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vunblr · 2 months ago

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Roots and Branches

Pairing: Lumberjack!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Fluff. Smut. Unprotected sex.

Summary: Bucky has built a quiet life in the woods, content to keep the world at arm's length. But when a new neighbor moves to town, her presence ignites emotions he’s hesitant to face.

Word Count: About 18.6k.

notes: I’ve been wanting to write a story in a lumberjack AU for a while now, and here it is. It ended up being longer than I expected, but I have no regrets. In my mind, Lumberjack!Bucky=Beefy!Bucky.

By the way, I’m still dreaming that someone, feeling inspired, creates Bucky as an NPC for Stardew Valley. I would kiss the ground that person walks on.

The city stretched behind her, a blur of steel and noise shrinking in the rearview mirror. Relief and uncertainty warred in her chest, but she clung tightly to the thought of what lay ahead. The town had always been her haven: sunlit summers chasing fireflies, her grandmother’s laughter ringing from the porch, and the quiet that once cradled her restless mind in peace.

It had been years since she’d last visited, but the constant noise, relentless crowds, and a recent, unsettling encounter had made city life unbearable. Her grandmother’s house, nestled at the edge of a sprawling forest, now felt like her only escape. It wasn’t perfect -her uncle had warned her about the repairs needed- but she’d gladly trade peeling paint and creaky floors for the chaos she was leaving behind. Besides, without rent to worry about and the freedom of her home-office proofreading job, she had the space and time to start over, one step at a time.

The road stretched endlessly before her, winding through rolling hills and patches of dense forest. The further she drove, the quieter it became. No blaring horns, no traffic, just the hum of her engine and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind. She cracked the window, letting in the crisp scent of pine and earth.

For the first time in months, she felt her shoulders begin to relax. And then, with an ominous thunk, the car jerked to one side.

Her stomach sank as she guided the vehicle to the shoulder, the once-smooth ride now bumpier than a cobblestone street. Stepping out, she found her fears confirmed: the back tire sagged, utterly deflated.

“Of course,” she muttered, brushing a stray hair from her face. “Why not?”

She retrieved the jack and wrench from the trunk, determined to fix it herself. She wasn’t helpless, after all. But after twenty minutes of grunting, tugging, and nearly twisting her wrist, the lug nuts refused to budge. Maybe they just needed a little more effort.

Two hours later, she slumped against the side of the car, her arms aching and her patience long gone. She’d tried everything -kicking the wrench, sitting on it for leverage- everything except calling for help, though the lack of cell signal made that impossible. Her lip trembled as she bit down hard, determined not to let the tears of frustration win.

“You wanted quiet? You got quiet,” she muttered, her voice tight with irritation. Walking seemed like the only option now. Maybe she’d stumble upon a house, a gas station, anything. Resolving trying her luck, she locked the car and started forward, her boots crunching against the gravel shoulder.

The air hung heavy with stillness, broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the breeze. The walk felt endless, each step feeding her doubts. What if there was nothing ahead? What if she’d made a mistake leaving the car? Just as she was debating turning back, a low rumble cut through the quiet.

She froze, breath hitching as her eyes darted down the empty road. The sound grew louder, unmistakably the steady growl of a truck engine. Relief flooded her chest, tempered by a flicker of caution.

Moving closer to the edge of the road, she raised a tentative hand to wave. Moments later, an old, sturdy truck came into view, slowing as it approached.

Bucky wasn’t in any rush. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the road ahead. He kept one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting casually on his thigh. The hum of the truck engine was a comforting sound, a backdrop to his thoughts.

As he rounded a gentle curve, something caught his eye up ahead: a car parked awkwardly on the shoulder. He frowned, slowing the truck. From the angle it was sitting, it didn’t look abandoned, but it wasn’t going anywhere either. A flat tire, maybe? His brow furrowed. Someone had to own it, but there wasn’t another soul in sight.

He continued slowly, his gaze drifting to the road ahead, and that’s when he spotted her. She stood near the edge of the road, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder and her hand half-raised in a cautious wave. She didn’t look panicked, just tired, a little frustrated, and undeniably relieved to see another human being out here.

He brought the truck to a stop a few feet ahead of her, letting the engine idle as he leaned across the seat to glance out the passenger window. “Need some help?” he called, keeping his tone easy.

She stepped closer, her cautious wave lowering as she approached. When she stopped short of the truck, her polite smile faltered, her gaze locking on his face.

He didn’t notice at first, but she stared, caught off guard by the sight ahead of her. Shoulder-length dark hair framed handsome face, shadowed with a day or two of stubble. And those eyes… crystal blue, so piercing they looked like they belonged to the lead character of a romance novel rather than the driver of an old truck.

Her lips parted slightly as her thoughts ran wild. Maybe she was hallucinating. Two hours of frustration and the heat of the sun must have gotten to her, conjuring a guy from one of those pink-covered novels she’d been proofreading.

“You okay?” His voice pulled her back, laced with just enough concern to cut through the fog in her head.

She blinked rapidly, heat flooding her cheeks as she scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, yeah, sorry. Just… fatigue, I guess.” She gave a quick laugh, brushing her hair back as if that would somehow erase her embarrassment. “It’s been a long day.”

Bucky didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He nodded, his expression sympathetic. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

She cleared her throat, trying to sound more composed. “I’d really appreciate the help. The tire’s flat and the lug nuts are stuck. I’ve tried everything, but they won’t budge.”

Bucky nodded again, shifting the truck into park before stepping out. “I saw the car back there. Mind if I take a look?”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, and she offered a more genuine smile. “Please. That’d be great.”

She couldn’t help but stare as he climbed out of the truck. It wasn’t just the striking eyes or the scruff that made him look like he’d stepped off a book cover, it was everything.

Worn jeans sat low on his hips, perfectly fitted to legs that spoke of strength and endurance. A red flannel shirt, snug across his broad shoulders and well-defined arms, hinted at a life of hard, honest work. His boots crunched against the gravel as he moved with an effortless confidence that made it nearly impossible to look away.

Yup, she thought, feeling her cheeks warm again. A lead character.

She snapped her gaze away, trying to focus on literally anything else, the road, the sky, her worn-out sneakers. But as he approached, the heat creeping up her neck didn’t fade.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his brow furrowing slightly.

She blinked and met his eyes, cursing herself for getting caught again. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine,” she said waving a hand. “Just tired, I guess. Two hours of trying to fight with a tire does that to you.”

He nodded slowly, and his expression softened. “Fair enough.”

She gestured vaguely toward her car in the distance. “It’s over there. I’d appreciate the help, it’s like the universe welded those lug nuts on.”

When they reached the car, she unlocked it and retrieved the tools from the trunk, setting them down beside the flat tire. She stepped back, watching as he crouched and took the wrench in his hand. With what seemed like no effort at all, he twisted the lug nuts loose, the metal giving way under his grip as if it had never been stuck in the first place. She stared again, biting her lip as her gaze lingered on how his forearm flexed under the rolled-up sleeves of his flannel. Completely oblivious to her scrutiny, he worked in focused silence, switching out the flat tire with methodical ease. When he finished, he stood up, brushed the dust from his hands, and glanced at the car. His gaze snagged on the backseat, where duffel bags and boxes were crammed together.

“Looks like you’re movin’,” he said, his voice low and gruff.

She nodded, brushing her hands on her jeans as if she’d done any of the work. “Yeah, I am. Heading to town. My grandmother used to have a house there, I’m moving into it.”

Bucky glanced at her, his sharp blue eyes unreadable, but not unkind. “The old house near the woods?”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Yeah, actually. You know it?”

He shrugged lightly, his gaze slipping to the ground. “Small town,” he murmured.

Unsure if his hesitation was discomfort or just shyness, she shifted her weight. “Well, thanks again for helping. I’m Y/n, by the way.”

He didn’t respond for a moment and then blinked, as if snapping out of a thought. “Bucky,” he said simply, his tone softening just enough to feel welcoming.

“Well, nice to meet you, Bucky.” Her smile was warm despite the long, frustrating day.

He nodded slightly, a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips before it disappeared. “You should get goin’,” he said after a pause. “Road’s pretty empty once it gets dark.”

She nodded, grateful. “Right. Thanks again.”

He gave a short nod before turning to his truck. She lingered for a moment, watching as he climbed into the cab and started the engine, before finally slipping into her car and pulling back onto the road.

He gave her a brief nod, turning to his truck without saying another word. She stood there for a moment, watching him go, before climbing into her car.

Bucky climbed into his truck, shutting the door with a quiet click. As the engine rumbled to life, his thumbs tapped idly on the steering wheel, his mind drifting. So, she was the woman moving into the old blue house, the one the old ladies in town had been gossiping about lately.

“Fresh face,” they’d said, curious and speculative. The kind of talk he usually tuned out, but now he could picture her, standing on the side of the road with that friendly smile.

His jaw tightened as he glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of her car pulling back onto the road. Attractive, sure, but that wasn’t his business. He wasn’t in the habit of noticing things like that anymore, or at least, he tried not to.

Shaking his head slightly, he put the truck in gear and pulled back onto the road.

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

She reached the house in the late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun painting the wooden structure in warm tones. From a distance, it looked charming, but as she got closer, the years of neglect became more apparent. A shutter hung by a single hinge, swinging slightly in the breeze, and the porch sagged in the middle, its boards warped and cracked.

It didn’t seem unlivable, though, and for that, she was grateful. The windows were intact, the roof looked solid, and the front door swung open without resistance when she unlocked it. She stepped inside, wrinkling her nose at the stale smell of a house left empty for too long. Dust coated the floors and every surface in sight, but nothing that a good cleaning wouldn’t fix.

Walking through the rooms, she made a mental list of things that needed attention. The walls could use fresh paint, the porch would definitely need repairs before it became a hazard, and a few wobbly cabinet doors in the kitchen caught her eye. It was all manageable.

By the time she returned to the living room, she realized the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the house in shadows. She flipped the light switch by the door, but nothing happened. A quick check of the other switches confirmed her suspicion, there wasn’t a single light bulb in the entire property.

“Figures,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips. Luckily, she’d packed a portable lamp. Its soft glow filled the room as she set it on the floor and unrolled her sleeping bag in the corner, where the old sofa used to sit.

Dinner was a simple affair: a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water, eaten cross-legged on the floor. She was too tired to think about anything elaborate, and the stillness of the house was oddly comforting after the chaos of the city.

Her thoughts drifted back to the day’s events, replaying the encounter on the road. Bucky’s face flickered in her mind, those piercing blue eyes, the way his long, dark hair framed his sharp features, the slight rasp to his voice when he’d asked if she was okay. She bit her lip, and the memory of the way he’d effortlessly changed the tire brought a faint smile to her lips as her eyelids grew heavy. The moving truck will arrive by morning, and with better lighting, she’ll assess the house and start making it livable. Ideally, she would have cleaned beforehand, but the moving company only had that date available, so she didn’t have much choice.

----------

Right at 8 o’clock sharp, the rumble of the moving truck echoed down the quiet street. She stepped outside, greeting the movers and directing them where to place the furniture. It didn’t take long to realize the porch’s sagging boards were going to be a problem. One mover nearly put his foot through a weakened plank, and after a few close calls, they opted to bring in as much as possible through the windows.

After tipping the movers and seeing them off, she grabbed her bag and headed into town. The general store was easy to find, nestled on the main street between a bakery and a small diner. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air as she pushed open the store’s creaky door, the tiny bell overhead jingling.

Inside, the aisles were narrow and well-stocked, offering everything from cleaning supplies to locally-made jams. She grabbed a basket and began filling it with essentials: sponges, dish soap, floor cleaner, and a few staples for the pantry.

At the checkout line, she felt the weight of a few curious stares. Small towns were like that, everyone wanted to know who the newcomer was. A man in line behind her gave her a polite nod, and a couple of women nearby exchanged whispers before one of them, an older lady with a kind smile, stepped forward.

“Moving into the old blue house on Maple, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her voice warm and curious.

She blinked, surprised but not entirely caught off guard. “That’s right,” she said, returning the smile. “Spent summers there as a kid. It’s been a while, though.”

“Well, welcome back,” the woman said, clasping her hands. “I’m Dorothy. Let me know if you need anything.”

“Actually…” she hesitated, seizing the moment. “The house needs a bit of work, especially the porch. Do you know a good carpenter?”

Dorothy’s face lit up. “Sam Wilson’s the man you’re looking for. Runs a workshop just outside town. He’s dependable and does fine work. I’ll jot down his address for you.”

After paying for her items, she loaded everything into the car and headed toward the workshop. The drive was short, and soon she spotted a neatly painted sign that read Wilson Woodworks. The building was modest but well-kept, with stacks of lumber and partially finished projects visible through the open garage door.

Grabbing her notepad and pen, she stepped out of the car, hoping Sam would be able to help bring her grandmother’s house back to life.

The workshop smelled of sawdust and varnish, the soft hum of a saw cutting through wood filling the air. She peered curiously through the open entry, her gaze scanning the neatly organized chaos: tools hanging on pegboards, wood shavings scattered across the floor, and a workbench cluttered with projects in progress. Near the center of the space stood a man in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, his sleeves rolled up to reveal toned arms. His easy smile and confident posture immediately struck her as someone who knew his craft.

“Sam Wilson?” she asked, stepping further inside.

The man turned, his grin widening. “That’s me,” he replied warmly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi. I’m Y/n. I just moved into town, to the old blue house on Maple Street. The porch is in pretty bad shape, and I was told you’re the one to call.”

Sam gave an approving nod, wiping his hands on a nearby rag. “Maple Street, huh? Yeah, I’ve worked on a couple of those houses. They’ve got good bones but can be stubborn. I’d have to take a look before I can give you a plan.”

“Of course,” she said, relieved. “When do you think you’d be able to-”

Before she could finish, a gruff voice interrupted from the back of the shop. “Sam, I told you that damn hinge on the-”

Bucky appeared, stepping out from what looked like a storage area, drying his hands on a towel. His words faltered the moment he spotted her, his blue eyes locking onto hers in surprise. He froze for a moment, the towel still in his hand, before nodding stiffly.

“Hey,” he said, with a cautious tone.

She offered him a small, friendly smile. “Hello again.”

Sam’s gaze darted between the two of them, a knowing grin spreading across his face like a Cheshire cat. “Well, well,” he drawled. “You two already know each other so soon?”

Bucky shot him a look -half warning, half exasperation- but Sam’s grin only widened.

“We met yesterday,” she explained, glancing between them. “Bucky helped me with a flat tire.”

“Did he now?” Sam leaned back against the workbench, crossing his arms. “Man of many talents, huh, Buck?”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, his ears turning slightly red as he turned away to busy himself with a random piece of wood.

Sam laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “Don’t let him fool you,” he said to her, his tone light. “He’s a softie under all that brooding.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, unable to suppress a smile.

Bucky’s muttering grew quieter as he moved further into the workshop, but Sam wasn’t done. “You’re in luck, though,” he said to her, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I think you’re gonna give his wood a good use.”

She let out a small laugh, not entirely sure why but unwilling to seem rude. “Well, I’ll do my best,” she said with a shrug, hoping that was the right response.

The sound of tools crashing followed by a sharp, muttered curse that carried through the workshop interrupted the exchange, and she turned toward the source. “Is he okay?”

Sam smirked, his tone teasing as he said, “Oh, he’s just fine. Just gets a little... tense when his work’s involved. My friend here is one of my suppliers. Keeps me stocked up on the best lumber in town.”

“Oh, I see,” she replied, her gaze briefly flicking toward where Bucky had disappeared. Inwardly, she couldn’t help but think that his... thick build seemed to match with the work lumber suppliers did. “So, should we arrange a time for you to come by and look at the porch?” she asked, mentally slapping herself and steering the conversation back on track.

Sam grinned, leaning casually against the counter. “Tomorrow works for you? Say mid-morning?”

“That sounds great,” she agreed, already mentally listing what she might need to tidy up before his visit.

As her car disappeared down the road, Bucky emerged from the back of the workshop, his steps deliberate and brooding as he approached Sam.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice low but edged with irritation.

Sam raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he crossed his arms. “What was what?”

“You know what,” Bucky growled, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t.”

Sam held up his hands, his expression mock-innocent. “Don’t what? You’re projecting, man. She’s just a new neighbor who needs some help with her porch. That’s all.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his voice dropping even lower. “Whatever your bird brain is planning on doing, don’t. I’m not... Just stay out of my business.”

Sam gave him a sidelong look, clearly unimpressed by Bucky’s gruff warning. “You think too highly of yourself, Barnes,” he said with a smirk. “I’m just trying to help the lady out, same as you did.”

The logger threw one last dirty glance at Sam, muttering under his breath. “Next cargo’s in four days,” he grumbled, already heading for the door.

Sam’s amused chuckle followed him, but Bucky ignored it, his boots hitting the workshop floor with heavy steps.

As he reached the truck, a sharp twinge in his left arm made him curse softly. He grabbed it, flexing his fingers out of habit, then glanced up at the sky. It was streaked with soft clouds, their innocent appearance at odds with what he felt brewing in the air.

A storm was coming.

It wasn’t something anyone could see yet, but Bucky didn’t need a weather report. Since his arm had been crushed in Afghanistan, leaving him with orthopedic implants and lingering aches, he could always tell when the pressure was about to shift.

He flexed his arm again, rolling his shoulder to ease the discomfort. The storm would hit soon, inside and out.

Sliding into the truck, he decided to stop by the general store on the way home. He needed a bottle of scotch. Maybe two.

It was shaping up to be one of those nights.

When she got back to the house, she dropped the bags on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh. She glanced around at the dim, dusty space and resolved to tackle it head-on. After eating a quick sandwich, she got to work.

The first task was the lightbulbs, all of them. Room by room, she placed them, swearing quietly each time she had to stretch on tiptoe or drag a chair around. Next came the cleaning. By the time she was almost finished, it was late afternoon. She stood in the middle of the living room, exhausted and sweaty, a few stubborn cobwebs clinging to her sleeves. She pushed her hair off her forehead and noticed, through the newly cleaned windows, the unmistakable sight of grey clouds gathering on the horizon.

“Great,” she muttered, dragging the vacuum to a corner. She glanced up at the ceiling, half expecting to see a stain forming already. “Please, no leaks. Just this once, let me have some luck.” The wind outside began to pick up, rattling the loose shutter on the porch. She grimaced. The house might not be falling apart, but it wasn’t going to win any awards for weatherproofing either.

She pulled the last bag of cleaning supplies toward her, determined to finish what she could before the storm hit.

The rhythmic patter of rain on the roof accompanied her as she sat at the small kitchen table, nursing a simple dinner. Her arms ached pleasantly from the day’s cleaning spree, her newly functional lightbulbs casting a warm glow over the room. Despite the state of the house when she’d arrived, it felt more like a home now, or at least the beginning of one.

The rain grew heavier, drumming steadily against the windows as she finished eating and washed her dishes. With a satisfied sigh, she headed for the bathroom. The steamy warmth of the shower was a welcome reprieve, washing away the grime and fatigue of the day. She closed her eyes as the water cascaded down, her mind meandering to the list of things she still needed to tackle.

The porch needs fixing first. Maybe some paint for the walls. And that loose shutter... her lips curled into a soft, almost dreamy smile as her thoughts drifted to Bucky. She bit her lip, suppressing a laugh at herself. It had been a while since she’d had anyone to daydream about, and maybe it was just her exhaustion playing tricks on her. Clearly, she needed a break from all these romance novels. The irony wasn’t lost on her, spending her days proofreading swooning declarations and lingering glances wasn’t helping her sanity.

On the other side of town, the rain was more than just a backdrop for Bucky, it was a trigger, a reminder. He sat on the kitchen floor, his back pressed against the counter, cradling a bottle of scotch in one hand and absently flexing the fingers of his left arm with the other. The pain in his left arm wasn’t unbearable -he’d had worse- but the weather had settled into his bones.

One would think Afghanistan’s climate rarely saw rain, but he knew better. In the northern regions, heavy rains could flood entire valleys in minutes, turning the ground into treacherous mud. It wasn’t just the water he remembered, but the chaos it brought. Mud-caked boots slipping on uneven terrain. The deafening crack of gunfire cutting through the downpour. The screams of comrades who’d never make it out of the storm, swallowed by water and bullets alike.

He closed his eyes tightly, forcing the memories away, but the rain’s steady rhythm seemed determined to drag him back. He took a long swig from the bottle, the burn of the alcohol a poor distraction for his haunted mind.

And then, unbidden, he thought of her.

The way she’d smiled at him earlier today at Sam’s workshop. Like she was genuinely glad to see him. He shook his head sharply, scowling at himself. He didn’t deserve to think about her. Didn’t deserve to let himself linger on the way she’d looked at him with curiosity instead of judgment. He was a broken-down man who knew better than to let anyone get close. The rain’s rhythm matched the pounding in his head, and he rubbed his temple with a quiet groan. Thinking about her was a mistake, one he couldn’t afford to make.

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

The low hum of a truck pulling up broke the peaceful morning. She peeked out the window, spotting Sam hopping out with a clipboard in hand, a tape measure clipped to his belt. His easy smile greeted her as she opened the door.

“Morning,” he said, tipping an imaginary hat. “Ready to figure out what your little slice of heaven here needs?”

She chuckled, stepping aside to let him in. “Let’s call it a fixer-upper and go from there.”

Sam gave a low whistle as he stepped onto the sagging porch. “First thing’s first, this baby needs a lot of love. I’m surprised it’s holding up at all.” He tapped one of the warped boards with his boot, and it creaked ominously.

“Well, that’s why you’re here,” she replied lightly, crossing her arms.

They walked the perimeter of the house as Sam scribbled notes on his clipboard, occasionally pausing to point out things that needed attention, a loose shutter here, a weathered doorframe there. He climbed the porch steps again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky nothing major’s out of whack, though this porch... Yeah, we’ll start here.”

She nodded, leaning against the railing -carefully-. “Sounds good. So, what’s next?”

Sam grinned, snapping the clipboard shut. “Now comes the fun part, asking nosy questions while I figure out how to turn this place into a proper home. Where’d you move from?”

“City,” she said, her gaze flicking to the overgrown yard. “Needed a change. Too much noise, too many people.”

He nodded like he understood perfectly. “Yeah, city life can wear you down. And what do you do for work? So that I know if I ever need something specific.”

“I’m a proofreader,” she replied. “Not exactly glamorous, but it lets me work from anywhere.”

He chuckled. “Sounds pretty glamorous to me. Living the dream: working in pajamas, no one to bother you.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Not quite. Deadlines don’t care if you’re in pajamas.”

“Fair point,” Sam said, scribbling something on his clipboard. He glanced at her casually. “Anyone special missing you back in the city?”

Her brow furrowed slightly, caught off guard. “Uh, no. Why?”

“No reason,” he said with an exaggerated shrug, flashing his most innocent grin. “We small-town folks are just naturally curious.” Satisfied, he tucked the clipboard under his arm. “Well,” he said, turning on the charm, “I’ll put together a plan for the porch and those other fixes we talked about. Shouldn’t take long.”

“Thanks, Sam,” she said, smiling warmly.

He tipped his imaginary hat again. “Happy to help.” As he walked back to his truck, he patted the clipboard storing every little detail she’d just shared. Oh, he’d have fun with this later.

Over the next few days, she found herself settling deeper into the rhythm of small-town life. Locals stopped to chat whenever she ran errands, and she was finally starting to remember their names. The house was slowly transforming under her care, each repair bringing it closer to what she remembered from her childhood summers.

And then there was Bucky. He was a puzzle she hadn’t figured out yet. Quiet and guarded one moment, then unexpectedly kind the next. Their paths seemed to cross more often now. It wasn’t intentional, but each encounter left her feeling like she’d peeled back another layer of his carefully constructed wall.

The first time it happened, she was in the general store, arms full of cleaning supplies and pantry staples, along with a guilty indulgence or two. As she stepped into the checkout line, she spotted him just ahead of her with a modest basket of items, his broad shoulders blocking most of her view of the cashier.

As she shuffled forward, her eyes drifted to his basket. Among the practical items -bread, coffee, and what looked like a pack of nails- sat a brightly colored box of dinosaur-shaped mac and cheese.

She couldn’t help herself. “Didn’t peg you for the novelty pasta type.” She quipped lightly, a teasing smile curling her lips.

Bucky turned his head sharply, caught off guard. He glanced at the box, then back at her, a faint pink tinting his cheeks, as he muttered “They’re easy. And cheap.”

The combination of his flustered tone and stoic expression made her grin. “Hey, no judgment. Dinosaurs are awesome. I’d pick those over plain elbows any day.”

His lips twitched, just slightly, but enough to count. “You’ve got good taste,” he said, the faintest trace of a smirk softening his features.

The cashier rang up his items, and he moved through quickly, nodding politely as he passed her. But as she finished paying and struggled to balance her bags, she found him lingering outside near his truck.

“Need a hand?” he asked gruffly, though he was already moving toward her.

She hesitated for a moment before relenting. “If you don’t mind.”

Without a word, he scooped up the heaviest bags as if they weighed nothing. She blinked at the sight, muscles flexing under his worn henley.

“Thanks,” she said, slightly breathless, trying to keep up as he strode to her car.

“Welcome,” he said simply, setting the bags in her trunk with ease. His gaze flicked to her briefly, and he almost looked like he wanted to say more. Instead, he just gave a curt nod and walked back to his truck.

It was only a few days later when they ran into each other again, this time at the post office. She had just picked up a package that was almost comically large, far too awkward for one person to handle easily. Balancing it against her hip, she tried to maneuver her way out of the building without dropping it, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath.

Just as the box tilted precariously, a hand appeared to steady it, large and sure.

“Careful,” came the familiar low drawl.

She blinked, startled, and looked up into a pair of blue eyes she was starting to recognize all too well. “Thanks,” she said, exhaling in relief. “Starting to think you have impeccable timing.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile she was beginning to appreciate flickering across his face. “Just passing through.” He replied, shifting his grip on the package and effortlessly hoisting it up, carrying it like it weighed nothing at all.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“It’s fine,” he stated simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. He glanced at her car and walked toward it.

She trailed behind him as he easily strode with the package. By the time she unlocked the trunk, he deposited the box neatly inside, brushing his hands off quickly.

“Thanks,” she said again, feeling a little useless but sincerely grateful.

“It’s nothin’,” he replied, already stepping back. His eyes lingered on her for a second longer than usual before he turned toward his truck, parked a few spaces down.

She watched him go, following the deliberate, measured way he moved. Just as he reached his door, she called out impulsively, “I owe you one, you know.”

He paused, glancing back at her with a quirk of his brow. “I’ll hold you to it,” he said, the hint of a smirk tugging at his mouth. And then he was gone, leaving her with a warm, unexpected feeling she carried all the way home.

The days that followed were quiet but productive. Between finishing work assignments, and tinkering with small projects around the house, she hardly noticed how much time she spent indoors until her eyes began to ache from staring at her laptop screen for hours on end.

One crisp morning, the allure of fresh air proved too strong to resist. She decided to take a walk in the woods, craving a change of scenery. It had been years since the last time she’d wandered those familiar paths, but she still remembered some of the trails from her childhood summers.

As she wandered along the narrow dirt trail, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in golden shafts painted the forest in a warm, serene glow. She hadn’t expected to encounter anyone out here, but the steady, rhythmic thwack of an axe meeting wood broke through the quiet, catching her attention.

Curiosity stirred, and before she could think better of it, she found herself following the sound, her footsteps light on the soft earth.

There he was, in a small clearing just off the trail, splitting logs with effortless precision. Bucky’s axe swung high before coming down in a clean arc, the sharp crack of splitting wood breaking the stillness. A neat pile of firewood grew beside him, while fresh rounds waited in a haphazard stack.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on his work, and she found herself lingering longer than she should have, watching the way his muscles moved beneath his shirt and how his hair stuck to his forehead.

When he finally glanced up and spotted her, her stomach flipped. His brows knit together in mild surprise, and he straightened, propping the axe against a nearby stump.

“You lost?” he asked, with a low and even voice, though his tone wasn’t unkind.

She stepped closer, shaking her head. “No, just wandering. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t,” he said, grabbing a rag from the pile and wiping his hands. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to piece together why she was there. “Trail gets tricky up ahead. Lots of roots and uneven ground.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, glancing around the clearing. “This your spot?”

He nodded once. “Helps to stay busy.”

She looked at the pile of wood, then back at him. “Looks like more than just ‘staying busy.’”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips. “Winters here are rough.”

There was a pause, not quite awkward, but heavy. She shifted her weight, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s impressive. I mean, you make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” he said simply, picking up the axe again. “But you get used to it.”

She lingered, unsure if she should say more or let him get back to work. He tilted his head slightly, watching her with a curious expression.

“You like the woods?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Yeah,” she said, smiling softly. “It’s peaceful out here. Different from the city.”

His gaze flicked back to the axe in his hand. “It is.” There was a weight to his words, hinting at something deeper than just the stillness of the woods, but she chose not to push.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said finally, offering him a polite nod.

“Careful on the trail,” he said again, his voice softer this time.

As she turned to leave, she couldn’t resist glancing back over her shoulder. He was already back to work, the axe slicing clean through another log. She bit her lip, shaking her head at herself as she continued down the trail.

He sighed. Winters are rough? That was the polite answer, the one people accepted without a second glance. The truth was darker, heavier. Every time the weight of old memories clawed at him -screams, chaos, the suffocating fear that came into walking a dark tunnel that could bury him alive- he found his solace in the rhythmic swing of an axe. Splitting firewood was his refuge, the repetitive motion carving out a rare emptiness in his mind.

He kept chopping, waiting until he was sure she wouldn’t glance back again. Then, he let himself linger, his eyes following her retreating form.

He was interested.

Shit.

Sam hadn’t been helping either, dropping “innocent” tidbits about her, like breadcrumbs, every time they crossed paths. How she worked from home. How she wasn’t seeing anyone. How she seemed to be settling in, though she was still getting used to small-town life. Bucky could tell Sam was trying to nudge him, but it only stirred something conflicted in him.

On one hand, he was drawn to her, from her curves to the way she smiled, also, the way her voice provoked a warmth in him he hadn’t felt in years. On the other hand, the thought of pursuing something -anything- good for himself felt... wrong. Like he didn’t deserve it.

And then there was the matter of simply not knowing how.

He was out of shape when it came to people. Always had been, even before life turned upside down. Now, with scars inside and out, the idea of approaching her felt like staring down at a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.

What would he even say? What would she think if she knew the mess he was?

Bucky swung the axe harder, the sharp crack of the log splitting echoing through the clearing. He flexed his fingers and tightened his jaw.

For now, all he could do was chop and hope the noise drowned out the voice in his head whispering that he wasn’t enough.

Over the next couple of months, the little town started to feel less like a temporary retreat and more like a place she could call home. The older women gushed over her porch restoration project and eagerly shared gardening tips, while the crowd closer to her age welcomed her into their fold with invitations for coffee dates or potluck dinners.

And then there was Bucky.

Though technically part of that age group, he was absent from most social gatherings. She couldn’t picture him at a potluck, anyway, sitting around sharing recipes or small talk. It just wasn’t him. Yet, in his own quiet way, he’d become more present in her life.

Bit by bit, he seemed to uncoil from whatever tension held him so tightly. He started to linger longer during their chance encounters, sometimes surprising them both with a dry, unexpected joke. Other times, he’d pitch in with simple acts of kindness, like carrying eventually heavy stuff to her car, or even fixing the wobbly step on her porch when Sam got busier and asked him to do it. He could have said no, but he still came, quietly getting the job done without any fanfare.

-----------

Then, the announcement of the annual town festival brought a new wave of excitement. It was the event of the season, where everyone came together to celebrate the town's founding. Without much hesitation, she signed up to contribute, deciding to sell pies and baked goods. Not only was it a way to contribute to the celebration, but it was also a chance to make a little extra income for the ongoing repairs to the house. The porch was done, but there was still plenty of work to do: fresh paint, creaky floorboards, and other little fixes that added up.

So, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work. The week leading up to the festival was a whirlwind of flour-dusted counters and the comforting aroma of cinnamon and vanilla. She tested each recipe to make sure they were just like her grandmother used to make.

The excitement of the upcoming festival settled over the town, and she felt like she was becoming part of something bigger, a tradition, a community.

Meanwhile, word had spread that she was setting up a booth to sell her pies. Sam, always the one to keep an ear to the ground, couldn't help but tease Bucky one morning while they were working on a new batch of supplies for the festival booths. They were building the structure for several of the vendors, and Bucky had come by to help with the heavier lifting, always lending a hand when needed.

“She’s doing a booth, huh?” Sam asked with a knowing grin as he hammered in a final nail. “Maybe you should swing by, get yourself a little sugar, hm?”

Bucky’s response was as sharp as ever. “Shut up, Wilson,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing as he worked, but Sam could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way he held himself a little straighter.

He stayed silent for a beat, focusing on the sturdy plank of wood he was planing down. The rhythmic scrape of the tool seemed to be the only thing keeping him calm. Sam, however, was never one to let a good opportunity slip by.

“I’m just saying,” Sam pressed on, leaning casually against the workbench, “she’s single, she’s sweet, and she seems to like you.” He smirked, his tone teetering on playful. “You could, y’know, take a shot. Maybe buy a pie while you’re at it. You can’t live on just dino-shaped mac and cheese.”

Bucky huffed a humorless laugh, setting the plane down with a bit more force than intended. “And what would I even say to her, huh? ‘Hi, I’m good at chopping wood and screwing things up.’ That’s a real winner.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You don’t have to lead with the self-deprecating monologue, man. Just... be you. You’re a good guy, Buck, even if you refuse to see it.” He straightened, resting a hand on his hip. “And she’s clearly got some interest. Not every woman looks at a guy like he’s the only steady thing in a storm.”

Bucky shot him a sharp look, the tips of his ears unmistakably pink. “She doesn’t-“

“Oh, she does,” Sam interrupted with a grin that widened at Bucky’s growing discomfort. “And you’d see it too if you didn’t spend so much time convincing yourself you’re not worth her attention.”

For a long moment, Bucky said nothing, his jaw tightening as he flexed his left hand, a tell Sam recognized far too well. Finally, he sighed, leaning his weight on the workbench. “It’s not that simple.”

“It never is,” Sam agreed, his tone softening. “But you don’t have to figure it all out today. Start small. Talk to her at the festival. Buy a pie. Hell, buy the whole booth if you have to.” He clapped Bucky on the shoulder, eliciting a grunt. “Just don’t let this pass you by.”

----------

The day of the festival arrived, and the town square buzzed with life. Booths lined the streets, each one bursting with local goods: handmade crafts, fresh produce, and jars of preserves. Children darted through the crowds, their faces painted like butterflies or superheroes, their laughter weaving through the cheerful hum of a local band playing in the distance.

Her booth stood out in its simplicity, decorated with gingham tablecloths and jars of freshly picked flowers from her garden. The pies were the centerpiece, their golden crusts glistening in the sunlight, flanked by trays of cookies and jars of homemade jam.

She adjusted the sign that read “Baked Goods – From Granny’s Recipe Box” and stepped back, taking a deep breath to steady herself.

The day unfolded in a whirlwind of chatter and laughter. Her booth was busier than she’d dared to hope, a steady stream of customers stopping to sample the pies or chat about the sign. Compliments came easily from the townsfolk, praising her buttery crusts and spiced fillings. Each kind word felt like a little victory, her heart swelling with the realization that she was becoming a part of the community.

The sun climbed higher into the sky, casting warm golden light over the bustling festival. Her booth remained busy, the stream of smiling faces keeping her occupied and distracted, though not enough to stop her from glancing through the crowd now and then.

By mid-afternoon, Sam strolled up, hands in his pockets and an easy grin on his face. "Well, well. Look at you, baking queen," he teased.

She laughed, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Hardly. But I’ll take it. Want a slice?”

Sam leaned on the edge of the booth, scanning the offerings. “Tempting, but I might be here on more of a reconnaissance mission.”

Her brow lifted. “What kind of mission?”

“You know, checking in, seeing how you're doing, and maybe scouting for a certain broody lumberjack.” He winked, and she rolled her eyes with a chuckle.

“Let me guess, he sent you to grab a pie?” she joked, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Bucky? Nah.” Sam’s grin dimmed slightly, and he gave a small shrug. “Didn’t see him around earlier. Honestly, he might not even show. Festivals aren’t really his thing.”

She tried to keep the disappointment off her face, focusing instead on adjusting a jar of jam on the table. Sam caught the subtle shift in her expression, his teasing smile softening.

“He’s around,” Sam said casually, leaning an elbow on the edge of the booth. “Bucky’s just… not much of a crowd guy. Give him time.”

Her fingers paused on the jar, but she didn’t look up. “I wasn’t-”

“Sure you weren’t,” Sam interrupted with a knowing grin. “But I wouldn’t hold it against him. People aren’t really his thing. Except, maybe, certain people.”

She rolled her eyes, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. “And you’re just full of insight, aren’t you?”

“Hey, I’m just observin’.” He straightened up, grabbing a cookie from the tray. “And I’ll take one of these for the road. Festival’s not complete without snacks.”

She shook her head, amused as Sam strolled off, leaving her alone to greet the next customer.

The hours passed in a blur of chatter and sales, the sun dipping lower in the sky. She’d almost stopped scanning the square for him when, late in the afternoon, a familiar figure emerged.

Bucky walked slowly, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets, his gaze flicking over the booths like he wasn’t sure where to go. Then he spotted her. His shoulders straightened, and their eyes met across the square. For a moment, neither moved. Then, with an almost sheepish hesitation, he started toward her.

Each step closer felt like a mistake, and yet he didn’t stop. His eyes took in the sight of her booth, tidy and charming, and then her. She wore a casual dress under a cardigan, and a frilly apron tied neatly around her waist, the image of a vintage housewife. The dress fit snugly at her chest, the fabric pulling slightly when she moved to rearrange something on the table. It wasn’t anything overly revealing, but it didn’t matter; all of the visual information seemed to bypass his brain entirely and head directly to the south. He swallowed hard, trying to redirect his focus before he embarrassed himself.

“Hey,” he said when he reached the booth, his voice a little softer than he intended. He scratched the back of his neck, glancing briefly at the display of pies and jars before forcing himself to meet her eyes.

“Hi,” she replied, her face lighting up in a way that made the whole awkward journey worth it.

“I, uh... thought I’d stop by,” he continued, the words fumbling slightly as he fought the urge to retreat. “Looks like business is good.” He gestured vaguely at the booth, trying to seem casual, though his pulse was anything but.

“It’s been steady,” she said, her smile warm. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it.”

Her words made him hesitate, but only briefly. He nodded toward the pies, his lips twitching into what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Figured I’d see what all the fuss is about.”

“And?” she asked, a playful glint in her eye. “Are you finding the fuss justified?”

He looked at her then, his gaze lingering in a way that made her shift her weight slightly. His lips quirked into the faintest smirk. “Seen a few tempting products,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing.

Was that... a double meaning? She wasn’t sure, but the way her stomach flipped at his tone left her biting her lip to suppress a smile.

“Well,” she said, leaning slightly against the booth, “what might you be interested in, then?”

“Got any plum jam?” he asked after a moment, his eyes scanning the jars displayed on the table.

She winced apologetically. “Sorry, sold out this morning. It’s a popular one.”

He gave a small nod, not seeming too put out. “Guess I’ll settle for a slice of apple pie, then.”

“You won’t regret it,” she said, quickly cutting a generous slice and placing it in a little paper dish. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed briefly, a small, electric jolt of contact that she tried not to overthink.

“Thanks,” he murmured, his gaze flickering back to hers for a split second before focusing intently on the pie. He took a bite, and the deep, guttural groan that escaped him had her blinking in surprise, and then staring at him, very much not with pure thoughts.

Her gaze dropped helplessly to his mouth, where a small dollop of apple mush clung stubbornly to the corner of his lips. Oh, how she’d love to help him clean that up, maybe even by lapping it up herself. The thought had her throat going dry. “Uh, you have... there,” she managed, signaling to her own mouth because words failed her entirely.

He frowned slightly, his thumb swiping at his lips. When he missed, she gave a quick, stifled laugh, shaking her head and pointing more precisely. His next attempt was successful, and when he scooped the apple filling with his thumb and licked it clean off, her breath caught.

That should be illegal.

“Damn,” he said, glancing down at the pie with newfound respect. “Guess you can marry now.”

She blinked, startled. “What?”

His ears reddened as he fumbled for an explanation, suddenly realizing how strange that sounded. “Uh... my ma used to say... I mean, like, if a woman could cook well, she’d be ready for marriage, or something… uh, forget it.” He waved a hand, suddenly looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

“Oh no,” she said, crossing her arms and quirking a brow, her lips twitching in amusement. “Now I really want to know what your ma used to say.”

“My ma used to say,” he admitted reluctantly, “a woman who can bake a pie like this could keep a man happy for life.”

As the words left his mouth, he realized -really realized- what he’d just said. Bringing up marriage, even indirectly, in what was supposed to be casual conversation? A new low, even for him. His inward grimace was immediate, a mortifying mix of regret and disbelief at his own lack of subtlety.

She blinked at him, her head tilting slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Well,” she said slowly, the edge of her lip quirking up, “Bet she was the kind of person who made everyone feel at home.”

He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, she... she was something.” Hoping to steer the moment away from the awkward territory he’d stumbled into, he gestured vaguely to the booth. “Anyway, uh... pie’s great. Really.”

“Thanks, Bucky. I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my granny’s best recipes.” She smiled warmly

He nodded, his lips twitching into something close to a smile. “She taught you well.”

That earned a soft laugh from her. “Yeah, she’d make me practice until I got it just right. Burned a lot of pies before this one.”

The conversation lingered as they eased into a rhythm, the earlier tension giving way to something more relaxed. She asked about his work, curious about how he supplied Sam with lumber, and he surprised her by sharing a bit more than usual talking about the care it took to choose the right trees and how the process wasn’t just chopping wood but understanding the forest itself.

“You make it sound like an art,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully.

“Guess it kinda is,” he admitted. “You’ve gotta respect it. If you don’t, it shows in the work.”

Before she could respond, a familiar voice interrupted, cutting through their moment like a buzz saw.

“Well, well, look who finally decided to show up!”

Sam’s broad grin was radiant as he strolled up to the booth, hands tucked casually into his pockets.

Bucky groaned softly, his shoulders slumping a fraction as if bracing himself for whatever teasing was about to come. “What do you want, Sam?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said breezily, his eyes darting between the two of them. “Just thought I’d check in, maybe grab some pie, see what’s happening over here.” He smirked. “Looks like I picked the right booth.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Careful, Sam. You’re gonna run me out of inventory if you keep showing up.”

Sam leaned on the counter, grinning. “Don’t worry, I’m here only to make sure Bucky doesn’t scare off your customers with his broody face.”

Bucky shot him a glare, but Sam only shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Actually, Buck, some of the people are starting to pack up. We should get a head start on breaking down everything so tomorrow’s not such a hassle,” Sam continued, his tone shifting to business mode. “Don’t give me that look, I'm not the one who strolled in here right before closing time.”

Bucky sighed but didn’t argue. “Right, right,” he muttered but didn’t seem eager to leave just yet.

She chuckled softly at their dynamic, watching as Sam started to organize a few things, seemingly trying to speed up the process of wrapping up. “Well then, I’ll just get the last of these pies packed up.” she said, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll make it a little easier on yourself if you let us take a couple of those home,” Sam said with a grin, his eyes scanning the remaining trays. “For later, of course. Can’t let all this deliciousness go to waste.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away, but his gaze lingered on the last few slices, making it clear he wasn’t about to pass up on some baked goods.

“Yeah, well, I suppose you’re right,” she said, laughing. “Guess you both deserve some for your hard work on the structures.”

“I’m not gonna argue with that,” Sam said, grinning as he reached for the remaining slices of pie. “Besides,” he said, gesturing toward Bucky, “look at him. He must be starving. You don’t know the amount of food it takes to keep all that going.”

Bucky froze mid-chew, his fork hovering just above the plate, and gave Sam a pointed look, equal parts exasperation and disbelief. “Seriously?”

“What?” Sam shrugged innocently, though his smirk said otherwise. “It’s true. You’re always munching on something. Remember last week? Three sandwiches in one sitting, and you still stole my fries.”

Bucky’s glare sharpened, but it only fueled Sam’s amusement. “You ate half my wings, Wilson,” Bucky said dryly, his tone low and unimpressed.

“Details,” Sam said with a wave of his hand, his grin not fading. “Point is, you’ve got the appetite of a bear coming out of hibernation. I’m just trying to make sure you don’t go hungry.”

She laughed as she placed the box of pies on the counter. “Well, I can’t have that on my conscience,” she teased. “Take as many slices as you need, Bucky. We’ll call it a public service.”

Bucky shifted on his feet, his gaze darting between her and the pies. The faintest flush crept up his neck as he mumbled, “Thanks,” and slid another slice of pie onto his plate. His eyes lingered on the cookies for a moment before he reached for one, his movements a little hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure how much was too much.

“You sure?” he asked, glancing up at her, his voice quieter now.

She smiled warmly, waving off his concern. “Positive. Consider it payment for all the heavy lifting.”

He huffed a low laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching up in what could almost be called a smile. “Appreciate it,” he said, his words rough but sincere.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, almost making Bucky drop the cookie. “Alright, big guy, let’s get out of her way before you clean her out completely.

Bucky shot him a half-hearted glare but allowed Sam to steer him toward a cluster of tables nearby, his plate balanced carefully in one hand.

She watched them go, her lips curving into a smile as Sam said something that made Bucky shake his head in exasperation.

With a deep breath, she turned back to finish packing up, though her gaze flicked toward their working spot every now and then.

That night, she lay in bed, the exhaustion of the festival weighing her body down but leaving her mind buzzing. Every detail of the day replayed like a film reel, but one moment stood out above all: Bucky and his awkward, utterly endearing comment about marriage.

She groaned, burying her flushed face into her pillow like a teenager. Guess you can marry now. The memory of his hesitant, almost panicked attempt to explain himself made her toes curl, not in secondhand embarrassment but in something far warmer, more thrilling. And the way he’d looked at her as he said it... that fleeting vulnerability, his ears burning red. She shook her head, biting her lip against a smile.

An idea came to her mind while sipping her morning coffee, staring at the half-empty box of baked goods and preserves she hadn’t packed into the car the day before. She’d thought she was carrying too much, but now she saw what she’d left behind: two jars of plum jam. The very ones Bucky had wanted at the festival but hadn’t been able to get.

She turned one jar in her hand, smiling faintly. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the right thing to do, a small gesture to thank him for all the ways he’d helped her. A friendly token, nothing more. The thought made her nerves tingle anyway.

Shoving those thoughts aside, she packed the jars into her backpack, laced up her boots, and headed out. She made her way toward the spot where she’d found him last time, the rhythmic thwack of his axe cutting through wood still vivid in her memory. She tried not to feel disappointed when the clearing came into view and she didn’t see him right away, but then a faint rustling sound caught her attention.

Bucky was there, further back, crouched near a stack of neatly cut logs, inspecting a wedge that had splintered unevenly. He looked so at ease in his element, that she almost turned back. But then he shifted, his head tilting slightly as if he’d heard her approach.

“Hey,” she called, her voice lighter than intended.

He stood, turning to face her. His brow furrowed slightly in surprise, but it softened quickly. “Hey.”

“I, uh...” She adjusted her backpack strap, suddenly feeling awkward for tracking him down like this. “I had some leftovers from the festival, and I remembered you wanted plum jam. Turns out I had two jars I didn’t even bring.” She opened the backpack and pulled them out, offering them with a tentative smile. “Figured I’d bring them to you as a thank-you for all the times you’ve helped me out.”

Bucky stared at the jars, his expression unreadable at first, but then his lips tugged into the faintest hint of a smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” she said, shrugging lightly. “But I wanted to. It’s just jam, anyway.”

“Just jam,” he repeated, taking the jars from her hands, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He glanced at the labels, then back at her. “Thanks. Really.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling breathless under his intense gaze. She stuffed her hands into her knitted jacket pockets, trying to play it cool. “Hope it’s as good as my pies.”

His lips twitched, that almost-smile appearing again. “Guess I’ll have to let you know.” For a moment, neither of them moved, then he cleared his throat, gesturing toward the logs behind him. “You walked all the way out here just for this?” he asked, slightly lifting his brow.

“Pretty much, yeah,” she admitted, her voice softening as a hint of shyness crept in. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly very aware of how much effort she’d put into this small gesture.

Bucky’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, “That’s... thoughtful of you.”

Her cheeks warmed under his quiet scrutiny, but she forced a casual shrug. “Well, I figured it beats letting them collect dust in my pantry.”

“Still,” he murmured, “thanks. Means a lot.”

“You’re welcome. I, uh...” She glanced at the jars in his hands, suddenly unsure of herself. “I won’t take more of your time. Just wanted to...” She gestured vaguely toward the jam, the movement almost bashful.

Bucky’s gaze softened, his grip tightening slightly around the jars. Before she could step away, he called after her, his voice rough yet almost hesitant. “Hey.”

She turned back, catching the flicker of something earnest in his expression.

“Thanks again,” he said simply, holding up the jars slightly.

Her smile softened, more genuine now. “Anytime.”

Bucky stood there for a long moment after she left, staring at the jars in his hands. The deep, rich purple of the jam glinted faintly in the sunlight filtering through the trees, but his mind wasn’t on the contents. It was on her. The way her voice had faltered, the slight hesitance in her movements when she handed them to him, like she wasn’t sure if he’d even want them.

Why the hell wouldn’t I? he thought bitterly, his jaw tightening. He shifted the jars to one hand, his free one dragging down his face. Damn it.

The easy confidence he used to have, -the kind that once let him charm anyone he wanted- was long gone, worn away by years of service that had left their mark on his body and mind. His scars, both visible and hidden, weren’t just marks; they were reminders of a life split into before and after. He set the jars carefully on a stump, picking up his axe again and turning back to the log he’d been working on.

The first swing came down harder than necessary, the wood splitting with a satisfying crack.

What if Sam was right? What if she really did like him? What the hell would he even do with that? He couldn’t imagine someone like her -a woman who baked pies for town festivals and brought plum jam out to the woods- being happy with someone like him. Someone who carried more baggage than he knew how to unpack.

The axe came down again, the sharp sound echoing through the clearing.

She deserved better than someone like him. Someone whole. Someone who didn’t wake up in cold sweats or flinch at loud noises. Someone who could stand in a crowd without feeling like the walls were closing in. He couldn’t even have a simple conversation without fumbling over his words like a damn teenager.

Another swing and the log finally gave way, splitting clean in two. He adjusted the pieces and started again, the rhythmic motion grounding him even as his thoughts spiraled.

And yet... there she was, walking through the woods just to give him something she thought he’d like. Her smile was genuine, her laugh soft, and for a moment, it had felt almost normal, like maybe he wasn’t the broken mess he’d convinced himself he was.

Don’t kid yourself.

The axe paused mid-air as his gaze flickered to the jars again. She wasn’t just being polite, was she? There had been something in her eyes, something he didn’t know how to name but felt keenly.

God, I used to be good at this, he thought, lowering the axe and resting his hands on the handle. Before everything went to hell, before the nightmares and the scars and the sense of being completely out of place in a world that had moved on without him, he’d known how to read people. Known how to charm them.

Now, he couldn’t even tell if the kindest gesture he’d received in years was just... friendliness.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his grip tightening on the axe. He had no answers, only doubts, and a feeling in his gut that maybe, just maybe, he was about to screw this up like he did everything else.

----------

The afternoon sunlight filtered through the living room curtains as she sat cross-legged on the couch, her laptop balanced on her knees. She rubbed her temples and glared at the screen, rereading the same sentence for what felt like the hundredth time. The latest manuscript she was proofreading was a Highlander romance, complete with a Marie Sue, a couple of brawny warriors, and more plaid than a fabric store. It wasn’t that she disliked the genre, but this one was so cliché-ridden it was almost impressive.

“And then his emerald eyes bore into hers, as if he could see the depths of her soul,” she read aloud, her tone dry. She let out a groan, rolling her eyes for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Of course he did.”

Still, it paid the bills. She took a sip of her now lukewarm tea and leaned back, debating whether to power through or take a break. That’s when a knock sounded at the door.

Her brows furrowed. Dorothy, the old lady he met at the general store, had mentioned bringing over some plant bulbs today, and it was her signature to show up unannounced. Closing the laptop with a sigh of relief at the distraction, she stood and padded to the door.

“Dorothy, you didn’t have to-” she began, opening the door with a welcoming smile, only to have the words die in her throat.

It wasn’t Dorothy.

Bucky stood there, one hand gripping a well-worn toolbox and the other shoved casually into the pocket of his jeans. The red henley he wore was snug enough to highlight the curve of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest, but not enough to look like he was trying. His hair was slightly mussed, as if the wind had tussled it just before he knocked, and the faintest hint of stubble shadowed his jaw.

For a second, neither of them spoke. She blinked, her surprise evident, while he cleared his throat and offered a small, almost sheepish nod.

“Hey,” he said, his deep voice tinged with a hint of hesitation. “I, uh... remembered you mentioned during the festival needing to fix a couple of roof tiles.” He lifted the toolbox slightly as if to emphasize his purpose. “Thought I’d stop by and take care of it. For the jam.”

It was a perfectly logical explanation, but the sight of him on her porch, looking like an ad for rustic competence, left her momentarily speechless.

She groaned inwardly, the warmth of embarrassment creeping up her neck as she registered her current state, an old pair of sweatpants and an even older shirt with a faded logo, complete with a jam stain right across the bosom. Great. Just great.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed, her voice brushing off the initial surprise as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “Really, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Bucky shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small, easy smile. “Figured I owed you one. Besides, it’s no trouble.”

Despite herself, her lips quirked in a smile as she stepped aside and gestured toward the side of the house. “Well, okay then. The tiles that need fixing are just over there.”

He nodded, his movements purposeful but unhurried, as he turned toward his truck. “I’ll grab my ladder and get started.”

As he walked away, she shut the door with a quiet click and let out a soft exhale, leaning her forehead briefly against the cool wood. A glance down at her outfit made her wince. Nope. There was no way she was standing out there in this while Bucky Barnes fixed her roof looking like a walking ad for rugged, small-town charm.

She bolted for her room, tearing through her wardrobe with newfound urgency. A simple casual dress with a V neckline and cardigan was the winning combo, comfortable enough for an impromptu chat but still presentable. She smoothed the fabric over her hips and checked her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair back into place before heading back to the living room.

The faint clink of metal outside signaled that Bucky was already at work. Feeling slightly more put-together, she made her way to the kitchen to make some lemonade, hoping she didn’t look like she was trying too hard.

Once the lemonade was ready, she poured a glass, her movements steady as she tried to keep her thoughts from spiraling. It wasn’t a big deal. Just a neighborly gesture to bring him something cool while he worked. Absolutely no ulterior motives, she told herself firmly, ignoring the tiny thrill that ran through her at the thought of talking to him again.

After tidying up a few things to stall for time, she finally stepped outside, the lemonade glass balanced carefully in her hand. The sun had warmed the air, and she spotted Bucky perched on the ladder, one boot firmly planted on a lower rung as he worked to secure a tile.

“Hey,” she called out lightly, making her way toward him.

He glanced down, his hands pausing mid-adjustment. His gaze caught on her new outfit, lingering for a moment before flicking back to her face. She wasn’t imagining it, the slight shift in his expression was hard to miss.

Feeling suddenly self-conscious under his sharp blue eyes, she offered the glass with a small smile. “Thought you might want something to drink.” Then, in a rush of nervous energy, she added, “Dorothy was supposed to drop by, so I figured I should look a little more... put together.”

His gaze flickered briefly to the neckline of her dress, the height of his vantage point affording a view to skin that other way should be concealed by cloth. For a split second, his focus lingered on the swell of her breasts before he forced his attention back to her face with an unreadable expression.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly, reaching down to take the glass. His fingers brushed hers for a fraction of a second, the callouses rough against her skin, and she fought the urge to shiver at the contact.

“You’re, uh, making good progress,” she said, nodding toward the roof as if that would distract from the warmth in her cheeks.

“Not much to it,” he replied, taking a sip. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank, and her eyes dipped of their own accord, watching the movement.

When he handed the glass back, their fingers brushed again, and she swore his hand lingered just a moment longer this time.

She lingered by the ladder, holding her glass of lemonade, the condensation cool against her fingers. “You and Sam did a great job building the booths for the festival,” she said, her tone casual. “Not only a provider, huh? Seems like you’re quite the handyman too.”

Bucky glanced down at her, his lips twitching into a faint smile before he focused back on the tile he was securing. “It wasn’t just us. Plenty of other guys helped out.”

“Still,” she insisted, watching the muscles in his forearms shift as he worked, “it’s cool. You don’t see that kind of dedication every day.”

He didn’t respond right away, his grip tightening on the hammer. The compliment clearly unsettled him, and for a split second, his aim wavered. The hammer came down too close to his thumb, and he muttered a sharp curse under his breath.

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping closer instinctively. Her brows knit together with concern as she watched him shake out his hand.

“Peachy,” he muttered with a gruff voice, though the faint pink creeping up his neck gave away his frustration, whether from the near miss or her watchful presence, she wasn’t sure.

Her lips twitched at his tone, but she held back a laugh, not wanting to poke the bear. “Alright, then. I’ll leave you to it before I distract you into taking off a finger.”

He glanced down at her, his blue eyes sharp but not unkind. “You’re not a distraction,” he said after a beat, his voice softer this time.

Her stomach did a little flip, but she forced herself to keep her tone light. “Still, I’d hate to be the reason you get hurt. Let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before he turned back to his work, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

She stepped back toward the house, clutching the empty glass tightly as she crossed the threshold and shut the door behind her.

With a deep breath, she returned to the couch, her laptop waiting for her where she’d left it. But even as she opened the screen and stared down the next line of plaid-covered Highlander melodrama, her thoughts drifted back to the man on her roof and the way his gaze lingered just a second too long.

---------

The knock at the door startled her out of the repetitive loop of her manuscript edits. Leaving the laptop on the coffee table, she stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress instinctively. When she opened the door, there he was, a faint sheen of sweat on his face and his toolbox in hand.

“All done,” Bucky said, his deep voice a little quiet, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how to say more. He gestured vaguely toward the roof with his free hand. “The tiles should hold up fine now. No leaks to worry about.”

Her smile was warm as relief and gratitude washed over her. “Thank you, Bucky. Really. That was so kind of you to come by and take care of it.”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t take long. Figured it’d save you some hassle.”

“Still,” she said, stepping back to open the door wider, “you didn’t have to. Can I at least get you something? Another drink, maybe?”

He hesitated, his hand tightening slightly on the handle of the toolbox. “You don’t have to-”

“I insist,” she cut him off gently, her smile unwavering. “Please. It’s the least I can do.”

After a beat, he nodded, stepping over the threshold with a cautious ease, as if unsure of how much space he was allowed to take up. She led him to the kitchen, motioning for him to sit at the small table while she poured a fresh glass of lemonade.

He sat stiffly, setting his toolbox carefully by his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. The kitchen smelled faintly of citrus and sugar, a scent that mingled oddly with the outdoorsy hint of sawdust and sweat he carried with him.

“Here,” she said, placing the glass in front of him before sitting across the table. “I hope it’s still cold enough.”

Bucky nodded his thanks, taking a sip. The silence stretched for a moment, not uncomfortable but loaded with unspoken thoughts. She was the first to break it.

“So, how long have you been working with Sam?” she asked, leaning her arms casually on the table.

He set the glass down, his fingers lingering on the rim as he answered. “A few years. Helps keep me busy.”

She tilted her head, studying him with quiet curiosity. “Do you supply the rest of the workshops and stores too?”

Bucky let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “Not really, just a few. Don’t think anyone’s lining up to hire a guy like me.”

Her brows knit together. “I don’t know about that. You’re dependable, skilled... and clearly a good neighbor.”

Her words caught him off guard, and he looked down, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Just doing what needs to be done,” he mumbled.

“More than that,” she pressed, a hint of teasing in her tone now to lighten the moment. “If I hadn’t seen it for myself, I wouldn’t believe how fast you fixed those tiles.”

Bucky shook his head, his lips twitching into that barely-there smile again. “It’s just a roof.”

“To you, maybe,” she said lightly. “To me, it’s one less thing to worry about. And I really appreciate it.”

Her sincerity left him quiet for a moment, his fingers tightening briefly around the glass. He glanced up at her, meeting her eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said finally, with a low voice.

Another pause lingered between them, she smiled, leaning back slightly in her chair. “Well, if you ever need more jam -or a roof to fix- you know where to find me.”

He chuckled softly, the sound surprising even himself. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their gazes held for just a beat too long before he stood, his hand already reaching for the toolbox. “I should get going.”

“Of course,” she said, standing as well, though she didn’t move to rush him out. “Thanks again, Bucky.”

As Bucky made his way toward the door, his gaze swept briefly over the living room, pausing on the open laptop resting on the coffee table. His steps slowed, curiosity flickering across his features. “What’s that you’re working on?” he asked, tilting his head toward the screen.

She followed his gaze and let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “Oh, just... proofreading a manuscript.”

He raised a brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up slightly. “What kind of manuscript?”

Her lips parted as if she might dodge the question, but his steady, inquisitive look made it clear he wasn’t letting this one go. “It’s, uh... a romance,” she admitted, her voice almost shy.

His brow lifted a little higher. “About?”

She hesitated, fidgeting slightly under his gaze. “It’s... okay, it’s one of those super cheesy historical romances. You know, with a rugged Highlander and a maid who’s swept up in some dramatic, forbidden love affair.” Her words tumbled out in a rush, her cheeks warming as she spoke.

Bucky’s expression shifted. First skeptical, then mildly amused, and finally landing somewhere between disbelief and intrigue. “And that sells?”

“It’s a very popular topic,” She nodded, already cringing inwardly. “It’s... well, it’s got a lot of dramatic tension, flowery descriptions, and... other stuff.”

“Like what?” he asked, genuinely curious, his head tilting slightly as he leaned against the doorframe.

She bit the inside of her cheek, debating how much detail to share. “You know... dramatic misunderstandings, passionate declarations, epic sword fights... and, uh...” She trailed off, waving her hand vaguely. “Other... things.”

“Other things,” he repeated, his lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. “You mean... the spicy stuff?”

Her cheeks flamed, and she groaned, covering her face with her hands. “Yes, okay? That stuff. Happy now?”

He chuckled making her peek at him from behind her fingers. “Didn’t take you for someone who’d spend their day reading about shirtless Highlanders sweeping maids off their feet.”

“I don’t spend my day reading it,” she shot back, lowering her hands to glare at him, though her expression was more embarrassed than angry. “I’m proofreading. There’s a difference.”

“Right,” he said, dragging the word out like he wasn’t entirely convinced. “So you’re not secretly daydreaming about a plaid-wearing, hero coming to whisk you away?”

“Absolutely not,” she replied firmly, though the faint crack in her voice betrayed her mortification.

He smirked, finally stepping back from the doorframe. “Good to know.”

She crossed her arms, watching him as he moved toward his toolbox. “Not that you’re one to judge,” she called after him. “You seem to know an awful lot about what goes on in those books for someone who’s never read one.”

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back, his gaze narrowing slightly, though there was still a glint of amusement in his eyes. “I have a sister,” he said simply, as though that explained everything.

Her mouth opened, then shut, caught off guard. “Touché,” she murmured, conceding the point. Still, she couldn’t let it rest. “But honestly, this one is so bad, I don’t get how the editors went along with it.”

His curiosity piqued, and Bucky tilted his head. “And why’s that?”

“It’s just... so cheesy,” she said, her voice dipping with exaggerated drama. “Way too fluffy, the guy won’t stop talking about his feelings, and he’s clingy in a way that makes me cringe.” She shuddered a little for effect.

Bucky raised a brow, his thumb absently tapping against the handle of the toolbox. “So... that makes it bad for the genre? Or is that your personal taste talking?”

She blinked, thrown off by the question. “I-what?”

“I mean,” he continued, leaning casually against the doorframe, “aren’t romance novels supposed to be... you know, emotional? Feelings and all that? Or is it just not your thing?”

She frowned, his thoughtful tone making her pause. “I guess... it’s not the emotions that bother me,” she admitted, her arms crossing loosely. “It’s the way it’s written. This guy is just so... over the top. He’s constantly swooning over her, saying how she’s his whole world, his sun and stars... it’s too much. Like, tone it down, man.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, and he gave a small, thoughtful nod as if chewing over her words. “So, you’re more into the... brooding types?”

Her face warmed slightly at the observation, but she shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Maybe. I like characters who... don’t lay it all out at once. You know, someone with a little mystery.”

A long silence stretched between them, his gaze lingering on her as if trying to read between the lines. “Sounds like it’d be tough to figure out what they’re thinking.” He observed.

She raised a brow at that, tilting her head. “Sometimes actions speak louder than words, you know.”

Bucky seemed to consider that, his fingers flexing lightly around the handle of his toolbox. He nodded once, then glanced toward the door. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your... highlander drama.” He shifted his weight, toolbox in hand, and turned toward the door. But as he stepped through, he hesitated, glancing back. “Hey,” he said, his tone quieter now, almost hesitant. “If, uh... if you ever need something else, just let me know.”

She smiled “I will. The same goes for you, thanks again.”

He nodded, a small, almost shy tilt of his head, before stepping fully out the door. She stood there for a moment, staring after him as the faint crunch of his boots faded down the path. The quiet of her house enveloped her as she closed the door, replaying snippets of their conversation.

She had barely made it back to the couch when her phone buzzed. The screen lit up with a text from Sam:

Hey, I’m grilling tonight. You should come by. No excuses.

A smile tugged at her lips. The idea of stepping out, getting off her screen, and being around people sounded better than staying cooped up with plaids and cringy lairds. She quickly texted back her agreement.

The gathering was small, just a handful of locals chatting around the glow of the garden lights and the firepit, the scent of burning wood mingling with spiced cider in the air.

She wasn’t expecting to see Bucky there, given he wasn’t the social type but there he was, standing slightly apart from the crowd, his hands shoved into his pockets as he listened to a conversation between Sam and another neighbor.

She hesitated, her pulse quickening at the sight of him. Sam spotted her, waving her over. “Hey, glad you made it! C’mon, grab a drink.”

She made her way to the table laden with snacks and drinks, feeling Bucky’s gaze on her as she poured herself some cider. When she turned, he was standing just a few steps away, his expression unreadable in the flickering firelight.

“Hey,” she said, her voice a touch breathless. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

His lips quirked in a half-smile. “Sam can be... persuasive.”

She laughed softly “Yeah, he’s good at that.”

They stood there in companionable silence for a moment, and then, as someone started strumming a guitar on the other side of the yard, Bucky glanced at her, his blue eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite place.

“Walk with me?” he asked, with a low but steady voice.

Surprised, she nodded, and they left the noise and light of the gathering behind, stepping into the quiet shadows of the trees that bordered Sam’s property.

As they walked, the only sounds were the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant chords of the guitar. Finally, he spoke.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began with a cautious tone like he was testing the waters. “About what you said earlier. About liking... brooding characters.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Oh?”

His gaze stayed forward, but his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Got me wondering if you really meant that. Or if you were just... making conversation.” The vulnerability in his voice sent a wave of warmth through her.

“I wasn’t just making conversation,” she admitted softly.

He stopped walking, turning to face her fully. The firelight was distant now, casting only the faintest glow, but she could still see the intensity in his expression. “Good,” he said, his voice rougher now. “Because I don’t want to keep wondering.”

Before she could respond, he stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, tentative but deliberate. And when she didn’t pull away, he leaned in, his breath warm against her skin as his lips captured hers in a kiss that was both hesitant and deeply certain, as if he’d been waiting for this moment far longer than he dared to admit.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders. That small gesture gave him all the permission he needed. Tilting his head, he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, a gentle yet deliberate request. She parted her lips for him, granting entrance, and he deepened the kiss with a low, quiet sigh that sent warmth spiraling through her.

His hand slid to the curve of her lower back, pulling her closer, while the other found its way to her nape. His fingers tangled gently in her hair as he cradled her. Their kiss broke slowly, reluctantly, his lips brushing hers one last time as if he couldn’t quite let go. Bucky lingered close, his breath warm against her cheek, his nose skimming along her jaw before dipping to her neck. He pressed his face there, inhaling deeply, and his quiet, teasing voice sent a shiver down her spine.

“This too clingy for you?”

A soft laugh escaped her, though it dissolved into a breathy sigh as she tilted her head, exposing more of her neck to him. “Shut up,” she murmured, her fingers threading through his hair, keeping him close. Whatever witty retort she might have had melted into nothing as he pressed a lingering kiss to her pulse point.

Bucky’s lips lingered against her neck for a moment longer before he pulled back just enough to look at her. His fingers at her nape flexed, and then his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. Her heart stuttered as he closed the distance again, this time more demanding. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was deeper and hungrier. Gone was the tentative sweetness, this was need, raw and unrestrained. His hand slid from her lower back to her hip, splaying wide, pulling her flush against him as if he needed to eliminate even the smallest gap between them.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, throaty sound from him that sent a thrill through her. She arched into him instinctively, and his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, his fingers brushing her bare thigh. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but his restraint was evident. Her hands left his hair, sliding down to his chest, the soft flannel brushing her palms before she gripped the fabric and tugged him closer. He responded instantly, groaning softly into her mouth as the hand on her nape angled her tighter against his lips.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingling in the charged silence, he pressed his forehead to hers. Neither of them moved to step away, the distant chatter and laughter around the grill fading into the background. The weight of unspoken need between them was palpable.

“We should...” she started, her voice catching slightly. Then, more firmly, “We should go somewhere.”

His head lifted slightly, blue eyes dark as he searched hers for a beat before a slow smile tugged at his lips, agreeing with a low voice.

Without another word, he took her hand, intertwining their fingers briefly before leading her away. They drifted toward the edge of the yard with casual ease, their steps slow enough to avoid suspicion but quick enough to betray their shared urgency. Once they’d slipped into the cover of the trees bordering Sam’s property, she turned to him, their bodies close in the dim light of the evening. “Your truck or...?”

Bucky’s brows shot up at the suggestion, and for a moment, the idea tempted him, briefly, wildly. Considering the insistent ache in his jeans, the thought held undeniable appeal. But then, reason settled over him like a cool breeze. Not like this. Not tonight.

His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk, and he leaned in just enough that his voice sent a shiver through her. “Your place,” he murmured, low and deliberate.

The shift in his tone left her breathless, her pulse hammering against her skin as her cheeks warmed. She nodded wordlessly, her hand tightening slightly around his as they moved with quiet purpose. The path back to her house felt electric, each step charged with anticipation.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Bucky turned sharply, cornering her against the solid wood. His hands framed her face as his lips captured hers again, more demanding this time, his body pressing into hers with a heat that left no room for misinterpretation. She gasped softly into the kiss, the feel of his hardon against her stomach sending a jolt of desire through her.

Her fingers tangled in his long hair, tugging just enough to make him growl low in his throat. The sound vibrated between them, primal and electrifying. He broke the kiss just enough to murmur, his voice gravelly, “Where’s the bedroom?”

She pointed vaguely down the hall, her breath hitching. Before she could blink, his strong hands were gripping her waist, and he effortlessly threw her over his shoulder in one smooth motion.

A surprised squeal left her lips, and she braced herself against his back, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt. His hand splayed firmly over her rear to steady her, his voice teasing but thick with intent. “Easy there,” he said, the words curling with a hint of amusement.

He strode purposely through the hallway, and when they reached the bedroom, he set her down on the bed with surprising care, though his gaze was anything but gentle. He stood over her for a moment, taking her in, the way her hair fell wild around her face, her lips swollen from his kisses, her chest rising and falling with anticipation.

His tongue flicked over his bottom lip as his eyes darkened. “Damn,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with hunger, “you’re a sight.”

She shifted slightly under his intense stare, a flicker of shyness creeping in her despite her arousal. The way he looked at her, so unapologetically hungry, made her feel exposed. His lips quirked slightly as if sensing her hesitation, and he leaned down, his hand coming to rest against her jaw.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less intent.

She nodded, her breath hitching as his thumb brushed along her cheek. ��Yeah,” she whispered.

“Good,” he replied, his lips curving into a faint smile before he kissed her again. This time, it was slower, deeper, his tongue sweeping against hers in a way that left her clinging to him, her earlier shyness melting into the heat of his touch.

Her fingers found his shirt, tugging at the hem, and he pulled back just enough to strip it off, tossing it aside without ceremony. The scars on his chest and arm caught the dim light, but the confidence in his gaze never wavered as he leaned back in, his hands sliding down her sides with deliberate, teasing slowness.

Her teeth sank into her bottom lip as her eyes roamed over him, the sheer breadth of his chest and the powerful arms flexing with restrained strength. He was a bear of a man, solid and unrelenting, and she loved every bit of it.

“You know,” he began, his voice low and rough, his fingers deftly popping open the buttons of her dress one by one. “I love seeing you in these dresses and skirts.” His lips quirked into a wicked grin, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. “Makes it so damn easy to get under them. Have my way with you.”

Her cheeks burned at his words, a mixture of arousal and shyness bubbling to the surface. “Bucky...” she breathed, but her protest was feeble at best, especially as he continued his slow, deliberate assault, parting the fabric of her dress to expose more of her skin.

“That one you wore at the festival,” he went on, his tone darkening with heat as he leaned closer, his lips grazing her collarbone. “That vintage-looking thing? Sweetheart, it drove me crazy.”

She gasped softly as his hands slid over her hips, his thumbs tracing patterns against her bare skin. “Crazy how?” she managed to ask, her voice trembling under the weight of his attention.

He let out a low, throaty chuckle, his lips trailing down to the swell of her breasts. “Crazy enough to want to bend you over the booth table,” he murmured, his teeth scraping lightly against her skin, “and fuck you right there. Pies, jam… didn’t care. Would’ve made a mess of it all just to get my hands on you.”

A desperate whimper slipped past her lips as heat pooled low in her belly. Her hands slid into his hair, tugging slightly.

He growled softly at the sensation, pressing her back against the bed. His hands gripped the fabric of her dress and tugged it down her arms, exposing her fully to his gaze. “But we’ve got all the time we want now,” he said, his voice rough, his lips curving into a predatory smile. “And I plan to take my damn time.”

Her pussy clenched with anticipation as her mind whirled, trying to reconcile the quiet, awkward man she’d come to know with this unabashedly vocal, commanding version of him. It was as though he’d been holding back all this time, and now, the dam had finally burst.

Her bra followed the dress, and his sharp intake of breath sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through her. His thumb traced the curve of her breast, slow and deliberate, before he leaned in, his lips hovering just above her skin.

“Y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough and teasing, “all I could think about this afternoon was pouring that lemonade on these.” His lips ghosted over her nipple, his breath warm. “Then drinking it straight off you.”

Her gaze widened, a sudden wave of shyness overtaking her. She let out a nervous laugh, pressing her hands over her face to shield herself.

“Don’t hide from me,” he said firmly, his hand catching her wrists and gently tugging them away. His eyes burned with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “You were the one who instigated our little escape from Sam’s party, remember?”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she couldn’t help the way her body arched toward him as his lips finally claimed the peak of her breast, his tongue swirling in deliberate, maddening strokes. Any remaining hesitation evaporated as he pressed his hips against hers, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

“You don’t get to act shy now,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly against her skin. “Not after everything you’ve been driving me crazy with.”

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, trembling as she stammered, “I... I didn’t do anything...”

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet her wide-eyed gaze, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. “Oh, you didn’t?” he drawled, his tone laced with teasing disbelief. His hand slid down her side, his calloused fingers leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “That little dress at the festival? the lemonade with that neckline? The way you bit your lower lip every time we spoke? Sweetheart, you’ve been doing everything.”

Her cheeks burned, her lips parting as if to protest, but no words came out. Instead, he leaned in closer, his nose brushing the curve of her jaw as he whispered, “And I’ve been trying real hard to keep my hands to myself... but now? Now, I’m done trying.”

Her breath caught, and before she could respond, his lips were on hers again, claiming her in a kiss that left no room for doubt. His hands roamed her body with purpose, pulling her flush against him, his erection pressing firmly against her pussy.

Her fingers found their way into his hair again, tugging gently at the strands as he groaned into her mouth, the sound reverberating through her. “You’re killing me, you know that?” he murmured against her lips, his voice rough and filled with longing. “All I’ve been thinking about is this... you... for weeks.” He kissed her again, slower and deeper this time, as if savoring the moment.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he rasped when they parted for air, his forehead resting against hers. “But you’re about to find out.”

He left a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her body, his lips lingering on every inch of skin as if committing her to memory. When he reached the waistband of her drenched panties, he paused, his hands gripping her thighs firmly to keep her in place. Pressing his face against the soaked fabric, he inhaled deeply, a guttural groan rumbling from his chest.

“God, you smell so good,” he murmured, his voice thick with hunger. His thumbs hooked into the sides of the delicate lace, slowly pulling it down her legs as he kept his eyes locked on hers. The intensity in his gaze made her pulse thunder in her ears. “You’ve been driving me insane,” he confessed, his lips brushing against her inner thigh as he tossed the damp fabric aside. “Every time I saw you in those little dresses... I thought about this. About getting under that hemline and taste you.”

Her body quivered at his words, her fingers tangling in the sheets beneath her as anticipation coiled tight in her core. “Bucky...” she breathed, her voice a plea.

“Patience,” he said again, his voice low and teasing, but there was no mistaking the edge of hunger in it. His hands spread her thighs further apart, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh as he held her open. His breath ghosted over her pussy, warm and tantalizing, making her gasp and clutch the sheets. “I want to take my time with you.”

And then his mouth was on her. His tongue dragged through her slick folds with slow, deliberate strokes, before barely retreating with a sinful hum. “Fuck,” he groaned, “You taste even better than I imagined.” He paused only long enough to meet her eyes, his own dark and full of promise. “And I’ve been imagining this for a long time.”

Her breath caught in her throat as he spread her pussy lips with his thumbs, baring her fully to him. His mouth latched onto her clit, his tongue swirling in lazy circles before he nursed it with intent. The sharp jolt of pleasure ripped a cry from her lips, her hips thrusting against his mouth involuntarily.

“Bucky! oh, God!” she gasped, her voice trembling as he kept at it, alternating between sucking and flicking her sensitive nub with maddening precision. His growl vibrated against her, the sound and sensation drawing another moan from deep within her chest.

“Stay still,” he commanded, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. The rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Two thick fingers joined the assault, sliding slowly into her wet heat, stretching her as they pressed in until they were knuckle-deep. She gasped, her walls clenching around him as he paused for a moment, letting her adjust before starting a maddening rhythm.

His mouth stayed on her clit, tongue flicking and circling in tandem with the slow, deliberate thrust of his fingers. The combination was overwhelming, a perfectly orchestrated symphony of pleasure that had her crying out his name, her thighs trembling as she struggled to keep still.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he murmured against her, his voice filled with awe and lust. His fingers curled inside her, finding that sweet spot that made her hips jerk off the bed. “Right there, huh? That’s it.”

Her breathing turned ragged, her hands gripping his hair tightly as her body climbed higher and higher toward release. He didn’t let up, his tongue and fingers working her with relentless precision, coaxing her closer to the edge with every stroke.

The orgasm tore through her like an electric shock, sharp and all-consuming. Her body clenched tight, her muscles locking for a heartbeat before releasing uncontrollable spasms. Her walls clenched around his fingers, her back arching off the bed as a sharp cry tore from her lips. He growled with satisfaction, his fingers slowing but not stopping as he rode her through her climax, his mouth pressing soft, soothing kisses to her inner thigh as she shuddered beneath him.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pulling his fingers free slowly and bringing them to his lips to taste. His darkened gaze met hers, his tongue flicking out to clean the slick from his fingers. “You’re fucking perfect.”

She barely had time to catch her breath before Bucky stood, towering over her, his eyes dark with intent. With a sharp tug, he kicked off his work boots, the thud of them hitting the floor making her jump slightly. Then came the metallic clink of his belt, the sound sending a thrill straight through her.

Her gaze was locked on him as he unzipped his jeans, the low rasp of the zipper making her stomach tighten. He tugged them down along with his underwear in one swift motion, revealing himself in all his glory. He was all broad shoulders and thick muscle. His broad chest and left arm were marred by scars that only added to the raw magnetism he exuded. And then there was his cock. Thick, hard, and so utterly intimidating that she bit her lip at the sight.

“Like what you see?” he asked, a lazy smile pulling at his lips.

She nodded, unable to form words as her cheeks flushed.

“Good,” he said, his hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking lazily as he took a step closer. “Because you’re going to feel all of me.”

Bucky climbed onto the bed, positioning himself between her parted thighs. His hands gripped her waist, firm but careful, as though he might crush her if he wasn’t mindful of his strength. His cock rested heavy and hard against her slick folds, the head teasing her entrance as he rocked his hips slowly, coating himself.

“So wet,” he murmured, his voice a husky growl that sent a shiver down her spine. She moaned softly, her thighs trembling as the thick head of his cock pressed against her opening, the stretch beginning even before he was inside. He moved slowly, agonizingly so, letting her body adjust to his size inch by inch. Her walls fluttered around him as he filled her, her slick heat clenching tightly as he pushed deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as her breath hitched. “Oh my God, Bucky... you’re so-”

“Big?” he finished for her, his tone edged with dark amusement as he paused, fully sheathed inside her. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear as he rumbled, “That’s it, sweetheart.”

Her head fell back against the pillow as she panted, her body stretched to its limit, the delicious pressure bordering on too much. But as her hips shifted slightly, the friction sent a bolt of pleasure through her that made her moan his name.

Bucky groaned low in his throat, his hands sliding to her rear to tilt her hips upward. He withdrew slowly, almost to the tip, before thrusting back in with deliberate care. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he murmured, his gaze locked on her face as he started to move in earnest.

His pace began slow and steady, each thrust measured, but it wasn’t long before his control began to slip. His grip on her tightened as he quickened, the powerful thrusts rocking her body against the mattress. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room, the wet slap of his cock driving deep into her pussy mingling with her moans and his guttural groans.

“Hold on to me,” he ordered, his voice rough with lust. Before she could process his words, he hooked an arm under her ass and lifted her effortlessly, sitting crisscrossed with her perched in his lap.

Her arms flew around his neck, clinging to him as the new angle made him hit even deeper. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her movements as he thrust up into her, the force of his cock driving her wild. Her head fell forward, her forehead resting against his as she whimpered, overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure building inside her.

“Look at me,” he demanded. Her hazy eyes met his as he tilted her hips slightly forward, the firm muscles just above his shaft slapping her clit with every thrust.

She cried out, her nails raking down his back as the coil inside her tightened, ready to snap. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop!”

He groaned, his cock swelling even harder inside her as he chased her climax. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper. “Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel it.”

Her orgasm hit her hard, her pussy clamping down on his cock as she cried out his name, her body trembling violently in his arms, and he growled in satisfaction.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he ground out, his movements growing erratic as her spasming walls pushed him closer to the edge. “You’re mine, doll. Mine.”

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself fully inside her, his cock pulsing as he spilled into her with a guttural moan. He held her tightly, pressing his forehead to her shoulder as they both panted, their bodies trembling from the intensity of their encounter.

For a moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their heavy breathing. Then, with utter gentleness, Bucky eased her back onto the bed, his body following hers as he stayed buried inside her. He braced himself on his forearms, keeping his weight off her but staying close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers.

A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at her, the faintest hint of mischief in his eyes. “So,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “better than the breathtaking Highlander?”

Her breath hitched before she burst into laughter, making his smirk widen. “Oh, so much better,” she stated, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a quick, playful kiss. “I find the curt and gloomy lumberjack character more appealing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering just slightly. “Curt and gloomy, huh?”

She nodded, her voice turning softer. “Mysterious. Rugged. A little broody. Kind. Thoughtful. Handsome.”

He blinked, caught off guard by the weight of her words. A faint flush crept up his neck, blooming across his cheeks, and he glanced away, suddenly looking very much like the socially awkward man she’d come to adore.

“Didn’t know I was signing up for flattery,” he muttered under his breath, his ears reddening as he busied himself with brushing away a strand of hair hanging on his face.

She laughed and cupped his cheek, gently forcing him to meet her gaze. “Just telling the truth,” She said softly, her thumb brushing over his stubbed skin.

He swallowed hard, the blush deepening as his lips twitched into a shy, crooked smile. “Still not used to it,” he admitted quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.

“Guess I’ll just have to keep saying it until you are,” she replied with a grin, pulling him down for another kiss before he could argue.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #Lumberjack!Bucky

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witchywithwhiskey · 9 months ago

Text

the alpha next door

pairing: alpha!steve rogers x omega!female reader

summary: you and your neighbor are harboring feelings for each other, but both of you think the other is too sweet. then, things take a turn when your first heat since moving in hits, revealing the depth of your feelings for the alpha next door—and his for you.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), omegaverse AU tropes (heats, knots, purring, mating, scenting), piv sex, breeding kink/pregnancy kink (reader's on birth control tho), accidental voyeurism, masturbation (m + f), dirty talk, praise kink, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, size kink, pet names (baby), mutual pining, idiots in love, dual pov

word count: 8.9k

a/n: here's my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420's Cum Together Extravaganza!!! i used the A/B/O AU and breeding kink prompts—and this is my very first omegaverse fic!!! so uhhh please be kind because i don't know what i'm doing 😅 also loosely inspired by "too sweet" by hozier!! anyway, this ended up a lot longer than i thought it would be....whoops!! hope y'all enjoy!!!

When you first moved into the little pink cottage next door, Steve Rogers decided that you were too sweet for an ex-soldier alpha like him. An omega like you was filled with sunshine and gentleness, and you deserved an alpha who would treat you like the precious thing you were.

The kindest thing Steve could do for you was stay away. The thoughts you inspired in his alpha hindbrain had him hating the rough and greedy animal side of himself. He wanted to dig his fingers into your plush hips and bend you over, make you present your pretty little body in the way the alpha in him craved.

But he reminded himself you were too sweet. Too sweet for the obscene thoughts that plagued his mind. Too sweet to be defiled by a big alpha like him. Too sweet to be swollen and round and glowing because you were carrying his child…

Still, you were his neighbor and Steve couldn’t avoid you entirely, even though everything he saw only reaffirmed his belief that you were too good for him.

The little pink cottage beside his house had come with a front garden filled with pink roses and all manner of other pink flowers that Steve couldn’t even begin to name, but you tended to them like you’d planted them yourself. Steve would get home from work, park his truck in his driveway—which had a perfect view of your front garden. He’d watch you from behind his tinted windows as you took care of your flowers, looking like a garden fairy come to life.

When Steve eventually grew uncomfortable with how long he’d been watching you, he would get out of his truck and call a gruff hello to you as he made his way inside. Your melodic voice returning his greeting would follow him into his house, where he’d close his door and lean against it, panting like he’d just escaped a warzone while his cock strained against his jeans. But Steve wouldn’t stoop to jerking himself off to the thought of you—at least not while you were just outside.

On weekends, Steve would work in his backyard, mowing the grass and tending to the shrubs that ran along the line separating his property from yours. When the weather was nice and pleasantly warm, you would sit out on your small back porch, curled up in a wicker chair reading some book or another.

Steve would offer to mow your lawn, just for an excuse to stay outside longer, and be a little bit closer to you. You’d let him, and thank him for his efforts by giving him some ice cold lemonade, smiling up at him while he drank it. Steve wasn’t the least bit surprised the lemonade was more sweet than tart.

As the weeks and months passed since you’d moved in, Steve couldn’t help but feel his desire for you growing, becoming a living thing curling around his heart, making it beat for you. You were the sweetest and prettiest omega he’d ever met, and he’d be lucky to be your alpha, but he kept his distance, certain you could do better than him.

That is, until your first heat after moving in next door changed everything.

That was when Steve learned you were far more than the innocent little omega he’d determined you to be—you were a creature of sex and desire, made to take an alpha’s knot and be pumped full of come in the hopes that their seed would take root in your womb. When your heat hit fully, your keening wails echoed from your cottage, and they were a siren song that called directly to Steve’s alpha heart.

But he kept himself away. After all, there were polite ways of going about these things, and he’d never even asked you out on a date, so he certainly wasn’t going to assume you wanted his help to get you through your heat. Besides, you hadn’t asked for him to join you, anyway.

That didn’t stop Steve from keeping an eye on you, though.

He’d noticed the slight change in your scent a few days before your heat truly set in, his cock reacting even more to your perfect omega body than normal. Steve felt like he was walking around with a constant bulge in his pants after getting a single whiff of your scent, but he ignored the niggling feeling telling him he needed to be close to you and did his best to hide his reaction. He knew you had other things to worry about than the comfort of the alpha next door.

Even though something in him compelled him to go to you, Steve couldn’t bring himself to walk over to your cottage. It occurred to him that even if you didn’t want him to help you through your heat, he could offer to go to the store to get the food and provisions you’d need. But he didn’t. He was worried about what he’d do if he looked into your home and saw your nest and smelled your sweet perfume.

So Steve kept his distance, watching you from his truck and the windows of his house as you brought home a week’s worth of provisions—protein bars and sports drinks that would keep you nourished enough to make it through your heat. Steve wished he could carry the heavy-looking bags into your home, but his cock was pitching a tent in his sweatpants, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable with the way his alpha body reacted to your omega scent.

Finally, as your heat drew closer, you locked up your cottage, closing all the windows and drawing all the curtains. Steve couldn’t help but notice, though, that you left the skylight in your bedroom cracked open a tiny bit. Steve’s alpha hindbrain itched at the thought that you’d only left it open because you couldn’t close it yourself, and he had to hold himself back from going over to your cottage to offer to close it.

Steve knew omegas liked to keep their nests dark and warm and locked up tight. They wanted to keep all the scents created during a heat trapped in their nest, at least until their heat broke. So it was curious that you’d left the skylight open, even a little bit.

But when your heat hit in earnest that evening, your pitiful whimpers and desperate moans filtering through the open window and directly to Steve’s ears—through the window of his bedroom that he’d thrown open the moment he’d heard you—he forgot about what omegas typically wanted. Instead, all the blood in his body rushed to his cock, making him harder than he’d ever been in his life.

Steve stood at the window of his bedroom, which overlooked your cottage, his eyes glazing over as he listened to you pant and whine and cry out for an alpha that wasn’t coming. Because of course Steve had noticed that no alpha had arrived to help you through your heat. He assumed you were using any number of the toys that were sold precisely to help unmated omegas get through their heats without an alpha’s help.

But it meant you were alone, in your nest, riding out your heat on some silicone knot. That thought nearly made Steve storm from his house and barge into your cottage to demand you let him help you, but he reminded himself you were too sweet, too sweet, too sweet for him. So instead, he fisted his cock and listened to your raspy pleas fill the night sky.

“Need your knot, alpha, oh god, please,” you babbled, your voice beautifully melodic to Steve even when you were desperately begging for something he knew he shouldn’t give you. “Fill me up, daddy, I need it—need your knot, alpha—daddy, daddy, alpha, please, please, please!” Your moans grew louder and Steve could only imagine the thick silicone knot that was filling you up the way he should be filling you.

One of Steve’s hands gripped the frame of his window tightly, using the feel of the wood digging into his palm to keep himself grounded as he physically fought with his alpha instincts. He wanted to break into your cottage and rip your toys away from you so he could help you through your heat. Like he was meant to. It should be him inside you, sinking into your warm, welcoming cunt while you looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours.

Steve’s other hand gripped his cock, pumping his hard, stiff length with a fist so tight, it was nearly punishing. It helped a little, but his fist was a far cry from your perfect cunt, which would be gushing with wetness and so hot, Steve would feel like he was sinking into heaven and hell at the same time. And when he came, it wouldn’t be anywhere near as satisfying as emptying his balls right against your cervix, pumping your womb full of his seed while knot locked your bodies together so it would be almost certain he’d knock you up.

That is, if you weren’t on birth control. Which most unmated omegas were, Steve reminded himself.

Still, the alpha in him was a beast barely caged—he wanted to breed you.

Steve wanted to see you impaled on his cock and his knot, so bloated from how full you were with his come that he could see it in the way your belly bulged, giving a preview of what you’d look like growing with his child. He wanted to knock you up, he wanted to see you swollen and round with his pup.

He wanted to keep fucking you even as you carried his child, watching you bounce on his knot, your tits swollen with milk and your belly big and round while he tried to fill your womb with another before you’d even popped out the first. Steve wanted to keep you pregnant all the time, your pretty little omega body always ripe and swollen with his pups, taking his knot and his come every moment of the day so he could make sure you were always glowing with the radiance of motherhood.

It was that image of you—beautiful and knocked up, your eyes hazy with pleasure that came only from being impaled on his cock, and being locked on his knot—that made Steve come.

He grunted as the pleasure of his fist and his thoughts of you finally became too much, wrapping both his hands around his thick length, one squeezing his knot while the other pumped the rest of his shaft. His come erupted from the tip, streaming over the windowsill and dripping down to his bare feet on the wooden floor of his bedroom.

A growl tore from Steve’s lips while he came, a deep, dark part of his alpha hindbrain responding furiously to the fact that he was wasting his seed. He should be emptying his balls deep in your fertile cunt while your slick walls gripped his knot and milked every drop of his seed into your womb, where it belonged.

Steve’s release seemed to last for ages, longer than he’d ever experienced before, and if it wasn’t for the fact that his head finally started to clear when it abated, he would’ve been worried he’d gone into rut. But finally, Steve surfaced from the depths of his pleasure, and winced when he remembered the thoughts that had made him come.

Steve was appalled by the direction in which his imagination had gone, and felt guilty for imagining you in such a state as pregnant and bouncing on his cock—even as the reminder made his cock leak one last spurt of his release. Cursing and castigating himself, Steve moved away from the window to clean himself up and wipe down the spot where he’d been standing.

The entire time he was cleaning up after himself, Steve felt off-balance. He’d never felt such a pull toward an omega before you, and he’d never been so close to going into rut just from listening to an omega whimper and moan. If he didn’t know better, he would think you were his mate—the one omega in the whole world who was perfect for him.

But Steve pushed that thought aside and reminded himself you were too sweet for an alpha like him. You might’ve sounded desperate and needy while you suffered through your heat alone, but you deserved better than an alpha who could think of nothing else besides pumping you full of come and knocking you up with his child.

Steve felt disturbed all over again when he thought of the vivid, obscene things he’d imagined while he’d jerked himself off. He’d never been the type of alpha to get off on the idea of breeding, let alone pictured anyone swollen with his kid while they were impaled on his cock. Steve felt so far out of his depth, he swiped his clean hand down his face to try to regain the equilibrium that had been shattered by your pretty omega sounds.

Thankfully, you’d gone blessedly quiet at some point when Steve had been coming all over his windowsill. He tossed the rag he’d used to clean up his mess into the laundry and flopped down on his bed, knowing he wouldn’t be getting any rest that night. It was a good thing he’d called out of work on heat leave.

Even as Steve lay in his bed, the refrain that you were too sweet for him repeating in his mind, he couldn’t help hoping that you were getting some much-needed rest. He’d never been one to worry over much about whether someone was sleeping or eating, but he wondered if you’d had a protein bar and drank a sports drink before falling asleep. He knew you needed to keep up your strength if you’d make it through your heat.

His thoughts spinning around in his mind, Steve fell into a light, fitful sleep, his alpha hindbrain remaining alert and attuned to the sounds coming from your cottage. Little did he know, it wouldn’t be long before everything would change. Something would happen that would force Steve to finally give in to the connection between him and the omega next door.

When you woke on the second morning of your heat, it was to a burning need cutting through your core, urging you to roll onto your knees and sink down on the silicone knot toy that had slipped from your pussy while you slept. Unbidden, the face of the alpha next door, Steve Rogers, popped into your mind and you sobbed through another wave of aching desire, wishing desperately that he was with you to help you through your heat.

You hadn’t met the alpha until after you’d moved into the little pink cottage next door to his much larger home, and you were instantly smitten with the former soldier. He was big—so much bigger than you—with broad shoulders and bulging biceps that were barely hidden beneath the tight t-shirts he always seemed to wear. But it was Steve’s thighs that were always so distracting to you, so thick they made you want to ride them until your slick was drenching his jeans.

A pitiful moan fell from your lips as you reached between your thighs, grasping blindly for the toy you’d discarded in your sleep. With your face still shoved into a pillow and sleep still clinging to the edges of your consciousness, you slid down on the thick silicone cock, pretending it belonged to Steve.

The alpha next door was just so…sweet.

It hadn’t taken you long after moving into your cottage to learn your neighbor’s schedule, and you made sure to always be working in the garden in front of your home when he got back from work. You lived for the growly greetings he would call to you, and the faint blush that would graze his cheekbones, like he was shy around you, his harmless omega neighbor.

And on the weekends, when you knew Steve wasn’t working, you sat on your back porch reading—though you were more often ogling the fit alpha’s shoulders and arms as he worked in his backyard. The sun would shine on Steve’s blond hair and make him look like a golden god, with sparkling blue eyes that would occasionally flick in your direction, though you didn’t think he was really looking at you.

Of course, when he’d offer to mow your lawn, you’d let him. Then, to show the alpha your thanks, you’d make him some nice refreshing lemonade. If that meant you could watch him quench his thirst while you imagined his sweet mouth on your body, drinking your slick as eagerly as he drank your lemonade, then that was just a bonus to being a good neighbor. Right?

It had become abundantly clear to you that you harbored a crush on Steve, and it was nearly excruciating living next to him when he didn’t seem interested in making a move on his omega neighbor. After all, it had been months, and he’d been nothing but friendly and respectful and sweet.

It was obvious, at least to you, that Steve was too sweet for you—too sweet to be the rough, dominant alpha you craved. Too sweet to bend you over and impale you on his thick cock with one stroke. Too sweet to shove his knot into your cunt and make you come so hard you saw stars. Too sweet to knock you up over and over again, filling up that big house of his with pups that you’d created together.

You’d told yourself it was for the best that Steve kept his distance. If he couldn’t be what you needed, then you didn’t want your crush to develop into unrequited feelings. But your heart didn’t listen, so you kept putting yourself in situations where you’d get to see your neighbor—working in your front garden when he got home, sitting on your back porch while he was in his backyard.

Then, you began to feel your heat coming on, and your thoughts about the alpha next door only worsened. It wasn’t uncommon anymore for unmated omegas to ask alpha friends or acquaintances to help them through their heats, but the prospect of asking Steve for his help, getting to come all over his knot for days on end, and then trying to go back to the way things were sounded torturous.

Instead, you went about your heat preparations as you always did, gathering supplies from the grocery store and stocking up the minifridge in your bedroom with sports drinks while you piled your bedside table high with protein bars. You closed and locked all the doors and windows of your cottage, drawing the curtains tight to keep out the sun.

You knew you were a bit of an odd omega, and you didn’t like total darkness in your nest, which was why you had been the only one interested in the little cottage. It had a skylight in the bedroom that any other omega would want closed and covered during their heat. The window itself was covered in a film that dampened most of the direct sunlight and you enjoyed the natural light, even when you were deep in your heat, so it was perfect for you.

It occurred to you, as you were preparing your room, that if you cracked open the skylight, the sounds you made during your heat would filter out from your cottage. Your desperate cries for a knot might even be heard by the alpha next door…

Later, you’d blame your decision to leave the skylight open on the dangerous combination of your pre-heat brain and the exquisite agony of your crush on Steve. But by that time, the little decision you’d made in the urgency of your heat preparations would’ve irrevocably changed your life—for the better—and you wouldn’t give a thought to regretting what you’d done.

Still, on that second morning of your heat, when you were woken by the need to be knotted and flooded with come, you didn’t even remember that you’d decided to leave the skylight open. So you had no idea whether it was working or not, whether Steve could hear you—but he wasn’t far from your thoughts as you rode your silicone alpha toy, trying to slake the need that burned through your body.

Your heats were always a little hazy, like most omega’s, with desire and need pounding through your blood so insistently, you couldn’t form any coherent thoughts. Your mind could only focus on getting a cock inside you, then a knot and, if you’d had an alpha to help you, the gush of their come. Since you were so mindless, you uttered words that you’d forgotten the second they fell from your lips.

The first night of your heat, when you’d had a moment of clear-headedness enough to gulp down a sports drink and scarf a protein bar, you’d hoped you hadn’t cried out anything that would embarrass you—like Steve’s name. You’d had a vague memory of calling out for an alpha, which was normal for an unmated omega, and a daddy, which was normal for you, given your desires when you weren’t going through your heat. But you’d breathed a sigh of relief when you didn’t remember calling out for Steve specifically.

You couldn’t imagine what would happen if you cried out Steve’s name while in heat. But you were about to find out.

The silicone toy in your cunt wasn’t cutting it. It had been just fine that first night, though you hadn’t felt as satisfied as you normally did, and you hadn’t slept as long as you typically did in between waves of your heat. Something about this heat felt different. You weren’t just desperate for an alpha’s knot and come, you wanted more…

You wanted a pup. You wanted an alpha’s cock shoved deep in your cunt, unloading their come against your cervix, filling your womb with a seed that would take and knock you up. You wanted to be bred—and not just by any alpha. You wanted the alpha next door to breed you.

Steve. You wanted Steve. You needed Steve.

“Please,” you gasped, the word leaving your lips as you thought of your big, sweet alpha neighbor. His face came easily to your mind, those sparkling blue eyes and soft lips, that strong jaw and the way a blush turned his cheeks the most perfect shade of pink. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need your come,” you whined, speaking to the image of Steve in your mind.

You pushed yourself up onto your knees, grabbing one of the many pillows from your bed and shoving it between your thighs, forcing the silicone alpha cock deeper into your cunt. Still, it wasn’t enough, even as you tried to make due.

You rocked your hips, trying to replicate the feeling of fucking yourself on an alpha’s cock, but it paled in comparison. A desperate whine worked its way up your throat, filling your room and slipping from the skylight into the morning air.

“Please, daddy, wanna have your baby,” you cried, your hands going to your tits and tugging on your nipples so roughly, pleasure and pain swirled through your body, creating a tornado of sensation that only fed the need burning in your core. “Wan’ you to knock me up, alpha, wanna give you pups, wan’ you to suck on my milky tits while you fuck me, daddy.” You groped your breasts, pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself, the sensations making your cunt gush slick all over the toy inside you.

The pleasure was gathering in your core, making you more desperate to reach the pinnacle of your climax. Your hips worked, humping the pillow and cock between your thighs, shoving yourself down against the knot at the base of the toy, knowing it was what you needed to come, but your pussy was still too tight to take it.

“Oh god, I need it, alpha, I need it, I need it,” you babbled mindlessly, fucking yourself furiously on the toy and still wishing it was Steve’s cock.

You pictured him beneath you, his cheeks tinged pink, not with a blush, but with the flush of his desire for you, his blue eyes nearly black from his pupils blowing wide as he stared up at you. His soft mouth parted as he groaned, his thick cock buried in your tight cunt, twitching as you squeezed him.

It was with that image in your mind that the fateful words spilled from your lips. You cried out desperately, “Knock me up, daddy, gimme your pup, please—please, breed me, Steve!”

So close to the edge of your release, you barely heard the distant crashing sound that echoed between your little cottage and the house that belonged to the alpha next door. All you heard were your gasping breaths and mindless moans, the toy shoving into your cunt making low squelching noises that only managed to turn you on more.

It was only when a much closer smashing sound preceded the swirl of cool morning air infiltrating your home, and flooding into your nest, that you were able to drag your attention away from your own desperate frustration. Your omega instincts were going haywire, part of you telling you something was wrong, while another part unfurled and shifted, like a flower blooming toward the sun.

Blinking your eyes to clear away the haze of your heat, your mouth fell open in an ‘o’ of surprise at the sight of the alpha in your bedroom doorway.

Steve’s big body filled the doorway, his hands clutching the wooden frame while his chest heaved with heavy breaths. It looked like he was trying to hold himself back, his grip so tight on your doorframe that a distant part of your mind worried it might splinter beneath his palms. But you couldn’t think too closely about that, not when your neighbor was staring at you with a crazed look in his eyes, like he wanted to fill you with his knot as badly as you wanted to be filled.

Your too sweet alpha neighbor’s mouth—which was normally curved in a soft, friendly smile—was twisted with ferocious lust, and when he spoke, his voice was a rough growl like nothing you’d ever heard from Steve.

“Invite me into your bed,” he rumbled, the order clear in his voice even if he didn’t use his alpha command. “Ask me to help you through your heat, tell me you want me here,” he went on through clenched teeth, an edge of desperation in his tone that called your heart—and your cunt. “Tell me you want me, omega.” His fingers gripped the doorframe tighter, and you heard the wood creak beneath his strength.

Your pussy spasmed and your heart lurched when Steve called you by your designation, but it was when his scent hit you that you felt something inside your being shift and lock into place. Steve smelled like home—like safety and security and love. He smelled like a future of wrangling children together and making love together and sitting on a porch swing together and growing old together.

In that moment, you knew what your instincts had known from the moment you met Steve—he was your mate. He was the one alpha in all the world who was meant for you, just as you were the omega meant for him. And once you knew that, it was the easiest thing in the world to part your lips and beg him to join you in your nest, in your bed, and help you through your heat.

“Please, Steve—please, mate, please help me,” you begged, your voice breathy with need and excitement, tears of joy shining in your eyes.

Something shifted in Steve’s expression when you called him your mate. You watched as he took a deep breath, scenting you the way you had him. A riot of emotions swirled in those beautiful blue eyes of his—disbelief, acknowledgement, acceptance, satisfaction, pride. You saw the moment he realized what you’d only just discovered, a smile flickering at the corner of his mouth.

“My omega, my mate,” Steve growled, finally letting go of the doorframe and launching himself at you.

Finally—finally—Steve was coming to you, closing the distance between you, and you’d never been happier in all your life. The alpha next door was your mate, and you hoped that meant he would be more than willing to knock you up and breed you like you needed.

Steve had woken from his fitful sleep to the sound of your sweet cries that morning, though they sounded much more desperate to his ears. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination or not, but you sounded less than satisfied with whatever toy you were using and Steve slid a hand down to his already hard cock, thinking you should’ve been riding him instead of some silicone dick.

He’d lazily stroked his cock, trying to restrain himself from coming all over his stomach, while listening to your increasingly desperate cries. Steve had fisted a hand in the sheets of his bed, hoping it would be enough to hold himself back from storming over to your cottage and taking your heat into his own hands.

Then, Steve heard you cry out his name and something in him snapped. Before he even knew what he was doing, he’d thrown on some boxer briefs and stormed out of his bedroom, leaping down the stairs and throwing open the front door of his house so ferociously, he’d ripped it off some of the hinges.

Not even caring that he was leaving his door open, Steve charged over to your cottage, taking a little bit more care with your front door when he broke the lock and pushed it open, flinging it closed behind him. He knew it was likely stuck closed thanks to the broken lock, but Steve only cared that it would prevent anyone else from getting into your home. He’d deal with getting out later. Much later.

Finally, Steve got to the doorway of your bedroom, your nest, and he’d stumbled to a stop at the sight that lay before him.

You were perched in the center of your big bed, a pillow wedged between your thighs, the knot of a toy barely visible while you humped futilely on the fake cock. Your delicate fingers groped your tits, squeezing your soft flesh and pinching your nipples like you were milking yourself—that thought making even more blood rush to Steve’s cock. Desperate whimpers and whines fell from your lips, more pleas to be knocked up and filled with pups, and they were nearly his undoing.

At the last second, Steve gripped the doorframe, holding himself back from pouncing on you, as he tried to remember why he shouldn’t be there. You were an unmated omega, in heat, and he hadn’t gotten permission to be in your nest, let alone help you through your heat. And you were too sweet for him…

God, you looked sweet, though. Sweet enough that Steve’s mouth watered with the thought of how slick you were, how good you would taste on his tongue. Even from the doorway, he could see the way your wetness had soaked the pillow between your thighs. He wanted to taste you, to scent you, he wanted you.

Steve was seconds away from launching himself at you when your gaze finally landed on him. It was the delighted surprise in your eyes that urged him to ground out a desperate plea for consent to enter your room and help you through your heat. Blessedly, you seemed coherent enough to answer—but you didn’t only answer and beg for his help, you called him your mate.

That word struck a chord in Steve’s chest, his heart pounding even harder at the impossible prospect that you were his mate—that you were meant to be his. But he took a deep breath, taking in the scent of you and opening himself up to the possibility that you were his.

You even smelled sweet, like the pink roses in your front garden—or, rather, the peace Steve felt when he came home to find you tending to your flowers. You smelled like the warmth of a gentle fire and the giddiness of butterfly kisses. You smelled like life, like the time unfurling before the two of you, years and decades spent with each other, making each other happy.

It was as if Steve truly came alive for the first time when he scented you, and the last tether of the self-restraint holding him back from you snapped.

“My omega, my mate,” he rumbled in a low purr, a voice he’d never even heard himself use before. But he didn’t have time to think about that too closely—he only knew he needed to get to you.

As quickly as he could, Steve surged into your room, tearing off his boxer briefs—the only clothing he’d had the presence of mind to put on, and he was thankful for it, since it saved him the grief of a public indecency charge—in the few steps it took to get to your bed.

By the time Steve tackled you into the tangle of blankets and pillows, he was naked as the day he was born, his cock throbbing with need and brushing against swaths of your soft, bare skin, leaving his precum behind. The alpha cradled your body in his strong arms as he rolled you beneath him, his narrow hips slotting perfectly between your plush thighs, his hard length resting against your mound.

But there was something in his way, something that shouldn’t be inside you and Steve couldn’t help but growl, “Get that fucking toy out of my cunt, ‘mega.” He softened the fury in his voice with light, fleeting kisses to your cheeks and temple and forehead, greedy to taste the sweetness of your skin.

“Yes, alpha,” you gasped, fumbling between your bodies to wrench the silicone dick from your tight hole.

The sweet submission in your voice was too much for Steve—he had to taste it. Slanting his lips to yours, Steve kissed you for the first time, groaning into your mouth at the wondrous feeling of your mouth beneath his. You tasted better than you smelled, like radiant sunshine bursting on his tongue and casting a golden glow over his entire body.

Deepening the kiss, Steve plundered your mouth, stroking his tongue against yours and nipping at your lips until you were gasping and panting beneath him. Your entire body trembled with unslaked need, your fingers clinging to his bulging biceps as you cried out for him, all of which stroked Steve’s alpha ego so much, his cock twitched and leaked against your belly.

“Please, Steve—daddy—alpha—I need you inside me,” you wailed in a broken voice and Steve’s instincts took over.

He shifted his hips back, the tip of his cock finding your slick hole and he pushed forward, sinking his hard length into your cunt with one thrust. Steve’s entire world realigned, his heart stuttering in his chest at the feeling of your tight heat consuming him, overwhelming him. An animalistic groan left his lips, and he buried the sound in your neck, breathing in your scent as he tried not to come immediately.

With Steve’s cock finally buried inside you, he felt your body relax beneath him, your moan of pleasure dissolving into a sigh of relief. Steve’s hindbrain felt a deep satisfaction at the way you melted in his arms, your submission to him apparent in the loosening of your muscles. Finding your lips again, Steve kissed you sweetly, cherishing the moment of calm before your heat urged the two of you to move.

“Thank you, alpha,” you whispered, your voice soft and blissful and the most content Steve had heard it since your heat began in earnest the day before. “The toys weren’t working.” You pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek on your way to burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing so deeply he could hear your inhale, making his cock twitch in the depths of your pussy.

Then, your words pierced through the haze of pleasure in Steve’s mind and he purred, smiling into your neck when you relaxed further beneath him, responding to him.

“You needed your mate, didn’t you, baby?” Steve cooed, lavishing your neck with kisses until you were whining and squirming beneath him. “Needed your daddy to pound your needy little cunt like only your alpha could, huh?” He started rolling his hips in tight circles, grinding into your cunt, his knot rubbing your clit in a way that had you clenching deliciously around him. “Needed me to pump your sweet little womb full of come, huh, needed me to give you a pup?”

As soon as the heated words fell from Steve’s lips, he wished he could take them back. He’d heard you beg him to breed you, but that was when you were riding a silicone alpha dick, not when you were seconds away from taking Steve’s knot.

Mentally, Steve chastised himself for letting his mouth run away from him so soon. He’d barely gotten his cock in you and he was already talking about knocking you up. He didn’t want you to think he was that kind of alpha, one that only wanted an omega to pump out babies for him—even though the thought did make Steve rock hard.

“Sorry, ‘mega,” Steve mumbled, shifting his arms beneath your body so he could cradle your head in one hand, holding you still while he rocked his hips into yours, kissing your cheek and jaw and neck and anywhere he could reach.

“Sorry for what?” you asked on a gasp, hooking your legs around Steve’s sides and clinging to him so you could grind on his thick cock.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem turned off or scared by Steve’s breeding talk. If anything, the way you arched your spine and shoved your cunt down on his dick made him think you liked it. But surely that couldn’t be true.

“Didn’t mean to mention pups so soon,” Steve said gruffly, hiding his face in your neck so you wouldn’t see the blush that he knew was turning his cheeks pink.

“Oh god,” you moaned, your cunt squeezing Steve’s cock as your body writhed beneath his. “Wanna give you so many pups, alpha,” you cried, humping up from beneath Steve’s big body, riding his cock harder than you’d been riding your toy when he’d walked in.

Steve went cross-eyed at the assault on his senses. Between the perfect heat of your slick pussy gripping his cock, teasing his knot every time you rocked against him, and the sound of your sweet voice confessing you wanted him to knock you up, Steve’s body shuddered with the effort it took not slam his knot home and flood your womb with his seed to give you exactly what you wanted.

“You like that idea, huh?” Steve rumbled, hungry passion and desire coursing through his body and urging him to move faster, to fuck you harder. He pulled out of your fluttering pussy and slammed back inside, relishing the desperate cry that left your lips and the way your fingers dug into the muscles of his arms. “You like it when your alpha tells you how much he wants to breed you?”

Despite his best efforts, Steve could hear the thread of insecurity in his question, and he wasn’t surprised when you cupped his face and moved his head up so you could look into his eyes. What he didn’t expect was the sheer amount of pleasure and desire in your hazy gaze, or the mixture of sweetness and depravity in the little smirk you gave him.

“I do, daddy,” you said, your voice breathy but no less firm in your resolve. “I want to hear everything you’ve thought about doing to your little omega—want you to breed me, alpha.”

Everything else in the world melted away as Steve focused on you—his omega, his mate—and the fact that he was going to try his damndest to give you what you wanted. After all, that was his duty as your alpha. You were his to take care of, to provide for, to protect, to cherish—to fuck and to knot.

You were his to love—you were his to breed. And Steve planned on loving you and breeding you plenty.

You’d never felt anything so good as Steve sinking his thick alpha cock into your weeping cunt, and you nearly sobbed in relief as the edge of aching, burning need finally abated. This was what you needed—not a toy or any alpha’s cock, but your mate’s. Your body and omega instincts had known something was wrong, and it had taken a slip of your tongue to fix it.

Even if it had been an accident to cry out Steve’s name, you couldn’t feel embarrassed about it, not when you finally felt something like satisfaction. The need of your heat still burned bright beneath your skin, but for a moment, you could revel in the feeling of being so intimately connected to your mate, your Steve—the alpha next door.

The words of thanks had slipped past your lips before you could stop them, and you loved the teasing way he responded. But then you felt a shift in Steve. He’d seemed to feel guilty for mentioning pups, but even his apology turned you on, making your arousal burn hotter. Your body had been unable to still when you needed him so badly—needed to give him pups, needed to grow round with his child and know that he had claimed you in the most primal way possible.

Your brain had short-circuited when Steve had said he wanted to breed you, but you’d still heard the anxiousness in his tone and you’d guided his head up so you could look at him. The uncertainty and guilt in Steve’s beautiful blue eyes nearly broke your heart. He was too sweet for words, wanting to make sure you were comfortable with even the words he said in the heat of the moment.

Between one breath and the next, you fell in love with Steve Rogers. He wasn’t simply the alpha next door, he was your mate, and he was yours. A fierce possessiveness filled your chest as you smirked up at your alpha, determining to show him exactly how much you wanted everything he’d said.

“Want you to breed me, alpha,” you begged on a moan, your hips rising up off the bed to meet the brutal thrusts of your mate. “Fill me up with your pups, daddy, please, I need it!” You held Steve’s gaze, letting him see the pleasure on your face, hear the genuineness of your words.

You saw the moment Steve’s insecurity and guilt melted into desire and determination. His blue eyes darkened and his face twisted into a mask of sinful resolve. He looked like a fallen god, with his golden hair and tanned skin, framed perfectly in the little bit of morning light filtering in through the skylight above your bed. Your pussy clenched around his cock, fluttering as he thrust inside you, teasing your hole with his knot.

“Don’t worry, ‘mega,” Steve rumbled, ducking down and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss that left you gasping for breath. He pressed his forehead to yours, staring deep into your eyes. “We’re making a baby today.”

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, spreading your legs wider in an effort to let Steve fuck you deeper. He grinned, shifting his hands to your thighs and pushing them up against your chest, folding you in half and pounding you into the bed.

“Gonna fill up your perfect cunt with all the seed in my balls, and if it doesn’t take today, ‘m gonna fill you up until you’re overflowing with my come—until your belly’s bulging with it,” Steve growled, rutting into you with a ferociousness you never would’ve expected from your sweet alpha neighbor. But Steve’s sweetness was never far from the surface, and he proved it by lowering his voice to a deep rumble that you felt in your belly, asking, “Mm, ’s that what you want, baby, want daddy to give you a pup?”

You were pinned beneath Steve, his cock fucking you so hard, your room was filing with the wet squelching sounds of your soaking cunt and the sharp rhythm of your alpha’s thighs slapping against your own. But still, it was his words that seemed to have the most effect on you, turning you into a writhing, needy creature who’d only be satisfied when Steve emptied his balls deep in your cunt.

“Yes, alpha,” you cried, your fingers clinging to Steve’s shoulders, digging into his warm, golden skin while he fucked you into oblivion. “Want you to knock me up, wanna give you a pup, wanna grow big and round with your child and feed you both from my milky tits,” you babbled, throwing your head back and screaming when Steve’s cock hit against your cervix, pleasure and pain swirling like an inferno in your body. “Please, daddy, god, I need it, I need it—knot me, breed, me, Steve, please!”

“Baby,” Steve groaned, capturing your lips in another kiss while he rutted into you faster and harder, his knot pressing against your tight hole with every thrust and teasing you with the stretch of it. “You’re gonna get a pup, alright,” he growled when he pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re gonna pop out a kid for me and then I’m gonna fill you right back up.” Steve moaned, his body shuddering and you knew he was close. “Wanna watch you bounce on my cock with your belly ripe and swollen with my pups, your tits heavy with milk—the prettiest mommy and mate an alpha could ask for.”

“Steve,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to hold him close, kissing him and thrusting your hips up to meet his. “Please, make me a mommy, alpha—wanna be a mommy, please, daddy, daddy, please!” Then your lips were too preoccupied with Steve’s, kissing him messily in between desperate moans while he fucked you hard and fast.

Finally, Steve pulled back and thrust forward with so much power, his knot pushed inside your tight cunt and you screamed in pleasure, the feeling of his thick bulge stretching your tight hole sending you over the edge into the most earth-shattering release you’d felt in your life. It was a transcendental experience, coming on your mate’s cock, your alpha surrounding you and filling you up in every way possible.

As your body squeezed Steve’s cock, he groaned loudly in your ear, burying his face in your neck while his hips stuttered against yours, trying to fuck you with his knot but unable to move because your bodies were locked so tightly together. Then, with a moan of, “my mate,” you felt the moment Steve began to come. His cock twitched deep inside your cunt, a warmth filling you as he shot rope after rope of come against your cervix, filling your womb.

For a long time, the two of you stayed locked together, riding out your releases in each other’s embrace. Giggles and moans filled the room, each of you kissing the other wherever you could reach while you basked in your pleasure together. You breathed in the scent of Steve, your lips dragging up and down the column of his throat while he kissed your neck and shoulder and just beneath your ear, making you shiver.

Eventually, when the squeezing of your cunt was reduced to a flutter and your body had milked every last drop of seed from Steve’s cock, the two of you settled. Your heat had abated for the moment. Though need still burned low in the core of your body, reminding you it wasn’t over just yet.

But you had a bit of a respite, and you took the time to revel in you newfound mate. Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek, which was flushed pink with pleasure.

You felt Steve’s smile against your skin and then he was rising up so you could see the full blush that tinged your alpha’s cheeks. He looked so sweet and ruined, his blond hair a mess, his blue eyes bright with satisfaction, a deeply smug smile on his plump lips.

“Feeling better, ‘mega?” he asked, though there was so much male satisfaction in his tone, you were certain he already knew the answer.

Still, you liked seeing this side of Steve. Typically you didn’t like cocky alphas, but Steve looked so hot when he was confident, your pussy fluttered around his knot at the sight of his smirk.

“I am, daddy,” you said softly, smiling up at your alpha, enjoying the way his smirk deepened as you confirmed what he knew. You couldn’t help but stroke his ego a little more. “Now that you’re here to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes softened and he pressed a heated kiss to your lips. “Good,” he said when he pulled away. Then his arms were wrapping around you and he rolled onto his back, dragging you with him until you were splayed across his broad chest, your bodies still locked together by his knot.

It would deflate soon enough, but you reveled in the feeling while it lasted, snuggling into Steve’s arms. Sleep called to you, but Steve was still moving and you when you opened your eyes, you found him reaching for your stash of provisions on your bedside table.

“Gotta eat and hydrate, baby,” Steve murmured as he unwrapped a protein bar and began feeding it to you. Even though you were exhausted, you knew he was right and you let him feed you, only sitting up when it was time to gulp down some of the sports drink he offered you. “Good girl, ‘mega, doing so well for your alpha,” Steve said, praising you while you ate and drank.

When you were done, Steve tossed the empty wrappers and bottles back onto your bedside table and relaxed into the many pillows on your bed. You settled down on his chest, your body sated in every way possible, muscles going loose when your alpha began to purr.

“Thank you, alpha,” you mumbled, the urge to sleep more insistent since you were fed. Steve’s hands smoothed down your back, tracing your spine lightly with his fingertips in a way that made you melt even further into him.

“Don’t need to thank me,” he grumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple. “You’re my mate, ‘m gonna do everything I can to take care of you—and our kids.” He added the last bit like it was an afterthought, but you knew Steve meant it, and your heart warmed at his protectiveness.

You smiled into Steve’s warm skin, nuzzling into his neck beneath his jaw, breathing in the scent of him—the scent of home—but his words made you remember something you should tell him.

“Steve, ‘m on birth control,” you murmured sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to the thick column of his neck. “Thought you should know.” You snorted a little, laughing at yourself for the silliness of your last statement, even though it was true.

The rumble of Steve’s purr changed as he chuckled, his strong arms tightening around your waist for a moment before he grabbed a blanket and pulled it up over your cooling bodies. “Figured, ‘mega,” he rumbled, his voice so warm, you could hear his smile. “Doesn’t mean ‘m gonna stop picturing you round with my pup, even if it’s a while before that happens.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgment, then pouted as you processed his words. “As long as it’s not a long while,” you muttered, hardly listening to what you were saying because you were so close to sleep.

Steve chuckled again, his hands squeezing you lightly. “It’ll be as long or as short as you want, baby,” he assured you in a gruff voice that was thick with just as much tiredness as yours. “I’d give you a pup today if I could.”

You smiled, your heart filling with emotion, and pressed your lips to your alpha’s neck. You might’ve been exhausted, but it didn’t stop you from murmuring the words your heart urged you to say, “I love you, Steve.”

Steve’s purr deepened, and he held you close, no hesitation in his voice when he said, “I love you, too.” Your alpha brushed a kiss to your cheek and smacked your ass very lightly. “Now rest, omega, we still have to get through the rest of your heat.”

You fell asleep with a smile on your face, feeling safe and protected and satisfied in the arms of your mate, your bodies still locked together by Steve’s knot. You never would’ve expected anything to come of your crush on your neighbor—and you never would’ve expected he’d be a perfect fit for your desires, let alone your mate.

But, you knew the two of you were going to live a happy life together—and you couldn’t wait to spend every moment of it with the alpha next door.

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ciaoteamo · 10 months ago

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Milk and Water (Pt. I)

pairings: doppelgänger!Milkman x fem!Reader

summary: One of the newest residents’ very first doppelgänger comes in, trying to sway you into to letting them in. Will you..?

pt.II

art credit (twt: loafuu_chii)

warning: 18+ content

“…what’s the story behind your um… ears(?)” You ask the doppelgänger before you. It was a clone of one of your favorite neighbors actually, her name was Maria.

A woman around your age that you became really close friends with over the few months of you working here.

“@&! !$?&” The doppelgänger let out a series of sounds.

“right, so give me one second” You press the bright red button next to the window and the steel blinds shut with a blaring alarm sound.

You call D.D.D. and they clean up their mess per usual. You once again, you were just thankful you didn’t have to work on that side of the glass.

You check your wrist watch, and happily sigh at the fact that you only had one more hour left to work.

“ mmm, someone’s eager to go home i see” A familiar voice speaks up.

“oh, Mr. Francis” You give the man a polite grin. He gave you a sly one in return. You knew it wasn’t him off the bat. Francis was usually shy towards you, making you want to tease him into blushing whenever you saw him.

Well, you suppose you could kill two birds with one stone. Flirt with the doppelgänger of your crush, and have some entertainment.

“how are you pretty girl” He asks, sliding an I.D. and sheet through the slot.

You examine the documents and identification and beam a smile up at him.

“the date on the I.D. is a little expired hun” You declare. He lets out a small chuckle and leans a little toward the glass.

“mmm, been busy with the milk business, love. must’ve slipped my mind to renew it” He replied. His eyes were low but he still held his sly grin. You leaned back in your chair, with a bored look on your face.

“you’re not like my Francis” You huff and tilt your head with a disappointed look.

His grin faltered and he stepped closer. His breathing had quickened a bit and he took off his hat. “who knows, i could be better” He suggests.

Now that his confidence had depleted a little, you were growing bored of him. You checked the time again and you had 45 minutes left.

“well i’ve gotta get you moving now. it was nice to see such a handsome face though, so thank you” You beam and reach for the button

“you don’t want to do this, trust me” He states with a warning tone. This wasn’t unusual, getting threats after realizing they’re doppelgängers, but being that this one was this aware… they must be evolving.

“and why would i trust you?” You ask out of curiosity.

“i mean look at me” He smirks, one arm leaned against the top of the window. His irises turned from their chocolate brown and into an empty pure white.

“hm” You nod and press the button.

“(Y/N)!” He roared with what you assume was his fist banging the glass.

You call D.D.D. and wait for them to clean their mess, again.

The steel blind begins to lift and you sit back in your seat, checking your watch again but noticed the new pink lighting that shone in.

You furrow your eyebrows and look up in horror as you see blood streaks on the window in thick, and dripping amounts. You jump out of your chair and put your back against the wall.

About 5 D.D.D. workers were piled up, bloody and battered in the corner of the room, and there the doppelgänger was.

Staring at you.

His eyes were low, his shirt was torn, revealing his pecs and the start of his abdomen. He was panting with his (surprisingly still) neat hair and an almost psychotic expression.

“oh no…” He starts with a laugh, still breathing heavily.

“what did you do..?” You cover your mouth with your hand.

“it’s what you did. you got me all riled up.”

He looks down for a brief moment and you swear you hear a zip. He holds his tie and the end of his tattered shirt in his mouth and looks up at you with knitted eyebrows.

His breath fogging up the window as he asks you. Looking like a poor starving puppy. “will you let me in now…? I need your help…” He slightly groaned.

“…what. the. fuck.”

#milkman #milkman x reader #francis mosses #francis mosses x reader #ciaoteamo #x reader #imagine #smut #fem dom reader #thats not my neighbor #milkman smut #milk the man

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pucksandpower · 1 month ago

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Mastermind

Oscar Piastri x Bearman!Reader

Summary: all it takes is one glance for Oscar to realize that he will do anything and everything to make you his

Warnings: 18+ content, stalking, obsession, manipulation, baby-trapping, isolation, and possessiveness

Note: This was written in early August before Williams dropped Logan, so yeah … he’s still on the grid here 🫣

Oscar spots you from across the pit lane.

It’s quick — a glimpse through the crowd as someone shifts out of his line of sight. You’re laughing at something Ollie says, your head tilted back just enough for the sunlight to catch the highlights in your hair. The world goes blurry for a second, narrowing until the noise of the paddock fades into a dull hum. All he can see is you.

Oscar swallows hard. He feels his pulse spike, the rush of adrenaline making his skin buzz. This isn’t like him. He’s calm, composed — always. But now, everything is different.

You’re different.

Before he knows it, his feet are moving. He barely registers the McLaren orange on his sleeves, or the fact that he’s walking away from his garage. His mind is fixated. Ollie. That’s Ollie’s sister. But no — that’s not right. You’re not just anyone’s sister. No, you’re more than that.

Oscar adjusts his cap as he nears the Haas garage, forcing a relaxed smile. His heart races, but he tells himself he’s got this. Just be normal. Be charming.

“Ollie!” He calls out, raising his voice enough to draw both your attention. He claps a hand on the younger driver’s shoulder, giving it a friendly shake. “Little brother, you ready for another battle?”

Ollie laughs, glancing up at him with that wide grin of his. “Mate, you’re in for it this weekend. I’ve been practicing.”

“Practicing losing, maybe,” Oscar jokes, his eyes flickering quickly back to you. You’re watching the exchange with quiet amusement, arms crossed, your smile lingering just on the edge of your lips.

Oscar’s chest tightens.

“Who’s this?” He asks, pretending he doesn’t already know, doesn’t already feel that magnetic pull dragging him closer to you.

Ollie blinks, then his grin grows even wider. “Oh, right! Oscar, this is my sister. She’s visiting for the weekend.”

Oscar holds out his hand to you, his smile growing softer, warmer. “Oscar. Nice to meet you.”

You hesitate for a split second before your hand meets his, and he swears there’s something electric in that brief touch. It’s enough to send his mind spiraling.

He clears his throat. “So, Ollie’s your brother, huh? Guess that means you’re stuck rooting for Haas, then.” He flashes a crooked grin, playful but sharp.

You laugh, and it’s a sound that makes his head spin. “Someone’s got to support him.”

“Fair enough.” Oscar glances sideways at Ollie, who’s now distracted, talking to a mechanic. Perfect. He steps just a little closer to you, lowering his voice. “I’ve got to ask, do you have Instagram? You know, to keep up with the team rivalry.”

You raise an eyebrow, amused, but nod, reaching for your phone. “Sure. Let me-”

Oscar shakes his head, holding out his hand instead. “Here, I’ll do it. Faster that way.” He smiles again, all casual charm, and you hand over your phone without a second thought.

His fingers move quickly over the screen, but his mind is faster. In one fluid motion, he taps his own account to follow, sends himself your location tracking, then deletes the text before you even turn your head back toward Ollie. A small thrill rushes through him. It’s too easy.

While his thumb hovers over the block button for a split second, he hesitates. But then — click. One by one, he begins blocking every single driver from your Instagram. Leclerc, Norris, Sainz, Verstappen, Gasly — all of them.

Except Ollie, of course. Can’t make it obvious.

“Here you go.” He hands the phone back to you, his expression unreadable. “Followed myself. Now you can keep up with McLaren’s winning ways.”

You chuckle, glancing down at the screen. “Guess I’ll have to.”

Oscar’s smile grows just a little wider, though there’s something darker underneath it now. You have no idea what’s happening, and that’s what makes it so perfect.

He steps back, casually running a hand through his hair, eyes flickering between you and Ollie. “So, what’s the plan after the race? Celebrating Ollie’s big debut?”

“Maybe,” you say, glancing toward your brother. “Depends on how the weekend goes.”

Oscar chuckles, but his mind is already ten steps ahead. He imagines what it’ll be like — keeping track of you, knowing where you are, who you’re with. No more late-night chats with Charles, no more casual likes on Pierre’s posts. He’s cut all of that off. It’s just him now.

And Ollie, of course.

“You should come by the McLaren garage sometime,” Oscar suggests, as if it’s an afterthought. “See what winning looks like up close.”

Your laugh comes out again, soft and effortless. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good.” He nods, satisfied. He doesn’t need an answer now. He’s got time. After all, you’re already in his orbit, whether you realize it or not.

As Ollie turns back toward you, Oscar claps him on the back again, the easy smile never leaving his face. “Catch you on the track, little brother.”

Ollie grins. “Don’t get too confident.”

Oscar chuckles, throwing a quick glance your way before starting to walk back to his garage. His pulse is still racing, but it’s no longer out of nerves. It’s excitement. Anticipation.

He can already feel the control slipping into place. And the best part is, you’ll never even see it coming.

***

Oscar's phone buzzes. He’s been checking it religiously since the race ended — since he watched you leave the paddock, smiling and laughing with Ollie. His fingers swipe across the screen, and the familiar icon on the tracking app flashes.

You’re still in town.

He watches the blue dot settle into the shape of the mall on the outskirts of the city. Of course, you’re still here. His pulse quickens again, that familiar rush of adrenaline mixing with something darker, more possessive.

He taps Logan on the shoulder, dragging his friend’s attention away from whatever nonsense he’s scrolling through.

“We’re going out,” Oscar says, already walking toward the exit. He doesn’t wait for Logan to answer.

“Uh, out where?” Logan calls after him, jogging to catch up. “Oscar? What’s the rush?”

Oscar doesn’t answer. Not yet. He’s focused on the image in his mind — you, walking through the mall, maybe stopping at a coffee shop. You’re close. He’s so close.

They pull into the parking lot within minutes. Logan’s still shooting him confused glances, but Oscar keeps his face impassive. Calm. They walk into the mall, a hum of noise surrounding them, and Oscar checks his phone again, tracking your dot.

It moves.

He moves with it.

“Oscar, seriously, what are we doing here?” Logan asks, his voice edging on frustration now. “I didn’t sign up for some weird stalking mission.”

Oscar stops in front of a shop, glancing back at him with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

Logan huffs, but follows, as usual. “Whatever, man.”

Oscar keeps walking. He knows exactly where you are. The entrance to Victoria’s Secret looms in front of him, and Logan freezes at the door.

“Victoria’s Secret?” Logan groans, his face scrunching up like a kid. “Why are we in Victoria’s Secret?”

Oscar doesn’t even look at him. His eyes flick to his phone again, and then to the aisles in front of him. “You can go if you want.”

Logan huffs but follows, albeit reluctantly. “Dude, you don’t even have a girlfriend. What are we doing here?”

Oscar ignores the comment, eyes darting between shelves of lacy bras and bright pink displays. He’s searching. Your dot says you’re close. His heart races, a thrill creeping up his spine as he rounds the corner of an aisle.

And then-

He sees you.

You’re standing near the back of the store, holding up something light and silky, completely oblivious to the two drivers now lurking awkwardly nearby. Oscar’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he just watches. He feels like a predator lying in wait. Every part of him hums with anticipation.

Logan, on the other hand, is shifting nervously beside him. “I’m not sure I want to be seen in here, dude. This is weird.”

Oscar glances at him, impatience bubbling to the surface. “Stop being so dramatic.”

“I’m dramatic?” Logan scoffs. “You’re the one dragging me into a lingerie store for … I don’t even know why!”

Before Logan can say anything else, Oscar turns a corner, deliberately walking right into your line of sight.

“Oh — Oscar?”

You blink in surprise, eyes widening as you spot him. Your hand drops the item you were holding, and your gaze flits between him and Logan, standing awkwardly behind him.

“Hey, Y/N,” Oscar says, his voice casual, but his mind is anything but. He takes a quick step closer to you, closing the gap. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You laugh, slightly nervous, shifting the bag on your shoulder. “Yeah, um, kind of unexpected to see you here too. Shopping for someone?”

Logan, still half-hidden behind Oscar, can’t resist muttering, “He doesn’t even have a girlfriend.”

Oscar shoots him a sharp look. “Logan was just leaving.”

You glance over at Logan, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, hi! I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Logan hesitates, shuffling his feet. “Yeah, hi. I’m Logan-”

“He’s leaving,” Oscar repeats, this time with more finality. His eyes cut back to Logan, who gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes.

“Right. Sure,” Logan sighs, throwing his hands up in surrender. “I’ll see you later, Oscar.”

Oscar waits until Logan has fully disappeared from sight before turning his attention back to you. You’re watching him, slightly amused, though there’s a question in your eyes. He steps closer, not too close, but enough that he can smell the faint scent of your perfume.

“So,” he says, his voice smooth, “What brings you here? Shopping for yourself or someone else?”

You glance down at the items in your hands, then back at him, shrugging lightly. “Just browsing, really. Didn’t expect to bump into anyone I know.”

“Must be fate, then,” Oscar says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The words come out casually, but inside, there’s that same rush of possessiveness, the same pull that led him here.

You laugh again, shaking your head. “Fate, huh? Or just a coincidence.”

Oscar tilts his head, considering you for a moment. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

There’s a beat of silence, your eyes lingering on him. You seem to be weighing something, but then you smile, shifting the bag on your shoulder. “Well, it’s good to see you, Oscar. I didn’t think I’d run into anyone after the race.”

Oscar’s smile tightens, though he keeps his tone light. “You sticking around long?”

“Not too long,” you reply, glancing briefly at your phone. “I’ve got to head back soon, but I’m just enjoying the day.”

Oscar’s fingers twitch at his side, resisting the urge to check his own phone, to confirm that you’re exactly where he wants you to be. Instead, he steps back, giving you just enough space to make it seem like he’s relaxed, like he’s not hanging on every word you say.

“Mind if I join you for a bit?” Oscar asks, his voice carefully casual. He doesn’t wait for an answer, stepping into the aisle next to you, pretending to look at the same display.

You seem caught off guard but not enough to refuse. “Sure, if you want.”

Oscar picks up a random item, pretending to examine it. He’s not really paying attention to what it is, though. His focus is entirely on you, on the way you move, the way you glance at your phone every now and then, the way your eyes occasionally flicker toward him.

“So,” you say after a moment, “You and Logan … shopping together?”

Oscar chuckles, shaking his head. “Not really. He’s just … along for the ride.”

You smile, nodding slowly. “Seems like he wasn’t thrilled about being in here.”

“Logan’s dramatic,” Oscar replies, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “He’ll get over it.”

There’s another pause, and Oscar feels the tension building again, the weight of your proximity pulling at him. He wants to ask you more — where you’re going next, when you’re leaving — but he knows he has to be careful. He can’t come off too strong. Not yet.

Instead, he lets the conversation drift naturally, keeps the tone light and friendly. But his mind never stops calculating, never stops tracking. Every time you glance at your phone, he feels a surge of satisfaction, knowing he has access to your every move.

He watches as you shift, clearly ready to leave. “I should probably get going,” you say, and Oscar’s pulse quickens. He doesn’t want this moment to end, but he nods, forcing a smile.

“Of course. I’ll see you around?”

You smile back, though there’s a touch of uncertainty in your eyes. “Yeah, sure. Maybe.”

Oscar watches as you walk away, his gaze lingering on your figure until you disappear from view. Only then does he let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

He checks his phone again, and the tracking app shows your blue dot moving toward the exit. He smiles to himself, slipping the phone back into his pocket. You may be leaving now, but he’s not worried.

He knows where you’ll be.

***

Oscar doesn’t let the weeks slip by without checking your location. Even when Ollie tells him you’re swamped with studying, too busy with exams and papers, Oscar makes sure to stay in your orbit. He keeps an eye on your social media, scrolling through your updates whenever you’re too quiet. Ollie had said you’d be missing a few races, but that doesn’t stop Oscar from obsessively checking if you’ll change your mind.

When you finally show up again, Oscar knows he has to do something.

It’s a Sunday evening, post-race celebrations in full swing, and the paddock is buzzing with energy. The team has secured a decent result, and everyone’s heading out for drinks. Oscar doesn’t pay much attention to the others, though. His focus sharpens the moment you step back into the paddock. The sight of you stirs something inside him — a mixture of relief, desire, and that possessive need to keep you close.

He watches you laugh with Ollie, light and carefree, but something in him clenches tight. You’ve been gone too long. You’ve been out of reach.

Oscar walks over casually, making sure not to rush. He joins the group, slapping Ollie on the back. “Good race, mate.”

Ollie grins. “Thanks, man! Glad to see you’re joining us tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Oscar replies, but his eyes are already sliding over to you. “Hey, Y/N. Long time no see.”

You turn to him, smiling. “Hey, Oscar. Yeah, it’s been a while.”

His heart beats a little faster at the sound of your voice, but he keeps his expression easy, friendly. “Missed the last few races. What, university got you too busy?”

You nod, rolling your eyes. “Exams. And assignments. It’s been brutal.”

“Well, glad you could finally escape,” Oscar says smoothly. “You deserve a drink after all that.”

You laugh. “Definitely. I’m ready to unwind.”

Oscar smiles, but it’s calculated. He’s been waiting for this, for a chance to get you alone, to push the boundaries without seeming too eager. Tonight, he thinks. Tonight is his opportunity.

The group spills out into the nearest bar, and Oscar stays close, keeping you within arm’s reach. He listens, joins in the laughter when necessary, but his mind is fixated on you. As the night wears on, he subtly makes sure your drink never stays empty.

“Here,” he says, handing you another cocktail as you chat with some of the other drivers. “Thought you might like this one.”

You accept it, smiling brightly. “Thanks, Oscar. You’re keeping track of me, huh?”

He laughs, playing it off. “Just making sure you’re having a good time.”

You sip the drink, and Oscar watches you closely. He keeps the drinks coming, letting the alcohol blur your edges, just enough to make you relaxed, to make you lean a little more into him. As the night stretches on, you’re laughing more freely, leaning against his shoulder as you talk.

At one point, Ollie comes over, ruffling your hair. “You alright, Y/N? You’re not overdoing it, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you giggle, waving him off. “Just having fun.”

Ollie frowns for a moment, glancing at Oscar. “Keep an eye on her, mate, will you? She hasn’t been out in a while.”

“Don’t worry,” Oscar says, giving Ollie a reassuring smile. “I’ve got her.”

Ollie nods and heads back to the others, leaving you and Oscar standing at the bar. You sway slightly on your feet, and Oscar catches you with an arm around your waist, steadying you.

“You good?" He asks, voice low, but there’s something possessive in the way his arm tightens around you.

“Yeah,” you mumble, blinking up at him. “Just … a little dizzy.”

He doesn’t let the moment slip. “Maybe we should get you back to the hotel. You’ve had a lot to drink.”

You nod, not protesting as he guides you toward the door, his arm still firmly around you. “Yeah, maybe that’s a good idea.”

The walk back to the hotel is a blur for you, but for Oscar, it’s calculated. Each step brings him closer to what he’s been waiting for, his mind racing as he holds you close. You’re pliant in his arms, leaning against him, trusting him to take care of you.

When they reach the hotel room, Oscar is careful. He leads you inside, gently sitting you down on the edge of the bed.

“Let’s get you more comfortable,” he says softly, pulling a t-shirt from his bag and a pair of boxers.

You nod weakly, eyes half-lidded as the alcohol takes its toll. Oscar’s movements are precise, steady. He helps you out of your clothes, taking his time to slip his t-shirt over your head, careful not to rush or seem out of place. It feels natural, almost routine in his mind.

You’re barely aware of what’s happening, muttering something incoherent as he finishes dressing you. Oscar tucks you into the bed, smoothing the blankets over you, his heart pounding in his chest. He stands there for a moment, just watching you, his mind buzzing with the sight of you in his clothes, in his bed.

It’s perfect. Exactly how he imagined.

He climbs into the bed beside you, careful not to disturb you too much. He slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close, his chest pressing against your back. You don’t stir much, just a soft sigh escaping your lips as you settle into his embrace.

Oscar lies there, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. This is what he’s wanted — this moment where you’re completely his, where no one else can interfere, where he has you all to himself.

You’re finally here, in his arms.

And he’s not going to let you go.

***

Oscar wakes up to the soft warmth of you pressed against him. The first thing he registers is how still the room is — just the sound of your steady breathing and the faint hum of the hotel’s air conditioning. His eyes flutter open, but he quickly closes them again, pretending to still be asleep.

This is perfect. His arm is wrapped around your waist, your body tucked neatly against his, your head resting near his shoulder. The morning light filters in softly through the curtains, casting a faint glow over the room, but Oscar doesn’t move. He lies there, completely still, savoring the moment. Every beat of his heart feels like a reminder that this is exactly where he wants to be, where you should be.

He shifts slightly, making it seem like he's just repositioning in his sleep. You stir, but you don’t pull away, and that gives him an almost dangerous thrill. He lets his arm hold you just a little tighter, the curve of your body fitting perfectly into his side. He could stay like this forever, if you’d let him.

He imagines what’ll happen when you wake up. How you’ll look at him, maybe embarrassed, maybe a little confused, but he’s already thought of everything. He’s been playing this scenario in his head since last night — how to ease your mind, how to make sure you stay close to him, how to keep you trusting him.

But then you move again, more consciously this time. Your breathing changes, and Oscar can feel you tense up against him. You’re waking up.

“Mm,” you murmur, your voice groggy and confused. “Where …”

Oscar keeps his breathing steady, pretending he’s still asleep as you shift, and then — then, you freeze.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, the panic in your voice immediate. You start pulling away from him, the bed shifting as you try to get out of his grasp. “Oh my God, where am I?”

Oscar lets out a soft, groggy sound, pretending to wake up. “Huh?" He blinks, feigning confusion as he rubs his eyes. “Y/N?”

You’re sitting up now, staring at him with wide eyes, clutching the blanket to your chest. “Oscar? What … What am I doing here?”

Oscar pushes himself up slowly, still acting as though he’s just now becoming aware of the situation. “Whoa, hey, it’s okay." He runs a hand through his hair, his expression carefully crafted into one of concern. “You’re freaking out. What’s wrong?”

You look around, panicked. “This … this isn’t my hotel room. And I’m not-” You glance down at the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his t-shirt, and your eyes widen even more. “I’m not in my clothes. Oscar, what happened?”

Oscar frowns, as if he’s just now realizing the gravity of the situation. “You don’t remember?”

You shake your head, clearly distressed. “No, I … I don’t. I remember we were out last night, and then-” You stop, staring at him, and Oscar can see the fear in your eyes. “Did we …”

Oscar immediately shakes his head, his voice gentle but firm. “No. No, nothing happened. I promise.”

You blink, as if trying to process his words. “Then why am I in your bed? And in your clothes?”

He lets out a soft sigh, as though this situation is just as confusing and frustrating for him. “You were really drunk last night. I didn’t want to leave you alone, and you kept insisting that I stay with you. You didn’t want to be in your room by yourself.”

You frown, clearly trying to remember. “I did?”

Oscar nods, his expression sincere. “Yeah. I tried to take you to your room, but you wouldn’t let me. You said you didn’t want to be alone, and you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Your shoulders relax just slightly, but the tension in the room doesn’t fade completely. “But … why am I wearing your clothes?”

He gives a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh, spilled your drink all over yourself at the bar. Your clothes were soaked. I didn’t think you’d want to sleep in them, so I gave you something of mine to wear. But that’s all it was, I swear.”

You stare at him for a long moment, still processing everything, but Oscar keeps his expression open, honest, as though he’s just as confused by your panic. He waits for you to respond, watching as the gears in your mind turn, trying to piece together what little you remember from last night.

“Nothing happened?" You ask again, your voice softer this time, more uncertain than accusatory.

“Nothing,” Oscar repeats, his tone steady. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I was just trying to make sure you were safe. I didn’t want anyone to take advantage of you.”

You let out a shaky breath, still looking a little dazed, but some of the panic fades from your eyes. “Thank you,” you whisper, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. “I’m sorry, I just … I was scared.”

Oscar reaches out, his hand brushing against your arm in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “You don’t have to apologize. I get it. You woke up in a strange place, and it’s confusing. But I promise, I didn’t do anything. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

You nod, though you still seem a bit unsure, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I don’t remember a lot from last night.”

Oscar smiles softly, keeping his voice calm, comforting. “You were pretty out of it. But don’t worry, I’ve got your back.”

You glance at him, and Oscar can see the relief starting to creep in, even if there’s still a shadow of doubt lingering in your eyes. He wants to erase that, to make sure you trust him fully. He’s been so careful, so calculated.

“Do you want me to get you some water?" He asks, trying to shift the mood. “Or coffee? Might help with the hangover.”

You shake your head. “No, I … I think I just need a minute.”

Oscar nods, watching as you slowly relax, leaning back against the headboard. The panic from earlier is fading, replaced by a quiet uncertainty, but at least you’re not freaking out anymore. That’s what matters.

“Take your time,” he says softly, lying back down but making sure to keep a little more distance this time, so you don’t feel overwhelmed. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You don’t say anything for a while, your eyes unfocused as you try to make sense of everything. Oscar waits patiently, his mind buzzing with satisfaction. Everything is going according to plan.

“I’m sorry if I was a mess last night,” you finally say, your voice quiet.

Oscar shakes his head. “Don’t be. We’ve all been there.”

You offer him a small, tentative smile, and for the first time since you woke up, Oscar feels like he’s back in control. You trust him again. You believe his story.

And that’s all he needs.

***

The morning sun is gentle, casting a soft glow over the city as Oscar walks beside you toward a quaint café. The quiet hum of the streets and the casual murmur of early-morning conversations float through the air. Oscar glances at you from the corner of his eye, making sure to keep his expression neutral, though inside he’s thrumming with satisfaction. You’re here. You’re with him.

When you reach the café, Oscar pulls the door open for you, letting you step inside first. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and pastries greets you as you both head toward a small table by the window.

“This place is cute,” you say, settling into your chair and giving Oscar a small smile.

“Yeah,” Oscar replies, sitting across from you. “I come here sometimes. It’s quiet.”

You nod, glancing down at the menu, though Oscar can tell you’re still a bit distracted. Probably still processing everything from this morning. He wonders if you’re thinking about how you woke up in his bed, wrapped in his clothes. He hopes you are.

A waiter comes by, and you both order — something light, an avocado toast for you, a croissant and tea for Oscar. Once the waiter leaves, there’s a comfortable silence that settles between you, but Oscar’s mind is already moving ahead, planning the next steps.

He keeps his expression casual, focusing on his tea when it arrives, but his mind is focused on how to bring up what he’s about to say. It has to seem natural, like it’s something he’s been hesitating to share, something that’s been weighing on him. He knows how to play this. He’s been thinking about it since last night.

“So,” you say, breaking the silence, “thank you again for looking after me last night. I feel like I owe you big time.”

Oscar looks up from his tea, giving you a small, modest smile. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“No, seriously,” you insist, shaking your head. “I feel like I should make it up to you somehow. I mean, after everything …”

He glances down at his cup, then back up at you, his expression carefully calculated — just a hint of hesitation, like he’s thinking about something he’s unsure of. He’s quiet for a beat too long, just enough to make you curious.

“What is it?" You ask, tilting your head slightly, a small frown forming on your face.

Oscar lets out a soft sigh, leaning back in his chair. “It’s nothing, really. I was just … thinking.”

“About?”

He pauses, pretending to mull over his words, then looks up at you with that same hesitant expression. “Well, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to grab dinner after the next race weekend. You know, just the two of us.”

Your eyes widen slightly in surprise, but then you smile. “Oh, yeah, of course! I mean, that’s the least I can do after everything you did for me last night.”

Oscar feels a surge of satisfaction at your agreement, but he keeps his smile small, almost shy, as though he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. “You sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to or anything.”

You shake your head, laughing lightly. “No, I’d love to. Honestly, I think it’d be fun.”

Oscar nods, letting his smile widen just a bit more. “Great. I’m looking forward to it.”

You go back to your food, but Oscar keeps watching you, waiting for the right moment. He knows you’ll push him if he stays quiet for long enough. And, right on cue, you glance back up at him, noticing the way he’s fidgeting slightly with his cup.

“Is there something else?" You ask, raising an eyebrow.

Oscar’s face shifts into something more serious, and he looks down at his tea, his fingers tracing the rim of the cup. “I … don’t really know if I should say this.”

Your expression changes, concern flickering across your face. “What is it? You can tell me.”

He waits a beat, making it seem like he’s struggling with whether or not to share what’s on his mind. Then, finally, he sighs and leans forward slightly, lowering his voice.

“I overheard something last night,” he says slowly. “At the bar.”

You frown, your attention now fully on him. “What did you hear?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, acting like he’s debating whether or not to continue. Then, he glances around the café, as if checking to make sure no one is listening, before speaking again.

“I heard Lando and Carlos talking,” he says, keeping his voice low. “About … about you.”

Your eyes widen slightly in confusion. “Me? What were they saying?”

Oscar hesitates for just a moment longer, then continues, his tone carefully concerned. “They were talking about how they both wanted to … get with you. Like, in bed.”

Your face goes still, shock settling in as you stare at him, clearly not expecting that. “What?”

Oscar looks down at his cup again, pretending to be uncomfortable with the conversation, even though he’s reveling in your reaction. “Yeah. They were making some kind of bet about who could sleep with you first.”

Your shock turns into disbelief, your brow furrowing as you try to process what he’s telling you. “No. There’s no way. They wouldn’t …”

“I’m sorry,” Oscar says softly, giving you a sympathetic look. “I didn’t want to believe it either, but I heard it. They were laughing about it like it was a game.”

You sit back in your chair, shaking your head slowly. “That’s … I don’t even know what to say. I thought they were my friends.”

Oscar reaches across the table, placing his hand gently on yours. “I didn’t want to tell you, but I thought you deserved to know. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You’re silent for a moment, staring down at the table as you process everything. Oscar watches you closely, waiting for the gratitude to set in. He knows you’ll be thankful that he’s the one who told you, that he’s looking out for you.

Finally, you look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of shock and appreciation. “Thank you for telling me, Oscar. I can’t believe they would do something like that.”

He nods, keeping his expression serious. “I just don’t want anyone to take advantage of you. You deserve better than that.”

You squeeze his hand gently, your face softening. “I’m really glad you’re looking out for me.”

Oscar smiles, though he hides it behind his cup of tea, taking a sip to cover the smirk that threatens to break through. Everything is falling into place perfectly.

“Always,” he says softly, setting the cup down. “I’ve got your back.”

You smile at him again, a little more at ease now, but still clearly shaken by what he’s told you. Oscar can see the wheels turning in your mind, the doubt settling in about Lando and Carlos. He’s planted the seed, and now he just has to let it grow.

“Do you want to go for a walk after this?” Oscar suggests, leaning back in his chair. “Might help clear your head a bit.”

You nod, still looking a bit dazed. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

Oscar stands up, tossing a few bills on the table to cover the check, then walks around to your side of the table, offering you his hand. You take it without hesitation, and Oscar feels a surge of satisfaction as your fingers intertwine with his.

As you both step out of the café and into the sunlight, Oscar keeps his grip on your hand firm, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. You trust him now, more than ever. And that’s exactly what he wants.

***

The restaurant is elegant but not over the top, with dim lighting that casts a warm glow across the white linen tablecloths. A single candle flickers in the center of the table, casting soft shadows on your face as you smile across at Oscar. He’s chosen the place carefully, making sure everything is just right — quiet, intimate, with a menu that he knows you’ll love.

Oscar watches you as you glance over the menu, your eyes lighting up at the descriptions of the dishes. He smiles to himself, pleased with how everything is going. He’s dressed carefully tonight — dark trousers, a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to be casual but still neat, and his hair combed back, but not too perfectly. He wants to seem effortlessly handsome, like he didn’t try too hard, even though he spent nearly an hour making sure every detail was right.

“What do you think?” Oscar asks, nodding toward the menu. “Anything catching your eye?”

You glance up, your smile widening. “Everything looks amazing. I can’t decide.”

“Take your time,” Oscar says, leaning back in his chair, though his gaze never leaves you. “No rush.”

The waiter comes by, a young guy in his mid-twenties, wearing a crisp black shirt and slacks. He’s polite, offering you both water and asking if you’re ready to order. You ask a few questions about the menu, and Oscar notices the way the waiter’s eyes keep drifting to the neckline of your dress, his gaze lingering just a second too long. Oscar feels a flicker of irritation, but he pushes it down. It’s nothing. He’ll handle it.

You finally decide on a dish, and Oscar orders something simple, letting you take the lead. The waiter scribbles down your order, his eyes darting to you again as he gives a small smile, then he turns and walks away.

Oscar’s smile tightens, but he says nothing, keeping his focus on you. “I’m glad you’re here with me tonight.”

You blush slightly, fiddling with the edge of your napkin. “Me too. This place is lovely.”

Oscar leans forward slightly, his voice lowering. “I wanted it to be special for you.”

You look up at him, your eyes softening. “It is. You’re always so thoughtful, Oscar.”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. “I just want to make you happy.”

You smile again, and Oscar feels a rush of satisfaction. He’s got you right where he wants you — relaxed, comfortable, completely unaware of anything outside this moment.

The waiter returns with the drinks, and as he sets the glass in front of you, Oscar notices again the way his gaze drops to your dress. This time, there’s a hint of a smirk on the waiter’s lips, and Oscar feels the irritation flare up again, hotter this time.

Oscar keeps his face calm, though, his voice even as he thanks the waiter. But inside, he’s already planning. He knows he’ll have to deal with this, and soon. He won’t let anyone disrespect you, not even in the smallest way.

The conversation between you and Oscar flows easily, light and filled with laughter. He keeps his attention on you, listening intently as you talk about your week, sharing stories and little moments that make you smile. Oscar loves the way your eyes light up when you’re happy, the way your laugh makes him feel like everything is right in the world.

But every time the waiter returns to the table, Oscar feels that simmering irritation build again. The guy is too friendly, too familiar, and Oscar doesn’t miss the way the waiter’s gaze lingers on you, or the way he stands just a little too close when he pours your wine.

Oscar clenches his jaw, his hand tightening around his glass. He keeps his smile in place, but inside, he’s seething. He won’t let this go unchecked. Not tonight.

After dinner, when the waiter brings the check, Oscar immediately reaches for it, waving off your protests with a smile.

“Please, let me,” you say, reaching for your purse. “At least let me split it with you.”

Oscar shakes his head, already pulling out his card. “No way. This is my treat.”

You sigh but don’t push it, and Oscar smiles at you, his hand brushing yours as he takes the bill. “I wanted to do this for you.”

You smile back, your eyes warm with gratitude. “Thank you, Oscar. You’re too good to me.”

Oscar nods, his smile widening. “You deserve it.”

As the waiter returns to take the bill, Oscar’s expression doesn’t change, but his mind is already made up. He hands over the card, waiting for the transaction to go through. Once the waiter leaves, Oscar turns to you, his voice gentle.

“I’m just going to step out for a moment,” he says, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

You nod, still smiling. “Take your time.”

Oscar walks away from the table, his movements calm and unhurried, but as soon as he’s out of your sight, his pace quickens. He knows exactly where the waiter will be — by the order screen near the back, where the staff places their orders.

And just as he thought, the waiter is there, inputting another table’s order, completely unaware of Oscar’s approach. Oscar’s steps are silent as he moves closer, his eyes narrowing as he watches the waiter, who is oblivious to the danger behind him.

Without a word, Oscar reaches out, grabbing the back of the waiter’s shirt in a tight grip. The waiter barely has time to react before Oscar’s other hand clamps over his mouth, muffling the startled gasp.

Oscar pulls the waiter back, dragging him through a narrow corridor toward the back entrance of the restaurant. The waiter struggles, his hands trying to pry Oscar’s fingers away from his mouth, but Oscar is stronger, his grip unyielding.

When they reach the back door, Oscar shoves it open with his foot, dragging the waiter outside into the dimly lit alley. He slams the door shut behind them, the noise echoing in the empty space.

The waiter’s eyes are wide with fear as he looks at Oscar, who finally releases his hold on the guy’s mouth but keeps a firm grip on his shirt. The waiter tries to speak, but Oscar cuts him off, his voice low and menacing.

“Don’t even think about screaming,” Oscar warns, his eyes dark with anger. “You think I didn’t notice the way you were looking at her? The way you were acting? You’re going to regret that.”

The waiter stammers, trying to back away, but Oscar doesn’t let him. Instead, he pulls the guy closer, his voice cold as he speaks.

“You’re never going to look at her again. You’re never going to speak to her again. Do you understand?”

The waiter nods frantically, his face pale. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Oscar doesn’t let him finish. He throws a punch, his fist connecting with the waiter’s jaw with a sickening crack. The waiter stumbles back, clutching his face, but Oscar doesn’t stop. He grabs the guy again, slamming him against the wall, his voice dangerously quiet.

“If I ever see you near her again, I’ll make sure you never see anything again. Got it?”

The waiter nods again, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I-I got it, man. I’m sorry, I swear.”

Oscar finally releases him, watching as the waiter stumbles away, his hand still pressed to his bleeding mouth. Oscar’s breathing is heavy, but his anger is starting to subside. He’s done what he needed to do. The guy won’t bother you again.

Oscar takes a moment to calm himself, running a hand through his hair to smooth it back into place. He glances down at his hands, noticing the small splatter of blood on his knuckles and quickly wipes it off on the side of his trousers. He checks his reflection in the small mirror beside the door, making sure there’s no sign of the confrontation.

Once he’s satisfied that he looks as composed as he did before, Oscar heads back inside the restaurant. He makes a quick stop in the bathroom, washing his hands and straightening his shirt, then takes a deep breath before walking back to your table.

When he returns, you’re sitting exactly where he left you, a small smile on your face as you look up at him.

“Everything okay?" You ask, your voice light and teasing. “You were gone for a while.”

Oscar smiles, sitting back down across from you. “Yeah, just ran into someone I knew. Took a bit longer than I expected.”

You nod, completely unaware of what just happened, and Oscar feels that familiar satisfaction settle in his chest. You’re safe, and he’s taken care of the problem.

“Ready to head out?” Oscar asks, his tone easy and relaxed.

You nod, standing up as Oscar comes around to your side, offering his arm. You take it with a smile, and Oscar leads you out of the restaurant, the cool night air greeting you as you step outside.

As you walk down the street together, Oscar keeps his pace slow, his arm securely around yours. You’re talking about something — maybe the meal, maybe your plans for the next day — but Oscar is only half-listening. His mind is still on what just happened, on the thrill of taking control, of making sure no one can touch what’s his.

And as you laugh softly at something you’ve said, leaning into him, Oscar knows that he’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. To keep you by his side, safe and completely unaware of what he’s willing to do for you.

Oscar guides you to the car, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as he opens the door for you. You smile up at him, grateful, oblivious to the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. As you settle into the passenger seat, Oscar walks around the front of the car, allowing himself a moment of quiet satisfaction.

Everything is going according to plan. He’s made sure of it.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Oscar glances over at you. You’re still smiling, talking about how great the dinner was, how you can’t wait to do this again. And Oscar nods, his smile never faltering.

“We should,” he says smoothly, his hand resting on the gear shift. “Maybe next time, somewhere even nicer.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Tonight was perfect.”

Oscar’s smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes. He knows it was perfect because he made it that way — because he made sure nothing, and no one, could interfere with what he wants. With what he’s claimed.

As the car moves down the quiet streets, you lean back in your seat, your head resting against the window, a soft, contented sigh escaping your lips. Oscar keeps his eyes on the road, but every so often, he glances over at you, his grip on the steering wheel tightening just slightly.

You trust him completely now. You have no idea what he’s done, what he’s capable of. And Oscar intends to keep it that way.

For now, all that matters is that you’re his.

***

Oscar leans against the wall of the Haas garage, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you. The noise of the paddock fades into the background, and all he sees is you — on the floor, cross-legged, playing with the mechanic’s baby. The baby giggles as you wiggle your fingers in front of him, making soft cooing sounds. It’s an innocent moment, but to Oscar, it’s something far more profound. Something perfect.

He’s never seen you like this before, not with a baby, and the sight of it stirs something deep inside him. You look so at ease, so natural, as if holding a child was second nature to you. Oscar’s chest tightens, and his fingers curl into the fabric of his race suit.

The way you smile at the baby, the softness in your eyes, it’s like a revelation to him. You’re not just beautiful, not just charming or intelligent — you’re maternal. You would be the most incredible mother. His children’s mother.

His gaze sharpens, thoughts racing. He imagines you with a child of your own, your smile directed at a little one with your eyes, maybe his nose, or your soft laugh. The image is so vivid it nearly knocks the air from his lungs.

“Oscar?” Logan’s voice cuts through his thoughts, but Oscar doesn’t move. He barely registers his friend’s voice at all. His entire focus is still locked on you.

Logan follows his line of sight, sees you playing with the baby, and gives Oscar a nudge. “Dude, you look like you’re in a trance. She’s just playing with a baby.”

Oscar glances at him, annoyed. “You don’t understand,” he mutters, brushing Logan off.

Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Right, because you’re planning your future family now?”

Oscar doesn’t respond, his jaw clenching. He doesn’t need Logan’s sarcastic comments, not when he’s this close to figuring out the next step. Logan might think he’s being funny, but he has no idea how serious Oscar is.

You’re laughing now, and Oscar’s heart skips a beat at the sound. It’s soft, melodic, like music in his ears. He pushes off the wall, slowly making his way over to you, his eyes never leaving the scene in front of him.

When you notice him approaching, your face lights up, and you wave him over, holding the baby’s hand and waving it in his direction. “Oscar, look! Isn’t he adorable?”

Oscar forces a smile, trying to keep his composure. “Yeah, he’s cute.”

But inside, his thoughts are racing. He wants this — you with a baby. He wants it all. The perfect little family. And now, he knows what he has to do.

He crouches down next to you, his knee brushing against yours as he watches you interact with the baby. For a moment, he lets himself imagine what it would be like if this were your life together. The three of you, the baby on your lap, the two of you sharing quiet, intimate moments like this.

“You’re really good with him,” Oscar says softly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You smile, shrugging modestly. “I’ve always loved kids.”

Oscar’s mind whirs at that, his grip on the baby’s toy tightening slightly. Of course, you love kids. You’d be the perfect mother. It’s meant to be.

The baby’s mother, the mechanic’s wife, calls for her child, and you gently pass him over, giving him one last little pat on the back. As the baby is carried away, you let out a soft sigh, as if you’re reluctant to part with him.

Oscar takes this moment, leaning in just a little closer. “I was thinking …” he begins, his tone casual but carefully measured. “Summer break is coming up soon.”

You turn to him, eyes bright with curiosity. “Yeah?”

Oscar’s heart pounds in his chest. He needs to do this right, to make it seem like it’s just an innocent suggestion, a sweet idea. “What if we spent it together?" He pauses, gauging your reaction before adding, “In Australia. You’ve never been, right?”

Your eyes widen in surprise, a smile slowly spreading across your face. “Australia? Really?”

Oscar nods, trying to seem nonchalant, though inside, he’s anything but. “Yeah. I thought it’d be fun. You could meet my family, see where I grew up. We could spend some time away from all … this." He gestures vaguely to the chaotic paddock around you both.

You bite your lip, clearly considering it. “That sounds amazing, but … I don’t want to intrude.”

Oscar shakes his head quickly, his hand lightly brushing yours. “You wouldn’t be intruding. I want you to come. It’d be good for us to … you know, spend some real time together.”

You smile again, softer this time, and Oscar knows he’s got you. “Well, if you’re sure …” you say teasingly, “I’d love to.”

Oscar’s stomach flips with triumph, but he keeps his expression calm. “Great. I’ll book everything.”

As you turn back to watch the baby being carried away, Oscar’s mind races ahead. This is the next step. Australia, away from everyone else, where he can have you all to himself. Where you can start to see what he already knows — that you’re meant to be together.

It’s perfect. The perfect plan, the perfect timing. And now, with you agreeing to spend the summer with him, he’s that much closer to making his vision of your future a reality.

He leans back slightly, his eyes still fixed on you, his thoughts dark and consuming. Soon, everything will fall into place. Soon, you’ll be his in every way that matters.

“Can’t wait for the summer,” you say softly, more to yourself than to him, but Oscar hears it loud and clear.

Neither can he.

***

The villa Oscar books for the two of you is perfect, nestled quietly in the Australian countryside, far from any distractions. When he pulls up the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires, a satisfied smile creeps onto his face. It’s isolated but cozy, with a large deck that overlooks the rolling hills and eucalyptus trees. The soft hum of cicadas fills the warm air. It’s idyllic, exactly how he planned it.

"Wow, Oscar, this place is gorgeous," you say as you step out of the car, your voice laced with awe as you take in the view.

Oscar watches you, the way your eyes light up, how the sun catches your hair. He’s made sure everything is flawless for you. He nods, placing a hand on your back as he leads you toward the entrance. “I thought it’d be nice to get away from everything for a bit. Just the two of us.”

You smile back at him, clearly touched. “It’s perfect. I can’t believe you planned all this.”

Inside, the villa is just as stunning. Open spaces, large windows, and soft, neutral tones. The light pours in, casting everything in a warm glow. You wander through the space, touching the countertops, trailing your fingers over the smooth wood of the dining table. Oscar stands back for a moment, watching you, his mind already working through the next phase of his plan.

You head toward the bedroom, your suitcase rolling behind you, and Oscar follows. The room is simple but elegant, with a large bed draped in white linen, soft and inviting. As you start unpacking, Oscar moves toward the bathroom, scanning the space. It’s spotless, the sink gleaming under the lights, and there’s a large bathtub near the window with a view of the surrounding hills.

You join him a moment later, setting your toiletry bag on the counter. “I’m going to hang up my clothes,” you say, smiling before walking back toward the bedroom.

Oscar watches you go, the soft sound of your footsteps fading as you head down the hall. He lingers for a moment, standing by the bathroom counter. His gaze shifts to your toiletry bag, eyes narrowing as he sees a small white case tucked inside.

Your birth control pills.

His chest tightens. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle this part of the plan, but seeing them now, sitting right there in the open, brings a wave of certainty over him. This is his opportunity.

He reaches out, fingers brushing the plastic case. Slowly, carefully, he lifts it out of the bag, opening it to reveal the small circular array of pills. His mind races. The thought of you — of having you, completely — pulses through him like an electric current. He knows what he needs to do now.

With a glance over his shoulder to make sure you’re still in the other room, Oscar pulls out his phone. He quickly searches online, tapping through a few sites until he finds exactly what he’s looking for: placebo pills. They look identical to your birth control, but they won’t do anything. His fingers hover over the screen for a moment before he places the order, ensuring express delivery to the villa.

Satisfied, he slides your pill case back into the drawer, just as you return, holding up a shirt on a hanger. “What do you think? Dinner tonight, maybe?”

Oscar turns to you, his face the picture of calm, though inside his heart races with excitement. He smiles, closing the distance between you with a slow step. “Sounds perfect,” he says, his voice smooth and easy. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

You roll your eyes playfully, hanging up the shirt in your closet. “We’ve just arrived, Oscar. Don’t start flattering me already.”

He chuckles, leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, watching you organize your clothes. “Can’t help it.”

You don’t notice anything amiss, your attention fully on arranging your wardrobe, humming softly to yourself. Oscar stays silent, observing, letting the moment stretch out. He feels the weight of the decision he’s made pressing against his chest, but there’s no doubt in his mind. This is the next step. It’s necessary.

As you finish, you turn to him, smiling as if the whole world is right, as if you’re in the safest, most perfect place possible. “What’s the plan for today?" You ask, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Oscar takes a seat beside you, his arm draping over your shoulder casually. “We could explore a little, go for a walk. Or,” he pauses, gauging your reaction, “we could just stay in, relax. I thought we could take some time to enjoy this place.”

Your smile widens, and you lean into his touch. “I think staying in sounds nice. We have all the time in the world to explore, right?”

His heart flutters at that, the way you’re already so comfortable with the idea of just being with him, no distractions, no one else. He tightens his grip around your shoulders, pulling you closer.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “Just the two of us.”

The rest of the day is quiet, peaceful. You spend time lounging on the deck, sipping wine as you both talk about everything and nothing. It feels natural, easy, like you’ve always been meant to share this space together. But all the while, Oscar’s mind never strays from the thought of those pills in the bathroom drawer. He feels like he’s already set the wheels in motion, that soon enough, you’ll be his in every possible way.

That night, after dinner, you slip away to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Oscar lies back on the mattress, listening to the sound of water running, imagining you in there, preparing for another quiet night together. When you return, you crawl into bed next to him, curling up at his side.

Oscar wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, the warmth of your body against his. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, murmuring goodnight. But even as your breathing evens out and you drift to sleep, his mind remains sharp, clear.

In a few days, when the pills arrive, he’ll make the switch. He knows it’ll be seamless — you’ll never suspect a thing. And soon, everything will be exactly as he’s imagined it.

As you sleep peacefully beside him, Oscar stares up at the ceiling, his hand resting lightly on your hip, a small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

He’s already won half the battle.

Now, all that’s left is for you to realize that you were always meant to be his.

***

The days leading up to the switch are torturous for Oscar. Every moment you spend together is perfect, but the anticipation gnaws at him. He’s careful not to show it, though. He keeps his composure, never letting his eagerness slip through the mask of calm he wears so well.

The placebos arrive in an unmarked package, just as discreet as he had hoped. It’s delivered while you’re out on a walk through the woods that surround the villa, and Oscar snatches it up from the front porch the moment he hears the delivery truck pull away. He tears it open, heart pounding as he examines the pills inside. They’re identical to the ones in your birth control case — down to the last detail.

Perfect.

Oscar wastes no time. He takes the package to the bathroom and carefully opens the drawer where you keep your toiletries. Your pill case sits innocuously at the back, just as you left it. His hands are steady as he opens it, methodically replacing each of the active pills with the placebos. When he’s done, he closes the case, tucking it back into the drawer with everything in its place. He steps back, his reflection in the mirror looking back at him with a calm satisfaction.

This is it.

When you return from your walk, flushed from the exertion and the crisp air, Oscar greets you with a warm smile. “How was it?" He asks, brushing a loose strand of hair from your forehead.

“Beautiful,” you reply, eyes bright. “I found this little trail that leads down to a stream. We should go there together tomorrow.”

“Definitely,” Oscar agrees, his hand resting on the small of your back as you head inside. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it here.”

“Of course,” you say, leaning into him as you head to the bedroom to change out of your walking clothes. “It’s perfect.”

Oscar follows you, watching as you strip off your jacket and fold it neatly over the chair. You’re so trusting, so unaware of the plans he’s laid out so carefully. He feels a surge of affection for you, so strong it almost makes him dizzy. You’re his now — completely and utterly his.

The days pass slowly, agonizingly so, as Oscar waits for the right moment. He’s patient, though, ensuring that everything goes according to plan. He doesn’t want to rush this — it has to be perfect.

Finally, when he’s sure your body has flushed out the effects of the real pills, Oscar makes his move.

It’s a quiet evening. The two of you have had dinner on the deck, the sun setting in a blaze of color over the hills. Now, you’re inside, the warmth of the fire in the living room wrapping around you both as you sit on the couch. You’re leaning against Oscar, your head resting on his shoulder, a soft sigh escaping your lips.

“I’m so glad we’re here,” you murmur, your voice sleepy and content. “I don’t ever want to leave.”

Oscar presses a kiss to the top of your head, his hand gently stroking your arm. “We don’t have to think about that yet. We’ve got plenty of time.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you nestle closer to him. “I know.”

He waits until you’re almost drifting off before he shifts, turning slightly so he can look down at you. “Come to bed,” he says softly, his voice low and coaxing.

You nod, letting him guide you to the bedroom. The atmosphere is thick with unspoken anticipation, and Oscar’s pulse quickens as he watches you undress, slipping into the nightshirt you keep at the villa. You’re unaware of the intensity of his gaze, too caught up in your own sleepy haze.

Oscar follows suit, stripping down to his boxers before joining you in bed. The sheets are cool against his skin, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. He reaches for you, pulling you close, his hands sliding over your hips, your waist.

You respond to his touch, a soft murmur escaping your lips as he presses his lips to your neck, trailing kisses down to your collarbone. There’s something different about the way he touches you tonight — more deliberate, more possessive. But you don’t question it, you trust him completely.

Oscar’s heart races as he continues, his hands exploring every inch of you, his lips following the path they trace. When he finally enters you, it’s with a sense of completion, like he’s claimed something that was always meant to be his. He moves slowly at first, savoring the moment, letting the reality of it sink in.

He watches your face, the way your eyes flutter closed, your lips parting as you breathe out his name. It’s intoxicating, seeing you like this, knowing that he’s the only one who’s ever seen you this way, and soon, he’ll be the only one to ever see you carrying his child.

The thought pushes him over the edge, and he starts to move faster, more urgently, his hands gripping your hips as he drives into you. The intensity of it makes you gasp, your fingers clutching at the sheets beneath you.

“Oscar,” you moan, your voice shaky with pleasure.

He groans in response, leaning down to capture your lips in a fierce kiss. He can’t get enough of you, can’t hold back the possessiveness that wells up inside him. He knows he’s on the edge of losing control, but he doesn’t care. This is what he’s wanted for so long, and now that it’s finally happening, he won’t let anything ruin it.

When you reach your climax, Oscar follows shortly after, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he lets go. For a moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you, the sound of your breathing the only thing that matters.

Afterward, as you lie beneath him, your chest rising and falling with the effort of catching your breath, Oscar places a soft kiss on your lips, then another on your neck. His hand trails down your stomach, lingering there, his fingers brushing over your skin with a possessive gentleness.

He moves lower, his lips following the path of his hand until he reaches your stomach. There, he presses a lingering kiss to the soft skin, his heart pounding in his chest.

He pictures it — your stomach rounding, growing with the child he knows will come. It’s only a matter of time now. He’s ensured it.

“You’re going to be the most amazing mother,” he whispers against your skin, his voice barely audible, but filled with a deep certainty.

You don’t hear him, your body already drifting into the blissful haze of sleep. But Oscar stays there for a moment longer, his lips pressed to your stomach, a satisfied smile curving his lips.

He slides back up beside you, pulling you into his arms, your head resting on his chest. As you sleep peacefully against him, Oscar’s mind races with thoughts of the future. A future where you’re his in every way. Where you carry his child, where you’re bound to him forever.

And now, that future is within reach.

Oscar tightens his hold on you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, his heart pounding with a mixture of possessiveness and triumph.

It’s all falling into place.

Everything is perfect.

***

Oscar watches you with keen eyes, every small movement, every shift in your expression. He’s noticed it for a few days now — the way you’ve seemed off. Tired. Nauseous. He’s careful not to say anything too soon, not to make you suspicious, but inside, he knows what’s happening.

He’s known this moment was coming.

It’s Saturday morning at the track, and the rest of the team is bustling around, preparing for qualifying. But you’re sitting on a bench just outside the Haas garage, head in your hands, looking pale. Oscar walks over, his face the perfect picture of concern.

“You okay?" He asks softly, crouching down beside you.

You look up at him, your skin a little clammy, eyes filled with discomfort. “I don’t know. I feel … really off. I’ve been sick a few times this morning.”

Oscar frowns, tilting his head like he’s puzzled, but inside, he’s practically buzzing with excitement. “You’ve been sick? Maybe we should get you checked out, just in case.”

You wave him off, trying to be nonchalant about it. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I probably ate something weird.”

Oscar shakes his head. “No way. You’ve been feeling off for days now." He stands up, offering his hand to you. “Come on, let’s go to the track physician. Better safe than sorry.”

You hesitate, but Oscar’s insistence wins out. With a sigh, you take his hand, letting him guide you across the paddock toward the medical facility. He walks with purpose, every step bringing him closer to what he’s been waiting for — the confirmation of what he already knows.

The doctor on duty takes you both into a small examination room, where you explain your symptoms. Oscar stands beside you the entire time, holding your hand, his face a mask of supportive concern.

“We’ll need to take a blood sample,” the doctor says after you’ve described everything. “Just to rule out a few things.”

Oscar squeezes your hand as you nod, clearly exhausted. “It’ll be quick,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, though his mind is racing. This is it.

The blood test doesn’t take long, and the doctor steps out of the room to analyze the results. You sit back on the exam table, shoulders slumped, looking more tired than ever. Oscar watches you, his heart racing, anticipation curling in his chest.

When the doctor finally returns, holding a clipboard with the results, Oscar straightens, his expression carefully composed.

“Well,” the doctor begins, glancing between the two of you, “the results came back, and … it looks like you’re pregnant.”

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare at the doctor, completely shocked, the color draining from your face. “I’m what?”

“Pregnant,” the doctor repeats gently. “The hormone levels are consistent with early pregnancy.”

Oscar does everything he can to keep his face from breaking into a smile. He squeezes your hand a little tighter, playing the role of the supportive boyfriend. “Pregnant?" He echoes, making sure his voice sounds as surprised as yours.

You’re still staring at the doctor in disbelief. “But … that can’t be right. We’ve only been together a few months. I’ve been on the pill.”

The doctor gives you a sympathetic look. “No birth control is one hundred percent effective. It can happen.”

You sit back, stunned, your hand instinctively going to your stomach. “I-I can’t believe this.”

Oscar pulls you into his side, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers, his voice gentle and calm. “We’ll figure this out.”

But you’re shaking your head, your voice rising with panic. “Oscar, we’ve only been together for a few months. I don’t even know if … if I’m ready for this.”

Oscar feels a flicker of annoyance at your hesitation, but he quickly buries it. He can’t push too hard yet. Instead, he plays the role of the comforting partner, holding you tightly as you freak out. “I get it,” he says softly. “This is a lot to take in. But we don’t have to make any decisions right now.”

Your eyes are wide and frantic as you look up at him. “I’m not sure if I can do this. I don’t even know if I want to keep the baby.”

Oscar’s stomach twists at your words, but his face remains calm, his hand still gently stroking your back. “Hey, don’t say that yet,” he murmurs. “Let’s just take a breath, okay? You’re overwhelmed right now, and that’s normal. But we’ll figure this out together. I’m here with you, no matter what.”

You look up at him, your face filled with uncertainty. “But, Oscar … this changes everything. I’m not ready to be a mom.”

Oscar gives you a soft, understanding smile, though inside he’s desperate to steer this conversation in the right direction. “I know you’re scared, and that’s okay. But I promise you, we can handle this. You don’t have to do it alone.”

Your breath hitches as you look at him, conflicted. “I just … I didn’t expect this. We’ve barely been together long enough to-”

“To plan something like this, I know,” Oscar finishes for you, his voice gentle. “But things happen, and sometimes life surprises us. And, if I’m being honest … I think you’d be an amazing mom.”

You blink at him, taken aback. “You really think that?”

Oscar nods, his expression sincere. “I do. You’re kind, you’re caring, and you have so much love to give. I’ve seen the way you are with Ollie, and even with the team. You’re a natural caretaker.”

You bite your lip, clearly wavering. “But, Oscar … what if I’m not ready?”

Oscar tilts his head, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “No one’s ever really ready. But I know you, and I know that if you decide to keep this baby, you’ll be incredible. And I’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll figure it out together.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to him, his words hitting you in all the right places. Oscar can see that you’re close to giving in, so he presses on, his voice steady and reassuring.

“I know it’s scary, but think about it. We could be a family. A real family. And I want that with you more than anything.”

You look down at your hands, silent for a moment, your mind clearly racing. Oscar watches you closely, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows this is the turning point.

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, glancing up at him with tear-filled eyes. “I … I don’t know, Oscar. I need time to think.”

Oscar nods, giving you a soft, understanding smile. “Of course. Take all the time you need. But just know that whatever you decide, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You nod slowly, wiping your eyes. “Thank you. I just … I don’t know what to do.”

Oscar pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, his heart swelling with satisfaction. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers into your hair. “I promise, everything’s going to be okay.”

As he holds you, Oscar’s mind races, already planning the next steps. He’s not worried. He knows that, in the end, he’ll convince you. You’ll keep the baby, and everything will fall into place just as he intended.

For now, he’ll play the role of the supportive boyfriend, the one who’s always by your side, helping you through the uncertainty. But inside, he’s already won. You’re pregnant, and soon enough, you’ll realize that keeping the baby is the only option.

Oscar holds you a little tighter, hiding the small, satisfied smile that threatens to break through. Everything is going according to plan.

***

Oscar has always been patient. He’s learned that rushing things can cause cracks, slip-ups, room for doubt to creep in. And now, more than ever, he needs you to trust him, to believe that he’s on your side. The next few days are critical, and he knows it.

You’ve been quieter since finding out about the pregnancy. The nervous energy that used to make you light up around the paddock has been replaced with uncertainty. Oscar notices how you touch your stomach absentmindedly when you think no one’s looking, like you’re still trying to wrap your head around the reality growing inside you.

But Oscar sees this for what it is: a fragile moment where you’re caught between indecision and the life he’s planned for you both. He just needs to tip the scales, to show you that there’s only one real choice. And he has the perfect opportunity in mind.

It’s the Thursday before race day, and the paddock is bustling with the usual pre-race chaos — engineers, media personnel, drivers darting between garages. His PR officer, Helen, has brought her baby girl to the paddock today. Oscar has seen her cooing at the mechanics, her little girl bundled in pink, giggling at all the attention. It’s perfect.

Oscar knows you well enough to understand how much you adore babies, how your heart melts when you see them. He watches you now, standing with Ollie near the Haas garage, glancing over at Helen and the baby every few minutes. Your face softens just a little when you hear the baby laugh. This is his moment.

Oscar approaches, casual but calculated, making sure his timing is perfect. He greets Ollie with a quick nod before turning his attention to you, his expression warm but with an undertone of concern.

“You okay?" He asks softly, as though the question has been bubbling beneath the surface for days.

You glance at him, clearly caught off guard by his directness. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just … still thinking about everything.”

Oscar nods, as if he’s been expecting that answer. “I know it’s a lot to process. But you don’t have to do it alone, remember?”

You smile faintly, grateful for his support but still unsure. “I know. I just — I don’t know what the right thing to do is.”

Oscar’s eyes flicker toward Helen and her baby, who’s now being bounced on the hip of one of the mechanics. He lowers his voice, leaning a little closer to you. “Maybe it would help to talk to someone who’s been through it?”

You follow his gaze, and Oscar can almost see the gears turning in your mind. Helen has always been someone you admired — successful, balanced, managing motherhood while working in the high-stakes world of Formula 1. Oscar knows exactly what he’s doing.

You hesitate, but then nod. “Yeah … maybe.”

Oscar smiles softly. “Come on,” he says, taking your hand gently, leading you toward Helen. “It might help.”

As you approach, Helen looks up, her face lighting up when she sees you both. “Hey, guys! How’s it going?”

Oscar is quick to respond, his voice easy and natural. “We’re good. Actually, we were just talking and thought maybe you could give some advice.”

Helen shifts the baby on her hip, curious. “Oh? What about?”

You glance at Oscar nervously, but he squeezes your hand, silently encouraging you. You take a deep breath, then speak. “I, uh … I just found out I’m pregnant.”

Helen’s face softens immediately, her maternal instincts kicking in. “Oh my God, congratulations! That’s amazing news.”

You give a weak smile, still overwhelmed. “Thanks. I’m just … I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

Oscar watches as Helen’s expression shifts, empathy in her eyes. “I totally get it,” she says, adjusting the baby in her arms. “I felt the same way when I found out I was pregnant. It’s a huge change, and it can be scary. But honestly? It’s the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.”

You blink, processing her words, while Oscar fights to keep the smile from creeping onto his face. Helen’s doing exactly what he hoped she would.

“You really think so?" You ask, your voice soft, tentative.

Helen nods firmly. “Absolutely. I mean, yeah, there are tough days, but … when you look at them, when they smile at you, everything just clicks. It’s like … it doesn’t matter if you felt unprepared or scared before. Once they’re here, they become your whole world, and you can’t imagine life without them.”

Oscar’s heart races as he watches you absorb every word. He knows Helen’s words are planting seeds, shifting your perspective, just like he planned.

You glance at the baby, who’s now chewing on her fist, babbling happily in Helen’s arms. A small smile tugs at your lips, the first genuine one Oscar’s seen in days.

“She’s beautiful,” you whisper, almost to yourself.

Helen grins, brushing a hand over the baby’s soft curls. “Thank you. And you’ll have your own little one soon enough. Trust me, it’s the best thing in the world.”

Oscar feels a surge of triumph. Helen’s done the heavy lifting, nudging you closer to the decision he’s wanted all along. But he knows he needs to seal the deal, to make sure you’re not left with any lingering doubts.

As Helen’s attention shifts back to the baby, Oscar leans in toward you, his voice low and intimate. “You’d be such a great mom,” he murmurs, his eyes locked on yours.

You look at him, your eyes still filled with uncertainty, but there’s something else there now — hope. “You really think so?”

Oscar nods, his expression earnest. “I do. I know it’s scary, but … you have so much love to give. And we’ll do it together. You won’t have to do it alone.”

You take a deep breath, and Oscar can tell that you’re on the edge, teetering between fear and the future he’s painting for you both.

Helen’s baby lets out a little giggle, and you glance down at her, your smile widening just a bit. “She’s so happy,” you say softly.

Helen beams, rocking her baby gently. “She is. And yours will be too.”

Oscar can see it now, the way you’re starting to picture it in your mind. The future he’s carefully crafted. You, holding your own baby, happy, content, and completely his.

He tightens his grip on your hand, his voice barely above a whisper. “We can have that. A family. If you want it.”

You close your eyes for a moment, taking it all in, before finally nodding. “Maybe … maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”

Oscar’s heart soars. This is it. You’re giving in.

Helen smiles warmly at you both. “You’re going to be amazing parents.”

Oscar squeezes your hand one last time, his voice soft and filled with promise. “We’ll make this work. I promise.”

You look at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s do it.”

Oscar leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his heart racing with satisfaction. He’s won. The future he’s dreamed of is now within reach. You’re keeping the baby, and everything is falling into place.

As you stand there, watching Helen and her baby, Oscar’s mind is already racing with plans. He’ll make sure everything is perfect for you, for the baby. He’ll protect what’s his, no matter what.

For now, though, he lets himself savor the victory, pulling you closer to him as you both watch the baby in Helen’s arms. His plan is working. You’re his, and soon, you’ll be tied to him forever.

And there’s nothing anyone can do to change that.

***

Oscar has been preparing for this moment for weeks, rehearsing the conversation in his mind over and over. He knows Ollie is protective of you — he’d have to be, considering the nature of the F1 paddock and all the people who swarm around it. Telling him that his older sister is pregnant, and not just pregnant but with Oscar’s child, needs to be handled delicately.

The three of you are sitting in a private corner of the hotel lounge, post-race celebrations buzzing in the background. You’re perched nervously on the edge of your seat, fidgeting with your hands, while Oscar sits beside you, his arm draped protectively around the back of your chair. Ollie is across from you both, tapping his fingers on the table, clearly sensing that something is off.

Oscar shoots you a glance, his expression gentle but encouraging. This is the moment you’ve both been preparing for, but he knows how nervous you are. He watches as you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak.

“Ollie,” you begin, your voice shaky. “There’s something we need to tell you.”

Ollie’s fingers stop tapping, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leans in. “What is it? You’re acting weird.”

Oscar watches you hesitate, your eyes flickering between him and Ollie, before you finally blurt it out. “I’m pregnant.”

Ollie blinks, his expression blank for a moment as the words sink in. Then, like a storm rolling in, his face darkens. He stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor as he glares at Oscar.

“What the hell, Oscar?” Ollie’s voice is low, sharp, and full of anger. “You got her pregnant? Are you kidding me?”

Oscar stays calm, his expression composed as he raises his hands in a gesture of peace. He expected this reaction. Ollie’s protective streak runs deep, especially when it comes to you. But Oscar knows how to diffuse the situation.

“Take a breath, Ollie,” Oscar says, his voice steady, almost soothing. “I know you’re upset, but we didn’t plan this.”

“Upset?” Ollie repeats, incredulous. “You put my sister in a position like this! She’s not ready for this, she’s still in school, she-” He stops, running a hand through his hair, clearly trying to control his temper.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, looking down at your hands, and Oscar squeezes your shoulder lightly, as if to remind you that he’s got this. He turns his attention back to Ollie, making sure to keep his voice calm and measured.

“Ollie, listen,” Oscar starts, “this wasn’t something we expected, but we’re dealing with it together. I love her. We’re going to make this work.”

Ollie shakes his head, pacing in front of the table now, his hands clenched into fists. “You love her? That’s supposed to make this okay? You barely even know each other, and now she’s pregnant!”

Oscar watches him carefully, knowing that pushing too hard could make things worse. Instead, he opts for a different angle. “Ollie, I get it. I understand why you’re upset. But think about this for a second. You’re going to be an uncle.”

That makes Ollie stop in his tracks. His eyes widen, the anger momentarily fading as the weight of that reality hits him. “An uncle?”

Oscar nods, taking the opportunity to soften the conversation. “Yeah. You’ll be an uncle. This baby is going to have an amazing family. You’re part of that.”

You finally look up, your voice soft but steady as you speak. “I know this isn’t what any of us expected, Ollie. But Oscar’s been really supportive. We’re figuring it out.”

Ollie glances at you, his expression conflicted. The anger is still there, but it’s mixed with something else now — worry, concern. He drops into the chair again, rubbing his hands over his face.

“And you’re sure this is what you want?" He asks, his voice quieter now, directed at you.

You nod, though the uncertainty is still clear in your eyes. “I … I think so. I don’t know what the future looks like, but I know I want to try.”

Ollie sighs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes flicking between you and Oscar. “This is insane.”

Oscar leans forward, his voice firm but gentle. “I know it’s a lot, but we’ll handle it together. You don’t have to worry about her, Ollie. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of.”

Ollie shoots him a hard look, the protectiveness still lingering. “You’d better.”

Oscar knows this is the best he’s going to get right now. He doesn’t push further, letting the conversation settle as Ollie processes the news. He can sense that Ollie’s anger is starting to fade, replaced by concern and the inevitable acceptance of what’s happening.

After a long silence, Ollie exhales heavily and looks back at you. “I just … I don’t want you to regret this. You’ve got so much going for you, and I don’t want anything holding you back.”

Oscar watches as you reach across the table, placing your hand on Ollie’s arm. “I know. And I don’t want to give up on anything. But I’ll make it work. I have to.”

Ollie’s jaw tightens, and he glances at Oscar before nodding slowly. “Alright. But if he screws up, I’m coming after him.”

Oscar can’t help but smile, though he keeps it in check. “Fair enough.”

The tension in the air starts to lift, though it’s clear that Ollie still isn’t entirely on board. But Oscar knows he’s planted the right seeds. Ollie will come around eventually, once the idea of being an uncle starts to sink in.

As the conversation shifts back to less intense topics, Oscar keeps an arm around you, quietly basking in the victory. He’s one step closer to securing the future he’s been carefully crafting, and no amount of Ollie’s protective nature is going to stand in his way.

Later, as you and Oscar leave the lounge, you let out a long breath, clearly relieved. “That went better than I expected,” you say, glancing up at him.

Oscar smirks, pulling you closer. “Told you it would be fine.”

You smile softly, leaning into his side. “Thanks for being so calm. I don’t think I could’ve handled that without you.”

Oscar presses a kiss to the top of your head, his heart racing with satisfaction. “I’ll always be here for you.”

As you walk together through the hotel lobby, Oscar’s mind is already moving to the next step. Ollie might have accepted the situation for now, but Oscar knows he’ll have to be vigilant. There’s always the risk of someone getting too close, of people questioning the choices you’re making.

But Oscar’s in control. He always has been.

And soon, the world will see the perfect life he’s building for you both.

You and him. And the baby.

Everything is going according to plan.

***

Oscar steps out of the McLaren motorhome, adjusting the collar of his team polo as he scans the paddock. The sun is out in full force today, casting a bright glare across the asphalt, and the usual buzz of race day preparations hums in the air. But none of that holds Oscar’s attention for long, because across the way, standing near the Haas garage, is you.

And standing too close to you — way too close — is Charles.

Oscar’s eyes narrow as he watches the scene unfold. You’re smiling, one hand resting protectively on your belly — his baby growing inside you — and Charles is standing right in front of you, one hand outstretched and resting on the curve of your stomach.

Oscar’s stomach turns. His grip on the phone in his hand tightens, knuckles whitening as a sharp wave of possessiveness surges through him. He has to stop himself from marching over there and ripping Charles’ hand off you, from doing something that will draw attention — something that will make everyone realize exactly what Oscar is capable of.

Instead, he breathes deeply, trying to keep his expression neutral. He has to remind himself that he’s in public. Eyes are everywhere. The cameras, the fans, the team members — all watching, all waiting for something interesting to happen.

He forces himself to move, walking toward you and Charles with a calm, measured pace. His heart pounds in his chest, though, each step building the tension in his body. He focuses on keeping his breathing steady, on not letting the mask slip.

When he’s close enough, he hears Charles chuckling. “Look at that — he’s going to be a strong one, huh?” Charles says, his voice too cheerful, too familiar for Oscar’s liking. He’s looking down at your belly like he’s allowed to touch, allowed to share in this intimate moment.

Oscar feels his blood boiling. He doesn’t get to touch you. He doesn’t get to touch either of you. But Oscar keeps his smile in place, just another teammate stopping by for a chat.

“Hey, mate,” Oscar greets, his voice smooth and even, though it takes every ounce of self-control not to shove Charles away from you. “What’s going on here?”

You smile up at him, that soft, radiant smile that’s been a constant source of comfort for him since you found out about the pregnancy. You’re glowing, your hand gently covering Charles’ as if this is the most natural thing in the world.

“Oscar!" You say, your voice light and warm. “Charles was just saying hi to the little one.”

Oscar steps closer, closing the distance between you and him, subtly edging Charles out of the space between you. He places his arm around your waist, pulling you gently but possessively toward him. “Yeah, I see that,” he says, keeping his tone casual, though his eyes flick to Charles, warning him without words.

Charles, ever oblivious, laughs and steps back, giving Oscar a friendly clap on the shoulder. “She’s going to be a great mom,” Charles says, oblivious to the dark thoughts simmering beneath Oscar’s surface. “It’s crazy how fast time’s flown, huh?”

Oscar’s smile feels forced, tight. “Yeah. Crazy.”

You glance between the two men, clearly sensing the tension but not fully understanding it. “Oscar, everything okay?" You ask, concern flickering in your eyes.

He turns to you, softening his expression, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah, of course. Just checking on you.” His hand moves to your belly, where Charles’ had been moments before, as if to reclaim what’s his. The small life growing inside you is his — yours and his alone.

“Little one’s been kicking up a storm today,” you say with a grin, your excitement spilling over. “I think he’s excited for the race.”

Oscar can’t help but smile at that, but it’s a thin veil over the possessive rage still bubbling inside him. He doesn’t want anyone else touching you, touching *his* baby — especially not Charles Leclerc. But he can’t show that. Not here. Not now.

Charles, still blissfully unaware of the dark cloud brewing in Oscar’s chest, gives you a nod and a charming smile. “I should get going — need to check in with the team. But hey, take care, yeah? If you need anything, just let me know.”

Oscar tightens his grip on your waist, resisting the urge to tell Charles where he can shove his offer. Instead, he keeps his smile in place, but there’s a sharpness in his eyes as he watches Charles walk away. “Will do, mate,” he calls after him, his voice cold despite the smile still painted on his face.

Once Charles is out of earshot, Oscar turns to you, his hand still resting on your belly. He can feel the tiny kicks against his palm, and for a moment, the tension eases, his possessiveness giving way to something deeper — something almost tender.

“I didn’t like that,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

You tilt your head, confused. “Didn’t like what?”

“Charles touching you like that,” he admits, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your stomach. “It’s … it’s personal. It’s us, you know? It’s our baby.”

You give him a soft smile, clearly not understanding the full weight of what he’s saying. “Oscar, he was just being friendly. He’s excited for us.”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, but he forces himself to relax. You don’t get it. You don’t see what he sees. “I know. I just … I don’t want anyone else touching you like that. It doesn’t feel right.”

You laugh lightly, brushing it off as if it’s nothing. “You’re being silly. I think it’s sweet that people care.”

Oscar doesn’t push the point further, but inside, the possessiveness flares again. It’s not sweet. It’s not okay. No one else should be touching you or the baby. That’s his job. Only his.

“Just … humor me, okay?” Oscar says, pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’m protective. That’s all.”

You smile up at him, leaning into his embrace. “Okay, I’ll humor you.”

Oscar holds you close, his mind spinning with a hundred different thoughts. He can’t stop thinking about Charles’ hand on your belly, about how wrong it felt to see someone else so close to what’s his. He knows it’s irrational, knows he’s being possessive — but he can’t help it. You and the baby are his world now, and the thought of anyone else being a part of that world fills him with a dark, burning need to protect.

Later, as the day winds down and you’re resting in his arms in the McLaren motorhome, Oscar watches you sleep, his hand resting gently on your belly. He can feel the occasional flutter of movement beneath his palm, and for a brief moment, the possessiveness fades, replaced by something softer.

But it doesn’t last. His mind drifts back to Charles, to the way he’d smiled at you, the way he’d touched you so casually. He knows it was innocent, knows that Charles doesn’t mean any harm — but that doesn’t matter. Oscar can’t shake the feeling that something is going to go wrong, that someone is going to come between him and the perfect life he’s building.

And Oscar won’t let that happen.

He’ll protect you, protect the baby — at all costs. Even if that means keeping everyone else at arm’s length. Even if that means doing things you’ll never know about.

As he presses another kiss to your belly, Oscar makes a silent promise to himself: nothing and no one will ever come between him, you, and the life he’s built for you.

No matter what it takes.

***

Oscar lounges on the sofa of the McLaren motorhome, glancing at you as you sit across from him, absentmindedly scrolling through your phone. Your belly has grown even more prominent, the bump of his baby pushing against the soft fabric of your dress. It’s been months now since you found out, and you’ve settled into the rhythm of being an expecting mother. But Oscar’s mind has been churning with a new idea, a plan that’s taken root and refuses to let go.

He watches you with a calculated calmness, waiting for the right moment to broach the subject. He knows it won’t be easy — you’re close to your family, to Ollie, to the life you’ve built in England. But that’s exactly the problem. Too many people are around you, too many influences that could pull you away from him, from the control he’s worked so hard to establish.

He clears his throat, catching your attention.

“You know,” he begins casually, leaning back in his seat, “I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. Where we’re going to live once the baby’s here.”

You glance up at him, eyebrows raised in mild curiosity. “Yeah? I figured we’d stay in England. It’s where my family is, after all.”

Oscar offers you a soft, understanding smile. He knows that’s what you think — what you *want*. But he also knows how to twist things to get what he wants.

“I get that,” he says, his voice soothing, almost coaxing. “But … have you thought about Australia?”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Australia?”

“Yeah.” Oscar shifts in his seat, turning his body more toward you, his expression serious yet gentle. “I mean, it’s where I grew up. It’s a beautiful place, and I’ve been thinking … maybe it’d be the best place for us to raise the baby.”

You blink, clearly caught off guard. “Oscar, Australia’s … it’s literally halfway around the world. My family’s in England, Ollie’s in England. It would be so far from everyone.”

He leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your hesitation falter. “I know, I know. But think about it, yeah? It’s quieter there. Less scrutiny. The media’s insane in Europe, especially around Formula 1. I don’t want our child growing up under that spotlight. In Australia, we can give them a normal life, a childhood without all that pressure.”

Oscar knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s playing the long game, planting seeds of doubt about staying in Europe. You’ve always been a private person, and he’s using that to his advantage, framing it as a way to protect your future family from the public eye.

You hesitate, biting your lip as you consider his words. “I mean, I get that, but … it’s still so far. I don’t know if I’m ready to leave everything behind.”

Oscar’s expression softens, and he reaches out to take your hand, his thumb stroking over your knuckles in a comforting gesture. “I’m not asking you to leave everything behind. We’ll visit England, see your family whenever you want. But living in Australia, it’d be different. Safer. More private. You’d love it there. The beaches, the space … you wouldn’t have to worry about paparazzi or people prying into our lives. We could be … just us.”

He pauses, letting his words sink in, knowing you’ll start to picture it — the idyllic life he’s painting for you. Away from the madness of the racing world, away from anyone who might interfere.

You’re quiet for a moment, your gaze dropping to your growing belly, your free hand resting protectively over it. Oscar knows what you’re thinking — that you want what’s best for the baby. That’s the key to this, the hook he needs to sink deeper.

“And think about how amazing it’ll be for the baby,” Oscar continues, his voice low and persuasive. “Growing up near the ocean, in a place where they can run around, be free … It’s the kind of childhood I had, and I’d want that for them. Don’t you?”

You look up at him again, and he can see the conflict in your eyes. You want to say no — you want to stay in England, close to your family — but he’s making it so hard for you to argue. He’s painting Australia as this perfect haven, a paradise for your future child.

“I don’t know, Oscar …” you murmur, still uncertain.

Oscar tightens his grip on your hand slightly, leaning closer. “We’ll make new memories, new traditions. You’ll have me, and I’ll have you. We’ll build a life together there. You know I’d never let anything happen to you. I’ll protect you and the baby no matter where we are.”

He watches as your resolve begins to waver. He’s close now — so close to getting exactly what he wants. He just needs to push a little further, to make you believe that this is what’s best for both of you.

“I understand it’s a big decision,” Oscar says softly, his tone almost pleading now, though it’s all part of the act. “But this is about our future, about what’s best for our family. I know you’re worried about being far from everyone, but you’ll have me. I’ll always be there for you, every step of the way. And we can still visit whenever you want.”

You sigh, looking down again, your mind clearly racing with everything he’s said. Oscar waits, letting the silence stretch, knowing that you’re weighing your options. He can almost see the gears turning in your head, the way his words are slowly but surely pulling you toward the decision he’s been pushing for all along.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally say, your voice quiet.

Oscar suppresses the smile that threatens to break across his face. He doesn’t want to seem too eager, doesn’t want to tip his hand just yet. Instead, he nods, giving you a gentle, understanding look.

“That’s all I ask,” he says softly, leaning over to press a kiss to your forehead. “I just want what’s best for us.”

Later that night, as you sleep beside him, Oscar lies awake, staring at the ceiling with a satisfied smirk on his face. He knows it won’t take much longer. You’re already halfway convinced — soon, you’ll be fully on board with the idea. Once you start picturing the life he’s promised you, the isolation won’t feel like isolation at all. It’ll feel like safety.

He imagines it now — just the two of you and the baby, tucked away in some quiet corner of Australia. No one else around to interfere, no family to pull you away from him. It’ll be perfect. You’ll be his, completely and utterly his, with no one else to cloud your judgment.

Oscar’s hand moves to your belly as you sleep, gently resting there as he feels the faintest kick from the baby inside. His baby. The life he’s created with you.

You won’t be able to say no for much longer. He’s made sure of that.

As the days go on, Oscar continues to drop little comments here and there, always steering the conversation back to Australia, to how perfect it’ll be for the baby. He shows you pictures of the beaches, talks about the schools, the parks, the quiet suburbs where you could raise a family. Each time, you seem to soften a little more, the hesitation in your eyes fading.

It doesn’t take long before you’re the one bringing it up.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you admit one evening as you sit together in your shared apartment. “About Australia. Maybe … maybe it could be a good idea after all.”

Oscar hides his smile behind a sip of tea, nodding as if he’s only just considering the idea himself. “I’m glad you’re open to it. We’ll take it one step at a time, okay? No rush. But I really think it’s the best choice for our family.”

You nod, your hand resting on your belly as you stare out the window, lost in thought. Oscar watches you closely, his mind already racing ahead to the future he’s carefully crafted.

Soon, he thinks. Soon, you’ll be in Australia, far away from anyone who might interfere. And then you’ll be his — completely and utterly his.

Just the way he’s always wanted.

***

Oscar watches as you grip the edges of the hospital bed, your face contorted in pain, beads of sweat forming on your forehead. He stands at your side, holding your hand in his, gently rubbing circles on the back of your hand. Every contraction seems to hit harder, your body tensing with each one. But despite your discomfort, despite the way you call out for your mother between sharp breaths, Oscar keeps his expression calm. He’s been preparing for this moment for months, knowing exactly how he wants it to unfold.

“No one but me,” he had told the hospital staff when they asked for the permitted visitors list. “Just me. She’ll be fine with just me.”

And here you are, just as he’d planned — alone with him. No family, no distractions, no one to pull your attention away. Oscar had made sure of it. He knows you’re vulnerable right now, and that’s exactly how he needs you to be.

Your grip tightens around his hand as another contraction hits, and you let out a soft, pained sob. “I need … I need my mum,” you whimper, your voice broken by the intensity of the pain.

Oscar leans in closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his tone soothing and soft. “Shh, love, I’m here. I’ll take care of you. You don’t need anyone else, okay? Just focus on me.”

You look up at him with tear-filled eyes, your breathing ragged, but you nod, too exhausted to argue. Another contraction rolls through you, and your body tenses again, your grip on Oscar’s hand becoming almost crushing.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Oscar coos, running his fingers through your hair to calm you. “I’m right here. Just keep breathing, yeah?”

But you don’t want him. In your pain, your instincts scream for your mother, your family, someone familiar, someone who can offer the kind of comfort Oscar can’t. You cry out again, calling for your mum between sobs, but Oscar remains firm.

“They’ll be here soon,” he lies, keeping his voice steady and reassuring. “They’re probably just waiting outside. You’re doing amazing, love.”

He knows they aren’t waiting outside. In fact, they’d been turned away hours ago, when they tried to come into the hospital. The nurse had explained there was no one on the visitor list, and hospital policy couldn’t allow them in without prior approval.

Oscar had made sure of that.

He tightens his grip on your hand just enough to remind you he’s there, that he’s the one you need right now. You’re too distracted by the pain to notice the way his eyes flash with quiet satisfaction as he watches you, completely dependent on him.

Time drags on, the hours blurring together in a haze of contractions, pain, and soft words of comfort from Oscar. Every time you cry out for someone else, he’s there, gently pulling you back to him, reminding you that he’s all you need.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the moment arrives. The doctors and nurses rush into the room, preparing for the delivery. Oscar moves to your side, his heart pounding with anticipation. You’re so close now, so close to giving him exactly what he’s been waiting for.

The baby — a boy, as the ultrasound had shown — arrives with a loud, piercing cry. The doctors place him in Oscar’s arms for a brief moment before they clean him up, and Oscar’s eyes widen with awe as he looks down at the small, wriggling form in his hands. This is it. His son. His family.

You’re exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open as the nurse finally places the baby — Marcus, as you’d both agreed to name him — into your arms. You look down at him, your face softening despite the exhaustion, tears of relief and overwhelming love in your eyes.

But it doesn’t take long before you glance around the room again, your expression shifting to one of confusion and worry. “Where’s my family?" You ask, your voice weak and hoarse. “Why aren’t they here?”

Oscar’s jaw tightens, but he keeps his expression neutral. He had hoped you’d be too exhausted to ask questions, but it seems he underestimated your attachment to your family. He can’t have that right now — not when everything is so perfect.

“They’ll be here soon,” he lies again, reaching out to stroke your hair. “It’s probably just a mix-up with the hospital staff. I’ll check with the nurse, okay? You rest.”

You nod, your eyelids drooping as the exhaustion takes over. Oscar leaves the room briefly, finding a nurse at the front desk.

“Can you check if her family tried to visit?" He asks, feigning concern. “She’s worried they haven’t come yet.”

The nurse looks at the computer and frowns. “Actually, her family did come earlier, but they were turned away. No one was on the permitted visitors list.”

Oscar fakes a look of surprise, widening his eyes just enough to make it convincing. “That’s strange. I thought I gave you their names. Must’ve been a system error. Can we fix that now?”

The nurse nods, typing a few things into the system. “I’ll add them to the list. They should be able to visit soon.”

Oscar thanks the nurse before heading back to your room. You’re still holding Marcus, staring down at him with a soft, tired smile. Oscar watches you for a moment, taking in the sight of you holding his child, and a surge of possessiveness rushes through him. You and Marcus are his now — completely his.

“Everything okay?" You ask when you notice him standing there.

Oscar nods, putting on his best apologetic expression. “It seems like there was a mix-up. The hospital must’ve forgotten to put your family on the list, but it’s fixed now. They’ll be able to visit soon.”

You look relieved, though still exhausted, and you nod, your focus shifting back to Marcus. “I just … I really wanted them here,” you say softly, tears forming in your eyes again.

Oscar moves to your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know, love. But I’m here, and so is Marcus. That’s all that matters right now, yeah? We’re a family.”

He can see the conflict in your eyes, the tug between wanting your family’s presence and the reality of the situation. But Oscar is there, steady, calm, always the one you can rely on. He knows you’ll lean on him because right now, you need him more than anything.

The hours pass, and the nurses eventually let your family in to visit. Your mother rushes to your side, tears streaming down her face as she embraces you and gazes down at Marcus. Ollie lingers at the door, his expression a mix of concern and relief. He approaches slowly, giving Oscar a stiff nod before focusing on you and the baby.

Oscar watches the scene play out, but there’s no sense of relief or joy for him. Not like you or your family feel. Instead, a simmering frustration bubbles beneath his calm exterior. This moment was supposed to be his. He’s worked so hard to keep everyone else at bay, to make sure he’s the only one you rely on.

But he knows this is just a temporary interruption. Soon enough, your family will leave, and it will be just the three of you again — just the way he’s planned it. And when that happens, Oscar will make sure to remind you of just how much you need him, how much you depend on him. You and Marcus are his now, and he won’t let anyone else get in the way.

For now, though, he smiles politely at your mother and nods at Ollie’s stiff greeting, playing the part of the loving partner. But deep down, he knows this is only the beginning. You’re tied to him forever now, and there’s no escaping that fact.

He’ll make sure of it

***

Oscar stands at the foot of the hospital bed, watching you cradle Marcus in your arms. It’s the first time you’ve breastfed him, and he can see the amazement in your eyes as you watch him latch on. The room is quiet, a soft hum of hospital equipment in the background, but all Oscar can focus on is the scene before him — so intimate, so perfectly aligned with what he’s envisioned for the two of you.

You look up at him, a gentle smile on your lips, and Oscar’s heart swells. This is exactly how he imagined it: you, completely absorbed in the role of a mother, with Marcus depending on you for everything. He’s been planning this moment for months, knowing that once Marcus arrived, you’d be even more vulnerable, even more open to the suggestions he’d plant.

Oscar moves closer, sitting on the edge of the bed, his eyes fixed on Marcus. “He’s perfect,” he says softly, reaching out to stroke Marcus’s tiny head. “You’re perfect.”

You glance up at him, your smile widening as you adjust Marcus in your arms. “I can’t believe he’s ours,” you whisper, your voice filled with awe. “I’ve never felt anything like this before.”

Oscar nods, his heart racing as he senses the timing is right. The maternal glow on your face, the way you look at Marcus with such pure love — it’s the perfect moment to begin planting the seeds of his next plan. He needs you to be fully committed, fully dependent on him, and the best way to do that is to convince you to give up the last bit of independence you have left.

“You know,” Oscar begins, his tone gentle and thoughtful, “watching you with him, seeing how natural you are, it makes me think …”

You look up at him, curious. “Think what?”

Oscar hesitates, making sure to choose his words carefully. He wants to come off as caring and considerate, not pushy. “It makes me think that maybe … maybe you should consider focusing on being a mother full-time, at least for a while.”

He watches your reaction closely, sees the brief flicker of uncertainty in your eyes as you absorb his words. You’ve always been committed to your studies, passionate about your career path. But Oscar knows the pull of motherhood is strong, and with Marcus here, he’s certain he can sway you.

“I don’t know, Oscar …” you start, your voice trailing off as you look down at Marcus again. “I’ve worked so hard to get where I am. I still want to finish my degree, get my career started …”

Oscar nods, feigning understanding, but he can sense that you’re already starting to waver. “I get that, love. I really do. But think about it — Marcus needs you. Being a mother is a full-time job, and you’re so amazing at it already. Why not give yourself the chance to focus on that? At least for the first few years.”

He sees the conflict in your eyes, the way you’re torn between your love for Marcus and your commitment to your studies. Oscar leans in, taking your free hand in his, squeezing it gently. “You don’t have to decide right now. But I just want you to know that I’m here to support you, whatever you choose. And if you decide that being there for Marcus is what you want, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you’re taken care of.”

You bite your lip, your eyes drifting back to Marcus, who’s still contentedly nursing. “But what about my degree? My career? I don’t want to give up on everything I’ve worked for …”

Oscar nods again, his expression soft and understanding. “You wouldn’t be giving it up. You’d just be … putting it on hold for a bit. You can always go back to it later, when Marcus is older. Right now, he needs you. And I think you’ll find that being with him, watching him grow, it’ll be just as fulfilling — if not more — than anything else.”

You’re silent for a moment, your gaze focused on Marcus, who’s now dozing off in your arms. Oscar watches as your resolve begins to weaken, the reality of motherhood settling in. He knows how to play this — how to make you feel like it’s your decision, even though he’s guiding you every step of the way.

“I don’t know,” you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just … so much to think about.”

Oscar leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Take your time. But just know that whatever you decide, I’ll be here to support you. And I think … I think you’ll make an amazing stay-at-home mum. Marcus is so lucky to have you.”

You smile softly, your eyes still on Marcus, and Oscar knows he’s almost there. The idea is planted, and now all he needs to do is nurture it, give you just the right amount of encouragement until you convince yourself it’s the best decision.

Over the next few days, Oscar continues to drop subtle hints, making sure to praise your natural instincts as a mother, emphasizing how important it is for Marcus to have you around full-time. He brings up stories of children who thrive when their mothers are present in their early years, subtly playing on your fears of missing out on crucial moments in Marcus’s life.

Each time you hesitate or express doubt about putting your studies on hold, Oscar is there with a reassuring word, a gentle touch, always reminding you that you’re making the best choice for your family. He paints a picture of a perfect life — just the three of you, with you at home taking care of Marcus, while he provides for you both. He makes it sound so easy, so right.

And slowly, you start to come around to the idea. Oscar can see the change in you, the way you begin to talk about your studies less and less, focusing instead on Marcus and his needs. You start to picture the life Oscar is suggesting, and with each passing day, you grow more comfortable with the idea.

Finally, one evening as you’re both sitting on the couch, Marcus asleep in his bassinet nearby, you turn to Oscar with a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you begin, your voice thoughtful. “And … maybe you’re right. Maybe it would be best if I took a break from school, at least for now. Marcus needs me, and I don’t want to miss out on anything.”

Oscar’s heart leaps with satisfaction, but he keeps his expression neutral, nodding as if he’s simply supporting your decision. “I think that’s a great idea, love. You’re doing what’s best for Marcus, and that’s what matters most.”

You smile, a weight seemingly lifted off your shoulders now that the decision is made. “I’ll talk to the university tomorrow, let them know I’m taking a leave of absence. It’ll just be for a little while, until Marcus is older.”

Oscar nods, but he knows that by the time Marcus is older, he’ll have found new ways to keep you at home, new ways to ensure you remain dependent on him. For now, though, he’s content with the victory. You’re his, and now, more than ever, he’s succeeded in making sure that you and Marcus are firmly under his control.

As the days turn into weeks, you settle into your new routine, fully embracing your role as a stay-at-home mother. Oscar continues to play the part of the supportive partner, always there to help, always there to encourage you, but deep down, he knows he’s won. You’ve given up your independence, your dreams, all for him and Marcus.

And as you sit in the nursery, rocking Marcus to sleep, Oscar watches you from the doorway, a smile playing on his lips. Everything is falling into place, just as he planned. You’re exactly where he wants you — where you belong.

***

Oscar’s thumb traces the smooth, cold metal of the new lock on the front door, his lips curving into a satisfied smile. The locksmith had come earlier that day, installing the deadbolt exactly as Oscar had instructed — one lock that could be opened from the inside and out, and another that could only be controlled from outside the house. The installation was quick, professional, no questions asked.

Perfect. Just what he needed to ensure everything stays the way it’s supposed to.

Oscar takes a step back, admiring his handiwork. He can already hear the faint cry of Marcus from the nursery, but he doesn’t rush. Instead, he takes his time, testing the locks one more time, ensuring they click smoothly into place, unyielding and firm. He turns the key in the new deadbolt, hearing the satisfying clunk as it slides home, securing the door.

He had been thinking about this for weeks, ever since Marcus’s birth — how to make sure you both were safe, how to keep the outside world from intruding on the life he’s so carefully constructed. The isolation of the villa was good, but it wasn’t enough. He needed to know that when he left, you and Marcus wouldn’t — couldn’t — go anywhere without him. This was his way of protecting what was his.

He turns around and sees you standing in the hallway, Marcus cradled against your chest. There’s a slight frown on your face, your eyes moving from the front door to Oscar, confusion etched in your features.

“Oscar,” you start, your voice tinged with concern, “why did you change the locks? The old ones were fine.”

Oscar smiles, the kind of smile meant to reassure you, to make you feel silly for even asking. He steps closer, reaching out to gently brush his fingers along Marcus’s tiny head, his heart swelling with pride at the sight of his son.

“It’s just a precaution, love,” he says smoothly, his voice soft, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “You know how I am — I just want to make sure you and Marcus are safe.”

You shift Marcus in your arms, still frowning. “But the old locks were fine, Oscar. We’ve never had any problems with them. This feels … excessive.”

Oscar’s smile doesn’t falter. He’s prepared for this, already has his response ready. He lets out a soft chuckle, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. “It’s not excessive, it’s just being cautious. With everything that’s going on in the world, I want to make sure that nothing can get to you two while I’m not here. You know how much you and Marcus mean to me.”

You bite your lip, still uncertain, but you nod, seeming to accept his explanation. But then, as Oscar expects, you ask the question he’s been waiting for.

“Okay … but can I have a key? Just in case?”

Oscar’s smile tightens just a fraction, but he quickly recovers, shaking his head as if it’s a silly request. “You don’t need one, love. You never leave the house without me anyway, and I don’t want you to have to carry around another useless thing for no reason. I’ll always be here to lock and unlock the door for you. Besides, you have Marcus to worry about — you don’t need to stress about something like this.”

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the way you’re weighing his words, trying to decide if he’s being reasonable or if there’s something more to it. Oscar’s heart races, just a little, as he watches you deliberate. He knows he needs to tread carefully, to not push too hard, too fast. He’s been so meticulous about everything so far, and he can’t afford to slip up now.

Finally, you sigh, the tension in your shoulders relaxing as you nod. “Okay … I guess that makes sense. It’s just … it feels strange, not having a key to my own house.”

Oscar leans in, placing a soft kiss on your lips, his hand resting gently on Marcus’s back. “It’s our home, love. And I’m just doing everything I can to keep it safe. You trust me, don’t you?”

You nod again, more firmly this time, and Oscar feels the knot in his chest loosen. He’s won this round, just like he knew he would. You’re so easy to convince when he plays his cards right, when he makes it seem like everything he does is for you, for Marcus. And in a way, it is — just not in the way you think.

Over the next few days, Oscar watches you closely, noting how you seem to adjust to the new locks without much fuss. You don’t ask for a key again, and Oscar doesn’t bring it up either, content to let the matter settle. He continues to be the perfect partner, the doting father, always there to unlock the door for you, to lock it behind you when you come home. You don’t even notice the second lock, the one that only he can control.

Oscar feels a deep sense of satisfaction every time he turns the key in the lock, knowing that he’s the only one with that power. It’s a small thing, but it gives him the control he craves. With you and Marcus safely inside, he knows that nothing can touch you — no one can take you away from him.

It’s a few weeks later when you finally bring it up again. You’re sitting on the couch, Marcus asleep in his crib, and Oscar is reading through some emails on his phone. You’ve been quiet all evening, and Oscar notices the way you keep glancing at the front door, a thoughtful expression on your face.

“Oscar,” you say after a while, your voice soft but firm. “Can we talk about the locks again?”

Oscar looks up from his phone, his expression carefully neutral. “Of course, love. What’s on your mind?”

You shift in your seat, tucking your legs under you. “I’ve been thinking … I know you want to keep us safe, and I appreciate that, but … I don’t like not having a key. It makes me feel … trapped.”

Oscar’s heart skips a beat, but he keeps his face calm, collected. “Trapped? Love, you’re not trapped. You’re safe. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, your brows furrowing. “I know, but it just … it feels wrong, Oscar. What if something happens? What if I need to get out, and you’re not here? I don’t want to be completely dependent on you to leave the house.”

Oscar sighs, setting his phone down and turning to face you fully. He knows he needs to tread carefully here, to make sure you don’t start questioning things too much. “Love, nothing’s going to happen. You’re not trapped. You can leave anytime you want, with me. I’m just trying to protect you and Marcus. Isn’t that what you want?”

You frown, clearly torn, and Oscar leans in, taking your hand in his, squeezing it gently. “I know it feels strange, but it’s for the best. Trust me, okay? I wouldn’t do anything that wasn’t in your best interest.”

He sees the conflict in your eyes, the way you’re struggling to accept his explanation, but he knows how to handle this. He’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. He needs to keep you close, to make sure you don’t start thinking too much about the things he’s done, the things he’s planning.

Finally, you sigh, your shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay, Oscar. I trust you. I just … I don’t want to feel like I’m a prisoner in my own home.”

Oscar’s heart races as he pulls you into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You’re not a prisoner, love. You’re safe. And that’s all that matters.”

You nod against his chest, but Oscar can feel the tension in your body, the way you’re still uneasy. He knows he needs to be careful, to make sure you don’t start questioning things too much. But for now, you’ve accepted his explanation, and that’s enough.

As you settle back on the couch, Oscar’s mind is already working, planning his next move. He knows he can’t afford to slip up, can’t afford to let you see the cracks in his facade. Everything has to be perfect, controlled. And with the new locks in place, he’s one step closer to making sure you and Marcus are his forever.

The days pass, and Oscar continues to play the role of the perfect partner, the devoted father. He’s always there to open the door for you, to lock it behind you, to reassure you that everything he’s doing is for your safety. You stop bringing up the locks, and Oscar can see that you’ve resigned yourself to the situation, accepting it as just another quirk of his overprotective nature.

And that’s exactly what he wants. To make you believe that everything he does is out of love, out of concern for your well-being. To make sure you never question the real reason behind his actions.

One evening, as you’re getting ready for bed, Oscar watches you from the doorway, his heart swelling with satisfaction. You’ve fallen into the routine he’s set for you, the life he’s created. You don’t even notice the subtle ways he’s tightening his control, the way he’s slowly but surely cutting you off from the outside world.

You’re his. And with each passing day, Oscar feels more confident in his ability to keep you that way.

As you climb into bed, Oscar follows, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close. You sigh, content, and Oscar can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction. Everything is falling into place just as he’s planned.

You’ve become so accustomed to his presence, so dependent on him, that the thought of challenging him barely crosses your mind anymore. It’s exactly what he wanted — what he needed. To have you close, to keep you safe, to make sure no one could take you away from him.

“Goodnight, love,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your temple.

“Goodnight, Oscar,” you murmur, your voice soft and sleepy.

As you drift off, Oscar remains awake, staring up at the ceiling, his mind already working through the next steps. He knows he needs to maintain this control, to keep reinforcing the life he’s built for you both. The locks, the isolation, the little things that keep you tethered to him — they’re all part of the plan. A plan that’s working perfectly.

He watches you sleep, his hand resting on your stomach where Marcus used to be, now flat and smooth once again. The house is quiet, peaceful, just the way he likes it. Everything is in order.

And it will stay that way, Oscar vows to himself. He’ll make sure of it. Because you and Marcus are his. And nothing — no one — will ever come between you.

As the night wears on, Oscar finally closes his eyes, a small, satisfied smile on his lips. He’s won. And tomorrow, he’ll wake up and do it all over again, ensuring that every day you’re reminded of just how much you need him. How much you love him.

Because that’s what he’s always wanted: to have you, to keep you, to make sure you’re his forever.

And in this house, behind these locked doors, he knows that’s exactly what you’ll be.

***

Oscar’s been planning this moment for weeks, every detail carefully mapped out in his mind. The proposal has to be perfect, not too over-the-top, but intimate, something that will make you feel loved and cherished. He needs to make sure you say yes — though, in his heart, he already knows what your answer will be.

It’s a quiet evening, the kind you’ve come to expect from your life with Oscar. Marcus is finally asleep after a long day, and you’re sitting on the couch, your legs curled up underneath you, reading a book. Oscar watches you from the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a glass of wine in his hand. You look peaceful, content, and it fills him with an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

He walks over to you, setting his glass down on the coffee table before sitting beside you. You look up, smiling, and he returns it, but there’s something more in his eyes tonight — an intensity that you’ve seen before, though it’s hard to place exactly when.

“What’s on your mind?" You ask, setting your book aside.

Oscar takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You,” he says simply, his voice soft but firm.

You tilt your head slightly, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Me? What about me?”

He shifts closer, his free hand moving to cup your cheek, his gaze never leaving yours. “I’ve been thinking,” he starts, his tone low, “about how lucky I am to have you in my life. How much you mean to me, to Marcus. And how I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Your breath catches, your eyes widening slightly as his words sink in. He watches the realization dawn on you, and it only fuels his resolve.

“Oscar …” you start, but he gently presses a finger to your lips, silencing you.

“Let me finish,” he says, and you nod, your heart pounding in your chest.

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box, and your eyes flicker to it, widening even more. He watches your reaction closely, gauging every emotion that flits across your face.

“I want to make sure that you know just how much I love you,” he continues, opening the box to reveal a simple yet elegant diamond ring. “I want to give you my name, to make you mine in every possible way.”

Your eyes are locked on the ring, your hand trembling slightly in his grasp. “Oscar, I-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Oscar slips off the couch and onto one knee in front of you, holding the ring up to you, his eyes filled with a sincerity that makes your heart ache.

“Will you marry me?" He asks, his voice steady, though inside, his heart is racing.

For a moment, there’s silence — a heartbeat of hesitation that Oscar hadn’t anticipated. But then, your eyes meet his, and he sees the answer in them before you even say the words.

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Oscar, I’ll marry you.”

The smile that breaks across his face is one of triumph, of victory. He slips the ring onto your finger, the diamond catching the light, sparkling as brightly as the tears in your eyes. Oscar rises to his feet, pulling you into his arms, holding you close, feeling the way your body fits perfectly against his.

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair, his hands trailing down your back, memorizing every curve, every inch of you.

“I love you too,” you reply, your voice choked with emotion, your arms tightening around him.

Oscar pulls back slightly, just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have spilled over. He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss, one that seals the promise you’ve just made to each other.

As he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours, Oscar can’t help but imagine the future he’s been dreaming of — the future he’s been working toward all this time. A wedding, a family, a life together that no one can touch or take away from him.

He envisions you walking down the aisle, your dress flowing around you like a dream, your hand resting protectively over a small bump. His second child. Another piece of him that will forever bind you to him. The thought sends a thrill through him, and he can’t wait to set the next part of his plan in motion.

But for now, he’s content to hold you close, to bask in the glow of your acceptance, your trust, your love. Because soon, you’ll be his in every way that matters, and nothing will ever come between you again.

As you settle back into the couch, your head resting on his shoulder, Oscar’s mind races with possibilities, with the steps he’ll take to ensure that this future — his future with you — will be everything he’s ever dreamed of. He places a hand over your stomach, just imagining the bump that will soo. grow there again, and a smile tugs at the corners of his lips.

He can almost see it now — the two of you, standing at the altar, and when you look at him, you’ll have that same loving expression you’re wearing right now. But there will be more — something deeper, something that binds you together in a way that no one can break.

And when you say “I do,” Oscar knows that it will be forever.

Because he’s planned it that way.

And Oscar always gets what he wants.

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 2 months ago

Text

REDAMANCY. 18+

pairing. logan howlett x fem!reader word count. 3915 summary. you often worry you can never keep up with your husband's continuous acts of love and care, your attempts always seeming to come up short. logan catches on and shows you that there’s nothing for you to prove. warnings. 18+ only!! reader has a moment of inadequacy at the beginning, logan being attentive<3 quick description of thigh riding but it's not proper, titty kissing, fingering, cum eating? (licks his fingers) pinv sex. angst start, fluff middle, smut ending. mdni a/n. #needthat

Feelings of inadequacy seem to follow you like a stray dog. The constant, repetitive thought that what you do or say or think or feel may never be enough. But it was silly really, to be afraid of the contents of your own mind, especially when you had no reason to feel that way.

You thought these feelings were controlled, contained even. But as you anxiously twist your wedding ring upon your left finger, you can’t help but slip into that prior mindset you believed to be packed away. You beside the stove, mindlessly watching the simmering pot of tonight's dinner, staring at the vegetables bubble around in the sauce.

It was Logan’s favourite, and it was a token of your appreciation for yet another grand gesture of his love towards you – the thanks a slither of what he does for you on the daily. But as you watch over the chicken pie filling in the saucepan, you can’t help but notice something missing, something that’s supposed to be there but isn’t.

And when you blink from your fixed, hazed stare, you see exactly what you need on the countertop. The chopped up pieces of bacon on the board —his favourite part— sitting there like it’s mocking you, telling you that you’re terrible for forgetting it. And it’s not like you can add it now, it would be horrible and ruin it completely.

All you can do now is move on, move past it. Though now it feels like you can do anything but. The bacon a reminder of your apparent failures, inadequacies. It was silly to be caught up on missing meat, but it wasn’t just about that – it was like it was even more proof that you were out of your depth with Logan. That forgetting the bacon somehow made you a horrible, horrible person.

You stare at the board for a moment, trying so desperately hard not to let it get to you and then you see Logan walk past the window – a couple fresh chopped logs of wood under one arm, an axe and a bunch of wildflowers in the hand of his other. And somehow the sight made you feel nothing short of awful. His thought and care once again overshadowing your attempts.

You quickly wipe under your eyes, an act of precaution to make sure nothing had seeped from you while you beat yourself up over something so tiny. You follow the sound of the front door opening, the scuffling of his boots following shortly after as he places down the pieces of timber.

“Smells fuckin’ good,” he compliments, the warm, homely smell hitting at his nose immediately.

He walks over to you, right, flower-held hand tucked from your view as he moves to stand behind, free arm reaching for your waist the second he’s close enough.

“I got’ya somethin’,” he whispers behind you, punctuating his sentence with a kiss under your ear – his neck peering round and over your shoulder.

You turn into him, your back against the edge of the counter to see what you already knew to be in his hand. He pulls the flowers from behind his back, the stems cut neatly with the help of his adamantium tools. They’re beautiful, all hand picked from the surrounding forest around the cabin.

He guides them to your hand, noticing your unusual hesitation as you stare at the bouquet. He, too, pauses, looking over your face to understand your silence. Did you hate them? You never usually hate them.

“Do you…” he hesitates, trying to find the words. “Hate them?”

“No,” you say, word soft as you shake your head, the motion just as gentle as your voice.

Logan cocks his head slightly, angling to meet your eyes but you only divert them again, turning away from his gaze as you reach for the bunch of flowers. Only now they’re out of your grasp, his hand to his chest.

“You okay?” he asks, the withdrawal of the gift an attempt to make you meet his eyes.

“Yeah,” you lie with a nod, a small, faint, smile accompanying the fib.

“You’re not lying to me, are you?”

You look over him quickly, expression bashful as you shrug. He hates when you lie to him, especially about these things. It was only a white lie really, just a small, teeny tiny mistruth to spare yourself from embarrassment. But your silence doesn’t last long.

“I messed up dinner,” you admit, the confession pried from you by his prolonged, patient silence. Your words are quiet as you avoid his eyes, instead staring down to his chest.

He glances past you and into the saucepan, seeing no such fault. He faintly shakes his head, features quizzical as he tries to understand.

“It looks good to me,” he says, with a slight, but genuine shrug – unable to see what you see.

You close your eyes with a sigh, the noise light and airy as your head drops, gaze lowering.

“I forgot the bacon.”

His head cocks once again, the motion like he’s growing more and more confused.

“Yeah?” he prompts, trying to get you to say more.

But that’s all there is to say, you forgot the bacon – that’s it. It wasn’t like it was a pause or the beginning of some speech.

“It’s your favourite part,” you reply, defeat evident in your voice.

“Uh-uh?” he guides you through your confession, still unsure of what the issue is. He knew there was more, he just had to ease it out of you.

“It’s your favourite part,” you repeat, momentarily glancing up to meet his eyes. “It’s not your favourite meal if I forget your favourite part,” you cut yourself short as your voice begins to waver, a bubble forming in your the back of your throat.

He holds onto your short eye contact, following your gaze when your head goes to turn. “Come on now, talk to me,” he offers his comfort, speaking like it was a plea.

“I feel like I can never keep up.”

“Keep up with what?” he questions, desperate to keep you talking.

“With you,” you pause and place your hand over your opposite upper arm, the act a brief moment of self soothing. You exhale softly before continuing. “You do all these nice things for me— see? Look,” you point to the flowers in his hand. “Right there. You thought of me and you got them and they’re beautiful. Why can’t I do that?”

Logan opens his mouth to speak, though you’re keen to continue. The bandaid free and invoking all your feelings to come out at once.

“I make you desserts, I make a mess. I buy you something, I buy the wrong thing. I make your favourite dinner, I ruin your favourite dinner,” you pause, your vision growing blurry. “Sometimes,” you pause once more, wiping your eyes. “Sometimes I don’t know if you know how much I love you. Like, I can never seem to prove it and I don’t—” you cut yourself off, stopping yourself from what you were about to say. You didn’t want to make a further mess of things.

“You don’t, what?” he asks, his attention undivided as he listens to you. “You don’t, what?” he repeats, eyes boring into yours as he urges a response from you.

“Want you to feel like you made a mistake,” you confess, voice quiet like you were ashamed for thinking such thing.

“Do you think I made a mistake?” he questions, flipping your moment of insecurity back on you. Though his words hold no malice, no intention of hurt – just simply speaking like he was trying to figure you out.

Your silence speaks louder than any words could. Your eyes quickly flickering over his face like you were anticipating what he may say in response. It could go one of two ways: irritated and angry or soft and hurt.

“I haven’t,” he says, voice as firm as his eyes. “I know I haven’t,” he repeats, trying to engrain it into you.

All you can offer Logan is a faint, flattered smile, fragments of disbelief just as evident within you as before. One thing about your husband you knew to be forever true, is his earnest nature. So you knew he wasn’t telling you what you wanted to hear only to spare himself.

Logan places the flowers on the counter to the right of you, laying the bunch neatly at your side. He keeps his attention on you, eyes fixed on yours as if he’s trying to prove his sincerity – his honesty.

His head drops slightly as he rests his lips against your forehead. “Do you believe me?” he asks gently against your skin, punctuating his question with a kiss to where he just spoke.

You wrap your arms around him as you tuck your face into his neck, hands connecting in the middle of his back. “Yeah,” you reply, word muffling into him.

It was a lie, a partial lie at that. You knew in your heart —deep, deep in there— that it was true, and that you believed it, but right now? You just couldn’t get it into your head. So you lied, not wanting to run around in circles with repetitive asks all evening.

But this is Logan, he knows your tells and when you’re lying. But he doesn’t poke any further, instead pressing another kiss to your forehead before pulling away, clearing his throat briefly.

“Why don’t you go lay in the tub,” he starts, usual gruff voice now soft, speaking like he’s trying to soothe you. “I’ll finish that off,” he gestures with his eyes, nodding to the stove top on the other side of you.

You turn to look at the ‘mess’ beside you and nod, accepting his help with no more deflecting or avoiding. And as you step aside, you stroke over his back where your hands laid just moments before, the act another one of your silent thanks.

His left, ringed hand brushes your left, ringed hand as you move from your placement in front of him, your fingers loosely entwining for a short, brief second before passing.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Standing in front of the dresser in your shared bedroom, you change from your towel and into something a little more comfortable – opting for a robe and slippers. You give yourself a quick glance over as you pass the mirror on your way out the room, though you don’t take too much notice, instead flicking off the light switch as you set off to the living room.

The bath helped. It helped massively, actually.

Your slippers scuffle along the hallway of your cabin, the floorboards worn and creaky by it’s old age. Lingering in the doorframe, you look over at Logan on the sofa, elbows resting on his knees as he stares at the lit fireplace ahead – looking as though he’s lost in thought.

“Hi,” you start, capturing his attention.

His eyes flick up to you, a faint —his usual— smile welcoming you back. He clears his throat like he’s going to speak but instead he taps the empty seat on the couch beside him.

You look around the open space before your eyes land on the orange, warm light shining out of the oven and onto the tiles. The pie you started to make now sitting on the centre shelf. The rest of your messes cleaned and tucked away, all evidence hidden. And there he sits, asking for no recognition – no praise or approval for cleaning up after you. He’s just there, patiently awaiting you.

“How long’s it been in?” you ask, gesturing to the oven. “The pie,” you add, turning to look at him with a smile.

“Three minutes,” he reciprocates your warmth as he nods you over to him.

“Did you let the pastry warm up?”

He nods.

“And the—”

“Taken care of,” he interrupts, slipping his hand into yours. He guides you to stand between his legs, eyes honed in on you above. Like he’s anticipating you, he answers the question you’re about to ask – once again proving just how well he knows you.

“Cooked it in ‘nother pan then added it on top,” he replies, speaking casually.

You stifle a laugh as you shake your head – it was really a simple fix.

With his gaze still focused on you, he begins playing with your left hand, his thumb mindlessly grazing your ring – the fiddling an absentminded act. As if he’s reminding him and yourself of your marital bond.

“Thank you.”

He hums, the sound far more gentle than his typical rough ones. It’s like he’s acknowledging your appreciation without taking the credit for it.

You extend your free hand, reaching for the side of his face, touch light as you brush over his cheek. Your thumb traces under his eye, soothing over the tired skin as you take a step closer – silently instructing him to lean against the back.

Logan does as wordlessly asked, his hips rolling underneath himself as he repositions, sitting in a manspread for you. He follows your movements as you sit on his lap, straddling one of his beefy thighs, your arms briefly hooking around his neck as you do so. He looks up at you from your very, very slight height advantage, eyes keen as he gazes into yours – staring like he’s trying to read you. You seem far lighter, far happier than the last time he saw you.

One hand rests on his cheek, the other grazing through the shorts of his dark hair – your hold gentle and dear as you press a string of soft, slow kisses across the stubble of his beard. One by one you get closer to his mouth, reaching his lips by the fourth.

His hands move up you from behind, skimming across the cheeks of your ass until they’re resting on your hips, the presence of his hold noticeable through the robes' thin fabric. He begins a pawing – irregular, needy squeezes into you like he’s silently communicating his thoughts and wants, scoping out whether you feel the same.

“How much time is left on the pie?” you quietly ask, speaking against his lips. Your question also an attempt to scope him out.

His grasp around you tightens, the slight force of his hold making your grind against his thigh. “Enough,” he prompts, murmuring into your mouth – lips not yet daring to connect.

He grinds you over your thigh, the motion slow and leisured as he holds you over him, working you up little by little. Gentle exasperated breaths from you caught between your closeness.

Upon hearing those sounds he loves ever so much, he pulls you into him, wrapping you into a brief, momentary hug before turning and laying you on the empty space of sofa beside him. He adjusts, situating above you but to your side, weight anchored beside you.

You look up at him sweetly, eyes flickering over his face in the same way he does you – specks of admiration and lust forming within each of your glances. You adjust under him, the act like you were trying to redirect him, guide him to above rather than to your side. Wanting to feel him graze up against you.

Logan brings his free hand to the side of your face, touch heavy and desperate as he thumbs over your cheek, holding you there as he presses a couple lengthy kisses to your lips – the contact anything but brisk. And with that hand around the swell of your cheek, he’s grazing it down your neck, trailing towards your chest.

He parts the loose, flimsy material of the robe, parting the fabric so he can slip a hand inside. Cupping one of your bare tits, he pulls it out from underneath – the full weight of your breast held within his warm, large hand. All of it on display for him to marvel at from above.

Angling his neck, he reaches for your tit, tongue swiping over the nipple just moments before his lips encompass it. The warmth of his mouth making your stomach tingle and fingers tighten in his hair, a jolt-like roll of your hips accompanying your desperate micro actions.

He holds himself there for a prolonged moment, keeping his lips to your nipple as his fingers begin a very slight pawing around the lower swell of it. The motion like he’s rolling you within his hold. A streak of residual wet being left behind as he pulls his head up from your chest.

You look down to him between your tits, his face just mere inches from yours. One of your breasts still within Logan’s manly hold, the pad of his thumb rubbing over your priorly sucked nipple — the act a soothing caress.

“Where’d you want me?” he asks, voice quiet between your close distance. “What’d you want?” he adds, just as softly as before, speaking like his one goal is to provide service. Service to you.

You make a faint, disgruntled whine upon his questioning, your mind whizzing with thoughts of him, ideas of him. The feel of his cock growing hard against your thigh only making your head race faster.

He shifts above you, lips reaching for yours as his hand around your tit travels down and between your thighs. The warmth of his touch is nothing like your warmth. He slips behind the opening of your robe, his fingers itching to your bare cunt ever so slowly, moving like he’s trying to help you decide. Though he’s doing the complete opposite — making it all the more challenging to answer with your mind whirring like it is.

He lines the crease of your cunt with the pad of his finger, brushing up and down with the lightest, faintest of touch — his lips resting against yours so he can swallow your jittery breaths. The strokes from him are almost mindless, brushing over you like he’s unaware of the effects he has on you. Still has on you after all this time.

“This?” he whispers against your mouth while his finger trails up the slit of your pussy, grazing over your folds.

You nod against him in response, the motion gentle and careful.

Logan teases over your cunt’s lips, collecting the slight build up of slick to smear and trace over you — spreading your arousal with his light touch. Working you up the and more. He pulls away to look over you, wanting to watch your face.

And when your eyes find his, that’s when he slips his middle finger into you. Holding onto your gaze as he presses inside with the utmost of ease.

It was what you needed, not what you wanted. And he could tell — the knitting of your brows and slightly unsatisfied crumple of your nose telling him before you even got a chance. And as you open your mouth to speak, mere milliseconds away from asking him to add another, he’s already lining his ring finger up with you, slipping it inside to accompany his middle.

The steady rocking of him further blurs any sense of coherency in your mind, the slow massage-like fucking of his fingers against your g-spot loosening you up nicely for him.

Your hand in his hair moves to the side of his face, grip desperate as you hold him there, muffling incoherent words of thanks — each murmur being overshadowed by those blissed noises he can never seem to get enough of. And while you keep his face to yours, your other hand is reaching for his arm between your thighs, fingers struggling to enwrap the meat of his upper wrist.

The pumping of his fingers into you is steady, each graze of him from the inside coming from a place of leisure, like the concept of haste is the furthest thing in his mind.

Though, he’s only human and there’s only so much he can take. Especially when you’re squirming under him like you are. The clicking of his fingers in your pussy only making it harder on him.

So, he slowly retracts from the wet warmth of your cunt, strings of your cum remaining connected to him, until they don’t. And as he pulls himself away from you, he licks over his knuckles, lapping over the milky white band you left around him.

Logan sits on his heels between your thighs as he unbuckles his jeans, his dry hand tasked with the job of unbuttoning. He gives the band a hasty tug down, the act nothing short of pure desperation.

He digs down the front to grab a hold on himself, grasp tight around his dick as he pulls it out over the top of his jeans. Cock hard and heavy within his hold. And as he gives himself a few preparatory strokes as he leans back over you in his prior hovered position — weight anchored on his free arm beside your head.

Guiding his cock to you between the opening of your robe, he pushes his head through your lips, collecting your arousal like it’s his personal, endless supply of lube. And only when he deems himself ready, he’s lining up with you, the tip of his dick pressing up against you for a brief moment before he’s easing in. Slowly but surely feeding himself into your cunt.

Upon the entry of his thick, heavy cock, your hands fly up to his face, holding either cheek to keep him close, lips skimming like they did just minutes before. Breath being caught in your throat, the air almost trapped as you feel him sink further and further inside, filling you entirely with himself.

He stills, keeping the whole, full length of his cock plugged inside, the motion of his hips non-existent as he gives you a quick second to get reacquainted with his size. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead against yours while he catches his own breath, the suction-like feel from your cunt having the same effect on him as he does you.

You squirm underneath him and your knees cling to his sides, keeping him glued to you.

“Move,” you whisper, the word like that of pure need. “Come on.”

His lips straighten against yours, a subtle smile forming. “Thought’ya liked the buildup,” he speaks quietly.

The hand that was around his dick, feeding into you, now rests on your face — carefully manhandling you and keeping you put. Logan nips at your lips quickly, pressing a chaste kiss to them as he rolls his hips into you, bumping his cock up.

“That’s what you wanted?” he teases, pressing a kiss just under your chin, making you tilt your head back. Hand moving with the motion of him, palm grazing to rest at the base of your throat. “It is, ain’t it?” he continues with his teasing, muttering between kisses along your jaw. “Hm?”

You hum, the noise sounding like a whine amongst your other blissed sounds. The concept of formulating coherent speech seeming to be far too difficult with the way he feels inside of you. All you can do is squeeze your eyes closed and nod, unable to do anything more than that – just lay beneath him, taking his tender, loving fucking.

Logan’s one true goal: to replace all prior feelings of pain with pleasure, wanting to make you forget about your upset from before. And with the way his dick is winding into you, he’s getting closer to that goal.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

including the moodboard bc she’s cute

#logan howlett #logan howlett smut #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x fem!reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett xmen #logan howlett fanfiction #logan x reader #logan smut #logan xmen #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett angst #logan howlett comfort

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 3 months ago

Text

the butchery of the beloved, the boulder, the bimbo and the brilliant

kinktober, day twenty-five

a/n: ahhh, it's finally time to share the kinktober fic you all helped shape!! it turned out so fucking unhinged and i love it. happy halloween, folks!

polls for this fic: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

summary: “they–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

warnings: dark!rafe cameron x innocent!reader, smut, dark content, noncon/dubcon, slasher au, final girl!reader, 00’s slutty horror movie vibes, found family, nonverbal, murder, violence, blood, gore, crying, alcohol consumption, smoking, possessiveness, jealousy, mask kink, kissing, size kink, belly bulge, manhandling, dirty talk, just the tip, pussyjob, oral, spit kink, impact play, pain kink, choking, bondage, dacryphilia, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, references to anal/painal

word count: 7400

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2024

It all started at a lunch table, as so many friendships do.

The first one to sit was Hana, the nurturing soul of the group who had been a genius even back then. The next to join was Brian, the blonde bombshell whose smile brightened any room he entered. Then came Oliver, the guy who at twelve years old had stood up to the bully you couldn’t face yourself and swore from that day on he’d do so for each and every one of you till the end of your days. And lastly, there was you, in many ways the glue of the little pack.

To say that the four of you were thick as thieves didn’t even begin to cover it, as you’d been there for each other in every up and down in each of your lives since adolescence. Even when your mother passed, especially when your mom passed, that’s when you truly knew that they weren’t just your pals, but your family.

“Oh wow,” you breathed as you gazed out the window to the destination you’d finally reached, “is this really your dad’s cabin?” you glanced over your shoulder at the man behind the wheel, a proud smirk ever on his lips.

“Yep,” Rafe nodded and reached down to put the car in park.

You’d met him at the beginning of this semester and it hadn’t taken you very long at all to fall embarrassingly and completely head over heels for the guy.

Though he wasn’t the first boyfriend to grow to be a part of the tight-knit clique, he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms as you remembered Jerome, Brian’s partner, had two years ago. The gentle giant of few words had melted into your dynamic so naturally that none of you remembered any longer a time before him. But it wasn’t like that this time, not with Rafe. For some reason, your friends just couldn’t warm up to the frat guy you loved so dearly.

As you heard the other car roll to a stop behind you, the vehicle where the four remaining resisted, your fingers dipped down into your pocket and fished out your phone to snap a photo of the luxurious lake house and its breathtaking views, though that’s when you noticed the lack of bars up in the upper corner of the screen.

“Oh, damn it…” you squinted down at your phone, “is there seriously no service out here?”

“Yeah, sorry I forgot to tell you,” Rafe snatched out the keys, “this place is pretty off-grid, you have to probably walk half an hour or something to get any signal.”

The dry leaves on the forest floor crunched beneath your shoes as you stepped out of the car and tipped your head back to glance up at how high the surrounding pine trees stretched up towards the cloudy sky.

As Rafe hopped up onto the wide porch and fiddled with a bundle of keys to unlock the place, your gaze kept finding him as you hung back a while and helped your friends unload their car.

“Can you all please promise to play nice this weekend?” you quietly asked them.

“Yeah,” Oliver huffed, yanking out a heavy duffle bag, “I’ll play nice if he does, which I sincerely doubt since I haven’t yet discovered one kind bone in his body.”

“Oh, come on,” you defended your beau, “he’s the one who suggested this trip so that you could all finally discover what a sweet guy he actually is,” before you all ascended the short steps and filtered into the abode.

Not soon after you all crossed the threshold, Rafe’s arms seized your waist and drew you back against him, whispering in your ear that he wanted to give you the grand tour of the house.

However, when you reached the room that was to belong to the two of you for the rest of the weekend, his ulterior motives for the journey around the cabin became crystal clear.

At first, when he wrapped his arms around you from behind as you gazed out the tall windows at the foot of the bed, a giggle bubbled in your belly as you felt his desire poke the small of your back. Though it was already during his palm’s swift voyage under the hem of your shirt and up towards your boobs that he let slip what crucial item he’d neglected to pack.

“You didn’t bring any condoms?” you twisted around to glare at the persistence that still sparkled in his eyes.

“Oh, come on, don’t let that fact spoil our fun,” he pulled you back into his arms, “don’t you want me to dick you down this weekend, huh?” he murmured in your ear.

“Well, I don’t wanna get pregnant,” you slowly pushed him back, “so it’ll just have to be another weekend.”

But then he seized your hand and brought it down to the palpable tent in his jeans, “babe, come on. Just feel how hard I am. You can’t just leave me like this, not when it’s your fault to begin with.”

Your mouth then fell open as a shy scoff rolled off your tongue, “I literally haven’t done a thing, how is it my fault?”

“Come on, don’t act like a prude,” his grip around your wrist shifted and it slid down to rub your palm against his hardness, “be a good girl and at the very least get down on your knees.”

“No,” you chuckled lightly and pushed yourself off of him enough to stumble closer towards the bedroom’s exit, “if you’re so desperate, then take care of it yourself.”

Even though winter was creeping ever nearer, each one of you still dared to go down to the lake’s small pier and soak up the mild rays of autumn sun that peeked out behind the clouds. Both Hana and Oliver even gathered enough courage to take a dip in the cool water, though weren’t successful in any of their attempts at talking the rest of you into the same.

Though when your friends in the water began to splash at one another, Oliver teasingly let some splatter upon Brian as he sat on the edge, eyes closed and face turned up towards the sky as he relaxed back against his boyfriend.

“Oh my god! Don’t!” he tensely straightened up, his tone startling Jerome enough that his palm that rested on Brian’s waist tightened, “stop! You’re giving me flashbacks to summer camp!”

As you heard your grinning friend in the lake apologise, you opened your mouth to note, “that’s right, I forgot you went to camp when we were kids.”

“Yeah, it was honestly revolting,” Brian recoiled slightly at the recollection, “mosquitoes, terrible food, even worse people. Had a big old lake just like this one,” he gestured to the surrounding landscape.

“Actually,” Rafe then spoke up, his voice booming to your ears as he sat directly behind you, his legs slotted on either side of your frame as his chin rested atop your shoulder, “this place used to be a summer camp too back when my dad bought it.”

“Really?” Hana glanced up from the water, their childish game now halted.

“Yeah, I mean,” Rafe cast a glance over his shoulder at the structures on the bank just behind him, “it had been abandoned and completely deserted for a long time, but a lot of the buildings, the main house and the shed and stuff, they’re the original cabins just renovated.”

“Your dad bought an abandoned camp?” Oliver scrunched up his face, “okay, creepy…”

“Oh, hell no, I’m out,” Brain began to unravel, “babe, if we wake up in the middle of the night to a ghost child standing at the foot of our bed, it’s your job to take care of it,” he glanced over his shoulder at Jerome, “I’m too delicate and pretty to deal with the paranormal, especially if it’s kids,” to which his boyfriend simply hummed in agreement and soothingly let his palm run down his partner’s arm.

“Oh, this place isn’t haunted,” Hana said after she’d swam up to clutch against the side of the pier, “calm down.”

“Well, you don’t know that, it might be,” the blonde man behind you shrugged, “especially with what apparently happened here back in the day…”

“What are you talking about?” you looked back at him.

“Well, back like forty years ago or something, when this was still a camp, there was this one counsellor who one day just went nuts, like snapped and murdered every single person there,” Rafe told, purposely making his tone more ominous the further into the story he got, “that’s why the place was shut down and abandoned, why no one ever wanted to return it to its former glory. It’s one of the most gruesome unsolved cases in this entire corner of the country.”

“Wait, unsolved?” Brian clutched his imaginary pearls.

“Yeah, the guy was never caught, supposably never even left these woods…” he then leaned in and attempted to truly spook you all, “at night if you listen closely, you can still hear him sharpening his blade, getting ready to hunt his next prey…”

Hana, assuming that he was only joking, let out a dry laugh to cut the tense silence that had fallen over you all, “okay, very funny, ha-ha.”

“Yeah,” you gently rubbed your boyfriend’s arm as you tried to shake the tale off of you, “let’s maybe not joke about psychopaths running around a rural area when we actually are in a rural area,” though goosebumps still pricked and tingled every inch of your skin.

“Wait, how did it go?” your giggle mingled with Oliver’s as you both leaned against the kitchen counter, nearly bumping your foreheads together from how hard you were laughing, “was it…” and you began to hum a faint melody.

“No because, remember, at the end it went,” your friend cut you off and then made his own attempt, though much more accurate than your own, causing your eyes to promptly light up with recognition before they crinkled together in laughter as he tried to hit the high note at the end.

Once the woods surrounding the cabin had succumbed to darkness, the group of you all decided to wrap the day up in a bit of merriment, going through Rafe’s father’s liquor stash and turning up the music.

During your and Oliver’s secluded moment in the kitchen away from the rest, your laughter caused you to sway even closer to one another, your palm naturally planting itself on his chest as your faces nearly touched.

Though just as the pair of you were doubled over, a figure appeared in the doorway.

“Oh,” your grin continued as you spotted your boyfriend, “hey baby,” though your laughter finally began to fade.

Staring daggers at the man beside you, Rafe then uttered coldly, “hey,” before his feet carried him straight towards you, seized your waist and twisted you away from your friend and towards himself to capture your lips.

“Okay, right,” Oliver exhaled as Rafe kept marking his territory, kissing you way more passionately than he needed to, “I’ll just see you guys back in the living room then…”

You tried to tilt away enough to utter your friend a reply, though your boyfriend didn’t allow you, only let you go once Oliver was long gone and Rafe returned to his original plan of cracking open the fridge to get a cold beer for himself.

Walking back out into the living room while your boyfriend scavenged for a bottle opener, you plopped yourself back down on the couch, on the opposite side to where Brian and Jerome were snuggled up. Next to where the lit fireplace crackled sat Oliver in a chair and not far from his feet on the fuzzy carpet rested Hana, legs crisscrossed as she held up her wine glass to stare through it.

When Rafe rejoined you all, a freshly glowing cigarette trapped between his lips as he sauntered out of the kitchen, he situated himself right beside you, making space for himself where there hadn’t really been previously. In his hand, he didn’t just balance his own drink, but also a stout glass filled with an amber liquid, one he swiftly handed off to you even though you hadn’t asked for it, yet that had still been the routine of the evening, and after the first one was sloshing on your belly, the others became harder to deny and not accidentally sip absentmindedly, especially when he’d playfully help you along by tilting the glass the remaining distance up towards your lips.

“Sweetie,” Hana soon leaned closer to utter for your ears only, “don’t you want a glass of water instead?”

Though your boyfriend beside you unfortunately overheard and grasped his cigarette between two of his longer fingers, a puff of smoke accompanying his words as he answered before you got the chance to, “she’s fine.”

From across the couch, as Hana scooted back to her spot on the carpet, having not caught the quiet interaction, Brian then suggested, “why don’t we play a game or something?”

“What, like truth or dare?” Hana leaned back against an unoccupied armchair.

“No, this isn’t a slumber party. Isn’t there like board games here?”

Brian’s glance then drifted to Rafe as he smothered his cigarette in the nearby ashtray and, without warning, pulled you into his lap and caught Oliver’s eye from across the room as he shamelessly let his hands wander across your frame.

“Uh, yeah. There should be some in the cabinet over there,” Rafe vaguely gestured before his lips began to nip at the side of your neck, making your eyes flutter and only half watched along as Brian then got up to skim through the aforementioned cupboard.

“Okay,” he glanced through the options, “there are cards, so we could play poker or something,”

“No way,” Oliver swiftly shook his head and shot a glance at Jerome’s bulky form, comfortably slumped on the couch, “I’m not repeating that fiasco again.”

“Aw,” Brian glanced back at his friend, “but it was so cute seeing my boyfriend fucking demolish you,” and Jerome, the quiet man he was, just let out a grunt in agreement.

“No, pick something else,” Oliver waved a hand.

“Well, we’ve got monopoly, scrabble, cards against humanity–, uh! There’s clue!” he excitedly picked up the box and spun around, “oh, work! Let’s play that!”

With his kisses still dancing along your skin, they then suddenly ceased as Rafe announced, “you guys go ahead, I think Y/n is ready for bed.”

Shooting a concerned glance at how your intoxicated form wobbled slightly as your boyfriend helped you up on your feet, Hana uttered, “oh, are you sure?”

“She is,” Rafe’s touch clung to you, “aren’t you babe?”

“Oh, uhm…” you hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that he mentioned it, as if he himself planted the thought in your hazy mind, all of the alcohol had in fact made you pretty sleepy, “yeah, I guess so.”

“Alright, well then,” Hana’s voice stayed slightly hesitant, “sleep tight.”

“I love you guys,” you blew the group kisses as Rafe helped you over towards the stairs.

His kisses made you even more dizzy than you already were, so when you stumbled over the threshold into your shared room, you flopped down onto the mattress, though you weren’t quite sure if you’d just fallen or if Rafe had manhandled your intoxicated and pliant frame, giving you a push before his form was atop of yours.

Though now that you were horizontal and with the weight of a frat boy squishing you further down into the bed, that was when you truly noticed just how much you’d had to drink that evening.

The room was spinning as Rafe made out with you, his palms raking across your body like a wild storm, squeezing every soft curve he could get his hands on. As one hand disappeared up your skirt, his kisses wandered down and over your throat to the bit of your chest that was exposed in the neckline of your top. Wasting no time at all, he then yanked down the hem, catching one of the cups of your bra as well as he unwrapped your tit like a present.

As his face was buried in your boobs, surely giving you hickeys from the way that he sucked at your pebbly nipple and the surrounding sensitive skin, a breathless attempt at halting his affections left your lungs, “baby–”

Though he didn’t take the whimper as you’d intended it and simply continued, “shit, you’re so fucking hot,” he yanked down the other sliver of mesh fabric covering your other boob, “god, these tits are just insane.”

Weakly, you ran your fingers through his buzzed hair and gasped as you felt his hardness grind into your covered core, “Rafe, I–”

“Yeah?” his lips began to flutter back up to your own as he let himself rock against you with more intent, “you want this big dick, huh?”

“No, we can’t, we don’t have a–”

“Oh come on, baby,” he shifted, slipping a hand down under the waistband of your skirt and into your underwear, not hesitating to sweep his fingers through your wetness and bully your little button, “I know you want to…”

“Stop, that feels too good,” you tried, but couldn’t yank his strong hand away, “you can’t–, I have to get up and brush my teeth.”

“You know, all my exes let me tap it raw,” he purred in your ear and attempted to guilt you, “why won’t you? Don’t you trust me?” his touch then suddenly disappeared, but only to tug down the zipper on the side of your short skirt.

“Of course I do, I just–”

“Then why won’t you let me make you feel good, huh?” he yanked both your skirt and panties down your legs, so fast it nearly gave you whiplash. Crawling off of your jelly-like form, he stood tall and loomed at the foot of the bed. Wasting no time, he yanked your core closer to the edge before he desperately freed his fat cock. The taps he then offered your glistening cunt, letting you reel in the weight of his length, “doesn’t that feel nice, baby?” he smirked at the way your mouth fell open, “because it sure seems like your little pussy thinks so, just look,” you followed his command and glanced down to spot how his intimidating girth nudged at your weepy petals.

Even after months of dating, you still hadn’t gotten used to the daunting size of him.

“Oh, fuck…” your brows knitted together.

“Just listen to that,” he flicked the bulbous tip through your slick folds with more vigour, causing the melody of your want to echo even louder throughout the bedroom, “you’re so fucking wet. You want it so bad…”

You then felt yourself fade away into the intoxicating sensation, letting him continue to fuck your fold and make your pussy drool even further till your eyes fluttered shut.

However, it didn’t take very long at all, through all of the hazy motions, before the very tip of him caught your entrance and slipped inside.

“Rafe!” you gasped, eyes snapping back open as your spine lurched off the mattress just an inch.

“Fuck,” he let out a loud groan, “sorry, babe. You’re just too soaked, it slipped in,” though didn’t move at all to pull it back out, since it had secretly been completely on purpose, “christ, you’re so tight…”

As he slipped his shirt over his head and tossed it to the side, you pleaded once more, “Rafe…” quietly begging for him to take it out through the conflicting haze as the familiar sensation of him stuffing you full always shut your brain completely off.

“This doesn’t count,” he claimed as he began to move, pumping just the bulbous head of himself in and out of your little hole, “not really. I can fuck you with just the tip, right?” a few of his fingers then lowered to strum your clit and summon a loud moan from deep within your soul, “yeah, that’s what I thought…”

As he removed his fingers from your clit, he then stuffed them in your mouth, muffling your soft whimpers and letting you suck them clean of your juices. As the taste of yourself coated your tongue, your own hands came up to clutch his, holding it near as you soon let your pecks wander across his palm and even down to plant a soft kiss to the gold ring that never left his finger.

“Oh–,” a gasp then left your lungs as he suddenly pushed in a bit more of his length, “Rafe, that’s too deep,” selfishly letting himself feel more of your warmth.

“No, that’s not too deep,” he began to fuck you properly, making you lose your breath, “you wanna know what is too deep?” a purposefully harsh thrust then buried itself so far inside of you that a tingle of pain joined the pleasure, “that’s too deep,” he then retracted just a tad, though still filled you up completely with each long stroke, “this is just right.”

“We can’t–,” you foggily tried to shake your head.

“Yes, we can. Just look how good you’re taking me, baby,” the palm you’d been clutching then escaped your grasp and scooped behind your head to tilt your neck and lock it there, directing your glance down between your bodies and forcing you to spot the faint bulge that appeared at each one of his mind-melting thrusts, “you don’t wanna stop…”

Feeling that all too familiar high begin to fuzz up your periphery, you trembled, “o-oh, fuck…”

“You feel so fucking good…” he grunted as your pussy began to clench around his fat girth, “just let me use you for a bit, yeah?”

“I–, I–,” gasps of air expanded your lungs as his pace then thrust you over the edge, “holy shit…” and your cunt helplessly clambered around him.

In your orgasmic haze, Rafe then abruptly flipped you around for you to lay on your stomach, and you barely managed to process it before you felt the weight of him settle atop of you, smooshing you down into the mattress as he slid back in.

“Ah!” you yelped at the way he didn’t hold back, “Rafe, it’s too much,” not even bothering to grant you a chance to recover, but simply fucked through your soreness, “I can’t–”

“Oh, shut up, you can take it,” he growled in your ear, his feet hooking your ankles and spreading your shaky legs further for him, “take it like the good little slut you are.”

It was strange how he’d taught your body to love the pain he inflicted. Even if the source was just his god-given gift of a girth, or curse, all depending on your point of view, and not the roughness he occasionally let slip out of the dark depths he tried to hide his jagged sides in for you and you alone.

“Fuck,” you soon heard him groan as his heavy sack slapped against your cunt at each one of his furious rocks, “I’m gonna cum!”

“Pull out–,” you managed to mumble into the sheets.

“What?” he kept on pounding your poor pussy.

“Not inside,” you tilted your head a bit to beg, “please!”

“Oh my god, fine,” he then begrudgingly pulled out and with one hand flipped you back onto your stomach as the other wrapped around his cock and he began to fuck his fist. Pushing himself up onto his knees, he crawled further up your body till his thighs caged you in, denting the mattress on either side of your face. He didn’t even wait for your lips to part before he shoved his dick down your throat, making you gag as he groaned loudly above you, “fuck…” and fed you his load.

When he soon flopped down on the bed beside you, the both of you catching your breaths, you instinctively gulped down what he’d given you before you curled your frame into his side.

As he wrapped an arm beneath your head, his glance then flickered down to you as he caught your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting you up to him before he asked, “did you swallow it?” digging his digit slightly into your skin and making you open your mouth for him, letting him discover the answer him himself, “fuck… that’s my girl…” he groaned before dipping down to kiss you.

The peck however didn’t carry on for long as his warmth then suddenly disappeared.

“Where are you going?” you watched as he got up, reaching out your arms to him in a silent plea for cuddles.

“I’m thirsty,” he zipped his pants back up, though didn’t bother with his shirt, “you just try and fall asleep, I’ll be right back.”

Flashing him a drowsy smile, “okay,” you then tug the duvet over your form and let your gaze shadow him as he made his way out of the room.

You thought you hadn’t managed to fall asleep, but evidently, you had as when the door to the room suddenly burst open, you were jolted awake, Rafe as well stirring as he was now settled behind you with an arm draped over your frame.

As three of your friends rushed to slam the door behind them, Rafe propped himself up and mumbled, “hey, what the fuck–”

But Hana then cut him off, a downright terrified look plastered not only all over her own face, but the rest as well.

“Oliver’s dead,” she uttered through the tears that thickened up her voice.

Still groggy, you slowly sat up and murmured, “what?”

Snapping her bloodshot eyes to lock with yours, she bellowed, “Oliver is fucking dead!”

As your gaze flickered over the group in search of any sign that what she claimed wasn’t true, you heard Rafe behind you exhale, “okay, this isn’t funny.”

“Oh shut up, you dick!” Brian shot back, doubled over in the corner, hyperventilating as Jerome kneeled before him, trying to calm him down.

“Hey, hey,” you gently raised up a hand, “don’t talk to him like that. What the hell do you mean Oliver is dead?”

“I mean that he’s dead as in dead, dead,” Hana explained, her words causing the world to suddenly crumble all around you, “Jerome went outside to get something from the car and found him on the porch, not moving and with his head stuck under the water in the hot tub.”

With tears now stinging the corners of your eyes, you struggled to suck in a breath of air, “what?”

“It’s that fucking ghost story you told us,” Brian panicked in the corner, “it’s real, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Rafe uttered as the both of you leapt out of bed and scrambled to get some clothes on, “let’s all just calm down.”

“We gotta call the police,” Hana said, to which Jerome swiftly pulled out his phone, only to then curse quietly as he discovered what Brian too noticed when he glanced over his shoulder.

“Fuck, we can’t, there’s no signal!”

Hana then glanced around at everyone, “well then one of us has gotta drive and find some, right?”

“Hell no,” Brian shuttered, “if there’s some psycho out in these woods, then I’m not staying behind to get murdered. We’re all going.”

So that’s how, after you’d all scurried downstairs and filtered out through the sliding door to the porch, that you saw the truth with your own eyes.

Even though his head was obscured beneath water, the unmoving corpse of your dear friend still caught your eyes and stopped you in your tracks.

“Oh my god…” you sobbed, your blood running cold.

But before you could let your feet carry you closer to the scene of the crime, Rafe seized your arm and uttered, “baby, come on,” before pulling you along the last short distance towards the cars, “I’m sorry, but we gotta go.”

Though when you did reach the vehicles and attempted to start them, neither one of them would as they’d seemingly been tampered with, forcing the panicked lot of you all to run back inside.

“Shit…” Brian clutched onto the back of the couch in the living room for support, “what do we do now?”

“We can’t go on foot, not in the dark through this forest,” Rafe spoke, “so we gotta stay here till morning.”

Glancing around the space, Hana uttered, “then we gotta make this place safe. Lock all the doors and windows, find somewhere to hide.”

“Yeah, good idea,” your boyfriend nodded before suggesting, “let’s split up, it’ll be faster that way. Y/n with me, we’ll take that side of the house, and the rest of you stay over here.”

And before anyone could protest, he’d yanked you down a dark hallway.

You nearly stumbled twice as Rafe dragged your shaking visage through the lake house, only stopping once you’d reached a large closet.

“In here, baby,” he shoved you inside, though began to shut the door before he nuzzled himself in as well.

“No, what are you doing?” tears streaming down your face, you attempted to stop him.

Though he only halted his efforts a second, grasping your face as he uttered, “please, just stay here.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” you clutched onto his dark t-shirt, “you can’t–”

“Babe, I can’t let anything happen to you. I can’t lose you,” he then collided his lips with your own, a sob escaping your lungs as he briefly kissed you, “please, just stay right here, hide, for me.”

Slowly, you loosened your trembling grip on his shirt and cried, “I love you.”

“I’ll be right back!” he promised before shutting the closet door and bathing you in darkness.

You had no idea how much time passed, if it was only a few seconds or hours that you stayed in the dusty and dim abyss of that closet, but then when a loud crash and a shrill scream suddenly found your ears, your shaky hand pushed the door back open.

You’d never in your life been as terrified as you were when you found yourself tip-toeing down that long, dark hallway. Though, as you sneaked past the ajar door to the study, your entire body suddenly froze up at the massacre that met you within.

Unmoving and slumped over the threshold, there lied Jerome, his face beaten to a pulp, rendering it nearly unrecognisable as blood slowly trickled into the tight curls on the top of his head.

Past where Hana was lying in the middle of the room, battered and coughing, in the corner you saw as a tall figure, masked by a dark motorcycle helmet, crouched over the still form of Brian and landed the last few blows to claim his life.

“Please,” Hana’s words were gurgled by blood as the killer slowly straightened back up. Twisting ever so slightly, the assailant plucked out one of the clubs from the gold bag that leaned against one of the tall bookcases, “just let me go,” your last living friend begged as you watched the murderer wrap his long fingers around the handle and take the few steps to where Hana lied, “just let me–”

As he took a wide swing and hit your friend right in her temple, the loud crack that echoed throughout the cabin made you shutter in terror and let out an uncontrollable scream, causing the killer’s head to snap up to spot you in the dark hallway.

For a second you both just stood there, frozen and staring at one another, like two deer in headlights. But then, as he began to move, taking his time as he stepped over the bodies littering his path, you stumbled back and collided with the wall directly behind you.

You tried to run, but even though you managed to slip out the wide glass doors and escape a good distance into the dark forest surrounding the house, the masked man still caught up to you and flung you against a tree. As he had you cornered, you felt him drag the cold tip of the golf club up your right leg and over your shuttering skin, drawing a crimson line of your beloved’s blood across your goosebump-ridden flesh.

“P-please don’t kill me, please–,” you cried, but just then, the moonlight that streamed through the dense treetops caught in a glint of gold that adorned the hand that clutched the club, a recognizable ring that caused your heart to drop.

As your eyes then flickered up to the dark helmet, that too seemed oddly familiar now that you truly looked at it.

In some sick and twisted way, you hoped that the killer had just stolen the jewellery from your boyfriend as a trophy of the night’s conquest and not the horrifying alternative.

But when you then tried to slip away and the man pushed you back, your hands defensively shot up, though only managed to knock the helmet off his head and let it tumble to the dark forest floor below, unveiling the earth-shattering truth.

“Oh my god…” you gasped, eyes wide as you now stood face to face with your boyfriend.

“Shh,” he took a step closer to you, caging you in even further, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.”

“They–… they were right…” the warnings your now deceased friends had given you since the moment you got involved with the frat boy buzzed in your mind, though when they’d light-heartedly called him a psycho, you never in your wildest dreams thought that they would have been correct in their choice of words, “I can’t believe they were right…”

A low sigh then escaped Rafe’s lungs.

“You really should have just stayed hidden like I told you to… I didn’t want you to find out this way… it would have been so much simpler if you’d just bought into the story I made up…”

“You killed my friends…” your chest ached with every painful gasp of air, “how–… how could you?”

“Oh, honey…” his head tilted slightly as the corners of his lips twitched, “do you really think this is my first time?”

Staring back at him in horror, you sputtered, “w-why?”

“Because of you,” he uttered as if it was obvious, “it was all for you,” his feet shifted him even closer to you, “they were a bad influence, so this was the only way.”

“They were my family!”

“They were like a poison, all of them, trying to control you, trying to take you away from me,” he inched in even closer, making you wish the harsh bark that scratched up your spine would simply open up like a portal and let you escape, “I know Hana was trying to get you to break up with me… Oliver always followed you around like a lost puppy, just hoping you’d one day spread your legs for him… and Jerome and Brian? They were just plain annoying,” his hot breath fanned across your skin as he petted the edges of your features with a knuckle of the hand clutching the golf club, “I did it all for you, for us, because I love you… fuck, you have no idea how much I fucking love you, baby…” he uttered before bringing the bud of the improvised weapon down upon the side of your head and knocking you clean out.

When you came to, the flicking light from a lit fireplace was the only source of light in the dim room you found yourself in. Arms folded up behind your head, a long rope was tangled around them and stretched up to a beam in the ceiling above. Your legs too were tied, keeping your naked frame upright and locked in place in the middle of the room.

“Fucking finally,” a low voice echoed from the chair across the chamber, causing you to wince as the tone pierced your soul and worsened your splitting headache, “you really took your sweet time waking up.”

Blinking back at your boyfriend as he leaned back in the seat, pants undone and his hard length tight in his fist, a murmur escaped your lips, “…you knocked me out…”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he got up and walked towards your suspended form, “but you didn’t give me any other choice.”

As he slowly neared you, your glossy eyes flickered up to meet his.

“Rafe, please,” you heard your voice break as you tried to keep your tone soft, “you don’t have to do this. Just untie me, I promise I won’t be mad at you.”

“Oh yeah?” a small scoff slipped through his smirk.

“Yes. I’ll do whatever you want, just please let me go,” you begged, “please don’t hurt me.”

“Shh, shh,” his palm rose up to stroke your hair before letting it rush down and over the curves of your exposed body, “but you’ve been such a bad girl. I think you deserve a lesson that hurts a little bit,” his palm then slapped your pussy, still soaked and sore from earlier, rendering you to let out a shrill yelp, “it’s okay, you can cry…” he briefly leaned in to kiss your cheek before he shifted, though still staying so close that his nose ghosted along your skin as he made his way around to stand directly behind you, “you look so pretty when you do…”

You then squirmed as he reached down to grasp his cock and nudge at your sensitive entrance, “Rafe, please–, ah!” a cry then left your form as he ruthlessly rammed his way inside, plugging you up so completely that his balls nuzzled against your slick skin.

“Fuck!” his moan tickled the shell of your ear as he tangled his arms around your torso, “you’re so perfect…” he began to move, finding a selfish pace to wreck you with, “so perfect and all mine…”

As his thrusts caused your tits to jiggle, one of his wide hands soared up to grasp one while the other one snaked up to wrap around your throat. He then squeezed it fiercely enough that all your noises eventually faded away and he kept you completely quiet for a good moment before his hold slackened and he once again granted you the privilege of gasping for air.

“This is all you need, just me, only me,” he grunted, “just like this, using your pretty little hole for exactly what it was made for… you were made for me and nobody else… no one…”

His grip then drifted down to dent your hips before he lifted them, raising your bound frame till your tip toes were barely grazing the cold floor. Your back arched slightly as he repeatedly brought your hips back to him, his balls sloppily slapping against your swollen clit each time he manoeuvred your body and treated you like a toy.

When he then hooked an arm around your front to keep moving your body greedily against him, it granted the other one the grace to roam your frame freely.

As his fingers found one of your nipples in a harsh pinch, he let out a groan at the way you began to clamper down around his fat girth, “are you gonna cum, baby? Huh?” his palm then slapped your tit, “because it sure fucking feels like you’re close,” before he suddenly retracted completely, slipping out of your drooling cunt and causing a shy whimper to slip from your lips, one he swiftly cut off when he smacked your cheek, “too bad. You’re not allowed to.”

As you shakily struggled to stay on your unsteady feet, you panted, “Rafe, my legs, I can’t–”

“Oh yeah?” he mockingly pouted at you as he sauntered around to your front, “do they hurt? Are you tired?” and as you offered him a nod, his fingers grasped your chin, “well,” his thumb slowly stretched up to trace your bottom lip, “if you promise that you’ll be a good girl for me, then I’ll give you a little break.”

“Yes, I will,” a tear rolled down your still stinging cheek.

“You will what?” his palm briefly slapped the side of your face once again before returning to the same hold.

“I’ll be your good girl, I’ll do whatever you want,” you begged and as he then sank down to his knees, grabbed a pocketknife resting on a nearby table and held up his end of the bargain, slicing through the ropes at your legs and cutting them loose. A new wave of sobs tumbled out of your form, “thank you! Oh, thank you so much!”

Tossing the blade far away before he rose back up, “you’re fucking welcome, baby,” he then caught you off guard as he suddenly plucked your lower half up into his arms.

“W-wait, I thought you’d give me a break!” your legs trembled in his grasp as he slide you back onto his fat cock.

“Yeah, your legs were tired, so I’m being nice and giving them a break,” the wet claps of your skin roughly colliding once again filled the dark room, “your pussy doesn’t deserve one yet… unless of course, this is you begging me to fuck your ass…” a wicked wish that he’d been begging you for ever since the very first time he banged you.

“No! No, not there, please, I’ve never–”

“Oh, I know you haven’t,” he smirked, “that’s what makes it so much more fun…”

“Please, Rafe,” you blinked back at him, “don’t.”

“You told me I could do whatever I want…” he angled his bucks right against that spot that caused your teeth to dig into your lower lip, “you promised to be a good girl for me and just take whatever I give you…”

“I will,” your eyes couldn’t help but flutter, “just please not that.”

He then let a dollop of his spit splatter directly against your face, “alright, but only because I love you,” before he dipped down to plant a feverish kiss against your lips, “tell me that you love me too.”

“I love you,” you murmured against his mouth.

“Huh?” one of his hands let go of you and he shifted to balance you with only one, letting the other instead drift down between your forms to bully your puffy pearl, “what was that?”

“I lo–, a-ah!” you suddenly whined as he pressed one of his fingers inside your pussy, not caring in the slightest that you were already completely filled up as he forced his digit in alongside his fat cock.

“Come on, baby,” he stared down at you, “tell me you love me,” and kept up his ruthless pace as he hooked the finger inside of you, “tell your soulmate just how much you love and adore him, how you want nothing more than to worship him at his feet.”

“I–, I–, Rafe,” you gasped, feeling as if he was splitting you in half, “it’s too much–”

“No, it’s not too much, it’s exactly right, you can take it, baby.”

“I can’t–”

“I don’t fucking care,” he continued to fuck you without remorse, slamming his intimidating length so deep inside of you that you nearly couldn’t breathe, “I wanna feel you cum, just like this.”

“Rafe–”

“Do it or I’ll get a lot meaner,” he warned you before he finally got what he wanted. Your squirt drizzled down on the floor as the intensity caused a scream to erupt from your form, “there you go, fuck,” he groaned as he watched your pussy gush around his girth, “that’s it,” before the way your cunt clambered down around him caused him to let go as well, “shit,” and pump you full of his cum.

Rafe pressed a peck to your forehead before he pulled out of your warmth and you breathlessly glanced down to watch as his hot load began to leak out of your quivering hole.

“Alright, baby,” he exhaled and then uttered words that caused a shiver to trickle down your spine, “foreplay’s over. I think you’re ready for your punishment now.”

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multi-fandom-imagine · 5 months ago

Note

I was wondering if you could write Stanley doing things to the reader (freaky things 😈) in the back of El Diablo (his car) because ik in my heart that he would and if he and the reader could already be in an established relationship that would be great too like a “trying to rekindle our flame but the kids are in the house and we don’t want to scar them” type of plot. anyway, I love your content 🫶🏾 have a good night /day

A/n: hehehe

Warnings: Fingering, humping, fucking in Stan's shitty car on the side of the road, dirty talk, age gap { reader can be in late 20's - late 30's }

Your face was pressed tightly into Stan's neck, your fingers clutching his shirt as you grounded your hips against his knee, his hand guiding you. You mind fogged as you mentally thanked Stan for pulling his shitty car on the side of the road near the woods since the last thing on your mind was someone catching you two.

A deep chuckle escaping the man's lips, glasses nearly slipping off the bridge of his nose as he watched you.“Fuck, Angel." Stan breathes out as his eyes darkened with desire. He could feel your panties dampen on his knee. His hand slipping under your skirt, grasping your panties he tugged them down in one quick motion.

"Stan...just fucking touch me already. Don't tell me your age is catching up with you." You teased.

“Fucking hell, you're a little minx aren't you,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky with need as the smirk remained on his lips “though I can I deny you" Stan bit back a swear as he fixed the car seat, spreading his legs to be better positioned between your legs, his fingers teasingly trailing along your inner thighs before finally slipping between your slick folds. He starts to rub slow circles against your clit, his touch nearly sending you over the edge.

“You’re so wet for me, Angel,” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re always ready for my touch, aren’t you? So fuckin needy." His fingers slide lower, pressing against your entrance and slowly easing inside you, curling and stroking in just the right way to make you tremble with pleasure.

Stan watches you intently, his eyes filled with hunger as he guides you towards the edge of bliss. “Ride my fingers, baby,” he urges, his voice a low growl. “Let me get you ready for what’s to come.”

"Stanley." Your voice sharp as your hips jerked, nails digging into his shoulders. Tremors leaving your body as your orgasm hit you.

God he loved when you called out his name, to think, a sexy woman like yourself calling out his name. It was the hottest thing.

Stan smirks as he watches you unravel in pleasure, your body trembling with the force of your orgasm. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers still buried deep inside you as he revels in the way you cling to him.

“Such a good girl, Angel,” he murmurs, his tone laced with satisfaction. “But don’t worry, baby,I got you.” With a swift motion, he withdraws his fingers from your dripping core, a low groan escaping his lips at the loss, he couldn't wait to feel you wrapped around his cock.

Without hesitation, Stan lifted his hips up, quickly pushing his pants and boxers down to reveal his thick, pulsing cock. He positions himself between your legs once more, the head of his length teasing your entrance.

“Gonna rock this car, no one is gonna know that I'm fuckin ya” he taunts, his eyes locked with yours as he slowly pushes into you, inch by inch. The sensation of being completely filled by him sends a shiver down your spine, and you can't help but arch your back in pleasure.

Stan begins to move, his thrusts steady and deep, each one driving you closer to the edge once again. “You’re mine, Angel,” he growls, his hands gripping your hips firmly. “And I’m gonna give you everything you need.”

He had to bite back a groan as he felt your tight walls clenching around him, the sensation driving him wild with desire. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as he continues to thrust deeply into you, his movements becoming more urgent and primal.

He couldn't even register the fact that his car was shaking with each of his thrusts.

“Fuck, Angel,” he breathes out, his voice strained with pleasure. “You feel so good, so tight around me.” Stan buries his face in your hair, inhaling your scent as he sets a relentless pace, each thrust pushing you both closer to the edge.

His hands roam over your body, finding all the right places to touch and tease. He nibbles at your neck and collarbone, leaving marks of possession as he claims you as his own.

“You’re mine, Angel,” he growls, his voice husky with need. “All mine. Nobody else can make you feel like this, can they?” Stan's thrusts become more erratic, his hips driving into you with a primal intensity as he chases his own release, determined to bring you to the peak of ecstasy once again.

Your whimpers only fuel his passion, spurring him on to take you higher and higher.

"You feel so good, so tight around me.”

With a guttural groan, Stan picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. He can feel the coil of pleasure tightening in his belly, signaling that he’s nearing the edge. “I’m gonna fill you up, baby,” he grunts, his hips snapping against yours. “You’re mine, all mine.”

With one final, powerful thrust, Stan finds his release, spilling himself deep inside you as he claims you as his own.The creaking sound of the car slowing to a stop, windows fogged as he felt his dick still twitching within you.

The heat of your bodies mingling in a passionate embrace. He holds you close, his heart racing as he revels in the intimacy of the moment.

“Fuck, Angel, you’re amazing,” he gasps as he did his best to catch his breath. His heart was pounding in his chest as a little giggle escaped your lips as you placed a lazy kiss to his lip.

Breathless and satisfied, he holds you close, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he catches his breath. “You’re so perfect, Angel,” he whispers, his voice filled with adoration. “I’ll always take care of you, make you feel this good.”

Humming, still clinging to the man you cupped his cheeks drawing him in for another kiss. "And I'll take care of you to Stan...I love you."

"I don't get how someone as wonderful as you could ever love me, but I sure as hell ain't letting you go, I love ya far too much."

#drabbles #drabble #stanley pines #stanley pines x reader #stanley pines x you #stan pines #stan #stan pines x reader #stan pines x you #gravity falls #gravity falls x reader #gravity falls x you #stan gravity falls #gravity falls stanley #smut

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bokunoheros · 3 months ago

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TAGS/WARNINGS: gn reader but afab with descriptions of feminine clothing (also katsuki calls you princess like once or twice idk), alcohol consumption, everyone is 24+, shouto is bisexual asf, katsuki and reader are married, reader did not go pro, some mlm action (todobaku content scattered throughout bc i am a god and can make them do whatever i want!!), shouto cucks a little bit, also shouto is a nasty closet perv lol, overstimulation, inappropriate quirk usage, oral (reader receiving), spit roasting, backshots, idk what else i could possibly mention other than this is nothing but filth GENRE: SMUTTTT MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI 18+ ONLY SUMMARY: after a party celebrating their top spot as heroes, shoto gets a little too drunk and has to stay the night with you and your husband, dynamight. shenanigans ensue. a new boyfriend is acquired? WORD COUNT: one million billion (jk it’s 10.4K) 🦊’s A/N: god help me. shoutout XENOVA for the celebration party idea. uhm pt2 maybe if this blows up idk. also this was not proofread bc i’m running out of time and it’s too long. and uhm its not exactly manga-canon bc i think deku deserves to be the no.1 hero idgaf. horikoshi when i catch you. // anyway enjoy lol

it was mina’s idea to hold the party originally, and you who offered to host, since you were the one dating the number two pro hero, dynamight, and had enough space to accompany the old class 1-A. it took a little persuasion from your end to get katsuki on board, but he eventually agreed, despite his bitching about how you two needed to whip this place into shape before anyone dared to set foot into your shared home.

this, of course, meant more work for you in the end since your husband was so terribly busy with work. ….that’s not to say he wasn’t helpful, though; of course not! whenever he wasn’t bone tired from whatever villain attack or whatever there was that day, he was more than happy to help you pick up (well…… that’s how the phrase goes, at least; bakugou himself didn’t mind cleaning with you and helping out around the house, per se, it’s just that he always came off as aggressive in the everything that he did) and really start getting the house ready for the upcoming party this weekend.

when it was all said and done, everything had been dusted and all the floors swept and vacuumed; the pillows on the living room couch had been fluffed and the kitchen counters were wiped down and had been bleached in preparation for the day you were about to spend in the kitchen cooking for this party. at least katsuki was there to help you with this the most out of all the other chores — and it was really the most time consuming one, too, so his help here was greater than he realized. him being an actually good cook just so happened to be an extra, heaven-sent bonus.

despite this, you had actually gone out of your way to prepare three main courses: (cold) soba, katsudon, and then something on the spicier side for your husband for the top three heroes you were celebrating tonight, along with some appetizers and snacks, of course.

finally, the day of the party was upon you, and you finished running your last couple of errands (namely stocking up on alcohol) right as ashido and the rest of the girls arrived in a limo. …..guess yaomomo went all out, huh? well, it's not like you could exactly blame her—it had been years since you had All been together due to everyone being busy with their own work, even now there were a few who couldn't make it, like satou and koji, or mezou and fumikage, due to circumstances out of their control. it was a shame really, you would have loved to have some of rikido’s sweets since he was such a good baker. ah, must not have been meant to be then. no use in dwelling on it. especially when everyone was beginning to pull up!

“eeee, my pookie! how have you been!? how’s life with baku—no, dynamight?!” mina eagerly squeals as she runs towards you, arms extended and ready to grip you in a crushing hug.

“ackgh–! too tight, too tight–!” you choke out as she squeezes you half to death.

“oh, sorry!” she apologizes, letting go and backing up slightly as the rest of the old 1-A girls come up behind her and the limo driver drives back to yaoyorozu’s manor until it was time to come pick the ladies back up. “now. spill all the tea,” she says, giving you a serious look all of a sudden, and you feel a smile stretch across your face. it’s nice to know she’s just the same as she was in high school.

“well—why don’t you come in and see for yourself?” you gesture to your shared home, to which the girls gawked at in awe. it wasn’t an estate or anything like yaomomo’s place of residence, but it was certainly large enough to accompany everyone attending and then some.

leading them inside, you open the already unlocked door (katsuki was busy in the kitchen aggressively finishing up the fruit platters and charcuterie boards, making sure they were up to his standards before serving them) and led them all in.

“kats, ‘m home! n’ all the girls are here!” you shout loud enough from him to hear you from the foyer.

your husband swears and grumbles under his breath, eyes darting to look at the clock just as it struck 17:00 (that’s 5pm for those of you who don’t use the 24hr format). goddammit, they were perfectly on time. whatever, he was done arranging the meats and cheeses of the charcuteries anyway.

moving to set the trays on the coffee table in the living room for everyone to enjoy, he greets you at the door with the softest little smile ever, one mina just barely catches sight off, which she immediately teases him for and his usual scowl makes a re-appearance in record time as he becomes prickly and sharp again, huffing out a gruff make yourselves at home or whatever.

after that, it was another twenty-ish minutes before nearly everyone else arrived.

shouto, however, was the last to get there due to him getting into an argument with his father prior to leaving. it was a surprise to even himself that he decided to come anyway, but he had grown to be more sociable than he was back in high school, and also he was one of the three people the party was actually being thrown for, so…. it would just be incomplete without him there, and he recognized that.

soon, the party kicked into full swing and the alcohol was excitedly opened and everyone could feel themselves relaxing as it grew closer to dinnertime—which you happily (and tipsily) served to everyone around half past seven.

once everyone had eaten and had time to let their food settle, people began saying their goodbyes as the night grew later and later. all except shouto, that was, who was actively still drinking, sitting on your couch with a bottle of sake in his left hand as he watches everyone else clears out.

“fuck’s he doin’? just sittin’ there,” bakugou grumbles, coming up to stand next to you after seeing eijirou and denki to the door (uptight as he could be, even your husband was capable of relaxing after a drink or two…. or several). he wasn’t… erm, upset with shouto’s prolonged visit, per se, but he was definitely tired and wanted some alone time with his spouse for fuck’s sake.

“be nice, ‘tsuki,” you scold him lightly, moving to walk towards shouto, who had a sleepy look in his eyes, to stand in front of him. “hey, todo, y’okay?” you ask, waving a hand in front of his tired face.

“mmh? ‘m fine.” his words slur together slightly as he refocuses his blurry gaze on you, and for a moment, the number 3 pro hero thinks you look like an angel sent from heaven to take care of him—until katsuki ruins the moment by walking over and saying;

“great, then you can obviously get yourself home!”

“katsuki!” you hiss, looking over to where he stood next to you. “you can stay the night if you need to, shouto,” you tell him softly, squatting down in front of him and placing a hand on each knee to look up at him from almost between his legs — something your husband absolutely did not appreciate.

“hey—” he tries to interject, but the young todoroki had already accepted your kind offer, knowing better than to walk or drive home in his current state.

“relax, kats, he can sleep on the couch if you don’t want him in a guest bedroom—even though that’s what they’re for,” you suggest/remind him.

“i guess,” he huffs, crossing his arms as you finally stand back up.

shouto, meanwhile, moves to stand up from where he sat, swaying a bit before you put both hands on his broad shoulders and force him to sit back down.

“nuh-uh, you sit right there, sir,” you say playfully. “is there something you need?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as katsuki grits his teeth while you tend to that drunk icyhot cunt. (as if he himself wasn’t also wasted).

shouto pauses to think for a moment, thinking about his words carefully before opening his mouth.

“do you have any—” he lags and forgets the word he’s looking for mid-sentence. “uhm. ….unfrozen ice?” he asks, tilting his head partially to the side like a confused creature might.

“oh my god,” bakugou groans at his request as you break out into a fit of giggles. “you fucking mean water?” he asks his fellow pro-hero. god. what a sorry fuckin’ sight he was — can’t-stand-up-drunk on katsuki’s couch, while he forgot a word as basic as water. jesus christ, he cannot believe you offered to let this fool stay here without even asking him if it was okay first. whatever. he’d just have to fuck you so good that that walking peppermint couldn’t sleep at all. yeah, he could totally do that.

“water, yes,” shouto follows up as you have to wipe the tears from your eyes at his drunken words. standing up straight, having doubled over from laughter, you nod and tell him yeah, we have unfrozen ice, and that you’ll get him some.

after you had left the room, though, katsuki huffs loudly and stares down at shouto, who was still seated on the plush sofa.

“listen, todoroki,” he spits out, one hand splaying out in an aggressive manner as his quirk popped off quietly. despite the alcohol in his system, katsuki was still just as…. well, just as aggressive and competitive as always despite the way he had grown more outwardly affectionate (towards you specifically) over the course of the evening.

“i dunno, or care, what you’re trying but just know—” an embarrassing hic cuts him off and his face flushes from more than just the alcohol. suddenly, his big tough guy act drops as his blush reaches the tips of his ears and you come back into the room with two cups of water, handing one off to shouto and the other to your husband.

both men silently and gratefully take the glasses from you, gulping it down before they even realized just how thirsty they were until the cups were empty and they were looking at you, causing you to suddenly feel small under their intense gazes.

“‘ll go—get s’more,” you slur, taking the now empty glasses back from the two men, and also this moment alone to calm your racing heart, and maybe pour yourself another shot. or two. or three. calm down, you’re only alone with the two finest men in the world — one of which you’re married to!! you think to yourself as you begin pouring them another glass from the nice water pitcher you had specifically set out for tonight.

taking the bottle of vodka from its spot on the counter, you look at how much is left and simply decide on drinking straight from the bottle and polishing it off. little did you know, you’d need that liquid courage for later on tonight. before bringing the two well-built men their water, you dispose of the vodka bottle, putting it in the recycling and heading back into the living room.

after a comment from katsuki about how it was getting late, you escort shouto upstairs to a guest bedroom and show him where the bathroom is before excusing yourself to your shared bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind you, just for katsuki to barge in seconds later as you move to the master bathroom to start brushing your teeth.

he joins you shortly after, having discarded his nicer dress shirt and pants in the bedroom’s laundry basket, leaving him far more comfortable in his unfairly flattering black boxer briefs.

“jesus—kats, how are you so fuckin’ fine?” you ask after spitting out a mouthful of toothpaste, and he only chuckles and lets a small smile stretch across his lips.

“dunno—could ask you the same thing, though,” he quips back, grabbing his own toothbrush from the little cup it sat in, running it under the water before putting the toothpaste on it and bringing it up to his already white teeth and scrubbing the night’s grime away.

you giggle at his words, running your toothbrush under the water and giving your teeth a final once over with the brush and scrape your tongue, rinsing it one final time, and then tapping it against the sink’s edge to get some of the excess water out.

finally, you made your way to the bed, sitting on the edge of it as you watch your husband finish up in the bathroom before he stalks over to you, an almost predatory look in his eye as he comes to tower over you and you can feel a chill run down your spine as he sizes you up from your spot on the king sized bed.

“katsuki..? what’re you—”

your question is almost immediately cut off as his slightly chapped lips come crashing down against yours as he knocks you back onto the bed and stands between your now spread legs—which quickly wrap around his narrow waist as his large and calloused hands find purchase on your hips.

“mmmfgh,” your hum turns into a moan as you focus on the feeling of your husband’s lips against yours, melting into him as he leans over you, teeth clacking slightly as he tilts his head for a better angle to kiss you at.

“was getting tired of that icyhot bastard,” he grumbles, eyebrows furrowing together as the grip on your hips tighten possessively at the mention of shouto, as if your husband wasn’t the one to bring him up?

his words make you chuckle nonetheless as a smile spreads over your pretty, soon to be kiss-swollen, lips as you lean back on your palms, the bed sinking beneath your weight.

“‘m sorry, tsuki,” you mumble softly before you feel his tongue run over your lower lip, silently begging for entrance to your hot mouth — to which you eagerly granted access to, moaning quietly when he licks into your mouth. he tastes like tequila and spicy udon, and it’s utterly intoxicating (or maybe that was the last of the vodka you’d downed earlier taking effect). “didn’ mean t’invite him withou’ askin’ you,” you slur out, rolling your hips up against his growing erection.

“‘s okay, i guess,” he pants, pulling away only slightly in order to look you in the eyes, letting you know that he really didn’t mind. sure, shouto was quiet and didn’t actually interfere with what he had planned tonight (or so he thought), so he was only mildly annoyed instead of genuinely bothered. besides….. he had left the door partially open after barging into the bedroom on purpose… just in case that walking candy cane happened to overhear and wanted a peak at the show he wouldn’t be allowed to join.

and just like that, your husband’s lips come crashing down against yours yet again, tongue easily seeking out your own and swirling around yours before sucking it into his mouth, humming pleasantly around the wet muscle (he was in a shockingly good mood, actually…. guess he enjoyed the party more than he let on—that and the alcohol was a large factor, too) before pulling off of it with a nasty, wet pop! noise.

“mmh, glad you’re not mad,” you mutter, eyes fluttering open to take a peek at him. and what you saw was downright angelic — a harsh contrast from his usual demeanor and appearance.

“why would i be?” he asks, and you straight up laugh, ruining the moment entirely. “hey–!”

“sorry, ‘m sorry—it’s just—” you wipe a tear from your eye. “you’re usually not so— what’s the word? calm? something like that,” you try explaining to him, a smile gracing your features.

“i’m calm! i’m always calm!” he spits out, raising his voice, sending you into another round of laughter.

“god—i love ya s’much, kats,” you tell him after composing yourself, shifting on the bed so you were leaning against the plush pillows lining the headboard and bakugou eagerly follows after you, moving between your legs, which easily wrapped back around his hips, pulling him closer against you, and he shifted so that he was propping himself up on a forearm, his other hand coming to press against the small of your back, arching it for you as his lips found their way to your neck, where he began to nip at the sensitive skin there.

“you’re pretty great too, i s'pose,” he grins against your flesh before beginning to suck at the junction of your neck and shoulder, determined to leave a mark dark enough to last a week, at least.

“yeah? ‘s good t’hear,” you giggle breathily as he assaults your neck, and one hand comes to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his mysteriously spiky hair (you’ve never once seen him use hair gel—hell, you’ve even searched his entire side of the bathroom because you didn’t believe him when he told you it’s just like that).

it doesn’t take long for bakugou to get fed up with the clothes separating your bare skin from his, desperate to physically feel you against him, and in record time, he has the skirt of your dress bunched up around your hips, you’re sitting up slightly, and he’s tugging the fabric the rest of the way off, carelessly throwing it onto the floor.

shouto, meanwhile, lay awake staring at the ceiling in your comfortable guest’s bed, drunkenly reminiscing back to high school, and the crush he didn’t know was a crush he had on you. had he known, he probably would have asked you out sometime in your senior year—instead, he misinterpreted his affections as an intimate friendship with admiration for you and your quirk. what always baffled him, though, is why you would pick katsuki bakugou to love out of all people (not like you really had a choice in the matter…… one day you woke up and realized your supposed hatred for him was, in fact, a bone-deep love that consumed you whole).

with an achy sigh, todoroki sits up and gets up to use the bathroom. after washing his hands and splashing his face with some cool water to sober up at least a little, his ears perk up on the way back to his temporary room. on his way back, however, he happened to catch the faintest echo of a feminine moan, and before he can stop himself, he’s silently stalking down the hall to the master bedroom, where he found the door to be cracked open wide enough for him to get a surprising view of dynamight with his head between your legs and your underwear and dress strewn across the otherwise neat floor.

immediately, his dick twitches to life in his nice dress pants and he nearly groans at the way you moan katsuki’s name so sweetly. god…. that should be me, he thinks to himself enviously as your husband focuses solely on eating you out.

“aa-ahh! mmm, katsuki!” you cry out, both hands coming down in attempt to push his face away from your messy cunt, but to no avail. katsuki offered you no respite as his hot tongue explored your puffy folds as he began to suck on your clit. “katsu—fuck!”

you’re ignorant to the feeling of another pair of eyes on you, too caught up in the feeling of being eaten out, but katsuki isn’t — he feels shouto’s burning gaze, and he can’t help but smirk to himself. so he was right: icyhot couldn’t resist a good show, and boy, was katsuki about to perform.

“hmm?” he hums, one hand resting on your thigh while he uses the forearm of his other arm to keep you from bucking your hips up. he doesn’t exactly care about what it is you’re whining about; he knows you’re fine and he intends to make you cum at least thrice tonight to show off to shouto, who was apparently a giant closeted pervert.

and it was true. shouto was nasty without even realizing it — and that’s not to say he slept around, god no (he was 24 and still a virgin….), he just had fantasies. many of which involved you, and shamefully, on occasion, you and katsuki. it made his cheeks burn to even think about, but he would be a liar if he said he’d never gotten off to the idea of a threesome with you and your husband. jesus, and now, here the opportunity was laid right there in front of him, and what was he doing? slowly starting to palm at his erection and bite his bottom lip as he watches the scene in front of him unfold.

“i— shit–!” you squeeze your eyes shut and arch your back as you tug at his hair. “god, just—! slow down!” you whine, and katsuki’s eye twitches.

like in every other aspect in his life, bakugou tended to be rough and aggressive in the bedroom; put simply, you turned him into a feral man—brought out the inner animal in him. he was, as surprising as it may seem to some, a generous lover, however, due to his have to be the best at everything mentality, so, by extension, this included his ability to give and inflict pleasure (mixed with a healthy amount of pain, because, well.. it’s katsuki).

“nah.” blatantly ignoring your request, he pulls his head away from your drooling pussy, the lower half of his face covered in your slick, and blows a cold puff of air against your throbbing slit, causing you to whine out his name as he nips at the fatty skin of your inner thigh—dangerously close to your cunt—sucking and biting until a dark purple mark begins to form. a smirk stretches over his somewhat thin, although plump, lips knowing shouto would never get to litter your body in bruises and hickeys the same way he does.

“mmh—jesus, kats–!” it’s all you can do to whimper as he resumes the disgustingly messy way he was tongue fucking your pussy.

shouto almost groans as he gets harder and harder, almost painfully so, as he watches katsuki fervently eat you out, and suddenly, he wishes it was him between your legs with bakugou watching instead.

as silently as he possibly can, todoroki begins to unbuckle his belt in order to slip a hand past the waistband of both his pants to feel himself through the fabric of his sickeningly tight boxers. he’s careful to bite back what would be any whimpers or quiet moans, knowing it’s so shotover for him if he gets caught.

“fuck,” he mutters under his breath, swallowing thickly as he watches as you’re eaten out until you’re cumming with a loud cry of your husband’s name (shouto pretended it was his name you were calling out), and he goes to turn around to hide in the bedroom you’d so kindly allowed him to stay in to jerk off until he hears—

“y’gonna come out, icyhot, or are ya just gonna stand there like a loser cuck all night?” katsuki lifts his head from between your legs to look at the half-and-half bastard peeping on him and his spouse…… what a fucking freak.

“sh–shouto!?” you squeak, not having noticed his presence until the man you’d married had pointed him out. “wh–what’re you—!” you can’t even think of what to say before he’s trying to apologize and katsuki’s cussing him out—telling him to get his ass in here before he really makes him sorry.

just how drunk was your husband? or shouto for that matter? truthfully, you were probably the most sober person in the room.

slowly, silently, and shamefully, shouto makes his way into your bedroom, where he comes to stand at the foot of the bed with a horribly noticeable tent in his pants. he wants to look down at the floor, but he’s physically incapable of taking his eyes off your naked, sweaty form—and katsuki’s toned back, for that matter. he gulps anxiously as he waits for the perpetually angry blond to inevitably break the ice.

much to his surprise, however, it was you to speak up first, admitting that you didn’t mind shouto’s presence��followed by katsuki sarcastically asking if you wanted him to join, to which your body stiffened and cheeks flushed at the thought.

“what? don’t tell me you like the idea of that half n’ half idiot joinin’ the fun?” a wicked grin stretches over his slick lips as he quirks a brow up at you before shrugging and saying; “fine, just remember: you asked for this.”

“you heard ‘em, todoroki, get the hell over here,” he spits out, and shouto complies immediately—he could not believe what was about to happen and neither could (nor katsuki for that matter).

as he closes the gap between you three, he fumbles with the buttons of his dress shirt before ultimately just ripping it open and shrugging it onto the floor. repeating the same action with his pants, he struggles slightly with the zipper before tugging it down and quickly stepping out of them, nearly tripping in the process—to which katsuki has to stifle a laugh.

shouto feels dizzy and light-headed from how hard he is, and he bites his thick bottom lip as he nervously crawls onto the oversized bed, sitting adjacent to you as he awaits further instructions from the ever-demanding bakugou.

“katsu—”

“shut up,” he says gruffly, one large hand coming up to cover your mouth—he was about to dictate everything that was about to go down. “you—todoroki—listen real fuckin’ closely, because i’m not repeating myself. you can look, but ‘m still deciding if you’re allowed to touch yet—” katsuki directs his attention from him to you and asks; “whaddya think, princess? would y’like that? both of us touchin’ you?” and it’s all you can do to nod, cheeks physically heating up in shame and embarrassment.

“i guess i’ll allow it, then,” he says, moving his hand away from your face so he can manhandle you into a sitting up position, making you straddle his lap and telling shouto to move behind you.

you feel your heartbeat quicken significantly now that you’re naked and sandwiched between two of the hottest men you’ve ever been blessed with the chance to encounter. dear god. take a breath, you’ve got this. …..and that’s why your pussy’s all but drooling right now? you can’t help but roll your bare cunt over your husband’s erection, letting out a delicious little moan in the process, and shouto’s equally large hands hesitantly find purchase on your hips, and you look back over your shoulder as he leans in attempt to kiss you—just to be blocked by katsuki’s hand against his pouty lips.

“i didn’t fuckin’ say you could kiss them,” he hisses. shouto, however, mentally shrugs this off, grabs the angry blond’s wrist to move his hand, and leans in over your shoulder, pressing his chest firmly against your back, in order to—kiss your husband instead????!

holy shit—this is so much hotter than it should be, jesus christ. you’re genuinely ashamed of the way shouto moving to kiss katsuki rather than you turns you on, and you even let a little oh my god slip in awe and horny amazement.

“what the actual fuck, icyhot!?” your husband explodes, trying to shove shouto away from him, but causing you to fall back fully into his lap, where you can feel his boner pressing up against your ass.

“n–no,” you speak up. “d–do it again.” you try your best not to mutter the request, looking between the man who had crushed on you all through high school and the one you’d ended up marrying.

“huh!? have you both lost your fucking minds?!”

“please..? do it for me, ‘tsuki?” you beg as sweetly as you can, a pout tugging at your lips as you did your best kicked puppy eyes. as tough as bakugou acted, deep down, he did, in fact, have a soft spot for you, and would do nearly anything for you—and this, unfortunately, was about to be one of the things he was willing to do. maybe he had the whiskey to thank for his… bravery, but for some reason, the idea of making out with that peppermint bastard really didn’t seem so bad. ….jesus, what is he thinking?

“tch, fine,” he clicks his tongue before he’s suddenly snatching you out of shouto’s lap and bringing you back onto his, where he shifts so his back’s against the headboard and says; “‘f y’can ride me, then sure, ‘ll do whatever you want, sweetheart.”

nodding eagerly, you tug the waistband of his boxers down just enough to free his aching cock, where it hits his lower tummy and you impatiently use one hand to line up the angry red tip with your slick entrance before sinking down to the base with ease. you both moan at the feeling and katsuki beckons shouto over after pressing a quick kiss to your shiny lips to remind himself why he was doing this.

shouto’s dick aches enviously, desperately wishing he could feel your heat, but quickly gets over it as his chest presses against your back once again and his lips land against katsuki’s. actually, todoroki was not an experienced kisser—at all, really; he was only copying what he had seen in movies, so he’s a little surprised when the blond’s tongue runs over the seam of his lips and his heterochromatic eyes fly open at the feeling.

katsuki, however, reaches around you to grab shouto’s cheeks, forcing him to part his pretty lips, and he easily slips his tongue past his kiss-swollen lips. meanwhile, shouto’s strong arms wrap around your waist while he allows your husband to explore the inside of his mouth, his face heating up despite the way a chill runs down his spine.

“mmh,” he hums quietly, freezing his tongue in order to give your husband a little surprise—which works very well, seeing as how katsuki pulls away with a heaving gasp.

“what the fuck?” he pants, rolling his hips up into dripping cunt, and you let out a little moan, grinding down against him at the same time, allowing him to brush up against your g-spot while shouto moves to kiss katsuki again, large hands coming up to cup his flushed, tanned cheeks, trying to tilt his head for a better angle as he mimics the way the blond’s tongue had run over the seam of his lips, and is pleasantly surprised when he reluctantly parts his slightly thinner lips for the much calmer man.

jesus christ, you think to yourself, trying to bounce against your husband’s dick to the best of you ability, but groaning in frustration when his absurdly calloused hands come down against your hips to hold you in place.

“mm—’tsuki,” you whine as he wholly focuses on kissing shouto (who was currently living out his wet dream). it’s all you can do to wiggle in place, trying to grind your clit against his neatly trimmed pubic hair, desperate for any kind of friction. meanwhile, shouto’s freezing hand comes up to grope your chest, causing you to let out a quiet yelp at the feeling of him tweaking roughly with your nipple.

poor, poor inexperienced shouto had no gauge or concept of what exactly he was doing, relying on instinct and everything he’d seen in the little porn he had watched; he silently prays he’s acting accordingly and soon his heated left hand is coming up to grab at your other tit.

“sh–shouto!” you moan, almost causing katsuki to pause in his action as a growl leaves his throat—now this just simply would not do, no, no, no. !!!! fuck! his dick twitches inside you as he ruts his hips upwards while holding firmly onto your hips. “je–jesus! katsuki!”

that’s better, he thinks to himself, a smug, self-satisfied smirk tugging at the corners of his plump lips as he tries not to overthink his kiss with todoroki. god. as fucking embarrassing, humiliating, and shameful as it was, …..katsuki absolutley could not deny the fact that he was feeling so, so, so many things right now, things he never would have considered sober, let alone acted on, and now….. now, he was rock fucking hard as he feels the inside of shouto’s mouth, tracing his tongue along the grooves of his blindingly white teeth and inner cheeks before swirling it around his own heated muscle.

he wants to tell shouto he’s not half bad at this when he begins to suck on his tongue—taking him violently by surprise—but can’t bring himself to dole out the praise, not wanting him to get an ego about how well he was managing to keep up.

you can feel your stomach doing flips and your pussy creaming around your husband’s cock as the two men you’re sandwiched between really go at it, and suddenly your mouth feels dry as you let out a low, drawn out whine.

“fuck,” is all you’re able to say as you dig your nails into katsuki’s back while arching your own, with shouto still pinching and tweaking with your poor, erect nipples—his hands were almost at extreme temperatures, and you choke out something about how good it feels, offering the number three hero the praise he needed—something bakugou wasn’t a huge fan of.

half n’ half wants to use his quirk? that’s fine—he can, too!

the next thing you know, your hips feel scorchingly hot and you’re hearing the sound of a very small-scale explosion, and you yelp out your husband’s name, pussy fluttering around his achy length, and you have to bite your lower lip when you feel tears welling up in your eyes from all the stimulation. had you known inviting a drunk shouto to stay the night would lead to this, you would have done it years ago! …because honestly, you were crushing hard on him your freshman year of highschool together—but unfortunately for you, that’s when he had first begun to actually explore his emotions for the first time in his life, leading you to believe you never stood a chance with him.

katsuki, however, while his primary emotion was anger, you could tell something was up with him and his feelings towards you when he stopped yelling at you as much compared to the others. don’t get one wrong, he definitely still shouted at you, because that’s just who he was, but….. it was enough for you and the girls of 1-A to pick up on—something they teased you relentlessly about behind closed doors because nobody ever dared to mention anything in front of bakugou in fear of ruining your chances together (as you see, mina and a few others were die hard shippers while the rest enabled this behavior).

“christ’s sake, katsuki,” you hiss as his quirk repeatedly pops off against your reddening skin and you have to physically bite your tongue to keep yourself grounded enough to scold him. …try to, anyway. “thi— this isn’t a—ahh! fuck!—a compe–titon! jesus!” you moan.

a competition.

that word ring in katsuki’s ears as he pulls away from his kiss with shouto, admittedly a little breathlessly, a smirk stretching over his glossy lips.

“now that’s an idea,” he muses out loud, causing shouto to tilt his head and your eyes to widen. goddammit, you just had to go and open your bigass mouth, didn’t you?

“n–no; whatever you— you’re planning, forget about it,” you say as firmly as you can despite the way your pussy flutters around him.

bakugou clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes at the way you whine out such a ridiculous request.

“mmh, nah,” he grins, hands holding you firmly in place against him, preventing you from even rolling your hips—something you’re quick to bitch about.

“god–dammit!” sometimes you wish your husband wasn’t so goddamn strong—it made it that much easier for him to manhandle you into any position he wanted.

“y’up for a little challenge, icyhot?” katsuki ignores you entirely, focusing his intense gaze onto the slightly younger man.

“...sure,” he nods, albeit a little reluctantly, unsure of what exactly he was agreeing to. he hopes he’ll get a chance to steal a kiss from you, but for now, he figures it best to go along with whatever bakugou was about to suggest.

“whoever can make princess here cum the most in five minutes each can fuck their cunt,” he begins, just for shouto to interrupt him.

“and what of the loser?”

“i was getting there—impatient sonuva bitch….” he mutters the last part under his breath like he wasn’t also an impatient sonuva bitch. “anyway, the loser—in this case, i’m sure it’ll be you, y’fuckin’ virgin cuck—can…. fuck right off and watch,” he finishes, cock twitching deep inside you at his own words. he was absolutely positive he’d win the little proposition he’d struck up, which is why the punishment for the loser was so harsh. when in all reality, if he was feeling kind enough, he’d let you suck shouto off as a consolation prize. ….maybe.

“sounds good to me,” todoroki agrees to bakugou’s conditions, feeling his own dick twitch as he steels his nerves��he was so fucked. in this moment, shouto’s never been more grateful for being a fast learner, as that was his only chance at possibly succeeding in such a task. he wasn’t particularly familiar with the afab body, and so he has to actively recall all the porn he had seen—mind you, he was incredibly picky about what exactly he’s watching—when suddenly an idea strikes him and he’s asking katsuki to move his hands so he can pull you off his cock and reposition you so your back was against the bed.

you and your husband are both confused until shouto’s pushing your thighs apart and nestling between them, icy lips kissing down your body until he reaches the mound of your dripping cunt, and you can’t help but get shy—not because you weren’t used to being eaten out, no (katsuki often ate you out until you couldn’t see straight), it was because you just simply were not expecting that from the inexperienced shouto todoroki! but it’s okay, just take a deep breath and—

“aa–aah! fuck! shouto!” you cry out, caught off guard by the way his full lips wrap around your erect clit and begin suckling on it, his freezing tongue moving to swirl around it as he does. he doesn’t exactly know what he’s doing and is more or less figuring it out as he goes based on your reactions and moans.

katsuki is just as taken aback as you were, but for totally different reasons; this was probably one of the last things he had expected todoroki to do, but, but, but…!!! fuck! he couldn’t even be mad about it either because he was the one who had decided to turn it into a competition. shit. okay, whatever, he’d just work around this.

“nngh–!” one of your hands comes to run through shouto’s split hair, tugging the soft locks gently. “wh–where the fuck did you—aah! hhngh!—learn h–how to do this?” you ask breathlessly, looking down at the man between your legs, and you feel a chill run down your spine and goosebumps erupt over your skin when you realize he’s looking right back at you—staring at you intently, doing his best to gauge all your little reactions, both verbal and physical.

katsuki can’t help but agree with your question, because seriously, where the fuck had he learned this shit!?

all he’s able to do, though, is watch with awe as shouto focuses wholly on his attempt to eat you out — which he was seemingly doing a good job at — as one large and calloused hand subconsciously comes down to jerk himself off slowly, thumb swiping over his bright red, leaky tip, and he hisses out a quiet fuck while your back arches off the bed.

shouto, however, doesn’t answer, in favor of bringing a heated finger down to your slick entrance — gently prodding at it before slipping it in with ease.

“mmmffgh,” you whine as he curls it up slowly, all while sucking on your throbbing clit, and it doesn’t take long for a knot to build up in your lower stomach. “nngh– sh–shouto!”

he simply ignores you as he begins to slip a second finger in—gradually heating them up as he did—and you moan pathetically as your husband watches on in awe, his mouth horribly dry and dick achingly hard, and for a moment, he’s scared he might cum to the sight of another man eating his spouse out—so he intentionally slows his pace to something almost painfully slow to make sure he doesn’t prematurely ejaculate, wanti—no, Needing to cum inside you.

starting to scissor you apart now, you clench around shouto’s burning fingers desperately, whining as his freezing right hand comes up to pinch one of your already stiff nipples.

“nngh–!” it’s not long before you’re cumming with a loud cry of shouto’s name while pulling at his soft hair, back arching deeply off the mattress as katsuki lets out a growl at the sight, already seething with envy….. whatever; he takes in a deep breath to calm himself down and slowly starts to increase the pace at which he’s jerking himself off, groaning softly as he does.

todoroki doesn’t relent in his pace, however, messily eating you out throughout the duration of your orgasm, resulting in you cumming a second time not long after.

“nnngh—’s too much, shouto—” you choke out, pulling at his hair while trying to push him away at the same time. “f–fuck!” it had maybe been two minutes, meaning you had to endure for another three. but how exactly were you meant to do that? with the way he was all but making out with your cunt, you turn your attention to katsuki, pathetically mewling for help—just for him to shut you down! reminding you that you agreed to this and that he knows you can take it.

the most your husband had ever made you cum in one night was four times—a record he was gunning to beat tonight.

by the time shouto’s time was up, he had managed to make you cum three times, on his way to working you up to a fourth, before katsuki’s letting go of his dick and burying his thick fingers in todoroki’s hair, yanking him away from your pulsing heat.

“hey—” shouto pants breathlessly, lower face covered in your slick.

“time’s up, icyhot,” your husband rasps out before asking you how many times you’d cum.

“th– three, but— i need a break before we keep goin’,” you tell him, panting heavily with flushed cheeks and teary eyes.

katsuki simply nods in acknowledgement, untangling his fingers from shouto’s hair as all three of you take this moment to catch your breath. then, after a brief three or so minutes of rest, bakugou’s crawling on top of you as shouto watches on this time, cock leaky and painfully hard as he palms himself through his horribly tight boxers while katsuki kisses you.

“love ya, kats,” you’re able to pant out, and shouto feels his heart break a little; he wishes he could be on the receiving end of those words some day... but for now, he shifts so he’s kneeling on the bed, legs tucked neatly under him with his thighs spread wide enough for his heated left hand to sneak past the waistband of his boxers in order to grope himself.

bakugou smiles against your lips at your words rather than returning them, and his tongue slides out to poke its way into your already open mouth, easily licking over the insides of your cheeks and grooves of your teeth.

as he watches the two of you makeout, todoroki begins to reflect on his kiss with katsuki earlier, and he finds himself yearning to hear those three little words from him, too, or to be able to kiss you as well….. maybe when this is all said and done… maybe he can work up the courage to ask to join your relationship..? or maybe he’d leave early in the morning full of shame…. he isn’t quite sure yet.

“mmngh—” you moan softly as one of katsuki’s large and calloused hands trails down your side, moving to cup your puffy cunt, before two thick fingers easily insert themselves into you without much of a warning—fortunately, you were still soaked from your slick and shouto’s spit from where he’d eaten you out so good, so your husband didn’t meet any resistance when scissoring you apart. “k–katsu–!”

“yeah?” he pants as his cock drools uncomfortably. it’s okay. he’d just have to make you cum four times in five minutes, and—the idea that shouto might beat him at a challenge he proposed due to your fatigue from allowing that icyhot cunt to go first suddenly flashes in his mind, and he’s hardened over with a certain resolve he’d allowed to slip in his overwhelmingly horny state of mind.

“i— ah! hnnngh— ‘m still se–sensitive,” you whine out, arching your back off the bed at the stimulation, and it’s all you can do to pull at his hair when you feel the calloused pad of his thumb press against your swollen, oversensitive clit. as the fingers almost knuckle-deep inside you press into your g-spot, you go crosseyed from the combined feeling of being finger-fucked and having your tongue sucked on (when’d he start doing that!?).

katsuki, however, ignores your weak mewls in favor of kissing you so hard your teeth clack together briefly before he’s tilting his head for a better angle and nipping softly at your tongue, causing you to squeak in surprise.

rolling your hips up and grinding down against his hand, desperate for more fiction, shouto watches on in awe and horny amazement, taking notes on how your body reacted to katsuki, hoping he could imitate his actions, or develop them into his own, next time he got the chance.

soon, though, katsuki’s five minutes come to an end, with you only having cum twice by his doing—something that makes his eye twitch as he realizes that meant icyhot would get to fuck your cunt. ….goddammit! he’d gotten too caught up in the feeling of your lips against his to focus fully on fingering you! sure, he was just about to bring you to your third orgasm–but! oh, this so wasn’t fair! if only he’d gone first! then you wouldn’t have been so worn out!

shit. with a sigh, he pulls away from your body as his eye begins twitching and he looks over to shouto—who currently had his hand wrapped around his cock—and lets out a huff.

“there’s no way i’m letting him fuck you,” he grunts out, crossing his muscular arms.

“kats, that’s not— ‘s’not fair,” you chide him, panting heavily and sitting up on your forearms. “you said— said the winner—” your cheeks flush as you remember the words he’d used and you shake your head to clear the thought from your mind. “...could fuck me—you wouldn’t wanna go back on your word, would you?”

shouto’s heart rate increases as you stick up for him, and he feels the extra blood circulating throughout his body go straight to his throbbing dick as his eyes light up with hope—never in a million years would he think he’d get the chance to have sex with you!

“mm, …fine,” katsuki agrees, salty he’d lost at his own competition, but willing to do whatever to make you happy, so… he almost retches a little at the thought and he feels his heart break in his chest ever so slightly, but… if staying true to his word and letting that half n’ half bastard fuck you would make you happy, then…. he guesses he can let it slide…

with that, shouto’s shifting onto his knees a little more in order to slide his boxers down his well-toned thighs so his pretty cock can slap against his lower tummy and he’s quick to grab you by the hips, pulling you towards him before katsuki’s words cause him to pause.

“not so fast, icyhot, if you’re gonna fuck ‘em, then they can at least suck me off while you do,” he growls, moving so that he’s behind you and then manhandling out of shouto’s grasp so that you were facing him. “get on all fours, sweetheart,” he instructs you, and you obey with a nod, presenting shouto with your ass and drooling cunt and he swallows thickly at the sight.

his hands plant themselves on your hips once more and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips—you were glad shouto would at least get a chance to enjoy himself, as you’re sure he probably doesn’t have many good stress relievers, if any at all…

with that in mind, you make sure to arch your back nicely for the man on his knees behind you as you take your husband’s dick in one hand while supporting your weight with the other and press a little kiss to the bright red tip before slowly taking it into your hot mouth.

katsuki hisses out a groan at the feeling of you hollowing your cheeks as you gradually take him down to almost the base, your hand wrapped around what doesn’t currently fit in your mouth, and swallow thickly around him.

“shit—” a hand is quick to bury itself in your hair to guide your pace as shouto’s jaw slackens in the slightest before he gets a grip and starts to align his swollen and leaky tip with your creamy pussy, moaning much louder than he was expecting to at the feeling of your warm, gummy walls wrapped around his virgin cock. suddenly, whatever metaphorical grip he did have immediately slips away from him as his physical grip tightens to an almost painful extent, and you’re sure he’ll leave bruises in the shapes of his fingertips—similar to the way your husband so often does.

“aa–aah! fuck!” todoroki whines as he takes his time bottoming out—biting his tongue as he pushes into you almost agonizingly slow, causing you to moan around your husband’s dick, resulting in him pushing your head down further against him and your pussy to flutter around the poor, overwhelmed shouto.

you nearly gag as his mushroom-headed tip hits the back of your throat, but are able to suppress your reflex to do so well enough to remove your hand from around him while you focus on breathing through your nose as you take him down to the base, until your face is flush against his pelvis, light blond pubes tickling your nostrils slightly.

you try to stay that way for as long as possible, swallowing around him continuously to fight your own gag reflex rather than out of consideration of his pleasure, but it’s only been a few seconds when you’re fighting against his strong palm to come up for air.

after pulling off him with a disgustingly wet pop! and panting heavily, you make the suggestion that the two should kiss again — arguing that if your husband is just gonna offer your pussy to be fucked without asking you, then the least he could do was makeout with the man balls deep inside you.

“what?” katsuki barks out, looking down at you, with your head between his thighs.

“please, ‘tsuki?” you ask nicely, giving him your best puppy dog eyes.

shouto wants to join in with your pleading—to ask katsuki for a kiss, too, but he knows better, knows your husband will begrudgingly cave to your demands and that he’ll ultimately receive another kiss.

“tsk… fine—c’mere, icyhot,” he grunts, one hand pushing your head back down onto his dick as the other reaches for shouto. both men lean over you in order to lock lips, and the younger one can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his lips as he gets what he wants.

todoroki’s hips press flush against your ass as he leans over your sweaty, overstimulated body to makeout with your husband. god, you weren’t, like, …a fujoshi or anything, but…. something about the idea of katsuki and shouto going at it in particular had your stomach in knots and cunt clamping down snugly around shouto’s girth.

“jesus—” the half and half man pants at the feeling of your pussy, and he honestly doesn’t know how he’s managed to go this long without it. ….or if he’ll be able to live without yours specifically from here on out…… okay, it’s decided. he’d ask to join your relationship, somehow, when this was all said and done, but for now he isn’t sure whether to focus on his kiss with katsuki or the feeling of his dick throbbing almost painfully inside you.

ultimately, his attention is drawn to the way bakugou nips harshly at his lower lip—enough to draw a small amount of blood—and a moan gets caught in shouto’s throat, coming out as something more akin to a whimper instead; something that certainly makes katsuki’s ears perk up. had todoroki just fuckin’ whimpered from something he had done? for a reason other than getting pussy for the first time in his stupid virgin life? needless to say, it quickly goes to bakugou’s ego as he begins sucking on shouto’s lower lip, tongue swiping over it quickly at first, and then a second time that was considerably slower and more teasing in nature.

poor shouto can feel himself going cross-eyed as he ruts into you sloppily, heavy balls smacking against your clit, and he knows he won’t last long like this at all. he’s kinda bummed he can’t …make love to you the way he would prefer, but right now, he doesn’t find himself picky at all—just grateful to be a part of this entire thing, even if he may not get the chance again in the future. that’s why it was critical for him to be present in the moment, literally drooling from how good he feels, as he uses his quirk on his tongue while swirling it around katsuki’s, the now freezing muscle licking over the insides of his cheeks and grooves of his teeth, sending a chill down your husband’s spine.

the saliva being exchanged between the two begins to dribble out from the corners of their mouths and drip down their chins and onto your arched back. holy shit. you nearly choke on katsuki’s dick at the feeling of their spit rolling down your spine and you moan in both disgust and twisted pleasure.

“nnmgh,” you moan, tongue pressed flat against the underside of his dick as shouto drills into you. now it’s you who finds themselves drooling profusely, your spit running down katsuki’s cock, soaking his balls.

the blond can feel himself throbbing down your throat and he groans from the combined stimulation of you blowing him and shouto’s icy tongue—he’s close and he knows it. …meaning that half and half whore was definitely about to cum, with the way your pussy is surely milking him for all he’s worth.

“shouto,” he grunts out, pulling away just enough to tell him that if he’s gonna cum, then he has to pull out—that katsuki was the only one allowed to cum inside you.

todoroki was more taken aback by the usage of his first name from bakugou of all people, and it’s all he can do to nod and mumble a quiet yeah.

it’s not much longer before both mean reach their climax around the same time—with shouto pulling out to jerk himself off for a few more seconds and he’s cumming all over your back with a loud cry as your husband cums in your mouth, thick cum spilling down your throat, past your tongue, not even giving you a chance to taste him.

after both men catch their breath, katsuki slowly pulls you off of him as he gazes down at you with a particularly soft look in his eye—or maybe it’s satisfaction, you’re too fucked out to really tell.

“y’okay, princess?” your husband rasps out, grinning to himself at your teary eyes, one hand cupping your cheek, and you blindly lean into his warm touch.

“mmhm,” is all you can hum in response, borderline brain dead from how many times you’d cum tonight—clit still throbbing from the earlier stimulation.

“good….” he directs his attention to shouto, but doesn’t ask him anything, instead looking him up and down, eyes lingering on his dick for a moment longer than he’d like to admit. he quickly redirects his gaze to shouto’s heterochromatic one, and the softest, barely there smile tugs at the corners of his lips. it was so small and brief, one might think they were hallucinating had they seen it, but todoroki catches sight of it, and he wants to say something, but finds himself speechless; so instead, he leans in to kiss your husband again, and, very much to his surprise, he doesn’t immediately recoil. given, he doesn’t lean in to meet him either, but he does kiss him back as you shift to the side, panting heavily while you watch the two muscular and domineering men go at it for the nth time tonight, and you can hardly believe your eyes.

one hand slips down in between your legs as they kiss, rubbing gently at your sensitive bundle of nerves while shouto takes the initiative this time, running his now heated tongue over the seam of katsuki’s lips before licking into his mouth, but moans quietly when the usually angry, but now somewhat calm, blond begins sucking on the hot muscle, one hand coming up to almost cradle the back of shouto’s head as he buries in fingers in his two-toned hair, pulling at it roughly.

“y’know icyhot, you’re really not that bad at this,” he tells him, which is the closest to doling out praise he’ll ever get.

shouto, however, takes this to heart as a soft smile pulls at his lips and suddenly he finds himself cupping katsuki’s face and knocking him onto the bed, clumsily clamoring on top of him, and your jaw genuinely drops at the scene in front of you. holy shit.

“yeah?” shouto breathes from on top of katsuki, who was just as shocked as you were, if not moreso. what the fuck? how the fuck? what was he meant to do? he looks over to you for an idea of where to go with this, and his eyes widen when he sees you touching yourself to the sight of them. …alright, he supposes he can get behind this.

looking back over to shouto, he replies: “sure, ..but i’m better,” and easily manages to flip the pair so that he was on top instead.

“nngh–” you moan as softly, your free hand coming to grope one of your tits, pinching and tweaking with your already erect nipples. you don’t know if you can handle another orgasm, but the sight of the pair in front of each other is simply too hot to not jerk to.

shouto, meanwhile, wraps his arms around katsuki’s neck as he pulls him in for a disgustingly sloppy and heated kiss, lips parting by themselves as he cranes his neck upwards. similarly, he moans as well, tongue already seeking out katsuki’s while you fondle yourself and slowly work yourself up to one final orgasm.

nipping at his lower lip the same way he’d done to shouto earlier, katsuki retaliates by pulling away from the kiss to bite at his neck — even going as far as to suck against a few particular spots, leaving hickeys to bloom in the place of his mouth. for a moment, the idea of jerking shouto off crosses his mind, but that would be going too far for bakugou.

you, however, encourage this behavior, telling them to put on a show for you as you try not to cringe at the feeling of shouto’s cum drying on your bare back.

so, it’s shouto who finds himself reaching for katsuki’s dick without a second thought, and he heats up his hand a bit to tease the poor blond (there is nothing poor about that man…), causing him to hiss in a mix of surprise and pleasure.

“shit—you’d think you would ask someone before just grabbing their dick,” he grunts out, making shouto chuckle a bit at his words.

“sorry,” he says simply, thumb running over the leaky slit of his mushroom-headed tip, and he really, really wishes he could suck him off…… christ. maybe… maybe he should ask? you were the one who told them to put on a show after all..!

shouto ultimately decides against it, though, too embarrassed to do so, and instead settles for jerking katsuki off slowly and with intent.

“nngh–” bakugou nearly whimpers—not that he’d ever actually do something like that, obviously—and he pulls at shouto’s hair, dick still sensitive from the way you’d sucked him off so good a few moments prior.

it doesn’t take too long before katsuki finds himself cumming sooner than he’d like to admit, biting down on shouto’s neck in order to cope with the stimulation from his former classmate and fellow pro-hero.

you, too, find yourself cumming rather quickly, back arching off the mattress as shouto slows his pace to a halt, pulling his hand away and licking katsuki’s cum off it while making full eye contact with him—something that, shamefully, turned both you and the blond on.

you two would have to have a very serious discussion after this about how to move on from here, but for now, the two men turn their focus back to you, finally worn out for the night. katsuki easily shifts to lay next to you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist as shouto moves to get off the bed and go back to his guest room where he’d lay awake for the rest of the night—until he hears you call out for him softly, inviting him to sleep in your bed for the night; something katsuki doesn’t protest against, too tired to do so—and even if he did, his heart wouldn’t be in it. unfortunately, he very much enjoyed his time with the two of you tonight, and might seriously have to entertain your future request of letting shouto join your relationship.

in the meantime, however, shouto abides and comes to lay on the other side of you, flushed and sweaty body pressing against your back as your chest smushes against katsuki’s significantly warmer one, and you’re quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of his heartbeat and shouto’s steady breathing.

return to KINKTOBER | K. BAKUGOU M.LIST | S. TODOROKI M.LIST

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alexiroflife · 7 months ago

Text

how jjk men would react if they found out you sh…

Warning(s): cw//self harm, graphic depictions, mentions of depression, anxiety, sensitive content, angst/comfort

-> if you or anyone you know is struggling with self-harm, suicidal thoughts, depression, etc., know that you aren’t alone. as someone who used to struggle with these things myself, i understand how difficult it can be, but know that you are strong and you are loved. and thank you for the ask, this is a very important topic and i appreciate the vulnerability of the request. sending all the possible love in the world to all of you.

gojo, geto, nanami, toji, choso, sukuna

satoru gojo: satoru has an incredible sense of sight, thanks to his gift of the six eyes, as well as very keen observation skills. he picks up on little habits you harbor very quickly during the beginning of your relationship. you always choose to wear long-sleeved clothing, even when it’s warm, and you tug at your sleeves as though you are desperately trying to conceal a certain part of yourself from the outside world, from him. he doesn’t understand why at first. the thought crosses his mind that you just aren’t comfortable in sleeveless clothing, but you’ve shown him pictures of yourself from a decade ago when you’d wear variations of different tank tops, short sleeves, and more. he doesn’t understand what changed somewhere along the line. perhaps your sense of style has shifted? maybe you don't like your arms? (he can't understand how because he finds them to be the most gorgeous arms he's ever seen).

but no, something is nagging at him in the back of his head, churning the contents of his gut as though there is something he needs to know, to see that you were hiding, and when the moment unveiled itself, he instantly saw.

you’re in your kitchen while satoru watches you from the other side of the island, leaning over and gazing at your movements with a soft smile. his blue eyes scattered across your body, admiring you while simultaneously searching for any clue, any answer to his hovering questions.

“where’d i put the containers,” you murmur to yourself in the midst of making lunch for the week, moving about your space rather slowly.

satoru offers his own help, pointing a slender finger over to the space above your head. “did you check that cabinet?” he asks.

you turn over your shoulder and quirk your brow. “oh, do you live here now? suddenly know where everything is?” you ask playfully, a small smile rising to your lips as satoru chuckles.

“not yet,” he winks. “but i sure am working on it, though. you know i have to make myself familiar with the space in case we share it someday.”

“is that so?”

“or, of that doesn't work out you could always live with me. i’d love to have you.”

“we’ve been together for three weeks, satoru.”

“yeah, but what does that matter when it comes to loveeee,” he pouts and you giggle, shaking your head as you turn back to reach for the cabinet. you stand on your tiptoes and reach out, sleeve of your sweet draping down to your elbow.

satoru is quick to his feet to help you, though you’re more than capable, when he catches the sight of what looks like a scar streaking over the inside of your wrist. his face falls and his brows angle, marching over to you quickly with a look of urgency on his face.

you don’t register how fast he is moving until you feel him behind you. you turn and look up, caught off guard by the way his eyes had hardened and his pupils shrank. your hand stalls on the cabinet handle, the scars on your arm completely slipping your mind momentarily.

“satoru? you okay?”

he doesn’t answer, grasping your wrist in his hand gently and pulling it down from above you. your eyes flicker up to the movement, and when you realize what is happening, your heart sinks. your eyes go wide and you try to tug your arm away, but satoru’s grip tightens slightly, extending your arm by your wrist to display the inside of your forearm before him.

he thinks his vision is blurring over, his heart ringing in his ears, his breaths quickening as his eyes detail over the row of rigid scars lining from your inner elbow up to your wrist. his world collapses around him, lips stretching into a disbelieving grimace as his wild eyes survey the damage. some of those scars look newer than others, scabbing over with specs of purple, while the others are far older.

you panic, trying to tug away again, but satoru’s grip on you is too secure. a lump forms in your throat as you search for things to say, anything to say that could take your boyfriend’s attention away, that could excuse the sight before him as something else. “s-satoru, wait-” you stammer, your voice weaker than you had intended it to be.

satoru looks like he can’t hear you, nose flaring as he stares, and stares, and stares, and suddenly, your vulnerability is bare naked before him, on display for him to judge, to belittle, to curl his brows at and determine as pathetic and weak. you can feel yourself about to cry already, shaken by this sudden attention.

“satoru,” you whisper, arm trembling within his grasp.

“what is this?” he breathes out so quietly, his voice betraying himself and hardly reaching over a brush through the wind. when you do not answer, those pained eyes are on you, tormented by the sight he has just witnessed. “(y/n), what is this?”

you feel small, avoiding his eyes and looking all over the floor. “i- it’s nothing,” you murmur.

“nothing?” he repeats, as though he has been burned by your response. the white haired man quickly seeks out your other wrist, reaching down to your other side as you try to turn away, but he, of course, manages to seize it and extend it like your other arm and roll up that sleeve. the same row of scars litter your beautiful skin.

satoru’s a mess, frightened, confused, devastated. this is what you had been hiding from him all this time? “this isn’t fucking nothing, (y/n), they’re all over you! what did you do?”

you still can’t respond, you can’t muster up an excuse, you can’t do anything. satoru’s concern is far too overbearing, his gaze too intense, and his hold on you too secure. it feels like he has you laid out on a slab before him, stripped of your clothes as he examines your body with contempt.

he’s disgusted. he’s ashamed, you think.

amid his grief, he catches the terrified look in your eye, your lips tugged downward as if to prevent yourself from crying. you look so scared.

how could he have not seen this sooner, that you’re hurting? that you’re hurting yourself?

“baby, what did you do?” he repeats, softer this time as he leans down to look at you, your body trembling in his hold. his thumbs graze your inflamed skin, hesitant to touch you for fear that you may break.

“please don’t,” you breathe out in a huff, voice wobbling as you scrunch your eyes closed. “please, don’t look. just forget you saw it, please.”

“forget i-?” satoru has to stop himself from lashing out poorly, from allowing his emotions to overcome him in what he understands is clearly your moment of need. “how could you ask me to do something like that? (y/n), your arms, baby!”

“satoru, please-” you shake your head. you want to shrink away, to hide, to vanish into thin air. “i don’t wanna talk about it. please.”

“(y/n),” he exhales, closing his eyes to gather himself. “(y/n),” he repeats softly, hands releasing your wrists slowly and sliding up your arms to delicately hold your shoulders. “we can’t not talk about this. you have to tell me what’s been going on. you have to, baby, you have to understand how scared I am right now. help me understand. let me help you, let me take on whatever burden you’re carrying, please, I’ll do anything as long as it means you’re not hurting yourself.”

his hands move to your neck, cupping over the skin as he ducks his head down to look at you more clearly.

“i can’t stand the thought that you’ve been- and i haven’t-” satoru was stumbling now, throat straining as the urge to cry rose. “why didn’t you come to me? i’m right here for you, (y/n), i always have been. why didn’t you tell me?”

“...it’s embarrassing,” you manage to say, your voice fragile, on the verge of breaking. you can feel your boyfriend’s eyes peering into you even with your own eyes closed. “didn’t want you to see… I didn’t wanna be a burden.”

satoru’s heart is breaking for you, hurt that you could even think of yourself as a burden to him. “have i- have i done or said anything to you to make you feel that way?” he asks genuinely, and you cringe, turning your head to the side to open your eyes.

“no, of course not.”

“then why would you think that, baby?”

you shrug helplessly, tears welling into your eyes. satoru sees you, all of you, his heart thrumming to capture the pain you feel and to lift it from your chest, to help you breathe even just a little bit. he releases a weighted sigh, one of sadness, of love, of heartache for you, and he’s pulling you into him as your arms dangle limply at your sides.

you scrunch your eyes and immediately break down into him, sobbing into his shirt as his warm hands wash over your frame and cradle your head to him, the muscles in his face tight with anguish. he holds onto you like he’s horrified that you will fade away within his arms.

“i’m just so tired, toru,” you cry into his chest, dampening the fabric of his shirt. “i’m sorry.”

satoru doesn’t respond, afraid that if he speaks, he’ll end up crying too. you’re his girl, his beautiful, loving girl, and the fact that you have done such harm to yourself is incomprehensible to him. if you love him so, how can you hate yourself enough to have done this?

“how long?” is all he can ask you, breath heaving into your hair and ear. you hesitate, for he already seems so wounded by his discovery. “tell me.”

“...two years…”

he’s crushed. how did he not see sooner? how could he have been so blind after having bragged about being able to see everything so clearly? how could he have left you like this?

he holds you tighter, digging his head into the crook of your neck and hunching over, your eyes now seeing over the curve of his broad shoulder.

“i’m sorry, baby,” he apologizes to you in turn, fingers curling into your hair as he holds your scalp. “i'm sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”

you’re confused as to why he’s apologizing to you since the entire thing is your fault. satoru has a tendency to take on your emotions, piling them onto his own weight of carrying the title of the strongest. you never understood why he did so naturally and willingly, and why even now as you stood limply in his arms, he’s crying for the things you did to yourself.

he pulls away with shiny red eyes, gazing down into your shiny red eyes and tear stained cheeks. you’re so beautiful, he thinks. he hates that such beauty has been suffering in so much silence.

“(y/n), I love you more than anything in this goddamn world. please don’t- don’t keep doing this to yourself. if you’re hurting, come to me. hurt me if you have to lash out, but don’t hurt yourself beautiful.”

“i would never even think of hurting you, satoru.”

“then don’t think of doing it to yourself,” he says firmly, and you press your lips together.

“…i-i don’t know how to… to stop,” you mumble, and he’s taking your hands in his and kissing them gently.

“i’ll help you. we can get you help, baby, I promise. just promise me, please,” he begs you, holding your hands close to his heart. “you come to me when you feel like doing that, okay? you come to me. and I’ll do whatever I can. let me help you. let me be there for you. i won’t let you push me out, (y/n).”

you're crying again, tears streaking over your face as satoru’s love captures you within his words, within his warmth as he forces you to understand that you are not alone, and never will be.

satoru kisses your hands again. his lips reach your cheek, and his hand comes to tuck your head into his shoulder again, holding you and telling you that you have him to go to when your world grows dark.

geto suguru: if suguru could sum you up into one word, he would say that you're his universe.

everything in his life he does for the sake of you and his girls, for the sake of keeping you safe and making you happy. your happiness and your comfortability are the only things that suguru prioritizes above all else, making them his very goal to serve each and every day.

suguru's not the most stable, you know that and he knows that himself. he has his off days, where he falls quiet and the world around him numbs itself and the noise becomes a muffle in his ears until you step into view, giving him a smile and wrapping his big frame up in your small arms, your voice whispering to him and breaking through the fog. you're his sanctuary. you're his safe place, and he loves you so much. he owes his entire life to you, therefore ensuring that you feel just as loved as you make him feel is very important to him.

so when he catches sight of the scars on your stomach one day by accident, when you lift up mimiko to sit on your shoulder as nanako jumps up for you to pick her up to, and her shoe kicks up your shirt from your waist momentarily, suguru freezes.

are you hurt? did someone do this to you? did you do this to yourself?

countless thoughts are racing through suguru's mind as he stares at you in a daze, watching you laugh so joyfully along with the girls as though no trouble plagues you.

but there is. you've just been hiding it. hiding it far too well.

his mind is elsewhere for the rest of the day, unsure of if he had been imagining things or not. he knows you so well, or at least he thinks he does. how have you been hiding those marks littering your lower abdomen? how had he missed them?

he thinks back to the moments you two were intimate and recalls that you never wanted to remove the tanktop you wore or let him kiss further than your ribs. he recalls the days you all went to the beach and you kept a white shirt over your swimsuit or elected to wear a onepiece. he recalls how quickly you change when he's with you, your back turned to him as you rush to throw something on over your upper body.

the signs... they're all there. you've been hiding yourself from him, but why? what have you been doing? have you truly been harming yourself, or is that thought a trick of suguru's worst fears?

he tries to keep himself calm around you and the girls for the remainder of the day until they are put to sleep and the two of you are alone again.

you sit on the edge of your shared bed, rubbing lotion over your arms with your back facing suguru again. he watches you carefully, back resting against the headboards and hazel eyes trained on your figure as though you aren't real.

he waits for the proper moment, waiting for you to crawl up and curl under his side, his arm subconsciously wrapping over your waist as your head lays on his chest. he stares at the ceiling for a moment, thinking as weighty silence overcomes you, then he's cautiously speaking.

"(y/n)?"

the soft call of your name brings your head up to peer at him curiously, blinking innocently. he turns down to look at your face and his heart clenches. while he knows that he knows what he saw, he doesn't want to believe it. he doesn't want to think that you, such a selfless and caring person for him, would hurt yourself.

you hum up at him, wondering what he has called you for. you see the pensive look in his face, the subtle knit in his brow as he stares at you, gears in his head turning. "yeah sugu?" you say gently.

he doesn't want to ask, but he has to. he doesn't want the confirmation, but he needs to know.

"i want to ask you a question..." he says, and you grow slightly befuddled.

"...okay?" you start. "is it serious?"

"yeah, it is," he admits, and you suddenly grow nervous, immediately catching an idea of what this could be about. you don't like the look on his face, the way he appears so serious.

"...alright," you mumble, suddenly meek.

the black haired man stares for a few more moments, just looking at you, taking in your the features he feel so deeply in love with, the features that bring him comfort and peace. "i saw something earlier, when you were holding mimiko," he begins softly, thumb caressing your back to ease you into the conversation.

you feel your heart jolt anxiously, trying to keep a straight face so as to not give your nerves away, but knowing suguru, he could likely already tell that you're getting antsy.

you lift your head to look at him, hand resting over his chest, and his eyes follow you smoothly. his eyes are focused, lips in a firm line.

"your shirt lifted, and i saw your stomach. i saw some marks. a lot of them, actually," he says, and you still completely, like a deer caught in headlights. his hand presses gently into your back, trying to keep you present with him as his concerns grow worse when he sees you stiffen against him. he frowns, denial still taking hold of him. "(y/n), please tell me those aren't what i think they are," he sighs heavily.

you feel caught.

you knew that suguru would find out at some point or another, but that didn't make this moment any less horrifying for you. it's so quiet in your room, so isolating, no background noise of the girls giggling or the distant buzz of the tv to help weaken the intensity of this point in time. you feel like a spotlight is shining overhead, an audience awaiting eagerly for you to reveal your secrets to the crowd.

suguru sits up slightly, his calmness gradually shifting into terrified incredulity. your eyes are on his face but your gaze is elsewhere, far off. you look uncomfortable, stuck, and no explanation hits suguru's ears.

"(y/n)," he says your name again, looking desperately down at you. "tell me i'm wrong."

you wish you could, you really do, but you can't lie to suguru. he knows you too well, he loves you too much, and to lie to him would be like denying his understanding of who you are.

you feel your skin flush with shame and anxiety, heartbeat likely loud enough for your boyfriend to hear.

you worry. you worry about your boyfriend's judgment, for his reaction. is he going to be angry with you?

"hey," he snaps you out of your daze with the drag of your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes as he stares at you helplessly. you look at him and frown, ashamed that you are the reason he looks so pained. "what's going on?"

the question comes out so delicately, it makes your heart break. a whisp of understanding blends into his tone with empathy, yet a crushing sense of sadness and guilt that overpowers the aforementioned emotions. you struggle to look him in his kind eyes, dreading his consolation that you feel you don't deserve.

"talk to me, (y/n)."

you chew angrily on the inside of your lip, looking down at your finger as you pick at his shirt. he watches your brows furl, an array of different feelings capturing your features. "i was gonna tell you about it..." you murmur, and suguru is floored.

"what?" he breathes out as though he has no more air. you wince, lowering your head. "you-" he pauses, mind jumping from one place to another. "you did that to yourself?"

"i'm sorry, i-" you can feel your throat growing tight. "i've been trying to-"

"to stop?" he tries to finish for you, grasping for any kind of explanation. he's devastated, not only because you've been harming yourself, but because you've been so busy looking after him and the girls that he hasn't noticed. you're the one who always comforts him, but while you've been doing that, you've been aching on the inside and trying to hide it.

you nod meekly when he concludes for you. "i just- i thought the feelings would go away, so i didn't say anything, but they're just getting worse and i don't know what to do anymore and i only feel better after i..."

"(y/n)," he stops you gently, his heart shattering upon listening to you ramble, spilling out the things you have been holding onto for what he assumes to have been so long. "you've been dealing with this all this time?"

"...it's on and off," you confess. "some days are better than others, but..."

suguru finds your words familiar, for he often finds himself in the exact same mindset; feeling functional and confident some days, and others, not so much, but you're the reason why he's able to handle his bad days, yet he hasn't been the same for you for as long as the two of you have been together.

he feels almost sick. he loves you to death. you're his everything, but you've been in pain, and he hasn't seen it.

the way he's looking at you now makes you feel guilty, remorseful, embarrassed. you know you should have told him, but you could never find the strength to. you had always been too scared. and the longer you self-harm, the less you are willing to admit to yourself and to your boyfriend that you have a problem.

you're shocked, though, when suguru's hands tighten over you and his face grows bitter, not with you but with himself. "how could i have been so stupid?" he grumbles, distraught. "and so selfish? all this time, you-"

"no, suguru, please, it's not your fault," you try to tell him.

"i should have seen, baby, i should have noticed something sooner. and all this time, instead you've been looking after me when i should have been looking after you."

"don't say that, suguru," you shift, looking sadly into his eyes. "it's my fault. i'm the one who did this, i'm the one who's to blame. i'm the stupid and selfish one, not you."

suguru's frown deepens, sad eyes looking over your face. you blame and belittle yourself just as easily as suguru does, and he can't stand it. he can't stand to see you like this, to be so aware of hurt before him. he wants, no, he needs to take all that pain away from you. he needs to exorcize it, rid your body of it, cast it away so that you can be happy from now until the rest of time. he needs you to be okay.

"i swear on my life, (y/n)," he begins firmly, eyes boring straight into yours, holding your cheek. "i will do everything in my power to get you through this. whatever it takes, no matter how long it takes, i will be here for you. you're not alone, you understand? you don't need to pretend for me. the girls love you- god i love you so fucking much, and i can't stomach to think of the times you've suffered in silence for my sake. i'm no good if you're no good, baby. i need to know these things, i need to be able to help you."

your nose twitches and your jaw clenches as you look into him, breathing growing unstable. suguru has always been so generous and so loving. he has a way with his words and how safe they make you feel even during your worst moments.

"but what if i can't do it, sugu?" you whisper, his thumb catching the tear that leaks from the corner of your eye. "what if i'm not strong enough to get better?"

"you are strong enough," he affirms confidently. "more than strong enough. and when you feel weak, lean on me. but you have to promise me something."

you nod slowly, mutely, keeping his gaze as he stares at you lovingly, wistfully.

"promise me you won't do it," his words come out as a quick, hasty breath. his brows curl further upward, his desperation plain on his pretty face. "promise me you'll let me know as soon as you want to, but don't hurt yourself again, (y/n). don't do it. i'm begging you. you don't deserve that pain."

though you are unsure if you can even make that promise to yourself, you force yourself to try. for suguru's sake. "okay," you mumble, and he sighs, kissing you softly and pulling you to his chest to whisper sweet nothings as his hands soothe over your stomach and your back.

nanami kento: you twist your fingers around each other as you sit in the living room while kento cooks in the kitchen. you're nervous, more nervous than you have been about anything in your entire life, but you know that you need to rip off this bandaid to approach your boyfriend about such a serious matter.

recently, you find yourself returning to the old habit that you believed to have been relinquished. you thought that you had gotten better, that the urge to self harm had completely gone away after having spent so much time in therapy trying to heal, but recently, you've been feeling down again, useless, angry with yourself. you didn't want to tell nanami at first because you didn't think that your current mood would go beyond feeling depressed, but now that you've started scratching away at your thighs and your arms again, you know that you need to let him know what's going on. you know that you can't go on like this anymore.

but you have no idea what to say.

nanami has been nothing but doting toward you, bringing you flowers every morning, making your meals, ensuring that you remember to schedule doctor's appointments or to keep yourself warm when it's cold out- the man's life revolves around your comfortability, and while you know he would be far more offended if you keep this to yourself, you're horrified to see his reaction when you tell him that you relapsed.

nanami is well aware of your past difficulties with your mental health, and he always tells you that if you are ever in a dark space again, he needs to know. even so, he hasn't been with you when you're like this. the two of you got together after the multiple therapy visits that helped you to shift mindsets, so now that you feel this way again, and while in a relationship with nanami no less, you feel petrified.

you don't even notice when he rounds the kitchen counter to make his way over to the dining table, setting down two plates of food. he looks over and catches the way you stare ahead blankly, lost in thought. you've been doing a lot of that lately and he wonders if something is wrong.

nevertheless, he knows that if something is bothering you, you'll tell him. "sweetheart, dinner's ready," he calls out, and you snap your head over to him, his voice bringing you out of your daze.

you stand wordlessly, movements somewhat robotic, as you slowly make your way over to the table. "thanks, ken," you say softly, lacking your usual energy, and at this point, your partner knows for certain that something is off.

he watches you carefully as you sit down, pushing in your seat for you and pecking your forehead before sitting down next to you. "tell me how your day was," he starts, brushing off his hands and reaching one out to rest one on your knee as he always did at the table. he's prying, you can tell, trying to learn if something that happened throughout the day affected your mood.

your heart is hammering loudly, your eyes stuck to the plate and unable to look up at him. "it was okay," you respond.

"just okay?" he questions and you nod slowly. "did something happen?"

you flicker your eyes up to his brown ones suddenly, caught off guard by the question. he sees the questioning in your eyes and replies accordingly.

"you seem to be a little off, this evening, that's all."

you hum, unsure of how to respond to his observation. you look away again, contemplating. just say it, you think. just tell him, just get it over with.

as you struggle against yourself, nanami only grows more concerned. you don't confirm or deny his comment, and the way you turn away has him wondering if he's done something to hurt you.

"did i do something wrong, darling?" he asks.

you furrow your brows and quickly shut down the idea. "no, no. not at all, ken. it's nothing you did."

"then... there is something troubling you?"

you stall a bit more now that you're on the spot, cursing the fact that kento is always so quick to pick up on the smallest changes in your demeanor.

"(y/n)?" he calls you when you don't answer.

"i have to tell you something," you say abruptly. you see nanami's brows raise ever so slightly, soft brown eyes looking over your face in an attempt to read the situation before you tell him anything. "it's... a lot. so i need you to just... bear with me. and please don't be mad."

nanami's brow twitches slightly as he looks at you, head tilting. he grabs the bottom of his chair and shuffles it closer to you, leaning over slightly and running his hand over where it resides on your knee.

"i could never be mad at you," he tells you earnestly, as though it's the most honest thing he's said in the world. "what's the matter, my love?"

god, he's so sweet to you it makes you physically ill that you have to break this news to him.

"...do you remember when we talked about... um..." your voice fades off, nanami's concentrated gaze only making you more nervous for what his reaction will be.

"take your time," he encourages you, and you only feel worse.

you return to chewing on the inside of your lip anxiously, picking at your shirt under the table. the blonde man beside you is ever so patient, allowing you to gather your thoughts before you verbalize them.

"...um...it's.... about what we talked about a while ago..."

"...and that would be regarding?"

"my... past."

nanami furrows his brows, still not quite understanding. "i apologize, honey, what about your past?"

just rip the bandaid. just rip the bandaid.

"my past with self-harming," you rush out, and the weighty silence that follows is enough to make you want to sink into the floor and let it swallow you whole.

you can feel his eyes burning into you, processing what you just told him, and all you can hear is the pound of your heart in your ears as his hand stills upon your knee.

nanami, on the other hand, is completely shocked by your revelation. while he understands that your relapsing has always been a very realistic possibility, he never wanted to entertain the idea that it could very much so happen- at least, not while he's around.

a sense of fear grips him. are you going to tell him that you relapsed? have you already hurt yourself? has he failed to be there when it happened??

"did you-" he doesn't know what he wants to ask, or how. he hates that he is already jumping to conclusions, but the way you are structuring this conversation with him only leads him to believe the worst. "what happened?"

your head hangs low and your fingers taut on your shirt, lips tightening as they press together. you can hear the disbelief in his voice already, and it breaks you.

"i relapsed."

the brown-eyed man clenches his jaw, falling completely silent once more to not react in a way that may worsen your state. you feel his hand tighten into a fist over top of your leg as he lowers his head, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and inhaling sharply. you feel like a child who is awaiting punishment as you look at his hunched state, a million questions of what he will do next running through your mind.

you hate to do this to him. nanami already has so much on his plate, you know this is the last thing he needs to be stressing over. you wish you could be okay for him. it's not his fault that your mind takes you to these places, and you don't want him to bear responsibility as though it is his doing. even so, you already know that he will because that's the type of man kento is. that's the type of boyfriend kento is.

you wait a few more moments in unbearable muteness. after what feels like forever, kento lifts his head again and rests his chin on his fist, elbow propped on his knee. he's looking to the side, deep in anguished thought. he no longer looks surprised, but rather guilty and frustrated. "when?" is the first thing he asks.

"yesterday," you answer dejectedly, and he almost jerks, his body twitching in reaction. "...are you mad?"

nanami looks at you and his hardened expression immediately softens into something melancholy. "no- no, of course not, (y/n), no," he shakes his head as if the notion is unfathomable, releasing his fist to cup your knee again more securely. "i will never be angry with you for what you're going through. never. no, i'm not mad."

you nod quickly, a meek sense of relief and sorrow taking over you, a weight heaving from your chest upon letting it out. "okay," you whimper.

"come here, my darling," he coaxes you softly, opening and grabbing your hand from under the table delicately to lead you to stand over him. his hand guides over the small of you're back once you're up, leading you to sit on his lap with your back pressed against the table and your legs dangling over one side of his chair.

he holds your forearms gently, looking up at you with sad, understanding eyes. "are you comfortable showing me?" he murmurs so intimately, easing you into his warm consolation.

you don't nod or answer him verbally. instead, you wordlessly roll up the sleeve of your sweater to reveal angry red scratch lines running up your inner forearm. nanami's lips curl in pain as though he can feel the sting of your scars, holding your arm gently for him to look over it.

the sight kills him, though he tries to keep his cool. this isn't about him, it's about you, but goodness, the image of the scars on your beautiful skin makes him hurt like no other pain he's experienced.

"is this all of it?" he asks you, and you shake your head.

"there's some on my thighs," you mutter, looking down.

he nods. "alright," he sighs. "alright."

"...i know you have so much on your plate already... i just-"

"don't. don't even," he stops you, eyes still roaming over your irritated skin. nanami usually commends himself for remaining collected in times of crisis, but he's desperately fighting a part of him that wants to yell out and cry for the sake of you.

he imagines you struggling with this on your own, long before he came into your life, and the thought makes him cringe to picture just how far this must have gotten. these scratches he is surveying now already look bad enough. were the other ones worse?

"(y/n), you know this isn't okay," he looks up at your face and sees how you are avoiding his eyes. you look so small compared to how you usually carry yourself, and it kills him. "to harm yourself like this... you can't treat yourself this way, darling, you know you can't."

"i know," you mumble. "i just had a moment, and now i'm scared that- that i'll go back to how things were."

"as long as i'm with you, you won't. i promise you that," nanami swears. "it was just this one time since you last?"

you nod. "yeah..."

"okay," he nods once more, convincing himself that this is something he can help stop before it gets any more out of hand. "why'd you do it this time, my love? what were you thinking that led you here? is there something i can do differently? is it work? is it a combination of things?"

"i wish it were that easy to explain, kento," you frown, glancing up at him helplessly. "but it's just... it's just a feeling i can't put into words. i can't pinpoint the source. i just... one minute i felt like i couldn't breathe, and the next i was..."

"okay," he repeats, letting you know that you no longer need to say anything more. you don't have to revisit it. he understands. he will take care of it. he'll help you. "okay, darling. how about this. i call off of work tomorrow and we can sit and talk about seeing a new therapist. then we can go out and do whatever you want. just for fun. does that sound okay with you?"

your nose flares and your lips tug to the side as you nod, truly not comprehending how you managed to find a man so patient with you. "yeah, that's good," you say softly, and nanami is at least relieved that you are willing to take further steps into a better direction.

"good," he whispers, rolling the sleeve of your sweater back down so that you no longer feel exposed or feel like you have to think any more about the things you did to yourself when you felt alone. "it's alright, my love. we'll get through it. you'll get past this just like you did last time," he encourages you, moving to caress your shoulder lovingly as you hold his gaze. "it's okay," he tells you again, and you nod weakly, leaning over to plop your head against his shoulder.

nanami holds you to him and exhales, food completely forgotten. his only priority now is to be there for you in the ways he could not before the two of you met.

"thank you for telling me."

choso kamo: choso worships the ground you walk on because he can not fathom a world without, nor the fact that you happened to stumble into his life on a whim. to imagine you hurt is the very worst thing that the man can think of, and the notion that you would hurt yourself is beyond his comprehension.

you aren't actively trying to hide any of your scars when he finds them. the scars are old, faded reminders of the pain that you used to endure and how you attempted to cope with it. while you are now six months free of self harming, the scars remain very present.

choso happens to catch sight of your scars when you are getting changed. he's sitting at the edge of your bed, face flushed, as he watches you blissfully change out of your pajamas and into clothes that you feel are best suited for a walk to the ice cream shop that choso has proposed. it's a bright sunday afternoon, and the brunette is eager to take advantage of the weather with the woman he holds close to his heart as well as his baby brother, who the two of you intend to meet at the store.

you're now dressed in nothing but a large white shirt and underwear, your legs bare as you strut around the space freely. choso's jade eyes follow you as you walk, completely obsessed with the way you move. he could watch you do the most mundane things for hours, which he truthfully tends to do anyway.

your back is to him before you round the bed, disappearing into the bathroom momentarily before coming back into the living room. choso's eyes still don't leave you, tracing over your face down your figure and finally to the front of your bare legs.

he falters, and his brows draw together when he catches dark marks littering over your inner thighs, only revealing themselves with the movement of your limbs as you walk.

the pale-skinned man grows confused and slightly concerned. he's never seen those marks on you before, and simultaneously, never on anyone else he knows either. he finds them to be a strange form of battle scars, especially due to the placement, the small size, and the sheer number of them. some of them take different shapes too, blurring together or over each other, while some stand out alone. they almost look like burns, but it's hard for choso to really tell.

you proceed about your business, searching through your drawer to pull out a skirt, when choso speaks up.

"love? what are those?" he asks curiously, perplexed.

you turn over your shoulder, shutting your drawer closed with your foot. "hm? what's what, cho?" you ask him, unsure of what he's referring.

choso, still slightly flustered by the vision of your half exposed body, nods his head into the direction of your lower legs. "those," he says again, and you look down, still lost.

you lift your foot momentarily, checking to see if something is stuck under or on top of it. you then survey the rest of your body, searching for something out of the ordinary. "uhhh," you trail off. "i'm not sure what you mean, baby. you're talking about my legs?"

you are far too desensitized to and familiar with the image of your scars to process that choso has never seen them before. the brunette, however, is unsatisfied, wanting an answer that you have yet to provide.

he leans forward, lifting his hand and pointing his finger directly to a patch of dark spots peeking out from your inner thighs. you follow his gaze, eyes landing on the culprits, and your shoulders drop in realization. "oh," you say shortly, choso retracting his hand.

he looks at you innocently, awaiting a response while you try to figure out how to explain this sight to him.

you don't want to worry him, but knowing choso, if you lead with the fact that these scars are there because you inflicted them onto yourself, he would have a heart attack, failing to find reason to your words.

even so, you know choso only wants to understand you as much as you desire to understand him. he wants to see the ugly parts as well as the beautiful parts of you that he is so drawn to, and if you hide it from him, that would only create a rift in your budding relationship that you aren't entirely too keen on creating.

you want him to know you, all of you, and these scars are as much of a part of you as the bones in your body and the blood pumping through your skin.

they're a sign of what you've been through, what you've overcome, and who you are now. they're important, and choso should know why they are there.

"that's a good question," you sigh, putting your skirt on the bed as you move to sit next to him at the edge of it. choso immediately turns to you, glancing over the marks shamelessly now that he has a better view of them.

"did someone do that to you?" is the first thought that crosses his mind, red drifting into his vision at the mere idea that someone has hurt you in such an intimate way.

"...no," you shake your head, lifting one leg up onto the bed, brushing his own, as the other dangles. "i put them there. a while ago," you explain honestly.

choso scrunches his brows tighter, eyes flickering up to your face then back down to try to identify what exactly the marks are. "what are they?" he repeats.

you exhale, puckering your lips as you prepare yourself for this difficult conversation. "they're burns, cho. from a match," you tell him.

now, the half-curse is incredibly confused. burn marks? on your lovely skin? in a place where only you could reach? put there by yourself?

you burned yourself?

"i don't understand," he frowns, shifting to face you better. "why would you..."

"i used to be in a really bad place, baby," you purse your lips, watching as his face contorts with consternation as he comes to understand that you purposefully harmed yourself.

"what do you mean? bad enough to do this to yourself?" he sounds mortified, his voice growing ragged the moment his tone picks up volume.

his pupils, moments ago blown pools of affection, are now shrunken dots of shock.

"don't look at me like that," you beg him, placing your hand over his own. his eyes snap to the sudden contact, then back to you with concern. "sometimes, when certain people are suffering from depression, or anxiety, or just overall bad thoughts and they feel like they have to... break out, or maybe punish themselves in a sense... they resort to hurting themselves."

choso gulps, lump forming in his throat as he listens to you with shaking eyes. "and that's what you did? you felt like you needed to punish yourself?"

"it's hard to explain to someone on the outside. i know it sounds... crazy, but it was the only way i knew how to cope with everything that i was dealing with."

"why didn't you come to me instead?" he immediately asks and you give him a sad, knowing look.

"because, we didn't know each other then, cho?"

"i don't care," he shakes his head, eyes keeping yours. "you should have found me."

the idea brings a hint of a smile to your lips, choso's sweetness warming your heart. "i didn't know who you were, baby, that would have been like begging a stranger for help."

"so?" he scoffs. "i loved you the moment i met you. it wouldn't have made any difference to me.

you sigh again, bringing your other hand to rest over top of your boyfriend's as you smile softly at him in an attempt to get him to calm down.

the panic is still written all over his face as he takes in your smile, the vision somehow only making him sadder. you're so gorgeous, inside and out, and that smile is only scratching the surface of your unending beauty.

to know now that your radiance was once outweighed by the torment in your mind encouraging you to harm yourself... well, it makes choso want to ball his eyes out. it makes him want to confront the physical manifestation of your past traumas and pummel it into the ground, bashing its head in for all the hurt that it has caused you.

"i ended up just fine, cho," you reassure him.

"why didn't you say anything before? were you trying to keep it from me?"

"no, baby, i just didn't think to tell you. i kinda forgot about them," you say, and that comment alone makes choso soften his features slightly.

"you forgot..." he recites your words. "does that mean you're better now?"

you hum in affirmation, smiling warmly. "it's been a while since i've hurt myself or done anything like that. i got through it. i'm okay now, these scars are just a permanent reminder of the past."

his frame sags slightly with relief, brows lifting as he looks over you with a blank expression. "i think i understand," he mumbles, looking back down at the marks. "i'm sorry you ever had to go through any of that."

"it's not your fault. you weren't there."

"i wish i had been. so i could have helped more. i know you said you're better, but maybe if i had been there i could've stopped you from hurting yourself at all."

"i wouldn't put that responsibility onto yourself, cho. it was my responsibility."

"still," his brows arch slightly. "i would have stuck with you every second of every day to make sure that you never had a second alone to do any of it. i wouldn't have let you, and i won't let you now." a thought seems to pop into his head when he finishes his last sentence. "you wouldn't go back to trying to hurt yourself, (y/n), would you?

you exhale. "i mean, i'd like to think i wouldn't, but sometimes these things aren't linear," you admit. "i just know that for now, i'm okay."

"the second you're not, though, you'd tell me?"

"yes. i would."

"you promise?"

"i promise, baby."

"okay," he sighs. "because i don't think i'd be able to function knowing you're upset."

the brown haired man leans over, carefully holding your thigh as he looks over your marks again, no longer flustered by your bare skin but entirely focused on the severity of your burns. you look down at him, hands slipping from his own as he surveys you closely like he's a doctor.

"they don't hurt anymore, do they?"

"nope. just scarred."

choso looks at you for a bit longer in silence before looking back up at you from his hunched state. "can i kiss them?"

you laugh softly, hand falling into his hair at you gaze at him with your heart aglow. "you want to kiss them?"

he nods. "so they can feel loved."

you coo, thumb smoothing over his temple as his eyes swell with adoration right before you. "of course you can."

toji fushiguro: toji is absolutely no stranger to scars. he's a human man with no cursed energy, having had his fair share of close calls on risky jobs that have left him with slashes over his calves, small pierces in his flesh, and cracked callouses. then, of course, there's the scar on his mouth bestowed upon him by his oh-so-loving family, which will be stuck with for the rest of his life.

scars follow toji like moths follow a flame, and he's numb to it. he believes that they are a part of life, both physically and mentally, especially with the kind of life that he leads. whether the wound is a large one or a small one he can barely see, he accepts scars as a part of who he is-

who he is.

while toji likes to parade around with a hardened exterior decorated with faded, scabbing wounds, that is something he deems fit for him and him only. he doesn't care what other people do with their lives as long as they leave him the hell out of it, but for the love of all the money that he has acquired over the years slaughtering sorcerers, he will be damned if he finds a single, tiny little scratch on your body.

scars are for toji, not for you, his darling little girlfriend and the day he finds out someone has hurt you enough to leave behind a mark is the day he's putting several bullets into the culprit's head.

toji's worst fear, though he hardly discusses it, is losing you and watching you get hurt. god, he practically lives to protect you, and to feel as though he has failed to do so would wound him detrimentally. he's a tough guy, but you make him so soft, and admittedly he wouldn't want to be soft for anyone but you. you're his rock, his little hot head, and he loves you more than life itself.

if you're hurt, he will lose it.

therefore, when he finds out that you're self-harming? oh, he's on the verge of losing his fucking mind.

he does a double-take when you step out of his room and into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your body, his eyes widening and his brows arching immediately.

now, toji knows your body inside and out. he's explored every inch, he knows every crook, every crevice, every mark, every texture, and he has never once in the six months you have been together seen the red lines over your inner wrist.

he watches you with twisted lips as you grab an orange from the counter before walking back into his direction. you're almost back into the room when toji calls you.

"uh uh," he stops you, and you pause, turning over your shoulder and purposefully moving your left wrist to press into your towel.

"what?"

"come here," he orders and you give him a strange look.

"why?"

"i wanna see somethin'. come here."

you're quick to snap back easily with your own sarcastic retort, clearly in a foul mood over something. "if you want to fuck, can you wait until i'm fully dried off and after i finish this?' you hold up the orange in your other hand, a perturbed look on your face.

"i don't want to fuck, (y/n), i want you to come here."

toji's voice comes out sternly, and on the verge of anger. you survey his posture, his arms leaning over his legs as he cranes to look at you with a suspicious, firm expression. you can tell that he's serious, and a sudden sense of fear overtakes you that you mask with annoyance.

you don't say a word when you slowly walk up to him, crossing your arms over your chest to conceal your wrist, the hand holding the orange tucked under your elbow.

"what is it?"

toji holds out his palm. "give it."

"...my orange?"

"put it in my hand."

you huff, carefully maneuvering your arm around to keep your inner wrist pointed toward your body as you bring forward the orange and plop it aggressively into his hand. toji watches your other arm the entire time, taking clear note of how you refuse to let your wrist show, and you know you're fucked.

the green-eyed man tosses the orange to the side of the couch and holds out his large palm again, eying you intensely. you look down at him with a frustrated frown, shrugging. "i don't have anymore oranges."

"don't be cute, doll."

"what? do you want my hand?"

"you know i want your hand."

you roll your eyes, raising the hand you had held your orange with when he stops you. "not that one. the other one."

your heart pangs, shaking your entire body as he looks to you expectantly. how the fuck had he managed to notice the scar on your wrist so quickly?

the moment you hesitate, he knows that what he saw earlier is something to be concerned about. you normally never hide yourself from toji, and the way you go about hiding your arm now is defensive enough to raise several brows. he knows you're not dumb, too. he knows that you know exactly what he wants to see.

"(y/n)." he cocks a brow, the severity of his demeanor only making you more uneasy.

he can't see. he can't see what you've just done. he'll hate you. he'll look at you like you're crazy.

"what if i don't want to give you my hand?"

"then i'll just grab it for you, and i don't think either of us wants to go there."

you release a trembling, aggravated breath. you can't get away with anything when toji's around, and while you ponder having chosen to get an orange later, you know deep down somewhere you wanted toji to see. you wanted him to help you, which is why you walked out of that bathroom half an hour after having put those scars on your arm.

"hand, now."

you turn your eyes away with a grunt, slapping your wrist into his hand facing downward. toji is quick to whip it upside once he has a grip on you, and his eyes seem to freeze over the sight of three fresh slices on your upper forearm up close.

his jaw clenches, then unclenches, then clenches and unclenches again as his lips twitch and his eyes adjust to the vision. you're hurt. not only are you hurt, but it looks as though you've recently been hurt. you've hurt yourself.

toji has a hard time figuring out what to do. he's not good with things like this, but he knows that seeing you with scars on your arm is quite literally about to set him off. he always imagined having to defend you from others who seek to hurt you, but never having to defend you from yourself.

he can't fathom it. he's struggling, the muscles in his eyes are twitching, and he can't handle it. he can feel his heart begin to race, unsure if he is angry or scared or mortified or devastated.

there are three lines in your arm. bright red. staring right back up at him.

and you put them there?

no way, you put them there.

but you did. clearly you did, or else you wouldn't be looking so guilty right now.

but when did you? how did you? why did you?

he doesn't know what to think. he doesn't know what to say. he swore he'd always protect you, but how does he even begin to try to protect you from yourself?

"are you out of your mind?"

the question leaves him rather calmly, a low inquiry that you are unsure is meant to be directed as an insult or a genuine ask.

you can't look at him. you don't even know what to think yourself. it had all happened so fast while you were in the bathroom, before you got into the shower.

one minute, you were staring angrily in the mirror, cursing your reflection as your wicked thoughts sprouted grubby arms and guided you toward the pair of brow scissors that you kept in your makeup cabinet on the left side of toji's bathroom.

you wanted to feel in control of the disdain you felt lurking within your soul. you wanted to feel something for fear that you would never be able to feel again, and before you knew it, you were dragging the exposed blade over your skin.

"d'you wanna explain why i'm looking at these cuts on your arm, (y/n)?"

and you know, you know that it's a bad sign when toji uses your name instead of the plethora of pet names he normally elects to call you: doll, princess, mama, girl, pretty baby- anything but your actual government name, and when you hear it roll from his tongue under these circumstances, you can only imagine what's going through his head.

you shift on your bare feet, looking down at your toes. "dunno," is all you say, and toji scoffs in disbelief.

"you don't know?" he emphasizes. "that's all you have to say?"

"if you wanna embarrass me, go ahead, toji. seriously, i'm tired."

"what the fuck makes you think i wanna embarrass you? i wanna know why the fuck my girlfriend walked out of the bathroom with cuts on her arm!"

you rip your arm away immediately when he yells, storming back off into his room and slamming the door behind you.

toji jumps up, suddenly frazzled. he doesn't want you alone in there. he doesn't want you out of his sight.

the navy haired man moves quickly to his door and grabs the handle, only to find it locked. he jiggles it harshly and bangs on the door. beginning to panic. "open the door, (y/n)," he shouts, meeting no reply.

little does he know, your back is pressed against the other side as tears crash over your cheeks. you don't know how you expected toji to react, but the look on his face just now and his tone of voice was enough to send you running off.

you feel ashamed, weak. you shouldn't have gone out there at all. you should have waited until you were dressed, discarding the whole idea of letting toji see what you did so that you could suffer in silence without his help, because what help could he truly provide anyway?

toji's a tough man, but he's soft for you. he would stand in front of a moving train for you. he would sacrifice his life for you, so when you don't answer, he imagines the worst.

"open the door," he says again, weaker, tugging desperately at the handle though he knows it won't budge. he knows he could break the door down, and he's prepared to until he hears you sniff amdist his pounding. he immediately stops, face dropping.

fuck.

this is bad.

he knew it was before, but for some reason, it's only now registering how bad this is.

you're in pain. you hurt yourself because you're in pain and you need him, but he doesn't know how to help you. he's never dealt with anything like this before.

his hand slides from the door and to his side, forehead knocking against the door though his other hand remains tight on the handle. he just needs to see you.

"princess," he mutters defeatedly. "don't make me kick this door in."

silence.

"please," he softens even more. "please, (y/n), let me in."

the house falls quiet once more and you give in. you feel so lost, and the only person who can at least comfort you, in his own way, is toji.

you slowly turn to unlock the door and step back as toji opens it swiftly, staring down at you with wide eyes and at least relieved to see that you haven’t done any further harm to your body.

he does, however, see your tears.

his face tightens as he bends down to scoop you up in an instant, your legs and arms tightening around him as you snivel into his shoulder, his large palms sliding over your body. he feels your small body tremble against him as he walks the two of you over to the edge of his bed, sitting down as you cling to him like a koala.

"i dunno what happened," you whimper into him. "i dunno why i did it. i dunno. i dunno."

you say it over and over, your voice as broken as toji feels listening to you.

he wishes he knew what to do. he wishes he was better equipped to handle this, but never in his worst nightmares did he dream that he would find you here, his fiery girl, the love of his life.

he's been so busy trying to protect you from the outside world that he hasn't even thought about the things that could harm you from within.

he stays silent as you babble to him through tears, holding you just like he knew how. he doesn't want to picture those scars on you. he doesn't want to picture what led you to put them there. he just wants to hold you, to at least let you know that he's here and he's not going anywhere. he may not know how to help, but he knows how to love you and he hopes that's enough.

"i'm not letting you out of my sight, y'hear?" he says gruffly into your ear and you nod meekly. "i'm not letting this happen ever again. not as long as i'm alive."

he mentally swears to rid your house and his of any and every sharp object he can find and to throw it all in a safe as you sink into him.

toji knows how to protect and toji knows how to fight. though he's more acclimated with fighting others, if he has to fight to protect yourself from your innermost demons, then hell, he will find a way to do just that.

sukuna ryomen: lord help you and lord help anyone within a fifty-mile radius when the king of curses discovers that you've been harming yourself.

sukuna is not at all very good with his words or his expressions of affirmations. he is a being of action, and he believes that he has proven his love for you enough by simply allowing you to be in his presence longer than anyone else ever has or ever will.

at first, when he sees a scar or two on your leg, he thinks its just an accident or a result of you being clumsy. then, three more pop up, then five, then far more than he's even willing to count, and he decides that this scar pattern is somehow intentional.

he knows no one else has marked them onto you because he is prepared to kill anyone who comes too close, especially if they have ill intentions. if you were in danger at someone else's hand, he would be the first to know and the person meaning you harm would be dead before they could even think about touching you.

therefore, when he sees that the only person normally within your company is him, uraume, and yourself, the process of elimination leads him to you.

he goes about confronting you rather harshly, as well, for he knows no other way to be.

you're out in the garden of his large residence one day, soaking up the sun, when you hear familiar, loud stomps heading your way from behind.

you turn around and squint to peer up at sukuna, who is standing over you with a menacing glare in his crimson eyes. you don't necessarily find this out of the ordinary, so you greet him as usual.

"hi, kuna," you say sweetly. "you good?"

he is not good. not at all, so he gets straight to the point. "come inside, woman."

you quirk a brow. "why? i just got out here?"

"do not question me."

"can it wait, like, fifteen minutes?"

"do you wish to live in the next fifteen minutes?"

you sigh, entirely too used to sukuna's facade of cruelty around you. you know by now that the king of curses would never dare to hurt you.

"i do intend, to live, yes," you smirk.

"then you will come inside as i have demanded."

"no, sukuna. i want to stay out here for a bit. i've been inside all day."

the pink haired man fumes, teeth grinding together in agitation. he doesn't want to delay this conversation any further than it has already been delayed, but of course, you choose to be difficult.

"very well, we will do this out here," he growls and you smile.

"good."

you don't prepare yourself for when sukuna grabs the back of your chair and whips out around to face him with the unpleasant screech of the legs against the cobblestone. you wince, then retract your face when sukuna lowers his to stare at you from mere centimeters away, one of his arms grasping to push up the lose leg of your shorts up to reveal the set of scars littering your skin.

your eyes go wide, his movements too quick for you to process all at once.

"are these your doing?" he hisses and you gulp.

"s-sukuna-"

"i did not ask for you to say my name. i asked if these scars are your doing."

his eyes are piercing, striking directly into yours. "what are you talking about?" you whisper shakily.

"are we going to pretend like you're an idiot now?" he snarls. he's so mean, but he feels it's for good reason. your body has been tainted, and for some reason, you have been doing the tainting. he needs to know why.

you shake your head weakly. "no..."

"then answer me properly. i will not repeat myself a third time."

you bite down on your lower lip, heart ringing in your ears. you didn't even know sukuna paid attention to you enough to catch wind of something like this.

"yes... i did this," you finally tell him, and sukuna is livid.

"and why would you be doing something so foolish? scars are not something you are meant to give yourself, human."

"please don't be a dick, sukuna, not right now."

"i am asking a perfectly reasonable question and i expect you to answer it," he glowers. "now."

"you wouldn't understand if i told you," you frown and he clicks his tongue.

"stop assuming things of me before i lock you inside of my room where you can not escape or even fathom doing something like this to yourself again under my supervision."

you curl your brows, frowning up at your boyfriend. "if i tell you, you'll call me foolish."

"because this is foolish," he grunts. "but i will not if my doing so will get you to fucking explain yourself."

you shake your head, looking down and contemplating before deciding to just get it over with so that he can stop putting you on the spot. "sometimes i just feel shitty," is all you elect to say.

but sukuna is hardly satisfied with this response. "so you choose to inflict pain upon yourself instead of calling upon me?"

"i told you, you wouldn't understand," you say. "it's not something i can easily explain to you either."

sukuna narrows his eyes. "fine."

he lowers himself to grab you legs and throw you over his shoulder. you squeal, grabbing onto his back as he begins to walk you back into his home and toward his room. "sukuna!" you kick your legs around. "put me down!"

"no. you're coming with me, and you're going to sit and talk me through every single thought that has crossed your little mind to make you think that injuring yourself in such a way is tolerable within the walls of my residence. then after that, you'll come with me everywhere i go from this point on."

"what?!" you exclaim from where you hang upside down. "I don't wanna go everywhere you go," you wine.

"too bad. you should have thought of that before you decided to harm yourself."

sukuna is horrible with words, and far more horrible with expressing his concerns, but despite your temporary discomfort with how he goes about approaching the situation, you can still see in the pinch of his brow and the stiffness of his posture, combined with his refusal to let you go without a proper explanation, that he cares very deeply for your wellbeing.

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