#me when i misunderstand everything ever

[buwheal]

Honestly as much as it sucks not being able to show like. 90% of what I have planned due to no one asking about it, the 10% of the time they do is like. God it's so good. You have no idea how amazing it felt when FINALLY people asked if Yellow knew Spam tore off his face.

I try my best to give hints but at the end of the day, if they don't pick up on it, I don’t touch it until it's important again. Obviously this doesn't really work with your not-story ask blog but... idk. I guess it's just something I keep in mind. If it's really important, if it's something they Need to know, it's best to make it obvious enough for the majority to understand. I mean, remember when it took like 2 days for just Me to realize spam was saying he doesn't starve /all/ the time?

Most people aren't extremely detail oriented, I've realized, and it makes it harder to strike a balance between a hint and essentially giving the answer on a silver platter.

Sorry I'm just rambling in your box. I guess I'm just trying to give my own perspective? Idk. What is bro yapping about etc etc.

Ouuhhh i BET!!!! Its so fun i get what you mean!!! Ty for the advice,, btw!! Its rlly helpful to get another perspective from someone who also has an active spam box lol X-S That i know of at least... may be more.. I think i gotta tinker with some stuff btw !!!!DO NOT!!!!! (/silly) apologize!!! for yapping!!!! or for rambling!!!! I love hearing from my moots!!! :wave:!!!!! All the little guys in my puter your little ramblings are music to my ears

[dukeofthomas]

"Jason just needs to see things from his family's perspective and understand how much they love him (despite them never actually communicating or showing him through their actions)" is out. "The batfamily putting a single bit of effort into understanding Jason and reconciling with him on his own terms" is in.

[ehlnofay]

One day – as far-off as a century, as near as tomorrow – it will all be a grand old story.

The stories will speak of a handful of champions, rushing headlong against time and logic to save the world; the last Blades, the last Septim, and his hanger-on Hero, carving a bloody path to the Temple doors. The stories will tell of skies like burned blood, of fire and ash and uncountable legions of monsters – hundreds, thousands, millions, the quantity rising with each telling – the city streets cracked and quaking, every civilian locked up in their homes and businesses and praying for deliverance. The stories will tell of the appearance of Dagon, red-hot and roiling, a gory perversion of the sun; they’ll tell that when all seemed lost, Martin Septim sacrificed himself in a blaze of glory, calling down the avatar of Akatosh and casting Dagon and his ilk back whence he came. They’ll tell that the golden dragon threw back its head and roared, and the sky cleared and brightened at its word; they’ll tell how it petrified in place, a magnificent pillar of stone, a sacrosanct statue. A site of pilgrimage. A shrine, to the grace and glory of the gods, and the bravery and benevolence of the last Emperor, the best of men.

It will be a good story. All splendour and triumph, a bittersweet victory right out of the epics; the pages closed, the crisis done, the world saved in as golden a resolution as could be asked for. It doesn’t get better than this, a perfect saviour, a hallowed end.

What the stories won’t tell is how, under clear skies and sunlight, the Hero of Kvatch falls at the statue’s marbled feet and howls like the world is still ending.

“You fucking coward,” Pax is screaming, as best as she can. Her mouth tastes like smoke. Her voice is hoarse. “Stupid worm, fucking – selfish bastard – what’s wrong with you?”

His head is swimming, a bit; he shouldn’t have tried to stand, but he – but – he’s dragged himself up to the dais, just about, and managed to sprawl himself over the edge, a snail’s trail of blood smeared along the floor behind him. The copper tang of it is strong in his nostrils. The statue stands, proud and silent, one marble claw dug into the cracked stone of the rostrum. His whole body is beginning to ache – just because of a stupid stab wound in his side, he’d swear he’s had worse, it’s not that bad, it’s not that bad. His throat burns. He isn’t crying. He isn’t.

The sky is so fucking blue.

“What’s wrong with you?” he demands, again, and brings the heel of his hand thudding against the clawed foot hard enough that he feels the impact down his arm, through his blurry head. “Why would you – piece of shit – sorry spit-gill – I thought –”

None of their thoughts will go through to the end. “I thought,” Pax says again, and she’s not crying, and it hurts so much it’s looped back around to not hurting, and it’s all getting fuzzy at the edges, all the world narrowed down to this and this and this and all fucking hell she’d rather be anywhere, anything else. The statue is cold. Her throat is scraped raw. “Come back,” she’s begging without quite meaning to, “come back,” and she drives her palm into the stone again, and the pain sets her reeling.

And all hell, the sky is so blue; the statue enormous; and here they are, at its feet, vision blurring, staring up at its cold marble face. It’s so fucking tall, so proud, face tipped up towards the new-appeared sun, away from them.

“How could you?” Pax says, and then they can’t even see it anymore, blood unspooling from them like skeins of madder-dyed thread. Red has never been their favourite colour. The shape of the dragon, glowing like the sun, is fixed forever on the backs of their eyelids; gold, they think, is worse. The world is detached and floating about them. They taste smoke and then bile. Stone digs fierce into their spine.

It burned like the sun, the dragon; like all the divine light of Aetherius come to earth just to sear the moisture from her eyes. Where it clawed Mehrunes Dagon, his blood boiled; when it screamed, the world moulded itself to its call. Pax hadn’t known what was happening, while it happened; sure as shit doesn’t know now. What they do know is that he’s gone. What they do know is that the dragon didn’t look at them once. They don’t taste ash on their breath, now; just fear, stagnant, sour, blood jangling bitter in their veins and seeping out to soak their gambeson.

It doesn’t hurt, anymore, there’s just this spreading, vague numbness. It doesn’t feel like their body. It’s just a thing they’re putting on. Their ears are still ringing from the crashing-in of the Temple, but there’s a faint buzzing of noise outside. They might be dying. They can’t be assed to get up.

Skeeving asshole. They’re getting blood on the dragon’s immaculate feet. The hollow sounds of voices feels distant. Could well be worse.

Then, “… a healer, here!” they hear, much closer than anything else had been before, paired with the faraway thudding of the door, and “Pax. Pax! It’s – where’s –” and there’s hands on him, a cautious manipulation of his neck, a shifting of his legs. Pressure on his sternum, and then his stomach, and a pained grunt slips out of his mouth, bound up with a slurred curse.

“Stay calm,” says an unfamiliar voice, soft and steady. “I’m just accessing the wound.”

“Go away,” Pax says, or tries to say, but his voice is whispering-hoarse and the dragon looms in the dark even still. He could open his eyes, but what would be the point?

The hands stay on him even when he bucks, holding him steady; they whisper over the stab in her gut, pulling at the drying blood, mumbling words that she can’t be fucking bothered to listen to, one voice known to her already, one voice not; pressure again on the injury, and they try, half-heartedly, to breathe out a swear – and then light, copper-bright, behind their eyelids, and burning heat, and pain pain pain eclipsing all else as something inside them wrenches back into working order, and then their eyes are open and the sky is blue and they are very fucking aware, thank you.

Pax sits up, fast enough to send the world dizzily whirling, and shoves the mage-medic away from them.

“Piss off,” he says – and it’s still hoarse, smoke-throated and scraped raw, but there’s more bite to it this time, more sound. The strange hands fall away from his side, and he looks down. His gambeson is hanging open, cords untied, the emblem of the wolf split clean down the middle. His undershirt is rucked up around his chest, too, so much of his skin is bared to the clear, bright air; all to get to the wound tucked just under their ribs. It’s an underwhelming thing – smaller than they would’ve thought, a thin short slash like a very red mouth has opened itself up in their gut. It’s stopped dribbling quite so much blood, gone scabby with rough healing, though the stuff is still smeared all over their skin, damn near enough to bathe in. It’s barely anything, really. They’re barely even hurt.

“I’m not done,” says the mage-medic, all stern. The wound itches, the taste of hasty magic gone sour in the back of their throat with all the rest of it. “I might have to find my suturing needle. It isn’t too bad, but it can’t be healed all at once.”

“Piss off,” Pax repeats – and all fucking hell it hurts, and he’s sitting up against the statue, legs lolling. He’s dizzy. He ignores it.

Ocato – his fine clothes sooty, face tight as a wound-up spring – says, “Calm down, please – he’s a skilled healer, he knows what he’s doing.” His eyes keep skipping around the room like he’s searching for another enemy lurking hidden in the shadows. “What happened? Where’s the Emperor?”

Ah – not an enemy, then.

Pax tastes bile.

“Not very quick on the uptake, are you?” she says, elbow braced against the statue’s massive marble claws (she hates touching it, she hates it, she hates it, she wants to set it crumbling apart, she doesn’t want to let anyone else touch it ever again). She can’t stop leaning because then she might topple back down again. Fuck, she needs to keep her head on straight – or lose it altogether, whichever happens faster. Her fingers feel cold. “How’re you going to run an Empire when you’re this fucking clueless?”

Ocato looks them in the face; his brow, high and slanted in that way elves have, furrows. “You’re hurt,” he says, in a tone like he expects Pax to argue with him. “Martin Septim–”

“Can’t you see him?” Pax demands, tone torn in half and uglier than they’ve ever heard it before, and they slam the back of their hand against the stone for echoing emphasis. (They want to shatter all the bones in their knuckles, break every piece in their hand one by one, like wishbones. They want it bloody and bruising. They want to scratch its polished-smooth surface until their fingernails tear. They want – they want – they want –)

Ocato, the Empire’s de facto leader, says, “Ah.”

In his plummy robes, all fruit-rich and stained with ash, he looks very stark against the Temple’s cracked marble floors.

“The Avatar,” he says. “If – the Amulet – joined blood of kings and gods –”

“Ocato,” says Pax, leaning heavy against the statue’s hateful foot, “shut up.” Their voice is bowstring-taut; he looks at them, his eyes too golden to meet. His mouth twists. They tip their head back against the stone, glaring up at the chips of blue sky shown in the crater where the roof once was, and try hard to ignore the tugging ache hooked behind their ribs.

It really fucking hurts. Worse than it did before, maybe, like some gauzy veil has been ripped from it. A veil has been ripped from the world. All the colours are too-bright, hideous. Pax breathes, because there’s no alternative, and waits for the pain to ebb.

(It doesn’t, really.)

“The Gates are sealed,” Ocato says, slowly, and he’s looking at her again, she can see out of the edge of her eye. “We will speak later. I’ll have you put up in the Palace until you’re healed. Ah – Quintus, does –”

“As long as she doesn’t go back into shock,” says the mage-medic, busily flipping through some kind of supply bag at his belt, “her odds are good. Lost blood, but I don’t think anything important was too damaged �� get a proper examination, all I did was give her a second wind. Stitches, rest, fluids should do it, with luck.”

“Can she stand?”

“Can or should are –”

“Shut the fuck up,” Pax snaps, “I’m right here.” Her back pressed against the cold marble of the statue, her plait half-loose and knotted, filled with ash. The sky is so fucking blue. It hurts like hell – if the healer took her out of shock, then shit, she wishes he’d put her back in. She can see in too much detail. She can feel the skin, damp and ragged and angry. She presses the heel of her hand to the injury; her palm is crusted with dust, tacky with the same half-dried blood streaked over the floors.

Ocato, in the edges of her vision, shifts, all a blur of rich clothes and sympathetic eyes and solemn voice turned soft like he’s talking to an easily spooked horse. “I know.”

The mage-medic clucks his tongue. “Let me take another look first,” he says, and takes a step forward –

Pax kicks out at him before he even gets close. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Pax,” says Ocato – and why, why the fuck is the Empire’s de facto leader here, now, babying them like a whimpering little puppy instead of anywhere fucking else, why is he bothering to talk to them all patronising soft, why does he care? They’ve barely fucking met – talked twice, if you can call either of those times talking. Is it because they’re the Hero of Kvatch? Is this what they’ve earned – a bit of leeway as they throw a tantrum, bleeding out at the marble feet of that stupid bloody statue? Ocato looks so fucking tired; Pax wants to hit him in the nose. “You need care.”

“I need –” and Pax chokes it off in a puff of air. The statue looms behind them. There’s blood on the floors. (Traitor liar coward come back come back I hate you come down I’ll knock your fucking teeth in stupid selfish fraud come BACK. LOOK AT ME.)

Pax closes his eyes.

“My gratitude,” Ocato says, “ – our gratitude for what you’ve done cannot be overstated. The Crisis if over. The gates are sealed. Mehrunes Dagon and his ilk can never threaten Tamriel again.”

The knobs of Pax’s braid are pressing uncomfortably against their scalp. They can hear footsteps, coming closer. They don’t respond.

“It’s a great shame we had to pay such a price,” Ocato says, and Pax would fucking love to know who’s we here, “but it’s done. Dagon is defeated. We’ve won.” He’s much too close, now; his voice pitches softer. “Martin – is dead. But he died an Emperor – and a hero to rival Tiber Septim.”

Pax shoves him.

It’s a good fucking shove – knocks him right to the ground, his elbow hitting the marble with a painfully audible crack, Pax standing over him, shirt rucked up, their handprint on his shoulder marked in blood. “You useless, prattling jackass!” they spit, hoarse, and deal a swift, savage kick to his side. “How dare you act like this is a victory! It should have been me!”

Then their head swims, and they’re sitting again on the edge of the dais, palm pressed to their side, the sweaty cloth of their gambeson pushed half off their shoulder and its cord biting into their hand. The mage-medic is kneeling over Ocato, who still lies, stunned; Pax can’t see his eyes, now, but they remember them, brassy with shocked fear. Their bow is off by the wall where they left it. Pax’s palms are sticky with blood. The sky is so fucking blue. No matter how hard she rages the dragon won’t look down at them.

By the time the mage-medic has helped Ocato up, they’re gone. The Kvatch guard gambeson remains, smoke-smelling and crusted with blood, left like an offering at the statue’s feet. The Hero of Kvatch is never seen again.

[corpseaten]

feeling like Leo when he goes Isn’t it funny, Sena?

[ooc-miqojak]

It's actually incredibly nice to interact with someone who is capable of having a challenging talk when there's a miscommunication, or crossed wires, or hurt feelings. And especially since recently...I've had to deal with some real beyond-belief human beings who went out of their way to privately message me with presumptuous statements and incredibly below-the-belt insults... instead of just trying to talk like adults, and understand what was actually going on in the situations they were making assumptions about.

Imagine you're enjoying your morning - watching birds, playing with your cats, shopping for a beginner's embroidery kit because you want to learn a new skill and be creative, and you're enjoying the first real sunshine in about 9 months...you're delighted that your seasonal depression might be lifting at last! And two complete strangers start making assumptions about you, and saying the world's most cruel, and unhinged shit in your DMs, and you have no idea who one of them even is! One of them tries to claim 'you just hate everything' because you confided in said person that they said something that was frustrating and hurtful to you - but enjoying your day, and everything about it except the condescending remark they made... means 'you hate everything,' apparently. Now imagine the refreshing delight of, a day later, someone else you barely know coming to you in your DMs... in good faith to clear the air about a misunderstanding! You're allowed to see where they were coming from, and you're allowed to explain your POV and why you did what you did, and there's a chance for understanding, growth, and kindness! There's no one I respect more than a person capable of having those kinds of difficult/challenging discussions, because they're the hard ones. It's a lot easier to point the finger, and assume one side of a discussion or argument is correct... that one is 'good/right,' and one is 'evil/wrong' - but that's not life. There's two sides to every story, and the only way for us to grow as people is to discuss what happened, and learn from it. I'm glad I got to see this person's POV, and I'm glad I got to apologize for assuming they were doing something hurtful at the time. I couldn't have known where they were coming from, if they didn't explain it to me, though! And similarly, they may have thought I was acting out of malice, if I'd never gotten to speak on how I viewed things on my end!

I love it when people are mature enough to sit through a challenging talk, and understand the other person - it takes courage, and it takes maturity. And my ND means that I appreciate people being very direct and honest - and so I am, as well. (I actually really struggle to lie about anything...ever. It's like a physical discomfort. And deeply, deeply upsetting if I'm the one lied to, or about.) Some people are intimidated by that, I guess, but you can't understand the other person, nor what went wrong... if you aren't direct and honest! PLUS...there's always the chance that you become BETTER friends after a hard talk, because it gives you insight and understanding of one another that you lacked before! Difficult talks don't have to be a bad thing just because they're challenging, or intimidating to go into.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

another highlight of the deh nhie experience is multiple instances of will and kristolyn launching into thee bit of some inside joke

[telemiel]

i am genuinely incapable of interacting with or existing around other people without fucking everything up and i'm so tired

[starlightkun]

nobody warned me that a side effect of adderall was having the irrational urge to throw away every single thing you own and completely reset ur life bc it's just too much. and also being a little bit really fucking angry all the time. but only a little. but also if somebody looks at me wrong i'm going to snap. and also i need to get all of this shit out of my house i cannot deal with it i can't even clean it i just need to throw everything out it's too much it's too much ahhhhhhhhh

[bi-demon-ium]

just a vent dont mind me

thinking about like. you know like. when you do a lot for someone you love, or just in general, like, you put in a lot of effort into something, into helping someone or making them happy, and like. you do it because you love them, or because you care about them, or just because you want to help, or because it's right, or because you just like making people happy. and that's great, that's fine, like. you really aren't doing it for something. like you don't expect anything back. they certainly don't owe you anything, they didn't ask for it, and you wanted to do it, and you'd do it again. will do it again. but sometimes it kind of--like. unfairly, selfishly, it kind of hurts that no one does the same for you. like. it feels like maybe you're not worth it. and that's silly, like. you didn't do it so that they'd do something for you, and you offered, you did it without being asked, you did it because you wanted to, and that's--that's fine. they don't owe you anything. no one owes you anything. it's petty to think i did this for you, why can't you do this for me? it's selfish. and that's fine. like. it's fine. like. it's not that you want to stop doing nice things--even if the petty thought occurs to you, the second it actually comes time, you'll immediately give in because you want them to be happy, you like doing nice things, even at cost of your preciously rare time and energy, and that's okay! they don't ask--or maybe they do, but they fully would take no for an answer and not be upset about it, and you know it's your choice--you just do it because you want to. but is it so selfish to just. wish someone would want to for you, for once? without being asked? to want to be the one taken care of? to be the one someone cooks for just because, or takes care of when you're sick, or someone goes out of their way to watch something with you even if they're not interested, or like. just. anything. anything like that. just because it's you, or just because they can, and it's nice. is that so bad. why does it always feel like you put more in than they do. why do you feel bad about it when they didn't ask you to, you're the one putting that in, and they don't owe you something equal just because you decided to go overboard. like. it's just. being too much, i guess. wanting too much. i dunno. might cry a bit.

......anyway, [bill wurtz voice] you could make a blorbo fanfic out of this

yes, yes. projecting onto blorbos. That Will Fix Me.

so if you see some extremely specific angst fic from me later, [rainbow star goes across the screen] Now You Know

[mallowjiccesyt]

Neither because I've always read it as the letters G-I-F. It's an acronym for Graphic Interchange Format so why pronounce gif like gift or jif?

I am today years old when I learned about these weird ways to read gif lmao

[windrunner]

i feel like i’m actually going insane a bit but the upside is that it’s definitely having the reverse effect that my ex and ex-roommate intended. thank you guys for allowing me to enter my bitchy evil aromantic arc more fully

[myersesque]

i'm terrible at social cues but i'm Really Fucking Good at doing things and then realising immediately afterwards that it was a mistake lmao

[onlyglass]

maybe cause he had to do all those things bc of the plot...? why did he kiss a woman just to prove there was an illusion cast on them. why does he visit the sister of one of his party members so often who proceeds to get mad at him for it as if he's going behind his back seducing his sister.

[strawberrymochin]

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ☀︎

Rockstar!gojo x art student!femreader

synopsis- satoru gojo fell in love with you when he was 17. He tried everything to gain your attention—joining the student council, participating in every extracurriculars, performing well in academics yet nothing worked. That was until high school. In college, having been forced into a band, he needed to find a new artist for their posters which he requested shoko to take care of. What he didn't expect was shoko to bring you as a volunteer—

warnings- college!au, satoru being heads over heels for you, he’s so damn in LOVE save my boy, friends to lovers, misunderstanding, SEMI PUBLIC SMUT, fingering, oral fem receiving, PUSSY DRUNK GOJO, dirty talk, creampie, BALL OF FLUFF, ANGST, mentions of smoking and alcoholism, super cute ending

w.c- 8.2k (have faith)

a/n's note- i'd poured out my heart in this (especially the smut). i hope you all do like this. your comments and reblogs are highly appreciated as it helps motivating me for writing long ass fics. taglist is open you can ask me to join. love ya' all!!

When satoru met you for the first time, he was 11 years old. 

You were the daughter of his mother’s friend whom he heard of so many times. Though the accidental reunion in the mall while grocery shopping was the first time satoru ever had the opportunity to meet you face to face. 

It was a totally random encounter, coincidental even, you can say when your mother recognised satoru’s mom and both squealed like teenagers. They'd a lot to catch up with, thus having their kids entertain each other in the play section was convincing enough for them to chit chat in a cafe.

And this is how satoru ended up being stuffed, hand in hand with you, to go enjoy in the play section as his mother patted his back, asking him to be good to you. 

“Don't leave her hand, okay toru?! Make sure you both stay together.” His mom said before scooting herself with your mom. 

Satoru looked at you, his hand locked in yours as you made eye contact with him before shying away, looking in the other direction. He stood confused before pulling you to the gaming section, without any word. 

He scanned amongst the box of video games, before pulling out one which caught his eyes with his unoccupied hand. He gave a side look to you, reluctantly asking “you want to play this?” 

You gaze down at the video game he held in his hands, eyes sparkling a bit, if satoru wasn't seeing things, then raise your head to look at him again. “It has vibrant colours.” 

Satoru nodded, feeling a little giddy that you liked his preference. “It's called mario kart.”

“Oh.” Your eyes widened as he revealed the name. 

“Do you know how to play it?” You shake your head at his question. “Then I can teach you!” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, let's go and install it on the playstation.” 

By the time satoru’s mother returns with your mum, they find satoru giggling along with you, hands still locked with each other, as he points to various stacked video games. 

That day slowly came to an end and satoru didn't get to see you for the next two years till your giggles became a distant echo and your face a blur. 

By the time he was 14, he almost forgot you. 

Until that one day when he noticed you, sitting alone with your lunch staring at the sky at the campus of his high school. 

You were biting on your chopsticks with dreamy eyes as recognition drew in satoru's mind. 

Y/n— he thought. His brows frowned, thoughts slowly going in a muddle. How are you here? eating lunch in his high school campus unless— you're a student over here too! Satoru felt foolish, his lips slowly curving in a smile lifting one hand, abandoning the basketball in the other to greet you. 

However, before he can get his words voiced out to you, gaining your attention, a brown haired girl comes up to you dragging you along with her in a hurry. 

Satoru's hand froze in mid air, awkwardly stretching it above his head before bringing it down and turning towards his friends. He sprinted back to his group resuming the game, yet his mind stayed with you and your dreamy eyes. 

He wanted to say ‘hi’ and watch your eyes grow wide before nodding your head just like you did back then. He wanted to show you the basketball he was holding and maybe teach you how to play ball just like he did back then. 

“Oi satoru! Why are you missing the catch?!” one of his friends shouted, breaking him free of his daze. “sorry…taking a break!” He said, excusing himself, before going and plopping himself down on a nearby bench. 

He recognised the brown haired girl—Yura. She often came to him asking for little favours. Did she know you? A friend? You studied in the same school and yet he only saw you today. Where were you all this time? Satoru was the same age as you. So you were bound to be in the same class, maybe different sections but he knew students from the other sections too. How come he didn't notice you yet?

The recess was over soon and he ran back to his class. Before entering the class, he noticed you again, hurrying to the class next to him. 

Class 1-2.

Satoru felt silly as he read the classroom name in his mind. 

As the final semester rolled on and a new semester started, satoru found out class 1-2 changed to class 2-2 and this year he was in the same section as yours. 

He was excited to finally be able to talk to you without any awkwardness. After all, you were in the same classroom now— which means you will know him when he introduces himself on the first day of class. You will see him, introducing himself aloud and clear and recognition will draw on your face as you remember him. 

That's what he initially thought the night before the first class. Until satoru felt the urge to perfect his speech and kept on practicing it, holding the crumpled sheet in his clammy hands, past midnight. 

As a result he woke up late and by the time he hurried himself to school, the self introduction was half-over. He mumbled his apologies to his homeroom teacher, before hastily introducing himself and going to his assigned seat. 

With that his perfect speech plan of gaining your attention bombed miserably. He raised his head in the direction of your seat—first row second desk, way far than his— fourth row last desk. 

That's when he decided with the determination inclining in his heart to get your attention and make you remember that it's him. 

The plan was simple. He just have to wait till recess and watch his chances closely. Once you're free and alone he will go make a move saying ‘hello’! Maybe even ask for your number. 

Recess hour came by and his plan chose to bite the dust with girls and boys swarming around him to get his number and be friends with him. The group kept him occupied for the entirety of the recess and by the time he was done you were no where to be found in class. 

Similar things happened the next day and the next day and the next day, never ceasing to leave him alone. 

Satoru eventually came up with another plan— excelling in academics. The more he's good in academics, the more are the chances for you to come up to him wanting his help to understand a problem. And the plan worked exceptionally well with girls frequenting him with a doubt in their lesson— except for you. 

This time satoru came up with his active participation in extracurriculars and sports. The more he active he is the more is the chance of you joining the same activity or maybe seek his assistance for the upcoming sports day.

This plan too, was indeed prodigious and did attracted a lot of attention except yours. 

His last option was of joining the student council. As the spirited member of the top student council, you might come up to him with a problem you're facing or anything you want to change. 

So, without thinking much he did joined the student council, hoping to finally gain your attention. However the following week, concerns and requests for changes decreased promptly. The other council members sighed, few scrutinizing satoru. After all no one in the entire school would want their so very handsome, energetic and popular Satoru Gojo to have a heavy work load after school. 

“Since we don't have any work to do now, thanks to gojo-kun, I'd gladly like you all to only maintain the regular class desk arrangement.” the student council president announced before leaving the council room. 

Satoru sighed, this isn't what he thought. He just wanted your attention not the entire school’s. Everyone looked at him, when he walked, when he sat, when he ate, people always turned around to take a second look. Yet you never laid your eyes on him. Even being in the same class you never came up to him to chat. 

Back slouched, with his tie undone, he slammed the door open of his classroom to pick up his bag. 

You flinched. 

Hand covering your mouth, a dust wiper on the other, you looked at him as he froze. 

One entire year, was how satoru spent to gain your attention, to get you look at him, and when it finally happened the time seemed to halt. The sun rays pooled into the room with slow breezes messing up your bangs and satoru couldn't mutter a word but stare.

Conscious about him gaping, he tore his gaze away from you before shutting the door, this time gently. 

The council president asked them to take care of class desk arrangements. However, the desks in his classroom have always been arranged, even before he joined the student council.

“you…um arrange the desks everyday?” He said fixing his tie, slowly walking up to his desk, wiped clean by you. “Yes.” 

Satoru accompanies you cleaning and arranging for the rest of the time in complete silence. Soon you take your leave, and so does satoru but this was the time he was happy like really really happy. 

He didn't exchange any words of recognition with you, from the day at the mall. He didn't talk. Yet he was beaming radiant, for just being with you, momentarily alone, in peace. 

That day soon came to an end and another year passed by. Satoru did nothing but admire you from afar. This was the only way he felt the closest to you. He saw how you wiped and arranged the desks everyday; help people without even letting them notice; lend the only pencil you have without a word; and care for the garden whose garish flowers were disregarded by others. 

The more he saw, the more he knew you. And the more he felt his heart slipping away. 

You were kind, gentle and soft. You noticed people behind their masks. You regarded the smallest of the things with such care. And your delicate hands, often smeared with paint, held the responsibility of others without complaining. 

He often saw yura asking favours from you, shoving her cleaning duties to you, sending you to get her lunch from the 7-eleven nearby and never once you said 'no'. You were so so precious. 

He knew he’d to stop; the way you engrossed him, linger on his mind all day to the point that he was unable to think of anything but you was straight up creepy but his eyes never stopped searching for you.

Even in the midst of the crowds on a random road his eyes would unconsciously seek for you. 

And by the time he was 17, satoru was hopelessly, absurdly and miserably in love with you.

Another year passed by and he could do nothing but stare. And the fact that you often looked at him too made things even worse. 

He was so down bad for you that he couldn't keep on going like this anymore. He was so sure he'd confess to you on the day of graduating the high school, not caring about rejection. 

Satoru stayed up an entire night, perfecting his confession. But by the time the graduation ceremony ended and he went to look out for you, you were nowhere to be found. 

He asked yura about you, to which she replied that you went back home early and satoru had his heart broken at 18. 

He couldn't move on easily but giving you up was the only option left. Unwillingly, satoru made his devastating decision of giving you up. He never thought he would see you again until a few years later in college, shoko brought you right in front of him. 

“We need a new artist to cover up for this concert.” said geto suguru, stuffing his phone back in his pockets. “Why? What happened to ren?” 

“Got himself into an accident and fractured his right arm.” Geto plops himself back down on the couch beside satoru, before pulling on the fretboard of his bass. 

“Should visit him then.” 

“Forget it.” 

“Why?” frowned satoru, geto suguru—his best friend, the one he went to middle and high school with, was not the type to feign indifference. His behavior indeed had satoru confused. 

“Nanami informed he got drunk at the last concert before getting himself into the accident. Drunk driving it is.” 

“Did yaga find out about this?” 

“Fortunately, he didn't. Nanami covered the case before him finding out,” geto brought his hand, swiping back his string of bangs, “if it reaches yaga, he will ban us from using the campus stadium.”

“lucky I'd say…so what now?” The next concert is in 3 days and the band poster is still incomplete. 

Shortly after satoru joined his college, suguru started a band along with two other guys. The band was doing well but due to a disagreement they decided to split up. Suguru then suggested satoru join the band and the following year they gained another member named nanami kento. 

They used to hold performances at random pubs but as its popularity increased, the college decided to give them the campus stadium to hold their concerts. Something they did extra was hiring an artist to do their band poster— hand-drawn. It'd become a little tradition— a lucky charm says suguru, and now that their artist had broken his hand right at the eleventh hour before the concert they will have to— 

“Find a new one.” 

“nana—” geto shuts him before he could finish his sentence. “Nanami is trying his best, so am I. So, you try finding one too.”

“How am I supposed to?” 

“Well I'm sure if you go with a face like this to the art department, people would volunteer in a line.” 

“Same goes with you, why don't you go and ask. I'm sure if you could wear your shirt a little loose you can surely get your clingy ex find a good one." Gojo says in a mocking tone, grabbing his guitar and looping it around his back before leaving the club.

He was sure annoyed, but he will have to find one, geto wasn't in a mood to joke earlier either. Rather than going by himself, he decided to ask shoko get it done for him; he was sure she'd agree for a few packs of cigarettes. 

Walking on his way to the parking lot he texted shoko to meet at their regular cafe. 

“Sup!” 

Satoru smiled knowing shoko could never fail him, even if she didn't agree right away a little guilt trip will do. 

“All good?” 

“Yeah, what do you need?” 

“Just a little favour.” 

“And what that might be?” 

“Get an appropriate artist from the art department. Ren broke his arm and suguru's so down about going himself, ya’ know about his ex,” shoko started grabbing her cup of iced coffee to retreat when gojo slammed two packets of cigarettes on the table. “I've two more packs to offer.” 

Shoko returns to her seat, a big smile on her face. “Okay! Since I'm your empathetic, gracious and compassionate friend, I will try and see what I can get done.” 

“Yes please…” 

“I'm not doing it for cigarettes ya’ know.” 

“Mhmmm” satoru nods his face dramatically.

“Get the other two packets out.” 

“Sure.” 

Satoru knew four packets would get the job done as he parted away from shoko, driving his way back home. 

And the next day when shoko texted him that she got a volunteer and is bringing her to the club, he didn't expected it to be you.

Shoko looped a hand around your shoulders “so this is the club,” chewing a gum, “and this is satoru gojo.” 

“Hi…” you said looking at him, before taking a look at those instruments laying behind. 

It’s you. It's really you. He couldn't believe his eyes yet stood unblinking as if you were some mirage and will fade away once he closes his eyelids.

“Gojo?” Shoko waved a hand infront of his face and realizing he didn't respond to you, he bent his torso bowing to you. 

“Woah,” shoko’s face scrunched up, cringing at his behavior, “when did you start being all formal?” 

You giggled at her comment while satoru hushed her with a series of ‘shut ups’. 

“I'm—” 

“Y/n.” satoru whispered almost as if reminding himself the way your name sounded in his lips. “Y/n, i know.” 

You chuckle at his words, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You know her?” shoko tilted her head at him, not expecting you to be acquainted with him. 

“We went to the same high school.” You say when satoru does nothing but gape at you with dreamy eyes. 

His heart did a whole somersault at your sentence. You remembered him; you remembered his name; you remembered he was in the same high school as you. The fact that you regarded him made him so giddy that he was practically ready to throw his hands up in the air or kiss the floor on which you walk.

“Kay’ I'll leave you guys to talk then.” She smirked before raising a cocky eyebrow at satoru, excusing herself from the club. 

“So…you're the only one?” 

“Huh?”

“In the band— i mean…”

“Oh no” he dragged, “there are two more members along with the back musicians…” 

You humm, taking a proper look at the club. 

“You like it?” 

“It has vibrant colours.” 

Your words echoed in his ears, the same which you said to him at the mall. Oh how bad had he wanted to hear those.

“The jazzies,” you read the name of their band aloud, “why jazzies? You only play jazz?” 

“No…we play all sorts of music…it's just a name suguru chose for the band.” 

“you do originals?” 

“Both originals and covers. Anything suguru comes up with.” 

Your mouth forms a little ‘o’ as satoru explains to you. 

“geto seems to be doing all the stuff, what do you do?” 

“You know him?” satoru’s brows furrowed. “Whom?” you ask.

“geto…geto suguru.” 

“Ofc, he was in the same class as us.” 

“Oh.” 

Ofcourse. Both he and geto were in the same class as you. It was no big deal for you to remember both of them. However, accepting that he wasn't any special was bitter. 

Satoru’s eyes followed your figure as you went out to reach for his guitar, mindlessly drawing your finger on its printed patterns.

“You didn't answer my question…”

“I guess I found you for our band.” 

When none of you says anything, satoru breaks the ice, clearing his throat.

“You know how to play?” 

“Err…no.” 

“I can teach you.” 

He slided his index among the few string instruments before pulling out an acoustic one, bringing it to you. 

“Hold the fretboard with your left hand,” satoru pulled the strap over your shoulders, “and bring your right hand over the body, fingers near the sound hole— yep that's right,” he turned your back to him, gently holding the back of your palms. 

“Now, pluck the chords for me,” his chest was against your back as he guided you through the strings. 

“Like this?” you ask him.

“Yes, you're doing very well.” 

The guitar in your hands, played smoothly as satoru guided you through it. 

Just like when he taught you how to play mario kart. 

Satoru looks down at you smiling in excitement. Oh how cute you looked like that. He could admire you twenty-four seven, never wanting to tear his gaze away, for you're that ineffably eesome in his eyes. 

Time almost ceased when you looked up at him, eyes crinkling with a smile that soon died as red creeps up your cheeks. 

Satoru’s face was mere inches away from you, his eyes wavering down to your lips. 

“SATO—RU— oh,” geto bursted in along with nanami causing you both to flinch. 

He quickly leaves your hand. 

“Y/n??” Geto dragged out your name, looking at you with his eyebrows knitting and lips forming a silly smile. 

“Hi,” you pull the strap over your shoulders abandoning the instrument on the nearby couch. “I'm here to volunteer.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah…” 

“That's great! I can't believe satoru even managed to talk—” satoru smacked him mid sentence. 

Nanami, for some reason, found the ceilings very interesting today, totally ignoring his two seniors.

Geto explained to you about their little tradition of hand drawn posters and showed you the posters they used for the last concerts. You, then, asked them to send them a group picture of the three and their preferences for colours and themes. 

“For that I might need your number—” 

“I- i can send it to her…” Geto passed a suggestive smile at satoru, which he ignored and awkwardly forwarded his phone to you. 

“Yeah that sounds fine. Here's my number, save it and text me later.” 

“Kky!” 

You pull the sling of your tote bag up to your arm, giving them a little nod, before turning your back to leave. 

“Wait!—” satoru held your arms frantically pulling you back. He hurried to the back near the couch you plopped the guitar and shoved it to you. “T-take it.” 

“Ah— no I can't do that.”

“Take it. You can learn how to play and I- I can teach you.” he tried not to stutter yet failed miserably. 

“No i rea—”

“consider it as a gift— from me.” 

You frowned a bit but agreed anyway. 

“That's really sweet of you satoru! I will wait for your text! Bye!!” 

He waved back to you. 

“What was that?” Geto implies in the direction of the exit door through which you just left. 

“nothing.” 

Later, You sent the photo of the finished banner to satoru. It took you 42 hours to finish it. 

Satoru on the other hand was practicing really hard, totally different from his half hearted performances from the previous ones which wasn't unnoticed by the other members. 

He has to be the best. After all, this concert will be different from the previous ones. This time you will be there to see him, cheer for him, and notice him. 

You soon bring the banner rolled up to the club. “Woah! You really did a great job.” 

“This is much better than ren’s.” says nanami before going back to his drum set, giving you a thumbs up.

“Satoru?” 

“Y-yes.” 

“You liked it?” 

“I loved it. It has vibrant colours.” You giggled at his answer, shifting your direction to his gaze. His fingers seemed to flake off any dust on the surface of your work, handling it so gently. 

It wasn't his fault he felt so overwhelmed. All these years he'd yearned for one kind word from your lips yet he was left starving. 

And now you'd drawn him with such precision, that it was as if you were accustomed to drawing him for the hundredth time. 

His heart fluttered at the thought. 

“I will be there at your concert,” you say, turning your back to him. “All the best!” 

The campus stadium was full with a bunch of students and hippies, it was really hard for satoru to try locating you amongst the sea of crowds. 

The music rang loud, brisking fiery cheers from the crowd, full of vim and vigor. The spotlight shone on the three— geto with his vocals and string of bass; satoru with his acoustic guitar; and nanami with his drum set. 

The crowd roared in excitement as music coursed through their veins. 

Will you be cheering too? 

Satoru raised his head from the guitar, plucking chords effortlessly, to his audience. 

And as if it was fate that drew both of you together, his eyes found yours. You were there in the vip section, along with shoko and another girl. You were moving with beats, swaying your arms in rhythm to their music. 

His eyes locked in yours as you waved a hand at him. Oh how, how pretty you looked. Everything except you was a blur to him. 

The crowd goes even more wild, seeing satoru blush, not sensing it was you who caused it. 

The concert continued till past midnight as the vibrations thrumming around the air slowed and wrapped up with their ending song: “Where Our Blue Is.”

As the applause slowly start to dissipate, satoru pulled off his instrument, running to the edge of the stage, and hopped down the raised platform. 

The college girls shrieked baffled, some even reached out, grabbing on his wrists and clothes. He politely got out of their grip making his way to the vip section, geto and nanami following him. 

The still air felt electric as he approached you. 

“you liked the show?” 

“Ofc it was amazing!!” The girl beside you answers in your stead, whom he now recognised as yura.

“It was really good.” you say swallowing a laugh bubbling up your throat at his huffed out appearance. 

“Thanks to your banner, it even attracted more audience.” geto remarked, placing his arm around satoru’s shoulders.

“Thank you.” 

“You should thank me for bringing her in.” Shoko reclaims, looping her hand around your arm, “let's go steal some shots.” 

“Oh no i can't— i don't drink. And I need to hurry back home it's late.” 

“Kyaahh— you've let me down y/nniee. Only two packets of cigarettes can get my mood uplifte—” 

“I will bring it tomorrow.” You say shutting up her whines. 

“kk bye and text me when you get home the rest are joining me right ?”

“Count me out. I'll be driving her home tonight.” Satoru says sheepishly, ignoring the smirks and exchanged looks of his bandmates, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.

“No but I was about to go home with her —” yura interrupts.

“Satoru’s fine. You're coming with us.” Shoko dragged her along with geto and nanami, which satoru was glad of. 

Finally he'd be alone with you.

He guided you to the parking lot from the back of the stage, before getting his car keys out. 

It's metallic jingle echoing softly as he presses the button on his key fob. The car responds with a soft beep unlocking as satoru opens the passenger door, holding it open for you. 

“Here,” he gestures with his other hand, “get in.” 

“Sure.” You say gulping thickly.

The thick smell of your cologne mingling with the leather scent of the car.

He closes the door before sprinting to the other side, getting himself in. “Don't— ” he stops you when you reach out for your seat belt. “Allow me the honor” his finger brushes against your skin as he reaches out for the seat belt. 

Your heart practically jolts at his action. 

The click of the seat belt buckle echoes softly in the quiet car, as he straightens back to his former position. 

“Where do you live?” He clears his throat, starting the car engine and flicking on the headlights before pulling out the car into the driveway. 

“In the downtown.” 

“That's quite far from the campus, how bout I drive you everyday back home?” His eyes suggestive, making you chuckle.

“I can't let you do that.”

“Why?” 

“Since it's far from the campus and you won't be visiting often.” 

“Who knows, I might be visiting your place often.” 

You turn your face from the window to look at him. 

“What?” 

“I will have to— to teach you guitar.” 

You crack up at his silliness, finding yourself melting again.

“Okay fine. But that still doesn't counts.” 

“Why not!” 

Since that day, satoru did visited you often, sometimes barging in with shoko and sometimes alone teaching you how to play guitar, plucking on chords and notes. 

And you attended all of his concerts. Their previous artist has recovered now and has resumed his work, so you no longer work with them. However they insist you tag along each time and it's not like you complain. 

You liked satoru’s company. He was handsome, charismatic and popular. You'd watched him your entire high school. He was the one of most popular students, good in a millions of things, starting from academics to being athletic. He'd win every sports competition and even participate in all the extracurriculars. You'd admired him for he could do the things which you didn't had the courage for. 

You liked how he didn't judge people, helped them in their need, and even took care of those garish flowers nobody seemed to double take.

You'd previously met him before high school, though he never brought that up. You wondered if he even remembers the day at the mall. You wanted to ask him so bad, however—

Your world was only limited to papers and paints.

So you painted. 

You painted him so many times that you'd have more than five sketchbooks with paintings full of him.

You wanted to be friends, maybe even more than friends.

But that didn't matter now. He was near you and you would do anything to keep your thumping heart in control and not have satoru cut you out of his life. 

But how can you?

How can you control it when satoru so gently, so lovingly, takes your hand in his. When he smiles so sweetly at you. When he teaches you how to pull chords and other instruments. When he drops you home from college almost everyday. When he hugs you and tells you to take care. 

How are you supposed to be just friends when he's so overly affectionate to you?

Or maybe it's just your overthinking.

Satoru was always polite and sweet, he'd always been sweet to others and you were no special. 

“What are you thinking baby?”

You come out of your daze, rolling your eyes at the nickname.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that…” 

“Not my fault you aren't paying attention to me…” he pulls you closer to him, resting his face on your shoulder. 

“Have you always been this hungry for attention?” you ask, getting yourself comfortable abandoning the guitar beside you on the couch— of the club.

“I've been starving.” 

You cringe at his words. Satoru has another concert today and they just finished practicing an hour ago and now they are taking a break. 

Geto and nanami and other back artists wanted to get some fresh air so they left you and satoru alone to entertain each other. 

“Are you really skipping on me?” He looked at you with puppy eyes. 

“I've a gallery exhibition tomorrow.” You need to scoot back home to get ready for it. It's a big event for you to showcase your arts. 

Satoru hummed, nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck, “I'll be there. You're going to do great.” 

An uncertain lump forms in your throat, hard to swallow, you say nothing. Your heart was in a conflict again, no matter what you can absolutely not—

“I will be going then. All the best for your concert.” 

You push satoru away, reaching for your tote bag from the side of a random arm chair. “Wait I will drop—” 

“Who's leaving?” shoko barges in with yura and others. 

Satoru points at you. 

“I just got here. You can't leave already.”

“Yup! Yup! Please stay a little longer, baby. I'll drop you back home, no worries.” 

Shoko exchanges suggestive glances with geto and they somehow persuade you to stay a little longer.

They start practicing for another round when shoko pulls your head closer, “what do you think about gojo?” 

“Huh?!” You shout over the music, unable to hear her. 

She grabbed your hand and pulled you outside, with Yura following closely behind you both.

“What— “ 

“What do you think of gojo?” 

A burning sensation hits you slowly as shoko’s question registers in your mind.

You ears turn red. 

“Eh…um h-he’s a nice guy. A nice musician…and—”

“And?” Shoko wiggled her brows at you, a sly smile on her face. 

“A-a nice friend.” 

“Just a friend?” You nod at her, seemingly more embarrassed at her implications. 

Shoko's face literally radiated disappointment. It was as if someone told her that cigarettes are now banned in the country. “I think he's interested in you,” you choked on air at her remark. “No?” 

Yura shrugged. 

The music slowed down and then paused, bringing your conversation to a momentary halt. 

Satoru rushed outside, complaining about why you left in the middle of his practice.

“Bruh, chill, I'm not trying to steal her away from you. We're just talking!” Shoko jokes as you laugh all flustered. 

Just when you were about to leave one of his fangirls suddenly appeared from nowhere and threw herself into his arms, wrapping hers tightly around his neck. He stumbled back a step, surprised, before regaining his balance but he didn't put her down rather he spinned her around before setting her back down, with a polite smile on his face. 

The other members just saw the scene unfold with amusement. Nanami was surprised at the fan’s boldness and geto simply observed the scene as shoko rolled her eyes, finding it hysterical.

“What do you think of shoko’s remark?” said yura, looping her hand around your arm. 

“What?” You say suppressing the slow tinge of jealousy. 

“About gojo being interested in you…” 

“I-i don't think so.” 

You try to laugh it off.

“Yeah, he's just polite. To pretty much everyone.” 

Her words felt like a splinter to your heart. You shouldn't feel like this. It'd happened before— not now again. 

Yura’s right, satoru is just polite and will do the same for everyone what he does for you— because he's kind. And you're no special.

The entire ride was silent. Satoru kept asking you if anything was wrong but you just guised a smile at him, insisting it was nothing.

The next day at the gallery event, you behaved oddly. You smiled at him but  didn't reach your eyes, your answers to his question were of one word, even avoiding his touch. 

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked warily.

“No.” 

Days passed by and you distanced yourself more from him. 

Satoru, on the other hand, was almost losing his mind. His world turned upside down. You stopped coming to his concerts, ignored his texts and even refused to let him drop you back home. 

It was yesterday you’d allowed him to teach you the guitar yet today you behaved as if you'd long forgotten him. You were cold and distant, leaving him puzzled by his own thoughts upon your sudden change in demeanor. 

He couldn't help but wonder whether he'd done something that made you this upset? 

You'd said it was nothing.

Then why?

What the fuck did he messed up?

Satoru missed you terribly and violently.

He eyed you from the inside of his car parked a bit far from your department. Today was another day you refused his offer to drive you to class. ‘I'm kinda sick so I won't be going.’ This was what you'd texted him the morning and yet there you were getting off your uber. 

You lied to him. 

“Come with me to their concert today.” Shoko urged you, her lips pursed in a thin line. 

“I'm sorry—”

“No you're not so sorry. Tomorrow’s Saturday, come with me, gojo’s getting mad without you.”

You suck in a breath at the mention of his name.

“What's wrong?” shoko says sipping the last of her drink before plopping it on your tea table. 

“Nothing.” 

“Then come.”

You agreed eventually. Attending the concert won't be a big deal. 

And it wasn't, except for satoru’s piercing gaze burning holes in your back. You accompanied Shoko backstage and casually greeted everyone— including him. 

“God, haven't seen you in so long.” geto side hugged you as nanami gave you a nod of acknowledgement before running off to the stage for some last minute preparations. “Satoru missed you like crazy.” 

You attempt a weak smile in satoru's direction, darting a hesitant glance his way. His gaze was fixed on you, but his expression was unreadable, almost giving shivers down your spine. 

One of the other members suddenly hurried over to Geto, urgently speaking about some issue, he politely excused himself and exited the room, closely followed by Shoko. Now, you were left alone with Satoru, the only two remaining in the room. 

“I should go and check what's the proble—” you try sprinting your way out the door, “wait—” when satoru stops you. 

His hand on your arm, preventing you to go any further and when you struggle to get out of his grip, he tightens his grip even more slamming you to the wall,  pinning you caging your body. 

“What's wrong with you?” 

“Gojo you're hurting m—” 

“Gojo?” His voice cracked, grip losing before letting your arms go, “why? Why must you do this to me?” 

“Do what?” You drift your gaze away unable to look at satoru, who's this close tearing up.

“This— why must you do this? Why must you ignore me? Why must you be distant from me? Why must you lie to me so that I won't bother picking you up or dropping you home? Why must you reject my affection?” He sucks in a breath “You know I can't live like that—” 

“why?” 

“Don't pretend like you don't know…” 

“no no don't say it,” you throw your hands up in the air frantically, “don't— I can’t fall again…no— I know you're just being polite and you will do this for anyone, but I can’t help it if I don't—”

“I love you—” he whispers, bringing your hand up, placing the palm flat to his chest.

“No you don't.” 

“Yes I do— what do you mean you can't fall again,” he suppresses your struggles of wrenching free your hand from his grip. “You have no idea how crazy I'm for you. I love you and I've loved you since I was 17. I was about to confess to you on our graduation day but you just disappeared leaving me alone. And now that I have you I'm not letting you go— make no mistake baby, if there's anyone I’d ever kneel for— it'd be you.” 

Thick silence covered the entire room, except your heavy exhales. Satoru gojo was inches close to you, your hand still laid flat against his heaving chest. 

“B-but I wrote you a note confes—” 

“What note? I never….” confusion twisted on his face bitterly. 

“You threw it in the dustbin— the one I wrote to you the day before graduation.”

His face told the truth, as he shook his head denying it. He never received any note from you— nevertheless having the audacity to throw it in the trash when he'd been hopelessly in love with you all these years.

“Yura told me—” you shut your mouth as the realization hits you. The person whom you considered as a friend backstabbed you long ago. 

She lied about him discarding it while it was actually her who had stolen it off his desk before satoru even noticed.

Your head raised in embarrassment, ready to apologize for the misunderstanding when suddenly, Satoru's lips met yours in a tender kiss. The kiss was filled with such affection and tenderness that you felt as if you might melt in his embrace. His arms held you close, firmly yet gently, as he deepened the kiss. Your heart pounded in your chest as you responded to his kiss. All thoughts of the misunderstanding were forgotten in that moment of pure intimacy before satoru pulled away with frowned brows and a dazed smile. 

“Tell me, would I kiss anyone the same way I kiss you?” he pulled you again, smacking his lips on yours as he snaked a hand around your waist, the other, still firm, holding your palm. 

You could feel his heartbeat going rapid the more he deepens the kiss, sucking on your upper lip. 

He pulls away again.

“Tell me, would my heart beat the same way as it beats around yours?” He smacks his lips again, this time pinching your waist making you gasp as he slips his tongue in.

His hand fumbles with the hem of your dress, pulling away again, a string of drool connecting both of your lips. “Would I be breathless the same way as I'm now?” 

His hand travels up your inner thigh, till it reaches the wet blotch of drenched silk. You grasp his shoulders, when he starts drawing circles over the fabric, smirking before nuzzling his face on the crook of your neck. 

“Satoru, what if someone walks in—” your body jolts, nails digging into his back as he pulls the fabric to the side, plunging a digit in without any warning. “Let them…” he goes back to sucking your skin while rubbing his thumb over your swollen clit. 

Your teeth sank on your bottom lips, his finger slowly plunging in and out of you. “Nngh ‘toru, you’re—” small trembles quivered through your body as he plunged with a faster rhythm. 

“Shh baby! Let me take you” he inserts another digit as your teeth dug even deeper into your lip, stretching you and filling you so well. 

He was stroking you, curling his fingers inside until hitting your most sensitive spot. Sweat beaded your forehead as your trembles gave way to full body shudders, shutting your mouth with your hand not wanting to be loud. 

Satoru drew himself back from your neck, satisfied marking and suckling, withdrawing his digits, slick from you as you wince at the loss of his fullness. 

He brings them up and sucks your essence off his fingers with a pop. “I want to eat you out.” 

Before even you can make out his words he kneels down bunching up the fabric to your hips pulling your panty down properly and latching onto your swollen clit. 

“Fuck ‘toru.” he lapped his tongue on your clit, drawing circles, tasting your sweet before drawing himself back, “I am fucking you baby.” He says, licking a fat stripe on your vulva, his rigid tongue swiping back and forth over your clit sending sensations that make your body jolt. “Here and raw” he hummed against your pussy, his breath warm and hot sending vibrations to your core, before vacuuming on your clit. 

Your hand grasping his hair, as he worked on your orgasm.

He plunged his digits again, rhythmatic with the little pants escaping your mouth, along with the slick sounds of your hips buckling down his fingers. 

He smirked internally at your enthusiasm.

“So fucking nasty for me huh?” He said against your pussy, licking and sucking till you were nothing but withering in mindless pleasure. You were taking it well, suppressing your moans into breathless pants until he sucked, fingers pressing the most sensitive spot inside you. 

A shriek fell past your lips, knees buckling, followed by a string of moans and whimpers. “Oh— fuck..” you try closing your thighs which he prevents with his iron grip of one hand, forcing it open till he has better access. “Don't even dare closing on me…” 

The wet sounds of his fingers, plunging in and out of your gummy walls, echoed throughout the empty room.

Something coiled hot and fuzzy in the lower pit of your stomach. You clenched hard around his finger, when the bass-heavy beats of the band's concert began, causing you to involuntarily shove satoru’s face deeper into your cunt as you heard voices from the stage outside. 

Geto's unmistakable voice rang out, accompanied by the heavy drumming of nanami. They had started performing without satoru. 

“Nn’toru they start—” your voice died down into a breathless gasp as you felt your pelvic muscles clench, tension looping around your entire body as fiery sensations erupted. You arch your back against the wall, unable to stop your toes curling at the intensity of his tongue lapping, finger fuckin' you, as your vision gets blurry. 

“Yeah…cum for me baby” his velvety murmurs were all it took for you to turn into a mess of sensations, your body erupting as your high came down bursting, dripping and spilling down your thighs, his chin and his neck. 

Satoru lapped up the drops carelessly strewn about your skin, his tongue tracing a path along the droplets splattered on your inner thighs as he savored everything with anticipation.

“Tell me, would I kneel infront of anyone and let them cum this hard on my fingers?” He straightened himself up, “and then drink it up like a pussy drunk male whore?” his gaze never left yours, wiping the leftover slick from his chin with the back of his hand before licking it clean.

The music from outside has now gained its intensity, thrumming even louder.

No— you mouthed. 

Satoru’s gaze was still fixed at you, when he unzipped his pants, his aching cock sprang out red, already leaking precum. 

You gape at his girth. 

It was big.

And fucking thick. 

Leaning in, Satoru brings his lips close to your ear, his voice clear over the blaring music from outside, “Like what you see—”

You didn't get to answer him before he slammed right in. 

A cry of pleasure tore from your throat, as you loop your hands around his neck, nails digging on his back.

He hissed out a breath, restraining himself from moving till you adjusted to his size. 

Only then did he slowly pull it out leaving only the tip inside. You grimace at the loss of fullness until he slams back in causing you to clench around him. 

He let out a low guttural moan which was almost inaudible to you over the roar of music if you weren't so close to each other, feeling the raw desire of his voice vibrating on your skin.

“Tell me— hahh- would I let anyone clench this hard on me if this weren't you?” 

You were at a loss for words. 

The kind, polite, sweet satoru you knew was gone. In his place was someone who fucked hard. 

When you don't answer he pulls out and slams right back in harsh, eyes gleaming with wicked intent. 

Satisfied, satoru guides his one hand to tapping on your thigh suggesting you wrap your legs up around him. 

He repositions his dick on your entrance, before supporting your weight with one hand, pinning your body completely to the wall, while the other hand grabs your neck, choking you before giving you a sloppy breathless kiss. 

“You like it don't ya’ hmm fuck— so tight—” 

Your cries came out choked as he pounded into you, in an insane manner, desperate and primal.

“Tell me—” 

Thrust 

“do you—” 

Thrust 

“still think I'm just being polite?”

Thrust.

The roar of geto's voice singing out aloud different notes masked out the filth of your moans. 

The sensation was in again, hot and uproar, coiling beneath the core of your consciousness. Satoru sensed you being close to your climax, continued to plow into your pussy, now supporting your weight with both hands against the wall. 

Your toes curled again, nails digging down his back almost scratching the fabric, “yes that's it love,” your eyes rolled back as you arch your neck unable to handle the pleasure, “cum for me…” 

Your mouth forming a little ‘o’, mind blank as your eyes saw stars. The only consciousness left in your body directed you to the burning of your heat, till it came crashing down.

You came hard letting your head fall on his shoulders too spent for anything.

Satoru too chased his high, thrusting into your swollen pussy, his cock twitching inside you, till you felt him getting sloppy and tense before cumming into you.

The music was still very loud, beats thrumming your flushed veins. 

None of you said anything, remaining in the same position. Satoru pulled himself out, his cum dripping out your vagina, before walking over and placing you on a nearby chair. 

He cleaned you up gently tugging your clothes back and fixes himself before cleaning the mess near the wall. 

“They— they started performing without you…” you huff out, drained still in the very euphoria of your pleasure satoru showed you. 

“I told them to do so…” he shouted over the noise. 

You remain stunned for a while, letting out a breath. “I'm sorry…I avoided you.” 

“Here I thought you were giving me a thousand kisses as an apology.” 

You chuckle at him, back to his normal self— your sweet, kind and maybe not so polite satoru…

He came over to you, lifting you effortlessly before plopping himself down on the chair with you on his lap. 

“I missed you.” 

“I missed you too.” 

“No but I missed you like crazy…” he pouted. “y/n be my girlfriend…please.” 

Tears start forming in your eyes, overwhelmed, you never thought the satoru gojo you met at the mall, the satoru gojo you loved your entire high school would someday ask you to be his girlfriend.

To paint his heart with your love.

“I will.” 

“no wait— marry me instead!”

You dug your face deeper into his chest, laughing at his playfulness. And satoru just smiled.

Finally he would be yours. 

you and Satoru started dating since then and things couldn't have been any better for him. He practically announced to the world that you were his girlfriend, always picking you up and dropping you off from campus, and claiming a kiss as his reward. You’d also cut Yura off, not wanting any more negativity in your life. Satoru was yours, and you were his. And He couldn't be any happier.

Tags: @cccandynecklaces @secretfankoala

© strawberrymochin 24 | plagiarism won't be tolerated |

[kohakuhibiki]

"Let me take nothing you care about seriously and make fun of your traumatism on top of creating new others, it'll be fun"

"how come you hate me? It wouldn't have happened if I would have listened you communicated more."

[buck-star]

Cowboys preference| B.B

>> Little did you know that the break up with the cowboys son would lead you toward the cowboy himself who always had a liking in you. <<

Pairing: Cowboy!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 4.186 Words

Warnings: Minors DNI, 18+, ex-boyfriend’s dad, possessiveness, age gap, smut [fingering (fem!rec), semi public sex], bit angst, lots of fluff

Authors Note: Dividers made by me.

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Bucky’s smirk falters the moment he hears the door cracking open and two voices. He isn’t surprised to hear two different ones — he’s surprised that the one isn’t the person he assumed would come over today. His eyes narrow as the girl laughs — she isn’t supposed to laugh and giggle around his son like that. She isn’t even supposed to be at their house.

“Brock?” Bucky asks, growling as he sees the girl standing next to his son. She is snuggling into his side, holding Brock's arm.

Bucky’s ocean blue eyes roam over her, then toward his son. Both of them have swollen lips and messy hair. He doesn’t even want to know in which corner they made out to look like that, but he knows what else his son's little bitch means.

“Where’s she?” Bucky says in a calm voice. His heart is thrumming against his ribcage, and he needs to use all his willpower to not pin his son by his throat against the wall. Or to pick up that girl next to him to throw her out of the house. “Where’s my Y/N?”

Brock flinches when your name slips past his dad's lips. The girl next to him pulls at his arm — uncomfortable around Bucky and especially to have him staring at them with such an intense expression.

“S-she… we broke up,” Brock mumbles. His eyes dart to the girl next to him, and he lets slightly go of her hand. She looks offended, taking a step to the side while she looks between Brock and his dad. “W-we had some differences and decided to break up.”

“Ya had some differences, or do ya have a different?" Bucky raises an eyebrow. He knows exactly what’s going on, but he wants his son to say it; he wants him to say it in front of the girl he just took home. “A different little toy for ya games? I told ya that my babydoll is special, and if ya ever dare to treat her badly, I will take care of my babydoll, and you can fuck off here.”

Brock's eyes widen, and he shakes his head. “N-no. It’s not like that! Y-you know I- she…” He stutters, his eyes widening as he takes a step to the side, further away from the girl. “It’s all… It’s just a big, really big misunderstanding. I made a mistake; I-i don’t think..."

The moment you took the first step into their house, Bucky was head over heels in love with you. You’re the most precious and sweetest girl he has ever met. He knows about Brock's liking to play with girls, but he made sure that Brock would be better with you — which he definitely isn’t. Bucky’s blood boils, and his heart rate increases while he inhales deeply.

“A mistake? It’s a mistake to treat ya girl like that? She fuckin’ loved ya and ya threw her — ya relationship away — for a girl that wets your fuckin’ cock?” Bucky asks, his voice dangerously low.

Brock backs away; he knows that his dad is protective about you. Your soul is so precious, so soft, and he only wants to protect it from being broken. He doesn’t want your soul to get hurt; he doesn’t want you to get hurt. And his own kid hurt like no one ever should do it.

“Did she see ya kissing her?” Brock's eyes widened at his dad’s question. You didn’t just see them kissing; you saw much more than that. And it wasn’t the first time — you kept it for yourself; another time you talked to him, and he told you he wouldn’t cheat on you again. And here he is — standing in front of his dad, having to explain that the girl next to him — who isn’t you — is the one he cheated on you with.

The look on Brock's face told him everything he had to know. Without another word, he pushes his son to the side and stomps through the floor toward the door. Bucky slams the door shut behind him; with a smooth movement, he takes on his cowboy boots and takes his hat from the door handle.

At some point he started to place his hat at the door handle. He places it firmly on his head, huffing. He can’t believe his son — an immature little boy who doesn’t even know how to take care of such an amazing and sweet girl that you are.

Bucky knows where you are; he knows you better than everyone. Whenever you’re feeling stressed or sad, you’re sitting in the barn on his farm with your favorite horse in the box. You named him, and Bucky can’t help but love the horse just as much as you — maybe it’s because of you, but maybe it’s also because you named him. You named it.

“Babydoll?” Bucky calls you when he enters the barn. The familiar smell of the hay immediately comes to his nostrils, but there is that scent of something so sweet — something he remembers so well. “Babydoll, I know ya’re here. It’s smelling like ya sweet perfume, smelling just like ya sweetness, babydoll.”

You wipe the tears immediately away as you hear Bucky’s voice and his footsteps coming closer to where you are. You should have known that he knows where you are and that he will look for you when Brock comes home alone or maybe even with the girl that just sucked him off.

How stupid you were. Thinking that he would change for you, that he would stop cheating on you. You thought that when Bucky can be such an amazing person, his son could be too, but you were wrong. Brock is the opposite of his dad. And even though things weren't as perfect anymore and your feelings for Brock faded away, you tried to make it work — but Brock didn't, and one-sided just doesn’t work.

“Babydoll, don’t ignore me. Come on, know ya’re in the box with him,” Bucky chuckles as he stops in front of the box and looks into it. He’s seeing you sitting in the corner of the box in the hay. Your eyes are red and puffy, and a low groan escapes his throat.

Bucky hates to see you like that, knowing that his son did this to you. He can’t help the clenching of his heart when he sees you pressed into the corner, your legs close to your chest and your arms wrapped around you. No one dares to hurt his babydoll, no one without consequences.

“Hi, babydoll,” he says softly, walking closer before he lets himself fall into the hay next to you. There is still some distance, but he can smell your sweetness even better now. “Ya know, he’s a dick. He doesn’t deserve ya if he doesn’t know how to treat ya right. Ya’re such a pretty girl, with a beautiful soul.”

You smile softly, turning your head to look at Bucky. His eyes are focused on the horse in front of him, which eats and doesn’t bother to have two guests in his box. You have the urge to grasp his hat and put it on your head; you always do it.

The first time you did it, your ex-boyfriend looked really shocked, while Bucky smirked at you. He loves to see you with his hat; it’s so intimidating and cute. When you asked him why they were staring at you like that, he explained it, and your reaction was the most funny but most adorable thing he has ever seen.

“Ya know, if ya wear a cowboys hat, it means ya his,” Bucky explains with a huge grin on his plump lips. Your eyes widened, and you thought about taking the hat off again, but it felt just so perfect that you didn’t want to take it off. “So, when ya wearin’ my hat, it means ya mine.”

Brock huffed, rolling his eyes about the glistening that sparkled in your orbs. He couldn’t understand the bond you and his dad had; you couldn’t either. At least for a while you couldn’t.

Around Bucky, everything feels just perfect; you feel safe and protected, even loved. You first thought it’s just a typical “girls your age like someone who’s nice and willing to protect them,” but at some point there wasn’t anyone else in your mind when you were alone.

Brock turned more and more into an idiot, and you found comfort in his dad. When Brock started to cheat and you found out your world broke into pieces, Bucky was there. He didn’t know why you were crying when you were suddenly standing in the door; you just said family problems, and he offered you comfort.

Little did you know that Bucky felt loved and happy by giving you comfort. You just sat there, watched the most cheesy movies, baked, or you just were in the stable.

“Ya lookin’ at my hat; do ya want to wear it, babydoll?” His voice interrupts your thoughts, and you feel your cheeks heating up. You should know now that this man notices when you stare at him.

Bucky doesn’t need an answer; he shuffles closer to you and takes his hat to place it on your head. His smile grows as he runs his rough fingers down your cheeks to your chin. He turns your face toward him, his ocean blue eyes staring intensely into yours to see any sign of discomfort.

When he doesn’t see anything but the softness and affection he has with his touch, he keeps his fingers where they are. “He already did it before, didn’t he? He cheated on ya and ya knew it. Did ya see him cheating?”

You swallow thickly as the memories of Brock with the other girl come back to your mind. The way he kneeled in front of you the first time you found out he cheated, his expression pleading that you forgive him for cheating because he didn’t even know why he did it. And you accepted his apology to find out he did it again — he cheated on you so often, you don’t even know how often he cheated with some girls on you.

“H-he…” You trail off, trying to find some more comfort in Bucky’s soft touch. His thumb moves toward your cheek, and he caresses it softly while his fingers wrap around the back of your neck. “He cheated on me really often. I thought he would stop after I found out, but he said he would. But he didn't, and today I saw him getting his… you know, sucked by her.”

Bucky smirks softly when you avoid using the word “cock” or “dick” in front of him. He nods, knowing what you mean. "That's why ya were here so often?”

You nod, then you shake your head. You earn a confused, slightly amused look from Bucky. You run your tongue over your bottom lip, wetting it slightly before you clear your throat to speak again. Bucky’s eyes follow every little movement, his eyes darting from your lips to your eyes, and he chuckles.

“Not just because of that. First yes, kinda. But then there was another reason,” you say softly, leaning more into Bucky’s gentle touch. “But then... with the time I-i lost feelings for Brock after I noticed that he’s still cheating on me. But you… you’re my safe place; when I’m around you, I can be just myself without judgment.”

Bucky grins at you, scooting closer until your legs touch slightly. His softness sends shivers through your body, and you look away with heated cheeks. Those words mean so much more to him than you can imagine. He has dreamed to hear them out of your pretty mouth; he has wished to hear them one day. As much as he’s mad at Brock for pushing you away and fucking another girl, he loves that at least he himself is more for you than just your ex-boyfriend's dad.

“Ya know, ya got my attention the moment ya stepped into our house. But when ya just took my hat, my heart started to beat for ya — it was always a taboo thing since you were with my son. But I got an eye on ya the whole time, babydoll.” Bucky confesses, smirking at you. He can't help himself anymore — he wants to tell you everything he feels for you. He wants to be honest with you, and maybe... Maybe the two of you will have a chance as a couple.

You giggle, then you inhale deeply. You feel guilty, not because you don't feel like Bucky but because of the words you're going to say next. At the same time, you're happy that you can finally say it out loud.

“I stayed with Brock because I thought we could fix it. I thought it at the start, but then it changed. The truth is, I stayed with him because it was the only way to be close to you. I'm just your son's little girlfriend, so you know,” you mumble, looking down at your fingers.

Bucky moves next to you slightly, his face suddenly in front of you, and you notice that he moves to kneel in front of you. His fingers find their way underneath your chin, and he lifts it up. “Ya were never just my son's little girlfriend. Ya were always my babydoll, and ya will be exactly that forever. I love ya more than ya know.”

He opens his arms for you, waiting until you crawl into them. His warm embrace lets you relax immediately. You sigh softly, leaning your back against his broad chest, enjoying the feeling of his fingers trailing up and down your sides. Bucky lowers his head to your neck, his lips just inches away from your sensitive skin, and you shiver in his arms.

“There ya go; do ya trust me? Do ya trust me and let me make ya feel good?” He asks, his voice way lower than before, and you nod, hypnotized by his presence. Bucky chuckles, his warm breath all over the side of your neck and causing goosebumps. Bucky's hands trail lower to your thighs, rubbing and squeezing them carefully. “If ya want me to stop you say it, do ya understand?”

You nod again, earning a harsher squeeze of your thigh. Bucky loves the effect he has on you, but for the moment he needs a proper answer to make sure you understand him. “Y-Yes, I understood, but please...”

Bucky chuckles, his lips finally touching your neck, and you lean even more into him. His soft lips brush over your skin, and you can't help the small whimpers leaving your lips. He slides his metal hand underneath your shirt, caressing the soft skin of your tummy, while he strokes your thigh with his fleshy hand.

“But please, what? Use ya pretty mouth and tell me what ya need." Buck groans into your ear, his fingers sliding further up to your covered cunt. His thick cock is pressing hard against your back, and you can’t help but squirm in his embrace.

“Need you… Bucky, I need you, please,” you whine, throwing your head against his shoulder, looking deep into his blue eyes.

Bucky grins, his lips trailing over your neck, leaving soft kisses all over your skin. You whimper, fingers digging into his thick thighs on both of your sides. He brings his big hands further up your thighs, kneading your soft skin, making you gasp when his rough hands get closer to your pussy.

“That’s what ya need? A man who can take care of ya, don’t ya?” He asks, sucking blue and purple marks into the sensitive skin of your neck. Bucky brings his metal hand to cup your cunt through the pants, massaging you through the fabric.

A soft moan slips past your lips, and Bucky didn’t know he could become more obsessed with you. But after the sweet sound you just made, he can’t help himself but falls even more in love with you.

With his other hands, he opens your pants, his hand sliding into them and underneath your cotton panties. Bucky groans into your neck, kissing along your pulse point. You whimper softly; his fingers are not really cold, but they aren’t as warm as your covered skin either. You shiver under his touch once again. Bucky guides his thick fingers through your folds, humming when he feels the wetness against his rough fingertips.

“Already so wet for me, babydoll.” His voice is low, rougher than usual, and you can’t help the moan that slips past his lips. This man is just too hot for his own good, finger-fucking you in the hay while everyone could walk in and could hear and see the two of you. “Fuck, love ya so much, my precious girl.”

Bucky pushes one of his digits into you, moaning when your tightness sucks him deeper into your warmth. Whines and moans fall from your parted lips, turning Bucky on beyond belief.

You throw your head back; your eyes widen slightly when he starts thrusting into you, immediately hitting your sweet spot. “Fucking shit!”

“No one's ever fucked ya probably?” He asks, earning a shake of your head. He chuckles, increasing his speed slightly while he hits the spot over and over again. “And I’m just fuckin’ ya with my finger. But don’t worry, got ya now, babydoll.”

You nod, whining when he pushes a second digit into you. The stretch is almost more than you ever felt. Brock wasn’t too bad either, but Bucky’s fingers are just so thick — muscular and perfect. Bucky chuckles against your neck, kissing your skin and sucking even more marks into your neck, making sure they are visible.

Pumping his fingers in and out of you makes you see stars already, but when he starts scissoring his fingers and curling them upwards to hit your sweet spot, you feel the look in your stomach tightening.

Your mouth drops open, saliva runs down your chin, and you don’t even try to hold back your moans. Your hips move in the same rhythms as Bucky’s fingers, bringing you closer to your orgasm.

“Mhm-B-Bucky…” you mumble, arching your back. The pleasure he causes with just his fingers is so much better than you have ever experienced before. He grunts, letting you know that he listens to you. “Please, d-do— s-stop.”

Your words don’t even make sense anymore, but you don’t care. Bucky laughs behind you; his free hand placed itself around your throat, pulling you further back until he could look into your face. “Ya want me to stop?”

Before you can answer him, he stops the movements of his fingers, earning a whine. You move your hips, trying to get some friction, but it doesn’t feel as good as before. His fingers don't curl; they don’t hit the spot that makes you see stars.

You lean your head back, causing the hat to almost fall down, but Bucky holds it on top of your head with his shoulder. “Don’t want the hat to fall off ya head, huh. Shows who ya belong to, babydoll. Mine, all mine, aren’t ya, babydoll?”

“Y-yes… y-yours… please— fu-fuck, Bucky,” you moan while you try to form a proper sentence with his fingers still deep inside of you. Bucky grunts once again, his digits moving and pressing against the spongy spot inside of you. You almost scream as pleasure shoots through your body, making it impossible to concentrate on something else but his fingers.

Bucky laughs, kissing your cheek before he moves his fingers again. He just wanted to hear you say that you’re his and that you belong to him. His cock is painfully hard, pressing against his pants, but he doesn’t care; he wants to see you fall apart on his fingers before he thinks about his problem.

“Yeah, come on, babydoll. Come all over my fingers. Can feel that ya close,” he mumbles, bringing his thumb to your clit. He runs his thumb through your folds before circling your clit.

Without another thought or word, you moan his name loudly, your fingers digging into his thick thighs as you come all over his fingers. Your body is shaking, but Bucky doesn’t stop his movements; he thrusts his fingers in a steady but slower rhythm into you, making sure that you can ride your orgasm out.

Your pussy is hugging him tightly; the imagination of how good his cock would fill you comes to his mind, and he groans, thrusting against you from behind.

“Do ya feel that? Fuckin’ hard for ya, babydoll,” he mumbles. Bucky smirks when he sees the soft smile on your lips. You look fucked out, but the smile makes his heart flatter. “Fucked ya so good, can’t even form proper words? It’s okay, I’m gonna take care of ya.”

You nod, breathing still heavy, and sweat is covering your forehead. Saliva is still dripping down your chin, and Bucky tilts your head so he can lick away your spit. A groan leaves his plump lips as he swallows. His tongue darts out once more, licking away more of your saliva.

“Tastin’ good. Now lemme taste ya sweet pussy…” he mumbles more to himself as he removes his fingers from your cunt. A soft pout forms on your lips, and Bucky can’t help but chuckle at your sweet expression. “Jus’ being fucked by me and already wantin’ more? Such a good girl, my good girl.”

Bucky brings both of his thick fingers to his lips, pushing them between his lips as a low, pornographic moan leaves his lips. “Fuckin’ shit, could eat ya out all day.”

“What—“ an almost high-pitched voice comes from the entrance, and Bucky turns around, looking at his son. You’re still sitting between his thighs, your head resting against his shoulder and your hat on your head. Bucky still has his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them while he stares at Brock.

His son's face heats up, an expression between disgust and anger on his face while he looks from Bucky at you and back at his father. It’s not hard to find out what the two of you just did, especially not since Brock heard some of your talks and then moans.

“Did you just— fuck, take your fingers out of your mouth. You just fucked my girlfriend!” Brock growls at his dad. He rolls his eyes, annoyed, and waits for Bucky to do as he’s told.

Bucky slowly pulls his fingers with a plop out of his mouth, stroking one of your sides with one hand while he glares at Brock. Bucky didn’t pull his fingers out of his mouth because his son said so; he did it to smirk at him before speaking.

“Ya girlfriend? My babydoll isn’t ya girlfriend. Ya pushed her away and fucked around. Ya think I will let anyone touch my girl who isn’t me?” Bucky asks in a dangerously calm tone. “I don’t even let ya touch her unless she wants ya to. But do we want to ask her?”

You shake your head, not wanting Brock to touch you. “I’m yours, Bucky, all yours, cowboy,” you giggle and look at him. Bucky’s attention is all in you when you speak, his ocean blue eyes glistening with love and affection when he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, then down over your nose until he pecks your lips softly.

“Don’t ya worry, ya get lots of kisses. And then I can make ya feel good all night,” Bucky smirks at you, then he turns his face toward his son again. “‘Cause ya planned to be with ya girlfriend anyway, right?”

Brock looks down, nodding. Bucky smirks, shaking his head — he never thought his son would be that stupid to push you away, but he’s happy he did. Because Bucky loves you, he really does, and you will show you in every way possible. He doesn’t care what Brock says about Bucky’s loving you. As long as he has you, as long as you’re happy and get everything he can give you, he will never care about anyone else but you.

“My babydoll, I love ya,” he mumbles and gets up, lifting you after Brock walked back to his car to meet his girlfriend like he had planned to do anyway before he caught the two of you.

“I love you too, my cowboy,” you giggle. You can’t help the way you carve your lips, so you lean your head closer toward his and press your lips against Bucky’s plump ones. He groans, massaging your ass and deepening the kiss, letting your tongue dance with one another's. His babydoll with his hat, you made him crazy the first time he saw you, when you first wore his head, and now you belong to the cowboy, and you couldn’t be happier. Not when you have the sweetest and most caring man you can ask for, your Bucky, your cowboy.

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