice day.

that’s when he went straight home after work, ready to have you put on a show from him. ‘channie, please.’ you weren’t even allowed to touch him, which made this whole situation so much more sufferable.

he tsks his tongue, shaking his head as he tries his best to not let out any embarrassing noises from how tight your cunt was strangling him.

he knew he was being an asshole— he was so turned on at the sight of your legs trembling. your pretty pussy leaking down his cock so perfectly, drenching him so fucking good.

‘do you really need my help, slut?’ he groans, finally placing his hands on your hips for the first time tonight. all you could do is nod frantically, too fucked out to even let out words. a small smirk lands on his face, looking up at your adorable pout as you continued to let out cute noises and ride.

you were so perfect for him, he knew that. despite that man's dirty thoughts, he knows you would only have eyes for him. but he just needed some reassurance, have you boost his ego a bit.

so that's why he hardens his grip on your hips, turns you around to land on your back and helps you out <3 his cock now at a different angle inside you, making both of you moan. 'let's see if you regret it,' he mutters. a gasp rips through your throat as he pushes your body down into the mattress, completely trapped beneath them.

'a-ah,' you're a blabbering mess :< but, chan just takes one of your legs over his shoulder, going deeper til he's literally abusing your cervix. a choked sob leaves your lips at his brutal pace and his grunts are only making you hornier, helping you take all that he's doing to you.

'fucking take it, god,' his tone is low, staring into your flushed out face. his hand goes down between you, long fingers reaching to your swollen pussy, 'go ahead and cum for me,' he already knew you were close, 'cum on my cock like a slut,' and your head goes dizzy.

a/n; haiii still in finals hell week, so here is another imagine of dino bc he's been on my mind lately... but after may, i will continue on with the older bf! svt series! promise :3 i do check my anon messages and have been writing whenever i can.. i just want them to perf so i wanna proof read before posting lol like this one is not proofread haha don't mind the mistakes

[sturns-4-life]

Cut it: M.S

Summary: Matt's on live while you're laying on his bed, bored. You decide you want to tease him. And boy is that fun.

Warnings: unprotected sex, bratty!reader, rough dom!Matt, use of y/n, pet names(I think), rough sex, degrading, slight praise, doggy style, missionary, spanking, slapping. Lmk if I missed anything!

Requested? || Yes by @solarsturniolo

Word count: 1,042

I don't know how this happened but it did. And I'm currently getting eaten out by Matt as if he were a starving man.

𝙁𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠…

"Fuck!" I hear Matt yell from dying in his game. I roll my eyes and continue scrolling away on TikTok.

Matt has been playing games with Nate and Chris (Nick's with Madi at the mall) for who knows how long.

"Matt, you know you have a girl in your bed? Most people would love that fact and at least give her five minutes of attention.”

All he says back is. 'in a sec, one more game' for the tenth time. "You said that an hour ago!" I say in a whiny tone.

"It hasn't been an hour, you're being dramatic." I roll my eyes as he says that. His eyes never leave the screen for a second.

Suddenly I get an idea. I walk up to him from behind and hug him; his camera on Discord isn't on, so no one can see what's going on.

I purposely drop my phone under the desk. "Oops, sorry." I say to him as I go under the desk to 'grab my phone'.

As I'm 'picking up my phone', I start to slowly slide my hand up his thigh. "Y/n, stop." I look up at him with the most innocent look ever. "Stop what?”

He looks down at me, I can tell he's pissed. Then looks back at the game. I move my hand to his crotch and start rubbing it. "Y/n." I ignore him.

I slip my hand into his sweatpants and start to slowly pull them down. "Y/n, don't start." I once again ignored him. As I start palming him through his boxers.

"Y/n, 𝙘𝙪𝙩 𝙞𝙩." Still ignoring him, I start to slowly pull his boxers down, as I hear him let out a soft moan.

"We moanin' now?" I hear Nate say with a laugh, as Chris laughs with him. "Shut the fuck up." I wrap my hand around his length.

"Y/n, I'm serious. you don't want me to have to teach you a lesson, do you?" I roll my eyes. "You won't do shit." That was it.

He pulls me up onto his lap and mutes his mic. "You wanna be a little whore and pull that shit when I'm talking to my friends, you gonna get fucked like one.”

He sits me on his desk and starts to pull my shorts down. "Mat-" "-Shut up, slut.”

𝙀𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙡𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠…

"Matt! Fuck." I move my hand to the back of his head pushing him deeper. “Hands by your sides or I swear I'll tie them up.”

“But I don't wanna!” I say in a whiny tone, again. I watch as he gets up and grabs handcuffs and a rope.

Why does he have that? I don't know. But I do know I'm in deep shit. “Matt, no. I'll stop.”

“Too late.” He grabs my wrists and cuffs them together. ”Matt!” “Stop fucking whining.” Where did it come from? I don't know, but he then puts a blindfold on me.

He picks me up and throws me onto his bed. Everything's quiet for a second, besides the sound of the front door opening and closing.

The sound of Madi and Nick's laughter fills the house. Matt then puts his hand over my mouth. “Don't make a fucking sound.”

Without warning I feel him pound into me, causing me to scream into his hand. “Fucking slut, told you to stay quiet, didn't I?”

Unable to form words at the time, I nod. “And did you stay quiet?” I shake my head ‘no’. The second I do I feel a hard slap to my cheek.

“Use your fucking words” “No! I didn't!” I feel him start to pick up his pace, his hand going down to rub my clit as I let out another moan.

“Fuck! I'm gonna cum.” No response. His pace quickened even more until he finally said. “Hold it.” I wanted to, I really did. But knowing how much it'll piss him off.

I still did it, letting out a loud moan as his movements came to a stop. Another slap landed on my cheek. “Did I say you can cum?”

I shake my head ‘no’, again. *𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗣* “Use your fucking words.” “No! No, you didn't.” *𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗣* “So why did you?” “I don't know–” *𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗣*

“Not an answer.” “I couldn't hold it!” *𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗣* “Fucking whore, turn around, baby.” Not wanting to piss him off more, I turn around. Face down, ass up.

*𝗦𝗟𝗔𝗣* I felt another hard smack again, but this time it wasn't on my face. But on my ass instead, feeling him pound back into me at the same time.

“Matt! Slow down!” With that, he quickened his pace. Causing me to let out a louder moan. “You want me to?” Another slap to my ass. “Yes! Fuck!” “You should have thought about that before you decided to be a whore and touch up on my dick while I'm talking to my friends.”

Another slap. I felt him grab onto my hands from behind as he quickened his pace even more. “Matt! I'm gonna cum!” “Hold it. I'm serious.” I let out a loud whine as he starts to rub my clit again. “I can't! Please.”

“Go ahead. Cum for me, baby.“ I let out a loud moan as I cum on his cock, feeling his pace quicken as he reaches his climax. Hot spurts of his load fills me up as he slowly pulls out.

“You did so good for me, baby” Unable to form words at that point I simply nod. My phone buzzed once, then twice. As I check my phone, I see two text messages.

One from Madi, one from Nick.

Fuck.

At least Matt's mic was muted. Well, that's what we thought.

Author's note! I lowkey hate this but it's for my baes 🤭 Chris and Matt anon

Tags: @immattsslut @tashasmywife @cindylcuwho @nicksgirlfriend

Dividers: @plutism

[buckysslut]

hi! i’ve been reading you’re stuff all day bro 😭 you’re so talented!!

anywaysss, can i ask for munch! bucky? i will forever die on the hill that that man EATS downnn

thank youu! - 🧚🏼‍♀️

𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡!𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

Nowhere is safe from Bucky’s munch activities.

𝐁𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦

You were curled up in bed, reading your book. Bucky was laying on his side down by your stomach, absentmindedly stroking your skin as he rested his head on your side. That’s until his touches began to drop down lower and lower. You sigh, looking up from your book and seeing that needy look. “Fine..” You sigh, spreading your legs to make space for his head to go. He quickly goes in, kissing your thighs gently and lazily making out with your pussy, nose judging against your clit as you continue reading.

𝐊𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐧

You were making the two of you dinner, humming softly as you stirred the pan, making sure the food would cook all the way through. You had music playing in the background, meaning you didn’t hear Bucky come padding up behind you. He was already quieter than a mouse when he moved and with music playing there was no chance you’d hear him. You jump out of your skin when you feel arms wrap around you. “Jesus, Buck-!” You say, body relaxing once the quick flash of adrenaline fizzles out. You sigh as you go back to cooking, barely noticing how he’s sinking down to his knees on the floor until you glance back. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes speak every last thought in his head - every last thought in his head being ‘Let me eat that pussy, please and thank you.’ You give him a disapproving look but slightly widen your stance, allowing him to slot between your thighs. He sensually licks up your clit, lips attaching to your bundle of nerves and sucking, a finger going up to you with your hole and smear your slick around. You sigh contentedly as you continue cooking dinner, Bucky enjoying his appetiser just below you.

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫

You had shampoo in your hair, scrubbing all the dirt away. The hot water ran down your body, making you sigh contently as the stress of the day all melts away, your eyes closed in bliss. And then you hear the bathroom door, signaling a certain someone had discovered you were showering. Bucky was a menace. If he knew you were in the shower, he was practically stripping his clothes off and leaping in with you at a moments notice. You hear the shower doors sliding open and the sound of Bucky getting in. “Hi baby..” he murmurs, wrapping himself around you. After some actual washing of your body, Bucky slips back down to his knees. Oh for fucks sake. “Be quick. I don’t wanna go all pruny.” You huff, holding onto the shower railing that was put in after an incident like this where you’d slipped after Bucky had fucked you dumb. “Yes ma’am..” He hums as he kneads your thighs with his hands, licking at your clit and sucking. You groan softly, hands taking through his wet hair as he continues to eat you like a man starved. “Munch..” You mumble. He hums against your cunt, sending a small buzz through you, “Don’t act like you aren’t wet.”

𝐂𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐭

You weren’t even sure how you ended up in here. You’d been having a nice chat with Natasha during the party, dressed in a sleek, silky black dress with a leg slit. Next thing you knew, Bucky said he was taking you to grab a drink and now you were in this closet, sat on some little shelf with his head shoved between your open thighs. Your thighs clench around his head, hands gripping onto the walls, knowing that you couldn’t put them in his hair due to the fact it was perfectly gelled and it’d raise a few eyebrows if he came out with messed up hair and you a panting, pink-cheeked mess. “Bucky.. Jesus, can’t you hold yourself back for one right?” You rasp, head falling back as he dips his tongue into you. He hums in disagreement, shaking his head slightly, his nose budging against your clit, making your hips buck further into his face. “You’re the one bucking your hips into my mouth. Can’t you hold yourself back?” He says, and once he’s done he goes straight back to practically shoving his whole face into your cunt.

𝐑𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐁𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦

“Bucky, you can’t be serious! I go for a piss and you follow me into the bathroom because you wanna eat me out?!” You hiss. You were at dinner with your, frankly, boring family and had gone to the bathroom. Once you’d finished your business, you were in the mirror washing your hands, when you’d noticed the lock turning - how the fuck he’d managed it, you didn’t know - and then the door opened and shut as quickly. And then there was Bucky. As if it was a perfectly normal thing to break into the bathroom your girlfriend is in. “Sh, sh, sh, cmon, bend over the sink.” He murmurs, trying to hush you with his kisses as he presses you against the sink. He bends you over, immediately sinking to your knees and pushing your dress up. He licks stripes up, having no time to lose. You aren’t sure how long you were there but you eventually came with a muffled moan, all over his face. “Cmon, make yourself presentable, your mom’s waiting.”

Tags: @chrisevansleftnipple , @homiesexual-or-homosexual , @httpsells , @avengemepercy , @raikan624 , @multiversefanfics , @majulians-groupie ' @maryevm , @grilledcheesewithjalapeno , @yaboyguzma69 , @hopeofwinter , @buckybarnesslutshop

[theseinfernalangels]

Would you please do #27 with garrick?

27: Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.

A/N: I see the vision. I hear the vision. Dammit, I want the vision.

The moment he pulls you inside his warded room, Garrick knows something is up. Maybe it’s the way you’re much quieter than usual, or maybe it’s the way your hands are clenched into fists and digging deep nail marks into your palms. Either way, you’re off, and he doesn’t like that.

He nudges the door shut with his foot and immediately slings an arm around your waist, tugging you towards him and his bed. He settles on the sheets with a slight plop and guides you to stand between his legs, frowning up at you.

“Alright,” he declares. “Something’s wrong. Talk to me.”

You blink. How he was able to tell that you were pissed off from barely a glance, you had no idea.

You avert your gaze, crossing your arms self-consciously. “Nothing’s wrong—“

You’re silenced when he puts a single finger to your lips and shakes his head. “Don’t lie,” Garrick chides. “I can see it, clear as day. You’re pissed off. Tell me what happened.”

Well, if nothing else, he was quite observant — maybe too observant. 

You take a deep breath in, rubbing your clearly-exhausted face with your hands before you still and exhale slowly. You know you can talk to him. Of course you can talk to him. It’s just Garrick. If you had a coin for every time he’s angrily ranted about someone fucking something up, you’d probably have enough money to pay your way to graduation.

So, after a moment, you sigh again. “Fucking Carr,” you mumble, pinching the bridge of your nose in between your fingers. “Who decided to make him a fucking professor, anyway?”

Garrick nods in understanding before he straightens a little, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. 

“What did he do?” He asks cautiously, tracing a thumb over your knuckles. He pauses for a second and brings your hand closer to him, leaning down and pressing his lips to the skin carefully.

He sits back up, his eyes suddenly stormy. “Your skin is too warm,” he notes, his voice quieter. “If he pushed you—“

“No,” you say quickly, waving your free hand. “Not this time, at least. I was getting there, though, and my skin starting steaming, so Léith dropped in and scared the hell out of him before he could do me more damage.”

Garrick swears under his breath, tugging you towards him and settling you atop his thighs. “I’m going to kill that man,” he mutters, sliding his arm back around your waist. “Truly, one day I’ll catch him alone—“

“Please don’t,” you say tiredly, leaning your head against his. “Léith almost did, and that was terrifying enough. I think he would’ve actually incinerated him if I hadn’t asked him not to.”

Garrick’s eyes soften a little. Ever so carefully, he turns his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m sorry, lovely,” he says quietly. “That’s awful. I wish I had been around to stop it.”

You let your shoulders drop, melting against him as if your muscles had turned to mush. You don’t mind, though — and you know for a fact that he doesn’t, either, given the little fits he throws whenever you don’t use him as your personal pillow. You tilt your head and brush a halfhearted kiss to his jaw, wanting nothing more than to sink into his arms and just stay there while he peppers kisses down your face.

Lucky for you, Garrick has no intention of doing anything else.

“Whatever.” Your eyes flutter shut in bliss at the feeling of his mouth making little trails against your skin. “I’m not dead, and you haven’t killed anyone, so everything is good and well.”

He chuckles lowly. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” he says dryly. He glances out his window before dropping his gaze to you. “You wanna stay here for the night?”

A tired groan looses from your throat. “Please,” you beg. “I don’t think I can walk back down to mine right now. I just wanna sleep.”

Garrick smiles and rests his cheek against your head. “I think I can make that happen, lovely girl.”

[shadesslut]

can i request a little ethan smut with a big size kink. man is 6'2

Thank you for your request! Enjoy!

fucktoy

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Ethan Landry x Short!Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Size kink, smut)

Summary: Ethan just loves how small Y/N feels in his hands.

Masterlist

✮

✮

✮

It was supposed to be a peaceful night for Y/N. A night full of reading and drinking wine, while listening to her music. She sighed in relaxation as she flipped to the next page. A loud crash came from the kitchen, and she flopped her book down on her lap, sighing. Ethan was working in her kitchen fixing the pipes under her sink. The noises had occurred for the past two hours, interrupting her every ten minutes. 

She huffed, swinging her legs off her bed as she stood up. She marched into the kitchen, crossing her arms over her sleep-shirt. “Are you almost done?” 

Ethan tilted his head from under the sink, his crooked smile showing as he saw her. He had grease on his face and white tee. 

“Almost, sorry,” Ethan said. 

“It’s okay. Hey, it’s getting late, maybe you should stop for tonight.” Y/N suggested, hoping Ethan would leave so she could continue her reading in silence. He glanced at the pipes one more time, and then back to her before sliding out. He stood up in front of her, towering over her. She gulped and stepped back. His shirt hugged his torso well, and Y/N let her eyes wander down to his hips. She felt small near him, the man was six feet tall. She had to crank her neck back to be able to make eye contact with him. 

“You gonna be okay?” Ethan softly asked, wiping his hands on the dirty rag in his hands. 

“Pft yeah, I can last one night without cleaning the dishes.” She chuckled, swatting her hand sarcastically. “You wanna use my shower?” She asked. She jokingly pinched her nose and squinted her eyes.

Ethan laughed with her, shaking his head. “Oh, whatever, and sure if you don’t mind.” He smiled. 

–

She waited anxiously on her bed as the shower ran, just finishing washing Ethan’s clothes. The thought of Ethan, naked, showering in her bathroom made her face warm. She tried not to think about it, trying desperately to read her book, but she had been on the same page for twenty minutes. She put her book down, and she glanced over at the bathroom door. 

Slowly, she reached under her blanket to her shorts. She gently applied pressure on her clit, softly gasping at her touch. She closed her eyes and thought of Ethan, thought about showering with him. If he would kiss her as he rubbed soap over her breasts, or if he wouldn’t clean at all and just pound into her against the wall.

She quietly whined his name as she touched herself, but quickly pulled her hand out once she heard the shower turn off. 

“Ah shit,” she heard his voice muffled. The door opened, and Y/N’s mouth dropped to the floor. Ethan awkwardly stepped out, towel wrapped loosely around his waist as he held it with one hand. His entire chest was revealed, showing off his glistening abs. A trail of dark hair rested right above his, well, you know, and his v-line was prominent. His hair was still sopping wet, and a few strands stuck out as it dripped water. 

“I’m so sorry, but you have my clothes.” Ethan spoke nervously. Y/N only stared, not processing anything Ethan had said. Ethan’s cheeks turned pink, and he shifted awkwardly. “Y/N? My clothes?” 

“Fuck-Sorry,” she whispered, reaching over to grab his neatly folded clothes. She held them out for him, and he smiled nervously as he walked over to her. He didn’t grab them though. He only stood above her, looking down at her. Her eyes were met with his upper stomach, the height difference making her knees go weak. “Ethan…?” She trailed off, looking up at him. 

He wore a desperate and hungry expression. Before she knew it, he pulled her to him by her hips, causing her to gasp in surprise. His clothes dropped from her hands, now long forgotten. She let out a muffled “Umph!” as Ethan forced his lips on hers. 

His lips moved in a desperate motion, as if she was water and he had been thirsty for a week. He was sloppy, not caring about perfecting his movements. She, on the other hand, was careful with hers. She traced her fingers along his stomach, barely grazing.  

Her fingers stopped at his happy trail, and she flicked her eyes downward. He noticed, and chuckled as he followed her gaze. 

“You want me to take the towel off or do you wanna shove your pretty little head under it?” Ethan whispered lowly, bending down, lips grazing her ear. She involuntarily whined. Never in her life had she felt this turned on. 

“Take it off,” she whispered, partly asking and partly telling him. He breathed heavily and stared at her as he unwrapped the towel, letting it fall to his ankles. Her eyes widened at his half-hard dick. He was far bigger than she imagined, and he wasn’t even fully hard. 

She was entranced, she never looked away for a second. Her eyes followed the vein that ran up the underside of his dick, finishing at his soft pink tip. He stood confidently, slightly leaning on his hip as he stared down her shirt. His hand grabbed at her chin, and he lifted her head up to meet his gaze. Pulling her towards him, he placed her hand on his shaft, squeezing his fingers around hers. 

His eyes closed at the pressure, and he smirked pridefully looking at her again, this time his eyes gazing at her lips. He kissed her on her neck, finding every sweet spot. She never noticed how small she felt in his hands, his hand covered her whole tit and some of her upper stomach. He had to arch his back over just to be able to reach her lips with his. 

She whined as she stroked him slowly. He was painfully hard. Her small fingers could barely wrap around him, and he thought it was the hottest thing ever. “You’re so small,” he whispered against her neck. 

“You’re so big,” she said, not referring to his height.

Ethan chuckled. Feeling exposed, Ethan started to raise the hem of her shirt up, pulling it over her head. He smiled, looking her up and down. “What?” she huffed as she started to become shy.

“I wonder how small your pussy is. You think I’ll fit?” He didn’t let her answer, only shoving her against the wall. She gasped, his hands flipping her around by her hips. He pulled her shorts and panties down, and he pressed his pelvis against her back. “So short, ‘m gonna have to hold you up,” he mumbled. 

He hooked her right leg onto the crook of his forearm, her knee sliding up the wall. She silently cursed in her head as she knew what she was about to go through. He softly kissed her shoulder, and whispered, “This okay?” 

She nodded, her cheek pressed against the wall. He inhaled deeply as he stuck his face into the crook of her neck. Slowly, he slid inside of her. 

The stretch was painful, but felt so good. “Too much,” she whined.

He only laughed, inching further inside her. “I think you can take a bit more, right?” He teased. She nodded obediently, and he thrusted all the way inside her.  He groaned as he slipped fully inside, his face growing hot. He fit beautifully in her cunt, stretching her enough to make her eyes water. His hands encircled her love handles and thigh, squishing her flesh. 

His muscular chest slid against the small of her back as he moved his hips. His arms flexed, his grip on her tightening by the second. “That’s it,” he grunted, slapping her ass. He slightly lifted her other leg up, her body now fully off the ground. She felt so small in his arms, like his little doll, his little plaything to fuck. “take my fucking cock,” 

She squeezed her eyes closed at the pleasure. She arched her back against him, gasping at the new angle he thrusted at. He hit her g-spot, and she unsubconsciously clenched around him, swallowing him even more. She felt her stomach feel weird, and she felt his cock twitching inside her. 

His hand reached to her stomach, lightly pressing down. He felt himself moving, smiling at how deep he was inside her. 

“Can feel me ripping you apart, baby.” 

She moaned in response. 

Wet, lewd noises filled her ears. Tears rolled down her cheeks as he continued to pound into her. It was too much for her, he was too big, too thick. She knew for sure she wouldn’t be able to walk tomorrow. 

“Yeah, oh fuck yeah,” he moaned, speeding up his pace. “‘M getting close,”

Her head threw back, and she opened her mouth at the speed of his pace. No one else would ever make her feel this good, and the fucker knew it. She reached behind her to rest her hand on his hips, lightly squeezing. “I’m gonna, gonna,”

He nodded frantically as he threw his own head back. He was fully pressed against her back, pushing her roughly against the wall. He rolled his hips into her, his hold on her small thighs slowly growing weaker and weaker. He looked at the hand that still rested on her belly bulge, and that was it for him. He came, and he came hard. He spewed inside of her, already feeling his liquid slide out of her. She didn’t finish, but she was satisfied. She only wanted to be a little fucktoy for Ethan. No regards to her needs, only his. 

He whimpered, pulling out, and immediately the white liquid rolled down her thigh. “Fuck,” she whispered watching it drip out of her cunt. Ethan’s forehead was pressed against her shoulder, his chest rising up and down.

“Next time,” he panted, then smiled. “I’m gonna tie you up,”

[kawoala]

I saw you wanted requests, went "I have so many!!", opened ask box.... brain goes blank. Basic ass rq incoming. College au perhaps? Tsukishima Kei who is nicer to you than most people but that still seems like he barely tolerates you. One day you overhear him (how? Girl idk <3) telling his friend(s) that he does wanna ask you out but he doesn't really know you or wtv and he thinks it's just friendly talk between you. Then you have to figure out what to do with this because omggggggg. I just love accidental confessions, I believe in you

𝐊𝐄𝐈 𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐀 cinnamon roll word count ; (919) content warning ; (accidental confessions, study buddies, flustered tsukishima, best friend! yamaguchi)

Tsukishima Kei is an enigma of a man. He walks around the campus, wearing those stupid, muted blue headphones, eyes dead set on his destination. He doesn’t talk to anybody, doesn’t stop for the dozens of people searching for signatures for baby seals, doesn’t even acknowledge that other people also attend this university.

And then he gets to his Art History class and all of that nonchalant aura is washed away by the carefree smile on your face. He even smiles back at you.

“Hi, Tsukki!” You greet through a mouthful of food, moving your things from the seat designated for him. He sits down and you push a pink box towards him, wiggling your brows. “How’s your morning been? I brought an extra cinnamon roll just in case it was bad. But I also brought it ‘cause you’re my favorite person in the world.”

He looks at the box suspiciously, eyes narrowed, then looks up at you. You almost start to sweat under his gaze. Finally, he shakes his head and takes the box. “You forgot to do the homework, huh?”

You jut your bottom lip out, putting your chin in your hand, elbow on the desk. “You didn’t have to say it like that,” you pout. You pause, then let your head drop down to the desk with a groan. “I had a really busy night, I swear. I had work and then my roommate wanted to— okay, that’s not the point.” You look back up at him and give him your best attempt at puppy dog eyes. “Please give me the homework, Tsukki. I’m dangerously close to failing this class.”

You know and Tsukishima knows that ‘dangerously close to failing’ means that you’ve gotten one grade below a ninety percent and you definitely freaked out over it.

“Mhm, I’m sure.” He rolls his eyes, but pulls his laptop out to pull up the necessary items that you need for the homework. “You know, you could just ask me for help, rather than copying off of me all the time.” He turns the laptop towards you, answers pulled up on the screen.

You perk up at this, homework already long forgotten. Leaning towards him, you smile widely. “Are you serious, Tsukki? You’d be saving my life, probably.”

“Not your life, but your education, for sure.” 

Later that night, as you’re getting ready to meet Tsukishima at the library, you can’t help the buzz of excitement that runs along your skin. You don’t know why, but you’ve always felt a pull towards him. As soon as he sat down next to you on that first day of class, you knew he wasn’t just going to be that blonde kid from your Art History class.

Thankfully, the library isn’t too far from your dorm. It takes less than five minutes to get there. When you walk in, you’re as quiet as possible. You realized a long time ago that college kids and libraries don’t mix, so you try to go easy on the probably overworked librarians.

Today, Sheila is working. She gives you a smile and points to a corner of the library, where you see a blonde head of hair. He’s not facing towards you, so when the bright idea of scaring him pops into your head, you smile wickedly.

As you tiptoe towards him, you can hear him talking. His phone is up to his ear. Who makes a phone call in a dead silent library?

“No shit, Tadashi. Have you seen her ex-boyfriends? They’re, like, pure muscle. And they’re all tall.” He pauses, then scoffs. “Yeah, I know I’m tall. No, that’s not the point. I just—” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I’m an asshole, right? Don’t answer that. I just mean that I’m not her type.”

You tilt your head curiously. You wonder who he’s talking about— you hope he’s talking about you. A knot of jealousy festers in your stomach.  Your smile falls and you take a step back. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Yeah, she’s on her way right now. No, Tadashi, I’m not going to ask her out. Why? Because I don’t have a humiliation kink, that’s why.”

You blink a couple times. You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up, spilling out of your mouth involuntarily. You smack a hand over your mouth just as Tsukishima whips his head around to look at you.

For a long, drawn out moment, you’re quiet.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Um, long enough?” You provide, shrugging with a smile. “I didn’t know the Tsukishima Kei could have a crush on someone.”

You can see his face get red. “That’s— I just— You’re—”

“Oh my goodness, relax,” you giggle out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I like you too. And, if you were to ask me out, I might just say yes.”

“I hate you.” He turns around and puts his head in his hands, groaning.

You skip around the table and sit across from him. “You like me. You like me so much it makes you dumb. You like me so much that you told your best friend.” You laugh again and lean forward, trying to catch his eyes. “Do you wanna go out with me, Tsukishima?”

His eyes dart to yours, brows furrowing. “You can’t ask me that. I’m supposed to ask you that.”

[enimsiyobeht]

2min; lm (& their kinks). 3.5/4!🐇🐕

minors do not interact! kinks stated per imagine.

LEE MINHO. brat taming, ass kink, flexibility/manhandling. (ineedhimineedhimineedhimineedhimineedhim).

minho's a brat, so you have to tame the brat! 😽😽 (beat the shit out of him)

You were working on your laptop. Minho lay across your bed like he owned it—shirt too big, boxers dangerously short. Every few minutes, he’d sigh dramatically, stretch just a little too far, hips rolling lazily against the mattress.

“You okay?” You asked without looking up.

“Mmhm,” Minho hummed, legs kicking idly in the air. “Just bored.”

You typed. Focused.

Minho rolled onto his stomach, letting the hem of the shirt ride up his thighs. “You’re working too hard, hyung. Don’t you wanna play with me instead?”

Your eyes flicked up. Paused. Then went back to the screen.

Minho smirked.

Five minutes later, he was bent over the edge of the bed, ass swaying subtly to whatever song he’d queued up. “Oops,” he giggled, pretending to look for something under the bed. “Dropped my lip balm.”

You didn’t even blink. “Min.”

“Yes, hyung?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Minho blinked innocently, standing slowly, tugging his shirt down with exaggerated sweetness. “I’m just stretching.”

Your jaw flexed.

Minho strutted over, slid into your lap sideways, one leg curling across his thigh. “Are you mad?”

“No.”

“Then why won’t you touch me?” Minho pouted, pressing close, breath warm against your jaw. “I’ve been so patient…”

You didn’t answer.

Minho leaned in further, lips grazing your ear. “Or maybe I should find someone who will.”

That was it.

Your chair scraped back sharply. In a flash, Minho was flipped and pinned to the bed, wrists above his head, eyes wide.

“Say that again,” You growled.

Minho bit his lip, smug for half a second—until You gripped his chin, forcing eye contact.

“I said say it again.”

Minho exhaled shakily. “I… I was just teasing.”

“Exactly.” You leaned down, your voice low, dangerous. “You want my attention so bad, you’ve been flaunting yourself like a little slut all afternoon. Now you’ve got it. Let’s see if you can handle it.”

Minho squirmed, suddenly breathless. “Yes, hyung…”

Your lips brushed his cheek. “You’re not walking straight tomorrow.”

Minho moaned.

"minho likes ass, well i like ass too. together, we can both like ass, we're ass enjoyers." - chae.

Minho strutted to the bed slowly, putting on a show. He knew what he had—an ass that looked sculpted for sin—and he wasn’t shy about it.

“You’re drooling, hyung,” he teased over his shoulder, hands on his hips. “You wanna touch?”

“I want to bite,” You growled.

You did exactly that—grabbing Minho from behind, pressing him face-first into the mattress, lips marking the swell of his ass, hands gripping tight. “You walk around like this and expect me to behave?”

Minho gasped as You spread him open, running a hand down the curve. “I like when you lose control.”

You hummed. “Then let me show you how much I appreciate this perfect ass of yours.”

And You did—tongue, fingers, slow grinding thrusts that had Minho begging, shaking, nearly incoherent.

minho's a dancer, dancers have flexibility, so therefore minho has flexibility. (this was either a math formula or a fallacy, maybe both)

“You’re too damn bendy,” You panted, sweat dripping from his jaw.

Minho grinned through moans. “You love it.”

You didn’t respond—just pulled him deeper, deeper, until Minho was folded nearly in half, gasping with every thrust.

You gripped Min’s waist tight, slamming into him with the kind of control only a man who knew exactly what he was doing could deliver. Minho’s toes curled, his fingers clutched the sheets, and his mouth fell open around your name.

“You like being used like this?” You rasped, lifting Min easily and flipping him onto his stomach without pulling out. “Like being tossed around?”

Minho whimpered. “Yes, yes, hyung, please—”

You bent low, voice in his ear. “I’ll fuck you in any position. All night. Until that bratty mouth of yours is nothing but moans.”

Minho came undone a minute later, wrecked and pliant, too blissed out to mouth off anymore.

You smirked, kissing the back of his neck. “Finally quiet.”

(previous) | (next part)

[madamechrissy]

Take me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is 28-29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. (Fingering, phone sex, texting nudes, tension in this chap)

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 10k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU (If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓)

<<<Chapter 3- Masterlist - Chapter 5>>>

Chapter 4

The next day, you’re dressed to kill, in a cute little black dress that hits just above your knees, a little houndstooth pattern blazer and some fancy heeled boots, hair put up in a bun. Maki is out there with you as you wait for Gojo, you had finally gotten a chance to fill her in, and Yuta is there too. They both have their mouths open when you come out and greet them.

“Damn, business woman here!” Yuta says, and you hug him, grinning. Then you turn to Maki.

“I’m lesbian now.” You snort in laughter, hugging her too.

“You took my girl!” Yuta pouts, then Maki gives him a head pat. Your heart aches a bit at how open they can be, while you…

What even were you and Gojo?

“Thanks, you two! I wanna leave a good impression. It’s such a serious case.” You nervously check your phone, it’s a little before eight AM.

“I still gotta see this to believe it. He was so young looking. Then again… Professor Geto is too and he’s so hot.”

“I’m getting really jealous over here.” Yuta is pouting again, you both hug him on either side. “Never mind now I have two hot girls.”

“See!” You kiss his cheek as does Maki, then you see it, that damn sleek expensive sports car.

“Fuck that’s nice.” Maki murmurs, then Gojo pulls up, windows down, grinning as he leans back in the seat, throwing a peace sign at the two of them.

“Hey there stranger.” He says to Maki with a wink, and you watch her blush, pink on her cheeks, Maki blushing? How? “And are you the boyfriend?”

“Yuta. Are you the hot professor?” Gojo throws his head back in laughter, and now it’s your turn to blush.

“One of them.” Maki says. Gojo’s mouth drops, hand to his chest.

“How dare you! I’m the prettiest professor there is.” You all snort in laughter as Gojo steps out now, coming around to open your door. Maki is squealing in your ear now.

“A gentleman huh?” She whispers, you arch a brow as you look at him, in that damn black suit, and you just can’t get over how good he looks, you notice his tie just a smidge crooked. It’s the only thing that isn’t perfect about him today, but it’s something you’ve noticed and now it’s endearing.

“Not a gentleman, trust me.” You whisper back, and Gojo turns from shaking Yuta’s hand to lean toward you two, hands in his pockets.

“Aw, talking about how hot I am?” He says with a wink, and you both roll your eyes. Maki pushes up her glasses.

“He’s kinda a dick huh?”

“I heard that you know!” Gojo very maturely sticks his tongue out at her, and she does it back, you just shake your head.

“See you all tomorrow!” You say then, and they both hug you, waving at Gojo and then running off to class. You’re left standing alone with him now, looking up at his lush white hair, looking extra soft and shiny. Your fingers itch to touch it.

He looks at you too then, up and down. “ Brat , you’re looking so damn good today. You’re giving me a run for my money.” He says with a smug smirk, his hand reaching out to take yours for a brief moment, before inclining his head for you to come sit in the car.

“Thank you, Gojo, I was trying to look professional. Here.” You stand a little closer, fixing his tie just a bit, and then there was so much… goddamn tension… as he just stands there, watching you with those azure eyes, lips parted just so.

“Thanks, Miss Brat.” He murmurs, and you manage a little half turn of your lips, acting like being near him didn’t tear you apart, didn’t make you overheat just touching his damn tie.

“Of course. Ready?” He grins, nodding, then he’s shutting the door and sliding in the seat next to you, as you prepare to drive you fiddle with your phone, so much left unsaid between you both, as vivid memories of him…

Getting you off better than any toy with two fingers?

Yeah.

“Should just nickname you thighs.” You turn to him in confusion, and he’s looking at you, squirming. You moan in annoyance.

“I can’t help them!”

“They’re also really nice. Making me a leg man over here.”

“Oh stop.” 

You giggle as his hand brushes your thigh for just a moment, hating how damn comfortable you felt with him. You take his hand off, but you hold it for just a minute, running your thumb down his knuckles, and you feel his hand tense in yours, as you study his long elegant fingers. Then you sigh and let it go reluctantly, putting it back on his gear shift.

“That was… nice.” He says curiously, and you ache to touch his hand again, but it wouldn’t stop there, would it?

But the way he says it, so vulnerable and soft?

Fuck.

“Your fingers are demonic, you know.” He snorts at that, and the mood is lightened, but you may or may not have brushed his hand a few more times as you all drive, every time he puts a hand back, like some little game, until he snatches your hand up and kisses it.

You bite back the little whine in your throat of pleasure of just how good his lips feel brushing against you, just staring at him with your lips parted, with glazed over eyes, his perfect jawline and his profile just kill you. The cut of his hair in the back? Kills you. Full lips that perk up in the corners? Kill you.

“You really need that picture, brat. Go ahead, take one I don’t mind.” He shoots you a wink, and you flush. “Pink is so pretty on you!”

“Gojo!”

“Especially your pink-”

“Gojo!” He snorts laughing, and that sweet little moment is gone, but it’s good, you can breathe now, as you cross your arms and act affronted. But, really you’re not at all. You peek back over after it calms down and you both are just listening to music and driving, and again, it’s comfortable. So comfortable.

“It’s your time to shine today, well, in the background but those phone records did come in, and they came in clutch.” You grin, wide, and he smirks at it. “You’re getting off to law, such a nerd.”

“Says you!”

***

You and Gojo sit next to each other in court again, and the anticipation lights the room up, the tense prosecution, and goofy, happy Gojo sit in sharp contrast with each other. Gojo is kicked back, relaxed as the prosecution questions the next witness, who is growing ever nervous, and Gojo is just chewing on candy and smirking.

“Enjoy the show, baby girl.” Gojo murmurs, you just admire him, tilting your head and smiling at him.

The phone records had come in, and now Gojo is strutting over to the stand, handing them to the judge with a smirk. “Heya Judge, good morning.” He shoots her a grin, and the stern judge laughs at that a bit, before growing serious.

“Good morning Mr. Gojo.”

“If it pleases the court, or should I say, the lovely Judge .” Gojo’s fan girls are swooning, you roll your eyes. “We’d like to submit these records into evidence, and question the previous witness again regarding their credibility and any potential tampering of evidence.”

The judge looks over the records, her eyes scanning them intensely before she nods, and calls the witness back in from yesterday, and you can see the prosecution’s faces drop when she agrees. They approach the bench, then huff away, fuming and just down right dejected.

The witness, Miss Saito, is called back up, looking so nervous, while Gojo? He is calm, cool, and collected, perfectly at ease, as he questions her about the night again. Her eyes nervously dart around the room, to the jury, and he’s so calm, you can’t even imagine being like him. He’s really something.

Then, he hits her with it, the gap of missing time from the phone records, and she starts stammering, sweating.

“Miss Saito, can you tell us about the phone call you made that night?” Gojo asks sweetly, as if he’s not interrogating, no he’s just caressing everyone with that deep timbre of his.

“Well… I-I was worried about my friend, so I called her to check in, but she didn’t answer. Then, I just… I hung up quickly.” She says, trying to play it cool.

“Ah, but, the records show no call was made to said friend at that time. In fact, it shows no calls at all. Did you perhaps delete something from your call history?” The room goes dead silent. “Accidental nude?” He says with a wink. You struggle to cover your laughter, the court fails.

“Objection!” Prosecution yells.

The Judge tries to hide her smirk. “Sustained. Mr. Gojo, please, refrain from asking about nudes.”

“Sorry, so sorry.” He brushes his hair back, turning and winking at the enamored jury. “Did you delete something, Miss Saito?”

You watch as she turns a little paler, her hands shaking as they fidget in front of her. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe it’s a mistake?”

Gojo smirks, turning to the jury. “A mistake hmm? I think it’s more than a mistake, don’t you all?”

The prosecution jumps up, looking like they’re about to have a meltdown. “Sit down, I don’t want to hear another objection.” The judge leans forward on her hands, looking intently at Gojo’s show.

“N-no, I don’t remember deleting anything! I didn’t see…” She’s about to cry, you can tell, and Gojo sighs, coming to lean his hands across the bench, handing her a tissue box.

“I didn’t ask you if you saw something, Miss. Did I?” The courtroom gasps at that. “Hmm, did you see something? Perhaps you saw… the real killer?”

“Objection!” The prosecutor is sweating now, and the court room erupts, as they try to object, but Gojo’s got the room.

“The truth will make you feel better, love.” He says to the young lady there, and she just falls apart then.

“Maybe I… I…” She looks at the accused, who is emotional clearly. “I hated you and wanted to ruin you! And… also…. Someone paid-”

“Your honor, he is leading!” Comes the prosecution.

“I’m not leading, I’m just letting her speak her truth. It wasn’t you, the killer, was it?” She shakes her head. “Go ahead, get it all out.” He leans his back against the bench, sighing.

“No, I would never… but I… he was cheating with those whores so of course I… I…” She’s sobbing, hiccuping, and everyone in the courtroom, including you, are in utter shock. You didn’t know that this would even develop so much. Then suddenly you feel it, his excitement, clear across the room.

“That call was to the person who really killed her, isn’t it?” She shivers, nodding then, and you lean forward, fucking fascinated.

“And who was that, that terrible person who’s so manipulated you. You just were in love you know.” He purrs the words, seducing everyone in that damn room, then and there. “Go ahead, let everyone know.”

She starts going at it then, spilling so much information, that they try to object her talking, which was pretty hilarious, you get some really odd thrill from it all. You watch as she practically runs off the stand, and Gojo sits down next to you, leaning back in his chair, looking over at you with a grin, then he hands you a piece of candy, and you giggle.

“Professor Gojo, bravo.” You whisper, he chuckles softly.

His hand moves up your thigh, under your skirt, and you bite your lip to keep from gasping. His touch is electric, and you're torn between the thrill of the case and the desire to jump him right there in the middle of the courtroom mixing together. You hesitate, but you brush the back of his hand with your fingertips, and your eyes meet, his darkening.

“Good work, Miss Brat, you absolutely helped.” He murmurs, and squeezes your thigh gently, it feels so delicious that you struggle not to make a noise. The man barely touches you and you fall apart, pathetic is what he makes you… and…

The praise from him? Fuck it gets you.

The deliberation begins, and everyone disperses, waiting for the call back. You and Gojo grab lunch, him taking you to get yummy Ramen, then you head back and wait in the little office. You're studying your books because you honestly needed to, and Gojo is going over everything with the client and the D.A. He comes back then, shutting the door and looking over at you.

“Such a good girl.” The way he says it makes you squeeze your thighs and your teeth clamp on your lower lip. “Ooh, you like that huh?”

“Hush. I can't let my studies slip.” You cross your legs now, struggling not to shift under his bright blue gaze. “You really are amazing at this though, Satoru.”

He preens under the praise and you can't help but smile as he does a twirl, holding his face. “Aw shucks, thank you shnookums!”

“The fuck, you're so goofy.” He laughs, coming to stand by where you're sitting in the office chair, so tall that your head is damn near at his lap, making your mouth dry.

“You're boring. Need to have more fun.” He snatches your textbook, you scowl, standing and jumping, he just grins with those fangs and eyes your chest. “Love to see those bounce.”

“Oh God, don't even.” You feel yourself heat up, trying to yank his arm down and get your book. “Gojo I have school you know!”

“I do, I'm your teacher. Fuck the thought of you in a naughty school girl outfit-”

“Hush!” You slam a hand on his mouth as he practically purrs against your hand. You struggle to not laugh, keeping a firm look on your face. “Be good.”

“Yes mommy.” He pouts and gives you big eyes. You laugh then, nearly snorting, then sigh.

“You're ridiculous. Now give me my book, please?”

“Gimme a kiss. Then you get it.” You tremble when he holds his arm high with the book, then the other wraps around your waist, hand burning your skin through your blazer.

“Satoru… when we're back at school Monday, like… it'll be…”

“Yeah, I'll be rock hard looking at your fuck me eyes across my classroom.” His hand brushes down your waist, desire pools between your thighs. “Hard wanting to fuck you in that dorm and make it impossible for you not to scream and let everyone know.”

“Gojo…” You whisper, pathetically.

“Fuck you so good you won't think of anything else.” He whispers those words against your lips, seductive, and you come closer, holding the lapels of his jacket now, pressure in your tummy at the thought. “Can't though, huh?”

“Can't. Bad idea.”

“Terrible idea.”

“Shit idea.”

You both pause, in an office of a courtroom trial, the biggest in years, and you lean up, tilting your chin, your eyes lock. His mirror the desire in yours, pretty face tense, perfect brows low over those eyes. He eases his arm down, then you kiss him, tongue sliding against his lips, pressing in, and the book chatters to the floor.

He moans into your mouth, hands gripping your hips, thumbs pressing in, hands so big they own you. You come up to hug his neck, falling into those kisses, the ones you constantly crave, until he has you pressed on the door, lifting you so effortlessly, hands cupping your ass and shoving up your skirt.

You gasp for a breath when he finally let's you pull away slightly, and Gojo's blue eyes are dark with lust, and he smirks at your reaction, his hand not moving from your ass, just holding you, pressing against you, making you want to grind against him for friction you crave.

"Can't resist me, can you brat?" He whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

“Conceited, arrogant…” But even as you say the words, you lean back into him, your body betraying you, hips pressing up for more.

"Mm, but you want it, don't you baby?" He murmurs, his thumb tracing circles on the bare skin of your neck, coming to wrap your throat, a threat of choking that makes you throb. He presses his weight against you, until it's all him. "I can feel it.”

You exhale, a shaky breath, then as he's inching his hand up your thigh, just watching you, a knock comes, right against your back. You tense, and Gojo just shushes you, easing you down off the door, straightening your dress.

“Yep, what is it?” He asks, so casually, picking up your book.

“Twenty minutes.” Comes the bailiffs voice.

“Perfect, thanks.” You let out a held breath, bending over dramatically. He laughs at you. “Hurting hmm?”

“Nope, just fine.” You take the book out of his hands, lips tingling, then Gojo pauses you.

“Let me fix your hair.” You blink a bit, then nod, and he puts the bobby pins back in place. “Bun got messy.”

It feels so good, his fingers in your hair, caring for you…

Fuck.

“Thank you, Satoru.” You murmur, and his hands are on your shoulders as he is behind you, leaning low, breath on your ear.

“Why are we always on time limits? It makes me so competitive with the clock.” You tremble. “Should I see how many times you can cum in-”

The door knocks again.

Gojo cusses under his breath. “Yep?”

The door opens and he lets go of your shoulders, you pretend to look at the book as the D.A. comes back in and talks to Gojo. By the time he leaves, deliberation is almost over, and you look back up at him. He moans, coming and cupping your face.

“The fuck me eyes kill me. Stop it.” You flutter your lashes as you look down, flushing. “Do you blush everywhere, Miss Brat?”

“You're ridiculous!” You hiss, he just grins, eyes lingering on your chest.

“You blush here.” His fingertips trail down the hint of cleavage, making your nipples press against your bra, straining the fabric. You cry out unwillingly, slamming your mouth shut then. But it's too late.

“Gojo we can't…”

“Could I get you off in three minutes?” You cover your face, sighing, then look back up at him.

“Could I do it?” You murmur, and he freezes, eyes wide and glittery, mouth open in an O.

“ Could you ? Have you even…” You're heating up more.

“No, I haven't but… you've pleased me and… it would be… I'm curious… I …”

You're just stammering and looking down, he kneels then, in front of you, holding your chin, tilting it up to look at him. “The thought of that is alone making me fucking precum, mmkay?”

“It is!?” You look right at him, he smirks a bit.

“I think we'll wait though. Till I'd have time to show you how.” You melt then, when his hands go to your face, cupping each side so delicately. Like you're precious.

“But back at school… what if we have no… fuck I'm being bold. Ugh. And making no sense.”

“I like it. This side of you.” He presses a soft kiss on your reddened lips, then sighs. “You know sucking my dick won't help your grades though.”

“Fuck off, Professor Dickhead!” You shove at him, he snorts in laughter, throwing his head back, you huff, smoothing your dress and struggling to function. Before you step out he takes your wrist. “What?”

“With words you've made me more turned on than anyone could. Just words.” You look at him in shock.

“What… I… Satoru you're so gorgeous I don't even get why-”

“Don't even say why I'd want you I'll get really fucking irritated.” He's glaring now, voice clipped. He's still got your wrist.

“I'm like a frog next to you.”

“I'm the frog. You're the princess. Gotta kiss me.” He purses his lips and you giggle. “You're banging ass hot, so please don't think you're not. I'm picky, too.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” You peck his lips. “My handsome frog.”

“Ribbet.” You giggle uncontrollably as he makes some stupid frog face, then he is laughing with you, hugging onto you. It feels even better than… no not better than his kisses, but so good. “Never say you're not hot again. I'll use a yardstick on that nice ass.”

“A yardstick!?” He grins, maniacally, but the thoughts whirl through your head.

“You're such a freak, you want that huh? Professor Gojo spanking his naughty student’s ass till it's bright fucking red.” He's whispering the words, and before you can lie, it's time to go.

Jesus you are on edge.

You're edged.

The deliberation is over, and you all file into the courtroom, your heart is hammering in your chest. Gojo seems calm, just talking with everyone. When the verdict is finally read, you find yourself holding your breath. They came back with a completely unanimous decision, though. Not guilty.

As all of the charges are read back to back out loud, all not guilty, the courtroom erupts into chaos, the accused's family hugging each other and sobbing, the prosecution looking stunned and furious. Gojo stands, smoothing his tie, his expression calm, like none of this surprised him, his eyes on you for a moment before the family comes to him.

“You saved my son’s entire life, Mr. Gojo. Thank you so much.” The accused dad, the state representative says, shaking Gojo’s hand.

“She helped too, actually. The phone call records.” He exhales, looking at you and grabbing your hand, bowing over it so formally.

“Thank you so much for helping. Bright future, especially working with him, he’s the best.” He smacks Gojo on the shoulder, and Gojo grins, you flush with pride, you've helped someone. It feels so good.

“Of course, I’m so glad I could help at all.”

“And I am so amazing, aren't I?” Gojo nudges you with his shoulders, and you are rolling your eyes, sighing, then look up at him.

“You are.”

As the courtroom clears out, you both pack up your things, your heart racing at such a thrill, and Gojo seems to be literally on cloud nine, damn near bouncing like a kid with way too much caffeine. He says good bye and takes pictures with his never ending fans outside, then you realize it’s getting to be evening, the sky casting a pretty dark orange glow.

Gojo takes his jacket off, and you smile. “I have a blazer, Satoru, I’m fine.”

He wraps you in it anyway, carefully, and you inhale it, wishing you could just live in any of Gojo’s jackets. He holds your shoulders carefully, looking at you with those big blue eyes. “You look really cute in it.”

You melt.

He sees it, he’s observant.

“I do?” You ask softly, and he nods, as you two stand together, the last people are filing out down the stairs, the wind blows his soft hair around, and you brush it back, watching his eyes shut for a moment.

“You always look cute, Miss Brat.” He teases a bit, after damn near brushing his head against your hand for more.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

On the car ride home you struggle to stay awake, exhausted, until you somehow wake up back at your dorm, drool out the side of your mouth landing on Gojo's expensive jacket.

“Shit, I'm so sorry! I'm always ruining your clothes.” He gently wipes your lips, leaning close, as you blink the sleep away.

“I'd like to make you drool.” He says softly, and you cry out, when his hand is on your thigh, squeezing.

“Satoru… we're… at my dorm. I can't… what…”

“Poor baby can't speak can she?” You manage a glare, yanking off his jacket.

“Fuck off, Professor Dickhead.”

“Didn't you offer to suck me off today?”

“I… you…” He's chuckling at you now. “Ugh, annoying!”

“Thought you were so eloquent, hmm…”

“I'll see you in class Monday.” You manage, and go to leave, he stops you, taking your hand.

“Any plans? Wild parties?”

“Me? No. I'll be studying, but Maki did invite me to some frat party. I'm not sure if I'll go.” You rub your tired eyes a bit, gather your things, and watch Gojo's lips turn down. “What's wrong?”

“Promise me you'll be careful if you go?”

Your pulse hammers in your throat, as his eyes glitter in the dark of his car. “Of course I will. I'll… text you? That's weird huh.”

“Just let me know you're good. Some of the Frat parties have… some shitty dudes. Just watch your drinks, okay?”

“That's so sweet actually…”

“Hush, don't tell anyone.” You smile softly, running a hand up and down his chest then.

“Wish you could go and we could be like…” You both pause at that. “Ignore me, fuck I should sleep. I'm saying dumb shit. Good night, Toru.”

At that, he's got a hard grip on your wrists, you wince a bit, looking at him in confusion. He pulls you close, so close you nearly are on top of him in his fancy little car, one of your thighs sound over his, hands on his chest, and you just pause, looking up at him, at the shadows from the city lights shining in on the perfect planes of Satoru Gojo’s face.

“I love when you call me that.” He says softly, and he leans down, lips a breath from yours, tempting you, right in front of your dorm.

“Toru…” You whisper again, knowing what you’re doing. He moans then, and yanks you on his lap, your thighs spread over him, a position you had not even been in with him. You feel him, growing hard right under your cunt, as he shoves your little black dress up your thighs, his hands now on your waist under your blazer. You’re trembling under his touch.

You both sit there, precarious, just breathing, as if both of you know if you kiss it’ll be over, you’ll be riding your Professor’s cock then and fucking there. You can’t even form a coherent thought as he presses up then, against your soaking wet little pussy, and you grind back, pressing your hips down and crying out. His eyes never left yours, just drinking you in.

“Should I give you something to think about, when you’re getting hit on by frat boys tomorrow?” He whispers, pulling you down again, and you feel how thick he is, how huge even under his dress pants. You cry out pathetically.

“Why, you jealous, Toru ?” You whisper, leaning closer, and he glares then, grabbing your hips and pulling you down hard, arching his own hips up, to where he’s between your puffy, slick folds now. “Ah!”

“You won’t want them, will you?” He whispers, against your lips, not kissing you but shoving you down on his clothed cock, making you soaked. “Say it, brat, that you won’t want anyone.”

“Why do you… care… mnh!” You’re lost in the sensation, grinding against him without even realizing it. His hands are everywhere, pushing up your skirt, exploring the smooth skin of your thighs, and you're so wet, so desperate for him, that you can't help but whimper, just a breath from his lips.

"Aw you want it so bad, don’t you baby?" He whispers, his voice full of smug satisfaction. "You want me to fuck you right here. So fucking desperate for my cock."

“No… I… mmm…” You hiss when he chuckles darkly, his hands moving up, cupping your breasts, as he pushes up again, teasing you with his lips.

“Still a shit liar, Miss brat. Say it, and I’ll get this pretty pussy off.” You get wetter, hotter at the thought, and watch him grin as you’re rocking your hips for more. “Soaking my pants, Miss Brat.”

“I… like to ruin… your clothes… ngh…” You can’t form a single coherent word, and he feeds off it, pouting up at you, mocking.

“I… like… to… grind on your dick, Toru! Mmm!” He mocks the fuck out of you, and you glare, shoving at him, trying to get your throbbing cunt off him.

“Fuck you, Professor Dickhead. Let me go.” He laughs again, softly.

“Admit you want it, Miss Brat. Me to make you cum, like only I ever have.” At his words you’re flushed, overheated, his grip won’t let you go, and you get dizzy in the car, realizing just what you all were doing.

“Satoru…”

“Toru.”

You exhale then, holding his face in your hands, lips hovering over his. “We’re being stupid and reckless, Toru.”

He grins. “Aw, baby, you just can’t admit it huh? Maybe I should ask her…” He runs a thumb over your panties, sticky and wet, dripping with desire. “She seems to like me more than you do.”

“She’s dumb. Mmm!” You clutch his shoulders as he grinds up on you, while shoving his thumb up on your clit, blue eyes wide and dilated, lips tempting you, glossy and full, you want so badly to let go, to give your pussy what she wants.

“Does she want me?” He asks, softer, you nod, and he yanks his hand away, leaving you breathless, confused. “I need you to use your words. Coherent words, Miss Brat.”

“Ugh!” You bend down then, pressing your cunt against his cock, watching him suck in a breath, hands going in his soft hair, yanking it back, making him look up at you for just a change. “I won’t be fucking around at this party, okay? I wouldn’t… I don’t want to.”

He pulls you down, lips taking over yours then, mouth just possessing yours, sloppy, messy kisses, tongues licking and teeth bumping, moaning into each other’s mouths. That all consuming fucking kiss, the one that you could never get enough of, rushing straight to your cunt that’s dripping more on him.

“Only want me, hmm?” You nod, helpless, unable to lie to him. “Say it, and I’ll get this perfect pussy off.”

“We can’t… here… we shouldn’t even be doing this right now.” Your voice breaks in the middle when he presses again, making you hiss at how bad you’re aching, eyes rolling back, and damn near ready to drool again at the sensations. Then you’re kissing again, and he lifts your hips up and slides two fingers in you at once, stretching you out, filling your aching little hole.

“Feel her, pulsing around me already.” He whispers, and the car gets too hot, hard to breathe with how much you want him, your cunt is drooling down his hand, as he tilts his fingers now.

“Want you, I want you. Want you…” Is all you manage, then you’re unbuckling his belt, surprise on his face for a brief moment, and you watch him closely, his face contorting in pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut when you grab his cock.

“ Fuck .” He moans, so sexy, and you’re raised up on your knees now, bending down, your ass on his steering wheel, one of your legs shoved against his gear shift, and all you can think about is that he’s so hot and huge in your hands.

You look down, salivating at the sight, even in the dark you can tell he has a pretty, perfect cock, so goddamn long it’s stupid. You stroke him harder, your hand moving in a rhythm that matches the beat of your insane pulse hammering in your throat, and his grip on one of your hips tightens, his fingers shoving in your cunt deeper, until you see stars, hand faltering for a moment.

“Under pressure, brat, remember?” He whispers, taunting you, and you just buck your hips, riding his fingers, while you swipe your thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the precum around, and he jolts, his hips jerking upwards, pushing his length deeper into your grip. “Jesus… fucking… ”

“Jesus… fucking… can’t talk hmm Toru? Your words .” You taunt now, and he glares at you, as his breathing turns ragged, his chest heaving, and you feel your own arousal spike as you watch him lose control, bringing you even closer to the edge.

“You’re a fucking brat. Can’t wait to fuck this stupidly wet cunt.” He hisses the words, then he withdraws his fingers, bringing you down, until your cunt is pressing against his length.

“Toru!” You cry out, and you nearly fall, pressed against him, he groans when he feels you.

“So hot, so wet. Need it. Need you.” He yanks your panties to the side, then you both freeze, as a car parks right next to yours. You tense, straddling Satoru Gojo’s cock with just your panties as a sad, pathetic barrier of soaked lace. And he freezes, as you both look out the car window.

Someone gets out of what appears to be an Uber, and you pray Gojo’s windows are tinted enough, clinging to him, not breathing. It’s two seriously drunk girls, though, they’re both giggling, leaning and taking selfies, as you and Gojo just fucking sit there, your cunt throbbing, wanting him inside her, and him, so hard he hurts, leaking precum on your panties, making them a bigger mess.

They finally walk in, and he exhales, the same as you, then you both stare at each other, eyes locking, until you’re blushing furiously, realizing what had almost happened. You ease off him, and he winces, adjusting himself back into his dress pants, running a hand through his silky hair. You adjust your skirt, taking a shaky breath and then stepping out.

He’s instantly in front of you, shutting the car door behind you, and you clutch your books tight to your chest, trembling as he bars you, arms on either side of you against his car. You look up and meet his eyes, hungry, a little bit of pink on his perfect cheeks, his lips parted.

“Toru… we’re stupid.” You manage to say, and he smirks just a bit, shaking his head.

“You’re not stupid, Miss Brat. Well… stupidly hot.” He whispers, and you tense, clutching your thighs together, sticky as your wetness soaks you. “Stupidly tight. Stupidly wet.”

“ Toru… stop. ” You’re whining his name and he groans, cupping your face.

“I can’t handle how good that sounds on these gorgeous lips. Got me wanting to lick you on this hood right now. Make you scream it.”

You whimper, resting your head on his chest, holding your books so tight they dig into your arms. The door opens, and Satoru backs off, as another car pulls up as well, and you both catch your breaths, finally having distance. You can't even look at him, at his gorgeous face, a face that makes you forget your entire life, forget everything but how much you crave him.

“I should go inside.” Your voice is shaky, unsure, and he tilts your chin up, making you meet his beautiful gaze.

“If you need me to… if you need anything text me. Call me. Okay?” His voice is a little strained, and you nod, smiling up, lips stinging from his kisses, wishing you could just do it, right here. Let him lick you on his damn hood.

You hurt.

“Thank you, I will be fine though. Promise. I don’t drink much.”

“That’s worse, no tolerance.”

“You worry about me, huh? So soon?” He pouts a bit, standing straight then, hands in his pockets. You watch the wind whip his hair around, so gently, he looks so beautiful there, it makes your chest tighten. “Will you miss me all weekend?”

“You wish. Brat .” He rolls his eyes, and you smile softly, giggling a bit, earning his glare. “Won’t miss you at all, less of a headache. And less of my cock in pain.”

“I was gonna…”

“Yeah.”

You both damn near jump each other again, then you take his hand gently, enwrapping your fingers with his. He looks down at where they’re joined, bringing your hand up to his lips, kissing it, making you melt.

“Good night, Toru. I’ll see you Monday in class.” You mumble, blushing at the thought of that.

“Night, Miss Brat.” He mumbles back, and you run off practically, struggling to put distance, to get air between you two. You peek over your shoulder, and see him leaned against the car, hand over his face, and you realize…

Satoru Gojo wants you.

How, you can’t quite fathom.

Damn near as much as you want him.

His eyes look at you and you turn and run into the building, like some silly teenager, you can’t handle him looking at you like that, like he wants to eat you. You’re stripping, as is your new routine, hopping in the shower, because you honestly just can’t anymore, you can’t take how bad you want him.

You’ve never wanted something like that, and you both were dumb enough you were about to fuck right in front of your dorm. Oh, and his cock? The biggest and prettiest you'd seen…

Fuck.

***

"Come on, it's just one dance." The guy behind you urged, his breath hot and icky against your ear. He was honestly cute, and you all had talked just a bit, but the thought of it?

“I don’t dance, I’m sorry.” You say, nervously, looking around at the dancing sea of bodies, feeling the loud bass ringing in your ears.

His hand rested gently on the small of your back, on the outskirts of the crowded college party. “I could teach you?”

Gojo had taught you.

Remembering being in his arms nearly broke you, and you tremble thinking about it, about how much you crave him, how much you wish he could just… date you? Like maybe, when you’re done with school, or at least not in his classes, you all could, right, but would he be around, available? Look at how fucking handsome he was, there is just now way.

The thought punches you in the stomach.

You turned to face him, a cute blond guy, his eyes full of hope, and shook your head with a sympathetic smile. "I don't think so, sorry. Nice to meet you though!" You say, and then walk back through the room, until you run right into Maki.

“He was cute, why not dance?” She asks, her green hair was down today, straight, looking gorgeous. You sigh, running your fingers through it.

“I’ll dance with you.” She rolls her eyes, smiling at you.

“Are you pining for hot professor?” She teases, you sigh, rolling your eyes now, shaking your head.

“She’s totally fiending.” Yuta comes, teasing you with a poke. You smack his hand away, sighing.

“I know we can’t… I mean, not now.”

“So you’re what, holding out anther couple years? You’re already like three years dry.”

“Maki!” You glare at her, and she shrugs, walking towards the drink table, grabbing you each a beer. “It’s not like those were good you know.”

“The first time isn’t usually good. I mean, Yuta… he was amazing. Quick though.” She giggles and Yuta glares now.

“That just meant you’re amazing.” She flushes a bit, and kisses him, they were about the same height, both way taller than you. You crave that, but with…

“Ugh, I do have it bad.” You grumble, sipping the beer and grimacing, it was not your drink of choice.

“Listen, at least have some fun. Oooh, beer pong!” Maki bounces up and down, and before you know it, you are actually playing, you end up losing terribly, and you all are going back and forth. It starts hitting you after your third beer, this weird, fuzzy headed feeling.

You are a lightweight, so you back off a bit, and Maki and Yuta go at it with two more of their classmates, laughing as Maki annihilated the boys. You smile, then head towards the bathroom, and by the time you are in there, everything is spinning, and you grow dizzy a bit. You splash a little water on your face, then look down at your phone, contemplating…

You know you shouldn’t, but you’re tipsy.

Your thumbs move almost by themselves, and before you know it, you're typing a message to him, feeling your heart flutter in your chest, looking at the message over and over. Should you? Ugh!

Fuck it.

You: I miss you, Toru.

You freeze, hand on your chest, feeling your heart pounding, thrumming in your ears, overheated. You lean against the bathroom counter, and watch the three little bubbles move. What was he up to, you wonder, what did Satoru Gojo do, when he’s not a lawyer, a professor, a…

Professor Dickhead: You’re tipsy, aren’t you?

You giggle at that.

You: Yeah, a bit. Not gonna lie.

Professor Dickhead: Being safe?

You: Turned down a dude who wanted to dance.

…

Professor Dickhead: Good Girl.

You’re wet now. Great.

You: Wet.

No, did you just…

You: Ignore that!

You panic as he keeps typing, those damn bubbles.

Professor Dickhead: Show me.

Fuck…

You’re trembling, phone nearly falling out of your hand, and you contemplate it, you can’t right? That’s awful It’s making everything worse! No way…

You: What do you mean like… a picture?

Professor Dickhead: Pic, vid, I wanna see her.

You: Scandalous man, wanna see your student’s pussy? While she’s had three beers?

Professor Dickhead: Hmm… you know, I’d ask to finally see those perky tits, but I wanna see them in person first.

You flush.

You: And where are you?

Professor Dickhead: Out with Geto and Nanami. We’re at some fancy martini place and the girls are coming in hoards.

You giggle at that.

You: Bet one of them would show you their pussy, easy.

…

Professor Dickhead: Wanna see yours, though, it’s the prettiest one.

You: Are you rizzing me Gojo?

Professor Dickhead: Do I even have to?

You hop up on the counter then, and your hands shake as you lift your skirts, sliding your panties to the side. Fuck are you doing this? You are, aren’t you? Drunk texting your very hot professor, angling the camera to look at your glistening pussy in the selfie camera, lips puffy from the abuse your vibrator put on it this morning, thinking of him.

You slide your finger between your lips, taking a little video, rubbing up and down once, twice, then you pull the camera up, and lick yourself off your finger. You flush, from alcohol, horniness, and… the thrill, the… you’re nervous? You’ve sent like a titty pic before, but not this.

You hit send, squealing, then hopping off and splashing your face again, hearing someone knock on the bathroom door. You answer it, and it’s Maki, who just stumbles in, along with Yuta, shutting the door. She goes to sit and pee, and Yuta and you just laugh, as she glares.

“What? Like I care. You’re like my boyfriend and my girlfriend.” You sigh, looking back down on your phone, as Yuta looks over at you.

“Oh shit, you’re bright red!” He teases, and you go even redder. “Who ya texting?” Like magic, the sound of an incoming message pops up.

“N-no one!” Maki finishes, washing her hands and peering at your phone, just in time for a text to pop off.

“Professor Dickhead!?”

“Shush!”

“Oh shit, white haired Professor!” Yuta says, peeking too, you hide your phone against your chest. “It was a nude, huh?”

“Shut up you two ugh!” You shove it into your purse then, crossing your arms, chin up in the air. “Was not.”

“Liar!”

That one was in unison.

“That dude is still begging for you. Let’s get home, huh?” Maki says, and you nod, because you want nothing to do with him, with anyone.

You only want…

As you get in the back seat, Maki and Yuta are going at it, and you use the moment of reprieve, seeing that text.

Professor Dickhead: I want to bury my face in that pretty pussy. Drink all that wetness up.

You get wetter, thighs sticking together, and your heart races. You should ignore it. But that’s not what you want, is it? You crave his attention, his touch, his everything. You want him to claim you.

You: Toru… not alone. In a car. Can’t get that horny.

You don’t check the phone until you’re back in your dorm, chugging ice water like crazy and popping two tylenol, preliminarily. You get ready for bed, in your little tank and shorts, brushing your teeth, and it’s not until you actually lay down that you check, it’s like this odd nightly routine now, seeing his texts.

You crave them.

You crave him.

Professor Dickhead: Tell me when you get that nice little ass home safe.

You: I’m home, Toru.

Professor Dickhead: In bed?

You: Mmhmm, bet you wish you were here.

Fuck, this alcohol made you bold.

You: Am drunk. Ignore.

Professor Dickhead: Just makes you speak the truth, brat.

You: Hush. I should sleep.

Professor Dickhead: I’m gonna cum so hard to a five second clip, that it’s actually gonna be embarrassing. Who even am I now.

You feel giddy, it’s as if something so dirty is stupidly romantic.

You: Want me that bad, huh?

Professor Dickhead: You played with that pussy thinking of me last night, didn’t you baby? I can tell.

You: Shut up.

Professor Dickhead: All puffy.

How'd he know!?

You: You’re annoying! Byeee!

He laugh reacts to that message, and you roll your eyes.

He was right.

You: Really gonna masturbate to me?

Professor Dickhead: You act like I haven’t already.

You: What!?

Professor Dickhead: It’s become a nightly routine. Can’t get that perfect pussy out of my mind. Sucks it’s attached to an annoying brat.

You: That’s how I feel about your tongue, so talented, but it’s attached to a six foot four jerk.

He angry reacts that one.

You giggle.

Professor Dickhead: Funny you thought of me at a party, all drunk and getting hit on. And I’m on your mind.

Your heart races at that, at the truth, and Gojo knows how to pull the truth out of you, out of anyone. You did only think of him, you had been since you met, but you couldn’t just say that. Right?

You: My pussy texted you not me.

He hearted that one, making you snort in laughter.

Professor Dickhead: Good, I like her better than you.

You: You’re such a dick.

Professor Dickhead: You like looking at that dick?

You: Shouldn’t you be spending time with your friends?

Professor Dickhead: Didn’t answer me.

You: It’s… pretty and… perfect. It’s huge. You already know it though, don’t need to hear it from me.

Professor Dickhead: Want your mouth on it. Wanna fuck your tight little throat.

You’re gushing wet, you yank off the blanket, whining, covering your face with your hands. Your entire body throbs at his words. Suddenly, it rings, and you freeze, staring at it with wide eyes. Gojo is calling.

“Y-yeah?” You ask, and he’s quiet, you can hear the music and laughter in the background.

“Play with it for me.” His voice is so fucking sexy, especially over the phone, that your hand instantly does as he commands, sliding under your little pajama shorts waistband then, and you cry out. “ Fuck. ”

“I… mmm…”

“Little circles.” He orders softly, and you do so, playing with that swollen little clit, pressing up, imagining his touch. “Wanna drink you up, taste so yummy.”

“I wanna suck you off. Drink your cum.” You whisper then, and hear him curse, something slamming shut. You giggle a bit, then gasp as you slide a finger inside of you, tiny and pathetic. You whine. “Fingers… yours… better, s’much better.”

“You want my fingers in you?”

“Yes, Gojo… fuck…”

“ Toru .” He corrects, biting the words out.

“ Toru. ” He moans softly at it, whispering your name then, urging you on, and you’re close with your own fingers so fast it’s unreal. “ Toru, m’close.”

“Cum for me baby, think of me there, licking it all clean.” He says, husky and quiet, and you start to feel your tummy clenching, and you’re whining, gripping the phone to your ear for more of his breathing. God, even his breathing was so sexy it made you already sloppy pussy wetter. “Let me hear it, baby please.”

“You never… say… please… Toru!” You cry out then, loud as fuck, sounds vibrating in your empty little dorm room, and your hand is now covered in an embarrassing amount of wetness.

“Send a vid of it now. I have to go… you’re making things stupidly hard for me you know.” His voice is gruff, and you giggle, breathlessly.

“You did this to yourself!”

“Send it.”

“Fuck… maybe.”

“Do it and I’ll have a reward Monday.”

“A gold sticker! Professor Gojo!”

“Bye, brat.”

He hangs up the phone, and your damn heart is racing, so fast you think it’ll fall out, there is a ringing in your ears, and your thighs ache. You sigh, then take your phone, spreading your thighs, playing with the soaking mess he made your cunt with a couple of words and some breathing over a call. Then you send it, nervously, before wiping yourself up.

You start to fade out, but you hear a buzz, and jerk a bit, in that stage of sleep where you feel like you’re falling. You bleary eyed look at the screen, and it’s a message from him, from…

Professor Gojo: Prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.

You: Whass gonna be my rward Toruu.

Your eyes cross, so exhausted. He laughs at your response.

Professor Dickhead: Lol, your fingers left the chat.

You: The fingers did too muchh work.

Professor Dickhead: Go to bed, silly, it'll be a surprise.

You: Am bed. G’night Toruu.

Professor Dickhead: Night, pretty.

You fall asleep smiling, hugging the phone.

***

On Monday, your hangover is finally gone, but the aftermath of that night is lingering in your head, as you’re in Professor Nanami’s class, the one right before Professor Gojo. Nanami is a class favorite, as he was so calm and kind, and of course the girls swoon over him and his model cheekbones. You’re a little lost adrift when he calls on you.

“Yes, Professor Nanami?” You ask, and he gives you a little turn of his lips, hazel eyes soft and tired, he looked like he really needed a nap. You flush when you think how he was there, when you were sending Gojo…

Shit. Focus.

"Can you tell us, in your view," Nanami began, his eyes locking onto yours now. "How does the court's interpretation of the Fourth Amendment in this decision impact privacy in the digital age?"

You fumble through your brain, scrolling through all the open windows that were honestly just Gojo, to get to the books of laws you’d been pouring over. Then you find it in your mind. People in the class are watching you, Yuta is in this one, and he gives you two big thumbs up, mouthing ‘you can do it’.

“Well, Professor, the notion of privacy was rooted in physical spaces, before technology advanced so much. And now, there’s really almost nothing that is private with our digital footprint, is there?”

“Indeed, not much is private. But shouldn’t we still strive for it?”

“Of course we should consider the implications for our digital lives. This decision primarily deals with privacy but also, in court cases, it happens at times where you need to see those things. That’s what subpoenas are for.”

He smiles, and at the end of class he pauses you for a moment.

“Yes, Professor Nanami?”

“Heard you helped in that case for Gojo. Good job.” You blush under the calm praise, as the class has filed out, leaving the two of you. Nanami takes his suit jacket off and you catch a glimpse of those action star muscles.

“Thank you so much, I didn’t do that much.”

“Gojo went on and on about you. So, I disagree. It’s not often a little narcissistic idiot compliments someone.” You laugh then, and cover your mouth, but Nanami laughs with you, the first time you've seen him do it, and he looks far too pretty.

What  pact did these three professors make with a demon to look so good, you wonder. A sacrifice surely.

But Gojo?

He talked about you!?

“That’s actually really sweet of him.” Nanami’s eyes narrow a bit, and you tense just a bit.

“Be careful, okay?” He says softly, tone shifting, and you flush bright red, looking around the empty room, stepping a little closer.

“We haven’t…”

“I really don’t wanna know. I’m assuming the worst because it’s Gojo. But where he can get out of anything, your career hasn’t begun. So…” He puts a hand on your shoulder, patting it. “Just be careful.”

“Of course, thank you. I promise I won’t let any studies slip.”

“I wouldn’t think you would. But don’t lose focus. All right…” He unbuttons his wrist sleeves a bit, rolling them up. “Head on out, I have way too many papers to grade here.”

“Of course, have a good day Nanami! I mean, Professor!”

He smirks as he sits down, rubbing his tired eyes. “Nanami is fine.”

You smile shyly then bounce out of the class, shutting the door with a loud click behind you, heart racing. Was your attraction so obvious?

Gojo…

Someone yanks you in a room then, and you hold back a scream, as a big hand comes to cover your mouth, and you look up to those blue eyes, dilated and looking way too intense. So intense you can’t stand it. You blink a bit, and he’s grinning, letting his hand drop.

“Miss Brat. Ready for the surprises?” You giggle breathlessly, before shoving at his chest.

“You’re ridiculous. Scared the fuck out of me.” Nanami’s words run through your mind then. “We need to be careful…”

“I know, that’s why I snatched you up.”

“Like a psycho!”

He waves his hands, then he holds out two bags, one a little black glittery one, like the way he made you when he hit your G spot-

Get it together, damn.

The other was a pretty little white one, also glittery, a bit like Gojo’s silky fucking hair-

Stop it.

“You didn’t have to actually get me anything, I… shouldn’t have even done that, I’m still embarrassed at…”

“Nope. Don’t say it. I have a yardstick.” You feel pressure in your lower tummy then, clutching and unclutching. He just laughs, so fucking gorgeous, throwing his head back. “Freak.”

“You! Heard you were bragging about me hmm?” You caress his chest then, and he tenses, then glares.

“One tiny bit, mmkay?” You grin. “Gonna get a big head.”

“Thank you though… which first?”

“Both are motivational, so they’ll help you succeed.” He’s looking devious, and your heart flips a bit, just what was he up to? “Black or white first?”

“Um… white. Like your hair-fuck!” He chuckles at that, handing you the bag, and you struggle not to blush and tremble under his gaze.

“You’re really cute.”

“Hush.” You gently open the bag, and there is a pretty little white box, long and rectangular. Your eyes meet his, studying your every expression intently. “Gojo, you didn’t have to-”

“Open it, Miss Brat.” His soft, deep tone orders you, and of course you obey, shit you’d do anything when he talks like that.

You gently open it, and it’s a beautiful bracelet, thick rope of silver, with one charm and two big colorful beads, bright blue. You finger the charm delicately, and it’s a charm of the law scales, bright silver. You blink back emotions, looking at it, and then back up at him.

You didn’t have much in the way of parents, and with your lack of boyfriend history, no one had ever gotten you anything like this. You feel tears prick your eyes then, swiping them away and gently pulling it out of the box, struggling to keep yourself together.

“Hey, you okay pretty?” He asks softly, different from his usual teasing tone, and you realize tears are falling.

“It’s so pretty, I don’t… you should have gotten me…”

“It’s motivational. Here.” He takes the clasp, and grabs your wrist, putting it on his chest. “This is because you killed it at court. The more times you excel, I’ll add charms to it.”

“Toru… I…” You’re crying, fuck. He wipes your tears.

“You cryin, brat?” You just nod.

You’re so pretty when you’re crying, those tears flowing down your pretty cheeks, big eyes glittering as you look up at him. You are so small, so open. He’d been dreaming of you constantly, since that random night. Yeah, he’d thought you were beautiful, but when he had kissed you?

Gojo had been with countless women, fuck he’d shared women with his best friend casually, but you? The way you tasted, how wet you get, those eyes after he’d made you cum, it was the most addicting thing. More addicting than candy, Gojo’s only real addiction, you tasted better.

Your hand shakes violently, as the silver bracelet rests on your delicate wrists, and he takes it gently, kissing it, watching your lips part, those fuck me eyes in full force. God, the way you looked at him? It fucked him up, made him want to say fuck everything and fuck you then and there. Keep you well fucked, too, so all these guys he saw look at you would fuck off.

Possessive, he felt possessive, of a girl that he’s not dating. A girl he hasn’t even fucked. A girl with a bright future, that he didn’t wanna fuck up.

But…

For you?

“Toru, no one has ever gotten me anything like this.” He pouts a bit at that, tilting his head, pretty face concentrated on you.

“No one? It’s just a pandora, silly.” He taps your nose, but then he has to swipe more tears. “Not even like…”

“Don’t have a family really.” He pauses, brushing your hair back softly, letting you speak calmly. “And we all know I’m shit at having a life. So no boys.”

“Well, fuck them, anyway. Don’t get so excited. It’s motivation.”

You smile tremulously, hugging him around his waist then. “I love it, Satoru, just perfect. Thank you so much.”

He hugs you back a bit, then taps your back. “You’re welcome. Look all from letting me see a five second tease vid.”

“Satoru!” He snorts in laughter.

“You’re such a crybaby.” He nods to the other bag then.

You were so touched by a bracelet, which was nothing to him, Satoru Gojo was filthy rich, born rich, then busted his ass to get more. But if it wasn’t for the entirety of the situation, he’d have you dripping in diamonds. Fuck, naked, dripping with diamonds, god he needed to see you fully, when and how could you all?

It’s a consuming thought.

You crying was even hotter? Fuck.

“What’s this one?” You hold out a black box curiousy, thicker and bigger, then when you open it, you slam it shut. “Toru!”

He’s grinning like the Joker now, the Mad Hatter, a psycho. “This will be your stressor, keeping quiet and focused when I use it on you in class tomorrow.”

“No! No, no, uh uh!” He just grins wide, and as you’re holding what is literally a vibrator for panties, and he’s wiggling a remote control, you freak out.

“Let’s try it on.”

“Satoru… you psycho…” He’s bending down, on his knees in front of you, and his breath is on your thigh, sliding up your skirt. You fall back, until you’re leaned against the door frame.

“Pressure, Miss Brat. Now… let’s…” Then Satoru Gojo has hooked your panties in his fingers, yanking em down.

What… the fuck were you in for?

Chapter 5

Chapter on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/146269327

[alwayssassydreamer]

Between Two Beasts

inspired by this art

A/N: because of my weird brain that seems to be crushing on these handsome bastards, and the amazing @lxshoxk drawing i got inspired to write this strange combination, sorry this got kinda long if i hadn't stopped myself this would've been even longer Word count over 5k

Plot: you are one of Crocodiles most trusted and loyal agents and been in a relationship with him for some time and when the cross guild meets the red hair pirates you catch sight of shanks' handsome first mate and tease crocodile about how you would love to seduce Beckman and Crocodile giving you the go though not without warning you and soon you find yourself between two dominant beasts

Warnings: kinda "mean" Beckman, teasing, edging, oral (give and receive), voyeurism, p in v, threesome, age gap (or at least that'swhat i had in mind while writing), everything consensual, not proofread, ⚠️ MDNI ⚠️

Characters: Beckman x F!Reader x Sir Crocodile

The Cross Guild’s arrival at the Red Hair Pirates’ territory was nothing short of a spectacle. Buggy and Shanks had already fallen into their usual chaotic banter, their voices carrying across the deck like the echoes of an old married couple. Shanks even managed to drag Mihawk into it all, though the latter tried to pretend he wasn’t involved in any of this.

But you weren’t paying any attention to them.

Your gaze had settled on Benn Beckman, the Red Hair Pirates’ first mate, lounging a short distance away with a cigarette perched between his fingers. He was watching the chaos with lazy amusement, broad shoulders relaxed, an air of quiet confidence wrapped around him like an old, well-worn coat.

Something about him caught your interest maybe it was the way his sharp eyes held intelligence, or the roughness to his features that made him look like he’d seen more than his fair share of life’s ugliness. He was older, rugged, his gray hair slicked-back only making him look more refined.

You took a slow sip of your drink and smirked. “Damn,” you mused just loud enough for Crocodile to hear, tilting your head as you admired Beckman shamelessly. "He's almost as attractive as you"

A scoff beside you. “Hn.”

Crocodile barely looked at you, his cigar resting between his fingers, eyes flicking toward Beckman before settling back on the horizon. Unimpressed.

Your smirk widened. “What? You jealous?”

His gaze slid to you now, sharp and unreadable. “Hardly. You just seem to have a loud mouth.”

"And you love that mouth" you teased.

He took a drag from his cigar, exhaling the smoke in a slow, measured breath though he couldn't hide the small smirk. “Go ahead. See if you can charm him.”

It was a challenge, laced with amusement and something darker beneath the surface.

Your lips curled as you leaned against the railing. “Oh? You think I can’t?”

Crocodile chuckled low, shaking his head. “I think he’d fuck you, sure.” His voice dipped into something dangerous, something possessive. “But you wouldn’t last a day with him AND me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And why’s that?”

“Because you’re blind to what’s beneath that quiet charm.” He tapped ash from his cigar, eyes glinting. “Beckman isn’t what he seems, little flower. You know how bad I can be and that man is just as much a predator - he’s just better at hiding it.”

You blinked, glancing back at Beckman. To you, he looked relaxed, calm perhaps a little amused by Shanks’ antics, but otherwise indifferent. Gentle, even.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Yeah, right. Seems more like you're a little jealous and afraid that I might try something and now you wanna scare me off” you said sheepishly as you turned towards him your finger tracing over his shirt.

Crocodile chuckled again, but this time there was something knowing in it, something that made your skin prickle. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he put his hook under your chin and made you look up to him.

“You think he’s all soft words and charming smirks,” he murmured, “but put him in the right situation, and you’ll see what he’s really like.” He tilted his head, exhaling another slow cloud of smoke. “And trust me, little flower he wouldn’t say no to you.”

The way he said it sent a strange thrill through you. You had never really thought of Beckman that way. Sure, he was attractive, but you hadn’t considered that underneath his laid-back demeanor was something more, something just as dark, just as consuming as what you had with Crocodile.

You turned back toward Beckman, your eyes narrowing slightly in thought.

And then Beckman looked at you.

It wasn’t a fleeting glance. It wasn’t dismissive.

His eyes met yours, steady and unreadable, and for a brief moment, something flickered in them, something that made your pulse quicken, as he gave you an almost knowing smirk.

Crocodile dragged his cigar to his lips as if he could already see the wheels turning in your head.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice laced with amusement. “See for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t last a day with him and me.”

You had laughed, brushing it off. Beckman was attractive, sure, but he wasn’t Crocodile. He didn’t carry that same raw, overwhelming presence, that coiled danger thrumming beneath his skin like an unspoken promise. Beckman was smooth, relaxed, casual in a way that had fooled you into thinking he was just another man who knew how to charm a lady.

So when you made your move with flirty smiles, teasing words, just enough touch to test the waters, you thought you were in control.

Oh but how wrong you were.

You realized it the moment Beckman’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in with effortless strength, his cigarette-stained breath warm against your ear.

“You sure about this, sweetheart?” His voice was slow, deep, amused. But there was something else there, something Crocodile had warned you about.

You felt the shift in the air before you fully processed it. The moment the game you thought you were playing flipped on its head.

Beckman wasn’t chasing.

He was hunting.

Before you could say anything, he had you pinned against the nearest surface, the full weight of his body pressing into yours, not crushing, but holding you exactly where he wanted you. His knee nudged between your thighs spreading them, his hands warm and firm as they pinned yours to the surface behind you.

His grip on your wrists was unyielding, pinning them above your head as he held you in place. Every move you made only reminded you of how much control he had over you. You couldn’t escape his grasp - not even a little.

You gasped, and that damn smirk of his deepened.

“You come looking for trouble, and you find it.”

You shivered, a thrill of something familiar crawling up your spine. This wasn’t the playful seduction you had in mind. Beckman was slow, methodical - patient in a way that made your skin prickle with anticipation. He didn’t rush, didn’t let you pull away, but he also didn’t let you fully catch your breath.

And then, when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, you heard Crocodile’s low, dark chuckle. He sat there like a king his cigar between his lips and a glass of whiskey in his hand as he watched with unconcealed amusement.

“What happened to all that confidence, little flower?” His voice was thick with enjoyment.

Your breath hitched, your face burning as you turned your head, glaring at him. “You—”

Crocodile exhaled a long, slow cloud of smoke, watching the way Beckman’s hands skimmed over your body with practiced ease. “You ignored my warning,” he murmured, voice like silk and sand. “Now look at you.”

Beckman hummed in agreement, his grip tightening slightly as his lips brushed just below your ear.

“I gotta say,” Beckman mused, “I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

The words sent a rush of heat straight to your core, and the smug bastard knew it.

You wanted to reclaim even a sliver of control, but Beckman wasn’t letting you. And Crocodile? He was enjoying this. Shamelessly. He made no move to intervene - not yet. He just sat there, watching, letting Beckman have you for now.

Beckman’s grip on your wrists shifted until only one of his hands held both of yours. His fingers trailed down over your lips and throat, his voice dipping lower. “Still think you can handle me, sweetheart?”

You had walked into this thinking you could seduce him but instead, you had become the prey. And god how much you loved it.

And Crocodile knew it.

The way he sat there, legs spread lazily, cigar smoldering between his fingers, drink in hand was infuriating. Amusing himself at your expense, watching you squirm under Beckman’s hands, under the weight of your own miscalculation.

You wanted this, don’t pretend otherwise, his eyes told you.

And Beckman was taking his time.

“I don’t think she realizes what she’s gotten herself into.” Beckman’s voice was a slow drawl, filled with something dark, something knowing.

Crocodile, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Oh, she does.” His gaze burned through you, drinking in the way your breath hitched as Beckman pressed you tighter against the wall. “She craves this.”

You wanted to deny it to throw something sharp and biting at Crocodile, to wipe that smug smirk off his face. But Beckman’s hands - large, calloused, patient - were making it impossible to think.

“You’ve been playing with fire, sweetheart.” Beckman’s lips brushed your jaw, deceptively gentle. His fingers skimmed over your sides, gripping your hips, holding you there as his knee nudged up higher between your thighs. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you what happens to girls who tease too much?”

Your pulse thundered. You swallowed, but no words came.

Crocodile hummed, tipping his cigar between his fingers. “They get put in their place.”

The heat in your gut twisted violently. Crocodile had done this to you before, had made you crumble under the weight of his control, had torn you apart just to put you back together again. But this—this was different. This was both of them.

“You could’ve stopped me,” you managed to say, voice weaker than you wanted.

Crocodile grinned, slow and cruel. “Could’ve.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbow on his knee, watching you fall apart in real time. “Didn’t want to otherwise I'd have missed this show.”

Beckman’s fingers traced up your spine, curling at the base of your neck. “I can see why he keeps you,” he murmured, lips just barely grazing your skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering. Every nerve in your body was screaming, caught between the ruthless attention of them both.

Crocodile took a sip from his drink like a king surveying his entertainment. “Go on, then,” he purred, voice thick with amusement. “Let’s see if you can handle him.”

Your stomach flipped, heat rushing through you because from the way Beckman’s grip tightened, from the way his breath fanned against your throat, from the raw, hungry look in his eyes -

You weren’t sure you could but hell you were willing to let him do whatever he wanted.

And Crocodile was going to enjoy every second watching you.

Beckman’s hands let go of yours and they roamed with slow, predatory ease, mapping out every inch of you, his body pressing firm against yours, caging you in. His scent - smoke, salt, and something deep and masculine - was intoxicating, dizzying even.

Your own trembling hands reached for his shirt skittering over the muscules beneath it.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured teasingly against your skin, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below your ear.

Beckman was relentless. Every touch, every word, every slow, teasing drag of his fingers was deliberate testing you, stretching you to your limits. And Crocodile, the bastard, just sat there, watching, reveling in your unraveling.

“You wanted this,” Beckman reminded you, voice slow, low, dark. His eyes flicked past you, toward Crocodile, before returning to yours with something sharper, something dangerous. “Didn’t you?”

He took his time, dragging his fingertips down your ribs, forcing a shudder from you. Then, his lips brushed your ear again, his voice silky and deliberate. “You wanted to play, sweetheart. But you’re not in charge here.”

Crocodile watching from the sidelines, with eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. A slow, deliberate puff of smoke curled from his cigar, and he leaned back casually.

You gasped as Beckman’s thumb ran over the curve of your waist, a soft, gentle pressure that made your breath hitch and your back arch. You needed more. But he wasn't giving you more not yet and your body trembled with frustration.

And then, just as your frustration reached its peak, his fingers traced the edge of your collarbone. You gasped, biting your lip to stop from moaning.

“You like this, don’t you?” Beckman whispered, as though reading your mind. “Like being pinned down, unable to do anything but take it.”

His hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing, just resting there, thumb tracing lazy circles against your pulse and your breath hitched and your knees buckled when his teeth bit down on your collarbone

Crocodile laughed, deep and rich, the sound sending a sharp spike of heat through your core. “Look at you,” he mused, eyes glinting with pleasure. “Fucking ruined already.”

"Am not" you breathed though you didn't sound very convincing.

Beckman’s hand moved from your throat down to the hem of your shirt before slipping underneath it making you shiver visibly as it at first gently caressed your belly before moving higher but stopping before he got where you wanted him making you whine.

You could feel the heat radiating from Beckman’s body as his hands moved to your sides, fingers brushing your skin lightly. It was almost cruel how gentle he was, his touch so calculated it sent waves of tension rippling through your entire body.

"You’re so sensitive," Beckman murmured, his voice rough and low in your ear. His thumb traced the curve of your hip, barely grazing it, but the sensation made your heart race. He felt your breath hitch, and a smirk curved on his lips. "Can’t even stand a simple touch, can you?"

He leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. For a moment, his hands moved lower, tracing the waistband of your pants, and the tension in your body spiked.

“Does it feel good to be this helpless?” Beckman teased, his voice a hushed growl that made you shiver. His hands roamed, slow and possessive, pushing you towards the brink of madness.

Crocodile watched intently, his eyes flashing as he leaned forward slightly, voice barely above a whisper. "Let him have his fun, but don’t forget who you belong to." His words settled over you like a weight, reminding you that your submission to Beckman didn't mean you were his, no you belonged to Crocodile.

As you arched your back Beckman’s hand slid up your spine, feeling the tremble of your body under his touch. He pulled you closer to press his lips against yours in a rough, possessive almost punishing kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth as his hand gripped your hair, tilting your head to give him better access.

You gasped, overwhelmed by the heat of his kiss and the need that built inside you. Crocodile chuckled softly, and it sent a shiver through you.

Beckman’s fingers curled against your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “I think she’s close,” he murmured, amusement laced in every word.

“You love it don't you sweetheart. Being put in your place.” He leaned forward slightly, watching your lips part, your eyes flutter. “Look at you. A mess already.”

Your nails dug into Beckman’s arm, searching for something to ground you, but all you found was the steady, unrelenting strength of a man who wasn’t letting go.

Your breath hitched again as Beckman’s hand trailed lower, fingers rough and teasing your inner thigh and his lips attacked your neck with soft kisses and blissfully painful bites.

Beckman smirked against your skin, his voice a low, husky murmur. “Still think you’re the one in control, sweetheart?”

And then you moaned. Not too loud but you still did .

"Looks like someone is a little needy" Crocodile taunted, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on, beg for it."

A small whimper escaped your lips "please"

Crocodile smirked. “Louder.”

"Fuck I need you." you gasped.

Beckman’s lips curled into a smirk. His fingers slipped into your pants tracing over your cunt before teasing your entrance. His movements were slow, controlled—each one calculated to make you ache for more, to make you crave the release he was so deliberately withholding. He let the palm of his other hand rest against your ribs, pressing firmly enough that you couldn’t move, couldn’t squirm, just forced to feel the control he had over you.

“So wet already. Tell me you want it,” Beckman said softly, but his words were an order as he teasingly let one finger slip inside you. “Tell me you need me to touch you properly.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse was racing. You were panting. Begging for the release that was just out of reach.

“You heard him,” Crocodile’s voice was like a whip, sharp and demanding. “Say it, tell him how much you want it. You know you want to.”

Beckman withdrew his fingers and pulled his hand out of your pants only to have his thumb trace circles on your inner thigh inching closer to where you wanted him again, his touch like fire, but never where you needed it most. “Say it,” he repeated, his voice quiet but unwavering.

The pressure of his body against yours was unbearable, his form completely blocking your escape. Every part of you ached with need, yet you were still held in place and denied. Your mind was starting to spiral, but you couldn’t help it. You could feel how much you needed to surrender, how you were breaking under their combined presence. As Beckman coaxed moan after moan and whimper after whimper out of you.

Until your voice cracked, the words spilling out of you like a whispered confession.

“Please... touch me... properly.” you moaned.

Beckman chuckled softly, and Crocodile’s dark chuckle joined in, like a predator savoring a kill.

“Good girl,” Beckman murmured his fingers ghosting over the waistline of your pants, before pulling them down letting them fall to the floor leaving you in your underwear.

His fingers moved closer to your center teasing you through the fabric and just when you thought he might finally give you what you needed he pulled back. Making you whimper in frustration.

And Crocodile was watching it all unfold, enjoying your torment. “You should’ve known better,” he sneered. “You’re not in charge here. Not anymore.”

Beckman’s grip on you was firm, unyielding, holding you in place with the same effortless control he used to steady his rifle. His touch was rough where it needed to be, teasing where it could drive you mad. He was patient - too patient - drawing every reaction from you like he had all the time in the world to play. Enjoying the way you squirmed underneath him.

Meanwhile Crocodile's eyes never left you, and though he remained in his seat, his entire body betrayed him - the way his fingers gripped the armrest, how his jaw tightened at every moan you let slip, every way your back arched, the growing tension in his posture. You knew exactly what he was thinking - he was dying to join in his possessiveness taking over.

At one point, as Beckman’s fingers slipped inside your underwear again teasing you making you moan and grip Beckman's shirt tightly Crocodile leaned forward, eyes gleaming, and his voice barely more than a dangerous whisper. “I don’t know how much longer I can watch you enjoy this, hear you make all these sweet sounds, little flower.” His words were slow, deliberate, like a promise, but the tension in his voice made it clear that he couldn't hold back much longer.

The heat in the air was palpable, thick with unsaid things. Crocodile’s smirk was devilish as he rose and stepped behind you hand teasingly tracing over your back. The tension in the air thickening.

Beckman’s fingers continued to graze your skin, slow and deliberate, teasing just enough to leave you breathless. The heat of his touch was relentless, each passing second made you ache for more, yet he refused to give you what you craved. His voice, low and dark, came in a whisper near your ear.

“You’ve been so patient,” he said, his words dripping with mockery and lust. His finger traced down to the hem of your shirt and with a swift motion pulled it over your head revealing that you were bare beneath it.

"Naughty girl" you heared Crocodile whisper in your ear from behind and sending a shiver down your spine. Beckman was now tracing a finger from your collarbone down between your breasts to the waistband of your underwear, just barely grazing your skin, sending a jolt through your body making you shiver, the sensation maddening as Crocodile held you in place.

The heat between your legs was unbearable. Every breath felt heavy, each word from them adding weight to your chest, making it harder to breathe. You were trembling, unable to escape the pull of their dominance.

As Beckman’s hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of your waist, Crocodile let his hook trace over your neck down to your breast while his hand gripped your hair tilting your head back.

“You thought you could take control, didn’t you?” His voice dangerously calm. “You’ve got so much fire in you - so much confidence. But now, you’ll see what happens when you’re caught in the middle of us."

You wanted to answer but all you got out was a loud moan as you felt Beckman’s lips trail a path from your chest down to your underwear. He knelt down before tugging your underwear down ripping the fabric in the process. He looked at your naked form, held in place by Crocodile before he gripped your thighs to spread your legs a little wider and placed a warm kiss on your center making you moan loudly.

Meanwhile Crocodile shifted his attention to your breasts teasing one nipple with his fingers the other carefully with the tip of his hook.

Your head was spinning. Your body felt like it was on fire, stretched thin between the two of them.

"Oh fuck" you moaned as you felt Beck's tongue between your folds and his thumb circling your clit while Crocodile kept teasing your nipples mercilessly.

"That's it love, let me hear you, tell him how much you love this" Crocodile murmured into your neck his lips sucking on the sensitive skin.

"Fuck Beck, I.....I love it. I'm gonna......gonna cum" you gasped your back arching his mouth driving you crazy and Crocodile's teasing touches making you tremble. You threw your head back but without warning, Crocodile’s hand withdrew from your nipple and closed around your chin, forcing your head to look down to Beckman who had his eyes fixed on yours from between your legs his lips and tongue bullying your center relentlessly.

"Look at him, little flower. How he devours you, makes you feel so good" Crocodile grumbled in your ear his breath brushing against the side of your neck. As you had no choice but to look down.

“You wanted to tease us, didn’t you?” Crocodile’s voice was calm, but with a dangerous edge. He held your chin tightly, forcing your mouth to part slightly, tracing the line of your jaw before he slipped one finger inside your mouth for you to suck on it making him grunt lowly in your ear. “Now, look at him. Look at what you’ve caused.” His grip on your chin tightened, pulling your gaze back toward Beckman.

“You wanted this, didn’t you?” You answered him with a moan against his finger. You were trembling, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. The way Beckman looked at you and Crocodile's verbal teases and grunts sent you over the edge and you came hard.

Crocodile pulled his finger out of your mouth as you gasped for breath, heart racing. When Beckman got up he kissed you to let you taste yourself and wrapping his arm around your waist to steady you while Crocodile made his way to the bed.

You felt Beckmans warmth pressing against you. His lips grazing your ear as he saw you look at Crocodile. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice low and almost playful, but laced with a dangerous edge, “you’ll get exactly what you deserve.” His hand slid around your waist, pulling you into him with an iron grip.

And in the next moment, you were utterly lost, your body betraying you as Beckman moved with precise, calculating intent, forcing you to your knees.

“That's it,” Crocodile purred from the bed, his voice low “Crawl to me. You like it, don’t you? How it feels when someone takes control.”

You looked up at him still exhausted from your orgasm yet you put your middle finger up. "Still so feisty" Crocodile mused. Yet you did crawl over to him, pushing him back down onto the bed straddling him and kissing him hungrily, ripping his shirt open. Crocodiles hand tangled into your hair pulling you closer his hook gracing your side, while your hands roamed his chest.

You gasped and flinched as Beckman’s hands teased the soles of your feet not outright tickling you but the touch still maddening, reminding you that he's still there and then moved up to the back of your thighs and the curve of your butt before he smacked it making you squeak into the kiss with Crocodile. His hands moved teasingly up and traced along your spine firm and possessive making you shudder. His fingertips making your skin burn and then another smack on your ass that made you squeal all while you continued your heated and passionate kiss with Crocodile his tongue sliding inside your mouth.

When you broke the kiss teeth pulling at his lower lip Crocodile smirked. "You didn't think I'd watch you without getting my own fair share did you?" He growled and you smirked.

"Of course not, you're still my number one" you purred into his ear giving his earlobe a bite before moving down to unbuckle his pants pulling them down. He was already hard.

“You sure you can handle both of us, sweetheart?” Beckman, still behind you, murmured lowly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You looked over your shoulder and smirked smugly at him.

Before giving Crocodile's shaft teasing kitten licks moving on to focusing on his tip. Smirking up at him as he growled almost animalistic. How you loved that sound.

Meanwhile Beckman grapped your hips and adjusted you for him making sure your ass was up. You were so focused on Crocodile's cock that you didn't even hear when Beckman unzipped his pants until you felt him aligning himself with your cunt.

Beckman’s tip was teasing your entrance while you slowly put Crocodile's cock in your mouth getting used to the stretch, making him grunt the moment he felt your warm lips around him, instinctively grabbing your hair and guiding you.

And as you began bobbing your head Beckman pushed inside you making you moan against Crocodile the vibration against his cock sending a shiver through him.

Soon the room was filled with low grunts, muffled moans and the creaking of the bed.

"Fuck love you're doing so good, I'm close and you better swallow it all" Crocodile grunted as his grip on your hair tightened the tip of his hook gracing your back.

You were moaning against him one hand playing with his balls while Beckman pushed into you from behind making your heart race, your body tremble and your eyes water from the pleasure. And then you felt the warmth in your mouth, Crocodile’s grip on your hair loosen.

"I'm cumming" he growled and you swallowed it all before slowly pulling away only to let out a loud moan as you felt Beckman’s hand reach for your clit rubbing it. His grip on your hip tightening surely leaving a bruise.

"Taking me so well sweetheart" he grunted increasing the pace, while Crocodile, still panting, moved his hand to fondle your breasts and tease your nipples.

It didn't take long for Beck and you to reach your own orgasm and when you did you screamed out in pleasure and collpased on your back on the bed.

You were spent. Every inch of your body felt like it was floating in a haze, limbs heavy and tingling with aftershocks. The heat still radiating through your skin. Your clothes were scattered across the room in a chaotic trail, discarded in the frenzy of passion and control that had washed over you.

Your body felt like lead, every muscle overworked and trembling because of what just happened. You barely registered the sheets against your skin, your mind too fogged with exhaustion and pleasure to focus on anything but the deep ache left behind.

Crocodile was the first to move, his broad frame resting beside you. He didn’t say anything at first, only watching you with that slow, satisfied smirk he always had when he pushed you to the edge. His hand, still warm from everything before, was gentle as he cupped your face, wiping away the sweat from your brow with the back of his hand before he let it drift down and over your stomach, an absentminded touch, possessive even.

Beckman, still catching his breath, stood at the edge of the bed, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the remnants of indulgence. His sharp eyes flickered down to you, amusement dancing in them as he took in your completely spent form. He chuckled, reaching for his cigarettes, the rasp of a match breaking the silence.

“Well, sweetheart,” he murmured, exhaling a slow stream of smoke, “I’ll give you credit, you aimed high. But you really thought you could handle me?” His smirk deepened as he leaned down, his fingers barely ghosting over your inner thigh, teasing, but without any real intent behind it anymore.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice still deep, a stark contrast to the tenderness of his touch. He placed a kiss on your thigh, slow and lingering, like a promise. You let out a soft, shaky breath, the sensation of his lips against your skin making your entire body shiver, even in your exhaustion. You were overwhelmed, your senses still spinning.

Crocodile’s grip on your waist tightened slightly - not possessive in an aggressive way, but just enough to remind Beckman, and you, of where you belong. “You thought you could play with both of us,” Crocodile mused, his voice rich with amusement. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice laced with something softer now. “Completely wrecked...” He tilted your chin up with his hook, forcing you to meet his gaze, even in your dazed state. “..completely used up.” His thumb brushed your lower lip, and you couldn’t help but lean into it, exhausted but still needing him.

Beckman hummed in agreement. “And she thought she could seduce me.” He grinned around his cigarette, eyes locked on you, knowing damn well that he had been the one in control the entire time. “Cute.”

You were too drained to even argue, your limbs too heavy to move, your mind still swimming in the haze of everything that just happened.

Crocodile watched you for a long moment before exhaling. He shifted, letting you rest against him, fingers absentmindedly stroking your hair. “Hope you learned your lesson,” he muttered, amused and satisfied. His touch was still possessive, but there was an undeniable love to it - a deep affection that made your heart race even as your body ached.

Beckman chuckled again and stepped back, rolling his shoulders as he grabbed his coat. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” he said, though there was still that teasing undertone in his voice. “Next time, sweetheart, just remember I don’t say no to a beautiful woman, though i doubt he will let us have a next time.” he added looking from you to Crocodile.

With that, he turned to leave and as the door closed behind him Crocodile gave you a knowing smirk. “You're lucky I gave in to your desire and let him play with you.”

His fingers brushed over your shoulder, his voice low and smug as he murmured, “Next time you get a stupid idea like that… I’ll remind you exactly who you belong to without letting anyone else have a taste. You belong to me, only me.”

You couldn’t help the weak, breathless smile that tugged at your lips, even though your body felt like it could barely function. You still felt that same fiery rush of desire, despite the exhaustion. Your mind was still a bit foggy, your limbs like jelly, but you were content—more content than you’d ever been.

His words sent a final shiver through your exhausted body. You knew, without a doubt, that this wasn’t just a lesson—it was a warning. And next time, Crocodile won’t be so generous.

“I’m yours,” you breathed, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

[paarksunghoon]

Hi I love your content so much I was wondering if you would to this that Jake mistakenly ordered few or one s.x toy that he would use on my later

ugh I’m so mad because I wrote this request, dropped my phone, then it disappeared. anyway hope you don’t mind I switched up the request juuuust a little.

***

Should he put it back where he found it?

Jake holds a baby blue bullet vibrator and inspects it in his hands. The whole reason why he’s in your room is because you asked him to grab a few pens from your desk before you started a study session. But now he’s discovered one of your toys and feels like he could be holding a bomb. He’d have to be a fool to pretend it isn’t a sex toy.

He gulps. Jake isn’t a stranger to this. He’s seen far too many Twitter porn videos to ignore the nature of the device and feels himself growing hotter with every passing second that ticks by. So begs the question: should he put it back where he found it?”

“Whatcha looking at?”

Jake turns around to see you standing in the doorway.

“N-Nothing!”

He panics when you step closer towards him and grab the vibrator from his hands. He watches you hold it up as if to inspect the toy, bringing it eye level until you finally look at him. Jake feels his cheeks warm up and looks down at the floor.

“Now, what are you doing with this?”

“I was just looking.”

“I asked you to grab some pens, not my vibrator.”

He wants to sink into the floor.

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have your sex toys lying around!”

The man before you swallows when you chuckle. “It’s my room, Jakey.”

He tries to picture you as you are, in your pajama bottoms and tank top with fuzzy pink slippers on your feet. You look respectable like this. You look like his friend who invited him over for yet another study session that will likely go late into the night.

Instead, all he can picture is you sitting naked on the middle of your bed with this toy pressed right up against you. Jake thinks about what you might look like when your face is contorted in pleasure and what you sound like when you come. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about that before now.

“What about all the guys you’ve been sleeping with?”

You shrug. “Some were good and others were mediocre. I need something to tie me over in between hooking up with people.”

His silence makes you laugh.

“Wanna see me use it?”

Jake finds himself rock hard and hovering over your body. He doesn’t have to wonder what you look like underneath your clothes anymore. They’re discarded somewhere on your bedroom floor and you’ve got the toy pressed right against your exposed slit.

He watches in wonder and amazement when you drag the toy over yourself and studies the way your eyes close shut and how your mouth parts open to emit soft pants. Jake doesn’t know if he should look at your face or pussy. He tries to do both.

Amidst his own inner turmoil, Jake feels you pull his hand to cover your own until he’s holding the device. It feels so foreign in his hands when you push it against your pussy but he loves the way you sound when it happens. Jake loves watching the wetness ooze out of you. He can feel the vibrations against his fingertips. It’s so hot.

He fidgets with the toy, dragging it all over your pussy like he’s trying to find the spots that make you tick. He memorizes all of them and indulges your pleasure every time you moan from beneath him.

Jake wonders how you’d react if he turned the volume up a notch. He presses the button again and it roars like a small lion.

“Ah!”

The gasp alone pulls a deep moan from the back of Jake’s throat. He pushes the toy against your clit until your legs shake and hips buck against his hand. Jake uses his free one to hold your legs open and coaxes you into your orgasm, and he swears he’s never seen anything so angelic before.

Slowly, he turns the vibrations down as not to abruptly end your orgasm. He turns the device off when he sees your legs begin to still and allows you to catch your breath.

Although, it seems like the fun isn’t over. You smile at him like you know something he doesn’t.

“We should try it on you next.”

“Me?!”

***

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