#nondescript smut

[willofthequill]

Three Tickets To Paradise

Well.... Hey there, hiya, howdy! And Welcome to another smutty one shot that got away from me and turned into an over 9k word fuck-fest. This time it is Reader x Kyojuro x Akaza and things are getting hot, hot hot!

If you prefer to read on AO3 please click here!

Summary: After another lousy date you ended up coming home and hanging out with your roommates. One thing led to another, to another and so started the most sexually fulfilling night of your life.

WC: 9500

CW: MDNI, SMUT, Fem reader, Threesome - M/M/F, PURE SMUT, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, light choking, creampies, anal finger, anal sex, Double Penetration, oral sex (M! and F! receiving) - for the full list of all CW please check the AO3 link.

You had been friends with Akaza and Kyojuro since your first year of high school. You had been roommates since graduating and all through college. Now that you had graduated, the three of you were busy with careers and sometimes it was hard to get time together. 

Tonight was not much of an exception. Another lousy date with a loser. Your feet were heavier than normal, your steps louder than intended, as you trekked up the stairs with your heels in your hand. Because the date wasn’t a shitty enough way to spend your Saturday night, the elevator just had to be broken down too. 

You let your thoughts wander as you climbed the stairs. Dating was so hard. No matter where you met these guys they turned out to be creeps or losers who were not worth your time. Why were there no damn good guys left? Well… other than the two you lived with, who you definitely were attracted to, but in all the years of friendship and living together, neither had ever once even seemed slightly interested. Which you were able to rationalize as a good thing given your living situation, but alone at night, your imagination was known to go wild with possibilities if they had. 

It looked like it was going to be another night of you, your wand and an empty bed next to you. It had been too damn long since you got laid. Your toys were starting to not be enough. Your frustration, with your date and your sex life, were mounting when you shoved your key in the door to unlock it and stomped inside.

“You had the stompy feet on the stairs. Another bad date?” Akaza asked, not looking away from the TV screen where he and Kyojuro were playing Soul Caliber. In typical late night gaming fashion they were shirtless in their lounge shorts and the table was covered in empty beer cans and open snack bags. 

“Yeah, something like that,” you grumbled, tossing your shoes on top of theirs. You started to walk past and head to your room when Kyojuro called out to you.

“It’s only 10pm. Why don’t you come game with us? We’ll even let you play Nightmare and win a few rounds…” Kyojuro called in a tone meant to be playful and tempting.

“And we’ve got beer and cookies!” Akaza added.

“You had me at playing Nightmare and letting me beat you up. Let me get out of this dress and I’ll be right out,” you answered, feeling a smile curl your lips for the first time since you had left the house earlier tonight. 

“You can keep that dress on if you want,” Akaza called as you opened your bedroom door.

You looked down at the low cut, very short red dress you wore. “Yeah, no.”

As you shut your bedroom door you hear Akaza call, “Can’t blame a guy for trying, now can you?”

You shook your head and chuckled. Akaza was a natural flirt. You needed to remember that. You could not count the amount of times over the years Akaza had intentionally flirted or been salacious towards Kyojuro just to make the other man blush or get flustered. And he had certainly said more than his fair share of things to you. 

You always clapped back but the truth was, you liked it. Your fantasies at night were filled with him and Kyojuro saying the filthiest of praises as they filled you in every way possible. You took off your dress, tossing it onto the laundry pile and fanned your face with your hand. 

If you were going to game with them you needed to not be having those thoughts right now. Though their shirtless state might prove to cause problems with stopping those thoughts. You glanced in your full length mirror, your eyes catching the sexy bra and panties you had worn on your date just incase. 

The set was black silk with your favorite color of lace laid over it to give them texture and design. The bra barely contained your breasts and the panties were a silk t-back thong of black that even you had to admit framed your ass perfectly. 

You stared at your reflection for a moment before discarding the bra but keeping the panties on. Just incase. 

You giggled softly to yourself at your thought and finished changing into your shorts and camisole pajama set. The shorts were definitely short and a peak at your reflection showed that the outline of your thong and nipples were both clearly visible through the light weight fabric. This shirt did nothing to hide the fact that you had gotten your nipples pierced. 

Normally you wore a bra or a thicker tank top. Tonight you were not. If they could lay around shirtless with their nipples hanging out, you could do this version of the same. A part of you hoped they noticed and took a look. A long, long look.

You headed out to the living room to find a cold beer, a bag of your favorite candies, a plate with cookies and a pillow on the floor between them waiting for you. The two of them knew you so well. And honestly, they took great care of you. And you did the same for them.

You plopped down between them and gingerly accepted the cold beer that Akaza cracked open and handed to you. You raised your can for a toast. “To another night of the three of us gaming, drinking and snacking! May they never stop!”

“I’ll toast to that!” Akaza said.

“Yes! Indeed!” Kyojuro’s grin was as bright as the sun as he too lifted his can. “To the three of us!”

“To the three of us!” You and Akaza echoed in unison.

The three cans clinked and you each took a sip of the frothy, bitter ale with a smile on your face. None of you knew that toast and proclamation was going to set things in motion a short time later. But none of you would regret it either. 

“How the fuck do you do keep winning when all you do is button mash?” Akaza almost growled as he set the controller down on the coffee table with a pout on his handsome face.

“You are such a sore loser,” you laughed and rolled your eyes.

You took a sip of your umpteenth beer and leaned back against the couch. That shit date may have been a blessing in disguise since it sent you home earlier than planned and you got to enjoy this evening with two of your favorite people in the world. You let out a contented sigh. Life was good.

“What are you thinking about with a sigh like that?” Akaza asked, his face resting in his palm as his elbow rested against the kotatsu.

“That I’m happy,” you answered simply with a shrug.

“So no more stompy feet tonight, I take it?” Kyojuro asked, leaning back against the couch next to you. 

“No more stompy feet,” you chuckled. 

“What was so bad about the date?” Akaza asked.

“He was just… kind of a creep. He gave me a bad feeling. Like a seedy used car salesman,” you answered, shivering in revulsion. “The food was okay but he tried to get handsy in the restaurant and when I told him to stop he got pissy.”

Douma was very handsome. He had seemed charming when he first approached you at the conference you had been attending. You had happily given him your number and agreed to go out with him. You supposed it was lucky he had shown his true colors early on and not wasted more of your time.

The guys normally did not ask for details, but it would have been the same story every time. You didn’t mind telling them the truth. The date sucked. He was a creep. End of story.

“Guys like that just piss me off,” Akaza said, his brows pinching in annoyance.

“Indeed! That is not the way a gentleman should treat a lady,” Kyojuro agreed, a tick in his jaw. He took another sip of his own umpteenth beer and got candid with you. “Why do you go out on dates with these… Poor excuses for men?”

“They always seem decent upfront,” you shrugged. 

“But why?” Akaza echoed Kyojuro’s question, sipping on the beer in his freehand.

“What type of question is that? Why do I go on dates?” You shook your head and took another sip of your beer, feeling the buzz in your head and relaxing into it. Unfortunately that also loosened your tongue a bit more than usual and you got candid with them. “Contrary to popular belief, girls go on dates for the same reason guys do. Because they are looking for love and hoping for a good fuck.”

“Is that so?” Kyojuro asked. You watched his adams apple a bit too closely as he down the last of his beer in several gulps and added his now empty can to the collection on the table. 

“It is,” you shrugged. 

“You know you have all of that and more right here, right?” Akaza asked as he too finished his beer in a few sips and put down his can.

“I do?” you asked. To process that question would require a lot of soul searching and heart opening and that was not what you were in the mood for. 

“Indeed you do,” Kyojuro stated plainly.

“I didn’t know I have a good fuck around here,” you teased, sipping your beer.

“You could if you wanted to. At any time.” Akaza let his eyes openly roam your body. 

His gaze paused on your chest where the booze in your system had caused your nipples to harden. You could swear you felt them tighten more as his gaze slid lower to take in everything he could see.

“Is that so?”

“It is. It very much is,” Kyojuro said in a tone that felt like velvet against your skin.

You wet your lips and took in their words. The three of you drank like this all the time, so you knew they were in the same state as you. Feeling that delicious buzz but still in control of your thoughts and actions. Just more relaxed and with a few less inhibitions. 

You wanted them. You always had. You miss 100% of the shots you don't take. “And if I said I did indeed want it and I wanted it now?”

“We would happily give it to you,” Kyojuro answered. His crimson and gold gaze was becoming glossy and you could feel desire like you never had before. 

“Happily,” Akaza said, moving to sit closer to you. 

You had one of them on either side of you. Close enough to feel the heat of their bodies and the warmth of their breath on your skin. “If you wanted to give it… I would happily take it.”

“Again and again?” Akaza asked.

“And again?” Kyojuro added.

“Yes. Again, and again, and again.” You gulped down the last of your beer. A small amount missed the mark and trickled down. The liquid made a trail down your chin, the slope of your neck, your collar bone and lower into your tank top. 

Kyojuro took the empty can from your hand and set it on the table. He gripped your chin and turned your face fully towards his. His intense gaze locked with yours. “You are certain this is what you want. Even when you are not intoxicated?”

“Very certain,” you answered. Your cheeks felt hot but so did the rest of your body. You felt a pulse in your center at the thoughts of what implications could come from these admissions. “What about you guys?”

You shivered as Akaza’s breath tickled your ear on the other side of your head. When had he gotten so close?

“Very, very certain. Have been for so long.” His tone was sultry and his lips ghosted over the curve of your ear.

“So long.” Kyojuro’s eyes lingered on your lips as his thumb brushed against your lower lip. His eyes met yours. “What are your hard nos?”

You blinked, a little stunned at that question coming from the most gentlemanly of men you had ever known. You felt yourself getting wetter by the second. “Don’t slap my face and nothing with bodily fluids or excrement.”

“We would never do either anyways,” Kyojuro answered, seeming pleased with your answer. 

His lips ghosted across yours as Akaza’s peppered kisses down the side of your neck. “Safe word?”

It was becoming clear to you who was in control of this situation, and while it surprised you that it was not the bubble gum headed menace who’s hands were starting to roam your thighs, it was quite the turn on to see this side of the normally easy going man. Your pussy clenched around nothing as desire coursed through your veins.

“Safe word, huh?” Your brain was fuzzy and your eyes fluttering, struggling to stay open as your veins began to buzz with arousal. Akaza’s lips on your skin were awfully distracting, but you knew you needed to answer. You stuttered out the first thing that came to your mind. “St..Stop lights?

“Stop lights it is,” Kyojuro grinned. 

His hand on your chin slid to rest gently on your throat and he started to lean in for the kiss. Akaza shifted positions to be more in front of you, his kisses now trailing across your shoulder and your collar bone. 

You wanted… no, you needed this… needed them… needed more. You moved your hands to cup both of their heads, nudging them closer. You said the only thing you could think of at that moment. “Green means go.”

Kyojuro’s lips claimed yours and Akaza’s head dipped down. With the flat of his tongue he licked up the trail of beer that had escaped your lips moments ago. You moaned into the kiss and your fingers flexed against the backs of their heads. 

“I have an idea,” Akaza pulled away.

Kyojuro broke the kiss and turned to face him. He groaned as your lips brushed against his neck and your tongue tasted his skin. “And what is that?”

Akaza grabbed the trash can from the corner and in one move swiped everything that was on top of the kotatsu in the bag. The table top now cleared, Akaza knelt next to it and gestured towards it. “Why don’t we move her up here?”

Kyojuro grinned. “I think that is a fantastic idea, and what about you?”

You placed one more kiss on the thick, muscular column of Kyojuro’s neck and nodded, your thoughts racing with possibilities. “Okay.”

You moved to your knees to get on the table only to have Kyouro’s large hands grab your hips and stop you. You glanced over your shoulder at him. Confused as to why he stopped you.

“We need to take these clothes off you first.” Kyojuro’s hands slid under the hem of your camisole and began to pull it up. 

You started to move your hands but Akaza had moved closer and stopped them. He brought them to his lips and kissed each palm. “Let us.”

“Okay,” you nodded, leaning back into the warmth of Kyojuro behind you.

Kyojuro took your chin and turned your head up so he could again meet your gaze. He had a smile on his face and heat in his eyes. “Remember, you’re supposed to take what we give. Let us take care of you.”

“Sounds good to me,” you smiled, reaching up a hand to run fingers through his hair. Your other hand reached out to Akaza, softly cupping his neck and pulling him closer. You wanted to feel both of them close to you. You surrendered to them and the moment. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“That’s our good girl.” Kyojuro claimed your lips in a kiss that was hungry from the start.

You moaned into the kiss and arched your body into their hands. Kyojuro broke the kiss and Akza turned your head towards his, taking his turn to ravage and memorize the cavern of your mouth and the feel of your tongue brushing against his.

Kyojuro’s hands worked to pull up your shirt, pulling it over your breasts and stopping to cup and squeeze the mounds. His fingers found your nipples, pinching, pulling and twisting. His lips sucked at the back of your neck and your shoulders as he experimented, smiling against your skin when he found what made you break away from Akaza’s lips cry out. 

“I must say, I am a big fan of these piercings,” Kyojuro said against your skin as he gave the hoops a tug, smirking at the sound that left your lips.

Akaza pulled your shorts down in one smooth move but left on your thong. His hands cupped the rounded meat of your ass and pulled you close against him, pressing his bulge against you. 

“Lets move her now,” Akaza said to Kyojuro as he rubbed his bulge against you. 

You moaned softly as Kyojuro adjusted to have his hands on your ribcage, holding your top half against him and moving to be able to press his own bulge against you as well. The feeling of their bare chests against your skin and their hard cocks pressing against you only made you wetter. 

To think two of the hottest guys you had ever seen in your life were so fucking hard for you was an incredible feeling. Again your mind and your body screamed more, more, more! 

Akaza guided you to the kotatsu and watched as you moved to sit on it in the middle. The sound of rustling clothing caught your attention. Akaza gently took your chin in his and turned it towards Kyojuro. “Watch.”

Kyojuro had a cocky grin on his face as he untied his pants and slid them down his hips and off his legs. You bit your lips and made a soft noise as you took in the gorgeous sight of Kyojuro naked. You had spent plenty of time appreciating his top half and were grateful to finally get to ogle the rest of him. 

He was thick all over. His v-cut hips directed your gaze lower. He had large, thick thighs that made images pop into your mind of riding them. He had a dark haired happy trail that dusted down from his naval to a trimmed thatch of hair surrounding his cock. And between his legs, hanging heavy, hard and already leaking was his cock. He was long, thick, and even from this distance you could see several very prominent veins. Your mouth watered at the sight. You could not wait to feel his cock inside of you.

He grinned at your staring and moved in closer, he pulled you closer by the beck and kissed you passionately. His hand replaced Akaza’s on your chin. He turned your face towards the other man and mouthed at your neck.

“Now watch him.”

You sucked in your bottom lip as Akaza took his turn taking longer than necessary to remove his shorts as well. While slightly more V shaped than Kyojuro, he was still thick with muscle. The tattoos that decorated his skin from his neck down had never looked so sexy as they did right now. His pink happy trail was thicker than Kyojuro’s and the hair framing his cock was trimmed. His cock was huge with a slight downward curve that you were already imagining inside of you.  

“Turn around and lay down, beautiful,” Kyojuro said, kissing the side of your head and pulling back. 

You followed his instructions, scooting down a little to be more in the middle and turning to face away from him. You laid your back flat against the cool top of the table. You could clearly imagine doing this during the winter and feeling the heat of the kotatsu against your back. 

Your head was at the edge of the table, hanging off just slightly but cushioned slightly by the blanket still under the table top. You instinctively bent your knees and closed your legs, your feet resting on the opposite edge of the table.

You felt movement and glanced up to see Akaza had moved to the other side of the table and was now kneeling at your feet. Kyojuro moved in closer behind you, his arms lifted your torso so that you were partially sitting up but reclined against him. With the height of this table he was still able to press his hard cock against your back and you could feel the wetness of the pre that had smeared across your lower back with that movement.

Akaza grinned like the Cheshire cat and your eyes caught the movement of his hand stroking his cock. He bit his lip as he took in the sight of you in Kyojuro’s arms. His hands gripping your breasts, groping and toying with your nipples and the silver rings dangling from them. 

“Spread her legs,” Kyojuro instructed as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Keep your eyes on him.”

You nodded and relaxed your muscles. Akaza’s large hands slid from your knees to your inner thighs as he spread you wide open. The slid in further, framing your still covered mound and sliding his fingers up and down the hems on the side of the silk cupping your pussy. 

He placed one hand on your inner thigh as he rubbed his fingers over your pantie. He grinned up at Kyojuro. “Her panties are soaked.”

“Good,” Kyojuro said, squeezing your breasts for emphasis. He locked eyes with Akaza. “I did not say to stop.”

Akaza leaned down and ran his tongue up and down your covered slit, pushing your panties deeper into your folds. You whimpered with wide eyes as he toyed with your clit through the silk. His hands were on both of your inner thighs now, pressing down and keeping you wide open for him. 

“Oh shit,” you gasped as his tongue slid under the side of the silk and he used the flat of his tongue to lick the lip on that side of the panties from bottom to top and again on the other side. 

Kyojuro groaned against your neck as Akaza used the fingers of one hand to pull your panties aside and pressed the width of his tongue between your lips, licking up your slit, gathering your cream on his tongue and ending with a slap of his tongue against your clit.

“Lets get rid of those panties now,” Kyojuro said, his teeth grazing the column of your neck. He nipped the bottom lobe of your ear. “I want to see all of her beauty.”

You helped Akaza remove your panties and spread your legs wide again. You held your breath as Kyojuro’s hands slid down your body, pressing his fingertips against you in a firm manner, making sure you felt his hands on your skin. He kept going until he reached his destination between your legs.

Your jaw fell open slightly as Kyojuo used his fingers to spread your juicy pussy open. Your cheeks felt hot at being so exposed like this and your heart pounded in your chest. You were not sure you had ever been so aroused in your life.

“You have a beautiful pussy,” Kyojuro praised as he ran his calloused fingers over your lips and folds humming in appreciation. His thick finger teased the edges of your center before sliding into your dripping core. 

“You’re so wet and so tight,” Kyojuro groaned as he moved his finger in and out of you, making eye contact with Akaza. “Why don’t you have a feel too?”

Your moan was louder as Akaza smirked and slid his finger into your cunt next to Kyojuro’s. Your breath was labored as the two men worked their fingers in and out of your hole, prepping you and stretching you open for their cocks. 

“Oh gods,” you moaned, your hips rocking against their hands. You looked up at Kyojuro, desperate. “I want to touch you too… please.”

“Such nice manners,” he smirked, not passing up an opportunity to kiss you passionately. 

He pulled back, leaving you breathless. He removed his finger from your cunt, but before you could whine Akaza shoved another of his own thick fingers in to replace it and curled them slightly so that they pressed against the gummy walls of your slick tunnel.

“Doing so good, pretty girl,” Akaza purred. He let out a satisfied laugh when your cunt clenched around his fingers at the praise.

Kyojuro moved back and let you lay down. He held his cock in his hand and dragged the leaking tip back and forth across your lips, smearing the pearls across your lips like gloss. “Three taps on my thigh if you want me to stop. Understood?”

“Understood,” you nodded, appreciating him giving clear instructions. It would seem even in bed he knew how to direct you. 

“Good. Now open wide,” he said, biting his bottom lip and stroking his cock. 

“Oh shit,” you moaned as Akaza’s free hand started rubbing your clit in time with the rhythm of his fingers. 

Kyojuro tapped his cock against your lips to remind you of what you were supposed to do. You leaned back your head and opened your mouth. You wanted to taste him on your tongue so badly you were almost giddy at the thought.

Kyojuro guided his cock into your mouth, groaning at the feel of it as he worked more and more in. Akaza’s movements on your cunt and clit slowed to a pace that kept you humming and aroused, but wasn’t overwhelming with Kyojuro’s actions.

You gagged as Kyojuro’s cock hit a certain spot in your throat. The constriction and ridges of your throat caused him to swear and grind his hips for a second longer before he pulled his cock all the way out. 

“Relax your jaw and use your spit…. Yeah… shit…. Just like that…” Kyojuro’s eyes were at half mast as he slowly fit more and more of his cock in. He rested a palm on your throat and pulled all the way out to the tip and slid back in several times. He growled softly at the feel of his cock in your throat against his hand. “Doing so good.”

He did this several more times before he changed to more shallow thrusts and he leaned over you. He pressed his fingers into Akaza’s mouth, getting his spit on them before working his finger into your seeping cunt alongside the two of Akaza’s. The moans you were trying to let out were vibrating along his cock and making him twitch against your tongue. 

Kyojuro removed his fingers, his hand moving up slightly to use two of his fingers to keep your pussy spread open for Akaza. You attempted to cry out in pleasure when Akaza put in a third of his own fingers to replace Kyojuro’s and his mouth returned to your clit.

He sucked, flicked and licked at the small bundle of nerves as Kyojuro’s hips moved faster and deeper again in your throat. 

You felt your body begin to tense and your cunt began to clench down on Akaza’s fingers as pressure started building in your lower belly. This was the stuff you dreamed about and you couldn’t believe it was actually happening. Your orgasm hit hard, shattering any coherent thoughts you still had as it tore through you.  

Kyojuro straightened up and pulled his cock out of your mouth just before you teetered off the edge. “There you go! That’s it! That’s our girl!”

His words of praise only added to your enjoyment. You cried out loudly in pleasure as your pussy coated Akaza’s fingers, lips and chin with your cream. Your head was thrown back and your back was arching off the table, legs trembling and eyes clenched shut. Akaza worked you through it, his fingers slowing and working to draw out your pleasure as long as he possibly could. 

You panted and worked to catch your breath, your body still trembling from the force of your orgasm. Your eyes opened to find Kyojuro squatting beside you. He stroked the side of your face tenderly and grinned. “You did well. Are you ready for more?”

You smiled back and eagerly nodded. “Oh gods, yes. Please.”

Akaza chuckled from between your legs and laid a kiss on the very top of your pussy. “Good, because I am dying to feel you on my cock.”

“Same,” Kyojuro chuckled. He helped you sit up slowly so you did not get a head rush. He tilted your chin up again and kissed you. He nipped your bottom lip. “I would like to see you ride Akaza’s cock. What do you think?”

“I think I would like that alot,” Akaza answered.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Kyojuro’s lips turned up in one corner in amusement.

“He took the words right out of my mouth. I would like that too. Very much,” you grinned and chuckled. 

“Then it's settled,” Kyojuro nodded and pulled back. 

Kyojuro moved to kneel by Akaza’s feet as the other man laid down on the ground. You scooted off the table and moved to straddle him, grateful it was not a far distance as your legs still felt like they were made of jelly. You settled down so that his cock was not inside of you, but sandwiched between your slick pussy lips. You leaned down and kissed him.

Akaza’s kiss was just as dominant as Kyojuro’s and you could taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into the kiss and moved your hips, sliding your juicy cunt back and forth over his hard shaft, giving yourself the friction you so wanted and covering him in your cream. 

The kiss heated up quickly and so did your movements. Akaza’s hands gripped your ass cheeks, fingers digging into the fat of it as he pressed you down against him. He pulled you back from the kiss by your hair. Just enough to be able to attach his mouth to your neck, sucking a bruise onto the skin and giving your ass a playful but resounding smack. 

“I need to be inside of you. Now,” he said firmly, his hand now rubbing where he had swatted you. 

You obliged, straightening up and lifting your hips so he could line the head of his cock up with your opening. With his hands under your ass he helped guide you so that you could sink down onto his cock. You threw your head back and cried out. “Oh fuck! Akaza! Your cock is so fucking big… I can feel you so deep…”

“Shit, you are so fucking tight,” Akaza said as he ground you down against him. 

You took a second to adjust before you started to move. With your hands planted on his broad tattooed chest for support, you began to move. You started with a back and forth rolling of your hips, only lifting up slightly, rocking on his hard cock. But soon, that was not enough.

You began to lift and drop in slow motion, pulling off more and more of his cock and dropping back down with a bit more force with each rise and fall of your hips. 

Your jaw hung open as you rode the pink haired man beneath you, watching the look of wild abandon in Akaza’s glossy eyes. He alternated between clenching his jaw and letting it hang slightly. His groans and grunts were becoming louder as you moved.

He was so handsome with that almost golden gaze, and his square jaw. He was an incredible sight beneath you. Watching the looks of pure enjoyment on his face made this moment even sexier because you were the cause of that.

Akaza’s hands moved to your face. He pressed his thumb to your bottom lip, and held up two fingers on the other hand. You opened your mouth and let him slide them in. The hand on your face slid down to rest on your throat, squeezing lightly as he fucked your mouth with his fingers and thrust his hips, fucking up into you. 

He removed his fingers from your mouth and slid them between the top of your folds to rub your clit as you moved. His fingers pressed more firmly on your throat and on your clit.

“Ride me harder,” he said. His eyes locked on the way your breasts bounced and swayed as you fucked yourself on his cock. 

You did as he said, digging your nails into his chest and leaving behind bright red crescent welts on his skin. The feel of him holding your throat and the back and forth, firm swaying of his fingers against your clit sent you over the edge.

“Ohhhh fuck!! Shit!! Akaza! I’m cumming!”

“Oh gods yes you are! Shit! You’re clenching me so tight! Shit! Good girl!” Akaza babbled as you bounced and rocked on his cock. His hands moved to grip your ass and help you move.

You dragged out your orgasm as long as you could. The pleasure and sensations pulsing throughout your body were incredible, and you never wanted them to stop. Your hips slowed to a stop and you sat on top of Akaza, still hard and throbbing within you, trying to catch your breath. 

A deep moan behind you caught your attention and you turned over your shoulder to see Kyojuro stroking his cock as he watched the two of you closely. He caught your gaze and the look in his eyes made you clench on the thick cock inside of you, making Akaza groan and dig his fingers into your hips. 

“Bend over more,” Kyojuro instructed as he met your eyes. 

You watched him stroke his cock for a few more moments before turning around to face Akaza. You smiled as you took in his disheveled hair, his flushed cheeks and the sheen of sweat glistening on his body like it did on your own. You were sure you looked no more put together than he did right now, but you really didn’t care.

You turned your head around and leaned forward as instructed, momentarily startled when Akaza suddenly pulled you forward. His lips met yours in a hungry, passionate way and he rocked his cock up into you a few more times, swallowing down your moans. He broke the kiss and moved his hands again to your ass.

His hands kneaded the fat of your ass and then spread you wide open for Kyojuro’s gaze. His thrusts were slow and deep, his feet now planted on the floor and he bent his knees. He used them to keep you as wide open. Akaza was obviously making a show of it for the flame haired man moving closer behind you and that only turned you on more.

Kyojuro leaned over your back, pressing his body against yours, his cock nestling between your ass cheeks. He kissed your shoulder and your neck before he moved to slightly to the side of you to kiss Akaza in a sloppy passionate manner. Your cunt clenched on Akza’s cock at the sight of them kissing.

“Oh fuck, that was hot.” You were not sure you had ever been more turned on in your life. 

“Liked that, huh?” Kyojuro chuckled against your cheek when they broke apart.

“Y-yeah. Fuck… ahh… yes, yes I did!”  Akaza’s cock was hitting all the right spots inside of you and it was hard to speak when you were fighting the urge to let your eyes roll back inside of your head. 

“Maybe later we’ll give you a little show, huh?” Akaza asked, one hand leaving her hip to hold her chin. “Yeah?”

“Please! Yes, please.” You were absolutely willing to beg, on your hands and knees, to see them together. The thought made your pussy clench again.

“Oh, fuck. Kyo, she clenches down so hard on me when we talk about it,” Akza groaned, sucking in his bottom lip.

“Is that so?” Kyojuro let out a dark chuckle. “Tell me, Akaza. Does her pussy also clench at the thought of the two of us fucking her at the same time.” 

The thought of having both of them inside of you at the same time almost made you cum right then and there. 

“Ohhhh fuck yes it did,” Akaza let out a deep breath and a shudder ran through his body.

“You like that thought, beautiful?” Kyojuro asked, his hands now groping up and down the sides of your body. 

“I do, I do!” You purred, tilting your head back so it rested on Kyojuro’s shoulder. Akaza took advantage and mouthed at your neck. You groaned and tightened your hands into fists where they rested against the floor. 

“We’ll let you have both of us, greedy little thing,” Akza teased and tugged on your nipples. He smirked at you and gave a roll of his hips making you moan at the sensation. “But first, I really need to see you get dicked down by Kyojuro.”

“Oh Gods, yes, please!” You whimpered when you felt Kyojuro’s thick cock twitch against you. You bit your lip, raising your hands and reaching behind you blindly for Kyojuro, desperately wanting to touch him. 

Akaza gave a dark chuckle before he smirked at Kyojuro over your shoulder. “So, how do you want to fuck her?”

“Why don’t you just scoot back a bit and have a nice, close, personal, upfront seat to the show?” Kyojuro said, his hands sliding up your rib cage to your breasts and squeezing them as he pressed you more firmly against his front. Akaza lifted his hips and squeezed your thighs, rocking against you in a teasing manner. Kyojuro locked eyes with him and in a more firm tone, that said there was no room for argument or discussion, he said, “Go on, Akaza. Get moving.”

Kyojuro proceeded to sit back on his knees and pulled you off of Akaza’s cock and into his lap, his arms wrapping around you instantly and his mouth on your neck. Akaza sat up and gave you another scorching kiss. That was broken when Kyojuro’s hand shot up into Akaza’s short pink hair and pulled his lips off of yours to crash into them with his own. He dominated Akaza’s mouth and the sight and sounds made your drenched pussy drip a little more, made you clench around nothing, wanting so badly to be filled again. 

Kyojuro yanked Akaza’s lips off of his and nipped his chin. “Go sit and be a good boy for a change.”

Akaza grinned and moved back a few feet to lean against the wall, his amber eyes watching every move the two of you made. He openly reached for his cock, still shiny with your pleasure, and stroked it as he took it all in. He licked his lips and made eye contact with you as Kyojuro began to move you forward so you were on your hands and knees, facing him with your ass up, legs and pussy spread wide open for Kyojuro behind you. 

You closed your eyes and bit your lip as large hands gripped your ass cheeks and spread them apart, opening your pussy even wider. You gasped and shivered as you felt Kyojuro’s tongue lick from your clit, up your slit and right into your hole. You cried out his name as you felt his tongue thrusting and swirling inside of you. He moaned against your folds and pressed his mouth even closer against you. His nose rubbed against you as he ate your pussy from behind, his hands on your hips holding you back against his gluttonous mouth as the absolutely sinful sounds of his feasting filled the room. 

“Tasty! So tasty!” He said as he pulled away, biting the fat of one of your ass cheeks playfully and laughing when you reached back to try and swat him. 

He grabbed your wrist and kissed your palm before letting it go. He positioned behind you and rubbed the head of his cock up and down your slit, groaning slightly at the feel of you while he gathered some of your honey on the swollen head of his cock.

“Oh fuck, Kyo!” You threw your head back and howled in pleasure as he bottomed out inside of you, his balls flush against your ass. You groaned at how full you felt, how deep you could feel him. In a tone that more resembled a pleasured groan than speaking you said, “Your cock is so fucking huge.”

“That is definitely something you can say louder, beautiful,” he chuckled. He leaned over and kissed between your shoulders, his hands on your hips massaged them in a gentle, firm way. “Let me know when you are ready for me to move. Take your time,” he laid open mouth kisses across the width of your shoulders. “Because I don’t think I’m going to be able to be gentle with you. Not this time. You two got me too worked up. Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

“Oh gods,” you almost sobbed. You reached a hand up to bury in his hair, pulling his head closer and giving him a desperate kiss. “I’m good. Fuck me, please, Kyo, fuck me.”

“I have waited so, so many years to hear you say those words,” he said, his intense gaze burning into your own. He ignored the “o” shape your lips made at that confession and kissed you again before he straightened up. 

You turned your head back around and found your gaze colliding with Akaza’s. Staring into his eyes your jaw fell open and you moaned, deep and low, as Kyojuro began to move within you. Your eyes fluttered close but your mouth still hung slightly ajar, guttural noise falling forth as the man fucking you from behind built up speed and force. He pounded into you, his growls and groans, moans and your name falling just as freely from his own lips as his cock split you open again and again. 

Kyojuro pushed down on your back, making you arch deeper and forcing you to lower your head to rest your cheek on top of your hands on the floor. He moved one leg, bending the knee and bracing his foot on the outside of your thigh to be able to go even deeper, even harder.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck Kyojuro!” You cried his name. He was hitting that perfect, hidden spot deep inside you on every thrust. You felt like every inch of you was tensing and shaking, damn near vibrating as you raced towards the edge once again.

“Are you getting close again? Am I going to get to feel you cum all over my cock too?” Kyojuro moved a hand from your hip to reach under you, shoving his fingers between your lips and fanning his fingers back and forth against your swollen clit in a firm, fast motion. “Keep your eyes open and on Akaza.”

A few more hard thrusts later and one perfectly timed bite on the crook of your neck had you screaming his name as you came, instinctively slamming your hips back into his thrusts. Your pussy was throbbing, spasming, pulsing, and absolutely coating his cock and balls with your pleasure. You were clenched down on his fat cock, never wanting this pleasure to end and dragging out your orgasm as your nerves spasmed and tingles spread from your skull to your toes. You closed your eyes as you tried to catch your breath.

“Good girl,” Kyojuro praised you as he slowed his hips to give you a slight reprieve as you panted and trembled beneath him. “Good fucking girl.”

“Can I come play with you guys too?” Akaza cut in, stroking his cock faster and harder, his grip on the thick length noticeably tighter than a few moments before. 

“Yes. Since you were such a good boy, you can come play too,” Kyojuro replied. You could hear the smirk in his voice and confirmed it with the reaction on Akaza’s features as he spoke. 

“Where do you want me, my lord?” Akaza got to his knees and prostrated himself sarcastically before them. 

“What do we say we turn your around and see if you can take both of us at the same time?” Kyojuro leaned over you again, his hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts and squeeze as he kept making shallow thrusts into you.

“Oh gods, yes please!”

You did not long to miss the feeling of Kyojuro’s cock being buried inside of you before he was laying on the ground and you were moving to straddle him and lower your cunt onto his cock. You both moaned as you sank all the way down, impaling yourself on him.

“I’ll be right back, you two keep going,” Akaza said, standing and leaving the room. 

Kyojuro’s hands on your hips started guiding you to move, helping you lift and set a rhythm as he stared up at you, pleasure dancing across his features and making your heart flutter. You glanced up as Akaza came back into the room, smiling at him before biting your lip and moaning as Kyojuro’s cock kissed a deliciously tender place inside of your gummy walls. 

Kyojuro slowed his thrusts as Akaza settled in behind you. He pressed you forward until you were laying on Kyojuro’s chest. The flame haired man held you close with one arm around your waist and the other on the back of your head, pulling your lips to his to be able to kiss you deeply and passionately. 

You heard the sound of a cap popping open just seconds before you felt cold gel on your other hole. Akaza’s finger started by teasing your tight muscle, running his fingers in a massaging way around the rim and just dipping the tip of his finger inside. He slowly worked his finger into your tight hole, his throbbing cock twitching with every sound you made.  

Kyojuro stayed still inside you as Akaza worked you open. He tried to distract you with kisses and nips. He offered words of praise sprinkled with lewd moans at the feeling of Akaza’s fingers thrusting inside of your ass, rubbing against the wall between his fingers and Kyojuro’s cock.

You were captivated by the new sensation of Akaza’s, now 3, fingers moving in and out of your ass. It felt so, so, so good. It was a pleasant pressure that only added to the feeling of Kyojuro’s cock still inside your pussy. “Oh shit,” you moaned, your chin resting on Kyojuro’s shoulders, hands underneath him holding onto him to ground you to reality.

“Feels good?”Kyojuro asked, his voice a deeper tone than usual as desire and the need to be fucking his cock up into you were taking over all of his thoughts, pushing him closer to the breaking point of his self control.

“Very,” you moaned, shivering as Akaza hit a sensitive spot. You licked your lips and pressed up a little to look over your shoulder at Akaza. Your eyes fluttered as he gently twisted his fingers and smirked at you with eyes already fucking you like you wanted his cock to be. “I want to feel you inside of me, Akaza.”

“Me too.” He let out a low moan and gave several more thrusts of his fingers into your tight hole before he withdrew them. 

Your face turned back to rub your chin against the side of Kyojuro’s head as his lips trailed the column of your neck, leaving a mark on the side opposite of Akaza’s 

“His cock feels so good. You’re gonna love this!” Kyojuro muttered against your skin. He pressed his lips to your ear. 

“You’re.. You’re a bottom?” you asked, his words sparking curiosity in your cluttered mind.

“We are both switches,” Kyojuro answered. 

“So that means you will get to watch both of us fuck each other and get fucked by eachother,” Akaza purred, leaning over you and mouthing at the back of your neck. “You’re one lucky little lady, aren’t you? To get to have us fuck you, and to get to watch us fuck?”

“Very, very lucky!” You muttered in agreement, a bit preoccupied to give a more enthusiastic response but meaning what you said.

“You ready?” Akaza kissed your shoulder.

You appreciated him checking again. “I’m good.”

“Just remember, you have to relax. Okay? Can you remember that for me?” Kyojuro pulled back and directed your chin with his thumb so you had no choice but to look into his big, beautiful, ochre and crimson eyes.

“Yes, I am pretty sure I can. I’m not fucked that dumb yet,” you turned your face to kiss him with a smile. 

“Then we still have a way to go it seems,” he pulled on your bottom lip. 

Akaza moved to be behind you again, his hands ran down your sides and kissed down your spine from your neck to the top of your ass. Kyojuro’’s hands spread you wide open. You recalled his words mere seconds ago and relaxed into him. 

Your breath stuttered and a whimper escaped your throat as Akaza pressed the head of his cock into your tight hole. He paused and rubbed hands up and down your back. He waited a few moments and began working more and more of his big, thick cock into you. Slowly rocking back and forth, feeding your ass inch by inch of his cock until he was seated fully inside of you.

“Oh gods, you are so fucking tight,” Kyojuro almost whimpered, his hands kneading your thighs.

“So. Fucking. Full,” was all you could manage to say. Your jaw hung open and your eyes had watered just the slightest bit.

You had never felt so full in your life. You took a few slow breaths before you gave your hips a little rock, making both men groan. It felt good, different but good and once again you wanted more. “Move, please… someone move…”

Akaza obliged, dribbling a bit more lube onto his cock to help lube your ass as he began to rock his hips. The feeling was so good. And the fact that this pleasure was still considered ‘forbidden’ made the act even better. You moaned and began to babble as Akaza’s thrusts became steady and picked up speed. Kyojuro waited until you seemed comfortable before he too started moving. 

You lost the battle and your eyes rolled back in your head at the pleasure coursing through your body as their cocks see-sawed in and out of your body over and over again. The feeling of being so full, of their cocks so fucking deep inside of you, of feeling their cocks brush against eachother through your walls was a high you had never experienced before but knew you were going to want again and again.

“More! Please… more!” you cried out, not even totally sure what it was you wanted more of right now, but it was the only word you could think of.

Their hands tightend on your body and the two men began fucking into you in earnest. Hard deep thrusts accentuated with the sounds of skin slapping together and the feeling of their balls colliding with your flesh. 

You cried out in pleasure as Kyojuro gripped your hair and pulled your head down so you were face to face. His eyes gleamed with enjoyment at the noise you made when he pulled your hair. He grinned before he kissed you deep, messy and hard. 

Akaza continue fucking his cock into you, but kept his grip on your hair. You were letting out the most delicious sounds he had ever heard in his life and he could hear them much more clearly with your face no longer buried into Kyojuro’s chest. Akaza moved a hand between you and began to toy your clit again.

You were so over sensitized, so full and they were fucking you so good that it didn’t take long for you to finish again. Cumming harder than you ever had in your life. You were clamping and spasming, pulsing and throbbing on both of their big fat cocks at the same time. Your wails of pleasure and their names only made them fuck into you harder and faster.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” Akaza growled out. “Where? Tell me where?”

“Right where you are!” you moaned, wanting to feel him cum inside of you. “Fill me up! Cum in my ass, Akaza!”

“Ah fuck!!” Akaza roared, slamming his hips into you and pulling you hips back to meet his until he came.

You moaned as you felt the throbbing and kicking of Akaza’s cock as he emptied his load inside of your ass and kept fucking into you until spent, praising how hot and tight and good your ass felt on his cock.  Kyojuro slowed his thrusts up into you for just a few moments, letting Akaza finish before he began to chase his own high.

“Oh, gods, yes! Shit, Kyo!” you moaned as his cock began to slam into your cunt hard and fast. His grip on your hips would probably leave bruises but you didn’t care. All you cared about right now was how good it felt to have Kyojuro fucking your cunt with his big, thick, veiny cock. You could feel Akaza’s cum dribbling out of your ass and down into your pussy as Kyojuro kept fucking you.

“Gods, you feel so good on my cock!” He growled, thrusting as hard and deep as he could. “I’m going to cum soon!”

“Cum in me, Kyo! Please, cum in my pussy!” you answered, lost in another wave of pleasure coming over you. You were still so sensitive from your last orgasm that you could feel yourself hurtling towards another at a rapid speed. “Wanna feel you cum in my so bad!”

Akaza’s cock slid out of you and his hand moved around your front, sliding between your and Kyojuro’s sweat slick pelvises, and ending between your slick, puffy folds to rub at your clit.  “Cum for Kyojuro, beautiful. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? You can do that for him, right?””

“So good! I’m so good!” You nodded, your mind a pretty much a blank slate, fucked out completely.

You could tell Kyojuro was getting close by the way his rhythm was getting lost, his thrusts were getting sloppy, and he was pounding his hips into you in a feral manner, his growls and groans filling your ears.

He leaned closer, and pressed his lips to your ear, kissing it one time.Then he said in a firm tone just one word. “Cum.”

Your orgasm robbed you of your breath and tears of pleasure filled your eyes. You cried out his name over and over again as he pounded into you. “Oh, Gods! Kyo! Cum with me, baby! Fill me up!”

“Oh gods! Fuck, I’m cumming!” Kyojuro cried out, fucking up into your hot, tight, velvet core until he could go no more, spilling his seed into you and holding you in place, twitches and tremors running through his strong body as his orgasm raced through his veins.

Kyojuro worked to catch his breath and recover from his orgasm. He pulled you down against his chest and placed kisses on your shoulders. He wrapped an arm around your waist and with his other hand he reached for Akaza who gingerly leaned in closer to the other man’s touch and let his fingers rake through his short hair, cupping his head and pulling him down against your back so he could have both of you in his arms. Akaza’s strong arms moved to cage you and his hands slid over Kyojuro’s waist to slide underneath him and splay on his back against the floor. 

You laid between them, not even minding the extra weight of Akaza on your back. You were fucked senseless and lying inbetween the two men you had always loved. Full of their cum. 

This was definitely the most pleasurable, filthy, sexy, sweet, and respectful fuck you had ever had in your life. What a night to remember this was going to be! You had been spoiled like a princess, respected like a queen, and fucked like a whore. 

Thinking about the conversation earlier, you almost certain this was not going to be a one time occurrence and for the first time in a long time you were optimistic about the future. You relaxed into their embrace, soaking up their warmth and closeness. You let out a contented sigh. You had been right earlier, you thought to yourself. Life was good.

[wedontdeservethestars]

JOHNNY CAGE X SHORT CHUBBY READER I TELL YOU HE LOVES HIS WOMEN THICC

ANON I'M NOT EVEN GONNA SAY THIS A CORRECT OPINION BECAUSE IT'S SO CORRECT THAT IT'S A STRAIGHT-UP FACT. Johnny prefers his girls chubby change my mind!!!!!!!!!!! (Hint: you cannot)

Anyways I know I say that I never write smut but I uh. I did this time. Congrats anon you got me to come out of my shell for Our Boy

Content: reader has female genitalia, smut, fluff, body worship, overall just a Lovely Time between you two

(Pspspsps I also put this on AO3 if anyone would like the link for that teehee)

You had no idea what it was about red carpet events that made Johnny up act but, but every time he invited you out to accompany him, it was a constant fight not to let the paparazzi see his hands all over you. Not that you minded much, but hey, one of you had to have some decency. Maybe it was the stream of complementary alcohol, maybe it was seeing you all dolled up in a pretty silk dress, maybe it was the inherent nature of red carpet events essentially being an excuse to say, “Hey, look how pretty I am, look how pretty my partner is,” or maybe, just maybe, it was a combination of all three. 

Never mind, you thought as Johnny pushed you up against the front door. It’s definitely the dress. 

Just like they had been for the past few hours, his large hands were grabbing and squeezing ever part of you he could manage like a fucking kid in the pillow section at Bed, Bath & Beyond. And the more he felt each curve, the more excited he seemed to be getting, attacking your throat and shoulders and face with his mouth.

“Hey,” you chuckled breathlessly. “Easy.”

“Don’t know–” Another kiss on your neck. “What you’re talkin’ about–” This one landed on your soft jawline. “Doll–”

“Can we at least get to the couch or something before I’m fully nude this time?” you whispered, a smirk playing on your lips. Johnny looked at you very seriously and shook his head.

“No shot.” He grabbed he straps of your dress and, with a not-too-unhappy sigh, you slipped your arms out of them. Your puppy of a boyfriend knelt in front of you and slowly, teasing both you and himself, pulled the front of your dress down. He really did love how it looked on you, the tight material hugging every single rondure and roll, the deep red shimmering in each crease of the fabric. But even more than he loved you in that dress, he loved you out of that dress. 

You let out a soft sound as his hot sigh of breath tickled your skin when he saw you standing there just in your bra and panties. Without fail, he always acted as though he was seeing you for the first time whenever you were in any state of undress. 

“Fucking goddess,” he murmured, and then his lips were all over your front. He was hugging your thick thighs like they were the only thing that would save him. His mouth dragged all around your belly and chest, pausing on occasion to kiss more deliberately or nibble a piece of soft skin. Each pause earned a small gasp or sigh from you.

“Johnny,” you whispered. 

“Huhm?” He glanced up at you, midway through giving one of your love handles a hickey and not bothering to stop. 

“You’re…” Your thoughts swam madly. The only thing you could focus clearly on were the warm tingles coursing through your nerves. You could hardly put a sentence together. “I need you on top of me…”

A smirk fell upon his lips and he pulled away from your tummy, admiring his work for a moment. Then, he grabbed your ass with both hands and squeezed hard, humming. 

“I can do that.” 

In a flash, he was lifting you into his arms. You couldn’t stop a smile from coming across your lips–somehow it always surprised you when he carried you, even though you knew that he was more than strong enough to support your weight. All that time spent building up his muscles wasn’t just for show.

Your bedroom was an agonizingly long way away up a whole entire flight of stairs. Clearly, Johnny couldn’t wait that long, because he brought you to the nearest couch instead (well, technically it was a fainting couch; Johnny said he needed it for dramatics, whatever that meant). 

Johnny wasted no time in unhooking your bra and discarding it on the floor. Your panties were next. The velvet sofa felt foreign against your bare skin, but not unwelcome. He took a breath as he straddled you and began to unbutton his dress shirt. The whole while, he stared down at you. His brown doe-eyes gleamed with adoration. 

“Look at you,” his voice rumbled like distant thunder. 

“You’ve been thinking about this all night, haven’t you?”

“Ohhh, longer than that,” he chuckled. His hands were tracing you again. He couldn’t seem to help himself. “I’m always thinking about this, stardust.”

“It’s so hard to tell,” you teased, your own fingers dancing along his toned thighs. His skin felt hot, and you didn’t think it was just because of the Californian summer heat. 

“Like it’s my fault?” He leaned down and peppered kisses all along one of your breasts. Pausing before continuing on, he grinned up at you, “How’m I supposed to keep it in my pants when I have the most gorgeous girl on earth around me all the time?”

A moan slipped out of you as he pulled your nipple between his teeth and grabbed the other between his thumb and forefinger. You squirmed beneath him and tried to get a coherent response out. 

“Can–God–can you–” Your breath was short. “Need you to touch me…”

“Yes, ma’am.” Johnny gladly slid himself down, taking the time to admire and graze your belly with his mouth. You could feel how hard he was against your plush thighs, one of which he grabbed and hung up over the back of the couch while the other he spread so it swayed over the floor. 

“God damn, you’re so fucking wet already, aren’t you?” he grinned, running a finger up your folds. You felt it all the way through your spine and it made you buck your hips up. 

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, dazed.

His tongue was next, pressing hard against you and flicking expertly between your sensitive lips. A sound that you had never made in your entire life escaped your throat. It only seemed to encourage Johnny as he quickened his pace. For once, he was completely silent save for the occasional grunt or groan, and for the absolute most blissful reason possible. You wanted to praise him, tell him to keep going and that you loved him and that you were in heaven right now, but your words wouldn’t work. Fortunately, the way you were moaning was probably sending the message pretty clearly.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, watching his head bob beneath you. From the way his own hips moved, you could tell he was rubbing his bulge against the couch as he worked on you. His hand, not to go unexercised, gripped one of your thighs–the one propped up on the backseat–and began to massage it. In turn, you yanked on his hair, making his groans vibrate against your pussy. You did it again and again, feeling your heart race. Warmth built up in your chest, and your stomach, and especially your nethers.

After a bit, you pulled his hair more gently, guiding his mouth away from you. Johnny seemed confused and hazy, like he’d just been pulled out of a dream. “I don’t wanna cum yet,” you whispered. You were too close, and too fast. You needed this to last. 

“Can do, babe.” He flashed a smile and sat up. “Gives me some time for this…”

You watched as Johnny finally pushed his slacks down and pulled his length out of his boxer-briefs. He was throbbing and hard, and as he began to stroke himself you could see his tip glistening with precum. 

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he groaned, leaning his head back as he ran his thumb over his slit. 

Suddenly, you decided that you did need to cum. Right now, in fact. You grabbed his hips and guided them forward, an eager look in your eyes. Immediately, Johnny understood.

“Yeah?” he breathed, his lips curving into a smirk.

“Please,” you nodded. Johnny spat into his hand and rubbed it along himself. He tilted your rear up a bit and positioned himself at your entrance. He paused and looked down at you. He smiled.

“What?” you breathed.

The smile, mischievous and greedy, widened. He didn’t move. You let out a whine and pouted. 

“Johnny! Don’t—don’t tease, I can’t right now—“

“Then tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“Please?” You looked up at him with shiny eyes. “Please fuck me…”

He pushed forward—just enough to brush up against you. “I’m not convinced.”

“Please!” you cried out again. “I need it so bad, you feel so good, and—and I wanna cum, please?”

Johnny chuckled and leaned down, pressing a kiss to the center of your chest.

“Only I can make you feel like this. Right, baby?”

“Right,” you nodded quickly. “Yes. You’re fucking—amazing, and, and so hot…”

“Yeah, I am,” he whispered, and then without warning he slid right into you. You let out a whimper so loud that you clapped a hand over your mouth afterwards, your cheeks turning bright red at whatever that was. Johnny chuckled breathlessly and took your hand away, pinning it behind your head.

“No, no, babe. I gotta hear all those pretty little sounds my gorgeous goddess wants to make.”

On cue, the remark made you moan. He rewarded you with a firm thrust against your soft hips. His unoccupied hand sank into your side as he pumped over and over again.

“God—so pretty—“ he muttered. His face was growing several shades darker as he continued.

“Please, please,” you begged again, curling your fingers into fists.

“You close again?” His soft voice broke through.

“Mhmm…” You writhed for a moment before letting your body flow with his, both of you bouncing back and forth. Your eyes fluttered open every now and then. Each time you did, you saw Johnny gazing down at you, his eyes lusted over but filled to the brim with complete obsession with this. With you.

“Oh–” you whispered soon, squeezing your eyes shut. “Johnny, I–I’m gonna—”

“Go ahead, princess,” he nodded, his voice husky and low in a way that you only ever heard during times like this. It drove you over the edge. With one last cry, your legs quivered and you felt yourself close around him, causing a similar moan from him, and each nerve in your system was full of warmth and complete euphoria for a split second. Your breaths began to even out. Your muscles relaxed. Johnny pulled out as you lay there, panting, and finished the job for himself above you. A warm spray landed on your tummy as he grunted and groaned, and then it was over.

Both out of breath, both smiling like idiots, both completely satisfied. 

“Oh, babe,” Johnny sighed about nothing in particular. He sat back and let you shift into a more comfortable position. Everything felt warm and sticky, but you didn’t really mind. 

Johnny trailed a hand up your still-wet stomach and rubbed it gently across all your belly, coating the front of it with his cum. You gave him a shaky sigh at the gesture. It felt strangely nice. 

“I’d offer to clean you up, but you look so pretty like this,” he admitted, giving you a half-hearted shrug. You laughed softly as he stood up anyway and, after nearly forgetting to tug his boxers up, wandered down the hall to one of the first-floor bathrooms, leaving you to bask in the veil of after-arousal. 

You didn’t even notice he’d returned until you felt the towel touch your skin, damp with warm water and no doubt imported from some European country. Once you were all cleaned up, you reluctantly sat up and noticed the dark velvet of the couch was stained where you two had been before.

“Oops,” you chuckled, feeling a little guilty for ruining the luxury fabric but not enough to regret anything. 

“Eh, that’s what the maids are for,” Johnny shrugged, taking a seat beside you. He rested his head against your chest, sighing contentedly.

“I’m so tired now,” you mumbled. “We didn’t even do much…”

“Minus the whole night of drinking and partying?”

“I guess.” You rolled your eyes and rumpled his hair. The pomade he’d slicked it back with had come loose a few hours ago, leaving several strands hanging down in his face. It was cute.

“You’re pretty,” he said suddenly. 

“So you’ve said.” But it still made you blush.

“I know. But I mean it. You’re the prettiest…ever,” he decided on. 

“Hun,” you laughed softly. “Well, thank you.”

“I’m lucky.” He pouted for a moment as he thought. “People always say that. I get lucky breaks and lucky with auditions and lucky with all the deals…but that’s not luck. It’s charisma and talent and whatever. Lucky is, is meeting someone like you out of the blue. Finding you out of seven million people on this earth.”

“Billion.”

“Huh?”

“It’s seven billion people.”

“Whatever.” He buried his face in your chest, muffling is speech. “You get my point.”

“I do,” you whispered. You stroked his hair again and smiled as he gave you a big squeeze. You said, “I love you, too.”

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: after getting injured on a mission and dismissing your help, you can’t seem to shake why john doesn’t like you. the answer is more complicated than you thought.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: john walker x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.0K (sorry!)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), teammates to lovers, angst, talk of insecurities, john is an asshole who’s emotionally constipated, mention of violence, wound tending trope, heavy kissing, groping, teasing, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, mild body worship, hair pulling, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, missionary position, john has a huge praise kink, aftercare.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: listen ,,, I know he’s a bad person & he’s flawed but he’s so well-written and hot … and it’s wyatt russell !! first time writing for john and I loved this, I hope you guys love it too! thank you so much for your support! 🫶

Ash floats through smoke-laden air in the aftermath of an explosion, chunks of a building blown into the streets, screams of civilians pounding within your ears. Time stills, as if it’s come to a crawl, and everything slows around you.

Missions still paralyze you from time to time, fear and doubt creeping in, keeping you frozen in-place. It’s gotten somewhat easier, adapting to chaotic situations, attempting to fit in with your new teammates.

A clammy perspiration clings to your flesh beneath your suit, the design nondescript. Valentina had pushed for something flashy, more in-line with your abilities, but you refused. The less that you stuck out, the better.

It wasn’t nearly as impressive as the rest of the team, healing powers at the expense of your own energy, but you were designated as the ‘medic’, for obvious reasons. Whenever someone was injured or too roughed-up, you were there to help.

“You still with us over there?”

John Walker’s snide quip emanates from the communication link sitting in your ear, and it’s enough to effectively shatter your stupor. It wasn’t a malicious remark — just a little annoying, likely furthered by his tone of voice.

Steve Rogers was someone you knew, years ago — an acquaintance, really, but he’d helped get you out of a bind with undercover H.Y.D.R.A operatives. When he wore the shield, when Sam wore the shield, it stood for something greater than themselves.

Walker had been thrown into enough turmoil already; losing the role of Captain America, murdering an innocent, losing his family. It was all his fault, he knew this — it didn’t make the pain any less, knowing he was at the root of it all.

The both of you butted heads more often than not, two differing personalities that clashed in verbal sparring matches or thinly-veiled hostility. You’d tried to empathize with him, but he made it difficult with his condescending attitude.

Bucky had played mediator more times than you could count — you didn’t enjoy getting angry, the feeling never benefited you. Nevertheless, you were trying to get along with Walker and learn to work better as teammates.

Things were progressing, albeit slowly. Even after extending the olive branch and being kind to him, maybe too nice, he still held some lingering indifference towards you.

“I copy.” In the aftermath of thwarting enemies of the state, you prefer to help the civilians, ensuring that they were out of harm’s way, healed. Jogging toward a group of people attempting to move rubble aside, you’re quick to assist.

“There’s still one more, if someone wants to take care of it,” Ava’s voice comes over the communicator, muddled by background noise of emergency vehicles. “Unless you need help.”

“I got it.” Quick to volunteer, Walker’s voice cuts in before dissipating. You’re busy helping move wreckage aside, freeing any trapped citizens and making way for ambulances. Wailing sirens fill the air, and things move swiftly.

The air smells of burning, intermingled with a twinge of copper, a streak of crimson splashed upon your cheek. It’s a shallow cut, something trivial and minor, muscles aching with a dull throb after the dust begins to settle.

Helicopters begin to circle overhead, the media soon to follow. It was some rogue section of former H.Y.D.R.A operatives that had caused this mess, and with the formation of the New Avengers, these threats seem to appear more often.

The public is torn — one side openly celebrating that there’s protection again, the other side scornful of a ragtag group of government rejects. You aren’t one to pay attention to the discourse, focusing on finding your own footing, building relationships and making amends.

Despite having the team to lean on, you had a complicated relationship with your own family. After your powers manifested, you became isolated, kept at a distance, prompting you to run away and find S.H.I.E.L.D, when it still existed.

Still, you felt alone sometimes, but the pain had lessened with the passage of time. Alexei, of all people, treated you like a daughter, and Ava proved to be a reliable friend, despite her constant grimace. The more you assimilated with them, the more the bitter sting dissipated.

The team was a conglomerate of fragmented pasts — scars, veiled wounds, regrets; but they had become your family, or something close, and that meant the world to you.

As first responders began to flood the scene, you regrouped with the rest of the team, scraped and battered from the fighting, but all intact. Bucky and Yelena typically helmed any media events following a battle, but this time, everyone wanted to go home.

“Look at us,” Alexei laughs, placing a hand on John’s shoulder, and Yelena’s. “We are good team! The best team that the world has ever seen!” He cheers, and you find his enthusiasm endearing. John winces, stepping away from the Russian’s hold.

“You say that after every mission.” Yelena points out, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. The jet is somewhere down the street, and you all begin the arduous process of walking back.

“It is to remind of the truth, of our strength.” Alexei boasts, gleeful as ever as he jogs to keep up with Bucky. Bucky’s taken to letting him pretend that he’s the “co-captain”, just to keep his spirits high.

Morale is Alexei’s specialty — there is never a dull moment when he’s around, and his enthusiasm evokes a small smile from you, curling at the corners of your mouth. Dull, throbbing pangs of sore muscle ebbs through your body.

Straggling along at the tail end of the group, you step through some of the smaller pieces of rubble, a majority of what remains to be disposed of by a clean-up crew. Your mind is elsewhere, and the idea of sleeping once you’re back to the Watchtower is very appealing.

John is there too, uncharacteristically quiet as he walks a pace or two ahead of you, and you notice the slight stutter in his gait. There’s crimson blooming from a gash on the back of his suit, a deep wound, and your brows furrow together.

He didn’t say anything about it, which is typical, but you can’t help but be concerned. You didn’t dislike John, simply abhorred his attitude and the way he sometimes believed that he wasn’t at-fault.

Closing the distance, you come up on his flank, softly clearing your throat. “You’re hurt,” You murmur, low enough for only him to hear. He has an issue with getting injured, as if his pride is simultaneously bruised, so you keep it cordial. “I can take care of it.”

He’s always been reluctant to accept your help, allowing himself to fester within the pain, as if it’s some sort of penance for all the wrong he’s done. His muscles ache, and the gash, bruises, and cuts don’t make anything easier.

“I’m fine,” Dismissive, John brushes your concern aside, focusing on getting back to the jet without collapsing. The serum does its part, easier to manage the pain, but it doesn’t take away the sting. “It’s not that bad.” He utters, hoping you’ll drop it.

It’s his tone again; bitter, indifferent, swatting your offer aside as if you’re more bothersome than helpful. For reasons you can’t explain, it makes you angry, as if he’s too good for your help. Your jaw clenches, and you try again.

“There’s nothing wrong with accepting help, John. When we get back to the Watchtower, I can —”

“I said I’m fine.” Walker retorts, snapping at you without hesitation. It’s born from an amalgamation of agony and his own innermost demons that he’s wrestling with. He stares ahead, not wanting to look at your expression.

Bewildered, you fight against getting frustrated with him, wondering if there’s something that extends beyond his surface-level condescension.

Though, you wonder what you did to make him hate you so much — you sparred about the past, sure, but you were trying to bury the hatchet.

As if pierced by something sharp, you scoff, attempting to smother the flicker of fury that burned within your chest. It overrides your judgment, mouth moving before you can tell yourself to stop. “What’s your problem with me? Jesus, Walker, I just want to help you.”

The both of you are far away enough for the rest to remain oblivious to your sudden squabbling, and John grits his teeth, a sharp inhale splitting his lungs. “I can handle this on my own.” His tone is edged, but there’s something more beneath the surface.

Cerulean hues issue a warning for you to drop the subject, and you do, albeit reluctantly. Anger diminishes into confusion, uncertainty; you didn’t understand. Despite your efforts, he continued to swat you away as if you were a pest.

The splinter of desperation in your cadence turns his stomach, verbal sparring settling into a tenuous silence. John steals a glance despite himself, noticing the forlorn look that is etched into your brow, as if you’ve done something wrong.

He knows it’s not you — never has been, it’s him. John’s agitation dwindles into guilt, knowing that your intentions were wholly good, selfless. It’s something that he wishes he could have, and he’s working on it, but the process is emotionally heavy.

Scorned, you keep pace with him, even if he’s pushed you aside, ensuring that he makes it to the jet intact. The rest of the team regards you with perplexity, though you’re dismissive of it, settling into the webbing of your flight-seat.

The aftermath is often hushed — bodies catching their breath, a wordless recuperation, senses beginning to climb down from heightened adrenaline. Bucky’s piloting you out, heading back to the Watchtower.

Exhaustion settles in, replacing the exhilaration that comes with missions, the surge of vigor in your bloodstream. Tilting backwards, your head meets the cool interior of the jet, engine’s idle buzz thrumming beneath your boots.

John sits beside you, unexpectedly, his strenuous sigh rattling your body, passing from the bulk of his bicep to you. His visage is contorted into a look of thinly-veiled wistfulness, glancing sideways at you, a faint grimace of apology.

Quiet, you don’t relocate, simmering in the silence without so much as a murmur. Copper stings your nostrils, the scent of his blood, and you pretend that it doesn’t phase you; it does.

Your arms loosely fold over your chest, listening to the drone of the quinjet. The ride home is short, shorter than expected, and you’re eager to crawl beneath scalding water and let it burn the rush away.

As Bucky prepares for landing on the helipad outside, your gaze flutters toward John, whose stare is attempting to sear through the metal walls of the jet’s interior. He seems gone, as if his mind is a thousand miles away.

It was the same look he had when you were in the Void with him; loathing, conflicted, ripping himself apart for you to see.

The jet tremors violently as it descends onto the helipad, the noise scraping against your ears, a sound that’s still jarring to you. John remains unphased — he’s done it hundreds of times, terse as the hull begins to open.

Saying something now seems meaningless, words fading to ash within your throat, raw from thirst. Your fingers idly curl into the sleeves of your suit, tension relinquished as the team begins to file out of the jet, bearing the bruises and scrapes from the mission.

When you enter the Tower, a sense of relief finds you, the comfort of home, shoulders slouched as you make for your room. Bob is lingering beside the window, a book in his hand, headphones dangling from his ears.

“Good work today,” Bucky calls, attempting to boost morale. He’s at the helm, trying to steer this ship in the right direction, but it’s harder than it looks. “Get some rest.” He moves toward the lounge, hoping to get a status update on the cleanup.

Alexei chimes in with an echoed remark about how everyone did a good job, mirroring Bucky’s own statement. A smile curls at the corner of your mouth despite yourself, feet dragging as you sluggishly stumble toward your room.

Through the light clamor, you don’t see John, disappearing through the tinted pane of your door, feeling it hiss and click behind you. Your room is warm, cozy; it’s a sanctuary you’ve created, making something within the ruins of your old life.

A hush falls throughout the Tower, typically a quiet evening after returning from a mission. Outside, the skies turn to a swirling ink, veiled by heavier clouds that signal the onset of rain.

Peeling away your suit, your flesh is exposed to the coolness of your quarters, glittering with a layer of perspiration, body speckled in light cuts and fresh bruises. The shower calls your name, inviting, and you marinate beneath the water for half an hour.

Bruises pulse with a dull ache, remnants of crimson swept away by the water, leaving you renewed as you change into loungewear. Perched along the edge of your bed, you towel-dry your hair, gaze flickering toward your door.

You shouldn’t be the one to apologize.

The thought of checking on John crosses your mind, and then it stays, leaving you frustrated and torn. You didn’t hate him, you never have; if anything, you were left wondering why the strange hostility still lingered, after everything.

Even then, your desire to help overrode the brief spat that you had. He was your teammate, and leaving him to lick his grievous wounds without ensuring his safety felt cruel.

A tremulous inhale invades your lungs, steeling yourself as you cross into the corridor, leaving your room behind. His quarters are down the hallway, towards the very end, marked by blanched lights on either side.

No one sees you, and you creep over the cold tile as if you might be apprehended in the process. The walk there feels as if it’s stretched on for an eternity, taunting you with each step as you make it to the tinted panel.

His lock is off, you realize, and you try to knock, the sound eerily soft. There’s nothing, only an awkward stretch of silence that makes you shift uncomfortably, the chill of the floor sending a shiver down your spine.

“John?” Abandoning the use of ‘Walker’, you idly pace before the door, weaving in idle circles as you wait for him to answer. Still, nothing — you wonder if it’s intentional, if he’s purposefully ignoring you to prove a point.

Intending to ask for forgiveness later, you slide the door open, stepping into his room with a twinge of anxiety. You shouldn’t be skulking around in here, but his lack of answer had you worried — more than you should’ve been, really.

“So much for knocking,” His voice cuts through your scrambled thoughts like a serrated knife, though lacking the sardonic poise. “Could’ve waited a minute.” John utters, and you spot him in his bathroom.

Startled, your gaze draws to him, attempting to patch himself up with bloodsoaked fingertips and a disgruntled countenance. His back is facing the mirror, head craned over his shoulder, blonde brows creased together, throat stirring with a noise of agitation.

“You didn’t answer.” With a weak protest, you hover in the doorway, shuffling forward to let it close with a subtle click. Everything seems devoid of personal decorum in his room, as if he’s still deciphering what goes where, some belongings still in boxes.

“You didn’t give me a chance.” John retorts, lips parted to make room for a strained sigh. He’s been harsh enough today — he recollects, composes himself, and lets his guard waver.

“I was worried about you.” The weight of your confession brings him pause, hand poised against his back, attempting to apply gauze. He’s failing miserably, cerulean hues darting toward you, arms folded over your chest.

John stops, jaw tense as he huffs with frustration, discarding the roll of gauze onto the bathroom countertop. The low glow of the light glitters against his skin, pleasantly sunkissed, muscles taut and broad, speckled in violet bruises.

There’s a rawness to him, sinewy yet firm, the honed strength of a trained soldier. He’s visceral, nothing grossly herculean, but he’s worked for his physicality, sacrificed plenty for it.

You realize you’ve been ogling him, gaze carefully tracing over the blonde hair smattered over his chest, trailing along his abdomen before it disappeared beneath his tactical pants.

Tendrils of heat snake across the back of your neck, a twinge of something desirous stirring within your stomach. You aren’t used to it, and you feel yourself attempt to rip your gaze away to something else; and you can’t.

He’s a man beneath it all, beneath the shield, the armor, the facade of an inflated swagger, all of the peacocking — he’s vulnerable, now. John’s countenance softens, startled by the sincerity that permeates your voice.

It’s unusual for him to be this quiet, as if you ripped the bravado and smugness right from his throat. Pacing forward, you decide to extend the offer again, hoping that he’ll accept your help and throw away the pride.

“I can help,” Your tone is disarmingly tender, something that John knows he’s undeserving of, given his behavior towards you. You vex him, but not because of your demeanor — he’s falling, and he’s trying to stop himself; he can’t. “Please.”

John concedes, head bobbing in a brief nod as he turns to face the mirror, lukewarm water ridding the crimson that stained his fingers. Coiled muscle cuts across his back, flesh littered in old scars and a colorful variety of bruises.

With a soft exhale, you awkwardly move into the doorway of the bathroom, blanketed by the pale orange of the lights, the distant buzz something of a comfort to you. The gash stretches from his left rib to spine, an ugly wound, oozing red that trickles over his back.

Scraped, calloused hands grip the edge of the counter as he props himself up, gaze flickering toward your reflection in the mirror. Your hair, still damp, tousled and disheveled, a cut on your cheek, mannerisms somewhat shrewd.

It’s quiet — too quiet for your liking, but you don’t want to be the one to break the ice. Wordlessly, you reach out, palm beginning to mist with wisps of a faint green, your powers manifesting.

“I’m sorry for today,” John murmurs, stopping you in your tracks. The mist wavers, concentration effectively shattered by his apology, which happened to be entirely unexpected. “About not letting you help me.”

“Is it something I did?” Your inquiry evokes a pang of melancholy, as if his heart is bleeding, still halfway stitched together. “Listen, I know we’ve had our differences, but I’m trying to move past it.”

John sighs, exiting through his nostrils; measured, restrained. “You didn’t do anything,” He’s learning to admit when he’s the problem, digits tightening against the dark granite; it groans beneath his grasp. “I don’t hate you.”

Relief blossoms within your chest, as if some weight is lifted from your shoulders. Still, you wonder what exactly is wrong with him, festering below the surface, something he’s trying to bury. “Be honest with me — what’s wrong?” You question, brows furrowing together.

He’s reluctant to tell you why he’s comfortable with sitting in the pain — why he feels he deserves it. John knows that you mean well, always looking out for everyone else, showing kindness when you didn’t have to.

“This is what I deserve,” John utters, cadence embittered, withholding a wave of emotion. Tears swim, unshed within his eyes, and he actively fights against it. “The pain — for what I did, for what happened.”

For Lemar, for Olivia, for the blood on his hands, for the son who’ll only know his father as a deadbeat. He hates himself, deep down — he’s learning to be a better man, if that were even possible.

His transparency startles you, attempting to process this information in a way that evokes empathy. No one on the team is truly, wholly good — there’s amends that need to be made, most of them in the healing process, including you.

It’s a bleak contrast from the man constantly barraging you with snarky remarks, constantly engaging in banter with you. You don’t remember him opening up like this with anyone else.

Still, your hand drops, fingers twisting together as you scramble to come up with some encouragement. You’re so accustomed to his general smugness and cocksure attitude that this blindsides you.

“Just because you’ve done bad things doesn’t mean that you deserve to suffer, or rake yourself over the coals again,” It’s gentle, sound advice — John’s eyes screw shut. “Everyone deserves to heal, including you.”

The blood on his hands feels heavy, like some anchor dragging him down. After being stripped of the role of Captain America, spiraling, losing his family, he briefly considered it — a way out. He was glad that he never went through with it.

In the Void, when you found your way into his room, it was the moment Lemar had been killed. Replayed, over and over again, unable to be prevented — but his reaction could’ve been.

He could’ve been a better man.

In the beginning, he tried to justify it, rationalizing killing someone in cold blood. After time passed, he knew how wrong he was, how he desecrated the shield, the mantle; all for something else, to sate his rage. No matter how much healing he did, that would haunt him forever.

“Thanks.” He grits, as if he doesn’t fully believe your words. John understands your intentions, that you’re being empathetic and kind despite the abrasive way he’s acted towards you. It makes him feel worse. “I am trying.”

“I know,” Placating, your digits begin to shimmer with wisps of emerald energy, your power manifesting. “I know you are, John.” Oozing with a tender amiability, you can hear the tremor in his exhale.

When you called him John, it startled him; he’d gotten so accustomed to ‘Walker’, but he didn’t mind this in the slightest. Despite the rough beginning the both of you had with one another, he was warming up to you.

Admittedly, he thought it was the right thing to do, not fully letting you in to protect himself. When you had cordial conversations, he felt your kindness shroud him like a warm blanket; you’d moved on from the past.

Quiet, your hand finally lifts to his wound, brows creased in concentration, energy expelled into healing mist as it curls around the flesh. It feels like cold water, albeit soothing, pluming over torn skin and blood until it sinks inward.

A low grunt rips through his throat, somewhat startled at the sensation of your powers; simple, but wildly effective. It’s as if he’d never been slashed to begin with; the bruises and scrapes don’t go away, but the rest of it does.

Strained, your arm quivers, resolve slipping as you step away, using the doorway as a form of support. You’re always a little weak after you’ve healed someone, almost as if it’s an exchange of life.

“Better?” With a tender smile, you watch as he nods, inspecting himself in the mirror; nothing left behind. “Next time this happens, I hope you’ll let me help you.” You prompt, and he chuckles; it isn’t the typical condescending chide he gives you, either.

“I can’t make any promises.” John’s tone loses that bite, the indifference; it’s disarmingly soft. “Thanks again, for that. I’ve been an asshole to you — wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to help.” He murmured, tone lacking mirth.

“You have, but that can change,” Lips remain poised into a smile, one that makes his heart lurch within his chest. “You don’t have to keep being an asshole.” Your remark makes him scoff, though it’s more of a bemused sound, than anything else.

“I’ll lose my charm,” John counters, but he’s being sarcastic — somewhat, at least. You suspect he’ll still remain sharp-tongued and smug, but lose the indifference with you. “I know it’s something I need to work on.”

Grateful for his acknowledgment, you finally feel your energy return, a slow ebb that spreads throughout your body. Leaning off of the doorframe, you awkwardly step aside, figuring that this was your queue to leave.

“For the record, I never disliked you,” He utters, jaw clenched as he carefully navigates on what to say next. “Never had a problem with you, either. Your problem with me was justified.” John shrugs, his stare even-keel.

Bewildered, you let the pang of surprise fester, head cocking to one side. “I never really had a problem with you, or disliked you,” After this, you were beginning to understand why he was an asshole sometimes. “It’s all in the past, now. I want us to move forward.”

John’s halfhearted smile oozed with sincerity, a genuineness rarely seen by others. “I can do that.” Even still, he wouldn’t blame you if you had some sort of gripe against him, but you were kind — you were good, even if you didn’t think so.

His gaze hasn’t left you, cerulean hues fluttering over your countenance; you’re beautiful, eyes beset by kindness, half-dried tresses strung over your crown. The shirt you’re wearing is a size too big, sweatpants baggy, too.

He’s acutely aware of how obvious he’s being, ogling you; he always thought you were pretty, but in the bathroom’s faint glow, you’re stunning. You weren’t subtle either, he knows this, catching your shrewd gaze as it lingers on his arms.

John’s hands reach for his shirt, black spandex all wrinkled, balled up, stained with dried blood. The tension becomes unusually thick, mere embers kindled to life, now a fire that he doesn’t know if he can extinguish.

“Can I ask you something?” Your inquiry pierces through the tenuous silence, and there’s some momentary relief you gain from it.

“Yeah.” John’s tone is barely above a whisper, warm; as if he’s trying to calm himself down, ease the tension. With his shirt still clenched in one hand, he’s offering you his undivided attention.

With arms loosely folded over your chest, your fingers idly pluck at frayed stitching on your sleeves, a fleeting distraction. “Why were you always indifferent towards me, if you didn’t hate me?” You’re not accusatory, just curious.

Shit — John’s mind is scrambling for an answer that doesn’t make him seem strange. He’s got feelings for you, and you’re slowly drawing them out into the open; he doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Sometimes it’s easier for me to not let somebody in,” He shrugs, gaze wavering, flickering toward the ground. The vulnerability is something he’s still growing accustomed to — rawness of pain, feeling his emotions, choosing the right way to cope. “Because of what’s happened.”

Even then, his explanation still feels like he’s covering up for something else. Nevertheless, you let it rest, offering him a threadbare smile. “We don’t judge here, if you haven’t learned that already,” You sigh. “I’ll be here for you, if you choose to let me in.”

He already has — he’s appreciative, nodding as a display of gratitude before he finds your gaze again. “Thanks.” John smiles despite himself, swallowing down the words that want to escape him.

Silence settles between, the same tension simmering like before, causing you to shift your weight. He’s staring again, but you’re oblivious to it this time, angled away, trying to figure out what to do next.

Chewing at the inside of your cheek, your shoulders begin to slouch with relaxation. “I should probably go — you need rest.” You blurt, fumbling over your words, maintaining a sheepish smile as you shuffle toward the door.

John doesn’t really want you to leave; and he knows it’s selfish of him. His lips part, as if to ask you to stay, but he’s frozen, rooted in-place. Still, he nods, quietly resigning to letting you go back to your room.

His feet feel anchored to the floor, each step a drag as he trails after you, following you to the doorway. He’s quiet, still deliberating, turning over every word, every action within his mind. John comes up short, watching as you stop to say something else.

The closeness is sudden, wracked with tension; you’re nearly brushing arms with him, gooseflesh crawling along your spine. You’re both reaching for the door panel simultaneously, fumbling, fingers ghosting over one another; you recoil like you’ve been burned.

In the slim proximity, he catches a whiff of your shampoo — vanilla and peach, something sweeter, causing his jaw to tick. He’s looking again, unable to stop himself, gaze wandering over your body, appreciative; he grips the door frame as a distraction.

When you catch his stare, it burns you, something incendiary, as if he’s searing you into his mind. A subtle hitch forms within your throat, and you’re prepared to tell him goodnight, end it there — but you won’t move.

Silence stretches on, the sort of contemplative quiet before the onset of a storm, the deep breath before the plunge. Bodies linger within arm’s reach, screaming, and you have the audacity to stare at him, doe-eyed.

Then, you say his name, a feather-light whisper, gentle and placating. It barely registers, but he hears it, notices the parting of your lips, the way you haven’t recoiled from the closeness.

John’s mouth is suddenly pressed against yours in a heated frenzy.

A sharp inhale splits your diaphragm, lungs quaking, filled with a sudden surge of ecstasy when he kisses you. There’s a gasp stuck in the back of your throat, swallowed by the snare of his mouth.

His lips are unexpectedly soft, a stark contrast to the sharpness of his smart mouth. There’s a charged passion that echoes beyond the kiss, as if he’s walking the fine line of restraint.

Bewildered, your head is spinning, brain foggy, as if someone knocked you out. Left reeling, you don’t know what to say, what to do. Though, you’re receptive, mouth shyly moving against his, hands frozen at your sides.

When he pulls away, gauging your reaction, you appear as shocked as he does.

Each breath is labored, wrought with the sudden sting of exhilaration, butterflies beginning to pool within your belly. “I’m sorry.” John’s voice is low, a pleasant hum within your ear, but you don’t seem upset by what he did.

“Don’t be.” Without pause, your lips fly to meet him again, reciprocating the kiss, one that seems sluggish and passionate instead of frantic.

He’s kissing you back, hand dropping from the door to your hip, calloused digits caressing you through your shirt. The gesture ignites a fire within your bones, unable to stifle your mounting excitement.

Shyly, your hands move toward his chest, soft like velvet, smoothing over his pectorals as he presses you up against the door. A low groan vibrates through his chest, reveling in the feeling of your skin touching his.

There’s a poised strength coiled within his body, firm, flesh and blood, chest rising and falling underneath your hands.

His kiss is disarmingly gentle, something unexpected, but not unwelcome. You feel his body nudge against yours, distance now nonexistent.

You don’t know what’s gotten into you, gotten into him, but you’re enjoying yourself — you want him, need him, starving for contact.

He tastes metallic, an amalgamation of copper and a natural musk. Digits idly smooth over the coarse, blonde hair that covers his chest, descending toward his groin. The thought alone makes your knees weak.

Each kiss sends you spiraling, clawing for his mouth, leaving you ragged, desperate for his touch. You can’t remember the last time someone kissed you like this — even then, your experience is thin.

His scruffy countenance melds with yours, bleeding heat, kissing you with enough vigor that it prompts you to hold onto him. Your heart gallops, races — it’s quick and erratic, beating in your ears.

Recoiling from the kiss, your fingers tremble, deftly tracing over his collarbone, over scar-kissed skin, over faint clutches of freckles. “John, I — Are you sure?” You whisper, hoarse, afraid that he might regret it all in the morning.

“Wouldn’t have kissed you if I wasn’t sure.” John murmurs, voice low, curling thickly as his hands rub circles into your hips. He’s strong, secure — you didn’t expect to feel so comfortable with him. “I’ve thought about it for a while.”

His lips make contact with your jaw, mouth clamoring over your skin, kissing the spot beneath your ear. Flush to you, his confession makes your bones lurch, and you wonder what else he’s thought about, too.

Flustered, you’re quick to melt into him, visibly smitten, as if you’ve wound yourself into a tight knot. John notices, mouth twitching into a smirk as he places a string of kisses beneath your jawline.

“John …” A soft mumble rolls from your tongue, hands beginning to trail from chest to shoulders, anchoring yourself to him. His beard burns against your flesh, a pleasant scratch, reminding you that he’s real, this is real.

Warm breath feathers over your throat, your jaw, your cheek — he’s still smirking, too. “You’re getting shy on me.” He mumbles, able to taste the heat that bristles from your flesh. A hitch forms within your throat, his remark making you burn.

“No,” Posturing a weak defense, your body succumbs, lips parted to make room for a dizzying sigh. “I’m not.” It’s pathetic, your retort, but he’s still grinning as if he’s caught you in a trap, attempting to reign in the smug attitude.

“Right.” John’s cadence is dangerously low, little more than a pleasant husk that scratches the back of your brain. He’s teasing you still, cerulean hues alight with mirth, fingertips barely skirting underneath your shirt.

He’s charming — too charming, and it makes your flesh burn with an embarrassed heat. His lips plume over your throat, hips brushing against yours, and that’s when you feel it. Something firm through his kevlar pants, briefly grinding against your pelvis.

A noise echoes from John’s throat, somewhere between a grunt and groan, causing you to smile, as if you’ve discovered his secret. “Already?” It’s playful, sure, but you’re simultaneously flattered that it didn’t take much work.

It’s his turn to blush, scarlet crawling over handsome features, red spreading towards his neck. “Can’t help it,” John mumbled, gaze briefly meeting yours. “You’re beautiful.” His low timbre made you shiver.

Unable to smother your smile, you urge him closer for another kiss, digits clamoring for the nape of his neck, toying with the blonde hair there. Each entanglement of lips seems to grow in fervor, charged with mutual excitement, passion.

His hands are fisted in your shirt against, giving it a soft tug, as if silently asking you for your permission. Mouths continue to clash, a mess of lips and teeth, tongue when John initiates it, eliciting a moan from your maw.

With a brief nod, he breaks from you, only to assist in removing your shirt, tossing it elsewhere in his room. You aren’t wearing a brassiere, which catches his attention, stopping in his tracks as he admires your physique.

“Jesus,” John sighs, rapturous, noticing the doe-eyed look you’re giving him again. Lips part, jaw unclenched as he not-so-subtly ogles your collarbone, letting it drift toward your chest. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Swallowing your anxiety, you feel yourself melt beneath his stare, incendiary enough to turn you to cinders where you stand. “The thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” Barely above a whisper, your gentle teasing evokes a half-smile from him.

A huff leaves him, hand steady as he kneads into your hip, dipping lower, grasping at your haunch as he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his hips. You’re still kissing him, held aloft by John’s arms, bearing your weight without effort.

He carries you to his bed, gray sheets already disheveled, laying you down as he crawls on top of you. A soft exhale whistles through your nose, arousal beginning to coalesce between your thighs, warmth pooling in your belly.

“You sure?” John murmurs, wanting to ensure that you’re certain about this. He is, but he wants to make sure that all cards are on the table. He’s not used to this, to showing vulnerability, but it feels comfortable with you.

“Yeah, I am,” Gazes twine together, the only illumination being the glow from the bathroom, blanketing you in swirls of orange and shadow. “I want you, John.” Your admission is saccharine, steeped in a warmth that he clings to, savors.

Christ, he wants you, too — craves you more than air, cerulean hues glistening with a thinly-veiled ardor. It’s a sudden shift from how things were before, but the tension had finally come to a boiling point, and he was glad that it had.

Mouths connect instantaneously, eliciting a pleading moan from your throat, swallowed by his kiss. Your legs drop, spread apart to accommodate for his frame, lean muscle wedged between your thighs.

His palm kneads into your calf, dragging to the crook of your knee, caressing you over your baggy bottoms. Your hands thread against the nape of his neck, taking handfuls of his blonde tresses, ensuring that you weren’t rough with him.

Chests brush against one another, firm muscle exuding warmth, peaks of your breasts ghosting over his pectorals. Each kiss rips the air from your lungs, leaving you reeling, gasping as you feel his tongue prod against yours.

A whine bubbles from your throat, smitten, tongue shyly mingling with his as the kiss turns into a mess of passion. Your fingers are carding over the back of his skull, slipping over his hair as his teeth catch upon your bottom lip.

John grunts, the tent in his pants grinding recklessly against your core, friction causing both of you to writhe. As if to torment him, you roll your hips forward, evoking a groan from him, his gaze pleading with you to stop.

“Don’t,” He warns, strained, attempting to hold himself together. Your mouth quirks into a smile, one that he feels even as he kisses you again, your palm splaying over his shoulder. “Can I take these off?”

His hands curl into your sweatpants, fingers teasing the waistband as he waits for you to consent. As soon as you nod, accompanied by a breathy ‘yes’, he’s tearing into them, the stitching splitting apart beneath his inhuman strength.

A gasp slipped from your mouth, writhing beneath him to free yourself from the fabric, kicking them to the floor. John marvels at the sight of you, your body something perfect, malleable within his grasp, mouth planting a kiss against your jaw.

Cool air plumes over your heated flesh, offering some alleviation, a reprieve from the fever-pitch of your body. John’s hand smooths over your leg, squeezing into your thigh, digits flicking over the hem of your panties.

The brief gesture makes your head spin, desperate for him to touch you. He’s already got an idea in his head, calloused fingers rough like leather as he drags his hand between your legs.

Knuckles ghost over your clothed cunt, feeling the tangle of damp cotton, the way your throat sputters with a subtle gasp. Your thighs twitch, knees trembling on either side of him as your nails trace over the back of his neck.

“Christ,” He huffs, forehead nearly flush against yours, watching as you squirm from the brief caress. John repeats the motion, feeling your nails dig harder into his skin, mouth screwed open. “You like that?” His murmur makes you feel weak.

With a nod, you want more, hips urging into the friction of his hand. To your delight, he doesn’t torment you, doesn’t make you work for it as his fingers slip beneath your panties.

Two fingers stroke along your cunt, gathering the warm slick there with one sluggish swipe. To your utter bewilderment, he lifts his digits to his mouth, sucking them clean before he lavishes your throat in a myriad of kisses.

“John, please.” Moaning his name, the sight he just treated you to is sure to be burned in your mind forever, causing your thighs to rub together. Kissing a trail down your neck, he finds your sternum, mouth voracious, ceaseless.

A boyish grin settles onto his features, deriving enjoyment from your reaction, continuing to worship your flesh in rapturous kisses. No inch of skin is safe as he descends, lips pluming over your breasts, your ribs, navel; lower, and lower again.

You taste sweet, as if your skin oozed with sugar, and he’s savoring every piece of you, kisses steeped in a disarming reverence. His beard tickles your flesh, goosebumps cascading down your spine as he makes it to your waist.

His muscles flex, pulled taut as he crawls lower, face hovering beside your hip as he eases your panties down, letting them creep over your thighs. Everything feels hot, body set ablaze, arousal coalescing against your cunt.

Lips press to your thigh, shoulders creating space, bullying your legs apart. Digits flex, trembling as they lower to card through his tresses, gaze ensnaring with his own, causing you to shiver.

John kisses a trail over your inner thighs, toward the glistening heat at your apex, listening to your breath hitch. It’s labored, wrought with exhilaration as your back begins to arch.

That ghost of a cocksure grin feels like a hot brand against your thigh, softening when you make a strangled, pleading noise. Nearly prone against the sheets, he lets your legs recline against his shoulders, hands gripping your hips.

The first rake of his tongue over your cunt is agonizing, hot embers, scorching against your flesh as he laps traces the length of your slit. It’s sluggish, exploratory — he’s keen to know what makes you writhe.

With parted lips and eyes wrenched shut, a needy moan splits past your throat, unable to keep quiet. John’s chest stirs with a low grunt, greedy tongue deftly splitting past your folds, tasting you with a sudden fervor.

Still, he’s gentle, disarmingly so, careworn palms massaging into your hips, keeping you slotted against his face. The scruff of his blonde beard scratches ragged over the inside of your thighs, sandpaper to silk, the sensation pleasant.

John eases you into it, committing every detail of your body to memory; hoping there’s a next time, thumbs tracing circles into your skin. Lapping against your core, his ministrations slowly gather haste, nose grazing your clit.

A myriad of moans leave you, attempting to keep the sound hushed, as to not alert any unwanted attention. Your legs tense, flex on either side of his head before his shoulders nudge you apart again, mouth dragging over your cunt.

He maintains something of a rhythm, attempting to walk the line of restraint, as to not overwhelm you. Your body rattles beneath him, spasmodic tremors of delight rolling down your spine, waves of bliss felt all over, ebbing through your veins.

One hand haplessly fists at the sheets, fingers curled so tightly that you want to rip it apart. He’s too good at this, which surprises you — he doesn’t give that impression, initially.

The room feels like a furnace, bodies bleeding heat, each breath hoarse, tight with rapture. His mouth is a thing of perfection, pleasuring you as if it’s his sworn duty, tongue lapping at every inch of your cunt.

John’s gaze flutters from the task at-hand to your countenance, contorted into an expression of ecstasy, effortlessly pretty. His heart skips a beat; you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

You’re wound up, coiled over and over again, into a tangle of heat, furled desire that’s begging to be released. Carding through his tresses, you gingerly scratch at his crown, briefly tugging on his hair, hips wantonly urging into his mouth.

“G—God, John,” A sheepish moan falls from your mouth, coupled with a sharp inhale that rips through your diaphragm. Your cunt clenches pathetically around nothing at all, back arched from the mattress. “So good at this.”

It’s an inkling of praise, but it’s enough, evoking some hunger from John, who's eager to please. The tent in his tactical pants is borderline painful, erection grinding against the bed in a pitiful attempt to alleviate some of the friction.

Driven to the brink, you feel as if you’re beginning to toe the line of some steep plunge, his lips urging you closer to a release. Everything feels hot, as if you might combust, arousal coalescing between your thighs.

John has you pinned down, nose ghosting over your folds, tongue still ceaselessly lapping at your core until there’s a shift in rhythm. He presses a kiss to your clit, listening to the tremor in your exhale, feeling your legs tense.

Teeth catch across your bottom lip, biting down with an absent pressure, digits beginning to lightly curl against his scalp. His name emerges from your mouth again, desperate and wanton, breathy as you squirm.

“You’re easy to rile up.” John murmurs from between your legs, a breathy chuckle floating from his chest when your fingers pull on his hair. He plants a reverent kiss to your thigh, teasing, but the break doesn’t last for long.

If it weren’t for his lips pursing around your clit, you might’ve clawed for a retort, but he rips any remark from your throat. The sudden ripple of bliss sends you reeling, choking on a simpering whine as you shift beneath him again.

His mouth gingerly laps at that sensitive clutch of nerves, shockwaves shattering through your body, tingles of ecstasy following suit. A strangled moan snares in your throat, slipping through when he drags his tongue along your cunt.

He’s right, though — you are easy to vex, and he’s mapping you out as if you’re intimately familiar to him already. John’s mouth is voracious, tongue endlessly greedy, eating you out as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

You’re getting close, body being pushed to a blissful oblivion, the white-hot heat that threatens to consume you. His hand drifts from your thigh to the slick warmth between, thumb seeking your clit like a missile, slowly circling around it.

“Fuck,” You moan, the expletive uncharacteristic of you, but he finds plenty of enjoyment in you saying it. His name is soon to follow, a bedroom hymnal, repetitive as it spills from your tongue, crying out his name to the ceiling. “J—John!”

It’s pathetic how easily he’s got you squirming, tension beginning to unfurl, the knot within your belly stretched to the brink. He’s careful, tender, intimate in a way that makes your features surge with warmth.

“That’s it.” John murmurs, timbre little more than a drawl as he coaxes an orgasm from you, thumb continuing to toy with your clit until you burst. He’s mesmerized, a super-soldier reduced to a lovesick boy, watching you with a thinly-veiled rapture.

With one simple circle of your pearl, you’re gone, ecstasy bleeding from you in one wave, nearly overwhelming. You’re blinded by euphoria, white-hot stars crossing your vision until you’ve melted into the sheets.

Nerves are frayed from bliss, tossed into the throes of pleasure, one that you may not fully recover from. Stars linger still, head foggy, dizzy from a desirous haze as you try to find a scrap of composure.

He tastes you again, one last time, committing it all to memory as he kisses your leg, kneeling in-between your thighs. You’re shaking, chest tight with drawn-out sighs, gazes ensnared, burning with adoration.

“You’re really good at that.” A soft whisper rolls from your lips, appreciative, but John looks like you’ve just called him perfect. He’s starved for praise, reduced to a mere beast, laying at your feet, preening for more.

John’s up on his knees, staring a hole through you, hands reaching for his belt. Driven by both excitement and instinct, you sit up, fingers clamoring with his own as you’re helping to wrestle his belt off, unzipping the front of his tactical pants.

“You drive me crazy,” John groaned, feeling you grow smitten in the wake of his admission, desperate to be inside of you. “Can’t think straight.” He utters, and you know it’s an intentional compliment.

He repositions himself, hunched in, blanketing you with his bulky physique, lean muscle glued to your frame. He’s much larger than you, you realize, listening to the shuffling of fabric, feeling his cock press incessantly against your navel.

You’re intimidated, bewildered by his size, startlingly large, unabashedly so. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, your hands come to hook around the back of his neck, no space remaining.

As if to ignite the tension further, your mouth catches his, lips locking together in a heated kiss. You can taste yourself, an added layer of debauchery, but he’s groaning into your lips, fisting the pillow near the side of your head.

John’s other hand finds your thigh, kneading into your haunch as he steadies himself, cock heatedly grinding against you. Mouths tangle, clash — it’s a war of teeth and tongue, thirst instead of hunger, as if he needs you more than anything.

Wanton, exhilarated breaths drag between bodies, the warmth of his sigh pluming over your features, his beard ragged against your cheek. His blonde tresses are tousled, disheveled — he’s painfully handsome, kissing all over your mouth.

He withdraws, heads flush together, mere centimeters apart as he adjusts himself, cock nudging against your folds. You’re clinging to him, a twinge of anticipation churning in your belly.

“You alright?” He utters, low and husky beside your ear, actively restraining himself from being too spirited. There’s something intoxicating about the way you’re staring at him; it’s tender, more than he deserves, he thinks.

Slowly, you plant a kiss against the scruff of his jaw, and then beneath, where a yellowing bruise sits. Hands wander to the firm muscle of his shoulders, kneading over freckled skin.

John exhales; a drawn-out, contented sound that releases coils of tension from his shoulders. With a nod of consent, you let yourself get comfortable. He drags his cock over your cunt again, biting back a stifled groan.

“Go slow,” You squeak, body already sore from the mission — he might add to it, if he isn’t careful. His lips seal themselves to your throat, peppering your flesh in a myriad of sweet kisses, nose brushing over your jugular. “I need you.”

Serum-infused blood pumps through his veins, oozing raw strength, but he knows to rein himself in, head bobbing in a brief nod. “Say that again.” John grunts, cock prodding against the warmth of your cunt, preparing to push past.

His head is partially buried into the hollow between throat and shoulder, beard prickling your flesh, a satisfying sensation. An excitable buzz wracks your body, sending tingles all over, a throbbing pulsing from between your legs.

“I need you,” Wantonly, your palm splays over his shoulder-blade, nails digging into his skin, eliciting a low groan from your paramour. “J—John, please!” It’s a plea, a desperate one, spoken through a beguiling cadence, one that winds him into tight knots.

With a shudder, John is thirsty for your embrace, a man lost within a desert, finding his oasis. His forehead nudges beside your temple, hotly grunting into your ear, sending waves of ecstasy through your belly.

His hips slowly urge forward, flushed head of his cock pushing into you with mild resistance. Disarmingly gentle, John doesn’t move quickly or rough, heeding your words as he fists at the pillow, body kissed by perspiration.

The tightness of your cunt drives him to the brink of madness, huffing beside your ear, fighting against baser, lesser instincts. Clinging to him as if he might fade through your fingers, he moves at an agonizing pace, not wanting to hurt you.

He doesn’t, a husky groan ripping through his diaphragm when your hips accidentally roll, feeling his muscles tense beneath your hands. “Jesus,” John grits out, feeling your nails dig crescents into his shoulder. “You’re perfect.”

A moan tumbles from your parted lips, his cock filling you completely, nearly bottoming out as he sinks forward. Intermingled groans and hot sighs tangle in the thin space between, heat against heat.

Your knees squeeze near his waist, legs kept spread apart by his musculature, bodies clawing for one another, ardor thinly-veiled. John’s countenance is contorted into a look of concentration coupled with bliss.

“S’good,” You moan, having adjusted enough, allowing yourself a moment of composure; it won’t last, and you know it. “Move.” Breathy and wrought with exhilaration, you give him the signal to take things further.

John’s resolve is crumbling, foundation swept away in the wake of your affections, and your wanton moan doesn’t make anything easier. Propping himself up on one arm, the other holds steadfastly to your thigh, an anchor.

Foreheads knock together, noses ghosting over one another as he begins to thrust into you, bicep flexing with exertion. The first drag of his hips sends you reeling, and you know that you won’t last long — and neither will he.

A string of hoarse expletives flutter from his mouth, barely above a whisper, setting your bones ablaze as he pulls back and pushes forward.

The fit of him is tight, cock oozing with heat as he draws back again, following through as he jolts forward.

Beneath you, the bed frame creaks — faint, as if it shows some give with the super-soldier on top of you. Your digits coax him in for a kiss, mouths colliding in a messy clash of tongue and needy lips, fire feeding fire.

John groans into your mouth, pushing and pulling, hips urging into yours, cock filling you with each thrust. Between fervent kisses and pleading moans, your head is foggy, dizzy with desire.

He develops a rhythm, the pace steady, each drag of his hips ripping a moan from your mouth, and he earned it. His hand kneads into your thigh, squeezing on occasion when the pleasure mounts, muscles coiled within his stomach.

“Y—You’re perfect,” The praise leaves your tongue as a hoarse whine, a noise that leaves goosebumps trailing over John’s spine. It’s the validation he desperately craves, the veneration, knowing he’s doing something right. “Don’t stop.”

A husky, throaty groan pierces through his chest, the noise making you shiver, arousal slick and warm between your thighs. It makes each snap of his hips easier, cock sinking into you over and over again.

It’s unintentional, his shifting pace; it begins to climb, from drawn-out and steady to needy, rutting into you as if each stroke would be his very last. John is trying to keep himself controlled, but you make it so difficult.

He slows again, the pleasure mounting, a knot that is becoming frayed at either end, prepared to be pulled apart. His cock throbs incessantly, pulsing inside of you, feeling your cunt clench around him.

Perspiration glitters along his brow, glistening along his hairline as he hunches in over you, and you feel all of him, viscerally.

The bed frame rattles in protest, as if bowing to his strength, and he’s already tearing the stitching in the pillowcase beside your head. A soft gasp slips from your lips, his mouth ghosting over yours.

Grunts of ecstasy leave him in droves, cock easing in and out of your cunt as if you’re made for him. John’s countenance is one of bliss and concentration, frustration now dissipated.

Each snap of his hips drags you further into the throes of ecstasy, and he’s nearly there, cock spearing into you. His breathing is growing ragged, raspy as it curls beside your ear, hot breath pluming over your face.

Noises surge in volume, filling his room with the sounds of vigorous lovemaking; he doesn’t care if the team hears anymore. John’s rapturous groans make you shiver in delight, head flush to yours again, the closeness addicting.

Another grunt ripples through his chest, the sound stretched, the rest tapering off as his hips begin to stutter, pace erratic and desperate. He’s close, weighing the odds of finishing inside of you, nearly whimpering when your legs hitch around his hips.

His name spills from your lips like a confessional, sobbing to the heavens, feeling your body begin to unfurl with tension. Bodies move within one another, his cock buried deep, kissing your cervix with each thrust.

From the tension in his muscles alone, you can tell that he’s about to burst, combust like fireworks in your hands. You’re on the pill, and so you urge him closer, wanting him inside of you even still.

When your name emerges from John’s mouth, you’re awestruck, flustered by the way in which he says it so tenderly. “I’m on the pill.” It’s all you’re able to say before he’s swallowing your words, covering your mouth with his.

The kiss is voracious, needy — John is unable to mask how he feels about you, letting it all bleed into tangled lips as he cums. He releases inside of you with a groan, followed by a rush of warmth that blankets your insides.

Tingles of delight wrack your body, a subdued release that seems to twine with his, a muted buzz surging through your bones. John’s hips crawl to a sluggish rhythm, agonizingly slow, as if to absorb the last few traces of friction.

Each breath heaves for composure, shallow and taut with exhilaration in the aftermath, sweat-slick skin melded together. His forehead nestles against yours, labored breathing evening out quicker than yours as he stills.

His spend and your arousal feel slick between your legs, making a mess of his sheets, joined bodies bleeding heat. You’re reeling, slower to recuperate as he pulls out of you with a soft grunt, rolling over to lay beside you.

John doesn’t leave, cerulean hues glued to your countenance, as if his whole sense of gravity has been shifted, changed. It’s hushed, save for your labored sighs, in-tandem with one another.

Wordlessly, he coaxes you closer, muscled arm hooking around your middle, inviting you to lay against his chest. One palm remains splayed, flat against your ribs, soothing you with easy caresses.

“Are you still with me?” John’s wisecrack makes you blunder, a soft laugh escaping you, hand playfully bumping against his chest.

“Yeah,” Unable to smother your smile, you’re delighted to sink into his embrace, keeping your hand on his chest. The hair beneath is something you trace through, over muscle, over old scars and greenish bruises. “I …”

As you trail off, John’s head cranes down enough to brush his lips against yours, the kiss sweet, bristling with a thinly-veiled affection. He lets you finish your thought, watching as you sit up enough to see him fully, perched on your stomach.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.” You utter, agonizingly soft, cadence wrought with an amalgamation of sentiments. John’s trying to be better, and it’s something you want to be a part of, if he’ll let you.

Neither did he, admittedly; it’s something John’s willing to admit to. “The thought never crossed my mind,” He murmured, blonde lashes fluttering as his hand cupped your jaw, calloused and careworn over satin skin. “But I’m not perfect.”

“I know, that’s why I like you.” With a dazzling smile, he’s caught right in the crosshairs, lips parting with a placating huff. It turns into a hum of a chuckle, his hand still firm against your side.

In a gentle clamor, his lips find yours, beard tickling your skin again, the sensation wholly pleasant. The kiss lingers, something that feels closer to home, a newfound warmth that the both of you desperately crave.

John’s mouth twitches into a half-smile, a peculiar mirth beginning to touch his eyes. He feels you plant a kiss against his shoulder, and he knows he’s completely screwed — you’re falling, but he’s falling harder.

[buckyseternaldoll]

kinky side quest

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: Valentina warned you both: no kinky side quests. You hadn’t planned on it—until her words lit the fuse. The mission went perfectly. The real side quest? Very much in progress.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, blowjob in car, clothed grinding, denied fingering, face riding, cunnilingus (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), metal fingers use, vaginal sex, rough sex, bathroom sex, shower sex, wall sex, riding, multiple orgasms, creampie, breeding kink talk, dirty talk, begging, praise kink, soft dominance, aftercare, established relationship, post Thunderbolts settings

Word Count: 9k~ish

Note: This was something I've written in parts before I took the time for myself and vanished. Any mistakes would all be mine. Hope you'll enjoy whatever this was 💜

You were deployed to clear a simple task with Bucky, your boyfriend—though sometimes it still felt unbelievable that you’d scored him at all. Valentina had given you both that flat stare before you left the Watchtower briefing room, like she could see straight through you.

“No kinky side quests,” she’d said, pinning you both with her glare.

You and Bucky had both nodded like good little agents. Really, you hadn’t planned anything. It hadn’t even been on your mind… until she reminded you. Until she said it out loud, and your entire body remembered you were ovulating. Remembered you hadn’t fucked him in days. Remembered how hungry you’d been for him last night when you’d come to bed late and he’d just curled around you to sleep, murmuring he was too tired to start anything.

You’d promised yourself you’d wait. Get through the mission. Earn your prize. You’d ask for him to rail you stupid after you both got home safe. That had been the plan.

But Val’s warning had lodged itself in your skull like a dare.

You’d kept your head in the game right up until you were actually in the car. Just a normal sedan—sleek and fast but nondescript enough for local traffic. Bucky had insisted on driving, fingers loose on the wheel, eyes sweeping the road in practiced arcs. He was so good at this part, so focused it made you ache.

It should only be forty-five minutes to the drop point. Easy. But you were in the passenger seat fidgeting your fingers in your lap like a kid. Trying not to look at him too much. Trying not to think about his thighs in those dark tac pants.

Because while your mind was set on the assignment, your traitor of a heart had latched onto Val’s rule like it was a forbidden fruit. It wouldn’t stop playing the what-if game.

What if he let you?

What if he wanted it too?

Bucky cleared his throat at the wheel. His gaze didn’t even flick to you, but you knew him—he’d been watching you out of the corner of his eye for the last ten minutes.

“Baby,” he drawled, voice low and gentle. “What’s on your mind?”

You swallowed, eyes snapping to the side mirror instead of him.

“Mm. Nothing.” You shifted your hips in the seat, realizing too late you’d been leaning toward him like gravity had given up on pretending.

He huffed a faint, knowing sound, thumb tapping the wheel.

“Something wrong?” he pressed, voice rich with genuine concern. Not annoyed. Not suspicious. Just… worried about you.

You hesitated.

Your brain screamed don’t say it. Don’t ruin the mission. You’d promised yourself. You were going to wait until the op was over.

But you’d been so wound up. So deprived. So embarrassingly wet for him for days now that your mouth betrayed you.

You twisted in your seat to face him fully, fingers clenching in your lap. Your voice cracked with nerves.

“Can I… suck your cock before we get there?”

It dropped into the quiet like a grenade.

Bucky actually flinched. You saw it—a tiny twitch of his jaw tightening, a hard swallow.

For one harrowing second you thought you’d fucked everything up.

But then he let out a short laugh—just air, really, a puff of relief, as his shoulders eased.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, and this time he finally glanced at you properly, eyes soft, mouth curved in that tired but patient little grin he reserved for you alone. “That was what was bothering you?”

You squirmed in your seat, cheeks on fire. Couldn’t look at him for a second.

You nodded anyway. Shame was there, hot in your belly, but so was something else—so was the defiance of I want you.

Technically, you hadn’t arrived at the drop yet. This was just transit. Not the mission. Not really.

Bucky’s brow furrowed for a split second like he was actually considering the ethics of it. But then he huffed again, softer this time. Like he’d decided.

“C’mere,” he said.

He took his right hand off the wheel—his warm flesh hand—and reached across to your restless fingers, prying them gently apart. He squeezed your hand once, firmly. Grounding.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he guided your palm down.

Down to his lap.

Pressed it flush over the front of his pants.

You felt the heat there immediately. Even soft, he was thick. Heavy. But under your hand he shifted and you felt it twitch—just a little at first, then again, firmer. Filling.

You bit back a whimper, heat roaring through you.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just let you feel it. Let you watch the way his eyelids went half-mast as his cock stirred and hardened under your palm.

It was wordless permission.

But he still gave you the grace of saying it.

“My cock’s all yours, baby,” he said quietly. His voice was impossibly tender. “If that’s what you need, take it.”

That undid you.

Your hesitation shattered, replaced by raw, urgent want.

You fumbled at his fly, unzipping him with shaking fingers. He lifted his hips just enough—obedient, helpful, letting you work without rush—to free him from the confines of his tactical pants.

And there he was.

Big. Thick. Gloriously hardening in the dark of the night.

Ready for you.

—

You didn’t rush.

You made yourself pause. Forced yourself to just look at him.

Your breath caught when you took in the sight of his cock, freed from his tactical pants—thick, veined, standing proud and heavy. Even in the near-dark of the car, you could see it: the occasional slash of passing streetlights cast pale ribbons across his lap, glinting off the slick wetness gathered at the tip. It curved ever so slightly toward you, shameless in its want.

Your mouth actually watered.

God. It was big. So fucking big. It always struck you just how massive he was, the kind of size you could never forget once you’d taken him. Exposed like this, twitching for you, he looked almost vulnerable. Needy.

You wondered—not for the first time—if the serum had anything to do with it. If it had made every part of him harder, stronger, bigger. Or if he’d always been this blessed.

Either way, you were the luckiest woman on Earth.

You owned this cock. Like a queen. Like it was a gift he’d given you to worship and keep.

You flicked your eyes up.

Bucky kept his gaze on the road, hyper-aware of their route even now. But you saw the tension in his jaw, the way the streetlights striped over the hard line of his throat when he swallowed.

His shifted his flesh hand on your back.

He was holding you there, palm warm and firm between your shoulder blades, thumb stroking slow, calming circles over your spine like you were the one who needed reassuring. It made you shiver.

The car’s interior was shadowed and private except for those brief sweeps of city glow through the windshield. You felt hidden and exposed all at once.

“Easy, doll,” he rumbled, voice low and husky but so soft. “Take your time.”

You let out a breathless, shaky laugh, your lips hovering inches from his cock.

“Don’t tell me that unless you mean it,” you warned, your voice cracking with how badly you wanted him.

His hand squeezed your back, fingers flexing a little like he was fighting to stay gentle.

“I mean it,” he promised, voice firm but warm. “I want you to enjoy it.”

That ruined you.

You bent closer, deliberately slow, letting your lips ghost over the tip in the barest, most teasing kiss. The salty smear of his pre-cum met your tongue when you finally flicked it out to taste him.

Bucky sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, grip tightening reflexively on your back.

“Fuck,” he whimpered.

That sound went straight to your core. You fucking lived for those rare cracks in his control.

You licked him again, circling the head, savoring the heat and weight of him, feeling the slight tremor that ran through his thighs. He pulsed in your hold, swelling even harder.

His hand pressed you just a little closer, not forcing but anchoring you to him. His thumb traced slow circles over your spine, soothing in direct contrast to the filthy act you were committing in the front seat of a moving car.

“Good girl,” he murmured so low you barely heard it over the hum of the tires on asphalt.

It burned through you like fire.

You moaned softly against the head of his cock, the vibration making him twitch, before finally opening your mouth wide and taking him in.

He was so fucking thick your lips stretched around him, your jaw ached immediately in that delicious, obscene way you craved.

Bucky let out a strangled groan above you, deep and broken, his fingers digging lightly into your back.

You bobbed your head slowly at first, letting him feel the searing heat of your mouth, your tongue pressing flat along the underside of his shaft as you sucked him in. The wet, sloppy sounds filled the darkened car, mixing with the low, even roar of the engine.

His hips shifted once, restrained—like every part of him screamed to fuck up into your mouth but he wouldn’t let himself.

“Jesus, baby,” he rasped, voice rough as gravel. “Just like that. So fucking perfect.”

You moaned around him, eyes fluttering shut at the praise, your own hips squirming in the seat as slick gathered hot and heavy in your panties.

You let your right hand slide down, wrapping tight around the thick base of his cock, your fingers barely meeting. You stroked him in perfect rhythm with your mouth while your left hand pressed hard into the muscle of his thigh, feeling it tense under your touch.

He was so hot. So alive. So yours.

You needed air. You pulled back with a wet pop, strings of spit stretching between your swollen lips and his glistening cock.

You let your tongue swirl around the tip, gathering more of his salty pre-cum and spreading it with relish.

“God,” you groaned, voice breaking on a whimper. You leaned in to press wet, open-mouthed kisses along his shaft between words. “I missed your thick, fat cock… too fucking much.”

Bucky’s chest rose in a ragged inhale. You saw the way his nostrils flared, eyes tight as he forced himself to keep them on the road.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice cracking. “You’re gonna kill me, doll.”

You moaned at that, licking deliberately slow down his length, tracing every pulsing vein, every ridge, until your mouth reached the base. Your breath was hot and greedy, your mouth glistening as you finally pulled back just enough to see his ruined expression reflected in the side mirror.

“My cock,” you sighed, nearly sobbing with want, before swallowing him whole again in one greedy slide.

Bucky groaned. A low, wrecked sound.

You worked him harder now, your head bobbing faster and wetter, your tongue pressing and flicking under the crown with every stroke. Your hand twisted at the base in perfect rhythm, squeezing tight, milking him.

You felt it when he lost the battle for control. The way his hand on your back shook before squeezing you tighter, pressing you close in silent desperation.

“Baby, fuck,” he gasped, voice going hoarse with strain. “That feels so good. So fucking good.”

You popped off just long enough to pant out a feral little laugh, lips slick and spit-drenched.

“I know,” you breathed, eyes glittering as you licked him from base to tip again, before plunging your mouth back down.

Your pace turned relentless.

Wet, obscene slurps filled the car, the only soundtrack to your sin. His ragged breathing cracked and broke, mixing with the constant rumble of the road beneath you. Your own cunt clenched around nothing, neglected, soaked through, but you didn’t care. You’d make him fall apart for you.

You felt him start to pulse, harder, thicker on your tongue.

His voice hitched, went ragged.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard once we’re back,” he groaned, the threat edged with promise, with desperate need.

You moaned around him, the vibration making him jerk in your mouth.

Your hand at the base squeezed tighter, stroking faster, matching your mouth’s relentless pace.

“Let go for me, baby,” you slurred around his cock, words muffled but clear. You pulled back just enough to meet his blown pupils in the mirror, your lips swollen and wet, your breath coming hard.

“Come for me, Bucky.”

And then you swallowed him whole again, eager and hungry, determined to take everything he gave you.

—

You felt it the moment he lost the last scrap of control.

Bucky shuddered hard, the tremor rolling through his thighs, his hand clenching against your back in a bruising grip as he choked out a guttural moan.

You didn’t slow. Didn’t stop.

His cock twitched once—twice—and then he was coming in your mouth, thick and hot, salty and utterly his.

You swallowed automatically, greedy, taking as much as you could. But there was so much of him, and you’d pushed yourself so deep that some of it leaked from the corners of your mouth, sliding down to your hand still pumping him at the base.

He cursed—low, strangled, wrecked.

“Fuuuck—baby—”

You finally let yourself pull back, gasping a breath as you tried to swallow the last of it, licking your lips shamelessly. You felt it smear on your chin and thumbed at it, giggling a little breathlessly despite how hard your own cunt clenched at the taste.

God. He always tasted good to you. Like an appetizer crafted just for you.

Your eyes flicked up to his face, taking in the sight of your normally stoic, disciplined supersoldier boyfriend looking… ruined.

His cheeks were flushed, eyes half-lidded and glassy from release. A faint sheen of sweat caught the occasional streetlight slashing through the windshield. But to your infinite jealousy, he wasn’t panting or out of breath. His chest rose and fell evenly. Enhanced stamina, you thought with a petty, hungry little growl in your head.

He was already recovering.

You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand, only smearing a little more of his cum over your thumb before popping it into your mouth, sucking it clean deliberately, knowing he was watching.

Bucky’s jaw flexed hard.

“Fuck, baby,” he finally managed, voice raw and ragged. “That was so good. But…”

He swallowed, voice going lower, darker, more dangerous.

“I need more.”

Your heart skittered at that tone.

You let out a breathless laugh, reaching over him for the small pack of tissues you kept in the door pocket. You flicked one free and carefully wiped the remaining mess off his flushed cock, cleaning him up with an absurdly tender touch. He lifted his hips obediently, giving you access, hissing as the tissue dragged over oversensitized skin.

“Easy,” he breathed.

“Don’t ‘easy’ me,” you teased, voice husky. “You came so much I almost choked.”

That earned a strained chuckle from him, one that ended in a low groan as you tucked him back into his tac pants, carefully zipping him up.

You tossed the used tissue aside and smirked, settling back into your seat, your eyes bright and wicked in the glow of the passing streetlights.

“I know you need more,” you purred. “So let’s get this shit done ASAP.”

You leaned in closer, until your mouth brushed the shell of his ear. Your voice dropped to a filthy whisper, warm and mean and so needy you almost trembled saying it.

“Then you can fuck my wet cunt so hard you break me apart.”

He let out a noise halfway between a laugh and a growl, teeth bared in a grin that was feral and fond all at once.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

He didn’t even hesitate.

His right hand—his warm, calloused flesh hand—slid right back to you. You grabbed it, guiding it ruthlessly between your legs, pressing it tight over the seam of your tactical suit.

He could feel the heat. The damp. Even through the heavy-duty fabric, there was no hiding it.

Bucky sucked in a breath, thumb twitching experimentally over you.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice cracking with lust. His eyes flicked to you briefly before darting back to the road, like he couldn’t afford the distraction.

But you didn’t miss the way his pupils blew wide.

“See what you do to me?” you teased, grinding just once against his palm before pulling back, breath shaking.

His fingers curled reflexively, wanting to follow, to press harder.

“Oh, I feel it,” he rasped. His tone was low, dark, but the smile tugging at his lips was all Bucky. Soft. Devoted. “I’m going to fuck you relentlessly.”

You shivered at the promise.

He punctuated it with a single, deliberate kiss to your left cheek—a press of warm, slightly chapped lips that felt less like affection and more like sealing a contract.

You felt your heart kick against your ribs, your whole body thrumming with anticipation.

Sex for hours. That was the deal now.

And you’d be damned if you didn’t earn it.

You settled back in your seat, trying to calm your breathing, a determined glint in your eyes.

Your brain was already plotting the mission, calculating shortcuts, prioritizing targets.

For the good of the assignment.

And for the goddamn sex, you thought, biting back a delirious grin.

—

You and Bucky handled the assignment a little too quickly, if you were being honest.

Like the perfect, ruthless duo Valentina trained you to be.

Intels extracted. Servers wiped. Physical evidence torched. The drop point reduced to smoking debris in the darkness after Bucky triggered the silent detonator, both of you already on the move before the muted whump even finished echoing.

No one saw a thing. No cameras left to prove you’d even been there.

You tapped the comm in your ear, eyes scanning the dark street as you headed back to the car.

“Mission complete. Back to HQ,” you reported, voice low and steady.

Valentina’s cool voice crackled back a moment later.

“Copy. Don’t make me regret pairing you two alone.”

You smirked as you shut the comm off with another tap, cutting the line.

Beside you, Bucky did the same, pulling out his own in-ear and tucking it in his pocket. You saw the way his mouth quirked despite himself, even as he scanned the perimeter one last time.

Professional to the end.

But when you finally got back in the car, the doors shutting with dull thuds in the night, it was like all that icy discipline melted in an instant.

You tugged your tactical gloves off and dropped them on the dash with a clatter. The car reeked faintly of gun oil, burnt electronics… and sex.

You didn’t even try to be subtle about inhaling.

You glanced at Bucky as he started the engine, headlights cutting through the dark. Streetlights flicked past in rhythmic sweeps, carving his face into alternating slices of shadow and gold.

His lips were still a little swollen. You felt your own throb in sympathy.

He caught you staring. Didn’t say a word. Just smirked—slow, knowing.

That smirk widened when he reached across the center console and took your left hand in his, squeezing your fingers.

But he didn’t keep it there.

Instead, he let go and dragged his big, calloused palm right to your lap, pressing between your thighs.

You whimpered.

His fingers grazed the seam of your tac pants, right over your cunt, even through the thick material sending a sharp jolt of heat straight up your spine.

You gasped, pressing back against the seat, hand grabbing his wrist to either stop him or guide him—you couldn’t tell which.

“Still damp,” he said, voice low, cracked with hunger.

You swallowed hard.

“From sweat,” you tried to lie, your tone cracking in embarrassment, knowing full well he could practically smell you.

He huffed out a disbelieving laugh, deep and rough.

“Nah,” he said, voice going even lower, his grin turning feral as streetlights washed his face in amber. “Smelled too fucking sweet for sweat.”

You shuddered at that, your thighs instinctively pressing together around his hand.

Bucky’s fingers moved. He pressed more firmly, dragging slow, heavy lines along the seam of your tac pants, forcing a muffled moan from you.

You squirmed in your seat. The thick, tight fabric was torture. Too much and not enough.

You let out a frustrated sound and reached for the fly of your pants with shaking fingers, unzipping them with a harsh zzzzp.

Bucky’s eyes cut to you once, quickly, heat banked in his stare, before flicking back to the road.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice almost lost under the hum of tires on asphalt.

You wiggled your hips in the seat, shoving the tac pants down just enough to free your cunt—still covered by the thinnest pair of dark stretch shorts you wore underneath.

They were drenched.

The proof was in the way the fabric clung wetly to you, your slick staining it in a dark patch that even the dim streetlights couldn’t hide.

Bucky let out a harsh breath at the sight, his hand immediately dropping to press right against it.

He grunted, fingers flexing hard.

“Jesus,” he rasped. “So fucking wet for me?”

Your moan was half-words, half-desperation.

“Always,” you managed, your voice wrecked.

You didn’t even try to be coy. Your own fingers closed around his wrist, dragging his hand tighter to you. You ground shamelessly against his palm, feeling the heat of him even through the thin damp shorts.

You hissed at the friction, head falling back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed.

He didn’t move away. Didn’t tease. He let you use him, fingers pressing in harder, tracing the soaked line of your folds through the fabric with slow, deliberate pressure.

“Look at you,” he murmured, voice going even rougher, ruined with affection and lust all at once. “So needy you’re fucking yourself on my hand in the front seat.”

You let out a strangled sound that might have been his name.

His thumb found your clit through the damp cloth and pressed just firmly enough to make your hips jerk.

You bit your lip to stifle the whine that threatened to escape.

He chuckled darkly, that sound so deep it rattled you.

“Better hope no one’s watching,” he teased, glancing at you sidelong, eyes glittering with heat and mischief as the streetlights cut over his features.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering.

You smirked through the haze of lust, voice shaking but defiant.

“Drive faster, Sarge,” you managed. “Or I’ll make myself come before you even get me home.”

Bucky’s grin turned savage at that.

“Oh sweetheart,” he crooned, voice so low it felt like velvet dragging over your skin. He pressed even harder, thumb circling your clit, slow and merciless. “You’re not coming without me. That’s a promise.”

Your answering moan was wanton and helpless, your fingers still gripping his wrist as you rutted against his hand.

And Bucky just smiled, turning back to the road, driving into the night with one hand on the wheel—while the other stayed buried between your legs, making sure you remembered exactly who you belonged to.

—

Bucky didn’t finger you.

No matter how badly you whined. No matter how your voice cracked, wrecked and breathless, your hips rolling up shamelessly into his touch.

He just kept his fingers right there over your soaked shorts, teasing the seam of your folds through the wet fabric but never pushing inside.

“Please, baby,” you panted, your voice a broken plea. You grabbed his wrist tighter, forcing his fingers to press harder until you felt them sink into the dip of your folds—even through the thin, soaked barrier of your shorts. Your clit throbbed at the friction. “Fuck—please, finger me.”

He huffed out a breath that was half a laugh, half a strained groan.

“No,” he said, voice so low it felt like it vibrated straight through you.

You let out a desperate little whine.

He glanced at you sidelong, jaw tight, eyes flashing as another passing streetlight cut across his face.

“Not here,” he growled. The words were soft, but they snapped like a command. “I’m not giving you that in the damn car.”

Your nails bit into his wrist.

“Bucky—”

He exhaled sharply, his hand flexing against you just once before he dragged his palm away.

“I said no,” he repeated, this time softer, more patient, the dominant control edged with fondness. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard once we’re home. That’s it. That’s the deal.”

You grunted in frustration, biting back a curse as your hips bucked one last time. You could feel the slick mess you’d made in your shorts, heat and wetness smearing against his palm before he pulled away completely.

You shivered, angry at the loss.

But you didn’t want to risk making him change his mind.

With a ragged groan, you finally reached down, yanking your tactical pants back up. You wriggled your hips in the seat to get them over your ass, cursing quietly as the wet fabric clung to your folds in the worst way. You fumbled with the zipper, finally sealing yourself back up—like it made any difference now.

Your pussy ached.

Bucky didn’t help, either. He just gave you this smug little sideways look, his lips curling at the edges in a knowing grin.

But his eyes were dark.

Hungry.

You swallowed and shifted again in your seat, trying to get comfortable even as you stayed pressed close enough to grip his hand. You clung to it, even after zipping up. Even after you’d shoved down the raw want just enough to stop begging.

He squeezed your fingers.

Hard.

Reassuring. Possessive.

The rest of the drive back to the Watchtower was torture.

Because you didn’t stop.

Neither of you did.

You whispered every filthy promise you could think of, voice ragged with need. You told him exactly what you wanted—what you needed from him the moment you got through that door.

How you wanted him to shove you against the wall.

How you wanted his cock so deep you could barely breathe.

How you needed to taste yourself on him as he fucked your mouth raw.

How you’d been thinking about him all week, even on missions, touching yourself in the shower and whining his name.

Bucky listened. He didn’t shut you up.

He just smiled.

That little wolfish grin breaking out whenever your words got especially dirty. His jaw flexed tight when you moaned out your filthiest demands.

And all he did was grunt, voice rough, promising you over and over:

“Yeah?”

“You want all that?”

“You’re gonna get everything, sweetheart.”

He leaned heavy on everything, each time making your stomach swoop, your pussy clench.

“Everything you want. Once we’re home.”

You could barely sit still. The seatbelt felt like a restraint you wanted to tear off.

Your fingers stayed knotted together, his thumb dragging slow circles over your knuckles, deceptively gentle.

—

By the time you pulled into the Watchtower’s garage, you were shaking.

Bucky parked in the same precise, methodical way he did everything, even though you could see the tension in his arms, the white-knuckled grip on the wheel.

When you finally stepped out, your legs felt like jelly.

But you forced yourself to walk normally beside him through the darkened hallways, past the security doors.

The elevator ride up was somehow worse.

Your body screamed to press against him. To climb into his lap and grind down until you soaked his pants.

You wanted to maul him. Bite his bottom lip. Kiss him sloppy and breathless.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Valentina had cameras in all the common areas.

You felt her ghost in the walls even now. Watching. Judging.

So you stood there beside Bucky, trying to look normal. Professional.

Except your thighs kept pressing together in helpless, instinctive pulses. Your breath was too fast. Your face too hot.

Bucky noticed. Of course he did.

He let out a single, low chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

He gripped your hand tighter, fingers interlacing with yours so firmly you couldn’t pull away.

“Behave,” he murmured, voice so soft no one else could hear.

You shivered.

But you didn’t dare meet his eyes.

If you did, you’d lose it.

You didn’t know he was struggling too.

That behind that cool, battle-hardened expression, he was undone.

That all he wanted was to drag you back into that car, crawl over the center console, and fuck you right there until you couldn’t walk.

But he didn’t.

Because you both knew the rules.

For now.

But the moment that elevator door opened?

All bets were off.

—

As soon as the door banged shut behind you, Bucky didn’t waste a second.

He spun you around and pinned you hard against the door, his metal arm braced beside your head to cage you in. His right hand flicked the light switch on in one smooth motion, flooding the room with warm brightness before it immediately dropped to curl tight around your waist, holding you in place.

You didn’t even have a second to register the room before his mouth crashed into yours.

It was sloppy, messy, starved—all teeth and tongue and wet, hungry sounds. Your lips smashed together so hard it hurt, but you moaned anyway, clawing at the thick fabric of his jacket to pull him even closer.

He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth and bit it, just hard enough to make you gasp.

But then—just when you thought you’d drown in the filth of it—he gentled.

His lips softened against yours, his tongue slowing, licking lazily into your mouth like he was savoring you. Like he couldn’t get enough.

Your whole body trembled.

You felt his crotch grow against you—no other word for it. His cock hardened rapidly in his pants, thick and pressing into your stomach through both your suits. You couldn’t help it—you rolled your hips against him, needing anything, groaning at the friction even though the layers between you made it frustratingly dull.

“Fuck,” you panted, breaking the kiss for air, your head thudding back against the door.

Bucky pulled back just enough to look at you.

His pupils were blown wide, nearly eclipsing those blue eyes. His mouth was wet and red from your kisses, stubble scratching deliciously along your jaw.

He licked his lips once.

“You asked for this, baby,” he growled, voice low, gravelly, dangerous but so fucking tender underneath. His lips curled into a knowing, vicious little smile. “No backing out. I’m gonna fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

Your breath hitched.

“Please,” you whispered, completely wrecked already.

That did it.

He grabbed you under your thighs and lifted you like you weighed nothing.

You immediately hooked your legs around his waist, ankles locking behind him, grinding your soaked pussy shamelessly against the hard ridge in his pants. He groaned, fingers digging into the meat of your ass to hold you up as he turned and carried you toward the bathroom.

You didn’t stop kissing.

You attacked his mouth over and over, teeth clacking, tongues tangling, panting breath filling the narrow hallway. Every time you rolled your hips into him, you felt him jerk slightly, his cock pressing harder into you.

“Fuck—so needy,” he growled, breathless this time.

“Yours,” you gasped. “I’m yours, Bucky. Always.”

That made him snarl low in his throat, and he crushed you harder to his chest as he kicked open the bathroom door.

He set you down only long enough to rip at your clothes.

Your fingers were shaking so hard you fumbled the zipper on your tactical suit. Bucky didn’t wait. He grabbed it, yanking it down so fast the teeth nearly split.

“Off,” he ordered, voice so low you felt it in your cunt.

You obeyed, peeling it away, your soaked shorts practically peeling off your sticky folds with a wet noise that made you whimper in embarrassment. The cold bathroom air hit your soaked pussy and you hissed, thighs instinctively pressing together.

But Bucky was already shrugging out of his jacket, tossing it aside. You helped him with the rest, fingers frantic as you unbuckled his belt, shoved his pants down.

His cock sprang free, fat and flushed and so fucking hard it slapped against his lower belly. You both paused for half a heartbeat just to look.

It twitched.

You moaned, biting your lip, fingers already reaching for it before he caught your wrists.

“Shower,” he ordered.

You whimpered.

He didn’t let you protest.

He hoisted you up again, your legs wrapping automatically around him, and reached behind you to flick the shower on.

Warm water blasted from above immediately, steaming the room. It hit your back first, making you gasp, then sluiced over Bucky’s broad shoulders and the hard planes of his chest. His hair slicked back against his head, water streaming down his stubbled jaw.

He pressed you against the tile, shifting you slightly higher on the wall, your slick folds lining up perfectly with his length.

You couldn’t help it—you shifted your hips, dragging your soaked, desperate pussy along his thick shaft, smearing your slick all over him even as the shower rained down.

You both moaned, loud, unfiltered.

“Fuck—baby—” he panted, voice going wrecked.

You felt him adjust, one hand bracing you under your ass, the other reaching between you to grip his cock, lining it up.

You barely had time to suck in a breath.

He shoved in.

You screamed.

Your head thunked back against the tile, eyes rolling as his fat cock split you open, inch after inch pressing impossibly deep until he bottomed out.

“Fuuuuck,” you sobbed, nails raking his shoulders.

“Yeah?” he growled, breath ragged against your ear. “That what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes—fuck—Bucky—”

He pulled back and slammed in again, the wet, filthy slap of your bodies colliding echoing off the tile walls.

He fucked you relentlessly.

He set a brutal pace, hips snapping forward with hard, wet slaps, your breasts bouncing wildly between you. Water splashed off both your bodies, steam billowing around you.

Your nipples grazed his chest, slick and swollen. Once, they smacked against his face as you jolted in his hold, and he groaned—open-mouthed and hungry—before burying his face between them.

He sucked a nipple into his mouth hard enough to make you wail, his teeth scraping, his tongue swirling messily.

Your moans turned into raw, broken sobs of his name.

“Bucky—Bucky please—fuck—so deep—”

He snarled, mouth muffled against your tits.

“Mine,” he growled, words wet, hot breath burning your skin. “All fucking mine.”

Your cunt spasmed around him, milking him as you clenched so hard you almost forced him out.

He held you pinned to the wall with sheer strength, thrusting deeper, harder, until your vision went white.

You screamed for him, voice cracking, nails digging so hard you drew blood from his shoulders.

He let out a strangled groan against your chest, his thrusts turning erratic.

Then he froze.

Burying himself as deep as he could, cock pulsing hard as he came inside you, heat flooding your core.

You felt every twitch, every thick spurt filling you, even as the shower water washed over you both.

You moaned for it. Wanted it. Loved it.

You clung to him, legs still locked tight, until you both finally sagged.

He held you there, breathing hard against your collarbone, his cock still buried inside you, softening slowly as your walls milked out every last drop.

When your legs finally gave out completely, he eased you down gently, arms wrapped around you to keep you steady.

You both wobbled under the spray.

He tucked a wet strand of hair behind your ear with shaking fingers, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You okay?” he rasped.

You nodded weakly, still shivering with aftershocks.

“Fuck—yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

He smiled. Soft. Gentle.

“Good.”

He helped you finish showering after that, washing you carefully, checking you for any bruises he’d left. You washed him too, fingers tender as they traced over the strong lines of his chest, the scars you both knew by heart.

Finally you both stepped out, skin pink and steaming, drying off just enough to wrap yourselves in thick, fluffy bathrobes.

You were both still flushed, still breathing too hard, still so far from finished.

But that was for the bedroom.

And as he toweled off his hair, watching you with those blown, heated eyes, you both knew you were about to ruin the bed next.

—

You didn’t bother pretending anymore.

He dropped the towel, letting it fall to the floor in a heavy, wet heap. Bucky’s gaze tracked every inch of you, unapologetic, hungry.

Your bathrobe followed with a flick of your wrist, sliding off your shoulders like it offended you. His fell away too, careless, pooling at his feet.

And you both lunged at each other.

Mouths smashed together in another sloppy, wet kiss—needy, uncoordinated, breathless. His hands roamed your body without hesitation, palms hot, fingers digging in to leave bruises.

Your own hands scraped through his damp hair, tugging him closer until your teeth clicked.

He growled low against your mouth, nipping at your lip before sucking it into his own, tongue tracing the sting he left behind.

Your bare, slick bodies pressed together, chest to chest, skin sliding wetly. His cock, still soft from the aftershower, twitched between you, thickening almost instantly from the friction of your bellies rubbing together.

You moaned at the sensation of it hardening right there, growing against your stomach, the heat of him unmistakable.

You fumbled backwards, lips parting just enough to pant for breath before you fell back onto the bed with a bounce.

You lay there, hair splayed on the sheets, chest heaving, legs instinctively parting wide in invitation.

Your eyes locked on him.

He stopped, looming at the foot of the bed, gaze dropping to your glistening cunt.

His pupils were blown wide, nostrils flaring as he sucked in a deep breath.

“Fuck, doll…” he rasped.

His right hand, flesh and warm, wrapped around his own cock. He stroked it slowly, deliberately. The head already leaking, pre-cum beading before smearing over his thumb.

You watched, moaning at the sight, your own walls clenching in empty need.

“Bucky,” you whimpered.

That got his attention.

He climbed onto the bed, bracing himself over you, his cock dragging against your belly as he lowered his mouth to yours again.

You kissed hungrily, teeth clacking, breath mingling.

Your hand snaked between you, fingers wrapping around his slick length, feeling the heat, the pulse. You stroked him slowly, thumb smearing the wetness over the head.

He groaned into your mouth, hips twitching.

“Fuck—baby—”

You broke the kiss with a gasp.

“Please… finger me,” you begged, voice cracking with desperation. “I need it so bad.”

He stilled for just a second, eyes searching yours, face tightening with lust and affection all at once.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I got you.”

He shifted, bracing himself better. He knelt between your parted thighs, feet anchored into the mattress for leverage. His flesh hand cupped your breast, thumb brushing over the taut peak while he supported himself on his elbow.

The metal hand slid down your belly, cool and hard and precise, making your muscles twitch.

You whimpered, hips rolling up to meet him.

He paused, watching you squirm.

“Spread,” he ordered softly.

You obeyed instantly, thighs falling wider apart.

He hummed his approval and pressed one cold vibranium finger to your slick folds, sliding it through the mess you’d already made.

You moaned, head falling back, eyes rolling.

He traced your entrance before pressing in slowly, one thick finger stretching you open, the temperature contrast making you gasp.

You clenched around it reflexively.

“That’s it,” he crooned. “Open up for me.”

You keened as he started pumping slowly, his metal thumb rubbing teasing circles around your clit.

“More,” you whimpered. “Please, more.”

He rewarded you immediately, sliding in another finger.

You cried out, walls fluttering around the intrusion, slick dripping onto his hand.

Bucky bit his lip watching you, the cords of his neck standing out with restraint.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he muttered.

You could barely answer, only managing a desperate moan.

He kept going, pumping those two thick metal fingers in and out, dragging them along your walls, feeling you squeeze down on him. His flesh hand squeezed your breast firmly, thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple hard enough to make you jerk.

“Bucky—fuck!”

“Such a good girl,” he praised, voice cracked with hunger. “Taking my fingers so well.”

You could hear the wet, obscene sounds of your cunt being fucked on his fingers.

You grabbed at his ass, nails digging in, pulling him closer.

He chuckled, low and mean.

“You want more?”

“Please,” you sobbed.

He rewarded you with a third finger.

You wailed, back arching off the bed as he stretched you wide.

“Fuck, fuck—baby—it’s so full—”

He curled his fingers deliberately, finding that spot inside you that made your vision shatter.

Your body locked up, breath stuttering.

He didn’t let up.

He kept thrusting, harder, faster, the cold metal unrelenting.

Your moans turned to screams, nails dragging red lines down his ass.

He dropped his head and took your other nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, teeth grazing before soothing it with his tongue.

Your entire body convulsed, muscles seizing as pleasure detonated.

He felt it, the way you clenched and spasmed around his fingers, and curled them even harder.

“Come on, baby,” he growled against your breast. “Come for me.”

You did.

You came so hard you saw stars, your pussy squirting wetly around his fingers, slick splashing onto the sheets in messy, humiliating waves.

He kept working you through it, thumb circling your clit, mouth latched onto your breast like he couldn’t get enough.

Your cries broke into choked sobs of his name.

“Bucky—baby—please—”

He finally slowed his thrusts, your cunt still spasming weakly around his fingers, making obscene wet sounds that filled the room.

You felt your walls clench one last time before going slack.

He drew his metal fingers out of you deliberately, slowly, letting you feel every ridge and bump as they dragged from your soaked, oversensitive entrance.

They left with a wet, filthy squelch that made your face burn with embarrassment. Strings of slick clung between his fingers and your pussy, stretching and breaking, leaving messy strands smeared across your inner thighs.

You shuddered helplessly.

Bucky's eyes never left yours.

He lifted his metal hand, studying the mess you’d made of him with hungry, approving eyes. Then he brought those slick-coated fingers to his mouth.

He licked them clean slowly, tongue dragging over the metal with practiced precision, making sure you saw every movement.

You whimpered at the sight, body twitching weakly on the sheets.

He smiled around his fingers, pulling them free with a soft pop.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he rasped, voice thick and ruined with pride and lust.

You swallowed hard, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how overwhelming it all felt.

You nodded shakily.

“Yeah,” you breathed out, voice cracking.

That earned you a low, satisfied rumble from his chest.

He shifted his weight on the bed, knees sinking deeper into the mattress between your spread thighs as he leaned over you. His warm, flesh hand braced beside your head, metal arm planting firmly next to your hip to cage you in.

Then he bent down and kissed you.

It was slow. Tender. A total contrast to how he’d just wrecked you.

His lips moved gently over yours, patient and grounding, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You whimpered again, your hands fluttering up weakly to clutch at his damp hair, nails scraping lightly along his scalp.

He hummed against your mouth, nuzzling you with the tip of his nose, pressing sweet little kisses to your lips, your cheeks, your jaw.

But even as he comforted you, you felt it.

His cock.

Hard as granite. Pressed hot and heavy against your thigh. Twitching every time you squirmed, smearing his pre-cum onto your skin.

He wasn’t even pretending to hide it.

And you both knew—

He wasn’t even close to done with you yet.

—

You were still shaking.

Your whole body felt boneless, oversensitive. But the ache between your thighs wouldn’t quit. Even as the aftershocks made your cunt twitch and flutter, you felt yourself need again.

Bucky noticed immediately.

His thumb brushed your lip, swollen from his kisses, and you sucked it automatically.

Your hips squirmed, legs twitching open.

He watched your expression melt into need.

“Oh, you’re not done,” he rumbled softly, smiling darkly.

Your answer was a half-sobbed whine.

“I need more.”

He chuckled, deep and knowing.

“I’ll wreck you, baby.”

You let out a broken laugh, grabbing at his shoulders for leverage.

With all the strength you had left, you shifted, shoving him back against the bed. He let you, grinning, his big frame relaxing against the pillows with his arms spread wide in invitation.

You climbed over him on trembling thighs, straddling his chest for a moment. He grabbed your hips immediately, fingers digging in to hold you steady.

You kept going, shifting your weight until your dripping pussy hovered directly over his face.

He groaned the second you lined yourself up.

“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes blown wide as he stared up at your glistening folds. “Look at you.”

You didn’t wait. You sank down onto his mouth.

Bucky growled so deeply it vibrated right through your cunt.

You gasped, hands flying to the headboard for support as he immediately got to work.

His tongue was expert, sliding through your folds, flicking your swollen clit with practiced precision. The hot, wet strokes made your thighs clamp around his head.

He loved that, humming deep in his chest so the vibration traveled straight into you.

He slurped noisily, unbothered by the mess, his mouth smearing your slick everywhere. He devoured you like a man starved, dragging his tongue through the spill from your last orgasm, licking you clean only to make you messier.

You moaned, half-choked, rolling your hips desperately over his face.

“Baby—fuck—Bucky—”

He pulled you down harder, metal hand bracing one thigh while his flesh hand gripped the other, keeping you wide open for him.

Then he changed tactics—his tongue pushed inside you.

You nearly screamed.

He tongue-fucked you hard, messy, deep, alternating with dragging licks up to your clit before plunging back inside. Your hands scrabbled at the headboard, trying to get away and get closer all at once.

He didn’t let you move.

He moaned into your pussy, filthy and approving, eyes fluttering shut as if savoring you.

“Fuck—please—I’m gonna—Bucky—”

You couldn’t finish.

You broke apart on his tongue, cumming with a raw wail, grinding desperately against his mouth as your juices spilled.

He didn’t stop.

He licked you through it, swallowing everything you gave him, the obscene wet sounds echoing in the room until you were practically sobbing above him.

When you finally slumped forward, twitching and wrecked, he only gave you a second.

His arms tightened, lifting you like you weighed nothing.

You whimpered as he dragged you lower, lining you up with his cock, so hard it slapped wetly against your thigh.

He didn’t tease.

He shoved in.

You both moaned—his a guttural, broken sound, yours a strangled cry.

You barely had time to adjust before he was fucking up into you from below.

Your body jolted with every savage thrust. You tried to ride, but your thighs trembled uselessly.

Bucky noticed, smiling through gritted teeth.

“Too fucked out to move, baby?”

You mewled, half-sobbing.

He slowed, stopped.

But only to shift.

He sat up, his hands bracing under your ass, lifting you until only the tip remained inside.

“Hold on,” he ordered.

You barely had time to obey before he slammed you back down onto his cock.

You screamed, walls clenching violently around him.

He lifted you again, set the pace himself. Up. Down. Faster. Harder. Using his strength to fuck you on his cock.

Your breasts bounced, slapping his chest and face. He buried his face between them, biting and sucking, leaving raw marks that made you keen.

“Mine,” he growled, voice muffled. “All fucking mine.”

You nodded frantically, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes.

“Yes—Bucky—yours—fuck—”

He panted, hips slamming up to meet you, cock driving so deep you swore you could feel it in your throat.

Your own movements grew sloppy. You tried to ride him back, changing the rhythm—slamming down, grinding in circles that made you both curse, then bouncing again.

Your cunt squelched wetly, obscene, soaking his cock and thighs.

You felt him twitch inside you, cock pulsing.

He stopped again only to reposition.

He lifted you, arms flexing hard, standing up from the bed in one smooth motion.

You clung to him, arms around his neck, legs around his waist.

He walked you to the nearest wall and slammed you against it.

You gasped, head falling back.

“Bucky—please—”

He didn’t answer with words.

He fucked up into you, pinning you to the wall with raw, bruising thrusts.

Your back scraped the wall lightly with every slam. His cock pistoned in and out with wet slaps that filled the room.

You were crying out openly now, voice wrecked.

“Bucky—Jesus fuck—please—fuck—so deep—”

“Yeah?” he growled, teeth bared in a savage grin. “That’s what you want? You want me to breed you? Fill you up?”

You sobbed.

“Yes—please—fill me—want it—want you to come in me—”

That broke him.

He rammed in hard, deep, so deep you saw stars.

Your orgasm ripped through you violently, making you scream his name over and over.

He groaned, voice cracking as he spilled inside you, cock jerking, flooding you with thick, hot spurts of cum.

He held you pinned there, buried to the hilt, making sure you took every last drop.

You shook in his arms, twitching, boneless.

He stayed like that, breathing hard against your neck, his cock still sheathed inside your spasming cunt.

He kissed your temple, breath shaky.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “My good fucking girl. Took all of it.”

You whimpered, pressing your forehead to his.

His hands caressed you slowly, thumb stroking your thigh where it was wrapped around him.

He didn’t rush to pull out.

He just stayed buried in you, letting you both come down, letting your cunt milk him for every last bit of heat he’d given you.

And when he finally carried you back to bed, lowering you onto the sheets, his cum still leaking from you, he kissed you tenderly.

Like you were the only thing in the world.

—

Your body was limp, boneless. You felt the wet smear of him between your thighs, hot and sticky on the sheets, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to care.

Your lids felt impossibly heavy. You tried to fight it, blinking slow and sluggish.

“Mmh… Bucky, I’m—s’fucked up,” you mumbled, voice thick and slurred, the words tumbling clumsy and broken from your slack lips.

Your eyes only opened halfway before fluttering shut again.

Bucky let out a soft, breathless chuckle.

“Yeah, baby,” he rasped, voice hoarse but warm with amusement. “You are. Did say I was gonna fuck you so hard.”

You made a small, helpless noise of protest, shifting weakly on the sheets but barely moving.

He pressed one last kiss to your temple before pulling away carefully.

“Hold on,” he murmured.

You heard him pad to the bathroom, the water running briefly. He wet a face cloth just enough to make it damp and warm, squeezing it once before turning off the tap.

He came back to you immediately, dropping to one knee at the edge of the bed, eyes soft but focused.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he soothed.

He parted your thighs gently with one big hand, the other carefully wiping you clean.

You whimpered faintly at the contact, twitching once from oversensitivity, but you didn’t fight him.

“Shh,” he hushed you. “I know. Just cleaning you up.”

He was thorough but gentle, wiping away the messy streaks of his cum still dripping from your swollen, used cunt. He made sure you were as comfortable as he could make you, murmuring little reassurances under his breath.

Your breathing evened out, eyelids fluttering but too heavy to keep open.

“Mmh… i—sleep… you…” you tried again, the words falling apart, unintelligible.

But Bucky understood.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know, baby. Sleep.”

He tossed the dirty cloth aside onto the floor without caring, then crawled fully onto the bed beside you.

He settled on his back first, then turned onto his side to face you. His metal arm slid carefully under your neck like a pillow, the cool vibranium pressed against your flushed, overheated skin. His flesh arm curled around your waist, dragging you gently but firmly into his chest.

You melted instantly.

Your head rested on his shoulder, nose pressed to his throat, inhaling the raw, spent scent of sweat, sex, and his skin.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your hairline, nose buried in your damp hair.

His fingers found your hair at the back of your head and began to play with it slowly, combing through the strands to soothe you.

Your breathing slowed even more, going soft and steady.

He felt you go heavy in his arms.

“Good girl,” he whispered so quietly it was almost for himself.

Your lips parted, a final sleepy huff of breath warming his skin, and you went fully limp, finally out.

Bucky smiled.

He let his eyes drift shut, fingers still tangled in your hair, body wrapped around yours like a shield.

He could feel the faint wetness still smearing between your thighs, his cum still inside you.

The thought made something possessive and hungry coil in his gut, even through the exhaustion.

He sighed, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

Tomorrow.

There would be tomorrow.

Rounds. Plural.

He fell asleep knowing full well he was going to fuck you stupid all over again come morning.

[barnesonly]

A Night from the Past

bucky barnes x reader

trope: friends to lovers, fluff to smut

summary: you take bucky to 40s’ themed bar

word count: 2355

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. curse words, dirty talk, praise kink, oral (f receiving), PiV.

Bucky Barnes was not a man easily surprised. Nor was he particularly enthusiastic about surprises.

But you were different. You always had a way of sneaking past his defenses with that damn smile and eyes full of mischief and sunshine. Usually such behavior annoyed him (as If annoyed wasn’t an understatement) but when it came to you… It was different. So when you told him to “wear something nice” and refused to explain anything else, he grumbled, groaned, and did it anyway.

Now, standing outside a nondescript building in Brooklyn with the soft golden glow of vintage sconces lighting the sidewalk, Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“This better not be a cat café again.” He muttered.

You snorted, tugging at his hand. “You liked the cat café. Mr. Whiskers fell asleep on your lap, remember?”

“That demon scratched me.”

“Because you tried to move!” You giggled. “Come on, Buck. Trust me.”

He sighed dramatically but followed. As you pushed open the door, the soft croon of Billie Holiday spilled out, rich and warm like honey in the air.

Bucky stopped in his tracks.

The inside was like stepping into 1941 — velvet booths, checkered floor, amber lights swinging low, couples swaying slowly to the music. A jazz trio played onstage in front of a deep red curtain. Waitstaff in suspenders and old-school dresses weaved through the crowd. It smelled like bourbon, lavender, and nostalgia.

“Surprise!” you whispered excitedly, smiling up at him.

Bucky’s throat worked, but no words came out. He just stared, wide-eyed.

“I found this place a few months ago,” you continued, gently tugging his hand. “Thought you might like it. I know it’s not the same, not really. But I wanted to give you a little piece of… before.”

He turned to look at you, eyes softening. “You did all this for me?”

“Well, yeah.” you said, beaming. “You deserve a night where your world makes sense.”

Something cracked open in him then. Maybe it was the music, or the effort you made, or the way you looked at him like he was still the man he used to be.

“…You’re gonna make me dance, aren’t you?” he muttered, lips twitching.

“Obviously.” you said, already dragging him toward the floor.

He let you lead at first, all stiff limbs and awkward fidgeting. But the music started to seep in. So did the memories. The rhythm. The feeling. And soon, Bucky Barnes — grumpy, tired, sarcastic Bucky was spinning you under warm lights, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re not too bad, Sergeant.” you teased as he twirled you.

“You’re lucky I like you.” he said, but it came out soft. Fond.

As the song slowed and faded into another, he didn’t let you go. Just held you close, one hand on your waist, the other tangled with yours. His forehead pressed lightly to yours.

“Thank you.” he murmured. “For reminding me I’m still part of the world.”

You leaned into him, swaying gently. The night wore on, but Bucky didn’t let go of your hand. Not once.

He wasn’t sure if it was the music, the golden haze of the place, or just you, but the weight he always carried felt a little lighter tonight. Like your presence wrapped around him like a warm coat on a cold day.

You had insisted on staying until the last song, and he didn’t even argue. That surprised both of you.

As the final notes drifted through the air and the band packed up, Bucky helped you into your coat with surprising tenderness. The walk back to your place was quiet, but not in a bad way — comfortable, like shared silence between two people who didn’t need to fill it with anything else.

When you unlocked the door to your apartment, Bucky hesitated on the threshold. You turned back, quirking a brow.

“You comin’ in, or are you going to brood outside like Batman?”

He huffed a laugh and stepped in. You grinned, throwing your keys in the dish and flicking on a lamp. “So, was it too much? The bar, I mean.”

Bucky shrugged off his jacket and set it neatly over the back of your couch. “It was… perfect.”

You blinked. “Perfect?”

“Yeah… Perfect.” he said, quieter now. “You made it feel like home. Like… like something I didn’t think I’d get back.”

You stepped closer, smile gentling. “You’ll always have a home here, Buck. You know I’m here for you, right?”

His eyes met yours, something fragile flickering in them. “You mean that?”

You reached up, fingers brushing his cheek. “Of course I do.”

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath he didn’t even know he was holding. His gaze flickered to your lips for just a tiny second. He leaned closer, and you didn’t even realize you did the same.

And suddenly you were kissing. Soft, sweet, a little unsure at first until Bucky’s arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him like he’d been waiting years for this. He kissed you like you were something he thought he’d never deserve but finally, finally had the courage to want.

When you broke apart, breathless and a little dazed, he rested his forehead against yours.

“I wanted this for so long.” he whispered.

“I know…” Your palm caressed his cheek. He leaned into your touch almost immediately. „and you’re really bad at hiding how much you like me,” you teased.

He smirked. “I never stood a chance, did I?”

“Not for a second.”

You tugged him gently toward the couch, and he followed without protest. Eventually, you both ended up tangled together beneath a blanket, your head on his shoulder, his metal arm wrapped around your waist like it belonged there.

For once, Bucky didn’t feel like the Winter Soldier. He didn’t feel broken. He felt human. Warm. Real. And maybe that was all because of you?

His fingertips brushed lazy circles over your hip as his flesh hand tucked under your chin, coaxing you to look up at him.

There was a beat of silence.

“You know…” he murmured, voice gravelly from the hour. „if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna do something about it.”

You raised an eyebrow and your smile curled slow and inviting. “Oh yeah…?”

He studied you for a moment, like he was making sure — really sure — but once he saw the certainty in your eyes, something shifted in him. His lips were on yours again, deeper this time, slower, like he had all the time in the world and planned to use every second kissing you breathless.

His hand slid up your thigh under the blanket, warm and deliberate. You gasped softly as his metal fingers cupped your jaw, angling your head just right as his mouth moved against yours with growing hunger. The kiss turned messier, needier, as he pulled you into his lap, your legs straddling him.

“You always this sweet,” he whispered against your mouth, “or do I just bring it out of you?”

“You bring out a lot of things.” you breathed.

He smirked, but it was soft around the edges, adoring. His lips trailed down your neck, kissing and nipping gently as his hands pushed under your shirt, fingertips warm and reverent. When he reached for the hem, you lifted your arms to help him peel it off.

“Fuck,” he exhaled when he looked at you — bare, blushing, trusting. “You’re beautiful.”

Your skin tingled as he kissed down your chest, his voice dropping low. “Been thinkin’ about this… thinkin’ about how you’d sound…”

Your hips shifted on his lap, and he groaned quietly, fingers gripping your thighs. “Lay back for me, doll.”

You obeyed, settling on the couch as he pulled the blanket over you again, shielding you from the cool air. His hands dragged your pants down slowly, reverently, kissing every inch of newly revealed skin.

“Gonna take my time with you,” he murmured, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Make you feel real good. You okay with that?”

You nodded quickly, breath catching. “Please, Bucky.”

The way you asked — so sweet, so open — he couldn’t resist. He spread your thighs, settled between them like he belonged there, and pressed a warm kiss to your core over your underwear.

“You’re already wet for me,” he rasped, dragging the fabric aside to run his tongue over your slick folds. “Such a good girl…”

The first touch of his tongue was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every part of you. He licked a long stripe up your pussy, then circled your clit with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk.

“Stay still for me,” he said, voice thick. “Let me take care of you.”

And you did. You let him eat you like he needed it — like he was starving. He used his fingers to part you, tongue flicking and sucking at your clit, slow at first, then faster as you moaned his name like a mantra. His metal hand gripped your thigh, anchoring you, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“Fuck, Bucky—don’t stop, please—”

He didn’t. He kept going, praising you and murmuring sweet nothings between kisses and licks.

“Sound so pretty when you beg,” he groaned. “Taste even better than I imagined…”

Your back arched, fingers gripping the couch as the tension coiled in your belly. He felt it, sensed it and doubled down, tongue moving in perfect rhythm until you shattered with a cry, thighs trembling around his head.

He stayed there through your orgasm, easing you down, licking softly as your body twitched with aftershocks. Then he kissed the inside of your thigh and rested his cheek there, content.

You blinked down at him, dazed and warm and utterly loved.

„Atta girl…” He chuckled, then crawled back up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his lips. „You’re so perfect like this… So fucking perfect.” His voice rumbled low against your skin as he kissed you again, slower this time, deeper, like he was trying to tell you without words just how much he needed you.

Bucky brushed your slightly disheveled hair back from your face, metal fingers lingering at your jaw while the warmth of his flesh hand traced a line down your ribs. You shivered under his touch, still sensitive from his mouth, still floating in that hazy space between pleasure and craving.

“I want you, Buck…” you whispered, impatient and still needy.

He looked into your eyes like he was memorizing the way you said it. “Yeah?”

“Need you inside me, Bucky. Please.”

A sharp breath left him, almost a groan as he kissed your neck and said against your skin, “Fuck, baby…”

You watched him sit up enough to shrug out of his shirt, revealing strong shoulders and scars that told stories he never had to explain. He leaned back down to kiss you again, slow and messy, as he guided himself between your thighs. You could feel him now — hard and heavy against your thigh and your hips shifted instinctively, seeking more.

“Condom’s in my wallet.” he muttered against your lips, gesturing for you to reach his jacket that was laying somewhere beneath you.

You reached blindly for the jacket and found the wallet, and passed it to him with a grin. “Prepared, huh?”

“Wasn’t gonna assume,” he said, tearing the wrapper with his teeth, “but I hoped.”

You laughed softly, breath catching as he rolled the condom on. He kissed you through it — slow, grounding and when he lined up at your entrance, he paused, eyes locked with yours.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” he said, voice serious beneath the arousal. “I mean it.”

“It’s you,” you whispered, hands cupping his jaw. “Everything with you feels good.”

With a low moan, Bucky pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you in the best possible way. “Take all of it, baby… I know you can. You’re so good for me.” He whispered and your nails dug lightly into his back as he sank into you, filling you completely.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “You feel like heaven.” He stilled once he was fully inside, breathing hard against your shoulder. “Can I move?”

“Please…” You moaned out with furrowed brows from the overwhelming sensation.

He pulled out almost all the way, then rolled his hips back in with a slow, fluid thrust that made you gasp. He did it again — slow and deep and perfect. There was nothing rushed about it. He made love to you like it meant something, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.

“You’re takin’ me so well, sweetheart.” he murmured into your ear, voice thick with praise. “So warm… fuck, this pussy’s perfect.”

You whimpered under him, lifting your hips to meet each thrust. “You feel so good, Bucky—don’t stop, please, don’t stop—”

His rhythm stayed steady, controlled, but his grip on you tightened, like he was holding himself back from giving in completely.

“Could stay buried in you forever,” he whispered against your neck. “You’re so fucking tight.”

You met his mouth again, the kiss turning feverish, messy with love and heat. Every time he rolled his hips, he hit that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes.

“I’m close.” you breathed.

“Yeah? Let me feel you come again, baby. Wanna feel you flutterin’ around me.”

He brought his fingers to your clit, rubbing gentle circles as he fucked you just right, coaxing your orgasm with filthy praise and that relentless, perfect rhythm.

“That’s it… there you go… come for me, doll.”

And you did. With a cry muffled by his mouth, your body arched, pulsing around him, and he followed with a broken moan, hips stuttering as he came hard, buried deep inside you.

He collapsed over you with a quiet laugh, brushing your hair off your forehead.

“You okay?” he whispered, still breathless.

You smiled up at him, blissed-out and glowing. “Better than okay. I think I saw God.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and kissed your cheek. “Nah. Just me.”

[mandoalorian]

ride to you [bucky barnes x f!reader]

synopsis: seperated by miles, bucky barnes is out on a mission when he gets a late-night text message from you, and suddenly, he just can't do distance anymore.

rating/warnings: 18+ explicit content, mdni, unprotected p in v, fem receiving oral, fingering, breast play, sexting, mutual masturbation over video call, praise kink, bucky is all rough and desperate, and he struggles a bit with tech lol, …dog tags, motorcycle this smut has it all.

w/c: 3,885

masterlist | submit a request

The glow of your phone screen is the only light in your bedroom, casting soft shadows across the empty sheets. It’s 11:47 PM, and your desire for Bucky has you restless, your body aching with the need for him. He’s been gone three weeks, on some mission with Yelena and John keeping him a whole state away, and the distance is a cruel tease. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, then type out a message, heart already picking up speed.

You: Can’t sleep, soldier. Bed feels too damn big without you.

His reply pings almost instantly, like he’s been staring at his phone, waiting.

Bucky: Doll, you’re killing me already. Missing you so bad, I can’t think straight.

You smile, warmth curling in your chest. Bucky’s always been a little slow with tech—his texts are short, sometimes autocorrect mangles them—but the effort he puts in makes it sweeter. You can picture him, brow furrowed, big fingers fumbling on the tiny keyboard in some nondescript motel room.

You: What’s keeping you up, huh? Thinking about me?

Bucky: Every damn second. You in that little tank top you wear to bed? Or… less?

Your breath catches, a flush creeping up your neck. He’s bold tonight, and you love it.

You: Just a tank top. Barely. Wish you were here to see it.

There’s a longer pause, and you can almost hear the low groan he’d make.

Bucky: Sweetheart, you’re gonna make me break this phone. Tell me what you’d do if I was there.

Heat pools low in your belly, and you shift on the bed, thighs pressing together. You type slowly, savouring the anticipation.

You: I’d climb into your lap, kiss that spot on your jaw that makes you growl. Slide my hands under your shirt, feel those muscles… you’d be begging me to keep going.

His reply takes a minute, and when it comes, it’s a little messy, like he’s typing too fast.

Bucky: Fuck, doll. I’d pin you to that bed before you could tease me. Kiss you till you’re dizzy, hands all over you. That tank top wouldn’t last five seconds.

You bite your lip, pulse racing. The image of Bucky—broad shoulders, dog tags dangling, blue eyes blazing—has you squirming.

You: Oh, you think you’d have control? I’d have you groaning my name first, Barnes. Bet I could make you lose it just by grinding against you.

Bucky: You’d feel how hard you’re makin’ me already. I’d rip those panties off, make you scream for me.

Your fingers tremble as you type, the words coming faster now, dirtier.

You: I’d let you, Buck. Want your hands on me, your mouth… want you to fuck me till I can’t walk.

His next text is a single word, raw and desperate.

Bucky: Fuck.

Then, a follow-up.

Bucky: Call me. Now. Need to see you.

You hesitate, heart pounding. A call means FaceTime, and the thought of seeing him, hearing him, sends a fresh wave of heat through you.

You: FaceTime? You sure you know how to work that, old man?

Bucky: Shut up, doll. I figured out the damn button. Answer when I call, or I’m ridin’ to you tonight.

The threat—or promise—makes you grin, your body buzzing with anticipation. You adjust your tank top, letting one strap slip off your shoulder, and wait for the call.

Your phone buzzes with an incoming FaceTime call, and your heart leaps into your throat. You swipe to answer, and there’s Bucky, filling the screen, looking like sin itself. He’s shirtless, sprawled on a motel bed, the dim light catching the glint of his dog tags and the sheen of sweat on his chest. His hair’s a mess, falling into his eyes, and those blue eyes are dark, hungry, fixed on you. 

But there’s a flicker of frustration on his face as he fumbles with the phone, tilting it at an awkward angle.

“Damn it,” he mutters, voice gravelly. “This thing keeps—hold on, doll, I think I got it.” He props the phone against something, probably a pillow, and the view steadies, giving you a full shot of his broad shoulders and the taut muscles of his stomach. He squints at the screen, like he’s not sure it’s working. “You seein’ me okay? Or did I break this already?”

You laugh, the sound breathy with nerves and desire. “I see you, Buck. Looking like a damn dream.” You shift on your bed, letting the silky camisole slip further down your shoulder, the thin fabric barely covering you. You angle the phone to give him a teasing view of your collarbone, the curve of your chest. “Like what you see?”

His groan is instant, low and guttural. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me.” He shifts, and you catch the way his hand moves off-screen, adjusting himself. “That top’s barely holdin’ on. Show me more.”

Heat floods your body, and you oblige, sliding the camisole down to reveal the tops of your breasts, your fingers lingering there. “Better?” you tease, voice husky.

Bucky’s jaw tightens, his metal hand flexing on the bed. “You’re playin’ dirty, doll. Keep goin’. Wanna see all of you.” He’s trying to sound commanding, but there’s a plea in his tone, raw and desperate.

You bite your lip, emboldened by his reaction. “Only if you give me something too, soldier.” You nod toward his lap, where his hand is resting just out of frame. “Show me what those texts were doing to you.”

He huffs a laugh, half-embarrassed, half-turned on. “Demanding much? Alright.” He adjusts, sliding his hand into his sweatpants, and you catch a glimpse of the bulge there before he eases them down just enough. He’s hard, and the sight of him touching himself, slow and deliberate, sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Your turn, sweetheart,” he rasps. “Touch yourself for me.”

Your breath hitches, and you don’t hesitate. You slip a hand under the hem of your camisole, pushing it up to expose your stomach, then lower, dipping into your panties. The first brush of your fingers against yourself makes you gasp, and Bucky’s eyes darken, his own hand moving faster.

“Fuck, doll, look at you,” he groans, voice thick. “So damn pretty. Keep goin’. Imagine it’s me touchin’ you.”

You do, your fingers circling as you picture his hands—rough, warm, and relentless. “Bucky,” you whimper, your hips shifting on the bed. “Wish it was you. Want your fingers, your mouth…”

He curses under his breath, his strokes growing rougher. “God, I’d devour you right now. Lick every inch of you till you’re screamin’ my name. Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so good,” you moan, your free hand gripping the sheets. “But not enough. Need you here, Buck. Need you inside me.” The words spill out, unfiltered, and you see the effect they have—his head tips back, a low growl rumbling from his chest.

“Keep talkin’ like that, and I’m gonna lose it,” he warns, but his hand doesn’t stop, and neither does yours. You’re both chasing the same high, the phone screen a cruel barrier between you. “Tell me what you’d do if I was there. Right now.”

You’re panting now, the pleasure building fast. “I’d climb on top of you,” you say, voice shaky. “Ride you so hard you’d forget your own name. Kiss you till you can’t breathe.”

“Fuck, yes,” he growls, his eyes locked on you, intense and wild. “I’d flip you over, fuck you into the mattress. Make you come so many times you’d beg me to stop.”

The filthy promises push you closer to the edge, your fingers moving faster, chasing the release. 

“Bucky, I’m—” you gasp, unable to finish the sentence as the pleasure crests.

“Me too, doll,” he grits out, his voice breaking. “Come for me. Let me see you.”

It hits you like a wave, your body arching as you cry out his name, trembling under your own touch. Bucky follows, a guttural moan tearing from his throat as he spills over his hand, his chest heaving. For a moment, you’re both silent, just breathing, the intimacy of the moment hanging heavy between you.

Then he laughs, rough and a little sheepish. “Well, damn. Never thought this phone thing could be that good.” He grabs a tissue, cleaning up, and you giggle, pulling your camisole back into place.

“Still hate technology?” you tease, your voice soft, sated.

He smirks, but his eyes are serious. “Not when it’s you on the other end. But this ain’t enough, sweetheart.” He leans closer to the screen, voice dropping. “I’m comin’ to you. Tonight.”

You blink, still hazy from the high. “Buck, you’re in—wherever you are. You can’t just—”

“Watch me,” he says, and you see him grab his leather jacket, tossing it over his shoulder. “Got my bike. I’m ridin’ to you. Be there by dawn.”

Your jaw drops, but the determination in his eyes tells you he’s not kidding. “You’re insane,” you whisper, but your heart’s racing again, thrilled.

“Insane for you,” he shoots back, already moving. “Get some rest, doll. You’re gonna need it when I get there.”

The call ends, leaving you staring at the blank screen, your body buzzing with anticipation and disbelief.

Bucky’s breath is still uneven as he ends the FaceTime call, the image of you—hot, panting, whispering his name—burned into his mind. His body’s buzzing, sated but nowhere near satisfied. 

The phone’s screen goes dark, but it doesn’t matter; he can still see you, feel the ghost of your voice in his ear, your words pulling him apart. “Need you inside me.” Fuck. He’s done waiting.

He’s on his feet in seconds, the motel room’s stale air doing nothing to cool the heat coursing through him. His leather jacket is slung over his shoulder, but he shrugs it on, the familiar weight grounding him. His duffel’s already packed—a habit from decades of moving fast, never settling. He grabs it, slings it across his chest, and heads for the door. The keys to his Harley jingle in his pocket, a promise of freedom, of you.

Outside, the night’s crisp, the motel’s neon sign buzzing faintly. His bike’s parked under a flickering streetlight, all black chrome and raw power, just like him. He swings a leg over, the leather seat creaking under his weight, and kicks the engine to life. The roar tears through the silence, vibrating in his chest, matching the thrum of his pulse. He’s in Pennsylvania, but you’re in New York, a good five-hour ride if he pushes it. He’s pushing it.

The highway stretches out, a dark ribbon under a sky smeared with stars. Bucky leans into the wind, the speedometer climbing as the bike eats up the miles. His mind’s a tangle of you—your teasing texts, the way you looked on that call, your body arching as you came for him. He grips the handlebars tighter, the metal of his left hand glinting in the moonlight. He’s not built for distance, not when it comes to you. Every mile feels like a taunt, every second a reminder of how bad he needs to touch you, taste you, feel you under him.

He replays the call in his head, your voice a siren song. “Ride you so hard you’d forget your own name.” His jaw clenches, a low growl escaping his throat, lost in the wind. He’s half-hard again just thinking about it, the memory of your fingers slipping into your panties, the soft moans you made. He shifts on the seat, trying to focus on the road, but it’s no use. You’re in his blood, and no amount of miles or cold air can shake you out.

A gas station looms ahead, the only light for miles. He pulls in, the bike’s rumble dropping to a low purr as he cuts the engine. His boots hit the gravel, and he stretches, rolling his shoulders. The attendant, a kid barely out of his teens, eyes the metal arm warily but says nothing as Bucky fills the tank. He checks his phone—2:37 AM. A text from you, sent just after the call.

You: You’re really coming? Be safe, soldier. I’ll be waiting…

He smirks, typing back with one hand, still clumsy with the touchscreen. Bucky: Damn right I’m comin’. Don’t sleep too deep, doll. Gonna need you awake.

He sends it, pockets the phone, and swings back onto the bike. The kid mutters something about “crazy night riders,” but Bucky’s already gone, the Harley roaring back to life. The road’s emptier now, just him and the hum of the engine, the world blurring past. He thinks about what’s waiting—your apartment, your bed, you in that flimsy camisole or maybe nothing at all. His foot presses harder on the throttle, the needle pushing past 90.

Dawn’s starting to bleed into the horizon when he hits the outskirts of New York, the city’s glow a faint promise. His body aches from the ride, but it’s nothing compared to the ache for you. He weaves through early traffic, the bike’s growl turning heads, but he doesn’t care. Your address is burned into his brain, every turn taking him closer. The thought of you, warm and waiting, maybe still flushed from earlier, has his heart pounding harder than the engine.

He pulls up to your building as the sky turns pink, the Harley’s rumble echoing off the brick. He cuts the engine, the silence sudden and heavy. His boots hit the pavement, and he takes a moment, catching his breath, running a hand through his wind-messed hair. The duffel slung over his shoulder, but all he can think about is you—steps away, behind that door, real and his.

He’s here. And he’s not leaving until you’re screaming his name.

The stairwell to your apartment is a blur as Bucky bounds up, boots thudding on the creaking wood, his pulse a war drum in his ears. The five-hour ride on his Harley—wind tearing at him, miles bleeding into the night—has only sharpened his need. Your door looms at the end of the hall, and he’s there in seconds, fist hovering for a soft knock. It’s 6:13 AM; he won’t wake your neighbours. The rap is quiet but urgent, his metal hand twitching, impatient.

The door flies open, and you’re a vision that stops his heart. That silky camisole clings to you, one strap slipped off your shoulder, barely containing the curves he’s been dreaming of. Your hair’s tousled, eyes wide with shock and want, lips parted like you’re about to speak. But Bucky doesn’t give you the chance. His duffel hits the floor, and he’s on you, hands cradling your face as he crashes his mouth to yours. The kiss is raw, all-consuming, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, weeks of pent-up longing spilling out. He tastes you—mint toothpaste and something sweeter, something you—and it’s better than any fantasy.

“Bucky,” you gasp when he pulls back for air, your fingers knotting in his hair, tugging just hard enough to make him growl. He kicks the door shut, the slam echoing, and lifts you like you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around his waist, thighs tight against his hips, and he groans as your heat presses through his jeans. The leather jacket’s cool against your bare arms, but his body’s a furnace, searing where he holds you.

“Told you I’d come, doll,” he rasps, voice rough from the road and desire.

He carries you to the bedroom, lips trailing fire down your jaw, nipping the pulse point on your neck that makes you shudder. Your nails rake his shoulders, shoving at his jacket, and he shrugs it off mid-stride, dog tags jangling as it hits the floor. You’re clawing at his shirt now, and he yanks it over his head, tossing it aside, leaving him in just those damn tags and jeans slung low on his hips.

He sets you on the bed, stepping back to drink you in. The camisole’s riding up, exposing the soft skin of your stomach, your thighs parted just enough to make his mouth water. Your eyes are dark, pupils blown, and the way you’re looking at him—like he’s everything—has his chest tight.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he says, voice thick with praise, the words wrapping around you like a caress. He crawls over you, caging you with his body, his flesh hand snagging both your wrists and pinning them above your head. The restraint sends a spark through you, and he feels it, sees it in the way you arch. “Gonna make you scream for me, sweetheart. You’re mine.”

The possessiveness laces his tone, and you shiver, lips curving into a defiant smirk. “Prove it, soldier.”

That’s all he needs. His mouth claims yours again, deep and filthy, tongue stroking in a way that promises what’s coming. His metal hand slides under your camisole, cold against your fevered skin, and he doesn’t bother with finesse—just rips the fabric down the middle, the tear loud in the quiet room. You gasp, but his lips are there, soothing, kissing the sting away as the scraps fall. “I’ll buy you another one,” he murmurs, but you’re too far gone to care, your hands straining against his grip, wanting to touch him.

His mouth moves lower, hot and deliberate, sucking at the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple until you whine. He laves it with his tongue, then moves to the other, leaving marks you’ll feel tomorrow. “So fuckin’ responsive,” he growls, voice vibrating against your skin. He trails kisses down your stomach, each one slower, teasing, until he’s settled between your thighs. His hands—flesh and metal—grip your hips, spreading you open, and he just stares, eyes black with hunger. “Look at you, doll. So wet for me. Been like this since our call, haven’t you?”

You nod, breathless, and he chuckles, dark and dirty. “Good girl.” The praise hits like a drug, and then his mouth’s on you, no warning, just a slow, devastating lick through your folds. You cry out, hips bucking, but his metal arm pins you down, unrelenting. He groans, the sound rumbling through you, and it’s like he’s starving, tongue circling your clit, sucking hard, then dipping lower to taste you deeper. “Sweetest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever had,” he says, voice muffled, and you’re already trembling, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming.

His flesh hand joins in, fingers teasing your entrance, circling until you’re begging, voice broken. 

“Bucky, please, need you—” He doesn’t make you wait, sliding two fingers inside, thick and curling just right, hitting that spot that makes your vision white out.

You moan, loud and shameless, as he pumps them slow, then faster, his tongue never stopping, sucking your clit like it’s his mission to ruin you. “That’s it, doll,” he says, lifting his head just enough to watch you writhe. “Love those sounds. Keep makin’ ‘em for me.”

You’re close, too close, the coil tightening with every thrust of his fingers, every flick of his tongue. He senses it, doubles down, sucking hard as his fingers twist, and you’re gone, screaming his name as you come, body arching off the bed. He doesn’t stop, working you through it, licking every shudder until you’re gasping, oversensitive, tugging at his hair to pull him up.

He crawls over you, kissing you deep, and you taste yourself on his tongue, the intimacy making you dizzy. “So damn beautiful when you come,” he whispers, and the praise sinks into you, warm and perfect. His jeans are still on, tented painfully, and you reach for him, fingers clumsy with need as you pop the button, drag the zipper down. He helps, kicking them off with his boxers, and you pause, just looking—his cock’s thick, hard, leaking at the tip, and the sight makes your mouth water.

“Need you, Bucky,” you say, voice raw, reaching for him. “Now.”

He smirks, but his eyes are soft, reverent. “Gonna give you everything, sweetheart.” He settles between your thighs, teasing your entrance with his tip, dragging it through your slick until you’re whining. “You want me to fuck you, doll? Want me to make you mine?”

“Yes,” you breathe, legs wrapping around him, pulling him closer. “Please, Bucky.”

He doesn’t tease anymore. He pushes in, slow and relentless, stretching you inch by inch, and you both groan, the feeling overwhelming. He’s big, filling you completely, and he stills, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits out, voice strained, his dog tags dangling, brushing your chest. “Feel so damn perfect, doll. Like you were made for me.”

You clench around him, and he curses, low and filthy. “Keep doin’ that, and I won’t last,” he warns, but you just smirk, rolling your hips to take him deeper. He growls, pinning your wrists again, the restraint making you burn. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, sweetheart.”

He starts moving, and it’s everything—deep, powerful thrusts, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking under the force. You meet him thrust for thrust, arching up, the friction perfect, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every stroke. “Fuck, Bucky,” you moan, and he leans down, sucking a bruise into your neck, marking you as his.

“Mine,” he growls, each word punctuated by a thrust, his metal hand gripping your hip, anchoring you. “Say it, doll. Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, the word a prayer, and he rewards you, angling his hips to hit even deeper, the pleasure blinding. His pace quickens, relentless, and you’re both panting, sweat-slick and desperate. 

“Love how you feel,” he groans, voice rough. “So wet, so tight, takin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

The dirty talk pushes you higher, and you claw at his back, nails digging in, making him hiss. 

“Harder,” you beg, and he delivers, fucking you into the mattress, the headboard rattling. His flesh hand releases your wrists, sliding between you to rub tight circles on your clit, and you cry out, the added sensation too much. “Bucky, I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he commands, possessive and fierce. “Wanna feel you, doll. Let go.”

It hits like a freight train, your body convulsing, clenching around him as you scream his name, pleasure tearing through you. He groans, thrusts growing erratic, chasing his own release. “Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he pants, and then he’s coming, spilling inside you, hot and deep, his hips stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt.

You’re both trembling, locked together, and he doesn’t pull out, staying close, kissing you slow and deep, tongues lazy now, sated. His weight is grounding, his tags cool against your chest, and you feel every shudder of his breath. “No more distance,” he murmurs, voice a vow, his lips brushing yours. “I’m not leavin’ you again, sweetheart.”

You smile, fingers tracing his jaw, his stubble rough under your touch. “Better not, soldier. I’m keeping you forever.”

He chuckles, soft and warm, rolling to his side and pulling you with him, still inside you, like he can’t bear to break the connection. “Forever sounds good, doll.”

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! <3

[asxgard]

Handprints | [3/3]

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x pregnant wife!doctor!reader

Previous |

Summary: The birth of your first child and all the little moments that you cherish with your husband.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: I’m honestly enjoying this Robby and Reader, so I might do something with them/inspired by them. Let’s see where season 2 takes us👀

This one got away from me, but I had a lot of fun writing it!

Word Count: 4.4k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established relationship, pet names (my love, sweetheart), mild angst, comfort, fluff, birth scene (nondescript), postpartum, mentions of a prior panic attack, therapy, Mother’s/Father’s Day, vague smut (minors dni!!!!), Robby getting good things because he deserves it

not beta read

Langdon returned in the last few weeks of your pregnancy, rolling into the Pitt with something to prove. He wasn’t as cocky as he had been, but he threw himself headfirst into the chaos of it all — which worried you that he would only fall back into his addiction.

Michael had put strict rules in place for him after he was done rehab — random urine tests, he needed sign offs for most of the drugs he could prescribe, as well as having him attend NA meetings. You could see plainly that even if Frank succeeded in all of that, Michael would need so much time to trust him as he once had. You didn’t know what had transpired between them during that shift, not really, but Frank had let your husband down majorly.

Most in the Pitt might not have known he had been stealing the drugs from patients, or the ED, but with one glance at you and it was clear Frank knew that you knew about it. How could you not? You were Michael’s wife, his one true confidant in the mess of it all.

Frank sucked up to you, maybe thinking it would be an easier way to soften Michael’s heart to him again. Brought you a muffin from the cafeteria when he saw you hadn’t eaten, pulled a stool over to your computer so you could sit, even taking the meaner or nastier patients from your plate. All with a smile. All with a humility you hadn’t seen in awhile.

You appreciated the gestures, but it did little to help gain your trust back.

“It’ll just take time,” you said to Langdon one afternoon. “He won’t trust you again if you take the easy way out.”

He seemed to consider it. “And you? When will you trust me again?”

You turned away from the computer screen to look at him, “Pass all your drugs tests. Show me that coin you get after one year in the meetings. Don’t fuck with my patients again. Then we’re square.”

He gave a curt nod, “Okay, I can do that.”

You smiled softly at him, “I hope so, Frank.”

Due to your large bump, you were not frequently in the trauma room, not wanting to risk bumping into anything or anyone. Like usual, you stuck to triage and the non-critical patients. Michael wanted to keep your stress and adrenaline levels down, which you accepted with little pushback. He also ensured you always sat down to have lunch, even pulling himself away from the chaos long enough to eat with you when you demanded requested it.

If he was going to make sure you ate, you were going to make sure the same.

It was roughly lunchtime when the cramping started, starting as just a mild sense of discomfort before edging closer to moderate pain. Braxton Hicks contractions, you thought, seeing as you were only in your 38th week. You had been getting them periodically since starting your third trimester, but they never got any worse than mild.

Dana found you hunched over the nurses station, trying to take slow, even breaths. The cramping had gotten substantially worse, edging closer to you not being able to think properly.

“Honey?” Dana called your attention.

You took another deep breath through your nose and out through your mouth. “It’s nothing, I’m okay.”

“You and your husband, I swear to god.” She let out a long breath before raising a careful eyebrow at you, “How long has it been going on?”

You hummed, thinking, “I don’t know, noon?”

Dana grinned at you, “Looks like you’re about to have this baby, kid.”

Your eyes widened, “What? No. I still have two weeks.”

“Babies come when they’re ready, not when you are.” She chuckled.

You groaned. Adam, you really had to make an appearance now, huh? Couldn’t have waited a week and a half for when I started maternity?

You clenched your teeth, “Where’s my husband?”

“I just saw Robby head into Trauma-1.” Frank said as he passed, eyeing you warily. “You okay?”

“Baby Adam just decided he didn’t care about the plans I had, no biggie.”

“You better get used to that.” Frank said with a laugh.

You only rolled your eyes at him, trying to catch your breath after the contraction. You watched as Frank ran to grab Michael from the trauma room, and you mentioned to Dana it might be smart to call in someone to cover until the end of your shift. In one fell swoop, two ED doctors were about to be unavailable.

You tried not to feel guilty.

Michael exited Trauma-1, hiding his annoyance of being pulled away well enough, before he spotted you. His eyes flashed before he was jogging over to you, hand immediately going to your back.

“Sweetheart?” His cool mask had slipped, the one that kept everything between you two mostly professional while you were at work.

You squeezed his hand, “Adam has decided he’s ready to meet us.”

Michael’s eyes widened, gaze flickering between your belly and your face. “What?”

“Contractions edging closer to five minutes apart, for about a minute. They’ve gotten worse since noon.”

“Noon?” Michael yelled, though not at you, glancing at his watch. “It’s nearly five! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We were busy.” You said, “I thought it was just Braxton Hicks, like it’s been all month.”

“We were busy.” Michael echoed, tone disbelieving. “You were seriously—”

You hushed your husband as another contraction hit, clutching his hand tightly.

It felt like mostly a blur after that. You had gotten up to Labor & Delivery a little bit later, and Michael called a friend of yours to go get your go bag and baby bag to bring to the hospital.

As the contractions got closer, so did your desperation.

“Why did you do this to me, again?” You panted. “Jesus Christ, just get him out of me.”

Michael grinned at you, “Last I checked, you were the one begg—”

You swatted him away like he was nothing more than an annoying fly. “Michael Robinavitch, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

He raised his eyebrows, looking mildly amused, though he tried to contain his grin.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he said a few minutes later, after another contraction, kissing your hairline.

“Trade with me?” You asked with a sly grin.

He chuckled, “I would in a heartbeat.”

You made a small noise in the back of your throat, trying to catch your breath, using the techniques you had learned in birthing classes.

“Now you say that.” You said, closing your eyes. “Wish you had said that before I went into labor.”

Michael kissed your forehead and rubbed circles onto your back. “Tell me what you need.”

You hummed, “I think I want to walk around. Might help.”

He helped you from the gurney to your feet, holding you steady. You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned on him for support, swinging your hips from side-to-side. After breathing through a particularly bad contraction, Michael helped you walk back and forth across your room.

You breathed through each of them, taking them one at a time and trying not to get overwhelmed with how far you still had to go. Michael was steadfast beside you, nearly intuitively understanding what you needed when you needed it. Cold washcloth, soft caresses over your shoulders, squeezing your hips together while you leaned over the gurney, whispering encouraging words to you, or holding you close when the pain subsided.

“You’re so amazing,” he said, tone soft, standing behind you and swaying with you while you breathed in and out, arms wrapped around you. “You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart. Strongest woman I know. I love you so much.” He kissed your neck, moving to your jaw and then your cheek.

You hummed in acknowledgement, though you kept your focus on breathing through the contraction.

A few agonizingly slow hours later and you were ready to push. You felt ready to cry, clutching Michael’s hand with a grip that rivaled a vice. He soothed you, kissing your forehead.

“You’ve got this. Push when you breathe out, come on,” he encouraged.

Part of you wanted to kiss him. The other wanted to throttle him.

During the next contraction, that was what you did, breathing out as you pushed. Slow, controlled, powerful. It ripped through you and you screamed.

You had once wanted to be dignified during your labor. You worked at this hospital and these people were more-or-less your colleagues, even though you did not always work with them directly. The thought of remaining composed now made you want to laugh.

“Alright, he should be out on the next push.” your OB told you, looking over to Michael. “Would you like to do the honors, dad?”

Michael’s eyes got glassy, though he looked at you. “I’ll stay right here if you need me to.”

“It’s okay,” you breathed out, mustering a smile. “I know you want to.”

He kissed you, before moving to assist your OB with delivering your son. Thankfully, she had been right, and it only took one more push before your son was in Michael’s arms.

Adam Robinavitch was finally here.

You cooed at him softly when he was laid on your chest, though he cried loudly — clearly upset to be anywhere else but your womb. You could hardly blame him, but you felt overwhelming joy finally holding him in your arms. Tears leaked from your eyes, a warmth cascading through your insides at the sight of him, at the feeling of his tiny hand on your skin.

Michael had his hand on your head, stroking your forehead softly with his thumb. His teary eyes remained, looking between you and your son with a soft smile on his lips.

Adam gurgled on your chest, making small noises to highlight his displeasure. You kissed the top of his head before letting your head fall back onto the pillow, letting out a long sigh of exhaustion.

“I love you.” You said, blinking through your fatigue to look at your husband.

“Thank you.” He whispered back to you, big brown eyes soft and warm as he held your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow.

He smiled, kissing your forehead. “For this life. For loving me. For giving me a chance. For bringing our son into the world. I don’t know why you decided to take a chance on an old guy like me, but I’ll forever be grateful that you did.”

Tears blurred your vision and you blinked them away, “Oh, Michael. I’m so grateful it’s you. Even before I knew it, it was you. It always has been.”

He kissed you tenderly, whispering ‘always will be’ against your lips.

—

Postpartum was no joke, and add in being new to motherhood? You were in the trenches. You were thankful Michael had gotten a decent amount of time off to be in the throes of it with you, but at times, it still felt like you were drowning.

You tried not to feel guilty when you knocked out on the couch or turned in early, leaving the brunt of night shift to Michael. He was an ever faithful partner, and never even flinched when you felt he was shouldering too much of it. All he asked was that you rest, heal and spend time with Adam.

He took time in the mornings for himself, even started seeing a therapist via Zoom and you could see it helping. His shoulders seemed lighter and it created healthier habits for when he went back to working.

Michael’s first shift back did not come home with him, though you knew it was not likely to always be that way. Not when harder patients hit, or major casualties, but you hoped the things he was learning in therapy would help him whenever that day came.

You were rocking Adam back and forth, trying to get him to fall back to sleep, humming a lullaby softly. You caught movement out of the corner of your eye, and you turned your head to see Michael standing in the doorway, tired smile stretching across his lips.

“Hey, my love,” you said lowly, trying to keep your voice quiet so as to not stir your baby, who still would not fall asleep. “How was your shift?”

He gave a small shrug, “I’ve had worse.”

You raised a careful eyebrow at him, but didn’t push. “I think Adam missed his daddy.”

Michael stepped into the room, walking until he was beside you, looking at your son in your arms.

“Yeah?”

You made a small noise of agreement, moving to hand him over. As he stirred, Adam opened his eyes to look up at his father, their eyes complete mirrors of each other. It was undoubtedly one of your favorite features that he had inherited from Michael.

“I think he likes your lullaby much more than mine, actually.” You said, kissing the top of your son’s head.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s true, is it buddy? No, mommy’s lullabies are the best.”

Despite having a tough day of your own, your heart warmed. You leaned your head on Michael’s shoulder, staring down at Adam and rocking side-to-side with Michael’s movements.

Perhaps this was a healing all its own, in the quiet of your son’s room, just the three of you.

—

Mother’s Day came shortly after you got off maternity leave, and while it was nice to return to work, you missed Adam. It was nearly painful. But all your co-workers made it feel like a second home.

Dana and McKay were happy to swap baby stories with you, while Langdon attempted to give you and Michael tips. You seemed more receptive to it than your husband was.

You had decided that for your first Mother’s Day, you wanted the day off to spend with your son. Michael also ensured he had off, and let you sleep in. It was peaceful to wake up to a quiet house.

Michael brought you breakfast not long after you woke, and you showered him with kisses in gratitude. It really was the little things.

“I have a full day planned,” he told you, sitting beside you in bed, sipping a cup of coffee. “Slow morning, then when you’re ready, we’re gonna go out.”

“Out?” You questioned. “Care to be more specific?”

A sly grin formed on his face. “Nope.”

You scoffed, but you were smiling.

Sometime after noon, Michael was packing a lunch bag while you got changed, curious to see what he had planned. He got Adam ready, and you met him at the car with an eyebrow raised. He only smiled at you.

It was easy enough to guess what he was up to once you pulled up to the park. It was a beautiful spring day, and you enjoyed the little things — a picnic in the park with your family of three was perfect. Not too complicated, or required too much effort from you, and it was simple enough that you weren’t worried about Adam fussing too much.

You relaxed on the picnic blanket, enjoying the feeling of the sun on your skin, the warmth sending a happy buzz through your system.

Adam was only four months, but he took in the world around him eagerly. He was beginning to roll over with only a small amount of assistance, and he clapped his hands when he was excited, babbling nonsense.

It seemed like such a short amount of time since he had been born, but he was already beginning to grow far too quickly for your liking.

Michael kept Adam entertained while you read a bit, before you ate together. Michael really had quite the spread, aside from the sandwiches, he also had fruits and cheeses and crackers and your favorite chocolates.

“This is exactly what I needed.” You told him. “Thank you.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at you, “You think this is it?”

“Oh? Do tell.”

He only smirked.

You discovered when you got home that Michael had hired a babysitter for that night. He said he wanted to take you out to dinner, and an excitement thrummed through you. You and Michael had barely had any alone time since Adam came into your lives, and while you enjoyed all the time you got with your son, you knew a night out with your husband would be good for you.

The restaurant he had picked? It was where you had had your first date.

A quaint little Italian place, and you nearly cried when you pulled up to it. It was not fancy or lavish, but it meant the world to you.

“Thank you for today.” You said, sipping your drink, trying not to cry in the middle of the restaurant.

He grabbed your hand on the table and ran a thumb over your knuckles. “You deserve it, sweetheart. You’re the best mom Adam could ever ask for, and I always want you to know how much I appreciate you.”

Your face heated, suddenly feeling sheepish.

Conversation flowed easily, and it was nice to be able to feel normal again — not just a mom, or a doctor, just you. It made your chest feel lighter. The topic eventually leaned back to Adam, and the fact that you missed him.

“We can take dessert to go.”

You smiled in relief, “Yes, please.”

On the ride home, you intertwined your fingers with Michael’s.

“So…any thoughts on another one?” You ventured quietly, a teasing smile on your lips.

Michael choked on an intake of air, “What?”

You laughed, “Eventually. Maybe. I don’t know. Just popped into my head.”

“Give a guy a little warning next time.” He chuckled.

“Consider yourself warned.”

He squeezed your hand, “Do you want another?”

You shrugged even though he was looking ahead at the road. “I don’t know. Adam’s still so little, but he’s also already so big, you know? I already miss how little he was. I wouldn’t be opposed in a year or so, but I wouldn’t be upset if we just stuck with one.”

“So…possibly another?”

“What do you think?” You asked instead of answering.

There was a long pause, and then a sigh, “I’m not getting any younger, I’d like to watch Adam grow up, go off to college. If we decided to, I wouldn’t want to wait too long.”

“So possibly another?”

You could hear the smile in his voice, “Possibly another.”

—

Father’s Day came with another day off, Michael wanting his first to be spent at home as well. You knew these kinds of holidays might need to be sacrificed in the future, so you were grateful that at least your first of each would be spent at home.

Knowing Michael, you knew he wasn’t one to want much fanfare, so you planned most a day in. From breakfast and lunch, to a few nice things to grill for dinner. It was mostly about spending time together, and you were happy to supply it. The details of his present sat in a card on the dining table, a cabin rented in the Poconos to fish with enough room for Jack and Jake to tag along (both had already agreed).

The day turned into a well deserved relaxing day, though you could see how much Michael was enjoying spending some time off with his family.

After dinner, you handed Michael the card, Adam in your lap. You bounced your legs, making car noises with your mouth, making him giggle and clap. You heard Michael open the card and silently he read over it.

“Jack and Jake already took off, and I worked something out with your shifts, you’ll be all set.”

He blinked at you before he was out of his seat and kissing your face, making you giggle. Adam squealed in your lap, clapping more eagerly while he babbled at his dad.

“This is…thank you.”

“You haven’t taken any time to go back up there in a really long time.” You shrugged, knowing he used to try to get away more frequently earlier on in your relationship. Sometimes you tagged along, but you thought a boys weekend away was just what the doctor ordered (you, you were the one who ordered it). “Soon you’ll have to bring Adam with you.”

Michael grinned, looking down at his son. “You’ll love it, I can show you how to…”

You watched Michael excitedly explain fishing to your son, who watched him with big brown eyes, mesmerized.

You put Adam down to sleep sometime later, before joining your husband in the living room. You curled up next to him.

“Thank you for today…it was very needed.”

You kissed his cheek, “You’re an amazing father, you know that? I’m incredibly thankful for you.”

He pulled you closer and kissed your head. You turned in his grasp and kissed his lips, moving into his lap to kiss him deeper. Michael responded instantly, one hand going behind your head and the other going to your hip.

The first time you had been intimate after giving birth to Adam had been a process riddled with your insecurities. Michael kissed his way through each one and took his time, like he was relearning your body. It took an incredible amount of pressure off your shoulders, and you revealed in his touch.

Your hands moved from his chest to his hair, tongue licking along his bottom lip. His grip on you tightened, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Warmth pooled in your abdomen, and you moved your leg to straddle him.

His fingers ghosted over the skin of your hips, making you shiver. He moved a hand up your torso, grabbing at your flesh and you moaned into his mouth. You moved your hips down to find some sort of friction. A groan echoed low in Michael’s throat, and the sound set you on fire.

Michael had you up and on your back on the couch in a swift motion, settling between your hips. You pulled at the hem of your shirt until he helped you pull it over your head. He kissed down your neck and across your torso, moving lower until your head buzzed with pleasure.

You felt like your body was thrumming under his touch and you lost yourself in it. It wasn’t long before all of your clothes were scattered across the living room, Michael back between your hips.

He whispered his love for you against your skin, and proved it with each slow drag of his hips, until you were a moaning mess under him, a blinding heat overtaking your senses. He was everywhere, feeling so full of him, tears falling from the corners of your eyes, blissed out and overwhelmed with all the warmth swirling around in your chest.

Michael came with a few low grunts, groaning against your throat before pulling you into a rough, sloppy kiss.

You ran your hands over his shoulders, panting with him, foreheads touching. You leaned up to languidly kiss his lips again. He brushed a thumb across your cheek. He kissed along your cheek and nose, the hairs of his beard tickling your skin and making you giggle. You lightly pushed him away.

“Get off me, old man.”

An eyebrow rose, “Old man, huh? This old man can make you come again, if you—”

You laughed, “Get off.”

He moved his head in such a way that the softest touch of his beard ran along your neck and your face, making you squirm. The sensation was incredibly ticklish.

“Alright, alright, I yield. I yield!” You laughed again, turning your face away from him. “You’re not even that old anyways.”

He laughed and kissed your cheek, moving to sit back on his haunches. He looked down at you with a soft smile.

You raised a challenging eyebrow, “If you’re gonna keep looking at me like that, I might have to take you up on your offer.”

A sly grin spread across his lips, “Yeah? Thought I was an old—”

You reached up for him, “Just get back down here, Michael.”

He laughed, but complied.

—

A rare quiet morning was always a welcomed thing in your household, slow and lazy. With the hectic reality you both faced at work, you had begun to cherish these days. Adam on his playmat, you and Michael sitting on the couch eating breakfast and enjoying the company of each other.

When Michael came back into the kitchen from taking a shower, you had Adam sat in his highchair. You had a spread of paints and a canvas print sat on the dining table, a handful of newspapers protecting the wood from any mess.

Michael looked over it all with a face drenched in curiosity.

“Care to fill me in? What’s all this?” He looked over all the paints, raising an eyebrow at you. “This a new hobby, or something?”

You shrugged, “Not quite.”

He stayed silent and waited for you to elaborate, but you were messing with a few different colors, mixing them on a paper plate.

“Blue or red?” You asked.

“...blue?”

You handed him a paper plate with blue paint.

He stared down at it, “Do you want me to..?”

You looked at him and smiled, “Put your right hand in it.”

“Right, right. Of course. Logically, that was my next step.”

You chuckled, “I thought it could be a cute art piece for Adam’s room. Your hand, my hand and his in the middle.”

A softness warmed his face, and then he did as you asked. You pulled over the canvas print for him to put his now paint covered hand on. You handed him a damp paper towel when he was done. You dipped your hand into the red paint and copied your husband, so that your hands mirrored each other.

Adam seemed thrilled to be involved when you dipped his hand into the purple paint you mixed, placing his hand between both handprints you and Michael had left. You wiped his hand off and gave him a kiss on the head.

“It’s perfect.” Michael said in your ear.

You pulled him close, “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

You stared down at the little art piece of your handprints, your heart swelling at your little family you and Michael had carved out for yourselves. Even amidst the chaos, you had found your home.

“Always?”

“Forever.”

No matter what you two faced, you knew it was a promise you would both keep.

FIN.

All Dr. Robby content taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43

All The Pitt content taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph

Robby deserves only good things. This brought me back to the layout I did for A Lesson in Firsts and omg it was another great journey.

Damn, s1 of The Pitt is over. What am I going to do with myself?? Write a lot? Probably

Also?? Heartbeat has over 1k notes?? That’s insane, thank you guys so much🥺🥹

[saetiate]

FORSAKEN BY ALL THE GODS.

info: prince!kaiser x f!reader, enemies to lovers, fantasy au, arranged marriage, eventual smut. afab reader w she/her pronouns. reader has an established backstory and is not weak, reader’s appearance is nondescript. reader calls him “mihya” as they get closer. oliver and karasu are bffs in this lol. maybe some angst if you squint. happy ending!! plot is balanced with comedic moments. 

synopsis: You will be killed by the one you love most. That line from his prophecy has haunted Kaiser his whole life. Against it all, you stand before him. Will you be the one to rewrite fate itself?

word count: 14k (please don’t let this scare you, i promise my writing is efficient) 

a/n: this might be my magnum opus, i promise i poured my best dialogue and writing into this and it shows. if you consider reading like so seriously i will love you forever. also the smut is huge just like his cock <3 or my heart. ao3 link

Kaiser has been forsaken thrice fold. First, by his parents. His mother is said to be a beautiful woman that captured the hearts of all. His father could not bear her ultimate betrayal: leaving, causing him to wither away to nothing.

Kaiser guesses that this aspect of her runs in his blood after all.

The second and third time he is forsaken happen at once.

On the night that Kaiser is, by royal decree, anointed successor to the throne, he does as tradition dictates. He approaches the golden temple at the top of a mountain and mirrors the prophet within, sitting cross-legged in front of them.

The prophet gazes into the distance. And then, like a man possessed, they speak.

Lone Emperor who covets the throne, You will be killed by the one you love most.

Kaiser swears he feels even his heart stop at that. Cold rushes through him, the chill of it colder than anything he had felt at the front lines of war.

Forsaken by all the Gods —

The prophet stops, staring into the distance with a frown.

The silence is deafening. Noa, despite tradition, interrupts the ceremony and approaches the prophet, clicking his fingers in front of their face.

“The prophecy?”

The prophet’s eyes widen with fear. “I- I cannot.”

“What, are you afraid?” Kaiser scoffs. “The prophecy is bad as it is, it can’t get much worse than that.”

“No, I mean I cannot. The — the Fates! They’ve stopped speaking to me!”

“Excuse me?” Kaiser’s scowl is evident, and Noa swears that in any other situation, Kaiser would’ve moved for his sword and set his blade ablaze.

It speaks volumes that all he does is stare right at the prophet, fear barely contained in his eyes.

The prophet grips at Noa’s hand, forcing his gaze. “My lord, please believe me. This — in the history... it has never happened before. I swear it.”

Noa whistles, and the guards outside come rushing in. “Seize them,” he commands, and they stare at each other for a moment.

To seize and capture that  which is considered holy? Is that not blasphemy?

Noa cares little, almost removing his sword from his sheath to do it himself. “What are you all waiting for?”

“My lord! I swear to you!” The prophet grapples towards Noa in spite of their hands being held behind their back, the guards barely catching them from falling to their knees. “The fact that I would admit this at all shows my loyalty to you!” The prophet gasps, breath coming fast.” I could have pretended, could have given a false prophecy. I did not. That’s the choice I made. That is all the proof you need.”

It’s convincing enough that Noa hesitates, taking a deep breath in. But he sees in the corner of his eye Kaiser’s state, sitting in the kind of stillness that you see before a battle, bent over at the bottom of the altar. 

At that sight, Noa makes a single motion with his hand for the prophet to be taken away.

The room clears.

“Kaiser, I —” 

Whatever comforting remark Noa might have made dies in his throat, because Kaiser laughs, a bitter and broken sound, that he would in the future rarely have his walls down to ever reveal again. He hides his eyes behind his hand and he laughs.

“Of course, my prophecy would come to something like this.” He drags his hand down across his face. “Forsaken by all the Gods.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Noa says it with conviction, and it’s enough for Kaiser to face him.

“Master?”

“You will still be the successor to the throne. As is your destiny.”

“My destiny?” Kaiser jabs a thumb to the now-empty seating. “We just heard my destiny.”

“What the gods have declared has nothing to do with me. I declare you the next to rule. That is all.”

Noa presses a hand to the crown of Kaiser’s head. “No one will know what transpired here. A tragic prophecy is a given. It is meant to be a trial of sorts, after all. Mine, too, was unpleasant. Though not nearly as dire.”

“What was yours?”

Noa breathes in deeply. “A twisted rivalry with a twisted man. One that was to be all-consuming to me.”

Kaiser scoffs. “A rivalry. Just train and win.”

Noa lets the comment pass, staring out of the temple and past the mountains. “The rivalry came and went. At the time, I felt it was the worst. I could not eat, sleep, or breathe without the thought of what he would do next on my mind. But I was lucky, that it passed.”

He motions for Kaiser to take his arm, bringing him back up to standing. “Yours will pass too, I’m sure of it.”

Kaiser waves his hand, gesturing at Noa to let go of him. It’s easy to say, easy to have faith when it is not your life that balances on the precipice.

Forsaken thrice: once, by his parents. Another, by the Gods. And third, by his own future lover. Kaiser curses the Gods and the Weaver for such a fate, for something possibly worse than death is looming over him.

You will be killed by the one you love most. That line has haunted his very being to this day.

~

The people do not know what causes their successor to turn so cold, as biting and harsh as winter itself. His quicksilver smile rattles bones, his sword is cutting like blood in snow.

The prophecy is on a need-to-know basis, and Kaiser has never been crueler. He trains, harder than ever. Enough that when an unmovable sword is found at the rocks of the ocean, he trains until he is able to pull it from the bank, wield it with one hand. Rumor has said it might take three men to carry, or that the night sky that shimmers across it is strong enough to kill even a god. His sole retrieval of it is proof to the people of his strength and stature, but compassion and love are rarely a topic of conversation with his name.  

He focuses on his work. He does not take lovers. He barely sees others as friends. And he most certainly does not take a bride.

~

You appear before the throne and you do not bow. The scowl on Kaiser’s face at this says enough.

“You dare-”

“You have the sword.” You ignore Kaiser entirely, setting your sights completely on Noa.

The silence that follows is as large and wide as the ocean, but your gaze is sharp and keen, never faltering once until Noa speaks.

“Water sorceress,” Noa addresses you coldly, “or that’s what you told our people.”

“Yes.”

“You are not the only sorceress of water. Yet your power is second to none.” Noa stands, stepping down the stairs with heavy, thumping footfalls until he’s standing right in front of you. “They call you the water’s mistress, in the neighboring lands.”

“They do.”

He begins to circle you, like a hunter might before striking a deer. Standing next to you, his deep voice clear right next to your ear, he eyes you curiously. “They’re all wrong, aren’t they?”

You don’t answer. Noa takes that as answer enough.

“A power like that. Do you think me stupid?” He observes you, checks you visually for weapons, watches your hands to ensure you don’t call magic forth.

“Demigod.” He about spits the word from behind you, and yet all you do is tilt your head to catch him in your eye’s view.

“You are as well-informed as they say.”

“I am as logical as they come.”

“We are the same in that regard, then. So let’s get straight to the point.” 

Noa returns back to the throne, seemingly satisfied with his observing, gesturing at you to continue. 

“You have something belonging to me. A sword, heavier than most. Ancient, yet sharp. It is said to look like it contains a night sky.”

“The blade you’re speaking of was found by us, it is ours to keep.”

In the short silence that follows, Kaiser swears there must be irritation on your end, but you don’t show it. Instead, you take a deep breath in.

“The blade was thrown out of the heavens and spat out into this realm during a war between Gods.”

“Is that so? And how can you prove it’s yours?”

“I can wield it, unlike your people, who do not have the means to wield a sword as such.” You state simply.

Like rose grown blue, the impossible becomes possible. You can feel the divinity and the power that comes off the sword in waves the minute it’s unsheathed, your eyes widening. The ring of it is as familiar to you as your own skin, how could you not have felt its presence sooner? But Kaiser is fast, much faster than you expected, faster than he should be with a sword of that weight, that magnitude. Before you can turn your head, cold silver kisses your neck.

“This blade, sorceress?” He comes around from behind you, stalks around you just like his Master had, sword pointed like it may just draw blood from you at any moment. When you finally see his face, his sneer is wicked.

He takes pride in your wide-eyed gaze, your sharpened attention, but the lack of fear on your part grates at him. God-killing, they had called the blade. Yet you don’t shy away at all.

“Say we return the sword to its rightful owner,” Noa calls back your attention, “what would you offer us in return?”

“Offer in return? This sword does not belong to you. It is returned, as it should be.”

“This sword, with its divinity, could harm even a god.” Kaiser presses the blade closer to your neck, gleaming metal against your skin. “It protects this nation. What if the gods forsake us? If we return it to you, what would protect us against them then?”

“For what reason would they do such a thing?”

Kaiser barks a laugh. “Of course, there would be no criticisms from one of them. Water sorceress, demigod. Tell us, who are you, truly? What do your people call you, up there? No matter.” He lowers the sword, but leaves it unsheathed, its heavy weight balanced in his palm. A threat that at any moment, he may change his mind. “Those titles mean nothing to me. I have been forsaken, demigod. So know, I trust not even the gods.”

You sigh. Foreseeing a troublesome future has its cons, you suppose. Your queen would smile if you told her such.

“You ask for something with power in equal to or more than the blade. You asked me for my titles. I shall give you both.” The sleeves of your dress shimmer as you move them, and it’s in this moment that Kaiser notices they are not sleeves but water itself, cradled around your wrists like armor. “The Gods had bestowed on me the title Sword Maiden, and I offer myself and my services to you until the end of your line.”

That shocks the room like a bucket of cold water.

You turn to Kaiser, who stands beside the throne. You step forward once, and water rushes underneath that step, descending in waves over the floor as if it goes through it, a magic they have never witnessed prior. “You say the Gods have forsaken you? Let my presence be proof to you that they still watch over you.”

Kaiser scowls, “What sort of cheap trick is this?”

“My domain is truth. I cannot lie.”

“Oh, please.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “Would it help for you to press your sword against my neck once more?”

A goddess who cannot lie. Noa’s faith lies in logic, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. His gaze flits between Kaiser and you before he seems to settle a decision in his mind.

“Until the end of Kaiser’s line.” Noa negotiates.

Kaiser’s gaze snaps to Noa. “You’re taking her up on this?”

You almost frown. “Fine.”

Noa quirks an eyebrow at you. “That simple?”

“Human lives move quickly.”

Kaiser eyes you curiously. “What happens when you lie?”

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Is that… almost a flustered look you have on?

He readjusts his grip on the blade. “Speak, sorceress.”

“Wh-What do you want me to say?!” You grip at your dress nervously, and that has him even more curious.

“I’m waiting here,” he sing-songs playfully.

“Before the lie can leave my voice, my neck swells up like a balloon, and chokes me.”

He smiles wickedly. “Demonstrate.”

Gods, if it wasn’t immoral, you could wring his neck right now.

You think, for even a moment, a simple lie. And in seconds, you’re almost suffocating on nothing, and Kaiser laughs. Laughs. A full laugh, bending at his knees.

“Oh gods, you’re like a pufferfish!”

You let go of the lie, taking heaving breaths. “Just because I have water capabilities does not mean I am a fish.”

In the midst of the conversation, Isagi leans against Noa’s side, a soft conversation full of worry.

“You’ll have to explain her presence to the council,” Isagi tells him, blue eyes wide with hesitation.

“Right, and your suggestion?”

“I have thought about it, considerably. If you say you hired her, with a force as powerful as her, the other nations may think you are to wage war. So… Given the heir’s… reputation,” Isagi’s gaze flits nervously between you and Kaiser. “If he is willing, she may be a good fit.”

Noa sighs. This, this exact theory, has been a conversation with the other members of his team for months. That a wife by his side would make him seem less chilling, make the transition to a new heir easier on the public, prevent outroar. It is one thing to feel that Kaiser keeps a nation safe, and another to love him as a ruler.

It’s an easy decision, but a hard conversation.

“Kaiser.”

He whips around, ceasing his antics quickly. “Master.”

Noa looks like he is about to say something to him, but hesitates, turning to you instead. Isagi nervously steps away from the dais, returning to his position.

“Goddess,” this time, there is no malice behind Noa’s words. “I accept your offer. However, your presence in this nation and in this castle must be explained appropriately. Should I bear you the title of my successor’s betrothed, would that be a title you’re willing to bear?”

Kaiser’s back straightens. “Excuse me?” he utters low.

“You do not have to bear children,” he specifies. “And you do not have to truly be wed.”

A goddess, to be betrothed to a mortal, as princely as he is, is a serious affair. Kaiser slides his gaze to Isagi, with the audacity to even suggest such. And yet, you seem to ponder it like a simple question.

“I see. As long as the sword is in my presence and protection, how you communicate with your nation is none of my concern.”

“So be it, then,” Noa agrees quickly. “I’ll have our people show you to a room.”

You nod, and are whisked away. The throne room, as if knowingly, empties quickly, guards rushing out to leave Kaiser alone with Noa.

“You made this decision for me,” Kaiser spins to face Noa, spits his words through gritted teeth. “I have been clear. I will take no brides.”

“You believe the prophecy made a choice for you.”       

“The prophecy bears no mercy. Or do you wish for my death so eagerly? If so, take your sword out and do it your damn self.”

Noa lets him speak, heave his words out until there’s silence once more.

“She cannot lie,” Noa says softly. “She cannot lie to you, Kaiser. And she is a goddess, a divine being.”

“Demigod,” Kaiser corrects.

“She is divine, and she cannot lie. She is correct, to this end – that as long as she is here, the prophecy cannot come to be. For she has not forsaken us.” Forsaken you, goes unspoken. “She could be good for you, if you allowed her to be.”

Kaiser lets out a canned laugh. “Ha. How can the divine ever understand us?”

Noa stands. “You’ll have plenty of time to find out.”

Kaiser taps his hand against his sword hilt. “You really will not move on this?”

Noa shakes his head. “She is too valuable to lose, and you have a reputation for cruelty. The solution is nothing short of perfect.”

The logical comes above his feelings. Kaiser knows this, even if he hates to come face to face with it.

Noa walks out of the throne room, leaving Kaiser to his bitterness.

“Shitty master,” he mumbles under his breath to no one.

~

It’s jarring to all the guards, the way you don’t even stand let alone bow when Noa knocks to enter your room. But Noa cares little for things like that, if you’re truly offering what you’ve said.

“Perhaps I was too hasty, in presenting the solution before giving you the facts.” He hesitates before you in the reflection of your vanity. You don’t respond, barely even look at him as you unclasp your jewelry, laying it on the table.

“He will not love you.” Noa tells you after a breath, his surefire eyes finally meeting yours.

You give him a curious gaze. “That is likely for the best. I would outlive him, after all.”

“It is, truly, on a need-to-know basis. To tell you this-”

“The prophecy, I presume you’re referring to,” you interrupt, turning to face him.

The shock rolls quickly off him. Divinity does have its mysteries, he supposes. “You already know.”

“I asked the water, why he is so quick to believe he is forsaken. They told me that he lives under the burden of a prophetic trial. That is all I know.” You stand, moving to unzip your dress only for Noa to hastily pull a partition screen across the room and turn around.

“The water, it speaks to you?”

“It does. Though it’s worth noting that it does not make me all-seeing.” Your voice carries over the partition with the ruffle of clothing. “The queen of the Gods, who sees all fates – she is the only one who is truly all-seeing.”

You come out in a nightgown, folding the partition back. He chucks you a robe that you catch easily.

“You should learn the ways of this world if you want to pass as a simple water sorceress, especially before the banquet.”

You frown. “The prince is my betrothed, is he not? Will he not handle it all?”

The idea you present sparks in Noa’s mind. “Brilliant. I’ll have Kaiser and some of the other members of our team show you the ropes. Good night, sorceress.”

You nod to him, and the door clicks shut.

~

“She’s a what?”

Oliver slams his metal cup of beer down, rolling the dice once more.

“A demigod, Oliver. Gods, are you that drunk already? Keep up.” Karasu grabs at the dice as Oliver moves his pieces.

“Can you all shut the fuck up? What happened to need-to-know basis?” Chigiri slinks himself over to their table.

“We’re need-to-know.” Karasu jabs a thumb at himself and Oliver.

“They are, actually, need-to-know.” Isagi puts a gentle hand on Chigiri’s shoulder, settling down next to him. “Because she’s never been human in her life.”

“And now we’re supposed to, what, teach her to be human? Is that a thing we can do?” Chigiri twirls a strand of hair between his fingers, tapping the end against Isagi’s cheek.

Oliver snorts. “What, like a class? Some of us have never sat in one of those, you prissy little shits.”

“She can’t dance, for one.”

“Get Kaiser to teach her. Isn’t he her betrothed?”

That has Oliver almost spitting out his drink, choking on it in coughs. “He's her what?”

Chigiri scowls in his direction. “Dude, are you listening at all?”

“If she’s really his betrothed, none of us should be teaching her.” Oliver warns genuinely. “He’ll cut down everyone here, before he lets us touch her.”

“It’s just an excuse,” Isagi waves his hand, pulling out a leather-bound bind of notes. “They’re not actually together.”

“Oh, you actually got that motion to pass. Shit.” Karasu remarks admirably.

“It must be so tiring,” Bachira sighs happily, falling into place next to Isagi, “to have to actually care about what other people think.”

“The optics, Bachira,” Isagi smacks the end of his pen across Bachira’s nose, and he makes an oh! sound in response.

When Kaiser walks in, the room almost goes silent. He’s used to it, of course. Hearing only the way his footfalls come heavy, boots thumping into the stone floor as a drink is placed right in front of him immediately.

The room slowly fills back with noise as he shoulders off his coat, wrapping it around the chair before sitting. But only his table is still strangely silent.

He flits his gaze over the group. Usually, they’re the first to kill the silence in the room, yelling about the game or a duel. He looks at Isagi, specifically, who seems the most nervous. “Something you wanna say to me?”

“Uh…”

Chigiri sighs, killing the tension. “We’re deciding who gets to teach her how to dance.”

Kaiser quirks an eyebrow. “The demigod?”

Chigiri nods, and Kaiser takes a long gulp of his drink, popping it back down and twirling the top of it with his fingers. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” It’s Isagi’s turn to be shocked, sitting up straight.

Kaiser exhales audibly. “None of you could handle her. She could cut you with water the moment you accidentally step on her.”

It’s not an insult, really. They know this too. That this is Kaiser’s brand of protection, to add insult to injury just to keep others out of harm’s way. But they play his game.

“Think we can’t dodge fast enough? A bit demeaning, don’t you think?” Oliver’s grin is wicked, making straight eye contact with Kaiser, who only draws his eyebrows in at his direction.

“You think that god-killing sword is gonna save you?” Karasu asks.

“I don’t have the sword anymore.”

“What?”

It stings more than it should, he thinks. The sword that he thought chose only him, so quickly released from his grasp. But his strength is his own, he holds fast to that. 

Kaiser glances at Karasu. “Those are the terms. She marries me, she gets the sword.”

Ness rests his cheek on his hand. “Man, that sounds like she wins twice.”

Chigiri scoffs at that. “She’s a demigod. Being down here is probably like being in the sewers to her.”

Kaiser stands abruptly, pushing his drink aside, his coat billowing as he wraps it over himself once more.

“Where are you going?” Isagi yells, but he doesn’t answer.

“He gone for real?” Oliver elbows Karasu. “I’m too drunk to tell.”

“Yeah, man. He’s gone”  

“Great.” Oliver slaps a piece down. “I’ll bet 50 bucks right now they get married for real.”

“What the fuck?” Chigiri tilts his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it might give him some reprieve.

Karasu laughs, “Okay, I’ll play. I’ll bet 20 that they try to kill each other.”

“You’re just a hater.”

“Nah, I agree,” Reo leans back in the booth. “Kaiser’s a lot of things, but a loving husband is a bit much.”

“She’s a goddess. He’s literally already betrothed to her.” Oliver takes another swig. “Y’all ain’t gonna marry a goddess if she was given to you? Damn, put me in his place, I’ll do it right now.”

~

Kaiser trains, every morning, from sunrise to noon.

You only know because most of the rooms in the palace outlook to a self-contained field. You see him, often, because of this, even if he doesn’t speak to you. As you walk down the corridor, in your classes with Isagi about the current climate of the nations.

“It is useless for me to learn this,” you tell him. “In a few short millennia, the border of the nations will undoubtedly change. And we will have to relearn it all again. What is the use? Why war at all over something so insignificant? Just have a conversation about it.”

Isagi makes a pointed, bored expression at you for this, and then pretends like you didn’t say anything at all.  

At the end of class today, you press your elbows to the open windowsill.

Kaiser is there, sparring with Ness. Ness is quick, agile, fleet-footed and runs circles around Kaiser so much so that it almost makes it difficult to keep up.  

Kaiser approaches him at bone-breaking momentum, launches strike after hardened strike. He’s shirtless, bandages wrapped around the bottom of his torso, and his body is streaked with sweat. He’s strong, clearly. Broad shoulders clear now from when they were hidden under layers of clothing the first time you met him, the muscles in his arms flexing and relaxing with each step of the friendly duel, hair dipped in saltwater blue.

You know what he looks like, now. You get a sense why Fate brings you here.

He looks like a hero.

The kind that Gods covet, watch from their merry clouds. It’s no wonder that he’s burdened by a prophetic trial, with a face as cutting as his sword, his hair framing his face and flowing. 

He takes one look to the side of him and his eyes find yours immediately. It must be some sort of fighter’s sense, you think. For him to have done it so easily.

You give him the space you think he might be asking for. You turn away.

~

He approaches you one night, just before sunset. Karasu had just finished an etiquette lesson with you, setting away forks and knives. Whatever he sees on Kaiser’s face makes him move quicker. He nods once to Kaiser, and then hastily leaves.

“You’ve been making yourself quite at home here, demigod.” Kaiser traces the lace outline of the tablemat, every ridge under his calloused finger.

“I vowed myself to your kingdom to the end of your life. I’m simply doing what is asked of me.”

“And you’re all ready for the banquet, I’m guessing?” The sentence is almost mocking as he approaches you.

“It’s just a ball, is it not? I’ve been told I’m just to stand there and make pleasantries.”  

Kaiser chuckles, more bared teeth than sweet. “It is, arguably, the worst part of being so-called royalty.”

“You’re taking this much better than I thought you would.”

"To say no to a goddess' proposal would be the greatest blasphemy, no?" 

"From what I've seen, you have not minded sacrilege much at all."

“Marriage means little to me. Disillusioned, perhaps, with the prophecy.” He waves his hand like he speaks of something meaningless. But you see it clearly. Before he had even allowed himself the thought of love, it was taken from him. “Your power is great, your presence ensures the continuation of myself as an heir and successor. Even I can reason with that.”

He's right in front of you now, so close you can feel his body warmth.

“Does it bother me?” He shrugs. “Sure. As far as I’m aware, you are no wife of mine. But a protector of this nation? For that, you are an indispensable ally.”

He looks out the window, towards a coming sunset. Something indescribable on his face, like grief and guilt all in one. He takes a deep breath in and out, inhaling the peace and exhaling the heaviness of his heart, before facing you again. “A war is coming. No one believes me, but I can feel it, as steady as a river’s current. Until then, I’ll make my peace with you.”

You nod. “So be it, your highness.”

That has him stepping back, more incredulous than you’ve ever seen him, body tensed and frowning. Maybe he should’ve expected it, given the way he’s just dismissed you. “Your highness? You hadn’t questioned my lineage before, but now you dare to do so?”

You stare at him blankly. “You are a prince, are you not? Isagi says that’s what princes are called.”

One side of his mouth upturns in relief, and he bursts out a bright laugh. “Is that what they teach you in those lessons Isagi gives? Oh,” a hand runs through the front of his hair, “I thought my own wife-to-be would dare insult me.” 

You scoff. “I have no need for that.” 

“The title ‘your highness’ doesn’t apply to this nation because strength is valued most. I am heir to the throne not because of the blood running through my veins, but because Noa deemed I the strongest — not just in body but in mind, not just in physical strength but in adaptability.” He says it proudly, like fact, like a knowing so deep within him that it turns pride into faith. “A title like that is something used by the Itoshi brothers, let’s say,” he comments airily. “Their throne is carried by a bloodline.” 

He turns on his heel, only looking back when he realizes you don’t follow.

“You don’t know how to dance yet, do you?”

You lean your hip against the table. “I can dance.”

“Come, then. If you’re to be my wife, it’ll be an embarrassment if you don’t at least act like it.”

You follow him to a ballroom – a stunning, wide area with a looping chandelier, curtains that weigh down in arches over each floor-to-ceiling window.

He swoops you from your distraction with a hand around your waist, and the physical contact shocks you so greatly that orbs of water swirl in your hands.

Kaiser only raises an eyebrow at you. “This is a dance, not a duel. Or do the gods do it differently?”

For a man who was so passive to you, he holds you so close that your chest to chest, you can feel each breath he takes against you. When he steps with you, his movements are slow and deliberate, never inefficient. He moves not with fluidity, but with each sure step. Pulls you forward, then pushes you back. Circles you, spins you around.

It’s exactly like when you see him train. Like steps to a kata.

“I thought you said this was not a duel.”

“These are steps to a classic waltz, demigod.”

“You have no fluidity to you.”

Kaiser scoffs. “Should I apologize? With the prophetic curse hanging above me, I haven’t taken a dancing class.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Hm?”

“The prophecy. It doesn’t have to be a curse.”

He stops, separating himself from you, scowling.

“This session is over.”

“Kaiser-,”

“What?” He snaps. “You, of divine nature. You want to tell me how to view my prophecy?”

“I do not say this out of pity, or out of some sort of higher knowing.” You say it with conviction. “As heir to the throne, a throne that is currently being held by Fate itself, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this at all.”

“And yet?”

“To know your fate is to be able to defy it.” And maybe it’s just an effect of your divinity, but it rings like a bell, like truth itself. “Your prophecy may have made a wound, but you are the one who cuts it open. You are a man who wields a sword that cannot, should not be able to be wielded by anyone but the divine. Does that not say something? About you, about your capabilities?”

“And yet you took it from me.” 

The silence that follows is thick with indecision. Kaiser lets the uncomfortableness sit, rejects every heartwarmed statement you make with a roll of his shoulders, like water off a smoothened rock, replaced with only his anger. “I trained for weeks before I could lift that sword out of the riverbank. Yet it is yours, now, simply because you are supposedly its rightful owner.” 

Conflict runs through your face so clearly, he wonders that even if you could lie, whether it would mean anything at all. He watches as your hand reaches into a conjured puddle of water that floats in the air, and out comes the divine sword.

You hold it in your hand with an ease that he has spent months capturing. It strikes envy in him like a branded sear. 

“My role here is technically to secure the sword. I have no need to wield it.” You hold it at the bottom of its handle, directing the top of it to him. “If you swear you won’t lose her, I can set a compromise of sorts.” 

“You think I’d agree to a compromise?” 

You open up your palm, and a bracelet appears. “This will help you keep the sword in a pocket dimension we can both access. If you’re willing to place it there to secure it when you’re not using it, I’ll return her to you until the end of your line.” 

Huh. A safe-keeping place is a more neutral proposition than he had thought you’d come up with. To have her back kills the fight in him, and he accepts begrudgingly, testing the magic in his hands until it becomes natural. 

“For the record, Kaiser, I have not always been worthy of it.”

Something about the way his name slips off your lips has him keening. “Worthy?”

“I stayed true to my course. I was given a title. And then I could wield the sword, presented to me by my queen.”

“Your queen. Heir to the throne.” He laughs bitterly, knowingly. “You’re a princess.”

“Despite your mocking tone, I’ll have you know that title of mine is of the highest regard. I don’t take it nearly as lightly as you do with yours.”

“That’s why you didn’t bow or kneel. You take what’s meant to be yours without a second thought. Not because you’re unknowing, or because of some godly pride, but because you have never been lesser.” He flicks a finger between your eyebrows. “What a spoiled thing you are. Can you even fight?”

Something in Kaiser takes pride in the way you frown more deeply, it’s almost like a pout. It’s almost… 

“Well, I definitely wasn’t sitting idly in the war between Gods.” 

“I’ve never seen you train.” 

“That’s because you’re always on the training grounds.” 

“Oh? You won’t show me?” 

“I’m giving you space. I’m no wife of yours, no?” There’s a sting to it when you say it, having his words thrown back at him. 

“Duel with me. Tomorrow.” He spins you, lets you out of his hold before bringing you back in. 

~

He begins to meet you, day after day. A duel first, and then a dance. The dichotomy would be distasteful to any other, but you of divine blood do not even flinch at his request.

He may be displeased to have you, but his mouth cracked as wide and wicked as a cat’s at the prospect of a fight.

“Go on, then.” He takes a blunt, wooden sword, throwing it in your direction. “Or do you only fight with magic?” He teases. 

You swing the sword, rotating your wrist with ease. “Do you forget yourself, prince? I am half divine, you will surely lose. Are you sure you want to go through with this anyways?” 

His mouth widens, more teeth than smile. “Bring it.” 

You know, the moment you defend against his first strike, that a singular hit from him on the battlefield must be deadly. He is surefooted, his whole weight bears down in every move. He doesn’t let you breathe once, much faster than you would’ve thought with someone of his size and height. 

Kaiser was almost right about one thing, that the divine adds to your magic more than your physical strength. With enough training, in just simple hand-to-hand combat… He might have the potential to beat you. 

But not today. Today, you have him pinned to the ground, makeshift blade to his throat. 

“You’re awfully close,” he gasps out slyly. And it’s in this moment that you notice, too, how right he is about that, how you can feel his heartbeat underneath yours, his chest against yours with each exhale. 

“What?” He grins wide, “afraid you’ll miss?” 

By all the Gods, you want to knock the living daylights out of him. He notices your anger in that hesitation, your conflict between doing what is right and what you want, and flips you over, swapping your positions until his hips are pressed against yours. 

Something about your shell-shocked face makes him stir. 

“First rule of fighting, sweetheart,” he runs a hand through his hair before planting it next to your head, leaning into you close. “Never get distracted by your opponent.”

He’s closer than he was before, admiring the way you look under him, your hair splayed along the ground and the sweet fire of irritation in your eyes. Is the heaving of your chest from your anger towards him, or from something else entirely? 

“When Gods fight, there is not nearly as much prattling.” You grit at him. He smells like the grass of the field and the winter air and the heavy musk of sweat, and when you shove him off, it feels like your hand meets the hard rock of an unruly ocean. 

~

It is during dances that he speaks to you. Not at first, but slowly, like a river that streams into the ocean. You tell him tales about the Gods, about your friends, about wars and petty arguments. And he starts to answer you, more often than not, with every question you might have. 

“I have wondered about something.” 

“Hm?”

“The sheathing. It prevents even me from detecting the sword’s divinity.” 

“Huh, so Nagi really wasn’t lying.” 

“Nagi, who is always with Reo?” 

Kaiser nods. “They say Nagi was once sought upon by a god for his talents, a god who was constantly sending him dreams. But he grew tired of it, so he found a material that prevents even the gods from finding him so he can sleep in peace.” 

The conversation often leads to the prophecy, a bitterness like licorice on his tongue. Even if he skates around the topic, you don’t let him hide from it, cutting straight to the heart of the truth.

“You can live in the cold bitterness you’ve put yourself in, Kaiser,” you tell him, one of these nights. “Or you can live, and maybe even possibly die, warmed by a life you truly felt was worth living. Your own choices. Not because of a prophecy, or because of Noa, or even in spite of me.”

But despite it, he doesn’t move away. Because it is the only time he has you to himself. He sees you, always, with Isagi and Oliver and Karasu and Chigiri. How you have molded into their lives with simplicity, sit with them at meals and have easy conversation despite knowing nothing, in a way that he has never once allowed himself to enjoy. What does it say about Kaiser? That he can't stand your presence but he can't stand your absence even more? That he would rather have a biting argument with you than leave you to your own devices? 

It's during duel and dance that he comes as close as he can to touching you. If he did anymore, it would become something he doesn't have the heart to name without unease settling in his gut.

~

On the day of the banquet, Chigiri sits you down in your vanity, braiding your hair back in his hands.

“The queen of the Gods, her lover, a friend of mine… He used to do this for me too.”

Chigiri silently appreciates that you don’t ask him why it is him that helps you with this. That divinity doesn’t hold the same notions this world does.

“He would-,” you laugh softly to yourself. You’re stunning like this, Chigiri can’t help but notice. A goddess, most casual as can be. “He would say that I was useless at it, actually. You two might’ve been good friends.”

“Me? Friends with a god?” Chigiri finishes the braid, tilting your head in his hands to admire the way the braid crowns around each side.

“Of the Fae, actually. A beautiful man he is. You would fit right in.”

That stops Chigiri, has him taking a sharp intake of breath, smiling at you through the vanity’s reflection. “Thank you, princess. Though you would do good to be more careful during this banquet to compliment anyone.”

You smile softly back. “Ah, yes, my betrothed who will not love me might get jealous. Gods are not so different than people, in this regard.”

“Is that so…”

~

It’s when you meet the Itoshi brothers at the banquet that you begin to understand why Isagi gave you all these lessons.

Where Kaiser is muscle and sword first, more fighter than prince, Sae and Rin are the opposite. They have a grace befitting of royalty. Instead of heavy footfalls that you can hear even in the blanket of snow, they are light-footed, conscious of it in the echoed ballroom.

Though you suspect, from the way Sae grips Kaiser’s forearm as they shake hands, from the way Kaiser regards Sae, that he is somehow just as strong of a fighter. That royalty is an illusion Sae and Rin put on, for peace’s sake.

Something indescribable flits over Sae’s face as you curtsy in front of him, but it’s gone in a moment, replaced with his nonchalance.

“The betrothed of the banquet. We are most pleased to make your acquaintance.” Sae bows his head to you, and Rin follows in his stead.

You smile, something beaming and sweet. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“Would you mind, Kaiser?” Sae’s eyes only leave yours for a glance, to check in at Kaiser’s now furrowed look. “I’d like to take your wife-to-be for a dance.”

Kaiser’s back straightens, a hardened gaze with gritted teeth. But he says nothing. You swear Sae almost grins.

“I’ll return her back to you.” He says it like a favor, and Kaiser is only held back by Karasu’s hand on his shoulder.

“It’s just one dance, Kai,” Kaiser looks at Karasu, then to you, and then back to Sae. He barely nods once.

“Are you sure?” You ask him.

He scowls. “What do I have to be worried about?”

Well, it’s not like you want to anger him further. You let Sae take your hand, leading you to the floor.

“I almost didn't think you were who you said you were, when I saw you,” Sae tells you, breaking the quiet of the dance. 

You lean back so you can see his whole face, your confusion clear. “Your highness?”

“When I had heard of you, they told me that waves flowed off your dress like water itself holds you sacred. Yet here you are, as regular as can be.”

Sae twirls you away from him, then brings you back into his arms. “They say you shook the earth with a single step. Where is all that power you were said to hold?” He holds you close, watching your every reaction with his crystal gaze. “This place. They’ve placated you, tamed you.”

He brings his mouth to your ear, the body warmth of his entire chest seeping into yours. “If you were mine, I would never force you into a box you didn’t belong. I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of Kaiser, even with his god-killing sword.” He spins you again, capturing your waist. “If you were mine, I wouldn’t be afraid to demonstrate your power to the world.”

“Sae.” He looks at you in a way that feels meaningful. You don’t know the pleasantries of this nation or his in-depth, but you know, somehow, that this feels like this is something you should shield from. 

“Oh? No honorifics already? We’re that intimate, are we?”

To fight is one thing, but this is something entirely different. Being able to hurt others with a play instead of a sword, you’re not sure if you can shield others from something like that.

As the song ends, Sae takes your hand, brings it to his mouth to kiss the back of it. “Consider my proposition, princess. Before your marriage solidifies, and becomes something you can’t escape from.”

With his hand on the small of your waist, he brings you back to Kaiser dutifully. Kaiser links his arm with yours immediately, before any of you can spare a goodbye.

“What did he say to you?”

You hum. You get the sense that maybe…

“Nothing of importance,” you tell him instead.

“Hm?” He tilts your chin up to meet you eye to eye. “Is my own betrothed keeping secrets from me?”

“He said I don’t seem all that powerful.”

That makes Kaiser smile, not something sweet but with teeth bared, like a wolf. “He hasn’t seen you in action.” He pulls you in, hand wrapping to the back of your neck, a slow and deep whisper. “Do you want to show them?”

“Weren’t we both told that’s inappropriate? Isagi said the optics could make your allies scared.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes. “Isagi this, optics that. Our country has always been about the brawl and brave. Let the nations fear us, then. I, with my cruelty and a god-killing sword. You, a sorceress second to none. It’s a pretty picture, is it not?”

He straps his sword to his back and brings you to the middle of the room, and as the guests of honor, the crowd gives you both a wide berth. He circles you, just like you practiced. Makes you center stage.

“Go on then, princess.” He lets go of your hand and bows, sweeping his arm out. “Show us who you really are.”

“Kaiser,” you whisper. “We have very clear orders-”

“I make the orders, not follow them. So make your choice, princess. Wasn’t it you who said that it is worth living a life warmed by your own choices? Tell me, then. Do you want to show them? Or do you want to play nice?”

This play, to have ego and pride dive head-first into a situation, is so very human. And yet-

You let water overcast your body from your waist, let it roll off in layers like waves into the floor. Anyone who has had experience with magic can see your ultimate control over it, how the floor isn’t wet at all, how the water was conjured from nothing. Your hair is silken with dampness, framing your face like gloss. Gasps and awes from the audience makes Kaiser grin even wider.

“There we go.” Kaiser reaches behind him to unsheath his blade, and the galaxy within swirls. He spins it in his hand, and it’s almost like he’s never been happier.

In seconds, he strikes at you. Your hands move up instinctively, blocking the blade with a stream of water. The sound it makes, divinity against divinity, is like a low bell. The floor beneath you shakes with the strength of the strike, water dispersing around your feet in cascades to cushion the impact. You hear screams of shock, a glass breaking.

“Kaiser,” you grit, but all he does is widen that wicked, quicksilver grin.

And then he laughs, stepping away and sheathing the blade back. He holds one hand out to you instead.

“Next time, I want a duel in front of everyone. But this time, I guess a dance will suffice.”

You exhale gratefully, taking his hand in yours and retracting your water. “Let us dance, then.”

And with none of a prince’s grace, with movements that feel more fight than dance, he drifts along the floor with you.

~

Isagi collapses into the booth, a palm pressed to his eyebrows. “Our allies thought they were about to fight each other.”

“Can I cash in on my bet now?” Karasu rolls a skewer stick between his fingers. “Because they might’ve almost killed each other.” 

“Nah,” Oliver leans back. “I think that’s just foreplay.” 

Isagi opens his eyes to find Chigiri and Bachira standing before the booth. Chigiri’s not meeting his eyes, his mouth perching to one side in a way that squishes one of his cheeks. 

“What happened?” 

“They’re gone.” 

“Ha?” 

“We had one drink. One.” 

Oliver has the audacity to laugh, hand over his mouth. “Don’t worry, Isagi,” he pats him on the back. “I’m sure they’re just fucking around.” 

In another corner of the hall, royals speak in low tones. 

“We can just take her if you like her,” Shidou tells Sae with the sweetest smile a man like that can muster. “No need to ask poor little Kai-Kai.” 

Sae says nothing, eyeing you quietly as you step out of the hall. 

~

You are sitting at the edge of the ocean, letting the slate-crested waves wash over you, when he finds you. 

“You can dry me in a moment’s notice if I am to sit with you, right?” He says it almost reluctantly, even though he’s here anyways. He’s dropped his off coat somewhere along the way, and there’s something so naked about seeing him in just a shirt. He almost seems softer, without the harsh lines of battle-ready clothing or the fur that drapes around him, relaxed in a way he wasn’t in the banquet hall. 

You smile. “I can keep you dry whilst you're sitting.” 

He relents, then. Allowing the strangeness of sitting on wet sand without getting wet. 

“Was the banquet up to your expectations, then, Kaiser?” 

Expectations. He’s had none of a party like this. Being allowed to dream is a privilege, and privileges were not granted to him.

“You are officially my wife-to-be,” he says instead. “Shouldn’t you call me something a little more intimate?”

You gaze out into the horizon for a moment, and something in your eyes unfocuses, like you’ve gone somewhere else and then returned. “Very well. I shall call you Mihya.”

It strikes a chord in him, like a teaspoon hitting a glass. “Mihya? Where did that come from?”

“The water.”

“She speaks to you?” 

“She says in another life, you are given a nickname like that.”

“Another life…” He lies down in the sand, watches the streaks of sunset in the blueing sky. 

“Ask then, Mihya,” you lean over him slightly, until all he can see is the sky and the way your features soften. “The question we both know is on your mind.”

He almost wants to reach out, hold your cheek in his hand. It’s a foreign feeling to him, so foreign it almost feels like unease – to want to extend a gentleness like that to another person. “Won’t you just tell me?”

You breathe in the sea-salt air, and breathe out a heart-warmed truth. “The prophecy does not hold you captive in another life.”

Kaiser, for once, lets himself dream. Of a different life, where he is unburdened by a prophecy, and burns brightly.

~

“It would seem strange if you weren’t together, with all the other guests in the palace.” That’s what Oliver tells you as he gestures for you to take his arm, leading you to Kaiser’s room. 

It’s both plainer and more furnished than you thought, like someone who isn’t him had chosen the furniture and the color of the walls. But the items in the bookshelves seem well-loved, items taken out and put back haphazardly, scrolls and books placed back half-way. The bathroom door opens with a flood of light.  

“You’re here.” It’s rare to shock Kaiser in a way that doesn’t make him immediately reach for his sword.

You turn to look at him, taking in his half-dressed state. “Were you expecting some other woman?” 

“Oh, so you’re the jealous type?” 

He almost wants to laugh at the clear discomfort on your face. Gods don’t tease, he’s guessing? 

The bed gives way to you as you take your place. “I hear it’s common for princes to take many lovers.” 

The moonlight spills over the bedsheets as the room darkens, and you summon the sword to float right above you, looking into it. He joins you, wanting to see exactly what you’re seeing. 

“It’s not a night sky.” Your voice is so soft in the blanket of night between you both. 

“Hm?” 

“Inside the sword. Your people say it looks like the night sky. It’s not. It’s a galaxy.” 

He reaches his hand out, tracing over the glass along the middle of the weapon, a silent remark for you to continue. 

“At the beginning of all worlds, the first-ever contract was made between the first-ever forces, and with it, this sword was said to be conjured out of the galaxy. And so, a part of the galaxy at the beginning of all worlds was contained in this sword.” 

The stars in the sword move within like they’re responding to your words, borne witness to all the events. But instead of watching them, you turn to him. 

“You have held and wielded a primordial piece of this world. It has allowed you to hold it, granted you its blessing.” 

Blessed. That is not a phrase Kaiser would have ever used to describe himself. But coming from you, he can almost believe it. Almost hope to have a little more than he’s ever had. 

The sword disappears with a movement of his hand, and he rolls to lean over you. Silence drops like a curtain. The only sound he knows is your breath and his. 

During a fight, his feelings can almost be mistaken for adrenaline. But even under the shadow of the moon, with the cushioned silence between you both, the way you cut straight to the truth rings like a silver bell.

He can’t hide from you. Or maybe. Maybe he’s tired of hiding at all.

He is a man who has only known war and battle, was born and bred into it. War-forged, is what they call men like him. His hands know weapons, know how to kill.

He does not know if they know how to love. And yet-

He cups your face, and drinks you in.

He kisses you with caution, like you might melt from his grasp if he held too tightly. Presses his lips against yours slowly. He runs his hand gently over your hairline as he parts from you. 

Is this okay? He wants to ask. But instead, he says: “Tell me what you want.” 

You wrap your arms around his neck, your lips brushing against yours when you answer: “You.” 

And then he kisses you like a man starved, never known by this feeling that gets caught up in his throat with every noise of yours he swallows. 

“Is this… is this what you want?” You try to ask as you part from him for air, but he presses his mouth to the space behind your ear instead, laying kisses down your neck. “Is this a decision that you are making for yourself, by your own hands? That is entirely for you?” 

That makes him stop. But when he looks at you with a surefire gaze… 

He knows it, undoubtedly. That this, for once, is his. 

“There are no lovers,” he tells you between kisses, to your shoulder, down your collarbone, to your breastbone. 

“What?” 

“I take no lovers.” He unclasps your bra, lets the material fall from his hands to cup your supple flesh. “I’ve never been princely, after all.” 

“You- Kai-” 

He runs his thumbs across both your nipples, admires how they perk up at his administrations, flitting his gaze between them and your face as he brings his mouth down over one of them. 

He presses kisses down your body, cups your heat in his hand like he’s begging you to respond, like he’s saying let me have this. The inside of your thighs is soft as cream under his calloused hands. His thumb moves along the outside of your underwear, from your slit up to your clit with his fingers pressing tentatively against the fabric until you’re grabbing at his wrist. 

“You’re so tense,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Want me to take care of that for you?” He runs the knuckles of his hand over your clothed slit, bumping into your clit with his thumb until your breathing gets heavy, your hands gripping his shoulders. 

“Kaiser,” you breathe, and he clicks his tongue. 

“That’s not what you call me, baby. Not anymore.” 

“Mihya.” 

“Mm,” he slides his fingers into your panties from the side, a huff of breath leaves him at the wetness he finds. “Good girls get rewarded, you know?” 

Heat coils hot deep in your stomach. He can’t take the restriction, pulling your panties down and revealing your core to the cold air. He lets his slickness pool on his fingers, collects it before bringing it to your clit. It’s like a drug, watching the way your face gives way to pleasure, how your body arches into him. 

“Mihya,” you gasp again, like a chant, a prayer. Is this what the gods feel like, to be asked of? 

“Let me watch,” he says it like a demand but it aches with desperation, a thing he won’t admit outside these four walls. He presses with more confidence now, slides one finger into you, then two. There’s little resistance with the way he’s riled you up, long fingers pressing into you until he reaches something that has you making a broken moan so pretty he can’t help but tilt into it again. 

“I want to see it,” he tells you. This is something he makes happen to you, with his own hands, his own words, his own body that shares its heat with yours. That notion alone runs arousal straight through him. Your panting breath, the way your body shakes with each swipe against your clit. 

“I want to see you fall apart in my arms.” He whispers, and you respond in kind. You always do to him, don’t you? He’s been seen too surely by you, now it’s his turn. Your body tenses entirely, tightly, gripping him as he grants you reprieve. A soft whine leaves your mouth along with something like his name, and the rough pad of his thumb circles over your clit until you crash, coming around his fingers. 

He swipes a thumb over your cheek, allows himself the gentleness that he’s held back for so long with you. 

“One more, okay?”

Your eyes widen. “Mihya,” this time it’s like a warning, but the way you say his name is so breathy it has him pressing a hand over his pants. 

“Yeah, say my name just like that.” He shuffles down until his mouth is pressing to your stomach, just above your mound. Then again to the inside of your knee, trailing up until the inside of your thigh, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there. 

“You’re-, wait, we just- I just” 

“Mm, and you’re gonna give me one more.” He kisses your clit first, like a promise, and then he laps at your core generously, from the bottom of your slit all the way to your clit, his flat tongue against the whole of you. Every drop of slick from your previous orgasm is taken in by him with each moan he makes against your core. If he had known this feeling was going to enter his life, that it would’ve felt like this, maybe he would’ve readied himself better for it. Instead, he finds himself starving at the table where it’s served. The taste of you on his tongue wraps him in a heady pleasure, but it’s every sound he takes out of you that has him pressing a little more insistently, tongue laving over you. 

“Pl-please,” your words break between gasps, and it has him lapping into your clit with more pressure. 

“I can never say no to you, can I?” he mumbles between your legs. And then he’s flipping you over, hoisting you onto your knees and skimming his hands over your rear and thighs before diving in again. Your face is pressed into the pillow, hands grabbing the sheets. Kaiser almost seems dazed as he moans into your cunt, swollen and wet like a siren’s call, hands wrapped so tightly around your plush thighs that it feels like it might bruise. 

“Let me taste,” he mutters, mouth still lodged into your cunt, like that isn’t what he’s already doing. “Come on baby, give it to me. Let me taste it on my tongue.” 

Your hole clenches and flutters around nothing as another orgasm rocks through you, your breath coming short as you break apart on his tongue with a whine. 

He flips you over again, and the look on his face takes your breath away. Your slick shimmers on his mouth as he trails his tongue over his lips, like he’s addicted, like he can’t get enough. He tilts his head with a grin so cocky that if you weren’t so blissed out you might just punch him. 

“There something you want, pretty?” He leans over you, hand to the bedpost, and how broad and tall he is becomes that much more obvious. You let yourself look, at the way his tattoo drapes over his arm, run your hands over the muscle of his torso down to his v-line. You hear a sharp intake of breath as your hand moves lower, running under his loose sleep pants to the base of his cock. 

He grabs your hand in his, bringing it over your head and circling both your wrists. “Ask.” 

“You-,” your eyes narrow and you huff at him, but it only makes him smile. “Won’t you just-” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“I could cut you down here.” 

He drops his pants, pumping his cock once and then sliding it along your slit. “You could. And then who’ll give you what you want?” 

You want to roll your eyes, but then he has one hand tapping against your clit, the other gripping either side of your cheeks. 

“You begged so pretty for me earlier when I had my mouth on you,” he rasps. “What happened to that?” 

The harsh look you give him under those fluttering lashes of yours makes something stir in his gut, arousal shot through his veins, pupils wide. He plays with you, warm hands against your skin and between your legs, the soft skin of his cock sliding between your thighs until you’re gasping in his hold again, grinning like a battle won. 

“Please, Mihya,” you sigh. 

“Mhmm. Please what?” 

“Please- please fuck me.” 

He gets off on it, watching you yield to him, spreading your legs, dripping your hot slick onto his cock. He presses the head against you, petaled folds opening up to receive him as he slides into you slowly. Just the first few inches is so thick inside of you that your hands wrap around the muscles of his arms, nails digging in. 

“Shh, baby, you can take it,” he hushes your little whines, tracing your hairline with such gentleness it contradicts the way he pulls out of you just slightly only to push in again. 

“You’re- oh,” your body gives into him, even more so when he brings his hand down to tap on your clit, his mouth over your neck, to the side of your mouth, until he’s kissing you and taking in every noise you make. It’s almost a distraction, helps your body to relax so he can press into you deeper. You think you feel every inch as it enters you, all the way until the hilt, until the head is pressing deep inside of you and his hips meet yours.  

He lets out a rough, deep moan against the expanse of your neck, breath coming short as your walls tighten around him. 

“Fuck, baby. You gotta let me move.” Your arms wrap around him tighter, a whimper falling from your lips as he tilts his hips up to plunge into you again. It’s hard and slow and deep and if it wasn’t for his grip on you, you might’ve hit the headboard. But he’s careful about it – more than you might’ve thought he’d be. Pressing your body into the bed as his hips meet yours again and again. 

“It feels so good,” you tell him, and it has him pressing a kiss to your cheek in return. Makes every moan you make that much sweeter, to know it’s out of your pleasure, to know it’s because of him. 

“Good girl. Tell me again.” 

“Feels- you’re so big, so- please, I need-” Your walls can barely clench down onto him with how he feels inside of you. Chest to chest with him, the contact of skin on skin-

“You drive me insane,” he grumbles it into your skin; a confession, exacerbated with each thrust of his hips as he picks up the speed, until he’s slamming into you with a kind of strength that has you seeing constellations behind your eyes. He wants you- needs you to feel the way he feels. Needs to have you lying in his bed, thinking only of him and how he makes you feel. Heat pools in your core until you’re arching your back, and he knows it now – knows it like the back of his hand. 

“Give it to me.” It’s a command, a need, if you listen closely enough. “Come around my cock. Show me.” 

“Mihya, it’s so much, it’s so so much.” It’s treacherous, the way it works through your body, being on the brink. 

His thumb is slick over your clit, pressing just a little more, until your thighs are tightening under his unrelenting body. “Come for me.” 

You chant his name until the words start to become nothing in your mouth, until you’re breathless, until your whole body tenses under him and his hold against you gets that much rougher and your walls clamp down and then your body shakes as you come. You almost scream, only silenced by his lips on yours. He comes quickly after that, his eyes never leaving yours, taking in how you look underneath him as his cock gets more sensitive and paints the inside of your walls. He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow until he feels your body start to relax under his. 

You can barely process coming down as he’s kissing you again, deeply and with force, like he’s etching the memory of you into his mind and onto your lips. 

For once, he lets himself recognize – how tiring the emptiness has been, to be devoid of this feeling and instead be filled with the fear that it’ll be turned against him. For once, he lets himself feel – to have something that is wholly his. to know and be known. To give and know you will receive. Not an offering at an altar but a hand in his, not a prayer but a soft word spoken in return. Kaiser does not want something as untouching as approval or attention from the divine. But he does want your waist in his arms, your forehead against his.

“Just like this,” he whispers it, a kiss placed to your forehead. You don’t know what he means, too tired to ask. 

This is exactly what he’s always wanted. Just like this. 

~

Not unlike a parent, Noa notices the closeness of your relationship. In touch, in stolen glances, in longing. A private conversation with him over afternoon tea is not unique, but the heaviness that weighs on him is. 

“As the goddess who cannot lie, I have to ask you.” The hardened look on his face makes you straighten your back, putting down your teacup. “You know, that I have to ask.”

Silence sits between you both like a shoe about to drop. 

Noa yields. “Has he truly been forsaken by all the gods?”

You are strangely silent as you look at him, then away, then back. 

“Answer me, demigod.”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

“I. Don’t. Know. I have told you before, that I am not a seer, or an oracle. Water holds memory. I can see the past, I can even see other lives parallel to ours, but I cannot see the future. This is the limit of my power.”

“You are of divine nature.” 

“I had said what I said at our first meeting, and that has not changed. As long as I am here, the Gods have not forsaken him. For I have not forsaken him. Is that not enough? How many Gods would travel to your realm, vow themselves to a human kingdom? Even if it is I alone that stands before you, is that not enough?”

Noa sighs, more exasperated than you’ve ever seen a serious man like him. “He deserves more, that boy. For what he has been put through.”

“All greatness comes with a price. All heroes face tragedy. He, no matter how much you may care for him, is not the exception to that.” You tilt your head, like a cat with curiosity. But unlike that sweetness, your words are cutting. “You made him a ruler. You made him a hero. So, stand by that. Or does it make you uncomfortable? To consider the role you, too, have played in his life?”

Noa, of course, has thought about this too. Had he not chosen Kaiser to rule, would he have had the prophecy weighing on him like a second shadow? 

“If the prophecy holds true, you will inevitably leave him.” Noa swallows, hand flat against the table. “He will inevitably be forsaken, even by you.”

“Then why,” you ask, genuinely, “did you ask me to stay?”

~

In the weeks that follow, you learn exactly why. Like Kaiser had predicted, talk of battle comes. 

“We suspect a neighboring nation wishes to wage war with us.” Noa looks out to the slate-blue ocean from the window of the war room. 

“A man who wants control of this whole world,” Karasu huffs. “There’s never a lack of them, is there?”

“He thinks himself a god. Or that’s what Sae has told us.” 

“You’re sure Sae’s information checks out?” 

“Shidou and Otoya like to visit neighboring nations for uh… fun, let’s say,” Chigiri rolls his eyes, then plants his face in his hands. “He said something along the lines of “you don’t wanna know how they found out” and “Shidou sleeps with both men and women, so it’s been cross-checked too.”” 

“And then we asked him about war,” Isagi throws his notes down on the table. “He said, and I quote, ‘I already have more land than I know what to do with. What could another few acres give me? What a hassle.’” 

“The enemy are bold to come for us first.” Kaiser frowns considerably. They are possibly the one nation blasphemous enough that would not blink at the thought of fighting a god. “There’s something we’re not seeing.”

Isagi nods in agreement. “We still don’t know the reason they’re coming here first. It could be the sword, or the goddess.” Isagi frowns. “I told you not to make a scene at the banquet.”

Kaiser gives him a curious look with a smile he fails to hide. “The point of a banquet is to wow the people. The people were wowed, were they not?” 

“It could be, it could not be,” Noa kills the conflict there. “That information would have been made public regardless of the spectacle. It could even simply be the throne itself they seek. An army like ours could parade into the neighboring nations and lay waste, our people are used to much harsher weathers.” 

“Or maybe he means to make a statement,” Karasu shrugs. “If he wants to be a god, maybe he means to punish the disrespect we’ve shown.” 

“What do we actually know?” Chigiri taps the map of this nation splayed across the table.

“We know he wants to take control of this world, and we know his plan includes something from us.” 

“He knows once he controls the world, he has to take care of it, right?” Oliver rests his jaw in his hand. “As in, it’s not just about buying the house, it’s about cleaning it too. The plan – it has to be bigger than this, no?” 

“Won’t happen once we kill him here. So as far as we know, there are three things we have that he could want: the sword, the goddess, the army.” Chigiri holds up his fingers as he counts. 

“So we’ll meet him with all three at the front lines. Fear does not wield us, after all. Only strength.” Kaiser says it like a mantra. You suspect it might be exactly that. 

~

“What a pleasant surprise to see you again so soon, princess.” 

As an ally, Sae arrived on the day of battle without question. He is much different from the first time you saw him, chainmail armor wraps tight and sleek around his body, clearly of a weight underneath his clothing. He stands straighter, shoulders broader, badges clipped to his outer jacket. It’s clear to anyone who looks at him, that it’s almost like he was born into them – meant for them. 

“You’re both on the front lines then?” 

“Idle hands,” Kaiser starts.

“Devil’s workshop.” You finish. You hear a horse galloping, then a voice. 

“There’s something wrong.” The people give a wide berth as Oliver arrives, with a sleek black mare that’s obedient as can be. “The majority of the enemies’ troops are not in front of us.” 

All of you turn to look, but it’s on the front lines that makes it most difficult to tell where the crowd begins and ends. 

“I did a rough head count from the tower. This isn’t the count we had observed just the other day. They’ll die easily, like this, against us. And I don’t mean that from an egotistical standpoint. I think these men are here to die, meant to die. It serves to mean –” 

“This is a distraction.” 

Karasu appears at your side, with an utmost silence only he is capable of. “They’re headed for the main castle, from around the edge of the border.” 

You and Kaiser look to each other with a whole silent conversation, and Sae sighs. 

“Go on, then.” 

You turn to Sae immediately, with a seriousness he doesn’t expect. “You’ll be unprotected.” 

“We chopped liver to you, girl?” Shidou sneers. 

Oliver drops down from his horse. “I’ll take over here.” 

“Your care for me is truly touching, princess,” Sae’s voice lilts touchingly, almost revealing how much he likes it. “But you swore a vow to this kingdom, so go fulfill it.” 

Even in the middle of a war, it gets Kaiser all worked up, his chin jutting as you both run back to the palace. But Sae understands duty, stands by it. It’s what makes him worthy of his own title in his own kingdom. 

Oliver waits until you’re both out of sight before turning to Sae. “Did you really plan to steal her?” 

“Well,” Sae shrugs. “Did you plan on letting her go so easily?” 

~

Your water runs in cascading waves through the whole of the palace, like the ocean itself comes rushing through the walls. It knocks all the soldiers down as you and Kaiser run through, and he picks up any stragglers with ease.  

“The throne room?” Kaiser slams the hilt of his sword into the guy behind him, and he collapses instantly. 

“It is the safest room.” 

“That makes no sense. If you knew anything about our people, you’d know we never hide ourselves there in a battle.” 

“Go anyways,” you tell him, as another man gets thrown off his feet. “Go, Kaiser!” 

He takes one final look at you, at the strength that you hold in your hands, and then he runs. 

The man he finds sitting on the throne has black hair cut blunt to his chin, a white mask over one side of his face. Kaiser unsheathes his sword, pointed straight and true. 

“That throne doesn’t belong to you.” 

“It will. Along with that sword you’re holding.” 

Kaiser chuckles, the kind that has madness interlaced in it. “If you wanted the sword so bad, you could’ve asked for a one-on-one combat duel. I haven’t had a satisfying fight in a long time, I’d be happy to lay the sword as a winning prize.” 

What must be the man’s most elite fighters drop down from the ceiling, crowding in on all sides. 

“Ah, I see,” Kaiser stands straighter, reaching behind him to unsheath his second sword. “It is your capabilities that do not match mine.”

When they come for him, it’s clear to even the heavens that he is exactly as he is fated – a force to be reckoned with. He moves like a spider-spun silken web, capturing each of them blow by blow. His swords cut like butter through them with impressive speed and strength. His breath comes fast and hard when he finishes, sweat dripping down his back. 

“I see now, prince,” the man approaches him, and it’s closer up that he realizes he’s simply in a suit, no armor. “Why they praise you, despite your blasphemy. You, a prince famous for cursing divinity at a whim’s notice, are a powerful ally. Kneel before me, then, and I’ll cease this all – let you join our cause in a war against the gods, in stealing their divinity from them. I’ll even forgive this transgression of bedding one.” 

“Me? Kneel?” The canned laugh that Kaiser lets out echoes. “I kneel to no god, let alone a man who wants to become one.” 

“So be it, then.” 

Kaiser hears something above him. By the gods, what’s with this guy and ceilings? Is that why he wants to fight here? A dust of something shimmers down, he pulls his cloak over himself- 

From the doorway, you throw your water across the room, shielding Kaiser from whatever it may have been. And in the same moment, a poof of shimmer bursts over your own head and tumbles down around you. 

“That’s the problem with you gods, isn’t it? You always think you’re infallible.” 

You cough, falling to one of your knees. Dread fills inside of you, like a faucet you can’t turn off. You can’t move. How is that possible? 

The man taps two fingers to the top of your head, and your world goes dark.

~

When you blink your eyes open, the first thing you’re aware of is the way your vision swims. Your mind feels clouded, stuffed with cotton. You press your palm to your head, and even that feels muted. 

“I’ve made her mine now. She’ll do exactly what I say. Does that make you upset?” Is what you think you hear, through the ringing of your ears. “Let’s see you put that god-killing sword to good use then, shall we?” 

“It’s. Magic.” You spit out the words as your hands press into the ground. Your legs cramp from the way you’re forcing them to stay down. “Mihya. Run, please.” 

“Awh, worried about me?” Kaiser teases as he logs the odds. There is no water that swirls around you, so it begs to reason – you can’t call it. The only weapon you have is a dagger. 

Kaiser tilts his head until his neck cracks. “Have some faith in me, princess. I’m not afraid, even against you.”

He breathes, in and out, until the calmness of battle seeps into him, raises his sword pointed right at you. “I’ll win, even against you.” 

And then he reveals that cocky, surefire smirk. “You should worry more about not dying yourself.” 

When you launch at him, it is without mercy, makes him realize how your kindness seeps into the way you fight. His weapon is bigger, larger, and he uses it to keep you at arm’s length, to wrap around towards the enemy. But he sees his problem almost immediately. Like a puppet on strings, you’re protecting the enemy. 

He knows it, the moment the prophecy solidifies into place in his mind. That feeling of being lost on a path, gone with the reigning down a light. The final puzzle piece in the picture. 

You will die by the hands of the one you love most. So, it truly was this feeling, after all. Love. An aching thing, something so undoing. An open wound that can only be tendered by you. 

For once, the prophecy is not a curse but a guiding starlight. He corners you with strike after strike, until you’re as close as can be to the enemy. And then he approaches you with no defense, lets you strike at him. In the same breath, his sword lands behind you and takes off the enemy’s head. 

None of the fight felt as clear as this moment, when your blade presses into his heart. 

He collapses, right in front of the throne with you on top of him. The throne that should be undoubtedly his, belonging to him as heir. Tears fall from your face before your mind can clear. Like you know, soul to soul, as his lifeform slips through your fingers. He brings his hand to cup your cheek, as he had wanted to do when you laid like this above him in the sand. 

“I did not expect a death so gentle for myself.” 

His smile is so bittersweet that it aches all the way to the bottom of your heart. His hand slips down from your face as you finally come to. 

“You will not die on me.” You gasp out, a statement said with so much conviction that the silver bell of truth rings in return. You call to your water immediately, a stream so fast it cuts into your skin but you don’t care. 

A magic that can only be done once. You take the divine sword from the ground, aim the blade carefully at yourself – your own soul. Only this sword can make a cut like this, with the hand of the divine. You slice your wrist, and instead of blood, pure golden lifeforce pours out. 

You separate your divinity from yourself, and you feed it to him. It will not turn him divine. You are only half-divine yourself, after all. What you can give is not nearly enough to turn a man into a God. But it will hold his soul in this world, let you do an unspeakable magic: an exchange of divine power for life, a process long enough for the water to heal his heart back together again. The hand you lay against his mouth shakes more and more with each second that your golden blood pours into him, but your other hand lays steady as ever over his heart, until you feel it beat once, twice. Hear him spurt out a breath. 

You collapse on top of him before you can see him open his eyes. 

~

“I see the prophecy has been completed.” 

When Kaiser wakes, there’s a split second where he thinks he might’ve just ended up wherever souls go at the end of their line. There’s what must be a full-fledged goddess standing right over him. It’s only your warm body splayed across his chest that tells him otherwise. His hands are lightning quick, sitting up and moving to your neck to check your pulse, only exhaling and relaxing once he feels it. 

Golden threads extend down the sleeves of the goddess’ arms. He’s seen the paintings. Fate itself stands before him. 

“How could you do this?” He makes his disdain clear, lacking any respect one might give to the queen of the gods herself. 

“I am sorry.” She answers immediately, and that makes Kaiser’s eyes widen just slightly. “Your grievances, you may relay them to me, if you wish. There is a bigger picture at play here, bigger than you or the water sorceress or even myself. The threads of fate are not woven selfishly.” 

“You gods up in your clouds play with the lives of mortals. That has always been written in history. But to her? To one of your own?”

“She is more one of mine than most. The heir to the throne of the Gods, I would’ve entrusted her with my life. It’s why she complies with Fate in every life, without complaint.”

“So she lends you her loyalty, and you take advantage of her. And you dare put yourselves above us?” 

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown. Heavy too, are my hands, that weave the golden threads. You and her are one of many that have suffered by my hand. For that, there is no apology I can give. What I can give, well… Would you like to hear your full prophecy, prince?”

Lone Emperor who covets the throne, You will die by the hands of the one you love most. Forsaken by all the Gods but one, Re-emerge, awaken, as the ruler you are meant to become.

In any other circumstance, he would be eager as ever to finally hear the full prophecy. But his eyes are only on you, your slumbering state as he holds you in his arms. 

“What will become of her?” He asks quietly. 

“She will be a water sorceress, as she had initially been.” 

“She will die, then? Like a human does?”

“All things die, hero.” Hero. That’s what he is now, having been trial-passed. The title burns like bourbon down his throat. “Even the divine dies. But yes, she will die as a human, and be reborn again as the cycle permits.” 

“A life of such simplicity is not befitting of a woman like her.” 

“Who says it would be simple? Besides, she has gone through the trial of the divine once before. Don’t you have faith she could do it again?” 

The trial of the divine. He had not known such a thing prior to you. But if anyone could pass it, it would be you. 

“I will make her my wife. I care little for the words or respect of the gods, even a queen like yourself. But it is my duty to inform you. If she will have me, I will wed her as has been planned.” 

“The prophecy is complete. What happens now is too inconsequential for me to put effort into. However…” she watches you, teartracks streaked down your cheeks. “I’m quite fond of her. I hope for her an easy life.” 

In a blink, her form disappears. 

“Kaiser!” Oliver’s voice echoes through the halls, taking big leaps with Noa to his side, skidding to a halt when he finally finds you both. 

“The goddess-” 

“She lives,” Kaiser cups your head into his chest. “Though she is goddess no more. A trade. Not a fair one by any means.” His thumb traces across your cheek, a state of his so vulnerable it renders Oliver speechless. 

Noa approaches the threshold where Oliver does not dare. He rests his hand on the crown of Kaiser’s head. “Another chance at life is the greatest gift, and she has granted you as such. That is a debt you’ll never be able to repay her for..” 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying, then.” 

~

It’s only in the aftermath, that you find out how deep in you truly were.

Kaiser takes a big inhale of the winter air. It’s fresh and cold. And with him, the nation breathed a breath anew, and the trial laid in ashes under his feet.

You’re facing the horizon of the sea when he finds you. 

In the catch of the light, sometimes he swears he sees the divinity that had shimmered off of you before. It’s almost hard to believe, with the ring of water that floats around you, that it had ever left you at all. 

“What are you doing?” His voice is soft, as it always is with you now. 

“Relearning the water.”

“What does it say?”

“That I am still its mistress. Still a sorceress,” the water around you drops into the wet sand. “That its loyalty with me is not dependent on divinity.”

He places a hand to the back of your neck, easing out the tensions there. “But?”

You smile weakly. “I have to strain to hear her now.”

“Guess we can’t do that spectacle again for our wedding.” He cracks a smile, something to ease the ache. “Water holds memory, right?” 

“That, it does.” 

He grabs your hand, pulling you up and towards the waves. You yell for him, but the ocean crashes loudly around you both, and he drags you into the water anyways. Once you’re deep in enough that the waves drape over your knees, he pulls you in close. 

“Let her bear witness, then.” He whispers it against your lips, brushing your hair away from your face. He kisses you, deep and with so much heart you might burst from it. 

A prophecy unfolded, a fate changed, a life saved. 

There’s a part of you that can feel an oncoming future. A sheathing that can block even the eyes of Gods. God-killing weapons that have descended from the heavens themselves. A potion that can cause madness in the minds of the divine. A war between mortals and Gods is coming, you’re sure of it. 

But not in this life. In this life, you are a water sorceress, and he is a trial-passed hero. And like in every life, you find your way back to each other, every time. 

author's note: ohmygod THANK YOU FOR READING PLEASE tell me what you think!!! this is my longest fic ever so i really hope you enjoyed

extended author's note -- know that this is an incredibly realistic note about the perception of love that will take you out of the fantasy lovey-dovey space. it's a disclaimer for the parts of the fic i romanticize and how u should not romanticize them in real life, as well as some notes about kaiser's characterization if you're interested

[pinkponytrash]

⋅˚₊‧ secretly dating TXT ‧₊˚ ⋅

3.2k words. headcannon. boyfriend!txt x fem!reader, nondescriptive smut scenes. light jealousy. friends to lovers. mentions of phone sex, mutual masturbation, oral sex, riding

ᯓ★ YEONJUN

He’s real cheeky about it, always has a little smirk on his face when you step into the room and he’s so sure no one knows what’s going on but he’s also so obvious about it. Even if they don’t think you’re dating, they definitely think there’s feelings there.

Yeonjun is always the type to try and impress you too, has to show off how good he is at things and makes sure you’re watching when he does.

Anytime you go out with them, he’s going to make sure you’re by him or if you split off into groups he’s going to be with you. Every now and then he tries to hold your hand and has to remind himself to chill out until he sees Beomgyu or someone take your attention then suddenly he’s snatching you away with some excuse.

“We’re gonna go get drinks,” Yeonjun says as he practically drags you away from Kai who had been trying to take a selfie with you, “Who wants something?”

“I’ll come wi—“

“We don’t need everyone, the line’s already long,” he argues, making sure to pull you behind him, “We’ll be quick.”

“Could you make it any more obvious?” You ask him once the two of you are far enough from the others. He smirked, interlacing your fingers together, “I can if you want me too.”

If it isn’t obvious yet, Yeonjun is not good at keeping it a secret. He is confident in his ability to keep it on the low until he gets in too good of a mood, then all he wants to do is put his hands on you.

Especially when you go out for drinks and you’re wearing one of his favorite outfits dancing to some song you like and swaying your hips with just the right amount of rhythm that he feels hypnotized.

Usually, he’ll have to distract himself talking with the others but after one too many drinks, he’ll make his way toward you and push away whoever you’re dancing with so you can focus on him and him alone, hands playfully tracing the curve of your hips, sliding under the hem of your shirt and smirking when you push his hand away.

By the time you call it a night, it’s hard to keep your boyfriend off you and you end up barely making it past the door of your apartment when he’s already pushing you up against the wall with his mouth on yours.

He likes taking his time with you, he swears, but something he gets a little too eager. It’s difficult ‘keeping it a secret’ and sometimes all he wants to do is get down on his knees and show you how much he appreciates you.

He has one of your legs thrown over his shoulders, teasing your inner thighs with soft bites that make your breath hitch.

“Don’t be a tease,” you tried to sound playful but it was hard when you felt breathless from the way he pinched your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

“Oh, like how you weren’t being a tease in front of everyone?” He asked, kissing your clit softly, earning a light moan to fall from your lips.

“Not on purpose,” you sighed, head back against the wall as you closed your eyes to soak in the feeling of his tongue between your wet folds. Yeonjun knew exactly what to do with your body. Maybe it’s because you started off as friends, learned everything it was about each other that when it came to getting intimate, it didn’t take long for him to know what to do to make you moan his name.

And he loved the sound of your voice when you moaned for him so lovingly. His tongue does wonders between your legs and when paired with his long fingers, you can’t help but let yourself fall for him harder every time.

ᯓ★ SOOBIN

Nervous boyf to the core. We know he likes to joke around with TXT and technically speaking you are their friend but when you start dating Soobin…

Oh it’s like a schoolboy crush he’s got to hide. He used to be just as playful with you as before but now he’s scared to get too close because what if he kisses you? Oh my goodness, how would he hold himself back if he gets too close?

Sometimes when you’re around everyone he’ll sit down next to you and spread his legs a little further so that nobody else can squeeze in between you and he’ll make sure that his leg touches yours. If he’s feeling extra bold he might put his hand on your thigh, squeeze it a little and try to cover up his teasing by doing the same to Taehyun or Kai under pretense of joking around.

But let’s not forget about jealous boyfriend Soobin.

“No, Y/n, this is a serious question,” Yeonjun reached for your hand and gave it a tight squeeze, “Who do you think is hotter? Me or Soobin.”

You made the mistake of jokingly saying, ‘You’ thinking Soobin would obviously know you’re only saying it to make Yeonjun feel better but boy were you wrong.

He was upset, visibly upset to the point that when you looked over at him, he would give you a side eye and look away. Everyone noticed it too and found it damn near comical that he was so bothered by it but of course they didn’t know why. He didn’t even talk to you about it till later that night.

“I was joking, Binnie,” you clung to him from behind, “Of course I think you’re so much better looking than anyone but if I said you, everyone would think somethings up. They already think I favorite yo—“

“As you should! I’m your boyfriend, you should favorite me,” He would argue with a cute pout.

He's never an angry type of jealous, usually he gets pouty and thinks about it for days which in turn leaves you wanting to prove to him how much you prefer him over anyone else.

“Jagi,” Soobin had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep his voice down but it was getting hard—well, he was, “Everyone is w-waiting for us.”

“So?” You asked, kissing down his chest as you pushed his shirt up and without being told to, he held it up with the hem between his teeth. He even lifted his hips to help you pull his jeans down, “I’ve missed you.”

Your hand teased his growing bulge, palming his erection over his briefs as you got more comfortable in the backseat of his car. The parking garage was dark and almost empty but he still looked out the windows nervously.

You were supposed to be meeting your friends for a game night and he had told them all he was going to pick you up since you were ‘on the way’ to the dorms, but in reality he needed a little more time with you alone. He just didn’t think that meant you’d ask him to meet you in the backseat so you could show him how much you missed him with your lips around his cock.

And what was he supposed to do when they texted him asking where you were? Was he supposed to tell them that he was moaning your name while hiding down in the parking garage? His hands in your hair, head thrown back with pleasure and abs tightening every time he took a deep breath.

“So good,” he sighed blissfully, eyes threatening to fall shut when your tongue traced the vein that traveled down his length, “Don’t wanna go see them anymore.”

“We have to,” you released him from your mouth, stroking him teasingly, “Or else they’ll get suspicious.”

And by the time you made it upstairs, Soobin couldn’t bother to care about the complaints from everyone about your tardiness. Not when it was taking everything in him not to just pull you into his lap and kiss you for everyone to see.

ᯓ★ BEOMGYU

He’s probably the only member who’s actually good at hiding the fact that he’s dating you.

He jokes with you the same way he jokes with everyone else so no one would ever know that when he touches you under the table, he likes to tease too.

They don’t know that when he says he’s going to play an arcade and sneaks away from the dorm, he’s actually going over to your place when no one’s around and hanging out with you.

In all honesty, he’s probably the best ‘friends to lovers’ of them all. You’re his best friend and have been for a while so when the two of you started dating, it just became like an added perk.

Not only does he get to game with you and crack jokes but now he gets to kiss you and make you feel good too.

It’s great, seriously, and the only downside to it is how serious he comes off to you. Sometimes you struggle to remember he's more than just a friend and sometimes he forgets to remember he doesn’t like it when the others get too close to you.

It’s only okay when he gets close to you, not Soobin, Beomgyu, Taehyun or even Kai. He’s made it clear he’s your ‘best friend’ so yes, he does feel like he has a right to get jealous sometimes.

“What does it matter, Gyu? You got up so I took your seat,” Kai laughed, making himself comfortable next to you on the couch, “The movies about to start just sit next to Jun.”

“But I was sitting there first,” Beomgyu practically stomped his foot in a tantrum, “I went to make Y/n and I popcorn, how are we supposed to share if you took my seat?”

Meaning: how am I supposed to cuddle with Y/n under the blanket if you’re in the way?

“Kai, don’t be mean, he was sitting there first,” you laughed, glancing over at Beomgyu who was pouting now, “Maybe you guys should ‘Paper, Rock, Scissors’ this and the winner gets to sit next to me.”

You gave them both a cheeky smile which made Kai roll his eyes and cringe, “Ew, I don’t want to sit next to you anymore.”

“Then move,” Beomgyu said, already forcing himself down next to you and pushing Kai out the way.

Even when the two of you are all alone and you get too touchy, it’s always playful. There’s always giggles here and there and jokes that make you both stop and laugh.

And after a while he gets lazy with his excuses. He stays out later and when he doesn’t make it home some nights, everyone knows by this time that he’s probably just hanging out with you.

“I’m going to the arcade.”

“With Y/n?”

“No, by myself.”

“Right, I thought you’d be with your best friend tonight.”

It’s only when neither of you answer the phone that the rumors start circulating.

“Oh my god, just ignore it,” Beomgyu groaned as your phone rang for the third time. Soobin and Kai were blowing up your phone after you promised to play them online tonight. Meanwhile you’re naked in bed with your boyfriend who just looks so pretty under you.

He even knew you were supposed to be gaming and that’s why he came over to keep your attention from drifting to anyone but him.

“So greedy, all the time,” you moaned softly, raising your hips against his member and sinking back down to feel the way he stretched your walls for you, “Always want my attention. I thought you wanted to keep it a secret.”

“I do,” he nearly whimpered, fingers digging into your thighs with pleasure, “But it’s hard.”

ᯓ★ TAEHYUN

He’s even worse at hiding it than Yeonjun. He’s just too clingy and he can’t really hide that even around the other members. He’s already touchy with the others but when it comes to his girlfriend? Boy, oh boy.

He likes to touch your thigh under the table or trace your spine whenever you stand in front of him and no one’s looking. When you run your fingers through his hair while watching a movie, he tends to get a little lost in the feeling and starts to doze off with his head practically on your lap.

The others ignore it for the most part but every now and then Kai will try to make a comment about his touchiness toward you and suddenly Taehyun has to act out.

One time the two of you almost got caught getting a little too close while at the bar and he literally pushed you off him before Yeonjun could see you try and kiss him. He ended up paying for that in the end.

“Jagi, just one kiss,” Taehyun begged later that night when you rejected his second attempt since you got back to your place. You weren’t actually mad at him but he liked messing with you so what was wrong with it’s you doing it back?

“Well I tried to give you a kiss earlier and you pushed me away, remember?” You asked, hiding your smirk and turning your back to him. Taehyun didn’t like that at all, and practically pounced on your bed to hold you.

“But I want it now.”

Hes a jealous guy too, a quiet, introverted jealous guy. He won’t say anything but there’ll be signs. He’ll keep his eyes on you and whoever you’re with and have no shame about it.

One time you asked Soobin to help you reach something instead of Taehyun and he couldn’t hide how annoyed he was by it. He even went as far as mocking you for it later that night.

Whenever you’re more distracted by your phone than him, he’s always gotta try and get your attention back on him.

Usually, if you’re alone, it’s with little touches here and there.

He likes playfully pulling at your shirt to bring you closer to him, smile on his face when you whine at being exposed.

You’ll try and escape his affection but you always end up giving in and you end up making out on your couch when you’re finally alone.

He’s handsy too, he loves the way you feel under his fingertips especially when your skirts rolled up and he’s gotten your panties off.

“So soft,” he always reminds you when he traces a finger along your clit, massaging into it with some of your slick. He’s always gentle when he touches you, always kisses down your sides and aims to please you first.

“Mhm,” you moan lightly, hand brushing his soft hair back so you could see his big boba eyes look up at you while he kisses your navel. They distract you from his hand until you feel his middle finger tease your entrance.

“It’s so hard to keep my hands off you,” he always makes sure to remind you when he’s making you feel good with those hands. He’s never shy when it comes to touching you either, always knows just when to curl his fingers or rub your clit while he does it. When he can tell you’re close, he likes to kiss you, swallow your moans and feel your tighten around his fingers.

ᯓ★ KAI

He thought it would be easy at first but he quickly realized how wrong he was.

In the beginning, he did his best to treat you like a friend and nothing else. He would talk to you like he talks to the other members and he wouldn’t make a scene whenever you talked too long to someone else.

He would only get nervous when you would look at him for too long, or wink at him, talk about how he’s your favorite or sit close to him.

And you loved to get him riled up when no one’s looking.

You’re the one to usually initiate something, like when you casually trace your fingers through his hair.

How is he supposed to act unbothered by it?

When you’re out with them all and someone tries hitting on you, and you have to quietly explain that you’re kind of seeing someone which leads the others to ask who, how is Kai not supposed to shout out that it’s him?

How’s he supposed to just join in with the interrogation and act like he doesn’t know anything either?

“Wait, have we met him?” Yeonjun asks you and none of them seem to notice how you look over at Kai and smile so innocently while he’s sweating billets.

“I don’t kiss and tell,” you always say, half laughing at how annoyed they all look and Kai has to pretend to be just as annoyed when in reality he wants to smile too.

“I don’t think we’ll ever know,” he’ll try and pipe in, trying not to smirk and when they’re not looking at him, he winks at you and enjoys the little secret you share.

To be honest, you’re the one who fell for him first.

For some reason his cringey jokes and over the top laugh really pulled you in and when you made the move on him, he hadn’t known what to think.

For the longest he thought of you as a friend so the night you were on video call playing a game together and you were laying on your bed, barely covered by the blanket… he kept getting distracted.

Then you would say something flirty while shifting around and showing the little shorts you wore to sleep and how they barely covered anything, along with your tank top. He would remind himself that you’re just a friend and he’s probably reading too into it

So everything was on the low to begin with. None of the others knew how the two of you would spend almost every night on the phone together and Kai could tell them but why would he? So that they could think they could call you too and take your attention away?

Plus, did he really want them to know about how you looked fresh out the shower on the phone with him? Or how you sounded when you whispered softly with your hand down your panties asking if he’s touching himself too?

And it was known Kai had such a nice voice that you couldn’t help but encourage him to let you hear it when he stroked his stiff member in his bedroom late at night.

“I can’t hear you,” you would remind him, hand touching down your body and showing the camera what he can’t see in person.

“They’re going to hear me,” he whispers, letting out a small moan when you pull down your top and tease him with a view of your bare chest.

“Everyone’s asleep,” you say, “Please? It’s not fair, I don’t ever get to see you alone.”

Your words always got to him, and he would stroke himself just a little faster and whisper, “I want to see you too.”

::.

I’ve been gone for months and I needed something kind of quick and easy to write so hope you guys liked it 😭should I do more of these?

[sailorsoons]

Dark Gospel (c.hs)

PAIRING: Vernon x afab reader

SUMMARY: After experiencing what you’re sure is a possession, you try to help Vernon get his old self back. Except - Vernon doesn’t want his old self back and you’re not sure you hate the new Vernon either. 

WC: 12,779

AU: Supernatural, Thriller, It’s Complicated to Lovers

GENRE: Smut, A Little Angst

RATING: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

WARNINGS: Light discussions of morality - Vernon has killed people and reader struggles with the fact that she doesn’t care more than she struggles with him having done that, a handful of silly rituals, lots of talk about spiritual possession, mentions of death, brief but nondescript mentions of violence, some philosophizing, me making a Protestant minister an asshole - sorry, this is not a read on Protestants, it just made sense for the plot, Vernon being a lil scary at times and pretty unsettling, Vernon is a little obsessive but specifically in a I Will Do Whatever You Want I’m A Scary Puppy way, explicit language, sexually explicit content including vaginal fingering, nipple play, a lot of spit and biting, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, cum eating, multiple orgasms, light breath play/choking. Tbh these two are just… kind of obsessed with one another probably in what would eventually be co-dependant but is not represented here. Also, parts of this are definitely blasphemous like - during the smut scene there’s a lot of religious terms used for description etc. etc so if that bothers you, that’s there. I would classify both of these characters as morally grey, in the grand scheme of things.

A/N: This is the second half of Hello, Darling, despite me swearing I would not write a part II. It is Vernon and the new SVT teaser’s fault. I highly recommend reading the first part of this - I wouldn’t say it can’t be read as a standalone, but it makes more sense with the context of the first fic. 

A/N 2: Thank you @daechwitatamic for beta-reading and calling Vernon Spooky Puppy approximately 15 times.

MASTERLIST | ASK | ▷NOW PLAYING: ASCENSIONISM BY SLEEP TOKEN | READ PREQUEL

WHO MADE YOU LIKE THIS?  WHO ENCRYPTED YOUR DARK GOSPEL IN BODY LANGUAGE? SYNAPSES SNAP BACK IN BLISSFUL ANGUISH TELL ME YOU MET ME IN PAST LIVES, PAST LIE PAST WHAT MIGHT BE EATING ME FROM THE INSIDE, DARLING

SALT BURNS YOUR NOSE. You grimace, realizing you’ve knocked over a candle, the grains of salt charring as the flame nearly goes out. You fix the candle, thankful that salt isn’t flammable. Had it been, the entire circle of salt would have gone up in flames, taking the dilapidated building and everyone inside.

Thankfully, there are only two people inside the building. The term people is a bit generous. You’re certainly human, all flesh and bone, mortal to the very soul. The man occupying the center of the circle, on the other hand, you’re not really sure about. 

You glance at Vernon. He’s staring at you the same way he always does, dark eyes like twin flames. He does that a lot now, watching you more intensely than you can ever recall in your years of friendship. You quickly avert your eyes, fighting the shiver that threatens to slither through you.

From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth twitch. Of course he notices the way he affects you. He notices everything about you - swears that he always has, but isn’t afraid to be more obvious now. You’re not sure the validity of that statement, but Vernon seems to enjoy the effect he has on you, and he’s not shy to tell you so.

For now, he keeps it to himself. You’re grateful, standing and walking the circle of salt to make sure it’s intact while you try not to think about all the other times you’ve salted around him. This is your fourth attempt this month, and though you know Vernon can’t cross the salt, it doesn’t seem to do anything else but serve as a messy - and expensive - sort of cage. 

Prior to that, your experience with salt and Vernon had been at his apartment that night a few weeks ago when the strange murders in your town had all started to make sense - it had been Vernon eliminating the town of its adulterers. Vernon has agreed to stop that for now, and though most people might not believe the recent college student turned serial killer, you do believe him.

The only thing Vernon seems unequivocally dedicated to these days is you and fulfilling your every demand. 

Which is how he ended up in a salt circle now for what must be the eighth ritual you have put him through in a matter of weeks.

Dusting your hands off, you observe your work. You’ve tried salt circles and candles a few times - it had been what you used the night of Vernon’s possession after all - but you’ve tweaked the ritual each time.

Each time is unsuccessful. 

Vernon watches you with hungry eyes, leaning back on his palms. His legs are crossed casually, entirely at ease. The only part of him that appears dialed in is his eyes, tracking your every movement, a predator tuned in to its prey. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter, turning to your backpack on the floor. 

“Like what?”

“You know like what.”

“Like I want to taste you again?” Your stomach flips and your grip tightens on the notebook you pull from your bag. “Fine, I will try not to look at you like that. Proceed with your little ritual.”

“You agreed to it, you know?”

“Like I said.” He sighs, rolling his head back so that he’s staring at the ceiling. “Your wish is my command. And it’s not going to work - I’m just me. Nothing to get rid of.”

“Well ‘just you’ can’t cross a line of salt, the lights flicker when you get mad, and you make dogs and cats go berzerk. So that can’t be true.”

“It’s my new salt allergy. Maybe it’s you the animals don’t like, hmm?” 

“Vernon.”

He’s grinning at you when you look at him, that ravenous gaze just as present on his face. “It’s a joke, Love. Feel free to laugh at your convenience.” 

Love. Not Lovecraft, like he used to call you, but something new and with weight to it, something intimate, said with a velvet purr that makes your hands sweat. Not darling like the spirit that had - and still might be - possessing him.

You think he is still possessing him, anway. Vernon insists that it’s just him with a new edge, forever changed by that night on Halloween. You cannot imagine it’s just Vernon and not the spirit of the murderer Thomas inside of him. Why else would Vernon have killed those people? Why else would he not be able to cross salt? Why else would strange things happen around him, like flickering lights and eerie feelings? 

The way he looks at you makes you want to implode. He watches you with a new sharpness now, desire written all over his face at all times. He’s looking at you like that now, gaze half-lidded and heady. You ignore him in favor of scanning your scrawled script on the paper, memorizing the words you’re supposed to chant. You nod and toss the journal back onto your bag, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans before standing in front of the circle. 

Vernon cocks his head up to gaze at you. He looks beautiful like this, his long, silky lashes framing his dark eyes. His face is flickering in shadow from the candles, equal parts demon and angel. Again, you fight the urge to shiver. Instead, you begin walking clockwise, careful not to break the line of salt.

Voice wavering, you whisper, “By salt of earth and flame of will, I break your hold, I bind, I still.” 

A chill seeps into the room. You do shiver this time, not from Vernon watching you, but because of the drop in temperature. The kind that feels like breath on the back of your neck. Goosebumps break out on your arms as you go. Upon a complete rotation, you continue the chant but lean down to extinguish a candle each time you reach it, not daring to look at Vernon each time you bend down to blow on it gently. You swear the shadows stretch just a little longer every time the flame dies, curling like fingers at the edge of your vision.

When you reach the final candle, you risk a glance upward. You’re right in front of him, the orange light reflected in his glassy eyes. He gives you a small smirk, and looks at the candle, as though he’s daring you to blow it out. With a deep breath, you do, bathing the two of you in darkness. For a moment, it’s too quiet.

Moonlight filters through a dirty window on the other side of the room. It turns Vernon into an eerie shadow, nearly blue in the pale light. You hold your breath, watching him as he remains in the center of the salt, unmoving. His outline flickers faintly, like an old film reel catching on something sharp. You can sense he’s still watching you, unnaturally still but just as severe as always. Somewhere behind his eyes, something ancient stares back.

“Well?” You whisper, too afraid to raise your voice. “Are you feeling different?”

“I feel the same as I did early, which means I still want to eat you out. So not really.”

You deflate, sitting down abruptly on the ground. 

“Tough crowd. I thought that would excite you.” 

“Shut up, Vernon!” 

He obeys. As sharp-tongued and wicked of mind this new version of Vernon is, he listens to you. 

Usually.

Silence falls on you as you sit with your elbows propped on your knees, heels of your palms pressed into your eyes. The force of it makes colors explode behind squeezed shut lids. It feels like nothing is going to work, despite making your entire academic career into occult studies with the intention of applying it to understanding modern culture and shaping psychological theories and studies on human behavior. 

For the last few weeks, you’ve spent it going back through all your lessons thus far to take theory and make it applicable. To pilfer through all of your countless books, exams and papers on rituals, culture, and occult through the ages to find something that would work. To find something to explain why Vernon is both Vernon and Not Vernon - anything to convince you that you can reverse whatever this is. 

Do you want to? 

The voice comes to you unbidden, a tiny part of you doubting exactly what you’re doing here. 

Vernon’s voice is soft when he murmurs, “You’ll find something else to try.”

Your hands drop from your face and you stare at him. He looks like an ancient thing, sitting in the dark, but his face is so soft that you fight the urge to crawl over to him and into his lap. You know he would let you - would love if you gave in and did it. His every moment, every look, every word is borderline begging you to touch him, to close the distance between you, to have him again.

“Do you even want me to keep trying?” You ask, exasperated. 

He shrugs. “You want to keep trying.”

“What do you want, though?”

“You.”

Your fists close. Open. Close again. “Vernon.”

“You asked me what I wanted. The answer is the same, no matter how much it annoys you.” 

“Don’t you want me to solve this? Don’t you want me to find out what happened to you?”

His voice is low when he says, “I already told you, there’s nothing to solve. But if you want to keep trying, then I will. I don’t really care about the rest.” Silence falls between you once more. He sighs, shifting to stand. “Will you let me out of my cage?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to hurt anyone?”

“I told you I wouldn’t. Have I broken my promise?” 

He hasn’t. You know it, he knows it. The memory of his promise comes back to you as easily as if it were yesterday: you in his kitchen, chest heaving when you realized he couldn’t cross the salt line. Vernon, trying to lure you back toward him, voice soft. You, screaming that he had killed people, that he was a murderer and not your Vernon. 

Since then, he’s assured you if it bothers you that much, he won’t do it. That had, of course, been after he’d lectured you and vehemently assured you that they deserved it, the vitriol coming out of his mouth and the violence he used in his words enough to make you cower against his living room couch, knees tucked into your chest. 

That had made him shut up. He’d approached you carefully, hands out like you were going to run. And maybe you should have, but it was Vernon, and you love him, and you weren’t totally convinced any of it was real. So you let him coax you back to calm levels, his voice soft and sweet as he promised you he wouldn’t do anything without asking you. That he’d do whatever you wanted. 

He had promised, and he’s lived up to that so far, even if you can tell it chafes him to do so.

Standing, you kick the line of salt, breaking it. He gives you an appreciative hum, stepping through the gap and stretching his limbs. He’s dressed in his usual jeans and t-shirt, the hem riding up to reveal a small flash of smooth stomach. You avert your eyes, shifting from foot-to-foot. 

“Hungry?” He asks. 

“I guess.” 

“Sal’s?”

You nod and follow him out of the room. You’d picked an abandoned house to do this in, hoping that if anything went wrong or you unleashed something worse, that at least it was just you and no one else for miles. 

Gravel crunches beneath your boots. Crickets chirp while a pale moon rises in the sky. Removed from the main town where your college lies, you can see the thousands of stars. You crane your neck upward to look at them, slowing your steps as your eyes trace all the familiar constellations: Orion the Hunter, Canis Major, Draco, Scorpius. 

Looking back down, you notice Vernon leaning against his car, watching you over the roof. He’s got that same burning gaze but a hint of a smile, refusing to look away until you’re sliding in the passenger seat and shutting the door. When he gets in, he pauses to look at you again.

“What?” You ask into the silence, staring straight ahead.

“You’re beautiful when you’re not afraid of me.”

You frown. “I’m not afraid of you.”

He hums and starts the car. “I wish that were true, Love.”

-

Music pulses loud enough to vibrate your ribs. You hate coming to clubs - especially shitty ones in college towns that don’t really have a bottle section but sort of do, with bottle girls who are all in your English classes and who pretend not to know you when they bring another bottle of champagne to your section.

Chan does not need another bottle of champagne. No one does, really. Vernon’s fraternity brothers are falling over themselves, coaxing girls into their laps to secure one to go home with for the night or sinking heavily into the booth, becoming one with the leather. 

One of the boys you don’t know crashes down into the seat next to you. You flinch and he flashes you an apologetic smile, his pupils blown and his goofy grin all you need to know that he’s fucked up. You scoot away from him a little, offering a cautious smile that you hope says I’m awkward don’t talk to me.

Even if he could read, he can’t read body language. He leans over and yells, “You know Chan?”

“Yes. Sort of friends.”

“Nice! We go waaaaaaay back.”

“Cool.”

“So, Sort Of friend. Are you sort of single?”

Thankfully, you don’t have to answer. It feels like the temperature plummets. One second, it’s just you and the nameless friend of Chan’s. The next, Vernon is crouching down on his knees in front of the dude, his eyes fathomless as he levels a stare at him. 

“She’s not available.”

“Woah dude. Chill.”

The air shifts. Vernon needs to say nothing more. Lights flash behind Vernon, painting him in violent colors of red and blue and pink. The shadows under his eyes are darker than ever and you feel a tingle go up your spine, though you’re not sure it’s explicitly fear.

When Vernon smiles, you’re reminded of something uncanny, like you’re looking into a void you shouldn’t be. That does scare you, but it scares the guy next to you more, who jumps to his feet and tries to bolt from the booth. He trips as he does, toppling over and slamming into the table in the middle, sending buckets of ice and bottles exploding in several directions.

Everyone jumps up, trying to avoid the carnage, screaming at the guy as he flails in his own destruction. Vernon slides into the seat next to you, back to normal. Nothing in his face indicates the malice that was there seconds ago, easing back into his quiet demeanor within seconds.

“What was that?” You hiss, though you don’t exactly mind. 

“That,” he emphasizes, giving you a meaningful look, “was me showing restraint like you’ve asked.”

“What, you were going to murder him?”

Vernon blinks and without missing a beat says, “Wanted to and was going to are different. I told you I would do whatever you wanted me to.” His face hardens. “I meant what I said.”

You lean back, entirely unsure what kind of creature you had dedicated to your every whim. 

-

Vernon is pounding on the door. He’s screaming, earth-shattering, heart-stopping screaming. His fists slam against the door with such force that it groans against its frame, hinges shrieking. You scream his name back, bloody fingers scraping against the splintered wood of the door, clawing at it, trying to tear it open, trying to get him out. 

The door doesn’t budge. There’s no doorknob. No keyhole. Just a dead piece of wood, locked and unmoving like it was never made to be opened. 

Vernon has never screamed like this, never sounded so afraid never- 

The door opens with a soft, sickening creak.

Vernon stands there, framed in the dark, unmoving. The shadows cling to him like they’ve grown fond of his shape. You can’t see his face clearly, only the light of his eyes, too still, too glossy. Your chest tightens as you watch him and he watches you, something ancient staring back.

“Vernon?” Your voice shakes. 

When he smiles, it’s slow. Too wide. Too many teeth. Rows and rows of them, glistening sharp, stretching too far. 

When he leaps, you scream-

You wake up screaming, thrashing your arms as your sheets tangle in your limbs. You finally get them off, falling out of your bed to your hands and knees as you gulp down fresh air. You scramble away from your bed, eager to get away from the claws of your dream, shivering and sweaty and terrified. 

In the middle of your room, you sit. You try to catch your breath, staring at the bed where your sheets and pillows have been thrown around during your nightmare. The only source of light in the room is through your window. The moon paints your room silver, the glass open to let in the almost-winter breeze.

On your nightstand, your phone begins to buzz. You stare at it, watching it flash on. You can’t see who's calling, but you don’t move, still frozen in fear. The call goes to voicemail and the phone turns off, dark once more. It’s only a second before it lights up again, a new call coming through.

Gulping, you crawl toward your nightstand, hesitant to come near your bed. Getting up on your knees, you see that it’s Vernon’s name flashing across your screen. You hesitate for a moment, thinking of the rows and rows of teeth from your dream. 

He starts calling a third time and you answer it, hand shaking when you bring it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I had a weird feeling.” 

“Weird how?”

“I don’t know. Are you okay?” You hesitate and you hear him moving on the other side of the phone. “Love?”

“I had a bad dream.” 

“I’ll come over.”

“No!” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them. You feel his trepidation on the other side of the phone. Your hands squeeze your device, knuckles popping. “I mean - can I come there?”

His surprise is just as palpable as yours. “I mean, yeah. Can I come get you?”

“Okay.” 

“Do you want to stay on the phone while I drive?”

“No, it’s okay.” 

“I’ll be there in ten.”

The line goes dead and you stare at your empty bed. You don’t know why you asked to go there. Don’t know why it was the first thing you thought of. Don’t know why or how Vernon knew anything was wrong. What you do know is that you’ve been having nightmares almost every night in your bed, and trying to coax yourself back into the fluffy sheets feels insurmountable.

Instead, you slowly get up and grab a few things for Vernon’s. You don’t know what you need. You don’t know if you’re staying. All you know is that you don’t want to be in your bed, where the nightmares come, and that the last time you were in his bed, you felt safe. 

And then shortly discovered that he was harboring - or had harbored, if you ask him - an entity somewhere inside him.

Still, Vernon’s apartment is where he’d touched you for the first time, where he had pulled you apart and pried his name from your lips like no one ever had. Where he had pressed his mouth on every part of you, promising that you were his, that you were only his, that he would do anything you asked of him, that he was devoted to you. 

Light splashes across your face when he texts you that he’s downstairs. You grab your phone and keys, and a single charger as you do.

Downstairs, Vernon is out of the car and around the hood, hands reaching out to you. You slow your steps but you let him take you by the shoulders, ducking his head so his dark eyes can scan your face. You hold your breath as he does, eyes darting from his intense examination to his lips, where you imagine rows and rows of teeth.

“You look tired,” he murmurs. 

“I’ve been having a lot of nightmares.”

He hesitates. “Of me?” It sounds like he already knows the answer, but you nod anyway. He tongues the inside of his cheek and for a second, you think he’s annoyed. You start to bristle, but he softens and nods, dropping his hands to your wrist where he gives you a squeeze. “Come on.”

Despite everything, you follow him. You let him open the door to his car and put you inside, closing the door gently behind you. You let him put the car in gear, his hand reaching across the center console, hovering above your thigh. You stare at his hand for a few long moments, watching it waver. 

You want him to touch you. You don’t want to acknowledge what it means that you want him to touch you, despite everything. 

You give him a tiny, barely-there nod. His hand drops down softly on your thigh, giving you a gentle squeeze. Goosebumps break out across your skin and your eyelashes flutter, immediately at ease. He starts to drive, the sound of the tires against the road and the engine lulling you into a sense of calm. 

Settling against the headrest, you let your eyes close. You don’t want to think about anything but the heat of his fingers on your skin, his thumb brushing back and forth, featherlight and loving. Later, you can think about what it means that you’re here with him. Later you can regret what you’re doing. 

Vernon’s apartment appears against a black sky. It looks no different than the last time you were here. He stops in the parking lot and holds a hand out to you. His face is soft, but his eyes are sharp as always. Carefully, you slip your hand into his. It’s warm and firm, wrapping around yours and tugging you gently toward the stairs, keeping you moving even when your trepidation grows and your steps get heavier. 

His neighbor's doormat catches your eye. Come in, it says. You stare at it long enough that he notices, turning over his shoulder to glance at it and ask, “What? No joke about vampires this time?”

“Last time I didn’t think they were real.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know what’s real.” 

He hums noncommittal as he works the lock with his keys. 

Inside of Vernon’s apartment smells like him. You feel a sense of relief, breathing in the smell of bergamot and vetiver, unsure if you had expected sulfur and something rotting. It looks normal as ever inside. Vernon’s home looks lived in, tidy but with pairs of shoes by the door, a blanket thrown across the arm of the couch and a few video game controllers on the coffee table.

Vernon toes off his shoes before drifting toward his bedroom. The doorway is a gaping hole of darkness and you feel yourself hesitate before calming yourself and following him, too nervous to linger alone. 

He switches on a salt lamp and soft, orange light fills the room. It helps put you at ease. You drop your stuff on his dresser, phone, charger and keys. You don’t know what else to do, turning to look at Vernon as he pulls the blankets back and sits on the bed, swinging his feet in.

“Gonna stand there?” He asks, grabbing pillows and shoving them against the headboard. He leans back on them, draping his arm across the tops. “Come here.” 

“I didn’t come here to sleep with you.” He narrows his eyes. “I meant like sex. I didn’t come here to have sex with you.”

“I know. You came here for comfort.” 

Well, yes. You feel hot all over, flushed head to toe with embarrassment. For once, he doesn’t prod you about it, watching you patiently as you scramble over to the other side of the bed and climb in. His sheets are soft and warm as ever, mattress sinking as you slide over next to him. 

Before you can get too close, you freeze up. You don’t know where you stand, suddenly. A few weeks ago, he was just Vernon, your best friend. Sure you’d been in love with him and he hadn’t known, but now he does know. And circumstances have changed since the admission of feelings. You haven’t been this close in weeks and-

Vernon wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you to him. You make a small sound of surprise and he laughs, low and deep in his throat. The sound scratches something inside of you, making your toes curl as you stiffen for a split second while he melds you to his side.

Then you melt. He’s warm and smells like he always has, his arm tethering you to him. Tentatively, you rest your head on his shoulder. He shuffles a little so that your head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, comfortable. You’re pressed close to his side, your hands pulling nervously at the strings of your hoodie. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” His question rumbles through you where you’re leaning against him. His voice is deep and soft, a lullaby. Your eyes flutter and you shake your head. “I would never hurt you. Ever. I know you’re afraid of me but… you don’t have to be.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Then what are you afraid of?”

You chew your bottom lip. “I’m afraid of me.”

“Explain.” 

Vernon is patient. Even this new version of him lets you find your words without pushing you to go faster. You think of how to explain, starting with halting sentences. “You’ve killed people.”

“Three, specifically.”

“Does that bother you?”

He doesn’t answer for a second. “They weren’t very good people.”

“Cheating is bad, but killing them?”

“Ah,” Vernon chuckles without humor. “I think I understand now. Would it make you feel better if I told you all of the bad things they did? Would it change anything to know they weren’t just guilty of adultery?” You don’t answer. “You don’t like that I killed people but what you’re having trouble with is the fact that you want to overlook it and you don’t like how that feels.”

As always, Vernon is on the nose with his guess. He’s always been able to pin down how you feel quickly, and it both relieves you and terrifies you to know that hasn’t changed. Killing people is wrong. You know that. But it’s how unbothered you are that sticks with you, this inability to figure out why there’s a desire to rationalize it, to let Vernon convince you his actions were justified. 

“You have an excuse,” you mumble. “You’re possessed by some sort of murderer.”

“I am not.

“I’m just… me.”

“People are complex. Wrestling with your own morality is natural. But I advise you not to let it drive you crazy.”

You snort. 

“What?”

“Getting advice from someone who is possessed-”

“-Again, it’s just me-”

“Is kind of silly.” 

“Then stop listening to my advice and go to bed, Love.” 

It’s the final piece you let him give you for the night, nodding and letting your eyes fall closed. The steady rhythm of Vernon’s heart lulls you into a trance until you’re drifting to sleep with the smell of bergamot and vetiver and no nightmares to plague you.

-

“Why don’t you add salt to your fries, hmmm?”

Veron looks up at you, deadpan. You give him a plasticky grin, grabbing the red pepper to shake over your pizza slices. As he has for the last few weeks, Vernon avoids the salt on his fries. Still likes them just as much as before, but can’t seem to tolerate more than the standard level of seasoned they come. 

Cool breeze slithers down your back when someone walks in behind you. Your booth is right by the door, giving you an icy blast everytime a new patron comes in. Vernon already made you give him the side closest to the door, but you’d managed to keep him from demanding the hostess move you somewhere else. 

A group of men sit down behind you in the booth. They sit down hard, making the back of your seat lurch forward.  You swear, turning to look at them over the shoulder as they spread out like they’re lounging at home all over the table and seat. 

Above you, the lights flicker. A low hum rides the air, barely audible, like static through bone. You whip your head around to look at Vernon. His gaze has turned to steel, unblinking and far too still. His fist tightens around his fork until the metal groans, knuckles leached of color. The air feels charged, like the moment before a lightning strike. You whisper his name but the flickering lights continue, drawing the attention of several patrons, all of them craning their neck upwards. 

A bulb pops at the table behind you. The men yell in surprise, causing the booth to rock. Your hand shoots out across the table, grabbing Vernon’s hand and squeezing. Immediately, the electrical anomaly stops and his gaze shifts to you, going soft at the edges. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, soft.

“Are you?”

“Yes, Vernon. You can’t go all Paranormal Activity every time someone annoys me.”

He frowns at that. “Says who?”

“Says me. Please.”

He sighs and lets his head thunk against the back of the booth. “Fine. I will add it to the list of don’ts, right alongside murder.”

“Ugh.” You let go of his hand and steal a fry. “Enough complaining about the murder rule, Vernon.”

-

Cracking your neck, you look down at the notes scribbled in front of you. Your writing is scrawled and going off the lines in your notebook, getting messier the further down the page you get. You drop the pen, flexing your fingers to try and get some feeling back into them. You’ve been taking notes for hours, your note-taking starting off neat and with organization before devolving into a messy script you can barely read. 

Stacks of books sit in front of you. Most are from your own collection, but there are a handful that come from the basement level of the library in plastic covers to protect the integrity of the book, yellowed at the edges and a little more than grimey. 

Leaning back in your seat, your spine cracks. You sigh in relief, stiff from spending hours leaned over the table. You’d commandeered a table bigger than you need, spreading yourself out - much to the annoyance and heavy side-eye of everyone else in the library - taking up as much room as possible so no one else would sit next to you.

Several of the boys behind you have already tried to smooth talk their way into the seat. Normally you might let them, but the last thing you need is for them to look over your shoulder and see you’re researching the history of possession and demonology. 

Also, you don’t want to give them your phone number, no matter how many times they ask. 

A backpack lands on the table in front of you, making you flinch. You tear off your headphones, ready to bitch out whoever it is when you realize it’s Vernon. You stare at him in surprise, watching him pullout the chair and throw himself into the seat. 

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “You cut off your hair.”

“Mhmm.” He runs a hand over his hair. It’s barely longer than a buzz cut, dark and fuzzy and soft. “Like it?”

At first, you don’t say anything. You drag your eyes over him, assessing. Today he’s in a leather jacket over a worn baseball t-shirt, ripped jeans and a beat up pair of converse. It’s a quintessential Vernon outfit, but it looks different now - better, even, with the short hair. 

“I do.” 

“Good.” He winks at you, making your stomach flip. His eyes drift over your shoulder, spotting something in the library that’s caught his interest. “What did you want to meet about?” 

“So, I’ve been doing some research.”

His eyes briefly scan the table, a single brow arching. “You don’t say?”

“Shut up.” You throw a pen at him but there’s no real heat to your words. “I’m wondering if I’m coming at this from the wrong angle.”

His dark eyes are looking over you again, but he says, “Yes. You’re looking at it from the point of view of someone who thinks I’m still possessed. I’m not.”

“No. I’m looking at it like you were possessed by a spirit, but I’m wondering if maybe it was a demon.” He snorts and says nothing. “There are some essays and source materials that believe disgruntled spirits eventually become demonic entities. I’ve been looking up rituals on spiritual banishment and purification, but not demonic - are you listening?”

Vernon’s gaze is burning on something behind you. He doesn’t answer, his eyes narrowed and flickering. You lean forward, throwing the cap of your pen at him. It bounces on the table and joins its body, rolling uselessly to the side. 

“Vernon.” His eyes snap back to you. “What is so interesting behind me?”

“Have they been bothering you?” He nods to something behind you. 

You twist in your seat, turning to look at the table of boys who had sent over one at a time to try and join you. Only one of them looks in your direction, lifting his head and grinning when he sees you’re looking. Rolling your eyes, you turn back to tell Vernon it’s nothing, but he’s already out of his seat and walking around the table.

Eyes like daggers, he gives them a single annoyed glance before he pulls out the seat next to you and drops into it. He kicks out his foot and hooks the toe of his Converse around the leg, pulling you toward him until your seats clack together and you’re thigh to thigh.

Vetiver and bergamot flood your senses, heavenly and heady. 

“What are you-”

“Demonic possession?” He purrs, voice turning to smoke. He leans toward you, laying his arm across the back of your chair. “You were telling me I’m a demon.”

“That’s not - why are you sitting so close?” 

“We’ve been closer.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I just like sitting next to you.” He taps the page with his free hand, mouth twitching. “Focus, baby. Tell me what you learned.” 

You turn molten at the name of endearment. Baby is new. Catches you off guard. You sputter as you try to reach for  your notes, suddenly not remembering what books are where, all of the things you just absorbed from them flowing right out of your head.

Vernon makes it even worse. His fingers start to play with the edge of your t-shirt sleeve, fingers occasionally brushing your arm and sending a pool of warmth blooming across your skin. His nearness is intoxicating, thoughts a little foggy. 

“Problem?” 

“You’re being a little shit,” you shoot back, huffing. He laughs - loudly - making other people flinch. “Stop flustering me. I know you’re doing it on purpose.”

“But you are flustered?” 

“Yes, Vernon. Do you want me to tell you what I found or not?” 

His voice is warm when he teases, “I’d rather keep making you squirm.” 

“Ugh. I am out of pens to throw at you.”

“Sorry. Proceed. You have my undivided attention, I promise.” 

Somehow, you manage to get through your messily written notes and your research. It was hard to compile the research, but you feel like maybe you’re on track with your new theory that Thomas, the spirit who had - in Vernon’s opinion briefly possessed him and in your opinion is still there - hadn’t been a spirit at the time of possession, but rather perhaps a demon.

It’s a working theory that because Thomas was bound to his place of death through violent and unresolved emotion, he not only became a disturbed entity, but was warped by his anger and grief, shifting into something darker. Most research on demons was clear cut that they were creatures from another dimension, but spirits aren’t of this dimension either.

Because everything you’ve tried so far for a spiritual dispelling hasn’t worked, you think perhaps Thomas’s spirit had morphed into something more proto-demonic in nature. There isn’t much to go off of, but the structure for your theory is there, even if made from toothpick-weak data and suppositions. 

Vernon listens the entire time. His fingers still trace your arm absently, tracing aimless patterns. When you finish and look at him, he seems thoughtful, dark eyes unfocused. When he looks up at you, his smile is small.

“So what do you want to try this time?”

“Maybe a priest-” 

He groans and drops his head back. 

You quickly continue, “Just to start, okay? I want to test my theory.” 

“I’m not a demon.”

“Well, we don’t really know, do we?”

“We already went to a church.” 

You pout and he sighs. “When do you want to go?” 

-

White paint peels off the church. It’s an old building with crooked, dry rotted steps outside. It’s a small church with a single steeple. You can see the bells just beyond the window, currently silent as the crickets take up chorus around you. 

The sign out front is worn and sunbleached. Trinity Cross Chapel is carved across the front, whatever phrase from the Bible written under it long faded. You’d chosen an old Protestant church to test your hypothesis, partially because it was far on the edge of town where the risk was lower if Vernon turned into a demon, and partially because according to the town registry, it was the oldest church in town.

And well - because Protestants were pretty serious about absolving themselves from sin and that salvation alone could only be reached through Jesus Christ himself. Perhaps if anyone could tell you what was wrong with Vernon, it was Jesus. 

“This place is a shithole,” Vernon observes, hands in his pockets.

Alright, perhaps Jesus wouldn’t want to help Vernon. You shoot him a glare and plunge ahead, rocks and dirt crackling beneath your shoes. Vernon follows you at a leisurely place, giving the building a critical eye.

“It’s worse for wear,” you admit, heading to the steps. “But it’s old and largely underfunded because when the college was built, the town moved to be centered around the college and not the church.” 

When your foot lands on the first step, it cracks and your foot falls through. You yelp but Vernon’s hands are on your waist immediately, his chest pressed against your back as he steadies you. He’s so close that your heart goes from hammering at the fear of falling to thundering over his proximity.

“Are you okay?” His breath fans your ear where he asks, almost a whisper. You nod, a little out of breath. “Be careful. Let me help.” 

Gently, Vernon guides you up the rest of the steps. None of the other ones cave in, though they do creak ominously. You scurry inside of the building, eager to get on more even ground before you plunge through the entryway. 

Inside smells like mold and wet carpets. You scrunch up your nose, looking at the faded and stained red shag beneath your shoes. Rows and rows of wooden pews line the church, book-ended with walls of stained glass windows. You peer at the imagery as you walk down the aisle, hands hovering above the pews as you go.

The stained glass is lovely. You imagine during the day it’s stunning, the sun hitting each piece to refract into thousands of colors. You recognize each piece of artwork from your study on Christian religions: The Baptism of Jesus, The Lamb of God, Saint Paul with his sword and book, The Resurrection. Each one is meticulously crafted, dark without the sun to bring them to life. 

Each piece makes you think of Vernon. There is a haunted beauty about them that has you looking at him sideways as you walk. He seems unaware, craning his head to look up at the old, cracked rafters of the ceiling. 

At the front of the church is the chancel with a lectern front and center. Behind the lectern is a communion table, banners with scriptures fastened to the wall, and some seasonal decor. Vernon walks closely behind you, uncharacteristically silent as you head for a man sitting in the front row, head bowed. 

“Minister?” 

Your voice brings the man out of his reverie. He’s somewhere in his late forties, hair greying at the edges. He has sharp blue eyes and heavy frown lines, his eyes looking you up and down before drifting to Vernon. His mouth turns down as he stands, adjusting the simple robes he has on.

“This him?” 

“Him has a name,” Vernon mutters at the same time you say yes. 

“Come with me.” 

The minister turns on his heel and marches toward one of the side doors behind the pulpit. You hurry after him, Vernon hot on your heels muttering, “You called ahead?” 

“Well yeah… what else was I going to do? Walk in and be like ‘yo is this guy possessed?’” 

“Might be possessed.”

“So you admit you might-”

Vernon swears. “Love, that is not what I meant. I can’t give you an inch, huh?” 

The back offices of the church are stuffy, full of tepid air and dust. You sneeze and Vernon mutters bless you, his tone sharp. You give him a look and he grins, wicked and sharp. “See?” He whispers. “Bless you.”

“Well don’t stand in the hall,” the minister quips. 

“Sorry.”

You rush after him where he holds the door to his office open, Vernon still muttering obscenities under his breath - you’re pretty sure he has called the minister five types of cunt by now. The minister leans away from him when Vernon walks by, partially to be safe and partially because Vernon leers at him. You whisper at him to cut it out, hand shooting out to grab his hand and pull him to sit in the seat next to you. 

Rounding the heavy desk, the minister sits down. His desk is full of ledges and books, religious imagery covering the walls. It smells damp and stale, making you scrunch your nose. It distinctly reminds you of your grandma's closet with moth-eaten coats and water stains on the carpet. 

“Tell me his ailments.” The minister folds his hands under this chin, watching you with sharp eyes. “Be thorough.” 

“I have a name,” Vernon growls.

The look the minister gives him tells you he’s taking mental notes. You clear your throat, leaning forward. You reach your hand over to Vernon, resting it on his knee and squeezing comfortingly. The minister’s eyes don’t miss the motion, narrowing when you leave your hand on Vernon’s leg. 

“It started on Halloween,” you explain, recounting the ritual and some of the side effects Vernon has experienced since then. Vernon sits in steely silence, his eyes boring into the minister’s head as you talk. You skip over the murders but imply that Vernon has more violent urges. “I was researching and-”

“Leave the research to the professionals, girl.”

That pulls you up short. “I am a professional, sir. Or - well - I will be. I’m an occult studies major, so this is sort of my expertise but-”

“Occult studies major,” he scoffs. “Nonsense. The only study you need is the word of God. Perhaps you wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place and reeking of sin.” When he says the word sin, he looks at where you’re touching Vernon. “The ritual is nothing. You could not have summoned anything that wasn’t already there. You are possessed by the sin that poisons-”

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “The ritual wasn’t exactly formal, but it had all the right materials to summon an entity.” 

“You know nothing. You come into a house of God with this nonsense talking about rituals and bells because you read them in a book, as though they’re on par with the Word?”

You open and close your mouth, confused at the turn of events. The minister presses on, “Your paganism is just as much as a sin as drinking in an abandoned house and giving into lust and gluttonous pride and other salacious acts. If you are looking for demons, it is the ones you already carry inside of you and must purge through confession and devotion to Jesus Christ.”

“Wow.” You lean back in the chair. Vernon’s muscles have gone taught in his thigh, his shoulders ridgid and his nails digging into the wooden arms of the chair. “This is not at all what we’re here for. By the way - there is nothing wrong with paganism. I would argue that historically most religions, including branches of Christianity, are full of paganism. You have rituals and-”

The minster sits up straight, slamming a hand on his desk. “The truth of God stands apart from the lies of paganism. What I see here is not a victim of a pagan ritual, but two young adults brimming with sin who should confess their sins to Jesus Christ to absolve-”

“Lies of paganism? You can’t erase where things come from, you know? Religions all borrow from one another- symbols, holidays, whatever. One is not less valid than-”

“Only the Word is valid.” 

You bring up a hand, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Look, minister, I came here to help if you could identify demonic energies or symptoms in Vernon. This has turned into a religious lecture, and I’m not arguing with you on the semantics of scripture.” 

“I sense deep darkness in both of you. You can’t even speak to me without touching him, full of gluttonous-”

Vernon gets up, interrupting the minister. “We’re going.” 

“You should beg for guidance and confess-”

“Shut the fuck up,” Vernon growls, leveling the minister with a stare. He bends down to pull you to your feet, his glare softening slightly when he looks at you. “He’s an idiot. You’re having an academic argument, he’s pissed off because he’s popped a boner under his robe and can’t do anything about it because I’m here.”

“I beg your pardon!” 

Vernon crowds you against the side of the chair. He presses in close, ducking his head to press his forehead against yours, nose nudging against you. When he speaks, his voice is velvet-soft and barely a whisper. “And he probably hates that he could never fuck you the way that I do and I know all the little sounds you make.” 

It feels like the air has evaporated from the room. Vernon’s eyes are only for you, his pupils dilated, completely trained on your eyes. His breath fans your face, his hands pressing against the small of your back as though he can press you any closer to him. 

Dizzy, you try to say his name, acutely aware of the minister yelling at the two of you to get out. Vernon gives you a chaste kiss on the lips before turning to look at the minster, a sneer on his face. He looks more terrifying than you’ve ever seen him, but his grip on you is firm. Warm. Strangely enough, safe. 

“She’s ten times the brain that you are. Cunt.” 

Vernon’s lip twitches like he’s going to snarl. Instead, he turns and heads toward the door, hand shooting down to yours to tug you along. You stumble after him, unable to find words but wanting to stay close. Your heart hammers, mind spinning from how quickly the situation had spiralled out of control. You’d just wanted the minister to do some sort of demon test and-

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Vernon admonishes, escorting you out of the church. He’s careful with you down the steps, lifting  you by the waist to let you skip the last step entirely. He plants you firmly on the ground. “He was a fanatical dick. Maybe next time we do a new wave church or something.”

“You’re going to let me do a next time?”

His mouth kicks up at the side. “I know you’re not done, Love.” 

-

Vernon swings his legs back and forth, watching you rub cleanser into your face. You’ve given up on asking him why he likes to sit in the bathroom while you do your skincare. ‘Cause I like you was always the response, or some similar variation. You don’t mind. It’s endearing, and you’ve wanted to have Vernon like this… well, since forever. 

Usually, you use this time to talk your way through things you want to try to help free him from possession - lack thereof, he asserts - but tonight you’re quiet. The water is warm as you splash it onto your face, melting the cleanser away and leaving nothing but blotchy, irritated skin. 

You pat dry your face, avoiding looking in the mirror. 

“What’s wrong?” Vernon’s question is soft. You look up at him, eyes round. “You’re extra quiet tonight.” 

“Oh. Thinking, I guess.”

“About what?” 

About everything. Somehow, this has become your new normal. You’re not entirely sure what to make of it, or the fact that it’s been weeks and Vernon genuinely shows no other signs of having an entity inside him. It’s more like he is the entity now.  

Before, Vernon had always been a little on the sardonic side. But it had been quiet, his sharp words muttered, not spoken, his irritation silent, not voiced. In a way, it was the same way with his feelings for you. He’d revealed that he’d liked you as more than a friend for years, angry at how much of a coward he’d been and how it had taken motivation to make him say anything.

The Vernon who chose hiding and restraint was now replaced with a Vernon who asserted himself and could barely hold back. It was different. Not bad, different, just different. You liked the old Vernon but… you don’t dislike this Vernon, either. He still has the makings of his normal self, still interested in all the same books and video games, content to lose to Mingyu in Fortnite over and over, the same Vernon who likes movies and music and Sal’s Pizzeria. 

Vernon gently taps a knuckle underneath your chin, getting your attention. “Tell me.” 

“I was sort of wondering if the minister was right.”

He scoffs. “What?”

“Okay maybe not about the sin and everything but more like… I don’t know.”

Vernon senses your train of thought. “You still don’t like that you don’t care I killed people.” 

You wince at his words. They are sharp and real and more honest than you can voice. Unable to find the courage to agree out loud, you nod your head. 

Gently, Vernon reaches for you. You let him grab you by the biceps and navigate you so that you’re standing between his knees. He squeezes his legs shut, pining you to the spot, albeit gently. His gaze is soft when he looks down at you, his hands playing with your fingers. 

“I can’t tell you how to feel,” he starts. “I can tell you… look, let me tell you what those first three nights were like. And why I don’t think I’m possessed, alright? This is just… me. A little different, but me, okay?” 

Chewing your lip, you nod. His gaze falls down to where he plays with your fingers. “I definitely was possessed, that first night on Halloween. I have no idea how Soonyoung managed a ritual that was done right.” You pinch him and he laughs. “Yeah, right. You were sort of the linchpin. In that closet, I… felt taken over, like I was suddenly shoved in a box and flooded with emotions and rage and hate but more than that? Fear.” 

“I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be. Then it got sort of quiet and I felt really disconnected. You left so fast and I didn’t even go after you because it felt like I was grappling with myself and I felt a little lost. When I went home is when the real mess started. I had all these thoughts and memories that weren’t mine, all these feelings and images and knowledge. It was overwhelming.”

“Is that why you avoided me?”

“Yes, but I was also just full of anger. Not just at things that didn’t belong to me, but things that did. A lot of it was at myself for wandering through life never voicing what I wanted or never taking action or just sort of… riding in the backseat, I guess.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. And having the presence of someone else there was like - fuck it was like being in the backseat again. It made me pissed and I just sort of grappled with the spirit for what felt like days until I woke up and I was just… me. But there are random pieces that belong to him, I think. Like sort of an impression?”

“Is the… murder, one?”

“I don’t really know, Love.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I remember seeing him kill that woman he loved and then himself and my first thought was that I could never do that. I could never kill you. Regardless of what you ever did to me, I vowed that I would do anything for you. But on the other hand, it made me so angry to think anyone could do that to someone they cherished. I would set the world on fucking fire for you - how could others not feel that way when they love someone?” 

Love someone. Vernon has never explicitly said that he loved you or was in love with you. He’s implied it - talked about you like he loves you or alluded to it. But now it’s out in the open as he speaks, a full admission that you are someone he loves that he would do anything for you. 

“And then I saw those people who weren’t only cheating on people who loved them,” he murmurs. “But they were also terrible people. Like full of such shitty things they’ve done and I just… What if those people ever came across your path? Would they fuck you over? Would they cheat on you?” 

Panic grips you. Vernon feels you go rigid in his grip and he looks up at you, realizing what he’s said. He shakes his head quickly, tightening his hands on  you. “No - sorry. I didn’t do it because of you, that came out wrong. Please don’t - that isn’t what I meant. It isn’t your fault. I just couldn’t stop thinking about how the world would be better without them so I just… did it.” 

“Vernon…”

“I swear to you, it wasn’t for you. It was… for everyone? I don’t know. I cannot stand the thought of fucking scum walking the earth like that, so I did something about it.”

“And then you stopped.”

He looks up at you, a bit sulky. “What you want is more important to me. But my point is… I don’t really know what to do with the fact that I don’t care about what I did either. And even if you don’t care, it doesn’t mean you’re a monster or anything. It just makes you the person I want most in the world, still.” 

It’s terrifying, this profession from him. To realize that you have this much power over him, this much sway is overwhelming. Pinned between his knees, your thoughts race with no direction, pulled in so many different ways. This kind of love is everything - and  yet it scares you. But if you step away from him now, if you pull away in the slightest, you know it’ll do irreparable damage. That it’ll hurt. 

“Can we go to bed?” You whisper, daring a glance at him. 

Vernon nods, sliding off the counter. As he does, you shuffle backward, but not far enough to be out of reach. He lifts his hands to your face, cradling it gently and angling you to look at him. “I’m me. A little weirder. A little less refined. But I’m me.” 

He’s right. You hear the truth in his words and you realize perhaps that’s why you don’t care about the blood on his hands. Because it is Vernon, and he’s yours. You don’t care because you love him, and you’d do anything for him too. Which is why you’ve spent weeks researching a way to free him - from nothing, you’re starting to suspect - and why you’ve not taken a single opportunity to turn him in. 

“You’re you,” you agree softly. He smiles and you stand on the tips of your toes, pressing your mouth to his. He makes a surprised sound but you feel his grin grow wider for a split second before he kisses you back in earnest, soft and slow. “Remember what you said to the minister?”

The question catches him off guard, his lips ghost against yours when you break the kiss. “What?”

“That he can’t fuck me like you do.”

Vernon’s grip on your face turns firm. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes flashing. “I meant it.”

“Do it.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, leaning into him. “Show me.” 

“Fucking say less,” Vernon growls, pulling your lips to his again.

This kiss is all-consuming, needy. Vernon’s fingers slide to the sides of your neck, angling you to deepen the kiss. Your pulse hammers against his fingers, mouth sliding along his. His tongue presses against yours, hungry. You meet him with equal fervor, weeks of holding yourself breaking though.

Somehow, Vernon manages to walk you backward. You cling to his arms, careful not to trip over your own feet until you’re falling backward onto his mattress. It smells like him - safe. He reaches behind his head, gripping the collar of his shirt and yanking it up and over. Propped on your elbow, you watch him. He throws the shirt and then he’s on you again, pushing you back gently so he can climb on top of you, a knee on either side of your waist.

Vernon’s skin is burning hot. Your fingers trace his lines, making him moan into your mouth as he kisses you furiously again. Your heart hammers so hard in your chest you can feel it, a racing rhythm that backtracks the sound of your heavy breathing when he breaks the kiss to pepper your jaw and neck in warm, wet kisses. 

Your lids flutter, stomach flipping when he bites down on your neck harshly, soothing the sting with a rough swipe of his tongue. It feels so good, a slow but steady ache spreading between your thighs as he busies himself with sucking fervently at your collarbone. 

Slipping your hands around his tapered waist, you scratch your nails up his back, not hard enough to leave marks but firm enough to make him groan and shiver. You grin, arching up into him as your hands explore the muscled planes of his back.

Your hips squirm, canting up against him seeking friction. He laughs, dragging his mouth from your neck to your lips, mumbling, “Need help?”

“Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’m not, baby. It’s cute.” 

Baby. You whine, hips thrashing and he grins before silencing you with a sweet kiss before reaching down to slide a leg open, replacing the open space between your knees with his thigh. A thrill shoots through you when he brings it up to your core, one of his hands dropping to your ass to help grind you against him. 

“Come on,” he urges, licking your jawline. “You know you want to.”

You do. You roll your hips, dragging your clothed cunt along his sweats. It’s not nearly enough friction to do anything significant but it still feels good, turning your body static.

Vernon slides his hands under your shirt, bunching up the material as he slides upward to rid you of it. The room is cool, your skin pebbling and nipples tightening at the temperature. Vernon immediately sends a lick of heat through your, dropping down to capture a nipple in his greedy mouth.

“Shit,” you whisper, eyes closing. It feels so good, his tongue swirling lazily around the bud as you grind against his thigh. “Feels good.” 

Teeth scrape against your sensitive skin. You let out a breathy sound, eyes rolling back. You give Vernon control easily, letting him work you up. It’s sweltering between your bodies, his skin warm against yours, the air charged. You can barely breathe, head falling to the side as he lavishes attention to your chest, your little rolls against his thigh desperate. 

One of Vernon’s hands slips to your waist, firm and sure. He lifts himself off you and you protest but he hushes you with a quick, hungry kiss. His breath is warm against your cheek when he pulls back, shifting to kneel between your legs on the bed. 

His fingers find the waistband of your sleep shorts, slow and deliberate. The fabric scrapes against your skin soft-slow, like Vernon is unwrapping something sacred. The cool air hits your skin with equal intensity as his stare, dark and focused. There’s no teasing smirk anymore, replaced with a desire so powerful you start to squirm. 

Then he’s on you again, mouth crashing against yours, deep and messy, all tongue and teeth and spit. He kisses you like he’s trying to become one with you, like he needs to taste every sound and whimper and noise you make. You can hardly keep up before his hand presses between your legs, fingers sliding over the front of your panties, pressing into the heat and slick of your cunt through the fabric. 

And fuck it feels good. 

One of his hands stays there, circling your clit with firm, steady pressure, rubbing the soaked fabric against you. The other creeps upward, fingertips brushing your chest, your collarbone, until it finds home at your neck. His palm settles there, warm and weighty, and you feel him shift his grip just enough to pin you gently to the mattress. It’s not tight, not rough, just present. Possessive. Perfect.

You thrum beneath him, the room tilting on its axis, slow and dreamline. You feel lightheaded, not just from the stimulation building in your core, but from the soft restraint of his hand around your neck. He’s not squeezing just yet, but the pressure is enough to remind you that it’s Venron in control, a promise of more that sends a thrill through you. If you want it. 

You do want it. Your hand stretches up without thinking, shaking fingers curling around his where he grips your throat. You give him a gentle squeeze, a plea. His glaze flicks down to yours, searching. He seems mystified by what he sees there for a moment, swearing before he nods once, barely perceptible, before tightening his grip just enough to send a tingle down your spine. Not too much. Not too tight. Just enough to make your body sing. 

Vernon presses his forehead against yours, mouth barely brushing your lips. Your breathing is coming harder now, trying to keep up with the way your body is vibrating at his touch. 

“You’re so perfect,” he murmurs, voice gravelly and reverent. He slips a hand under the waistband of your underwear, fingers hooking the edge to pull the damp fabric aside, revealing the slick warmth underneath. He groans softly at the feel of you against his fingers, sticky. You moan and he curses again. “There it is. You sound so pretty, baby.” 

That spurs you on. You make more sounds for him, gasping when his fingers circle your clit properly. Your thighs twitch in response, nearly closing around his hand. He tuts, pressing his mouth against your jaw. “Feel good?”

“Yes,” you whine. His grip tightens a bit more. “Yeah. Yeah like that.”

He pecks your cheek and does as you ask, squeezing the barest hint more. 

You start to fray at the edges. You feel yourself coming apart, incapable of doing anything but shaking under his ministrations. Having him touch you like this again is good. You don’t want anything else, happy that you’re here again. You don’t care about the cost, don’t care what it means anymore. It’s just you and Vernon and his hand between your legs, pulling a long, drawn out orgasm that has you trembling quietly in his hold.

When you let out your breath, orgasm subsiding, Vernon moves. He lets go of your throat, the sudden loss bringing the blood back, rushing. The room turns on its axis, your eyes fluttering as he shuffles down the bed, his hands pressing your thighs open. 

“Vernon.” His name leaves your mouth, hand shooting to grab him by his short locks when he presses his tongue to you. You can barely breathe, shaking when he slowly licks up your cum, not wasting a drop. “Fuuuuck.”

“Taste so fucking good,” he mumbles against your cunt, tongue lazily licking you in circles. “Missed this so fucking much.”

Vernon’s tongue is addicting. He’s messy with it, closing his lips around your clit to give greedy sucks before dragging his mouth down to prod at your entrance. You shake under the attention of his mouth, barely able to do a thing. 

His tongue drags slowly, warm and wet as he licks you at his own lazy pace. You realize this is for him. He savors the way you melt in his mouth, the little sounds you make when his tongue flicks back and forth on your clit, the way you cry when he fucks his tongue into your entrance, nose bumping your clit. 

It’s maddening. His tongue traces along your entrance, collecting arousal before curling back up to lap at your clit. It feels like your blood has turned into electricity, your veins the conductors, Vernon’s mouth the source. He hums against you, enjoying this as he gives your cunt sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. 

“Shit,” you hiss. He’s going to make you come again. You’re not even sure that’s his goal. He seems more focused on tasting you, on drinking you in, on running his tongue around and around on your sensitive flesh. 

He hums, looking up at you with a mouth full of pussy. You see the gleam in his eye, see how much he wants this, watch as he grins and puts on a show for you, opening up his mouth and holding his tongue flat to your pussy, letting you roll your hips to fuck his tongue. 

Vernon nods, little mumbles of mhmmm as you near your high. He lets you take control, riding his tongue until you’re spasming, thighs squeezing his head. He doesn’t care, tongue moving back and forth, keeping you shaking as long as he can until you’re twitching, pushing at his head. 

He comes away, mouth and chin slick, lips swollen. You don’t care, grabbing him and dragging him up to you, surging forward to lick across his lips, tasting yourself. He grins and pins you down to the mattress by your shoulders, content to let you taste as much as you want. 

“Please,” you gasp against his mouth. “Want you.”

He curses. “Say it again.” He leans down to your ear, lips pressed against it when he says, “Say you want me.”

“Want you. Only you.”

“Mhmm.” He licks down your neck, biting down when he reaches the juncture of your shoulder.

Leaning up, Vernon kicks out of his sweats. His hands are reverant when he pulls your underwear down your thighs, fabric scraping against your hypersensitive skin. He dives back in, kissing you as he presses his waist against yours, cock heavy and leaking against your thigh.

You reach down, palming him in your hand. He moans, desperate and breathy, breaking the kiss to drop his head against your shoulder. He’s warm and smooth in your hand. He lets you swipe your thumb across the sensitive head of his cock, hips jerking. You spread his precum down his shaft, hand firm. He fists the sheets, hips twitching forward as you stroke him leisurely. 

“Please,” he murmurs, breath fanning your neck. “Please.”

Hearing him ask for it nearly makes you pass out. You drag the crown of his cock through your messy folds, slicking him up. He growls when you do it, pressing his cock down down down until the tip catches your entrance. You moan in tandem, you at the pressure of him pushing in slightly, him at how bad he wants it.

Vernon sinks in slowly. You suck in a sharp breath, overwhelmed from the feeling of his cock pressing you open until there’s nowhere left to go. It feels good as he stills, hip-to-hip with you as you adjust. Your mouths tangle again and you slide your fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck, tugging what you can.

He gives an appreciative sound and pulls back slightly just to give a sharp fuck forward. You jostle and break the kiss, gasping, spit linking your mouth. His grin is wicked and he licks into your mouth again, starting to fuck into you slowly. 

You start to synapse. You feel on firel, burning up from the inside out as Vernon sets a slow but deep pace, pulling all the way out before he drives all the way back in. He grabs one of your thighs, nails scraping as he pulls it up and fastens it around his waist. It changes the angle, makes everything feel deeper.

Everywhere Vernon touches you leaves a mark. He stains your soul, every press of his mouth a promise of ruination, every brush of his hands speaking prophecy into your skin. You feel him write himself into your scripture with each thrust, every pass of his tongue against yours a prayer. 

The minister was wrong. You and Vernon have something holier than he could ever understand, a dark gospel unfolding between your moving bodies that only the two of you know the hymns to. How could it be anything but when you feel closer to God as Vernon grips your leg tight, pulling you down to meet each thrust. What is religion, if not the feeling of his moans buzzing through your lips, bringing you closer to revelation? 

“Mine,” Vernon promises against your lips. “Mine.”

“Yours.” Your hand slides from the back of his neck around to his chest, pressing your palm flat against his chest. His heart is hammering, lungs heaving. “Mine.” 

“Only yours.” 

“You love me?” 

You nod frantically against him. 

“I need to hear you say it.” 

“I love you.”

And you do. You realize that nothing else matters. You don’t care how fucked up the last few weeks have been. You don’t care that Vernon is something a little more than human, maybe something a little less. You don’t care about anything other than the fact that now he’s here, vulnerable with you - only for you. 

He picks up his pace. You feel another orgasm coming, all of your nerves pulsing, near overloaded. “I would rip heaven from the sky if you asked.”

“I know.” 

And you do know. You see it - feel it in the desperate way he grabs you, the way he fucks into you, frenzied. You feel yourself light up, an imploding star as you come around him, squeezing. He growls out your name, coming undone with you, thrusts messy and wet as you soak his cock. 

Vernon’s mouth finds yours, uncoordinated and messy but greedy, gluttonous, needy. You kiss him with equal fervor, uncaring that your mouth feels bruised and swollen, willing to let him tear you apart just to have some fraction of him with you. 

He starts to slow, spent and shaking until he’s hovering over you, trembling. Your hands rub up and down his sides gently, calming him down. He breathes heavily, the only sound trapped between you. You tilt your head to the side, pressing soft kisses against his inner forearm. 

Eventually, he pulls out, leaving a wet mess and dull ache between your legs. He doesn’t go far, content to tangle himself up in you, pressed as close as he can. His mouth goes to your shoulder, pressing butterfly-light kisses there. 

“If I’m a demon,” Vernon mumbles, voice scratchy from use, “you must be my angel.” 

“Yeah?” You roll toward him, lifting your hand to cradle his face. His eyes are soft as ever, watching you. Your thumb brushes back and forth over his cheekbone until his eyes flutter shut and he nods. “So are you saying you’re a demon now?”

His mouth twitches but he shakes your head. “Don’t know what I am. I’m just yours.”

“Yes,” you agree softly, gazing at him with stars in your eyes. “Mine.” 

-

All the candles are nearly burned to the wick when Vernon enters the church. The flamelight stutters, reacting to him like prey sensing a predator. His boots fall heavy against the threadbare carpet, each step a low, deliberate thud that echoes too long in the still air. His hands are buried in his pockets, but there’s a lazy, cruel confidence in his gait now, a swagger that would have been foreign on the boy who used to flinch at raised voices.

He thinks of that version of himself as dead now. 

Old Vernon. Soft-spoken, uncertain, dying under the weight of all the words left unspoken.

This Vernon doesn’t tremble. This Vernon doesn’t hesitate to say what he wants - which is only ever you. This Vernon isn’t afraid to make the world bow at your feet, to crush anyone who would stand in your way. 

He’s not possessed. He knows that. He hasn’t been possessed for a while. It doesn’t feel like Thomas left so much as Vernon devoured him. Bit by bit, until there was nothing left of Thomas’s spirit. Now, Vernon is more than he was. Maybe a little less human, he isn’t sure. Something with blood under his nails and your name forever on his tongue. 

All his rage, all his violence, all his power? It's yours. It's what makes the constant simmering need to do damage bearable. 

Vernon doesn’t knock when he reaches the minister’s office. The door opens with a warning creak, and the man looks up in confusion, wondering who would dare enter his office this late at night without knocking. He realizes who it is and his face twists into a tapestry of anger.

It dies just as fast. 

Vernon doesn’t give him a moment to speak. He drives his boot into the desk, splintering the wood with a sickening crunch, sending it skidding into the minister’s chest. The man crumples with a wheeze and a painful shout, papers floating down around him like ash.

Circling the wreckage with deliberate calm, Vernon grins as he watches the man flail, trying to get up, a beetle stuck on its back. 

“My girlfriend told me not to kill anyone,” Vernon explains. His voice is casual. Conversational.  “Didn’t say I couldn’t ruin you for opening your fucking mouth, though.”

The minister gapes, trying to push away from Vernon. “What are you doing?” 

Vernon’s fingers unlace from his pockets. He flexes them, tendons twitching like coiled wire. “Paying you back,” he growls, leaning down, breath hot and too close. “For every time you insulted her while we were here the other night. For calling her study a delusion and making her question herself and her work.”

He seizes the minister by the collar of his robe and hauls him upright like a limp doll. “This time,” Vernon murmurs, voice suddenly soft. Sensual. “I won’t stop at words.” 

This time, Vernon’s hands draw blood. 

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[willofthequill]

Sex And Candy

Psssst, Pssst... come closer... could I possibly interest you in some... FREE USE SMUT?! 🔞MDNI🔞

I enjoyed writing the Kyojuro x Reader x Akaza threesome so much that I decided I needed to write more for this polycule immediately! All works of this loving trio can be found in one place! Right here -> Closer To God 🔞MDNI🔞 Series Author's Note: This is a Modern AU - Kyojuro is a history teacher, Akaza is an artist, Reader's career is ambiguous - only a mention of doing reporting and such. Reader, Akaza and Kyojuro are in a polyamorous relationship with each other. That means YES there IS boys kissing and much, much more! If you prefer to read this fic on AO3 please click here! 🔞MDNI🔞 Fic Summary: After reader loses a bet to her partners, she gets to be the 'Used' in 'Free Use' for a weekend.

WC: 6500 for the full list of all CW please check the AO3 link.

CW: 🔞MDNI🔞, SMUT, Free Use Reader, Established boundaries, Fem reader, Threesome - M/M/F, PURE SMUT, vaginal fingering, penis in vagina sex, creampies, anal finger, anal sex, Double Penetration, hand jobs, oral sex (M! and F! receiving), and more

You bit your lip as you stared down the impossible to miss, obnoxiously neon, rainbow scrunchie that hung from a suction cup with a hook above the sink on your bathroom mirror. It was the sign your partners had been waiting and hoping (and in Akaza’s case begging) to see since you lost that stupid bet 3 weeks ago. The green flag on Free Use Weekend.

The terms had been agreed to in advance. It was something all three of you were into. You just had to say WHEN. 

Welp. It was a three day weekend. No time like the present. You snatched it off the mirror and threw your hair up, leaving the bathroom before you could change your mind due to the ‘first time’ jitters. 

You trusted your partners in every way. Excitement started to replace the jitters.You wanted this. Fuck, you wanted this so bad. You were already wet enough to feel it between your lips as you walked.

You headed to the kitchen to make your coffee. You were too damn aroused to sleep or lay there next to them while they slept. 

Free Use Day Rules 1 and 2 - 1. The Used was not allowed to touch themselves unless told to. 2. The Used was not allowed to initiate anything.

You grinned as you watched the coffee fill the cup. You shifted your thighs and stifled a moan. You had already followed Free Use Day Rule 3. No panties. 

You jumped as hands slid over the sides of your waist and rested on your belly, a tall, warm, ripped body pressing against your back. You tilted your head back so that it rested on Kyojuro’s shoulder. You gave him a lazy smile. “Good morning, handsome.”

“A good morning it is, I see,” he chuckled, one hand leaving its place momentarily to give a little tug on your hair tied in the scrunchy. 

“Mmmhmm,” you said playfully. 

“On a three day weekend no less. I like your strategic planning,” he chuckled into your shoulder, kissing the skin. His hands undid the belt on your silk robe and he slowly began to pull it off of you. He kissed down your neck and neck until he reached your shoulders. He slid it the rest of the way off of you and tossed it aside on another counter. “You won’t be needing that today.”  

He moved back from you, pressing on your back so you lowered to be bent over the counter resting on your forearms against the cold marble. His hands grabbed onto your waste and dragged his hands down your body until he reached your ass. He used his foot to spread your legs apart while his hands gripped the meat of your ass as his thumbs spread you open. 

You closed your eyes and bit your lip as the cool air of the apartment met with your now exposed center. 

“Beautiful and already so wet,” he commented as his thumbs slid lower, spreading your pussy lips even wider and rubbing them up and down a few times. 

And then his hands were gone. You began to move and a hand pressed down on your back, staying your movements. “You can drink your coffee, but you are not to move.”

“Okay,” you nodded. You took your coffee in your hands and took a sip. You almost moaned at how good it tasted and the warm liquid felt as it slid down your throat. 

“Well, well. I do have to say this is the best ‘good morning’ anyone has ever given me,” Akaza’s voice reached your ears as the now wide awake pinkette came towards where you and Kyojuro were in the kitchen. 

“Yes! It is indeed a good morning!” Kyojuro said with a smile on his face. When Akaza got close enough, Kyojuro cupped his face and kissed him. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Kyojuro,” Akaza purred and nipped the blonde’s bottom lip. 

“Would you like some tea?” Kyojuro asked with a chuckle as he pulled away. 

“I would love some,” Akaza said as he walked over to your side and tilted your chin up to look at him. “Good morning, gorgeous.”

“Good morning to you as well,” you smiled at him. 

He leaned over and kissed you, teasing the seam of your lips until you parted them to let his tongue in. As his tongue explored your mouth and caressed your own, his hands traced the line of your spine down from your neck to your tail bone. He slid the tip of his middled finger between your ass cheeks, letting his other fingers frame it as he slid his hand lower. Until his middle finger slid between your pussy lips, his fingers on either side pushing the lips in towards it in a grip. 

“Shit, you’re already so wet,” Akaza groaned he straightened up and moved to stand behind you to watch his finger fucking into your slick pussy. He withdrew his finger and ran three fingers up and down the length of your slit, spreading your arousal to cover damn near you whole pussy. His hands moved to spread your ass apart just like Kyojuro had done, making your pussy clench. “So shiny. So pretty.”

“I think someone is enjoying this,” Kyojuro said as he set the kettle on the stove and leaned against the counter to watch his partners. 

Akaza moved to lean against the counter next to you, turning to face Kyojuro. He shoved two fingers into your cunt, making you moan and arch your back even more. “Keep drinking your coffee. You’re going to need every bit of that ridiculous amount of sugar you dump into it.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it too,” you chuckled. It was hard to focus on drinking your coffee when Akaza’s fingers were rubbing all the right places inside your gummy walls and his thumb was rubbing your clit just right. 

A swat on the ass made you jump and your pussy clench. Akaza rubbed his hand over the spot he had smacked. “Now, now. Don’t be a brat.”

“Rich of you to be the one to say that,” Kyojuro grinned. He set to making the tea. “Did wer have any plans today?”

“Fucking our beloved here until she cannot walk.”

“That is a given. I meant otherwise,” Kyojuro shook his head at Akaza. He didn’t need to turn to see the pink haired menace’s face to know he was smirking. It was clear in his voice. Always such a brat.

“Just chores around the house,” Akaza shrugged.

“We have a mountain of laundry to get through,” you added. Your eyes were shut and your coffee forgotten, Akaza was just so fucking good with his fingers. “I really should spend some time working on my reporting for that new project so I am not drowning come Tuesday.”

“I have some grading to do and some adjustments to make to my lesson for this coming week,” Kyojuro stated, sipping his tea as he handed a cup to Akaza. 

“I’ve got some ideas for a new painting I could work on. Or… I might just game… I have been trying to get past a certain boss in Dark Souls for over a week now,” Akaza pondered. His thumb began to move in a side to side motion and his fingers thrusting into your cunt picked up speed. He groaned when he felt you start to tighten. “Are you getting close already?”

“Y-Yes,” you stuttered out, sucking in your bottom lip as your muscles began to tighten. Your pussy was so wet that the squelching noises were impossible to ignore.

“What do you think, Kyo? Should we let her cum?” Akaza asked. 

You whined softly when his fingers slowed just slightly, still fucking into you enough to keep you edged, but not to cum. Fuck, you needed this. You tried to move your hips, wanting it so bad. Akaza’s free hand came to rest on your lower back, holding you down. 

Kyojuro sipped on his tea and continued to lean against the counter, you could feel . “I think we should. She did gift us with quite the surprise this morning.”

“Indeed she did.” 

And with that Akaza’s hand began to fuck into you harder and faster, his thumb rocking against your clit with every movement. Your eyes clamped shut and you threw your head back, crying out as your orgasm hit. Fireworks exploded behind your eyes and pure pleasure pulsed throughout every molecule of your being. Your legs shook with the force of it and your cream coated Akaza’s hand.

“Good girl,” Akaza said, his fingers slowing to work you through it. The hand on your back was no longer pinning you down, it now caressed your skin in a soothing pattern as you slumped your head forward against the counter while you caught your breath and reveled in the aftershocks. 

“Gods, I love to watch her cum,” Kyojuro said, reaching down to palm his hard cock as his eyes focused on the sight of your pussy clenching when Akaza removed his fingers. 

“You can move,” Akaza said, squeezing one of your butt cheeks affectionately.

You looked up just in time to watch Akaza sucking his fingers clean. It sent a pulse straight to cunt, and made your clit throb at the sight. You turned around to lean against the counter, still trying to catch your breath when you noticed how hard Kyojuro was. Pulse. Throb.  

Akaza noticed as well and made his way over to Kyojuro, leaning one hip on the counter next to him. You watched him turn Kyojuro’s face towards him, cupping his jaw and pressing their lips together. Their lips met in gentle kisses several times before Akaza claimed the other man’s mouth. His hand left Kyojuro’s jaw to trail a line down his neck, down his chest, down his abs, and slid lower still until his hand cupped his length over his bright red microfiber trunks and gave it a squeeze. 

“Fuck, your cock is so hard,” Akaza groaned and you watched his hips move to press against Kyojuro’s hip, pressing his own obvious bulge against him. 

“What can I say? I truly and completely enjoy watching the two of you together.” Kyojuro let out a slow breath as Akaza’s hand rubbed up and down his cock. 

You watched as Akaza pulled Kyojuro’s cock free from its confines. His hand cupped Kyojuro’s cock, thumb smearing the pre all over his tip. It took everything in you not to move your hand between your own thighs as you watched Akaza stroking Kyojuro’s cock. He kissed down the other man’s neck and then licked back up, nipping the blonde’s ear with a grin on his face.

“I have an idea,” Akaza said, kissing Kyo’s cheek. He gestured for you to come forward. “On your knees.”

You did as instructed, looking up at the men you loved. Akaza rubbed the tip of Kyo’s cock across your lips, smearing the pre over them to make them shine like gloss. He tapped it against your lips and you opened, sticking out your tongue like you knew he wanted. 

Kyo groaned as Akaza rubbed the tip up and down your tongue. His knuckles were turning white as he gripped the counter behind him. “Fuck…”

“Suck his cock,” Akaza said, still stroking the hard thick length that rested against your tongue.

You happily obliged, wasting no time to start taking Kyo’s cock into your mouth. You couldn’t help but moan as you watched Kyo’s face as you worked. You loved seeing the pleasure on your lovers’ faces at your touch. 

Akaza’s hand found its way into your hair and he gripped it in his fist. Your hands splayed on Kyojuro’s thighs as Akaza took control of your movements and depths. He guided you in progressively deeper takes until your nose was pressed against the coarse black hairs at the base of Kyo’s cock and his cock was nestled in your throat. 

“Oh shit,” Kyojuro moaned as your throat contracted around him. 

Akaza pulled you all the way back to the tip and then back down again, slowly picking up speed. You felt yourself getting wetter and wetter as Kyojuro’s cock was fucked into your mouth and throat. The looks on both of the men’s faces. The feel of your drool dripping down your chin and the tears of pleasure forming in your eyes. Your pussy clenched with need. You dug your nails into Kyo’s thighs to stop yourself from getting yourself off. 

That urge got even harder to fight when Kyojuro moved a hand to free Akaza’s cock and started stroking it in time. You watched through blurry eyes as the two men kissed passionately above you. Akaza’s hand tightened in your hair and Kyojuro’s cock twitched in your mouth. 

Kyojuro broke the kiss and tilted his head back. “Oh fuck! I’m going to cum!”

“Do it! It’s what both of us want… we both want to see you cum,” Akaza encouraged in a sultry tone.

You made a noise of agreement and hollowed your cheeks even more, one well time squeeze with your throat had the fire haired man’s load spilling down your throat. His cock twitched as it spurted, his cum filling your mouth and a small bit trickling down your chin. Akaza pulled you back and you quickly closed your mouth and swallowed.

“Tongue.”

You stuck out your tongue to show not a drop had gone to waste. 

“Good girl,” Kyojuro panted, his hand cupping your cheek as he worked to catch his breath, his cheeks flushed. His hand began to stroke Akaza’s cock faster even as he came down from his high. He turned his face towards the other man and leaned in to give him a kiss, nipping and pulling at this bottom lip. “Your cock is twitching, Akaza. Are you close already?”

“Fuck… Can’t help it…” Akaza groaned. His mouth fell open as he watched Kyo stroking him so close to your face.

“Where do you want to cum?” Kyo asked, his hand stroking the other man faster. 

“Fuck… don’t care… just… wanna cum…” Akaza almost whimpered, his hips rocking forward into Kyo’s grip. 

You felt another pulse shoot through you at the tone of Akaza’s voice and the desperation laced in it. Kyojuro’s free hand took hold of your hair and pulled you closer. You opened your mouth, pussy throbbing and mouth now hanging open, just waiting for Akaza’s fat cock. You were almost salviating at the thought. 

You whimpered in pleasure as Kyo’s grip tightened, holding you in place, just shy of Akaza’s cock as he kept stroking him. You kept your mouth open and your tongue out without having to be told. You knew what was coming and you were ready for it.

“Oh fuck! Shit! Oh, gods, here it comes!” Akaza whimpered as he came, his load spilling over your tongue and into your mouth. His cock twitched as Kyo’s hand slowed, milking him until dry. 

You swallowed down the load, and again stuck out your tongue to show it was all gone. You grinned up as Kyojuro as he let go of your hair and cupped your cheek. 

“You did well,” Kyojuro said, smiling.

“More than,” Akaza chuckled. 

“Tell me,” Kyojuro said as they helped you to your feet. “Are you turned on right now? Ready to be fucked?”

“Oh Gods yes,” you moaned as he pulled you flush against him. 

He kissed your lips and then pulled your head back with a smirk on his handsome face. “Too bad.”

The Next Day 

You were sitting between Kyojuro and Akaza on the couch with a frequently re-watched anime playing on the PS5 for background noise when Akaza's inspiration a Free Use session struck. 

Kyojuro was busy grading papers, you were doing projections, and Akaza was currently playing Age of Empire on his laptop. Judging by the grunts and almost growls you heard emanating from the tattooed man, he was getting a wee bit frustrated. Which was why you were not surprised when Akaza’s voice broke the comfortable silence.

“Turn so you are facing Kyojuro and lean against me,” Akaza said, eyes still glued to his laptop screen, finger still clickity-click-click-clicking away on the mouse. 

You did as he instructed, turning to face your other partner. You shot him a smile and a wink when he looked away from his screen towards you for a moment to see what was going on. Akaza wrapped an arm over your shoulder and let you settle your back against his side to get comfortable. The easiest way to keep working in this position was to sit pretzel style with your laptop resting on your lower legs. As you expected, not a single complaint was uttered by either of your partners.

Akaza’s hand on your shoulder started to trace light circles on your skin , just barely dragging the tips of his fingers against you. You licked your lips and tried to focus on your spreadsheet. It was hard to recall Excel formulas when your partner's fingers were slowly inching closer to places you really, really wanted him to touch. 

A small tremor went through you when his calloused fingers brushed over your already hard nipple, dragging with more pressure against the tip and letting the pad of his finger feel it spring back up. Soon this turned to him twisting and pulling at your nipples until you let out a noise for him and then letting it go to grope the breast in his palm before switching to the other. 

You couldn’t stop the slight movements of your hips when he touched you. You were getting more aroused with every passing second. You bit your lips and closed your eyes as his hand trailed down your body towards your waiting cunt.

“Keep working… if you can.”

You could hear the smirk in Akaza’s voice as his fingers reached their destination. As difficult as concentrating on work was with him touching you, if you were anything it was full of spite. Challenge accepted. “Oh, I can.”

His fingers began to move, sliding up and down your slick slit and spreading your pussy lips apart. “I like you being naked all the time.”

“I agree!” Kyojuro added, not looking away from his screen but reaching a hand over to rest on your thigh and give it a squeeze. 

“I myself am finding it rather enjoyable,” you added, struggling to keep your vision focused as Akaza’s sinful fingers teased as your clit, alternating between drawing figure 8s and pinching your sensitive bud. 

You let out a stuttered, slow breath as your pussy pulsed with the need to have something inside it. Fuck, at this point you didn’t even care what it was. Your hips bucked with a firm pinch to your clit and you gasped. You heard Akaza chuckle and you thumped his midsection with your elbow. 

“Play nice, you two,” Kyojuro warned, his hand trailing up and down your skin where he could reach around your laptop. 

“That’s so boring,” Akaza whined. 

He swore as something happened in his game. Much to your displeasure his hand left your pussy to trail back up your body all the way to your lips. He smeared your cream over your lips before pressing his 3 fingers against the seam. You opened your mouth expecting all three fingers at once, only to be surprised as he had you suck clean his fingers one at a time. 

You hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed until your laptop being lifted got your attention and they snapped open in surprise. Kyojuro had reached over and was taking it from you with a little smirk on his face.

“I think it’s time to put this away for a bit. Everything saved?” He asked.

You gave a thumbs up as Akaza’s fingers had your mouth still occupied. Akaza would brag about his win, you were sure of it. But right now you did not care. You could not care. 

Because as soon as that laptop was out of the way, Kyojuro’s fingers were in your juicy cunt, fucking it and opening you up. You shifted yourself a little lower, trying to give Kyojuro better access. You wanted to feel his fingers as deep as they could possibly go. 

Akaza removed his fingers from your mouth and you heard the familiar  sounds of him shutting down his laptop. He and Kyojuro both set their laptops on the coffee table and turned their focus fully on you. You whined and pouted when Kyojuro removed his fingers. But your despair was quickly gone as the two men shifted the three of you into new positions. 

You found yourself flat on your back, with Akaza kneeling near your head and Kyojuro kneeling between your legs. Kyojuro spread your legs wide open and rolled them back until your cunt wide open. 

“Hold your legs,” Kyojuro instructed you, waiting for your hands to take their assigned spot before he moved his own. 

You looked down at him, your eyes fluttering even as you tried to keep eye contact. A moan escaped your lips as you felt the flat of Kyo’s tongue travel the length of your clit, from the top, dragging over your clit, all the way down, shoving it inside your creamy cavern and swirling it as he tried to gather as much of your arousal as he could on his tongue. He moaned against your pussy at the taste of you. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back onto his face and eating your pussy like a starving man. 

You looked up at Akaza as you sensed movement to find the pink haired man was stroking his cock as he kneeled above you watching Kyo devour your pussy. You caught his gaze and bit your lip. 

Akaza grinned and adjusted his position, holding his balls over your mouth as he kept stroking himself. “You know what to do.”

You opened your mouth and took one of his balls into your mouth, sucking on it and drawing swirls on it with your tongue, releasing it to do the same to the other one. He swore and adjusted his position so that he could lower his cock into your mouth.

“Oh fuck! Your mouth feels so fucking good,” Akaza groaned.

You opened your mouth wider, tilting your head slightly so he could start working his cock into your throat. You worked on relaxing your jaw and working through your gag reflex while Kyojuro had slowed his feasting to long, dragging licks. You cried out as he slid two fingers into your eager hole. 

You tried to moan around the cock in your throat, the constriction making Akaza cry out and unintentionally jerk his hips forward hard. 

Akaza pulled his cock out and glanced down at you. He saw your eyes were teary and he cupped your cheek in concern. “You good?”

Upon hearing the question Kyojuro stopped his movement as well, listening to hear if you were alright and waiting for consent to continue. 

Neither of your partners had any issues with giving you a good throat fucking, especially knowing how wet and needy it made you, but the one thing they insisted on was getting you ready for it slowly. They gave each other the same courtesy. Conversation, consent and cognizance. Not just rules for sex, but rules for your relationship.

“I’m good. Still Green,” you smiled before stretching your jaw a few times.

“How green?” Kyojuro teased, dipping his head down to suck on one of your pussy lips, pulling at it gently before letting it go.

“Soooo very green,” you said, pulling your legs up a little more and wiggling your hips in a tease. 

“I have an idea for something new to try,” Kyojuro said, giving the same suck and pull treatment to your other pussy lip. 

Akaza sat back on his haunches, one hand wrapped around his thick cock, stroking it. “Well then, Rengoku-sensei, please share with the class.”

Kyojuro cut Akaza a quick glare that only made the pinkette grin broader. Being a teacher, Kyo was not a fan of teacher-student role play. But Akaza could not turn down an opportunity to be a brat. Even to save his own life. 

“Let's hear it!” You were used to ignoring Akaza’s little taunts.

“What do you think about taking us both… here?” Kyojuro asked, inserting a finger into your cunt, just to the first knuckle and dragging it clockwise around your opening.

You shivered at the contact and the thought. It made your pussy throb, but it was honestly not something you had ever considered before. You licked your lips as you thought it through.

“Remember, you can say no,” Akaza turned your chin so you were looking up at him, his beautiful blue eyes locked on yours. “It’s not a turn off and we are not going to get mad.”

“That is correct!” Kyojuro echoed the support, kissing your inner thigh. 

You smiled at Akaza and made a kissy face at him, he adjust to be able to lean down and give you a kiss. You felt Kyojuro moving and once Akaza straightened up, Kyojuro was right there with that beautiful smile on his face, already knowing he was about to have the same silent request for kisses sent his way. He kissed you several times and pulled back.

“I need to think about that… but,” you drew it out. It was more for you than them as you readied yourself to get quite candid about your wants. Your voice was a little higher pitched than normal when you spoke. “Could we try… seeing how many…fingers I can take?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely we can do that!” Akaza’s eyes and face lit up at the suggestion which made you smile as well. You felt all tension drain from your body.

Kyojuro caught your chin with his fingers and turned you to face him. “I am proud of you for communicating openly with us. And I have to say, it was incredibly sexy to hear you be so direct. I hope to hear it more often.”

“Thank you.” Your cheeks felt hot.

“Anybody need water or anything?” Akaza asked as he moved to the floor next to you on his knees. 

“I could use a sip,” you answered. 

“I will take a drink as well,” Kyojuro said, sitting back on his haunches, still between your legs. 

You sat up as he handed you a bottle of water, opening it for you before placing it in your hand. You took several sips, soothing your recently fucking throat and passing the bottle to Kyojuro who winked and took a sip before handing it back to Akaza.

“Good?” Akaza asked as he put the cap back on and set it on the table.

“Good,” you and Kyojuro echoed. 

“Good,” Akaza said with a grin as he lowered his head towards your breast. He took your nipple into his mouth, flicking your nipple ring with his tongue and pinching the sensitive tip with his teeth until you whimpered, then he released it and gave it a sweet kiss before moving to the other breast.

Kyojuro’s hands were suddenly on your thighs, right under where yours were. Akaza immediately grabbed one of your hands and brought it to his cock, almost like he was desperate for contact. The second your hand wrapped around his velvety cock you felt him twitch and start to get harder. He wasted no time bucking his hips into your hand. 

Kyojuro grabbed a bottle of lube off the end table, where you all had unanimously decided it would live during Free Use Weekends, and popped the cap. You bit your lip at the feel of the cool gel on your pussy. Kyojuro rested his cock between your folds and began rocking against you. He dragged his cock up and down the length of your gash, stopping every few drags to smack your clit with the fat head of his cock. 

You mewled and tried to rock your hips, trying to catch his head on the opening and have him finally fill you. A few months into this relationship now, Kyojuro was well aware of what devious little tricks you tried to pull, such as this one right here. He let his cock catch, but he only gave you the very, very tip. He and Akaza both laughed at the look of frustration on your face. 

“What’s the matter, pretty girl? That didn’t work out the way you wanted?” Akaza’s tone was filled with mirth. 

He had moved his hand down your body until his fingers had finally reached their destination. He slid his second and middle finger in a V formation down your spread pussy until his fingers were on either side of Kyojuro’s cock. He bit his lip and decided to move closer to watch the action down there. 

With your legs pressed up against your stomach and your hips turned up, you couldn’t really see all too much. You propped up on your elbows, hoping for a better view but not really being able to see.

Akaza realized what you were doing and grinned as he got an idea. “Say… since you want to see so bad… what do you say we record this sessions? For the three of our eyes ONLY of course. Then not only will you be able to see everything, but so will we. Again and again. Anytime we want.”

Your cunt clenched at the thought of being able to see everything that this session was bound to have in store for you again and again… And the thought of watching it again later with them? “Yes please.”

“I agree,” Kyojuro agreed, sucking in his bottom lip as he looked down at his cock and your glistening cunt… just… right there… just waiting to be split open by him. 

Akaza grinned and grabbed his phone. His dick twitched and leaked in your hand as excitement filled his veins. He moved to again be kneeling on the couch near your head and directed you to put your hands over your head for now. You did as he asked, sliding your hands between his legs and under him, resting on the couch pillow beneath. Kyojuro tipped your hips back towards him slightly and moved forward so your ass was more in his lap and your hips braced on his thighs. 

Akaza clicked the buttons on his phone screen. He narrated each thing as he did it - open the camera, turn off the flash, and press record. Nope, that was a picture, wait…yup got it this time…

He leaned over you and angled his phone so you could see the screen too. 

You watched on the small high def screen as you felt his fingers rejoin Kyojuro’s cock at your pussy. His four fingers spread your cunt wide open, two on either side keeping your glistening folds in view of the camera. Your sweet little pleasure pearl pulsed at the sight. Kyouro pulled his tip out and rubbed it up and down your slit a few more times for the camera before stopping and smacking the head against your clit a few times. 

You watched and felt Kyojuro line his cock up. You moaned softly and swore as you watched Akaza’s fingers keeping your cunt spread open so Kyojuro could feed your sweet little pussy inch by inch of his big fat cock. “Holy shit, Kyo…”

“You take his cock so good, baby girl,” Akaza purred, rubbing his fingers up and down your lips as Kyo gave you a moment to adjust to his size. 

Kyojuro started moving, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good. You’re so hot and so tight, love. Fuck…feels so good when you squeeze me like that…Yeah… shit.. Just like that…”

You let out a sound of surprise as you watched Akaza slip a finger into your cunt along with Kyojuro’s cock. “Oh shit…”

Then another… then another… “Yellow.”

Both men came to an immediate stop, looking at you for further information. You smiled at them. “Just.. Just need a moment…”

“Do you want me to move my hand?” Akaza asked, his features showed concern.

“No. nuh uh! Not at all! Just… full,” you gave a small laugh. 

“Understood,” Kyojuro said. He grabbed the lube and set it down next to him. His hands rubbed your thighs gently, thumbs drawing soothing circles on the supple flesh. “Take all the time you need.”

Akaza had paused the video when you said yellow, and he now rested the phone on your belly. “Watch your hands, love. Don’t want to hurt those pretty little fingers when I move.”

“Where are you going?” you asked, almost distressed as he pulled his fingers free from your sensitive cunt. 

“Just going to get us a better angle, Kyo - I think it would be better if she was on top for this,” Akaza said to the blond man still buried balls deep within you, giving little grinds of his hips so you did not wind all the way down. 

“Sound good to you?” Kyojuro asked.

“Mmmhmm, wanna ride your big fat cock,” you said, moving your hands to run your nails down his chest.

“Mmmm, yes, please!” Kyojuro said.

Akaza barely got his phone in his hand before Kyojuro moved at the speed of light to have you on top of him. His hands on your ass, cupping your cheeks, your hands braced on his powerful chest, and his hips pistoning his cock up into you hard and fast.  

“Oh, fuck! Yes! Right there!” you cried out, moaning as the head of his cock dragged over that hidden spot in your walls in the most perfect ways. 

“Fuck thats such a gorgeous sight,” Akaza’s voice sounded from behind you. 

You looked over your shoulder to see him stroking his cock as he recorded Kyojuro fucking your tight little pussy. You bit your lip and arched your back more so that your ass cheeks went more into Kyojuro’s large, calloused palms. He spread you even wider for the camera, and for Akaza. 

“Fuck, I need to be inside you too, gorgeous,” Akaza said, catching the bottle of lube Kyojuro tossed at him in mid air. 

You pressed forward onto Kyojuro’s chest, joining your lips together in passionate, slow kisses as his thrusts slowed to match until his cock was no longer moving, just buried balls deep inside of you. Your moans filled the air as Akaza worked your ass open, getting you ready to take his monster as well. Prep and after care were huge things in your household and they added another layer of intimacy and sex appeal in your eyes. As if either of these men needed any more sex appeal…

One of Kyojuro’s hands left your ass to slide between your bodies and start teasing your clit. He did slow, sensual circles and rocked the pad of his finger over your clit, teasing back the hood and swelling up the little pearl. 

You felt Akaza line the head of his cock up with your ass. “Ready?”

“So ready, fuck, Kaz. Need you inside,” you whined as you relaxed into ‘noodle mode’ on top of Kyojuro. 

“Poor, baby girl. We can’t have you left wanting, princess. That just won’t do.” Akaza cooed at you as he began easing his thick, veiny length into your tight ass.

“Oh, fuck!” you moaned as he rocked into you a little at a time, adding lube the whole way until his balls were flush against you and his cock was buried deep within you, pressing against Kyojuro’s through that thin sensitive wall. 

You were so fucking full. And you loved it. Kyojuro’s fingers were once again moving on your clit and your body began to buzz and pulse with need quickly. You began to rock your hips, moving yourself on both of their cocks at the same time. “Oh gods, you guys feel incredible inside of me together. So big… so good.”

“Gods, you are so tight, princess, But you fit both our cocks so well… That’s it, gorgeous, ride us. Take what you need, pretty girl…” Akaza panted as your hips began to move faster and your movements got more confident. 

“Give it to me,” you said, your hips getting tired with the added weight and the angle. You looked over your shoulder and watched as Akaza lifted the camera from catching the images of his cock stretching your ass to your pretty face. “It’s Free Use Weekend… I’m just supposed to… take it, aren't I?”

Kyojuro’s hand shot up to fist in your hair and turn you to face him. His eyes were glossy with desire and his pupils blown wide. “Oh, we can do that, gorgeous. Akaza… I think our sweet little thing wants us to absolutely wreck her.”

Your body squeezed tight on both of them at the thought.

“Oh, yeah… she liked that thought, squeezed me so tight you almost pushed me out,” Akaza said, rocking into her with a little thrust to emphasize his statement. “Can’t let you do that. Not going to let you push me out until I unload inside you, sweet thing.”

“Oh, fuck please… please… wanna feel you both cum in me…”

“Gods… I love hearing you beg!” Kyojuro said in little more than a growl, pulling you down for a passionate kiss as Akaza leaned over and set his phone on a kick stand, turning the camera around and lining it up as quickly and best as he could. He really couldn’t care less about that video at this point. He wanted to answer those sweet sweet begs of yours. 

He leaned over you, his mouth attaching to the back of your neck and his hands sliding under your body to grip your breasts. “It’s such a pretty sound. So, so pretty.”

Akaza straightened up behind you and his hands braced on your hips. He made eye contact with Kyojuro. “Ready to rock our pretty girl’s world, handsome?”

“Certainly!” Kyjuro grinned. 

“Green means go!” you said your famous line with an impatient laugh.

And with that, your partners began to properly wreck you. Slamming their big thick cocks in and out of your body, alternating between a seesaw where one went in as the other pulled out and moving together, slamming into you and pulling out at the same time. With Akaza’s hands on your tits and Kyojuro’s hand on your clit,  you came, crying out their names, hands reaching to touch both of them as you shook between them, your honey coating Kyojuro’s cock and smearing on both of their balls. 

They fucked you until they both unloaded inside of you and you were a sleepy rag doll, ready for a nap. With gentle cleanup and a move to the bed, you three settled in for a well needed nap. It was funny how such a filthy fuck felt like making love. You smiled as you drifted into sleep thinking to yourself - all sex is making love if it is done with the ones you love.

[homiesexuallaj]

Hands

Pairing: Eric Draven x reader

Genre/Warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, nondescript smut, hands, possible hand kink, possible hand fetish

Request: A piece about Eric Draven’s hands

A/N: For @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler !! I also used one of their gifs from their gifset.

———

Eric is so gentle with his hands. He always has been, no matter the situation.

He’s handsy too. He loves to be touching you at all times, no matter what’s going on. If you’re out and about, he’s either asked you to wrap a hand around his bicep or hold his hand. Or when he’s guiding you somewhere, there’s always a hand on your lower back.

When you’re out at a bar or in a club dancing, he’s always got his hands on you. He’s either in front of you and holding your hands while you mirror each other’s dance moves or got his hands on your hips while you both sway to whatever beat is on. When he’s behind you, there’s a guarantee he’s either hugged himself around your waist or crowding into your personal space with arms wrapped all around you and a head on your shoulder.

Eric never doesn’t not have his hands on you.

When you’re alone and domestic, you’re never not within arms reach, if Eric even lets you sit away that far. When you’re relaxing in bed or on the couch, Eric is swirling patterns into your skin with his fingertips or following the curves and dips of your skin. When it’s your turn to make dinner, Eric likes to watch with either a hand on your lower back or hugging himself into you from behind. Or when Eric is playing piano, he insists that you’re sitting and pressed up beside him. There’s no way you’re in the way of his playing. You’re right where you’re supposed to be.

When you’re in bed, it really shows how gentle Eric is.

Eric loves to grope and grab. He’s not one to slap or leave bruises or throw you around. He loves to help you get in position though. And his hands are always touching you, all over. He covers as much area as he can in the moment.

The man never pressed to hard or tugged to harsh, just enough to make it feel good. He only ever grabs hard enough to leave temporary indents in your flesh, something that’ll last for a few minutes at the least.

Whenever or wherever Eric is trailing kisses, his hands aren’t far behind. They always smooth down goosebumps or grab at any excess flesh.

When the deed is done with, Eric insists that you lay on chest bare chest. Both of your bare bodies are pressed into each other. Your hand traces over the black ink that’s etched into his skin and his trace shapes and swirls into yours.

Eventually, Eric ends up lulling you to sleep with his hands. And he rubs you back until Eric is off to dreamland himself.

———

A/N: The request v v

[swordgrace]

❝ 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐮𝐩. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: spending a gentle morning with your boyfriend, bucky barnes.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: bucky barnes x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.2K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: smut (mdni), established relationship, post-thunderbolts bucky, lots of fluff, soft!bucky, making out, thigh-grabbing, bucky is a little flirt, morning sex, oral sex (fem!rec), cunnilingus, female orgasm.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: so this is my first time writing for bucky despite being obsessed with him for 10+ years (please be gentle & feedback would be really appreciated!) I typically write him as more soft & a service top instead of rough, so hopefully this doesn’t turn people off. anyway, I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Before the sun splits through a violet twilight, cresting over darkness and into dawn, Bucky is wide awake, smoothing one palm over his grizzled countenance.

It’s too early; though, it’s become something of a normality for him, waking up before the first light of daybreak. Muscles ache with the heaviness of sleep, coiled into knots, still echoing with soreness from a mission days ago.

A five o’clock shadow clings to his jaw, brunette tresses longer, bedraggled by slumber. A shallow exhale simpers from his lungs, slow and steady, something that grounds him to his surroundings.

Save for the pale glow of the light glittering above the headboard, his room is shrouded by an inky black, bathroom door left ajar.

Peering through the dim illumination, his gaze searches for you, back turned to him, swaddled in the comforter; leaving only a sliver for him. A soft huff splits past his lips, knowing that you can’t sleep unless you’ve got a blanket.

Even when the temperature gets sweltering and summertime swings through with a vicious humidity, you’re typically bundled in the sheets, covered, unwilling to go without it. He’s conceded to sleeping with a fourth of the blanket.

A low noise reverberates through your body, swallowed whole by the pillow as you turn, comforter tucked to your collar, now facing him.

Scrunched with slumber, you’re still sound asleep, curled comfortably beside the pillow. You’re huddled tightly beneath the blanket, a tangle of limbs, warm to the touch.

Ritualistic, Bucky’s often ogling you each morning, mapping out every detail that rests within your countenance, finding beauty in everything. Every time the sun comes up, he’s searching for you, drinking you in again and again.

You’re the first thing he sees when dawn splits dusk — the best thing he sees.

You only get prettier with each passing morning, with every sunrise, prompting his heart to gallop beneath his sternum, unable to smother his smile.

If someone told him years ago that he would’ve ended up with you, he would’ve scoffed at the notion; unlovable, unworthy — he’d changed his outlook drastically.

There’s something inherently soft about your relationship — pure, clean, built on a foundation of mutual trust and protection. Bucky never experienced soft, save for the forties; now, he was able to rest.

Unconsciously, you stir, crawling closer until your body wedges into his arm, flesh and blood, bicep firm as he adjusts, bringing you against his side. Still muddled by the haze of sleep, you exhale, cheek pressed into his shoulder.

He smooths a feather-light kiss to your crown, gaze drifting toward the ceiling; nondescript, too modern. The massive undertaking of renovating the former Avengers Tower was met with mild resistance from the team — plenty of needless additions, too.

The training room is entirely too large for how many people live in the tower — a meager seven, unless Valentina intended on recruiting. There’s buttons on the sofa in the common lounge, and he’s still uncertain of what they do.

Sometimes, it all feels too new, too sprawling — he’s always enjoyed the simpler things in life, the rustic and the unappealing.

Hushed, Bucky steals another glance, gaze fluttering over your visage, over the strands of loose tresses that stick to your temples. He sweeps them aside, vibranium arm a kiss of ice to your warm skin.

Slowly, he begins to shuffle, gently easing you aside and into the pillow, muscles stiff as he rolls to perch along the edge of your bed.

Dawn unfurls somewhere beyond the horizon, tendrils of muted orange whispering through the eventide. A soft groan slips from his lips, body still recuperating from a mission days ago, bruises bone-deep.

Early to rise before anyone else, he stretches, reaching for a black undershirt, dog tags sparkling through slivers of light. Tugging the fabric over his head, he trails toward your bathroom, making for the sink.

Palms splay flat over smooth granite, mirror revealing a rugged countenance, tresses disheveled. A tangle of scars lay where vibranium kissed flesh — old wounds, old memories interlaced into his skin.

Formed by him attempting to claw at the metal, they were a remnant of a ghost, a spectre he’d left behind. It was the piece of him that had healed entirely, leaving behind mere wisps — Bucky wasn’t him anymore.

The Winter Soldier was no more, only present in a name, a stranger left within the recesses of his mind; lingering still, no longer important.

Nightmares still nipped at his heels, less intense than they used to be, but still prevalent. There’s brighter days ahead when you’re around, presence comforting, able to soothe him without effort.

Screwing the knob of the sink, a rush of cold water tumbles from the spout, filling the basin with icy liquid. Dipping his vibranium hand beneath, he splashes a barrage of water against his face, a brief shock to the system, cooling over warm skin.

Droplets of water rolled over his chin as he scooped another handful into his mouth, allowing it to soothe his dry throat. A comfortable hush echoes through his room; it’s tranquil.

In the mirror’s reflection, he spots your writhing body, adjusting again, but this time, you’re awake. Through furrowed brows and mild confusion, you’re humming, limbs uncoiling, searching for Bucky.

“Bucky?” Through a barely-audible murmur, you notice the empty space beside you, indent still warm where a body once lay. With a low groan, you sit up, groggy as you blink to try and rid yourself of the sleep-induced haze.

Lingering in the doorway, Bucky makes himself known, bathed in blanched light from the bathroom, as if he’s caught in some glow. “Morning.” He drawls, his smile lilting into something lopsided, warm.

With a smile, you rub at your eyes, peering toward your phone, the time flashing up at you. It’s only ten-past-six, typically too early for you, but not for him. “Hi,” Wiping the blur from your sight, you shuffle beneath the comforter. “You okay?”

Bucky nods, reassuring as he dries off his metallic hand with a towel, watching you as if you’re the center of everything; you are. “Early riser,” He muses, head tilting to one side. “You can go back to bed.” He assures.

“I’m awake now,” You protest, squinting as you allow yourself a moment to adjust. Sleep’s thick fog still clouds your mind like a haze of steam, prompting you to stretch out your arms. “I might as well stay up.”

Through a half-sleepy smile, you comb your fingers over your crown, hand dropping to your side as you lay back down. Knowing that Bucky is up and will continue to stay awake prompts you to do the same, hands folding over your abdomen.

With a soft chuckle, he turns, tossing the towel back onto the rungs before crossing the threshold to your bed, sinking back down beside you. The black undershirt and silvery gleam of his dog tags is a good look for him — he’s handsome.

Swiveling around, you turn to face him, tucking one arm beneath your head, a smile still curling at the corners of your mouth. Instead of saying anything, you’re gawking, ogling him as if he’s the center of your universe.

Bucky can feel your gaze on him, and he turns, brows slightly furrowed, a half-smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “What’s wrong?” He rumbles, softening at the sight of you.

You’re breathtaking, exhilarating; he still can’t believe that you’re with him after all this time, steadfastly by his side. He feels your hand trace over his bicep, leaving fire in your wake, prompting him to inhale.

“Nothing, just … You’re pretty,” The tender cadence of your remark evokes a chuckle from him, nose briefly wrinkling, brows furrowing. “I’m being serious.” You assert, cheek nudging over his shoulder.

“I know,” Bucky counters, rolling over on his side to mimic your position, cool vibranium brushing over the exposed flesh of your hip. A metal thumb caresses circles over your hipbone, enough to make your breath catch. “Supposed to be telling you that.”

Ardor oozes from his gaze, cerulean hues traveling over the delicate slope of your jaw, across your body, which happens to be clad in one of his shirts. After being The Winter Soldier for a lifetime, Bucky has become exceedingly gentle.

Being callous, cruel, rough; it isn’t ingrained into his codex anymore, he doesn’t want it to be. Your presence evokes the gentler feelings, ones that he prefers to let guide him over anything else.

“We can tell each other,” You level with him, fingertips snaring over his dog-tags, nail tracing over the indents on the metal. “Did you sleep well, at least?” A tender hush wraps around your cadence, a soothing lull.

Bucky huffs, a light smile toying at the corners of his mouth, metallic digits still circling your skin. Gooseflesh spawns in the wake of his touch, spreading like wildfire across your spine.

“Yeah,” He muses, unable to peel his eyes away from you, gaze softening whenever you smile. Rest is better with you around — he feels safe, more aware of his surroundings. “Did you? Sorry for waking you up.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you’re dismissive of his apology, digits gliding toward the collar of his undershirt. The constant touching is assuring to Bucky, something grounding. “Don’t be sorry. This is nice, being up together.”

Optimism has always been your strongest attribute, and he concedes, finding contentment in the smaller moments like these. “It is,” He hums in agreement, metal fingers smoothing over your waist. “You’re so beautiful.”

A scoff erupts from your mouth, as if he’s said something outlandish. “I think you’re still asleep or something,” You tease, feeling rather disheveled, undeserving of his compliment. “Like this, all messy from sleeping?”

Bucky’s brows momentarily furrow, mouth agape to make room for a quizzical chuckle. “Exactly like this,” Insistent, he takes a swipe at your brief moment of self-deprecation, dismantling it with ease. “You’re always beautiful.”

A droning groan slips past your mouth as you descend against the mattress, sprawling out, limbs somewhat untangled from the comforter. “Thank you.” Through a soft mumble, you feel your skin crawl with a constant warmth.

Biting back a grin, he shifts closer, propped up on his side, vibranium palm kissing your thigh, a burst of lce to your flesh. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” He murmurs, tone droning at a husky octave. “Getting shy on me?” He’s teasing you, now.

“Bucky,” In a feeble attempt to counteract him, your knee nudges against his abdomen, but he isn’t going anywhere. “No, just … You’re really sweet.” You mumble, staving off the bite of embarrassment.

“Hm,” Bucky clicks his tongue, a hint of amusement swirling within his eyes. “Sweet, huh?” The pitch of his voice is disarmingly gentle, stirring embers within the pit of your stomach.

Adjusting your leg, your knee sits over his waist, brushing against the fabric of his undershirt. “Very,” You muse, and the flustered feeling begins to dissipate, replaced by elation. “You can’t keep up the tough act with me.”

A ribbing scoff escapes him, faux disbelief creeping over his countenance. He’s so handsome that it hurts, stinging your chest, rousing butterflies within your belly. “Who says that I am?” He remarks, inching closer to you, the distance growing slim.

With a wrinkled nose, your mouth grows into a beam, melting beneath his gaze. He oozes with an effortless charm, one that’s drastically improved since the beginning of your relationship.

Warm fingertips card over your temples, stretching into your hairline as he partially hovers above you, head cocked to one side. You’re mesmerizing, he’s mesmerizing; you’re both awestruck.

He’s gazing at you, hues shamelessly flickering between your doe-eyed stare and the soft curve of your lips. Bucky finds a purpose, a semblance of tranquility within your heart.

The sensation of your palm pressing against his chest barely registers, lost within a labyrinth of you, fingertips roaming over your crown. Your hand sits soundly above his collar, over an old, steady heartbeat — he’s at peace.

Digits climb toward his collar, tracing the metallic chain of his dog-tags, higher still, until you reach the shadowed scruff that covers his jaw.

Bucky exhales, a contented noise that drags through his chest, steady and sure, throat bobbing as he swallows. The quiet is kind — it’s one that he allows himself to settle into, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Words aren’t exchanged, bleeding into the kiss he plants against your lips, nose brushing against yours. A hitch forms within the bottom of your throat, hand splaying over his jaw, involuntarily keening into his touch.

Vibranium tenses over your thigh, cradling, thumb drawing slow circles over the pliant muscle. The sensation is enough to make you quiver with exhilaration, lost within the labyrinth of his lips.

Something incendiary lingers within his kiss, a subdued restraint that he clings to, and you can feel it, too. He savors the feeling, fingertips ghosting along your cheek until he’s cupping your jaw.

With a soft sigh, you’re turning into him, chest brushing against his, other hand drifting to grasp at his bicep. Through a momentary gap, you exhale, warm breath pluming over his lips before you resume the kiss.

Mouths tangle into one another, deepening when he presses closer, slotting a muscled thigh between your legs. Another shiver rolls down your spine, digits tensing over his arm, heart hammering beneath your breast.

He’s deliberate, attentive; Bucky kisses you as if you’re the center of everything, tender as it stretches on for several moments. Kisses edge with something desirous, and you withdraw to catch your breath, visibly smitten.

Your head descends against the pillow, fingers flexing near the nape of his neck, toying with the brunette tresses there. “Could you wake me up like this every morning?” You mumble, lips curling into a smile.

Bucky huffs, mirroring your countenance as his hand still caresses over your leg, beginning to slip towards your hip. “All you gotta do is ask, sweetheart.” He affirms, still close to you.

The affectionate nickname fills you with a thinly-veiled delight, eyelashes kissing the skin beneath your eyes. “Noted.” With a gentle hum, you’re wanting to kiss him again.

“I have something else in-mind, if you’re willing.” Bucky chimes, cadence husky, curling around you like some pleasant haze. He kisses your jaw as if to hint at what he wants; you’re more than willing.

“Enlighten me.” Breathless, you’re attempting to pass as collected, calm, but when icy metal begins to tease the waistband of your shorts, your resolve wavers. His lips travel over the slope of your jaw, sluggish, as if he’s exploring.

Slivers of orange crest the horizon, fracturing dusk with pooling light. It’s still early, early enough for the both of you to hide within the shadows for a little while longer, before everyone else stirs.

Bucky shifts, now positioned between your legs, musculature taking up a decent amount of space. A sigh bubbles within your throat, hands clamoring to perch atop his shoulders.

His mouth works at you still, drifting from your jaw to the silky expanse of your throat, scruffy beard scratching pleasantly against your skin. A delighted half-whine splits your diaphragm, flesh burning with a newfound heat.

“Bucky …” A throaty moan floats from your lips, feeling his fingers curl into the hem of your shirt, gently easing it up towards your chest. Brisk air drifts over your exposed skin, gooseflesh erupting in its wake.

Each kiss makes you feel weightless, as if your bones have turned to molten liquid, stomach churning with anticipation.

After another string of kisses brand your throat, he descends, mouth ghosting below your breasts. His visage prickled over your ribs, sending a brief shiver of anticipation through you.

Cerulean hues flicker toward your face, vibranium hand pressed firm to the mattress, hovering beside your waist. Lips peppered themselves across your stomach, traveling to your hipbones before ascending again, a lackadaisical pattern.

Every kiss possessed meaning, a fervent love for you, etched into your skin as his mouth feathered across your lower stomach. He only came to a crawl when he found your waistband, stealing a glance at you.

“This okay?” Bucky inquired, tone a mere purr, husky as warm breath fanned over your abdomen. “It’s been awhile.” He wanted to taste you again, have you writhing against his tongue; he couldn’t help himself.

With an eager nod, you kept your legs parted, shivering when cool metal toyed with the elastic of your undergarments. “Yes,” You huffed, feeling his lips twitch into a smile. “Bucky, please.”

Unwilling to deny you, he nodded, hands curling into the soft cotton of your shorts and panties, easing them down your legs. Knuckles brush over your thighs, calves, until he’s discarding them near the foot of your bed.

“God, you’re beautiful.” Bucky sighs, reverent as he plants a kiss against the inside of your knee. Your breath hitches, words dissolving to ash in your mouth as he kisses a trail toward your thigh.

A familiar heat pools within your belly, arousal coalescing between your legs, thighs shifting together to relieve a sliver of tension. He continues, hunger stirring within him, ravenous.

Careworn palms caressed circles into your thighs, dragging from your haunches toward your knees, and then back again. Sweet kisses buried themselves along soft skin, inching closer toward the slick warmth of your cunt.

He’s methodical, intimate; there isn’t a need to rush into anything, which you’re thankful for. Instead, you savor his lips as they plume over the inside of your thigh, visage marked by a rugged scruff.

Bucky lowers, prone atop the mattress, threading your legs over his broad shoulders. Metal graces the swell of your hip, holding steadfastly as his other hand caresses your thigh.

With a broad stroke of his tongue, he raked hot embers over your core, hands steadying you, eager to please without an ounce of hesitation.

The unexpected surge of pleasure washed over you in an instant, stomach coiled into a knot of tension, mouth slack to make room for a moan. One hand flew to his crown, carding through brunette waves, urging him closer.

“Bucky,” A blissful whine flutters from your lips, goosebumps traveling over your body. He’s too good at pleasing you, and if you let him, he would’ve stayed buried between your thighs for an eternity. “Feels so good.”

A ripple of satisfaction blisters through him, coupled with his own want, but he’s able to put it aside, content to focus on you. He presses a string of kisses to your cunt before alternating with flat strokes of his tongue.

Lurching forward, your hips jolted, urging yourself onto his mouth with a twinge of desperation. His tongue continued to greedily lap at your slit, briefly teasing your entrance.

The tip of his nose brushes along your petals, tongue splitting deeper still, until he vigorously laps at your core. Your taste permeates his mouth, a bittersweet ambrosia that draws him into some wanton haze.

Thighs twitch, tense on either side of his head, not that he minds. Bucky is exceedingly tender with you, savoring your body, vibranium hand soothingly rubbing along your hip.

He can’t get enough, akin to a man drinking greedily from a desert oasis, chin steeped in your arousal. The shadow of his beard scratched against your supple flesh, leaving behind a prickling burn in its wake.

That taut heat within your stomach had been wound so tight, like a coil threatening to snap in two. His mouth was voracious, lapping and kissing wherever he pleased, pinning your hips down whenever you squirmed.

Fingertips perused through his tresses, gripping snugly near the base of his skull, back arched from the mattress. “B—Bucky, please!” A delighted moan rippled through your diaphragm, sending pleasant shivers through his spine.

A tremor gripped your legs, little spasms of delight making their way throughout your body. A sharp groan blossoms throughout his sternum as you incessantly tug upon his dark locks, urging him closer.

Bucky turns, mouth sealing a hot kiss to the inside of your thigh, metal palm kneading into your hip, drawing circles near your pelvis. Through a shadowed stare, he watches your face as it contorts with bliss.

His mouth hotly returns to your cunt, tongue stroking over your core, splitting past your folds. Oozing heat, he trails his lips toward your clit, pressing a lingering kiss over the sensitive clutch of nerves.

As soon as he pursed his lips around your clit, you nearly exploded, thoughts completely derailed, scattered into a blissful abyss. Your body reacted with shivers and tremors, hand gripping at the nape of his neck with a reckless abandon.

Hips surge forward, jolting into the greedy heat of his mouth, and he happily treats you to incessant barrages of his tongue. Shockwaves of pleasure strike at your belly with each stroke.

Absentmindedly, your hand darts to clasp over his vibranium one, chest tight with a flurry of excitement. The gesture is enough to make him shudder, and he continues, ministrations wrought with vigor.

Slurred cries of ecstasy slip past your lips, back arched, keening into any sliver of friction he offers. Your body was wound into knots, and you felt yourself being pushed towards the precipice of your release.

As his lips rolled over your clit again, your knees buckled, ecstasy mounting, electrifying your very veins. He did not cease, tongue stoking the fire, content to lap at your core, the sweetest agony of all.

“Close,” You huff, doing little to mask your cacophony of pleasure, moaning his name as if it’s all you know. Bucky indulges you without any hesitation, mouth pursing around your clit. “T—There, right there.”

A low groan stirred within his chest, reverberating within his throat as he went about teasing your clit, suckling on the bundle of nerves. A spasm passed through you, mouth slack, desperate moans leaving you in droves.

He doesn’t stop nor change pace, metal thumb stroking beside your wrist, the other hand clutching at your haunch. Bucky drags you close, flush, mouth buried against your cunt with such rapture.

Bucky gingerly suckled on your clit, feeling your fingers tighten within his brunette locks, gripping him tight. He wanted you to have your release, built upon this pent-up feeling.

“Come on, sweetheart,” His voice emerges as a husky lull from between your legs, pulling a whimper from your diaphragm. “I’ve got you.” He soothes, tone wrought with a warming tenderness.

He could feel your encroaching release, feel the tension in your grasp, the way you let your hips continue to lurch forward. Another cry of his name falls from your mouth, affectionate.

Without relenting, Bucky continued to suck at your clit, letting it intermingle with hot laps of his tongue, dutiful and fervent between your legs.

That heated coil within your stomach began to unfurl, bringing an onslaught of arousal with it as you bucked into his mouth. Pleasure washed over you in feverish ripples.

At last, your peak consumed you in a white-hot oblivion, and you very nearly saw the stars themselves. Another drawn-out moan crescendoed from your lips, visage contorted into sheer bliss, hand loosing from his hair.

Bucky slowed, lavishing kisses to your cunt as you shivered, body awash with a burning ecstasy. Spots still floated behind your eyes, heart hammering within your chest, blissed-out.

Withdrawing, he pressed a string of kisses over your inner thighs, which still twitched from the aftershocks of your orgasm. Planting another kiss to the crook of your knee, he sat back, chin glistening with your slick.

Left to recuperate, you were hot, as if you were bitten by a fever. Smitten, you searched for your panties, rubbing at the back of your neck. “That was amazing.” You sighed, as if it were the first time all over again.

Dragging his tongue over his bottom lip, Bucky ran a hand over his chin, a charming smile molding to his features. “I’d be worried if it was anything but.” He remarks, a hint of confident charm creeping in.

Before the ice, before the fall, Bucky was renowned for having a suave, gallant demeanor. He had it still, relearning what it all meant, and he enjoyed making you flustered.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Barnes.” You mumble, lashes fluttering as he wordlessly slips your panties back on, letting you tug them the rest of the way.

Daybreak slips through the windows, an ember-orange that slivers over your shared bed, painting him in some euphoric glow.

Bucky slinks forward again, wedged between your legs, vibranium hand firm atop the pillow. “Am I?” His smile warms your insides, and he exhales when your fingers find his face, cradling his jaw within your hands.

Hushed, he bends to kiss you, a gentle action threaded with heat. The kiss is clean, passionate — he handles you with care, and you make sure to do the same; it’s what he deserves.

“A little bit,” Mesmerized, you reciprocate his kiss, clinging to him like an anchor, foreheads dipping to brush against one another. When dawn strikes you both, your nose wrinkles. “Good morning, Bucky.”

“Morning.” He murmurs, lips stilling as he plants a kiss over your jaw. He gazes at you with ardor, and he knows that with every sunrise, he loves you just a little more.

[tojisun]

johnny mactavish x kyle garrick x f!reader

tags: d/s (dom kyle, sub johnny, switch reader); smut; hinted subspace; mentioned daddy kink & puppy play

it comes in pieces—kyle slipping away from their huddle to make a call, a flash of someone johnny barely recognizes as kyle’s wallpaper, an aborted call of a name when kyle’s plastered as hell.

johnny knows that they all have things that they are keeping from each other—skeletons in the closet and prayers unsung—but johnny had always thought that he knew kyle the way others didn’t. that in the short run of their lives, his is tangled up with kyle’s in ways that mattered; of sleepless nights and whispered conversations, of the quiet comfort.

not really touching, johnny couldn’t permit enough of himself to do so, but close—hovering, breathing each other’s air, finding comfort in each other’s space.

he adored his friend in ways unfathomable, transcending languages and boundaries and labels. if he could, johnny knows that he would exist for kyle. be his cornerstone. his to come back to. his to make a home with.

but kyle’s made it with someone else; his jagged pieces sanded down—a sign of love, of growth, of comfort and protection. a sign of security, one that johnny was unable to fully promise to his friend. one that he feels is slipping from his grasp.

something dark succumbed to johnny then. something possessive and twisted—his jowls full of venom, waiting to be unleashed. he won’t hurt kyle, god knows he would rather die than do so, but—

curiosity is one hell of a drug, and johnny is desperate. needy.

then, he finds you.

oh, he thinks, watching, barely breathing. how beautiful.

kyle’s in his room when he returns. for a second, so quick and imperceptible, johnny forgets about everything and his whole being narrows down into kyle, the centre of his life. only—

“you’ve been scoping,” kyle says, greeting him.

he doesn’t look up from what he’s fiddling with. distantly, johnny realizes that it is everything johnny has of you—a nondescript, unnamed, and carefully stowed away file lest he makes the mistake of provoking kyle. he thought that he could keep it hidden for a while, until the turmoil churning can be put to rest, but kyle’s always known him; he’s always known which buttons to push, which strings to tug.

he’s always known johnny like the back of his hand.

“aye,” johnny replies, never having lied to kyle.

kyle hums, and finally looks at him. his gaze is a blank slate; a perfect mask. even his beautiful eyes are shielded, his thoughts locked away.

it makes johnny twitch.

kyle lets out a long breath. then, he chuckles and, softly, “took y’long enough, ‘tavish.”

oh.

johnny should have known that kyle will never leave him alone for too long. that he is—

loved.

kyle makes him watch, his hands bound behind his back. you are beautiful in your shy attempts of covering up, but kyle peels back your arms and shows you off to johnny. he tells him to look, to see how magnificent you are in your pleasure.

and you are. christ, you are.

heaving chest drawing johnny’s eyes to where your tits are bouncing before the mounds are hidden behind kyle’s big hands, cupping them and massaging, only for rough fingers to tug at your nipples and making you squeal. your thighs squeeze close but kyle spreads them open again with his own legs, showing off how wet you are.

your cunt’s all stuffed and dripping as kyle’s cock fucks in with deep strokes before pulling out. johnny’s throat constricts—kyle’s cock is shimmering with your slick, all glazed deliciously. he wants to taste. to swallow kyle and lap at your juices staining that pretty cock.

“look at him, love,” kyle rumbles, his words muffled from where his full lips are tracing kisses along the slope of your neck. “look at what y’do t’him.”

his hands fall from your tits to grip the inside of your thighs, spreading your legs even wider, letting some slick slip out from your slit. it makes johnny whimper—he could’ve licked that clean; he would’ve savoured that single dollop.

“shh,” he hears kyle say and it takes johnny an awfully long time to realize that it was directed at him. it makes johnny jump, arms tugging at his bindings for a quick second, forgetting who tied him up in the first place, before jolting to a stop at the narrowed eyes that kyle sends him.

“sorry,” johnny rasps out, his voice coming out serrated. “i— m’sorry, mo ghràdh.”

it makes kyle croon, and his voice rumbles out in a way that is so patient and tender that it threatens to choke johnny and tear him asunder.

“isn’t he such a good pup, darlin’?” kyle nudges at you.

johnny’s eyes lift up, locking on yours, and oh—

bright with wonder and sticky with yearning, you gaze back at johnny. he feels so untethered like this—from kyle’s heavy gaze and forgiving trill to your crinkled eyes and soft smile.

“so good,” you murmur, still breathless in your pleasure and thick with yearning and passion. he watches as you lean back, head tipping to graze your lips on the cut of kyle’s jaw. “thank you f’r the gift, daddy.”

and, oh you mean him. johnny is the gift.

kyle says something indecipherable as he begins to rock back in you, the two of you losing yourselves in each other’s embrace. johnny has been hard for hours but neither jealousy nor frustration fill him up because there is something so sacred in this act that he feels the tendrils of hymns forming on the back of his throat and rising to a crescendo.

please. soon. thank you. i want.

it is kyle who first takes him, coaxing johnny to slide his weeping cock into kyle’s loving throat. it makes johnny cry, tears building in the corners of his eyes. he needs something to ground him, to tether himself before he falls, and johnny finds it in your touch. you pull him in, turning his head so he can muffle his moans on your chest, and johnny feels something click into place.

something foggy rouses from the base of his spine, making everything feel more. the pleasure engulfing him, the warmth of kyle’s throat, the softness of your body—johnny feels all of them twice-fold.

like his strings have been pulled taut and they are on the brink of snapping. just one more bloating. just another peaking.

a summit of cataclysmic bliss is in the horizon—

then, he breaks.

johnny heard something wailing in the room. he doesn’t realize that it is himself, razed with an inexplicable euphoria that he feels like he is being undone and then remade—an upheaval of his soul.

simon looks at johnny once and grins. it is too wide and too mean and too dangerous.

“y’ve been tamed, ain’t you, john?”

johnny snaps his teeth at his lieutenant. he knows jealousy when he sees it.

next

[hargreeves-duncan]

⎯⎯ SEX ON THE BEACH

visual is for vibes only, reader’s appearance is nondescript!

pairing: luca x fem!reader

summary: the summer heat is just too much, you and luca find a way to cool off… or, at least, you try to

warnings: SMUT 17+, soft!dom!Luca, fingering, p in v, oral (f!receiving), semi-public sex

word count: 2.9k

a/n: get it? like the drink? i really wanted to explore luca loving sex in water, so, here’s a little expansion on that

The Ibizan sun beat down ferociously on the two of you. After months of pleading, you’d finally persuaded Luca to go on holiday with you to somewhere nice and sunny.

What you hadn’t counted on was the record-breakingly scorching summer that Ibiza was going through.

It was a drenching, sticky heat that had you peeling the bedsheets from your skin each morning and craving a cold shower by the evening.

The villa you’d booked was gorgeous, easily five times the size of your flat back in Copenhagen and decorated with art pieces you were afraid to even breathe near.

Despite all of its grandeur, though, it lacked one crucial feature - air conditioning. Something that Luca was getting progressively frustrated about as the days went on.

Now, on day three, Luca was walking around the villa in nothing but swim shorts, despite having begged you to help him pick nice shirts to match your outfits, because he was sweltering.

You were more than happy to sit, soaking up the sun, in the garden, but Luca? Not so much.

“You okay?” you asked, knowing full well the answer was most definitely no, judging by your boyfriend’s sunburnt pout.

Your eyes softened as you let out a soft laugh, reaching out for him from the sun-lounger, “Babe, come here.”

He padded over, slumping down beside you in grumpy silence. You grabbed the roll-on sun cream from the table and, cupping his face with one hand, and began rolling it over his features.

Your fingers worked cream into his warm skin with the pads of your fingers, moving in small circles. You watched Luca’s furrowed brow dissipate as you did.

“You need to keep reapplying,” you murmured, eyeing his rawly red nose.

He nodded, letting out a soft sigh and cuddling up to you on the lounger. He rested his head on your stomach, eyes focused on something distant, lost in thought

You ran a hand through his hair, “You know cuddling’s only going to make you hotter, right?”

Luca huffed, glancing over at you with, yet another, sigh, “I know.”

You laughed softly, raking your nails over the nape of his neck, “Alright, I was just saying. You get so fussy when you’re hot.”

Usually things were the other way around. You’d be curled up and pouty against Luca’s bicep. It was strange, and nice, to see Luca letting himself be doted on for a change.

He harrumphed, hiding his face in your stomach, then, pressing a soft kiss there. You smiled, stroking his hair, “Why don’t we go down to the beach? You can cool off a bit, hm?”

With an effortful groan, Luca pushed himself up from the lounger, “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that.”

You blinked in surprise at his sudden shift in energy, tilting your head to the side as you looked up at him, towering over you, “Yeah? Now? You feel up to it?”

He nodded, holding his hand out to you and squeezing the air, urging you to take it, “Yeah, I can drive.”

The drive to the beach wasn’t too hardy, aside from Luca’s occasional grumble at having to put a shirt on to drive. With the windows down and a comfortable breeze drifting through the car, you let your head sink into the headrest blissfully.

Your hand drifted over to rest on Luca’s thigh as he drove, which made his face soften slightly. Before long, the golden coast was unfurling before your eyes and welcoming in the late afternoon.

You got parked up, and, for such a tourist-y area of the island, the beach was surprisingly empty. Stray figures were dotted along the beach, but they were far enough away that it almost felt as if you had the beach to yourselves.

You could see the visible relief wash over Luca, “Isn’t this better than being cooped up in the villa?”

“Much better.” Luca murmured, leaning over to peck your lips, affectionately.

He let out a pleased sigh as he got out of the car, slinging your beach bag over his shoulder.

You followed after him, watching him peel off his shirt and tossing it down onto the sand, without a second thought.

Tanned, toned chest catching the sun, Luca made his way down to the water’s edge. Your eyes lingered on his exposed skin, watching the beads of sweat from the day roll down his stomach.

Luca waded into the water, the ocean swallowing his calves as he moved forward. His eyes fell shut blissfully, as he stood, facing the horizon.

He turned back, looking at you. That boyish grin tugged at his lips again, softer now, having been mellowed out by the waves,

“You coming in?” he called, over the sound of the rolling waves.

“Mm, I’m alright from here, thanks.” you laughed, taking a seat on the sand. You ran your hands over the grains, feeling a pleasant burn run through your fingers.

“You sure?” Luca called out again, waves now up to his waist, his eyes squinting at you in the sun.

You smirked, leaning back on your hands as you watched him, “I’m sure. You’re managing just fine without me.”

He laughed, wading a little closer, “Okay, I deserved that, I was a bit grumpy earlier-“

“A bit?” you raised and eyebrow at him, smiling amusedly, “You, sir, have barely said a word all day.”

“Okay, a lot bit grumpy then.” he corrected himself, grinning as he strode back up towards you, “But I’m a changed man now. Ocean-Luca is way nicer.”

“Ocean-Luca, huh?” you laughed, shading your eyes with your hand to see him better, standing dripping and smug in front of you. It was only a matter of time before you gave in.

He nodded, smiling, hands on his hips, “Ocean-Luca. He’s calmer. Less pouty. Way more fun, but, only when he’s got his beautiful girlfriend with him.”

He reached his hand out for you. Droplets of water hit your thigh and you bit your lip, smiling, “That water is freezing, Luca.”

“Don’t whine, darling, you’re starting to sound like me.” he teased you, looking down at you mock-sternly.

You rolled your eyes, smiling as you gave in. He pulled you to your feet and walked you down to the beach, still holding your hand.

The water was shockingly cold at first, a sharp contrast to the heat that had hung in the air all day. You gasped as it lapped at your waist, but Luca only smiled and waded deeper, with you in tow.

You squealed the deeper you went, already shivering from the water. Luca laughed heartily, holding you close, “How are you already so cold?”

His arms were sun-kissed and warm. You clung to them, laughing, “I don’t know. Oh my god, I can literally feel my teeth chattering.”

Luca smiled teasingly at you, placing a kiss to your shoulder, “And I’m the whiney baby, am I?”

His warm hands slid down, under the water, to settle on your hips. You shrugged, smiling through the cold, “I can’t help it that I get cold.”

“No, I guess not,” Luca hummed in agreement, his hands roamed over they waistband of your bikini, “But, we could always do something to warm you up…”

His hands teasingly ran up and down your v-line.

Oh.

“Here?” you replied, breathless at the mere thought of it.

“No one can see us.” His voice was velvet smooth, a little cocky, a little teasing, as he leaned down and pressed another kiss to your shoulder, and then your neck.

“And, plus, you’re freezing, right? This is life or death, beautiful.” watching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, he slowly began to tug your bikini bottoms down.

He let his fingers follow the curve of your body and trace over your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, waiting hungrily for your approval.

You nodded, and he slid two fingers inside of you. You let out a soft groan, both at the feeling of his fingers, the waves lapping at your thighs and the risk of it all.

Luca tugged you closer, so you were pressed against him, and his mouth moved down, suckling at your neck and pressing kisses along it. Your hands reached up to his arms to steady yourself.

“You okay?” He chuckled softly, slowing the pumping of his fingers, to focus on you.

You swallowed, nodding. You looked up at him with dilated pupils, laughing shyly, “Yeah, it’s just tricky to balance.”

He smiled amusedly, patting your hip, “Let’s move you then, gorgeous. Get you comfortable.”

Luca pulled his hand back and the cool water sloshed around your bodies. He nodded a few feet away, “Against those rocks sound better to you?”

You nodded and he took your hand, wading over to them. Your brain was switched off, letting him guide you.

Luca guided you towards a larger rock, that jutted out of the shore, partially concealing you both. The water was up to your ribs here, your legs brushing his as he backed you gently against the stone, kissing your lips gently, “That feel better, beautiful?”

You nodded, mewling when he pulled away. Luca cooed softly, hands running over your hips again, “I bet it does. Sorry, I had you standing, pretty. That was tricky, huh?”

You nodded, pouting. Luca chuckled, his hands sliding up your sides, finding the clasp of your bikini top, “I’m sorry, let me make it up to you.”

With a gentle tug, your bikini top came tumbling down. Luca grinned, tossing it carelessly on the rocks, in favour of admiring you, “Look at you…”

Your nipples pebbled, out in the open, and Luca ran his thumbs over them gently. His eyes locked onto yours as he lowered his head down and ran his tongue over each of them, in turn.

Your breath hitched. You reached a hand up to run through his hair as his lips engulfed your nipple. His eyes, seeking your approval as he suckled your chest, were driving you wild.

You pulled him back up to kiss your lips, hands on either side of his face. The kiss deepened. His grip on you tightened. You could already feel him hardening against your thigh. You moaned against his lips.

You look so good like this, pretty. You have no idea,” he purred, pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, hungry.

Once again, his hand dipped beneath your bikini bottoms, fingers working themselves inside of you. They were thick and full and felt, oh, so, good.

His other hand gripping your thigh and pulled it up over is hip. You clung to him, shifting up and down the rock as he worked you open.

The water moved with you, waves lapping rhythmically as Luca pushed you further. He watched, entranced, as your hips snapped up to meet his fingers, sloshing the water back into his chest.

His fingers curled deep inside you, as he growled lowly, voice tight, “Fuck, there you go, gorgeous… I want you to come for me.”

“Luca…” you gasped helplessly, grip tightening on his shoulders and around his fingers, “Don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” he gritted through his teeth as his fingers continued working in and out of you at a tantalising pace.

You could feel him, hard and eager, against your thigh. He was desperate to be fully inside of you, but he’d make you come on his fingers first.

You bobbed up and down, the waves slapping against your stomach and chest as you did. Luca groaned, tongue in his cheek as he focused his all on you.

“Fucking…” he groaned to himself, hot all over with need for you. He pushed his fingers deeper, hitting the right spot and sending you gushing over his hand, “Come on… there you go…”

He continued moving his fingers inside of you, working you through your orgasm, and feeling your release spill out, mixing with the ocean’s water over his knuckles.

“Doing so good, pretty,” he cooed, pulling his fingers out and cupping your face with his wet hand, kissing you eagerly, “Mm… you think you can handle me too? Yeah?”

You nodded and Luca didn’t waste a second, “Up, for me.”

He tapped your other thigh and you lifted it up for him obediently. His hands guided you onto him, the water bearing your weight as he filled you, inch by inch, his breath stuttering as he buried his face against your throat.

Your head fell back against the rocks as you groaned, muttering a soft, “Oh my… fuck…”

Luca tilted his head, kissing your neck with a small smile, “Welcome back, gorgeous. Thought you’d gone non-verbal on me.”

“Nearly.” you sighed, laughing quietly as you adjusted your hips. You had a habit of succumbing to Luca all too easily, letting him ply you however he saw fit and silently trusting his judgement. Luca much preferred you chattering in his ear with what you wanted.

“Mm, let’s hear you talking to me, more, then, yeah?” he teased, kissing your jaw as he gave a thrust.

You whined, nodding. He looked at you pointedly, “Darling…”

“Yeah,” you replied, speaking up again. Luca pecked your lips in approval and began thrusting into you.

His pace was slow at first, letting you adjust, his thumbs stroking your hips encouragingly with every mewl you made.

But it wasn’t long before the pace picked up, the water splashed noisily against the stone as his thrusts grew deeper, more urgent. Your lips parted as you moaned unabashedly, “Luca, baby, oh god…”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, tightening around him, clenching so sweetly it pulled a groan straight from his chest.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” Luca huffed. He shifted you further up the rock so that your cunt just barely grazed the water.

He watched eagerly as the water lapped at your pussy just as hungrily as his cock, thrusting in and out of you.

“So, so pretty.” he tongued his cheek as he watched you swallow him whole and let out a guttural moan, thrusting once, twice more before he spilled into you.

“Fuck…” you echoed his moan, as you came, clamping down around him in a desperate attempt to keep him filling you up.

Luca gasped, clutching your thigh tightly, “Y/N… fuck…”

His come pooled out of you in thick dregs, pulsing as it did so. Luca moaned again at the sight. He pulled out of you, breathless.

“Luca…” you whined in protested and he shushed you, letting your legs rest on the rocks.

“I know, I know, pretty…” he said gently as he caught his breath, spreading your legs open as you sat on the rocks.

Your eyes fluttered shut and Luca smiled to himself proudly. He took his fingers and gently gathered the mixture of your releases on his fingers, before licking them clean.

“Let me just clean you up, and then you can rest, I promise,” he cooed, large hands spreading your cunt open.

You gasped as you felt the cool breeze drift over your wet skin, your legs twitched as Luca settled between your thighs. He pressed a slow, reverent kiss there, before shifting his attention to your heat.

He pressed a tender kiss to your clit, eyes locked onto yours. Instinctively, your hands knotted in his hair.

He swirled lazy circles around your clit and licked a strip, from the top to the bottom of you. Luca’s eyes closed as he moaned blissfully against your cunt, the vibrations of his lips against you sent shockwaves through you.

Luca breathed in your earthy scent, his eyes becoming hooded as he swallowed every last bit of you.

His hands kept your thighs spread for him, licking slow strokes up you and savouring your taste on his tongue.

Your back arched slightly off of the rock as Luca’s tongue delved deeper inside of you. His hand was there to steady you, gently pressing on your stomach to hold you down.

Your grip tightened in his hair as you felt him leave rhythmic circles over you, no longer cleaning up, but creating a whole new mess of you.

“Stay with me, pretty,” he whispered softly, pulling back, mouth and chin slick, “Want you to fall apart for me one more time.”

The waves behind him crashed against his back as he dove back into you. His tongue kept at its deliberate pace, circling your clit with maddening precision before flattening against it, dragging firmly.

The pressure in your stomach coiled in your stomach and you lurched forward, gasping, “Luca-“

The syllables latched in your throat as your hips began to buck eagerly against his face, the friction of his nose deadly.

“That’s it…” he murmured lowly, dragging his nose against your swollen clit, before pressing his lips over it as he urged, “Come on, pretty. Give it to me.”

The thick heat in his voice had you coming undone almost instantaneously. Your toes curled and Luca moved his fingers over your clit as his lips slid down to drink up everything you gave him.

He only pulled back once your legs had finished trembling, and, now, only twitched occasionally. Your breath trembled as you tried to gather your thoughts.

He pressed one last kiss to your clit, before his hand gently moved to rub your thigh, grounding you again. He rested his head against your thigh beside it, looking over you with a satisfied gleam in the evening sun’s glow.

[oldermenfucker]

This City Holds My Heart | J. Abbot

summary: He hears you are coming back to Pittsburgh for the weekend. Maybe the reunion will wash away the pain that’s left inside him after your paths divided.

warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, heavy angst, hurt no comfort, right people wrong time kind of thing, p in v, exes reunion, mentions of suicidal thoughts, ex!fem!reader, neurologist!reader, Jack’s prosthetic leg, reader is nondescript except that she has hair (long enough to frame her face), reader has a nickname, mentions of PTSD & trauma, widowed!Jack, sad people in love, alcohol consumption (a few drinks), protected sex, lots of tears, JACK’S POV!!! English isn’t my first language<3

word count: 10.3k+ (BEAR WITH ME OKAY)

an: HI this is my piece for A Doctor A Day challenge hosted by these amazing people [ @clubsoft @ananonymousaffair & @letsgobarbs ]! I’m so excited to know your thoughts on this piece🥹 I poured everything I could into this fic, smut, fluff, angst etc and I really want to know what you guys think!

Prompt: "I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but... I'd love to see you?" + Orange

He doesn’t remember the last time he ate something; was it the banana Shen forced him to take a bite from, or the granola bar Dana shoved into his hands when she came to take the shift? Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

  Jack pushes his fists into the pockets of his cargo pants, his tired gaze moving from the edge of the rooftop to the building in front of him, watching as sunrise hits the streets of Pittsburgh slowly, crawling its way between the cars and the old bricks of the walls.

  He replays the shift in his head, trying to figure out what he missed that led to three code blues. Each case had its own story, each patient had a unique experience, and families begged him to save their loved ones, but he couldn’t. 

  He brings his fists out of his pockets, crossing his arms over his chest as he looks at the peachy sky, watching how another day starts. Some people don’t get to see this anymore, he thinks bitterly, some people don’t get to start a new day. They are stuck in yesterday while he moves forward as if nothing’s happened.

  He looks back at the edge, he takes a step closer, gazing down at the people who move around, getting ready to battle through another twenty-four hours. He wishes he was this free, to walk down a street without the responsibility of the Emergency department, without the little limp in his leg and reminder of how long it took for the soft tissue of his leg to heal.

  He has been tempted before to jump, but nowadays he does not even have the motivation to do that. He is numb and has been like this for a good six years, worse after the Pitfest casualties. That was a year ago, how time passes in the blink of an eye, like the sunrise he watches daily.

  He throws his head back, listening to the birds chirping. They made a nest a few weeks back, usually coming to their home around the time he walks to the rooftop. They have a life based on instinct, just as he does; he eats, sleeps, goes to work, and then repeats.

  Robby calls him a soulless soldier— he is just as bad as Jack, if not worse — because most of the time, there is no smile on his lips, and his tone drips with sarcasm. 

  Pittfest changed everyone, including the ER cowboys more than others. Robby broke apart with Jake’s withdrawal, and Jack… Jack tries to survive, day by day, and shift after shift. He still finds joy in little things; when he saves someone’s life by his sharp mind, when a procedure is successful, when he argues with Walsh.

  There is still an ache inside him from years ago when his wife died, and it only got worse six years ago, and now? All he is a great doctor and nothing more.

  He says nothing when he hears the familiar footsteps on the tiny rocks of the rooftop, his stethoscope moving against his chest as he shifts his weight on his good leg, sighing in relief when the tension is halfway gone from his knee.

  “Haven’t jumped off yet?” Robby leans on the railing behind Jack, looking as the sun rises slowly from behind the buildings, “Thought you’d done this time.”

  “Why? I don’t think I’ve managed to get more depressed since yesterday,” Jack replies, resting his elbows on the metal railing behind him, looking from his peripheral vision at Robby who smiles and shakes his head.

  “A trauma came in just a few minutes ago, an attempt or pushed, we don’t know but he was the same age as you. Nearly sent me to cardiac arrest,” Robby drops his head on the back of his hands, “You better not jump, you didn’t do it last year, don’t do it ever.”

  “It’s exhausting, brother,” Jack sighs, tilting his head back as the sunlight hits his face finally, the warmth of it spreading on his skin deliberately, “Coming back here, watching people lose someone they care about, calling us names because they don’t know medicine has its limits. And yet, we come back, for what? I don’t fucking know.”

  “You have me, I’m here, I’ll never leave you hanging all by yourself,” Robby nudges his forearm, looking at his face with a pleading look, “You’re pushing yourself too hard.”

  “You’re not lonely,” Jack shrugs, “You have Collins. Who do I have? Fucking Shen? I’m living in a loop, man. Every day is the same old same old. I miss my wife, I miss her, there is not a day that I wish I got the help I needed sooner, but even my therapist can’t do shit nowadays.”

  “You are being too hard on yourself, brother,” Robby straightens his back, resting his hand on Jack’s shoulder as they both look up to the sky, “Besides, I might have… some news about—“

  “Who?” Jack’s ears perk up, his posture growing rigid as he turns his head to look at Robby, “Who?”

  “Her,” Robby says with a small smile, “Your Clementine.”

  “Don’t say that stupid nickname,” Jack groans, shaking his head as he takes a step back, resting his waist against the cold metal bars, “She hated it.”

  “I think she liked it,” Robby shrugs, looking down at his shoes before he starts talking again, “There is a neurology congress tonight, and apparently a follow-up gala on Saturday night with the Head departments PTMC invited.”

  “So?” Jack tilts his head at the older doctor, scoffing when Robby raises his eyebrows at him, “You’re telling me you’re invited to a stupid gala that has nothing to do with me?”

  “For a medical genius you sure as hell are dumb,” Robby watches as Jack rolls his eyes, “I’m saying she’s coming back to the city.

  Jack’s heart drops to the bottom of his ribcage. This has to be a cruel joke, it must be. He doesn’t know how to react; be happy? Why? The last time you saw each other was to say goodbye. Be sad? He already is for ten thousand different reasons. 

  So when he looks at Robby with his eyes widened in shock, he knows that he is still deeply into something he has tried to bury for years, ever since he watched you board that plane.

  “What?” He sounds so small, like a kid lost in a playground; everything feels natural yet so off, like a distant dream turning into a nightmare in the back of his mind.

  “She has kept in touch with Dana,” Robby sighs and tightens the grip he has on Jack’s shoulder, squeezing the muscles gently to make sure Jack doesn’t get lost in his head again, “Dana told me her plane would land around… yeah, seven-thirty, eight at most. Which is now.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Jack asks, pressing his lips into a flat line, his hands shaking as his chest begins to rise and fall faster. He rests his sweaty palms on the railings behind him, closing his fists around the cold metal.

  “I don’t know,” Robby shakes his head, staring into the distance as the sun finally rises into the blue sky, “I just thought you should know.”

  “Thanks, brother, now I won’t be able to get a lick of sleep knowing my ex is in the town,” Jack snaps, running a hand down his face as he grits his teeth, all to stop himself from tearing up.

  “I didn’t say it to—“ Robby cuts himself off with a deep breath before he pats Jack’s shoulder and takes a step back, “Take it easy, man. I’m gonna go.”

  Jack listens to Robby’s footsteps; it takes ten large steps to reach the door, and he stops Robby by the eighth one, shocking both him and his friend to his dismay.

  “Is her number still the same?”

  Jack’s voice is shaky like he doesn’t trust himself to say it loud enough for Robby to hear, but his friend does, stopping in his steps to glance back at Jack with a small smile.

  “Yeah.”

  One, two, and Robby is out of the door, leaving Jack heaving with each breath. Jack dodges the railing and steps on the safe side just to lean over the metal bars, his lips parting as he gasps for air.

  You are back to Pittsburgh, you are in the city he watched you leave, the same city you made so many memories with him in the streets and bars. The same city that he broke your heart in, the very same one you told him you couldn’t do this anymore.

  He lets out a shaky breath, reaching for his phone absentmindedly. One call wouldn’t hurt, right? It wouldn’t tear his heart and break his bones surely. People call their ex-lovers every day, why shouldn’t he?

  He opens the list of his contacts, scrolling until he sees your name with a red heart next to it; he didn’t have it in him to change the name, nor could he delete your number. 

  That is why his fingers are trembling over your phone number, trying to make up his mind before he does anything stupid. But luck is not on his side today it seems — not like it ever was — and his finger slips accidentally and presses the call button.

  “Fuck, fuck—“ he yells, putting the phone against his ear quickly, his hand going to his hip as he starts pacing the rooftop, his heartbeat racing with each beep of the line, “What am I doing?”

  He doesn’t know if he wants you to pick up the phone or not, he probably does but the thought of talking to you again after the farewell you had makes him anxious. What would he say? Hello? How are you doing? Aren’t these too cliche when you are calling your ex?

  The beeping finally stops, and he can feel his heart stopping for a second before it goes to voicemail.

  “Hi! Thank you for reaching out, please leave your message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can!” 

  Your voice… fuck, your voice is still as sweet as he remembers. He calms down instantly, a tired smile covering his face as he listens to the voicemail repeating itself. You sound so beautiful, so free as if you didn’t cry hours in his arms as he pushed you away once more, as if he never happened to you.

  After the third repeat, he remembers he can leave you a message, hoping you still have his number and he isn’t just an unknown caller.

  “Hey,” he clears his throat, running his free hand through his unruly curls, “Hey, um, this is Jack! Y’know, Jack Abbot? Yeah well urm… I heard you are back in town, yeah, Robby said something about a congress you’re attending. I know you just landed, and I know you're probably busy, but... I'd love to see you?"

  Fuck, fuck fuck fuckfuck—

  He hangs up immediately, his fingers gripping his phone so tightly he thinks it might break. What did he fucking mean he’d love to see you? He is a fucking idiot, a total moron, a dumb piece of scum, but when his phone dings a few minutes as he is near going into a full panic attack, he stops.

  “Jack, hi! I’m exhausted now, but I’d love to meet with you before my congress! Our usual cafè near The Pitt?”

  He nearly drops the phone, opening the text in the blink of an eye, rereading the message over ten thousand times to make sure it is really you. And when he opens the contact, he sees that it is true, you have texted him, accepting to meet up with him, at the cafè you usually went to after the night shifts.

  “Yes, of course. See you at 6?” 

  He presses send and starts pacing again. Waiting for a reply after six years makes him nervous to the point he thinks he might drop dead on sight.

  “See you, Jack!”

  He sighs in relief when he reads your reply, chuckling dryly as he rereads the conversation, not truly believing how he is going to meet with you again.

  He walks downstairs with flushed cheeks and a heart beating in anticipation. When Robby and Dana see him walking inside The Pitt, he rolls his eyes at them and nods when Dana raises an eyebrow at him in a silent question.

  It is going to be a crazy day for sure.

  He dresses up as best as he can; a navy blue button-up with worn-out jeans and his black sneakers. Which is so… not Jack. He feels like he has put on a persona he didn’t know he had, his walls slowly building up with each step he takes toward the location.

  He thought walking would be a good idea because now his nerves are making him sweat, his palms growing more clammy with every step he takes. 

  What will he say? Will he ask about how you have been doing? How you are doing? Do you have anyone waiting for you at home—

  The thought makes him shiver, stopping him midway to open the door of the coffee shop. He hates the idea of you with someone, he despises it, he fucking loathes it. Even the image of someone holding your hand makes his eyes tick, and his fingers shake over the glass door, but he has to pull through.

  The bell over the door dings when he steps inside, memories flooding his mind as he looks around, remembering all the exhausted morning dates after the shifts, all the cries and hushed arguments you two had here.

  Bittersweet yet wholesome. He misses the days he could hold your hand, but he gave up as soon as everything got serious.

  He rounds the corner to the spot you would always sit, and when he does, his eyes fall on you. He freezes, hands dangling on his sides as he stares at your silhouette.

  The orange hue of sunset shines through the windows on your face, your hair framing your face just as beautifully as he remembers if not more. Your hand is tucked under your chin, looking down at the marble table, tracing the shapes mindlessly.

  You are ethereal.

  Jack feels his lungs are about to collapse when you turn your head and find him standing there, and he watches how your lips stretch into a soft smile, steading yourself with your palm on the edge of the table as you stand up.

  He licks his lips and glances down for a brief moment to catch the breath you are stealing from his lungs from a few meters away. He looks up quickly, crossing the remaining distance slowly before he stands in front of you, his eyes swimming with various emotions unknown to him — is it love? Longing? Sadness? He doesn’t know.

  “Hey,” he greets you quietly, hazel eyes locking into yours as he waits with bated breath for you to say something, anything. Instead of talking, you wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him close as you mumble a ‘Hi, Jack!’ Into his shirt.

  Hugging. You are hugging him after years of no contact. He can’t think even if he wants to. He wraps his arms around your middle, pulling you close by muscle memory, breathing in your scent as he buries his face into your hair, trying his best to not cry right here and then.

  He lets go of your waist when he feels you lose your grip on him, slowly pulling back to look at his face, and he takes his time memorizing every up and down, every corner of your face.

  He thinks of the days he used to kiss every single inch of your face when you were on rotation and he was getting ready to go to the hospital. He remembers how he used to caress your cheek when you fell asleep on his chest on his old couch during movie nights.

  He also remembers the days you tried to not let your sadness show on your face when brought up his wife again, putting the bricks of the protective wall on top of each other to shut you out.

  “Shit, sorry,” you chuckle awkwardly, pulling away and he misses the weight of you in his embrace, the warmth you provide by just existing and breathing the same air as him, “Please, sit! I know you’ll be back in The Pitt in a few hours.”

  “Yeah, urm, yeah…” he huffs a slight laugh and walks around you to pull your chair out for you, “Ladies first.”

  “Ever the gentleman,” you tease him, thanking him as he pushes your chair in when he knows you are secured and smiles at you before he walks towards his own chair and sits down, “What are you having?”

  “Well… something highly caffeinated,” he shrugs, looking down at the wedding band he is wearing—

  Fuck, he totally forgot to take it off. Did he though? Did he ever want to take it off or did he think about it but didn’t ponder over it, like a passing joke in his head?

  He looks up instantly, finding you already looking at the black ring before you tuck your hand under your chin again, meeting his eyes with a small smile before you look away and gesture for the waiter to come and take your orders.

  “Espresso it is then,” you try to break the ice he notices, but he has already started to fuck everything up again from the very first second. He covers his left hand, nodding at you with a ghost of a smile on his lips while he feels as if he is about to vomit his heart out with how insanely fast it is beating.

  “Welcome, what can I get you?”

  “A cup of tea with carrot cake and,” you look back at him, smiling before you glance back at the waiter, “A shot of espresso.”

  “Coming right up!” 

  He watches you closely — he is staring but that’s a creepy way to put it — and he nearly melts when you turn to look at him with the softest smile he has ever seen.

  “Carrot cake? Really?” Jack grins when he watches you grimace, hiding your face in your hands as you look at him from between your fingers, “Never thought I’d see the day that you will eat a carrot cake.”

  “You’re insufferable!” You chuckle, resting your chin on the heel of your palm, and he watches these micro movements with such an endearment it makes his heart clench, “It’s just a newly formed habit in the hospital. My assistant brings me tea and her very sweet orange carrot cake every evening. Who am I to say no to a home baked sweet treat?”

  “Understood,” he nods and smiles, taking a deep breath to calm himself without making a mess of himself. Your laugh is still the same, even more beautiful than he remembers and it feels so good to be there to witness it again, “How’s Boston?”

  “Oh, you know, colder than here but I enjoy it,” you explain, resting your elbows on the table as you look at him, “The bars are pretty amazing! Not that I have much time to explore them because of the hospital and applying for a fellowship. But… it’s okay, I guess.”

  “Wow, you’re thriving,” he grins, biting the inside of his cheek, “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thank you, Jack,” you reach across the table to hold his hand — a habit you had when you were nervous, and he quickly realized his touch grounded you when you needed it the most, “Enough about me, how have you been?”

  “Same old same old—“

  “Don’t do that!” You squeeze his hand, glaring at him before your eyes soften when you notice his defeated ones, “You know I hate this phrase, Jack. Come on, tell me about The Pitt!”

  He rubs his thumb over your knuckles, running a hand over his face as he notices the waiter coming with your orders to the table.

  You pull your hand back, letting the waiter put down your cups and plate, asking if you need anything which Jack replies with a quick ‘no, thank you’ before he looks back at you.

  “I’m sure Dana is keeping you updated—“

  “I want you to tell me,” you cut him off with a soft frown he knows so well, you always gave him this expression when you knew he was dodging the question poorly, “How’s Robby?”

  “He is great,” he shakes his head and chuckles, briefly thinking about how his friend has gotten his life together before he focuses on you again, “He is in a relationship with one of the new attendees, Heather Collins. I don’t know if you know her…”

  “Dana said something about Robby dating a resident after I left but that’s it,” you reply, taking a sip of your tea, “But please tell him I’m so happy for him. He went through a lot and deserves to have an amazing life.”

  “Will do,” he nods, drowning all the espresso shot in one move, kissing his teeth as he looks back at his ring again.

  “Take it easy, soldier,” you push the carrot cake plate towards him slowly, handing him a fork to eat something sweet, “How are you doing, Jack?”

  “Me?” He chuckles dryly, trying to come up with a sarcastic reply but when he sees how worried you look for him, “I’m fine.”

  “That’s it? Six years and you don’t have anything to tell me about?” You press the matter, giving him a teasing look but he has none of it.

  “We had a mass casualty last year, Robby lost his stepson because he couldn’t save Jake’s girlfriend—“

  “That’s Robby’s story to tell, I’m interested to know—“

  “Know about me?” He looks at you as if you have hung the stars, as if every moment he spends looking at your face illuminated by the dark fading orange light of sunset doesn’t make his heart stop, “Well, I go to the rooftop every day thinking I might jump this time, and when I look down I feel numb, maybe the therapy is working because I can’t do it. I see my wife in my sleep, I imagine the life I could have had with her.”

  You take a deep breath at the mention of his late wife — or wife as he always calls her — you take two large sips of your hot tea and he mentally face palms himself at rambling all these shitty thoughts to you. 

  “You still go up?” You ask, your voice small and trembling, thinking of all the kisses and fights you shared on that damned rooftop.

  “Yeah,” he looks out of the window, his eyes filling with tears before he wipes them quickly, enjoying the cold sensation of his ring over his heated eyelids, “It’s the only place that isn’t corrupted by death.”

  “Cut it some slack, our first kiss was on that rooftop,” you reach for his hands again, and he hates how easily he calms down from such a soft touch, “I don’t think I can ever forget it.”

  “Well, it wasn’t an easy trauma, the patient died before we could get our hands on him,” he squeezes your hands, “And you were so mad at me for not letting you go for the fourth round of epi.”

  “You had to shut me up somehow,” you laugh, looking down at your joined hands, “Fuck, I was so immature back then.”

  “No, you weren’t,” he caresses the soft skin of your wrist, his hazel eyes locking into yours with sincerity, “You were hopeful.”

  “Which was horrible for emergency medicine,” you shrug, “I still am, though. That’s why neurology was a great choice. It has death, I still feel the panic sometimes, but they don’t die while I’m operating on them. It’s such a dick thing to say but… I’m glad I’m not there to witness it.”

  “I get it,” he takes a deep breath, his eyes moving slowly from your hands up to your neck and face, falling over your lips, “That’s why the rooftop visits exist.”

  He looks down at his watch before he finds the courage to look into your eyes again, seeing how it is time to go back home and put his scrubs on. 

  Jack doesn’t wanna go, he doesn’t wanna leave. He wishes he could stay in this very moment, just in this picture pretending everything is fine and you are back, that he can delude himself into believing he has you back in his arms for an eternity.

  “I totally forgot, my congress starts at eight,” you pull your hands away from him, leaving his palms cold and itchy without yours in them, and he slowly drags his forearms back to his side, standing up to say the word he hates so much again.

  “Are you… are you leaving?” 

  “Yeah, I have to…” you pout, and it takes everything in him not to reach out and kiss you until the pout is turned into a grin, “But there is a gala tomorrow night. Fundraising and everything, I’d be in town.”

  “Yeah, cool,” he nods, forcing out a smile, standing up after you and waiting for you to say something, anything…

  “Will I see you there?”

  Yes. Yes. He can make it work. Say yes—

  “No, I don’t think so,” he curses himself in his head, fisting his hands, nails digging into his palms, “I’m not invited.”

  “Oh,” you say, eyes widening as if you have heard the most devastating news ever, fingers rolling the band of your purse as you gaze into his eyes, “Well then… this is goodbye I guess.”

  “Yeah, yeah—“ he gasps when you wrap your arms around his shoulders for the second time in six years again, holding him close for one last time before he wraps his large arms around your back as well, “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “Me too, Jack,” he nearly drops on his knees when he hears you say his name with tears stinging your eyes, “Me too.”

  “Goodbye.”

  He watches you with red eyes as you try to hold back a sob before you reach for your purse to pull out your wallet and pay for the drinks, but he stops you with a hand on your cheek.

  “I’ve got it,” it pains him that he cannot lean down and kiss you when you nod and scrunch up your nose in order to keep the tears from streaming down your face, “You’ll be late.”

  You move forward, pecking his cheek slowly, and he marvels at how soft your lips feel against his stubble, and he hopes whoever gets to feel your lips back in Boston worships you the way you deserve — the way he wanted to do but fucked it all up.

  He watches you leave, for the second time, and it ruins him, making a tornado inside him that wrecks the remaining parts of his sanity. You are okay, you are happy, and that is all that matters.

  He inhales sharply before he reaches for his phone, opening his text messages with Robby before he sends a quick text.

  “Will you go to tomorrow's gala?”

  It has been years since anyone had seen Jack in a fucking tuxedo. He thinks the last time he tried one was for his wedding, and after that, he dropped the thousand dollar fabric in the trash.

  But now? He is wearing one, with a white shirt under his black coat and a simple black tie he is trying so hard to fix. He looks in the mirror one last time, running a hand in his hair before he moves out of the bathroom, following the sound of music until he reaches the entrance of the hall.

  He feels out of place immediately. It’s not him who is supposed to be here, it’s Robby, but he can’t lose his last chance of seeing you again. So here he is, grabbing a glass of champagne as the waiter walks past him, drowning the sparkling liquor like water.

  He scans the hall, not finding you anywhere as he moves between people until he reaches the bar, ordering a Double Black Label neat while his eyes wander from one woman to another in hopes of finding you somewhere among them.

  He sips on his whiskey, leaning on his elbows on the barstool as he watches the doctors and CEOs get together in various groups. It is a ridiculous shit show, some people go to the podium to give their speech, some linger and chat, and it seems the only person he is interested in is nowhere in sight.

  He shifts his weight off his prosthetic leg, sitting on the barstool only to stare into the glass he has in hand, swirling the liquid with gentle moves of his wrist.

  It is still too far from him, but he can hear your laughter from a mile away. His ears perk up, and he almost breaks his neck when he turns around abruptly to catch you walking with a couple next to you, conversing casually before you spot him through the crowd.

  He stands up instantly, nearly losing his balance when he sees you are coming towards him, hearing a soft ‘I would like to introduce you to someone’ before you lead the couple to where he is standing.

  “This is Dr. Jack Abbot from PTMC,” he nods, smiling politely at the couple who introduce themselves as well, shaking his hand before the three of them look back at you, “I used to be his resident before I changed to Neurology.”

  Jack’s hand finds the small of your back as he talks with the couple, finding out about their specialty and where they work, how they know you, and how proud they are to be represented by you in this gala.

  “Well, we will take our leave for now,” The male doctor says, shaking Jack’s hand before he shakes yours, his wife doing the same before she pulls you in for a quick hug, and the two of you watch as they walk away.

  “Hey, stranger,” you turn to him, beaming at him when he smiles back, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, “Fancy seeing you here.”

  “I had to see you again,” he mumbles, his hands caressing a path from your wrist to your shoulders, feeling the bare skin of your arms and skimping down to your sides, resting over your hips with a gentle squeeze, “It didn’t settle right when we said goodbye yesterday.”

  “It will never settle right, Jack,” you look away from his intense gaze, chuckling when you notice his crooked tie, “You still haven’t learned how to do your tie, or you left it like this on purpose?”

  “Little bit of both,” he shrugs innocently, his eyes taking in your face; you are so close he can smell the champagne mixing with your perfume, your soft lashes kissing your undereye when you blink, your lips painted in a nude shade of pink, and your hair falls around your face like a curtain leading to the hanging Gardens of Babylon — you look like a goddess compared to him.

  “Good thing you have the right person to take care of you,” you whisper, eyes glinting playfully as you pull on his tie to redo it correctly. 

  Jack relishes the feeling of your touch on his collar. He feels as if his senses have heightened somehow because he swears he can literally feel every movement of your fingers on his skin through his clothes.

  He looks down at your dress, watching as the classy design clings to your body just the right way, showing off your curves and shoulders in the most perfect way.

  “You look so beautiful,” he breathes out, letting his hands wander over your back, knowing quite well that he is crossing an invisible line, but he doesn’t care now, you are here, back in his arms, exes or not he has the chance to have you all to himself tonight if you take him back for just a few hours.

  “Thank you,” he leans down to kiss your forehead when he notices how flustered you get, but his demeanor grows closed off when he notices a man making his way towards you, stepping next to you before he extends his hand.

  “Would you do me the honor and dance with me?” 

  You pull back from Jack a little, mouth agape as you look between the man and Jack, but with a little squeeze of his hand on your waist, you give him an apologetic smile before taking up the man’s offer and resting your hand in his palm.

  “Of course.”

  Jack watches from his spot how the man leads you to the dance floor as other people pair up and join you there, the band starts playing the music and to his dismay, he has to be subjected to the sight of another man twirling you around the hall.

  Even if he is seething in his seat, he can’t deny how elegant you look with your dress flowing behind you and that smile you give your partner… this smile makes his pulse quicken, a warm blush covering the tip of his nose and cheeks. 

  He watches as the man lies his hand on your waist, pulling you a bit closer, and it makes his blood boil even though he knows he has no claim over you. You are not his lover, not his girlfriend, hell you are not even his resident anymore.

  He can’t take it anymore, so as soon as the song ends he drowns the rest of his whiskey and strides towards you, clearing his throat to catch your attention.

  “May I have your next dance?” Jack asks, his heart hammering against his ribs as he waits for you to accept his offer, and you do, with a bright smile that lights up his world.

  “Yes, you may,” you turn around to the man you danced with earlier, “Excuse me, please.”

  Jack tucks you close to him when a new song starts, his hand moving from your shoulders to your hip, the other one holding your smaller hand in his as he sways both of you gently to the rhythm of the music.

  “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?” He leans down to whisper in your ear, smirking when your hand wanders up to his shoulder, cupping the side of his neck gently.

  “Once or twice,” you chuckle, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as he leans down to breathe in your scent, holding you close until the thoughts of you ever leaving again fade away for a few hours at least, “Aren’t you supposed to be at The Pitt?”

  “They don’t need me there,” he says, putting a distance between the two of you to hold your joined hands up so you can twirl before he pulls you in a bit roughly, keeping your chest pressed into his.

  “And you thought you were needed here?” You ask, batting your eyelashes at him as his smirk widens, his band on your waist moving to your hip to squeeze you in response.

  “Am I not?” He feigns innocence, his tone matching yours playfully, “I could leave now if that’s what you want—“

  “I never said you weren’t needed,” you don’t break eye contact, and it thrills him as if it was six years ago when you danced for the first time at Dana’s wedding anniversary, “But I know a place if you wanna leave…?”

  “Tempting, very tempting,” he brings your hand to his lips, pressing feather light kisses all over your knuckles, “Are you suggesting?”

  “It might be the few champagne glasses I had but,” you break away from his grip, interweaving your fingers with his as you tug on his hand gently, “My room is on the twentieth floor if you are interested…”

  “Lead the way.”

  Your journey to your room is uneventful; you don’t have a chance to do anything because you are never alone. Not in the hallway he wanted to press you against the wall, not in the elevator bunch of people jumped into when the doors were about to close, not even as you walked on the floor because one of the doctors’ rooms was also on the same fucking lane.

  He is trying to act unbothered as you fumble with the key card, trying to open the door while Jack has his hands roaming your back absentmindedly, his touch trembling slightly in excitement.

  He is going to have you again, after all this time, he is going to hold you as if you are his again.

  You push the door open and tug Jack in by his tie, crashing your mouth into his as you press him against the closed door. He gasps into your mouth before he closes his eyes and kisses you back, one of his hands coming up to grab the back of your neck, pulling you closer until there is no space between you.

  You taste like Moet and cherry lip gloss with a hint of Vanilla in your perfume, and your hands feel warm and welcoming, anchoring him to reality because his life had no purpose before this very moment.

  You ground him, just as you have always done, with subtle kisses and tugs and a hidden hunger slowly pouring into your touch. He feels it all; the small skip of your fingers over his tux as they reach to undo the tie, the quiver of your bottom lip as they chase his chapped ones.

  Jack’s entire world has faded, and all he can see is you.

  He guides you further inside the room with slow deliberate steps, careful not to hit something and hurt you in the process. You break the kiss when you reach the edge of the bed, gasping for air before you push him down on the mattress gently.

  He sits without a fuss, his pupils blown out as he watches you take off your heels and slowly straddle his lap, pushing his coat and tie off slowly. Jack doesn’t blink, he is afraid of even missing one second of tonight. He wants to remember this forever in case…

  No. He shouldn’t go there now, he has you and that is all that matters.

  Jack’s hand comes up to your face, gently caressing your cheek, his thumb going over to your lips as he traces the edge of them while you work on his buttons, finally taking in the sight of his chest.

  He is so mesmerized by the look of pure affection you have that he doesn’t notice you have got him half naked already until you grab his hands and move them to the zipper of your dress.

  “What are we doing?” He bumps his nose into you as he asks, leaning forward to unzip your dress. Your hands roam his naked torso, fingers tracing the soft grey hair on his chest before slowly moving down to his soft belly.

  “Reliving our best memories.”

  Your answer is simple yet effective, and it awakens a deep ache inside him. He understands, he truly does. Your best memories were the ones where you were tangled under his sheets, limbs resting against each other while your mouths left soft traces of love on each other’s skins.

  It might not be the best thing to do with your ex, after six years of no contact, but Jack takes what he can because if he doesn’t, he will lose himself forever.

  You are the last string that attaches him to this life.

  His lips find your shoulders as soon as he pushes the straps of the dress down, kissing the hallow part of your shoulder above your collarbone, sucking in a red mark on the thin skin before he moves upward to your neck, licking your pulse point as he drags his tongue to your jaw.

  You whimper, you fucking whimper, and it makes his head spin with an intensity he had no idea he possessed.  He kisses a path to your lips, breathing your soft breaths while he pushes down the neckline of your dress, pulling back from your mouth only for his gaze to drop down to your chest, breasts covered with a thin strapless bra.

  His brain short circuits when you roll your hips down, grinding against the very painful bulge in his dress pants. His lips part as he huffs out in shock, totally forgetting about his not-so-little problem while he was tasting you.

  “I need you,” he whines, cupping your face in his large palms as he stares into your eyes, “I need you so bad. Please let me have you, please let me pretend I didn’t lose you just for a few hours.”

  “You have me, Jack,” you raise your hands to rest them on top of his, leaning your forehead against, “I need you too.”

  He nods immediately and takes his shirt off completely, watching as you stand up to drop your dress next to your shoes, and for the first time in years, his jaw nearly hits the floor when he finally takes in the sight of your body.

  “Fuck,” it’s a slow gasp, but you hear it perfectly, grinning before you dart toward the hotel’s bathroom, coming out with the pack of condoms in hand. He barks out a laugh when he sees what you are holding, “I’m not that young, we certainly don’t need a whole pack—“

  “Have some faith in yourself, old man,” you grin and watch as he raises his hips and takes his pants and briefs off, his prosthetic leg catching the light of the room. You move to stand in front of his greedy eyes, glancing at his leg before he guides you back onto his lap, “Does it hurt?”

  “No, not right now,” he mutters but it soon turns out into a deep throaty groan when you wrap your fingers around his cock, gently stroking him while you bring the condom to your mouth, tearing it open with your teeth, “That has to be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Ready?” You peck his lips, rolling the condom on his cock until it reaches the base, “Cause I can’t wait any longer.”

  “Me neither,” he pushes your panties to the side, swiping his fingers through your folds, dropping his head on your chest when he feels how wet you are, “You are soaked, baby.”

  “All for you,” you whisper as you line his tip with your entrance, slowly lowering yourself as the fat tip breaches your walls, both of you moaning at the contact. 

  He forgot how warm you were, how world-consuming your body felt, but now that he is feeling it all again, he remembers the nights he lost himself in the sensation of your cunt wrapped around him.

  “You’re so big,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into his back as you finally take all of him inside you, “Fuck, I forgot how good you feel.”

  He can’t form a coherent word without looking like he is having a stroke, because fucking hell he might be having one just now. Your cunt is stretched around his cock, and he can feel your pulse around his girth even through the condom.

  “Jack,” you whimper his name, grabbing his jaw so you can look into his eyes as you slowly move your hips in circles. He is pretty sure he already looks so fucked out with his lips ajar and eyes glassy with desire while he has to focus on your face so he doesn’t come too fast and embarrass himself.

  He reaches around you to unclasp your bra without looking away, short breaths falling from his lips as you begin to move up and down, and he successfully manages to get that thing off you before latching his lips to your nipples.

  He closes his eyes and groans when he feels your walls clenching around him as soon as he swirls his tongue around the tightened bud, his hands moving to grab the back of your thighs to help you move faster.

  He is so close, embarrassingly so, because he has been imagining this for so long. Jack clings to you as you ride him faster, the lewd sound of skin slapping against skin echoes in his head, leaving him panting and dizzy.

  He opens his eyes and finds your head thrown back as you fasten your pace, damp hair sticking to your forehead as you chase your release.

  He is hypnotized by how beautiful you look; his body glistening with sweat and thighs shaking around his hips. He watches closely how you moan loudly when his cock nudges your sweet spot deep inside your core.

  “Fuck, fuck— I’m gonna come,” he groans out the words, and you nod absentmindedly, leaning down to press your lips to his, kissing him as you grind down harder, urging him to let go.

  “Me too, baby,” you gasp against his lips, your body trembling as the knot in your stomach tightens and in a blink, it breaks, waves of euphoria rushing through your veins as you release around him.

  He hugs you close, snapping his hips up one, two, and three times before he buries his face into your neck, groaning from the depths of his throat as he empties his cum into the condom.

  He holds you as he comes, wanting to carve the memory of tonight into his head so he can remember it until his last breath.

  “Jack,” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his curly grey hair, kissing the side of his face as he tries to regain his breath, “Thank you for coming tonight.”

  “Thank you for giving me a chance,” he replies quietly, gently lowering you on the bed before he hovers over you, pulling his softened cock out of your swollen hole, “It’s been a long time…”

  “For me too,” you smile sheepishly, kissing his forehead before you sit up slowly so you can go and clean up, “I’ll go to the bathroom and order room service. What do you wanna have?”

  “Anything, I’m starving,” he smiles, flipping on his back as he watches you walk to the bathroom before he looks up at the ceiling, shuddering as it finally dawns on him what he has done. Sex. With you. After six years of radio silence. After all the arguments, after the farewell you shared at the airport, after him realizing how emotionally closed off he was — is.

  “Bathroom’s yours,” you walk back into the room, reaching for his white shirt on the floor, putting it on before you crawl on top of the bed, kissing him sweetly on the lips a few times before lying down and reaching for the phone on the nightstand.

  He turns on his side, kissing your bare thighs before he stands up and walks to the bathroom to get rid of the used condom. Jack splashes water on his face, shaking his head as he looks at his reflection in the mirror.

  Was it a mistake? Probably. But he doesn’t regret it, not now, not ever. He will forever cherish every moment he spent and will spend with you for a long time, perhaps forever.

  A deep unsettling sadness fills the pit of his stomach suddenly, and he runs a hand down his face when he remembers you will go back to Boston in a few hours. He wants to do something to keep you here, locked away from the world and its demands — just you and him.

  He cleans up quickly before the tears threaten to fill his eyes, washing his hands and wiping the sweat off his body with a damp towel while he walks to the bedroom, reaching for his briefs.

  “Greasy cheese Burger with extra fries, what do you say?” You ask, pulling back the covers on the other side so he can crawl in next to you, but before he has the chance the doorbell rings, “Let me go get it—“

  “Na uh,” he wraps an arm around your waist, pinning you to the bed before he plants a kiss on your nose, “I’ll get it, ain’t no way I’m gonna let anyone see you like this.”

  “Like what?” You sit up on your elbows, dragging your nose against his neck until you reach his lips, not kissing him just hovering while he breathes the warm air that you exhale.

  “All glowing and pretty,” your lips are practically pressed together, but still he doesn’t close the tiny remaining distance, “And in a white shirt only. No, this is mine to enjoy.”

  He smirks and pulls back, chuckling when you whine and drop back on the bed as he gets up to answer the door,  hiding his prosthetic leg as he pulls in the table before he shuts the door.

  “Oh my goodness it smells so good already!” You have moved to the edge of the bed, hands around your legs and head resting on your knees, waiting for him to bring the food to you.

  Jack’s stomach grumbles, making you giggle. He gives you a shy smile before he sits next to you, pushing the table closer to you. He watches as you dig in, taking a huge bite of your burger, moaning at the taste.

  “That good?” He asks, popping up a few fries into his mouth, nodding as the spices fill his tastebuds, “Fuck, yeah. It tastes delicious.”

  It doesn’t take long to finish your meal, but the time is filled with teasing and bantering, sharing bites, and saucy kisses while you eat. 

  What he doesn’t expect is to find himself on his side, with one arm under your head after you both finished your food. It feels… ordinary like he has done it every day, as if it is a routine. Domestic.

  “What happened to us?” He asks like a lost baby, his eyes exploring your face closely; from your lashes to your cheek, down to the soft small hairs on your jaw while he traces a path from your thumb up to your shoulder with his knuckles.

  “Many things,” you sigh, kissing his freckles on his shoulders gently, your hands on his chest as they wander, “You, me, your… your late wife.”

  You reach for his left hand that is touching your arm, pulling it to your face so you can look at the black ring he is still wearing. You twist the metal, and each circle twists his heart.

  He forgot to take it off again.

  “You were not over her back then,” you whisper, scooting closer to rest your head on the crook of his neck, “I don’t think you are now either. We just… became something so… good in a difficult time.”

  “I loved you,” he replies and hides his face in your hair, smelling your comforting scent before he resumes, “I still do. I fucked it all up. I… I wanted you for a lifetime but I wasn’t okay back then. I had lost my wife three years before we met and… and I tried, y’know? I tried to let you in, I tried to open up it just—“

  “I know, Jack, I know,” he lets the tears fall when you cradle his face, pulling him close until he is only a breath away, “I wanted to stay there and watch you heal, but you refused to seek any help, and I couldn’t watch you slip through my fingers any longer than I did.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined it all,” he sobs, tears streaming down his face. He reaches to mimic your position, cupping the side of your head, “I wish I listened, I w-wish I didn’t just… give up like a coward. It was not me, I never give up—“

  “You are not a coward, Jack, look at me,” he forces his eyes open, those bloodshot hazel orbs looking so devastatingly beautiful, “I gave up on you too. I pushed you too hard sometimes, I… I got jealous when you would bring up your wife. I was a fucking dick about it, so no, you didn’t ruin it alone. I had a hand in it too, a big one.”

  “You were in the right though,” he kisses the tears that fall on your cheeks, mumbling against your skin as another sob wrecks through his body, “We were happy together, fuck, how much of an idiot I was to bring up my dead wife when I had you. We could’ve had a future, we could’ve lived together and built a life, but I clawed on the past too hard that I was blinded.”

  “I loved you from a distance for the past six years,” you whisper, pecking his lips gently, “Boston… it felt lifeless without you in it. It’s not the city that holds my heart, it’s just a passing location in life. You made this city shine brighter in the mornings, made the coffee taste sweeter, but at the same time… nothing was truly okay here.”

  “It feels like a distant dream when you talk about it,” he shuffles downward a little until he can rest his head on your chest, “But we were in love, why didn’t it make a difference?”

  “Because love isn’t enough,” he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tightly as he cries softly into the shirt you are wearing, “Sleep, baby, you probably haven’t had more than a few hours to rest. I’ll wake you when I have to leave.”

  He wakes up with dread even though you are kissing his head and cooing at him. You are leaving, again. He has to let go of you for the second time, and it fills him with so much agony that his leg begins to hurt.

  “Hey, honey,” you angle his head so you can plant a kiss on his lips, grinning down at him as he blinks sleepily, “You slept like a baby.”

  “How long?” He grumbles and hides his face into your stomach, “Don’t wanna get up…”

  “Me neither,” you reply, and he can hear the pure sadness in your voice, but he doesn’t make any move to get up, instead his hands go under your shirt — his technically — so he can grope your waist, “But my flight is in an hour and a half…”

  “I slept the whole night?” He ignores your last sentence, sitting up slightly, keeping his weight on his forearm next to your chest, “I’m sorry, I—“

  “Hey, don’t be sorry!” You pull him down so he hovers over you, playing with the tiny curly hair on the nape of his neck, “I loved it. It reminded me of the time when you’d fall asleep on top of me after a rough shift. It felt so good to sleep with you again.”

  “I haven’t had a good night's sleep until… until tonight,” he confesses quietly, leaning down to drop a kiss on your lips, but when he wants to deepen it, you push him away gently with your hands on his chest. He looks down at you, confused and a bit hurt, “What?”

  “Jack…” he watches you swallow the words down as best as possible, but at the end of the day, you have to utter them somehow before it is too late, “I have to go now, I’ll miss my flight.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  His eyes water as soon as the words fall from his lips. He truly doesn’t want you to go, he needs you here, with him, in his bed, in his clothes. He breathes better when you are with him, he can think, and he can live.

  “I don’t want to go either,” you wipe the tears that stream down your face, “But I can’t stay, not when I have a life in Boston. Maybe one day I’ll come back, hell, maybe I’ll come back for my fellowship, but… for now, I have to go.”

  “We can get you a position in PTMC, I can talk to Gloria myself—“

  “Jack,” the way you utter his name breaks his heart into a million pieces, because he knows, deep down he knows he has to let you go. He has been denying it for hours, but in the end, he knows there is no way he can keep you here.

  “I’ll drive you there then,” he moves to the edge of the bed, taking off his prosthetic as the tears fall down softly. He begins massaging his leg slowly as you get up and pack your things, still only in his white shirt and nothing more.

  You look strikingly gorgeous; hair unruly, bare thighs, puffy face from all the crying, and he thinks he has never seen something more surreal.

  “Wait,” you halt in your step when he reaches for his coat on the floor, pulling out his phone before he takes a quick photo of you.

  “What was that?” You chuckle, moving toward your luggage to drop everything you own in it while you see Jack staring at his screen, “Baby?”

  “I… I wanted to have something from you to look at later,” he explains, his voice barely above whispers, “For when I miss you.”

  You suck in a sharp breath, he hears it clearly. But you don’t turn around toward him after it, probably shocked to your core by how raw and emotional he sounds.

  After taking out the clothes you wanna wear for your departure, you walk to Jack, standing between his legs as you slowly unbutton his shirt, taking off the fabric before you hand it to him — the last thing you had touched from his belongings.

  He takes it without a word, wearing it before he puts his prosthetic leg back on, trying his best not to break apart at how his shirt now smells like you. He won’t wash this again, he would hang this behind his door so he can smell it daily before he goes to the hospital.

  You get ready in thick silence, an uncomfortable one that you both know will break ten times worse than before eventually, and that it will lead to something far too devastating than anything you have experienced.

  He grabs your luggage, hand reaching to hold yours as he guides you out of the hotel room after you check it multiple times in case you missed something. You walk together, shoulder to shoulder, ride the elevator down by your head on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.

  Jack watches as you check out, smiling and thanking the receptionist before coming back to him with a tired look on your face. He knows how you must be feeling, he feels even worse than you, because suddenly it is six years ago as he watches you pack your bags and ride to the airport together.

  He drives you there himself, muscle memory he thinks bitterly, with his hand on your thigh and your fingers caressing the freckled skin. He doesn’t wanna break the bubble you are in, he doesn’t wanna believe he is seeing you go again. He can turn the wheel and drive to his place, he thinks about it too, but he knows you are not ready yet, and he isn’t ready either.

  He looks down at his wedding band shining under the sunlight. The memories of your tears over this black ring rush into his mind, and he takes a deep breath to calm his racing heart — he isn’t ready for sure.

  He wants to say something, anything as he helps you through the airport, but he can’t, he doesn’t dare to utter a word and he hopes that his actions and eyes are showing what he hopes to say.

  “Don’t go,” these are the only two words he manages to let out as you look at him, hearing how your flight’s boarding has started through the speakers, “Please don’t go.”

  “I have to, Jack—“

  “No, no you don’t have to!” He presses his lips together tightly, his cheeks flushed and eyes red, “You just- just have to stay here, with me, be my Clementine again—“

  “You still use that stupid nickname?” You give him a watery laugh, cupping his face before you press your lips to his, muffling his sobs as best as you can, feeling how your tears mix together and fall on your chins.

  “Yeah, of course,” he kisses you back quickly, like he is in a rush to win a game, an endless competition with no victory, “I know you fucking hate it—“

  “I love it, I love you,” you peck his mouth again, “But this is where we need to part ways, Jack. It’s in our faith it seems.”

  “Curel fucking faith,” he bumps his nose into yours, hands clutching your hips so tightly as if you would vanish if he loses his grip, “I love you, too.”

  “Reach out to me when you forget to put your ring on,” you step back, letting his hands fall to his sides, “Find me when you don’t need to go to that rooftop, I’ll be waiting for you, even if it takes ten or twenty years.”

  And Jack watches you leave again, the same way you did six years ago, from the same spot. He watches you take his heart to another city, leaving him with an empty aching chest for an eternity.

  The next day, he walks toward the same staircase that leads toward the rooftop while twisting his ring, but it is not his late wife he is thinking about; it’s you.

  Today may not be the day, but someday he will find you, he is sure of it.