#pure pair all around
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clouvu · 4 months ago
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I hate them (affectionate)
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paperglader · 2 years ago
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Jackie and Shauna are definitely winning at most fucked up canon wlw pairing at the moment... Just watched heavenly creatures for the first time and some things are clicking.
Once you realize that Jennifer's body and heavenly creatures set the tone for those two from the start everything sort of makes sense.
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briarmoon1015 · 2 years ago
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The league being sillies :))). Dc make them actual friends and not just coworkers I dare you
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brunchable · 2 months ago
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𝙄 𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙔𝙤𝙪 𝙇𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖 𝘽𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙁𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙 [ 2 ]
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Pairings: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Friends to Lovers. SMUT: Touch Hungry Bucky, Kiss Hungry Bucky, Bucky just not getting enough of you, fingering, cunnilingus, Oral [M&F], unprotected piv, creampie. Just PURE making love, no kinks. Summary: It's only been a few hours since you've become official and Bucky want to show you just how much you mean to him. A/N: 2 of 2. And I must say. . . JAYSUS. BON APETITIDDIES.
Part One
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You were stiff. You were sore. Your arm was asleep. And you felt fucking fantastic.
Maybe in the movies people woke up entwined in each other's arms after a night of spirited lovemaking, but for you, reality was much more awkward. Your head had somehow become wedged behind Bucky’s shoulder, and both his legs were about to slide off the couch altogether. You untangled yourself as best you could, looking down at him as you moved his limbs out of the way.
Bucky was sleeping peacefully, his dark lashes lying flat against the skin beneath his eyes. They fluttered slightly as you pulled free of him, and he stirred.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled, and turned over so he was facing the back of the couch, still caught in mid-slide towards the floor.
You tried not to laugh. God, he was adorable.
You sat up, arching your back to stretch out the sore muscles. Then your breath caught. What time was it? Holy hell, I’m going to be late.
You stood up quickly, and was seized by an ache between your legs so unfamiliar that you nearly sat back down again. Holy crap. It had been way too long. You almost felt like a virgin again. You rose again shakily, noticing that your whole groin felt sore, and so did your hips—probably from throwing your legs up around his waist. God, what a wanton hussy you were, you thought happily.
You went quietly towards the bathroom, checking the clock on the stove as you walked by. It was nearly eight-thirty. Crap. You were supposed to be at work by nine, or nine-thirty at the latest. you'd  have to make the shower a quick one.
You stood under the hot water, letting it pour over your sore muscles. You washed out your hair, lathered up your body and massaged your sore hips as random images from last night invaded your thoughts. Even now you weren't entirely convinced it hadn't all been a dream. Has it really happened? The soreness was real enough. And so were the images flashing through your mind.
Bucky’s body on yours, looming over you, holding your wrists, kissing you with abandon. Taking each breast in his mouth, teasing you with his fingers. Sliding into you, tilting your back and thrusting deeper, faster, harder.
Suddenly a blurry figure appeared on the other side of the glass door. The door slid open and he stood there, looking disheveled from sleep but adorably sexy. And naked, too.
"Hi," he said, a seductive smile curving his lips. His eyes traveled down your naked body, pausing at your breasts and then sliding down to the between your legs where rivulets of water coursed and ran together.
You flushed at the frank inspection but willed yourself not to try to hide from him. You shifted your weight, jutting your hip out provocatively and smiled.
His eyes returned to yours, desire glinting in them. "May I join you?"
You pushed the door back and invited him in. Bucky stepped in and crowded you, not unpleasantly, until your back was up against the tiles. He braced his hands on the wall behind you, and let the water flow over him as he leaned down and kissed you.
You opened to him and kissed him back, winding your hands around his waist and sliding them down his ass, squeezing appreciatively. He smiled into the kiss, enjoying your wandering hands, then pushed forward so your bodies were pressed together, the water slick and warm between you.
"So," he murmured in your ear, his voice barely a whisper above the sound of the water. "So much for that idea."
"What idea was that?" you whispered back, kissing his ear.
"The idea that we could ever be just friends," he said, catching your jaw with his lips as you turned your head. He covered your neck with slow, lingering kisses, trailing his mouth down your and cupping your breast with his hand.
"Oh, I don't know, I think it's a great idea so far," you said coquettishly. "Besides," you joked. "I do this with all my male friends."
He mocked a scowl at you, and gave you  that smile that had always melted you. "Well, that's going to have to stop. You're mine now."
He kissed you slowly, his tongue tangling with yours as he teased and tasted, enjoying your mouth.
You kissed him back, licking and tasting and enjoying him until you felt rather than heard a hum of desire, of pure carnal lust, vibrating through him. He was growing hard against your belly, his cock pressing against you urgently.
He lowered his head further and took your  nipple into his mouth, licking the soft nub until it grew hard beneath his tongue. Pleasure shot through you, and he turned to lavish the same attention on your other breast. You writhed against the cold tiles at your back, arching into him and sinking your fingers into his hair to hold him to you. He smiled as you moaned with pleasure, and laughed softly when he took your nipple between his teeth and made you suck in a sharp breath.
His cock was as hard as it had been a few hours ago, and it surged in your hand as he took your breasts. You gathered some suds into your palm and grasped him again, feeling the iron-hardness of him beneath the silky skin. You began to stroke, gliding fast and smooth, and he groaned from the pleasure of it, collapsing against you and kissing you between his soft, low sounds of pleasure and need.
You kept stroking and teasing, gliding over him in a steady rhythm, and felt yourself growing warm and slick at how hard he was beneath your fingers. You loved that you were doing that to him, making him want you so much. He groaned, his breath jagged and shallow. He tried to kiss you through his mounting pleasure but he had to break off to breathe, to lose himself in the sensation.
"God, baby," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So good."
You tried not to focus on him calling you baby, knowing it was only his arousal talking. You focused instead on the intense pleasure that was making him say it. You continued stroking him, changing your hand position so that you pulled up with each stroke, teasingly pulling his skin up over the head each time and sinking down to the base, pleasuring every inch of him. Your other hand cupped his balls and caressed him, gently rolling him around in your fingers as he tensed and surged and seemed to fight against you, against the unbearable pleasure you were causing him.
After a few torturous moments he stopped your hand, his breathing so fast and ragged that he could hardly speak. 
“You—don't want—this to end too soon, do you?” he warned, kissing you in between breaths. “Because, my God, you could make me come in seconds if you wanted to.”
“That might be fun,” you said, kissing the edges of his mouth, licking at his lips and his tongue when he opened his mouth to you again.
“For me, yes,” he breathed, breaking away from you. “But I'm not nearly finished with you yet.”
He slipped his hand into your hair and held your head, kissing you with such raw passion, such naked need that you felt a surge of warmth flood between your legs in spite of the cooling effects of the water. He had wrung a soul-shattering orgasm out of you just a few hours ago and yet here you were again, eager for him again. Wanton hussy indeed.
"Do you remember that night, two years ago?" he asked, his voice low and deep. "At the party, when I played that song on the guitar for you, and you asked whether it hurt my fingers to play the steel strings?"
He was watching his own fingers trail over your breasts, over your tightened nipple, down past your navel, as the water trickled over you both.
"Mmm hmmm," you murmured, your eyes closed, lost in the sensation of the water coursing down your body and his hand moving over you.
“And you touched my fingertips…”
Of course you remembered; you'd run your  fingers over the roughened pads of his fingertips, and had watched in delight as he'd twitched a little, and then trembled, just a little, at your touch. You'd kept your touch feather-light and soft, drifting over his fingertips and down his fingers a little, feeling the shiver of heightened awareness in your  own hands.
Maybe you'd been a little too suggestive, a little too lingering, whispering-touching those parts of him that were supposedly hardened against such sensations—but you'd been unable to stop yourself. His hands had been warm and strong and eminently male, and when he'd stiffened and held his breath, as if willing himself not to react to your seductive touch, you'd felt that shiver of awareness deepen into an intense desire.
Such a seemingly innocent touch, just a friend examining the time-worn calluses of a guitar player's fingertips. . .and yet in that moment, even amongst their friends, even with the music playing loud and the laughter soaring above it, you'd felt like it had been just the two of you in that room, touching each other intentionally for the very first time, your hand tentatively reaching out for his, and his reaching to meet your half way.
“You drove me wild.” he said, leaning to kiss your neck. “I got so hard, I was afraid to move. And after that, I kept thinking of all the things I wanted to do to you with these fingers.” He slipped his hand between your  legs and caressed your folds, parting them gently and sliding inside you. “Like this, for instance.”
You moaned and leaned your head against his shoulder, letting him touch you wherever he wanted. His fingers explored you, caressed you, possessed you, expertly as though they, too, knew you were his.
“I just had to touch you,” you breathed against him. “And believe me, this is what I was thinking about too.”
“You stopped me last night,” he murmured, dragging his mouth along your neck. “I wanted to feel you come for me. To finish what you started that night.”
You groaned at the sound of his voice, so low and sexual, so heated with his own desire.
“Let me feel you come for me, baby,” he whispered into your ear, licking your  earlobe. “Please.”
He gripped your hip and lifted you up against the wall slightly, positioning you so he could slide his fingers deep inside you. He held you firmly around the waist, bracing you against the wall, and thrust into you gently, with first one finger, then two, sliding deeper and deeper each time, stretching you, mimicking the size and power of his cock. His thumb played over your clit, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he pressed his forehead to yours and gazed down into your  eyes. You gasped and cried out from the overwhelming pleasure of it even as you squirmed beneath his fingers and ached for more.
He braced you against his thigh and pressed against you while his arm steadied you from behind, holding you completely in his grasp. Bucky had such a way of holding you, letting you know that you were going nowhere, making sure you had no desire to be anywhere but in his arms. You felt safe, and secure, and above all, worshiped.
Bucky bent down and kissed you, sliding his fingers into your with a wild, sensuous rhythm that matched the increasing speed of his thumb as it stroked and rubbed and swirled around your aching clit. His hand was so strong, his fingers curving inside you to caress you, to find that super-sensitive inner spot even as he plunged and drove and took. With his thumb circling your clit in a relentless rhythm and his fingers deep inside you, stretching you, claiming you, you felt completely owned by him, by the hand that possessed every inch of you.
His tongue slipped into your mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers, swirling, tasting, mutely revealing that he had had another  fantasy, too. The thought of his mouth on you, his tongue tasting you, torturing you, swirling over your clit as you writhed beneath it made you go weak in the knees.
Bucky broke away from the kiss and began trailing kisses down your neck, your breasts, lowering himself to his knees in front of you  while bracing your hips against the tiles with his strong hands.
"Did I mention what it did to me the first time your tongue touched mine?" he whispered devilishly.
He looked up at you so intently, his beautiful blue eyes blazing as the water streamed over his shoulder and down the contours of his chest. You gazed down at him, and for the second time this morning questioned whether  all this could actually be happening. This gorgeous, virile man gripping you, kneeling before you, gazing at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It couldn't be real, could it?
Then he lowered his lips to your and you knew it was.
Sensation tore through your touch, so delicately gentle at first, and you arched against the wall with a startled cry. You reached down and gripped his shoulder, steadying yourself on one foot as he brought you to your leg up slowly, gently and eased it over his shoulder. The sight of it alone nearly made you come. He moved so languidly, so sensuously, positioning you better so he could enjoy your all the more.
He closed his mouth over your clit and kissed it luxuriously, his lips moving as though he were kissing your mouth. His tongue swirled over you in large, sensuous circles and he groaned against you, tightening his grip on your hip as you moaned against the sudden overwhelming pleasure of it. The tip of his tongue darted out to flick against your  rapidly as he looked up at you again, watching your pleasure, his eyes smiling at you as if he knew precisely how good he was making you feel. Then he fell on you again, his tongue roaming over you, tasting you, luxuriating in your folds and dipping to lap at your entrance.
“Oh my, g-god. Bucky—”
You bucked against him and cried out as his tongue slipped into your and pulsed there, gently, savouring you. Your hand sank into his wet hair and as you gripped his head, you were rewarded with a muted chuckle and a more intense forward surge of his tongue inside you. He liked the moans he wrought from you. He liked being able to make your  cry out and seize him, your head thrown back in agonizing pleasure.
And fuck did you like it, too.
"Oh God," you breathed, your heart thundering in your chest. "My God, that feels so good..."
He withdrew from your and slid his tongue up to torture your aching clit, and just when you began to miss the feel of him inside your he gently pushed his fingers into your again and began to thrust.
Pleasure soared through you and you cried out even louder, and the leg draped over his shoulder began to tremble. His tongue circled your clit again, deliciously slowly, as his fingers slid into you over and over again, a sensual, primitive rhythm that made you  want to grind your hips against the pleasure.
“I'm coming,” you whispered urgently. “You're going to make me come…”
His fingers thrust deeper and faster and he began to lick you so quickly, with such a throaty groan of pleasure that you felt your  orgasm rise, terrifyingly fast and sharp, making you cry out in increasing, panting breaths until you shattered, coming violently around his fingers and that sensuous, irresistible tongue. You shuddered with an aching cry and trembled from the spasms he sent rippling through you. Your body curled forward as you gripped him tighter, your  fingers pulling on his hair from the pressure.
He removed your leg from his shoulder gently as you continued to shudder, feeling aftershocks of pleasure shiver through you. He got to his feet and helped you stand, pressing himself against your  and nuzzling your neck.
“Holy shit,” you whispered, your voice shaking. your  whole body shaking. “That was incredible.”
“That...was just the prelude,” he whispered, kissing you. “I haven't even started pleasuring you yet.”
God, he was going to kill you. Death by orgasm, you thought happily. What a way to go.
He leaned to turn off the water, but he stilled his hand. He looked back at you with a questioning expression, and then understood. You pulled him back towards yourself and he went willingly, stepping back under the stream of water, kissing you deeply, his hands roaming greedily over your  body.
You weren't done with him. He had made you feel like a goddess, worshiped, cherished, adored.
You broke off the kiss and began trailing your  lips down his neck, his collarbone and chest, enjoying the warmth of the water trickling past your mouth. His chest muscles tensed as you kissed them, and as you moved your  lips slowly down his abdomen you felt his whole body go rigid with anticipation. You sank to your knees in the tub and brushed kisses along his navel, his hip bones, and he put his hands on your shoulders to steady himself. Water coursed over both of you, and you delighted in it, closing your eyes against the spray.
“Baby,” Bucky said softly, barely audible above the water.
You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was about to say something but you smiled and glanced away, focusing instead on the head of his cock, hard and urgent in front of you. He was thick and beautiful, and still as hard, maybe even harder, than he had been when you'd teased him with your  hands.
“I want to taste you,” you said playfully. “All of you.”
You leaned forward and gently licked the swollen tip of his cock. He inhaled sharply, his whole body tensing, and you smiled up at him, letting him know this was for your  pleasure as much as for his. You swirl your  tongue around the head, taking it into your  mouth and suckling gently, teasing it. The skin was soft and smooth, stretched deliciously tight from the hardness of his erection.
You let your tongue play over it, dipping into the opening, making him moan. You drifted your tongue along the ridge, and down to the sensitive skin just beneath the head, licking and tasting, nipping and kissing.
You looked up at him, and his dark eyes were wild with desire. You smiled, and ran your  tongue up and down the length of him, ending at the head and flicking at it delicately, teasingly. He moaned softly, his breathing starting to grow rapid. You rose up slightly to take the whole length of him into your mouth and sucked him, long and hard.
He let out a gasp and braced himself against the wall with one hand, his other  hand gripping your  shoulder.
“Oh fuck—Baby...”
You slid your mouth over his shaft, deeper, deeper, and slid back up the length of him. Your hands came around and gripped his ass, pulling him towards you. He staggered forward slightly as you took him into your  mouth again, luxuriously taking in his entire length, sucking, licking, tasting as you went. The sensation of him in your mouth was almost as overwhelming as his first entrance into your body had been, so unfamiliar but so right at the same time.
You caressed his balls with one hand as you played your tongue over his cock. He groaned, his breathing jagged now, his cock harder than ever. His hand moved from your  shoulder to sink into your wet hair, and he gripped your head with barely restrained urgency. Gently he guided your head closer to him as you sucked. You lowered yourself onto him and slowly sucked your way back up, your mouth gripping him, your cheeks hollowing, as your tongue slid over him with each pass.
His hips began to move as he started to match your rhythm, thrusting into you, meeting your mouth. Bucky gripped your head more firmly and held your head still, driving into you gently.
You let your hand fall and you sat back on your haunches, enjoying the feeling of him sliding in and out of your mouth, controlling his own pleasure, taking what he wanted, and what you were so willing to give. Yet you could tell he was holding back, wanting to thrust harder and faster but restraining himself and settling for a smoother, slower pace.
For you. Bucky was holding back for your sake. This passionate, soulful, virile man was holding back his own pleasure because he wanted to be gentle with you.
The very thought of it excited you, and you increased your own rhythm, encouraging him, moaning with pleasure as he drove into you. You sucked harder, faster, turning your  gaze up to him with an urgent plea in your  eyes. Faster. Deeper. Now, my love.
And he understood.
Bucky groaned, and stepped forward. His hand clenched in your hair and he began to move, faster and harder, plunging deeper, holding your head as he thrust into your  mouth with urgent, rhythmic strokes. He slid in and out of your mouth as if through warm honey, and you felt and heard his pleasure mounting with every ratcheted breath and every desperate moan that escaped his lips.
His eyes watched your with rapt adoration and abject lust, and you could tell that the sight of your taking him fully into your mouth, of your sucking him with pure, greedy abandon and complete acceptance, was pushing him closer to the edge as much as the intense pleasure of your tongue on his cock was. Or more.
He tensed as his rhythm grew faster, his breathing harder, until you felt him tighten and strain so much that you felt certain he was going to spill himself into your mouth. But at the last moment he cried out and pulled back, his cock slipping out of your  mouth quickly. He stood still, breathless, his eyes closed as if willing his orgasm to retreat. Water sliced down his neck and chest, and finally he let out a slow, jagged moan of a breath and opened his eyes. He looked down at you wildly, and reached for you,helping you to your feet.
“Jesus,” he said breathlessly, staring at you as he tried to catch his breath. “I can't...I can't believe how goddamn good that felt. You brought me so close, so fast, I almost couldn't stop it.”
“Why did you?” you asked, running your  finger along his jaw. “I wanted to feel you come for me.”
He groaned against you, his hands roaming over your  body. “I told you, I'm not nearly done with you yet.”
He kissed you hungrily, his cock surging against your violently as your bodies met. you could feel him moving against you, his cock rubbing against you,and you knew how badly he wanted to be inside you again.
As badly as you wanted him inside you again.
He stepped back, his breath still ragged, and pressed his forehead to yours as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe.
“You're not done yet, huh?” you teased gently, letting your fingers sink into his wet hair as you kissed his neck.
“Not nearly.”
“But I have to go to work. Maybe if I'm lucky you'll be here when I get home?”
“I'm not going anywhere.”
He reached to turn off the water and stepped out of the shower, turning to help your step over the wall of the tub. You threw your robe on and cinched the belt as he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. You caught him grinning at you, and it was so clear what he was thinking that it made your  laugh.
“What?” you demanded, squeezing the excess water out of your hair with a hand towel. “What are you smiling at?”
Bucky wetted his lips with his tongue, “Fuck it. You're just going to have to be late for work. Come here…”
“Hey!” your eyes widened playfully, jumping away from him. “Are you trying to kill me? Stop!”
Bucky untied your robe and you yelped, trying to slap his hands away. He just kept advancing on you, grinning devilishly. You turned and scampered away from him with a squeal of delight.
He followed behind, still grasping for the robe. You shrieked and laughed and ran towards the bedroom, and he followed, catching up to you and pushing you onto the bed with a resounding crack of the bed frame.
You laughed as he tumbled on top of you, but he silenced you with his mouth, kissing you hungrily as he impatiently pushed your robe aside. His breath was ragged as he nudged your legs apart with his knee, his need too great for the slow, sensual lovemaking of last night. He held his cock against your entrance and smoothly thrusts into you and moaned against your mouth, and you wrapped your legs around him to draw him deeper.
He plunged into you, covering your body and your mouth with the same hungry possession. You were still so warm and wet, so exquisitely ready for him that he filled you easily, driving you relentlessly as he tasted your tongue, your lips, your neck, and groaned from the pleasure your body was giving him.
You tensed around him and he moaned breathlessly, a throaty, male sound of pure ecstasy. He pounded into you, falling into a steady rhythm born of raw, primitive need. Your body tightened around him with every thrust, and waves of pleasure rippled through you, building in intensity up to an almost unbearable pressure, a delicious heat that made you moan into his mouth as he kissed you.
He rose up, his arms braced beside you, to look down as he stroked and withdrew and breathed out his pleasure while his eyes glowed pure heat. He grabbed your rear, tilting one hip up towards him, entering you  on such an angle that a new kaleidoscope of pleasure bloomed throughout you. He gripped you possessively, driving you deeper and faster and harder. His eyes burned, glowing like obsidian, hot and wild and almost frenzied with desire.
“Baby,” he groaned, his eyes pinning you, claiming you, as though he were branding you with your heat.
You're mine...
You're mine...
Your first time together had only been hours ago, but it was as if you had been lovers for years...every fluid flexing of his hips against you hit just the right spot, every deep, powerful thrust of his cock stretched your pussy with a familiar, almost expected surge of pleasure.
“Yes—oh god yes, Bucky—fuck me,” you breathed.
Two simple words and suddenly he was on the edge...buried so deep inside you, thrusting, plunging, your breasts pressed against his chest, the pleasure roaring through his body.
Suddenly he wanted to take you, hard. He wanted to fuck you with abandon, the eyes-closed, head-back, moaning-out-loud kind of sexual abandon that he had so rarely experienced in his life, but which was crashing through his body and mind right now.
He wanted this woman...he wanted to own you, to take you, to claim your body as his....he wanted to fuck you until he'd emptied his balls into you, feeling your pussy clenching and spasming in orgasm around his cock as he came, as you came, as you came together.
He withdrew from you quickly, barely able to catch his breath, and, as if you could read his thoughts, you turned onto your stomach just as his trembling hands guided your hips over. Your hair spilled over your bare back and your ass curved out so seductively it was all he could do not to cum right there, all over your smooth skin. But his cock knew what it wanted, and he pulled you forward to slide into the heaven of your pussy, so wet and tight and swollen for him.
He cried out when he took your again, his cock parting your folds and filling you so completely. The feel of him stretching you, the crest of his head pressing against your  from this new angle...you felt a tremor of pleasure ripple through you and knew you were close, as close as he was. When he leaned over you and began to kiss your  shoulders you shuddered, and when he began to thrust you buried your face in the pillow and moaned.
Your moans of pleasure filled the room and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to last, begging his aching cock not to explode just yet. . .this pace, these quick short strokes as his hips slapped against your ass, your body moving with his every thrust. . .It was almost too much to bear. Bucky buried his faced in your sweet-smelling hair and let his cock plunge as it would, faster and faster, making him shake, making him breathless, making him feel like nothing but a desperate cock as he fucked you.
And fucked you. And fucked you, as you had begged him to...
You could only whimper now, lost to the pleasure of his man taking you like this, fucking you so wildly, almost savagely. The pleasure he was taking from your body, his moans and groans and the growls of pleasure you could feel against your back and in the warm breath at your ear. . . it was pure, primal lust.
You felt worshiped beneath him, as if every thrust of his hungry cock was a tribute to you, every growl and sharp breath an oath. He was fucking you, mindlessly, and yet every part of him was attuned to you, touching you, adoring you.
As his pace grew even faster, his thrusts shallower, you could sense he was about to come, and you felt your muscles tighten around him to heighten his pleasure and hers. His thrusts were so powerful that you felt the orgasm rising in you and you closed your eyes, lifting your head back so he could slide his hand into your hair, gently holding your neck and kissing your jaw with breathy, open-mouthed kisses.
“Oh, God Bucky...I'm coming,” you moaned. “I'm coming.”
“Yes...cum for me baby....cum on my cock.”
“Cum with me....please....I want you to cum inside me, please....please....”
And he could withstand it no more.
Pleasure detonated through him as his orgasm spasmed throughout his body, wracking him with wave after wave of euphoric release. He cried out your name as he thrust and bucked against your flesh, driving his cock deeper and deeper as he came and came and came. It felt like he would never stop cumming, and when he felt your orgasm tear through your pussy and clench his cock in waves, he thought he might black out from the sheer ecstasy of it.
You slammed back against him as the first spurts of cum began to fill you, and felt your  ravaged pussy begin to spasm again and again, milking his cock, pulling his cum deeper into you, flooding you with ripples of pleasure. You moaned and writhed, riding the crest of one orgasm only to feel a second one begin to climb and then crash over you. Breathless, almost sobbing from the pleasure, you let him hold you as he continued to pound into you, draining his balls into you at his will, lost in the utter bliss of a man taking a woman in the most primal way.
When he could bear it no longer, when his exquisitely sensitive cock throbbed within you and the pleasure bordered on pain, he stilled, finally, and shuddered. Sharp spasms of pleasure shot through him as his cock surged one last time within you, his aching balls emptying every last ounce of come. Bucky was almost lightheaded, his chest heaving, sweat glazing his skin as he withdrew his hand from your hair and ran it down the center of your back, needing to touch you, needing to feel your heated skin. You were breathless too, your back moving beneath his hand as you lay your head down and tried to catch your breath.
You felt him withdraw from you, and your  pussy rebelled, clenching to keep him there, as if pleading with him not to go. Bucky groaned softly against your ear as he pulled out and fell on the bed beside you, his arms surrounding you and pulling your back against him. You fit perfectly together, and every muscle in your body relaxed as you snuggled into him and breathed out a contented sigh. You felt his lips on the shell of your ear, kissing softly, felt his slowing breath against your skin as his soft sounds of contentment and pleasure hummed in his throat.
This is heaven, you thought. Pure heaven. your pussy twitched and tingled as you felt his warm come beginning to slip down your  inner thighs. His strong arms surrounded you, his soft lips murmured and whispered and kissed, his spent cock nestled against the curve of your ass.
“There was something I wanted to tell you, remember?” he murmurs, his words brushing warmly against your skin as he kisses a path down to your shoulder. “Last night… something I wanted to say to you. Something I wanted you to know.”
You shift slightly, turning to look at him, your heart pounding as you search his eyes, barely able to breathe. 
“Tell me,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea.
His gaze softens, an unmistakable warmth filling his expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. 
“I love you.”
The words settle between you, simple but perfect, like they were always meant to be there. Your heart feels like it’s soaring, every nerve in your body alive with the thrill of it, of finally hearing what you’d been aching to hear.
You break into a smile, biting your lip, feeling giddy and light, and without a second thought, you lean forward, kissing him softly, your hand finding his as you whisper back, “I love you too.”
And as he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that feels like home, you realize that, for the first time, everything feels right.
tags: @cereal6666 @thatesqcrush @cl7ire @bighappypiels @mostlymarvelgirl
@winchestert101 @winterslove1917 @hzdhrtss @mcira @elvenrin
@xunquish-blog @meetmeattheapt
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webism · 2 months ago
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☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.
it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.
but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.
he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.
so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.
but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.
and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.
and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs… your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.
satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.
so, naturally, gojo plays into it.
the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.
and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.
“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”
it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.
you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked him claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that adorns your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.
he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity—but he isn’t; his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.
he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants as the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.
“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”
“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”
“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.
gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”
“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, toru.”
“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”
“no you’re not.”
“i know,” he parrots. “but you will be.”
“wh—“
in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.
“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”
you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.
he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way— how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.
how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.
“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”
“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”
“yeah? well where is it now?”
you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash bin. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.
you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums, spills over your parted thighs to dress you further in the essence of him, you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.
but friends don’t talk like that.
they don’t fuck like this either, though.
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fingertipsmp3 · 4 months ago
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Kinda want to create one of those like 100 days of self care or mental health or something challenges for myself & post abt it each day to hold myself accountable
#i keep seeing them when i look up stuff about language learning#it’s kinda like just posting your habit tracker for everyone to see i guess#which feels v vulnerable but i still kind of want to do it#it’d purely just be me trying to enforce healthy habits for myself instead of spending all my downtime on my phone and filling my body#with crap#i definitely would want to track: sobriety (no buying or ingesting weed or alcohol or any other substance that has not been prescribed)#am i taking care of my nails and not biting them or picking up my cuticles#am i taking my hands (moisturising them and applying eczema cream if needed)#language learning: speaking; listening; writing; reading spanish. plus learning new material and reviewing old material#go out once per day. eating of fruits and vegetables maybe. taking vitamins (especially vitamin d and iron)#am i doing my skincare. am i doing any haircare. am i doing a workout (even if low intensity)#hobby activites: knitting; reading; crochet#8 hours of sleep. AVOIDING UNNECESSARY PURCHASES (which i would define as anything i don’t need to live or that won’t appreciably improve#my quality of life. like subscriptions i have can stay. food is always fine. prescriptions and anything for health are fine#if something happens like my earbuds break i’m allowed to replace them but i’m not allowed to randomly decide i need a better pair when the#ones i have are fine. stuff like that)#okay this is a lot more categories than i actually thought i had lol. and i haven’t even added anything like home maintenance#the only things i reliably stay on top of are dishes and trash. everything else i take WAY too long to get around to#but i don’t know how to quantify that#i’ve always just figured as long as nothing is visibly gross or smells i’m doing okay#personal
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eupheme · 5 months ago
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— tooth and nail
alpha!logan x mutant!f!reader
rated e - 4k
tags: dub-con (logan goes into a rut), a/b/o-lite elements (logan-only - ruts/knots/mates), breeding kink, mutual pining, two jealous dummies, size kink, fighting as foreplay, return of The Claws (claw-play?), outercourse, biting, marking, come play, rough PiV sex 
a/n: pure pwp. reader has druidic-based mutant powers (wild shape, strong connection to nature/animals, influence over vines/foliage) and is from Earth-10005.
Logan knows this feeling. He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest. 
Should have told you no. Should have locked himself away like he always did. Instead, he’s stuck, unable to keep his mind from wandering while his sparring partner - sweat-dewed and squirming - is pinned beneath him. 
(Or - Logan’s rut begins at a most inopportune time)
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Something wasn’t right.
It’s been settling under his skin for days now.  Tiny hooked claws, digging into flesh. A syrupy urge low in his guts, his mind not quite his own.
He thought he’d left this part of himself behind. Left on his Earth, carved out and buried with the rest. 
The world he lives in now is different. There’s humans, mutants, aliens. But none like him, answering to something innate that defined him in a way that didn’t matter anymore.
It’s been a while. Almost forgot how it felt, after years of tamping down this part of him. Should have recognized sooner what it was. This rippling, simmering irritation just beneath his skin, so much stronger than usual. 
Should have locked himself away, when he realized his rut was returning.
In his years in his own Earth, the urge had lessened. Dulled by alcohol and grief. Managed by himself, in the few months this part of his nature did visit him.
But he hadn’t been able to tell you no. Hadn’t been able to resist, not when you smiled so prettily at him, practically begging him. 
And the thought of you leaving him behind at the X-Mansion, while you went off without him - to spar with Hank, instead - made him want to rip McCoy’s arms off. 
Desire swirls around him now, as he trades blows with you. Your arms snaking around his shoulders as you shoulder a well-placed hit, bringing you both down the floor.
Logan feels like a pup again, watching your breathless laugh. The clench of your thighs around his waist. The heady throb low in his guts, the pressure of his cock as it strains against his suit. 
His hips lift, separating him from you. Trying to form an excuse, while his brain is rocketing into overdrive.
Fighting back the urge to close that gap again. To peel down those tight leggings that drive him mad, bury his mouth against your pussy and make you scream. Fuck you full of him, until he’s dripping out of you for days. 
The though makes him growl, as he tries to concentrate.
Tough to fake an illness, or injury. You’d see right through him.
Or even worse, worry.
So all he had to do was finish out this session. 
Shouldn’t be too hard. 
If you can just avoid touching him… he might just make it through. 
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You know you shouldn’t let yourself get distracted like this while sparring with Logan, but you can’t seem to help it.
Not when you’ve been nursing this thing inside you for months now. Something planted from another earth, settling low in your chest. Infesting like the vines that sprout from you, taking over until you’re fully ensnared.
You’ve tried to ignore it. Didn’t want to ruin a good thing between you. 
Out of everyone in the X-Mansion, you got along with Logan the best. Used to a solitary lifestyle after being raised among the druids, before you knew the truth to what you were, the mutant lineage that flowed through you.
It had paired well with his temperament. His anger and grouchy quips slipped from you like raindrops on a leaf. Something about spending time with you softening him at the edges - just a little bit.
He was still the hard man he used to be. Grizzled, with that scowl of his and the flecks of grey at his temples.
And despite your efforts - forgetting and moving on hadn’t been successful. Not at all. 
Because it’s impossible to ignore when he’s close, like this. Pressing your back to the mat, your wrist slammed against the padded floor. A knife skittering away, because even after all this time - even with his insisting - you were still reluctant to use it.
It sends your pulse racing. He’s so fucking strong - and you think that maybe, even if you had been an equal pair, that you’d still throw these matches. 
Let him win, if it gets him like this. Sweaty and pressed up against you as you struggle beneath him. A thigh jammed between yours to prevent you from slamming your heel into his calf.
You’ll think about this later. 
You always do after your sparring sessions. You hand slipping between your thighs in the shower after. Bitten-back moans as you play out more in your mind - the plunge of your fingers inside your aching cunt until you’re shuddering with the pulsing pleasure, slumping back against the cold tile. 
The fantasies always comes back to him. 
You think that maybe Logan wants it too. Have felt his gaze on you when he thinks no one is looking, but your senses have always been keen. Animal attraction, perhaps. Pheromones. Something about his smell, his touch, beckons you - though you don’t understand what it means. 
And it’s only now that you realize he’s gone still above you. Eyes blown wide, a sharp breath of air inhaled through clenched teeth. A low growl, caught in his throat. 
Holding himself back. You can see it - the way his muscles string tight. How his eyes dip, flicking over your face. Down to the part of your lips. The sweat that dews your chest. 
Close enough that you can inhale him - the smell of leather and cigar smoke blending with more - something inside you giving them a name. 
Want. Need. 
It gives you courage. 
You bridge the gap, for a just a moment. A shallow lift of your hips. Encouraging, the movement pushing your tits against his heaving chest. 
“Bad fucking idea, sweetheart.” He growls.
It’s rough, low. Ground-out as if to himself, a wounded sound slipping from his throat. 
His response has a mark forming between your eyebrows. A soft murmuring of his name.
Logan’s face dips, eyes closing as he inhales. Then, without warning, his knuckles cradle against your throat. 
Wrist flexing as two of his claws spear forward on either side of your neck. Punching through the training mats and sinking deep into the concrete beneath.
Pinning you completely under him, your hips dropping as your free hand wraps around his forearm. A tug of fear ripples through you, but he doesn’t budge.
“Logan,” You repeat, gasping, “What are you doing? What’s wrong?
This isn’t like the times you’ve sparred before. He’s never drawn his claws. You don’t heal like he does - you both know it. Never using more than a loose fist, an open palm in your sessions. 
He’s breathing heavy. Holding himself over you, his other hand still wrapped firmly around your wrist. 
“I’m gonna let you go.” It comes out ragged, through clenched teeth.
“And then I need you to leave, and lock me in after.” Only now does he look at you - his dark eyes burning, “You understand?”
His voice is so rough that it makes your skin prickle. Heat licking down your spine, stoking the embers that have settled low in your belly. 
“I don’t.” It comes out hushed.
How can you? It’s like a flip has been switched, in those few moments. Did you truly misread everything? 
His eyes haven’t left your face. There a peek of his tongue against his lips, the words coming slowly, “Don’t wanna do something you’re gonna regret.”
And for a moment, time stands still. An ache in your chest that’s so different than the one between your thighs. Finger unfurling, reaching.
Slipping up his arm, touching his cheek. He flinches, eyes fluttering shut as he holds his breath. 
“What could I regret with you?”
If it were anyone else, the question would be stupid. You should be running from the man that has you pinned to the ground, claws drawn. Another twitch and you could be dead - the middle unsheathing to pierce clean through your soft throat.
“Whatever it is, let me help you.” Your voice is gentle - coaxing -  and for a second, he leans into the touch. Palm pressing against heated skin, and you gasp, “You’re burning up, Logan.”
“You can’t help me with this.” He rasps with his eyes closed, voice strained. 
Your head shakes, “Let me try.”
A long pause lingers. The room filled with the uneven intake of breath. Logan’s words coming slowly, as his eyes open - dropping down to your throat. And then away, like he can’t bear to even look at you, “Does the word rut mean anything to you?”
It feels like something stirs again inside you. The flutter of wings, not unlike the feeling when you tap into your power. Like threads slipping your fingertips, connecting you down to the earth below. 
“Animals have ruts. Deer, elk, creatures like that.” A beat, as you begin to understand. Heat flaring in your cheeks at the implication, “But, not… not humans.”
He grunts, shifting.
It takes everything not to let your chin tip down, to look. 
“They do where I come from.” 
Pieces start to fall in place. His increased irritability around you lately. Territorial. Aggressive. 
Blending in to what you know, in your connection to nature. Those animalistic instincts that linger in your blood long after you’ve shed your beast form. 
Desire. Mating. An urge to breed. 
Oh, fuck. 
You squirm and he makes a warning sound without thinking - a rough rumble from his chest. His weight shifting on top of you, still hovering.
“How do you handle it?” 
His eyes flicker up to yours, then away again. Jaw working, a breath before he answers, “Take care of it myself. Or, I’d find someone to work through it with me.”
Even as you’re scrambling to make sense of it, you understand his insinuation. It stuns you into silence. You cannot allow that. The thought sends your heart crashing into your guts. 
Your chin tips up, defiantly.
“Let me help you.” 
Those dark eyes narrow as they snap to your face. Your words softening, as your thumb sweeps across his skin, the scruff of his cheek.
“I want to help you.”
Logan laughs, the sound ragged. Showing the points of his canines with the shake of his head. 
“You don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice is smoky-low. Rough as it scrapes across your skin, leaving goosebumps, “You couldn’t take me.”
Your heart feels like it’s pounding in your throat. Heat licking down your spine, and surely he can feel it - the flutter beneath the press of his knuckles. 
“I can.” It comes out breathy. Insisting. 
His tongue brushes over his lips as they part. A tilt of his head as he lowers himself. His knee pressing against the meat of your thigh, nudging. Opening your legs up further. Spreading them wider. 
“I will ruin you.” 
It’s growled in your ear. Each word coming slowly, as he lets the hard curve of his cock grind against your core. His meaning unmistakable, his voice pitching down with a ragged groan. 
“I want you to ruin you. You understand?”
And, you do. It floods through you, sending your nerve endings alight. Imagining how he would handle you, take you. The space between your thighs throbs. 
His admission - the rasp of his words and the heavy nudge of him against you makes you do something very selfish. 
And very stupid. 
You’re just able to reach your thigh holster now, with this new angle. The quick fumble of your fingers to loosen the small dagger.
The metal side of his claw pressing into your skin as your head turns. Before he can move, a flick of your wrist sends it through the air.
Your aim is slightly off, but it does the job. Seating itself in the control box by the door, a sizzle as the wires are cut.
A metallic snick as the doors lock. The lights click off, plunging the room into darkness. The ground bathed only with the stripes of sun that stretch across the floor from the row of window along the wall.
Logan lets go of your wrist, but leaves you pinned. His fist curling in the strap of your tank, knuckles pressing against your throat as he yanks you forward.
“Why the fuck would you do that?” Logan snarls, “You want me to use you?”
His words make you whimper. A soft little whine that has his hips dropping further. An unconscious rut against your core, leg muscles flexing as you clench around nothing. 
You meet his second thrust, your body curving against his. Head tipping back as the seam of your leggings nudge against your clit.
“Fuck.” It almost sounds awed now, his words soft and slow, “You do, don’t you?”
Letting his full weight drop, as your hands grip onto his shoulders for purchase. You had thought you were pinned before, but he had still been using his knees, his elbows. Hovering, in an attempt to keep control.
Now, you can feel all of him, as his body maps against yours. Pulling a rough groan as his hips flex, grinding himself slowly against your core. 
“Logan, please.”
He growls. Fingers unfurling from your shirt. Ghosting down your side to fit against the curve of your hip. Biting into flesh with a bruising force, as his face buried in the crook of your neck. A hot exhale against your skin, as he pants - finding a rocking rhythm, as his body curls around yours. 
You can feel the way his muscles tense with each needy snap of his hips. The way each breath pitches into a near-silent whine, as he seeks friction. 
It’s not enough, as much as he wishes it was.
“I need-” Logan rasps, “Tell me to stop and I will.”
The hand on your hip snakes between you. Roughly tugging on the belt of his suit, until the clasp opens. All while murmuring assurances, half to himself.
“I’ll let you go. Work through it myself-”
That need he speaks of rolls off him in waves. Facial hair scraping against your cheek. The brush of his lips against your throat, just above the cool press of his claws.
“Don’t stop.” It’s easy to answer. Easy to lean into what he offers you, all those sweet promises wrapped in steel. 
The groan he makes is filthy, “Give me your hand.”
Your fingers unlatch from the vice-like hold on his suit. A broad hand wrapping around your wrist, as he tugs you where he needs you. The tips brushing heated skin, making you gasp. 
“Make a fist,” He rasps, “Fuck, that’s it.”
Lining himself up, pushing his bared cock into the circled grip of your fingers. Using you like a cheap imitation of what he craves, as his desire leaks from him. Slicking up your fingers, with each roll of his hips. 
He’s heavy in your hand. You can feel how your fingers stretch - flexing, opening, with each forward thrust. Barely able to circle around, fingers splitting when you reach his base. 
You can’t help but move with him. Hips rocking up, to match his messy rhythm. The knuckle of your thumb pressing against your seam, nudging at where you ache for him.
“I can smell you, sweetheart,” Logan moans, his nose dragging along the curve of your jaw. Lips parting so he can test his teeth against a spot under your ear, the pressure making you shiver, “Your pussy’s leaking, thinking about me.”
Your eyes flutter shut, as you whine. Squeezing his cock a little more tightly, wishing it was filling you instead just your fingers. 
“I’m right, aren’t I?” He husks, “You think you can take it?”
You want anything he’ll give you. And anything is better than the way he’s teasing you. Palm slick with his desire, your own soaking through the soft fabric of your leggings.
“I want it. Want your cock,” You breathe, “Want to fuck me, please-”
There’s a final jerk of his hips against you, his voice gruff as his thighs shift.
“Stay still then, sweetheart.”
There’s the sharp rasp of adamantium against stone as they withdraw from the floor. His knuckles easing carefully from your throat as he leans back. Eyes dropping down, considering.
Barely a heartbeat before there’s the kiss of metal against skin, as the edge of a claw hooks under your shirt. Your breath held as it slips up, between your breasts. 
A tug, and the fabric is shredding. Fibers splitting until the drag of the sharp tips, from belly to throat. Baring you, the air in the open room chilling your heated skin as you gasp.
Nipples already pebbled as his mouth descends. A needy moan loosening when he kisses at the curve of your tits, his tongue flattening across a tight peak. 
Your arms wrap around him, their duty forgotten. Distracting you as his claws shift down. Your breath catches, but then there’s the sound of them sheathing - slipping back under his skin. 
His hands finding the slice he made in the waistband, making short work of the rest himself. Ripping your leggings open - dragging your thighs over his as he leans back on his knees. 
And looking down, it’s only now that you can fully see him. The familiar, worn yellow suit that shows off how broad he is. Zipper yanked down at the crotch, his cock pulled through with his impatience.
Eyes widening, when you realize there’s more to him than you though. Hanging heavy between his thighs, pretty and flushed. A thickened bulge sitting where your fingers had split - what you had mistaken for his base. 
“Need to be inside you, sweetheart,” Logan’s hand already wrapping around his shaft, dragging the tip across your cunt, “Don’t make me waste a drop, alright?”
Fingers tugging the gusset of your panties to the side. Letting the tip slap against your clit. It glides against you, slipping against your combined arousal. Seeing how you flutter as you clench, your own need spiking.
“Logan,” You beg, “Stop teasing, please-”
He makes a rough sound. Almost a laugh, if it didn’t sound so pained. 
“Just listen to you. Begging like you’re in heat,” He grunts, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you need.”
The tip dips down, nudging at your entrance. Lining himself up, before his hips drive him forward. The sudden pressure chokes you - a bitten-back cry as your muscles string tight, thighs clamping down around his waist.
“Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this.” He growls. Spearing into you an inch at time with a long, fluid motion. Fingers biting into your thigh, holding you open as your own scrabble against the mat - searching for something to hold onto.
“Tugging down those leggings. Fucking you into the floor.”
You can barely contain the whine. Brow furrowed, as he splits you open. Your pussy making room for him until the swollen ring at his base cradles your entrance. 
Only able to inhale a short breath before he’s moving. Hands catching your legs, slipping to the joints of your knees where they press into his ribs.
Pushing your thighs back towards your chest, opening you up further, as his cock drags along your walls. He feels deeper, bigger - groaning at the way you clench so tightly around him.
Better than any of those daydreams, as he leans into you. Chasing that animalistic urge inside to bury himself fully in you, ensuring that you’ll take every drop.
Your fingers bite into his wrists. The breath pushed from you with each thrust, feeling like he’s deep in your belly, as that swell stretches at your opening.
“Thought about it too,” You admit with a gasp, as that heat inside you burns, “Wanted you, like this.”
“Yeah? I bet you did.” He grunts, as his thighs snap against your ass. Leaning over you now, eyes fixed on yours. Close enough that you can see the glaze to them, lost in his need for release. 
Before his eyes drag down. Seeing where you’re stretched around him. Another shallow nudge, urging himself deeper. His thumb pressing at your entrance, before slipping back to hook around the swell.
“Good girl like you’d take my knot too, wouldn’t you?”
His knot. Your head shakes. He barely fits at is. You can feel every ridge as he ruts into you, every thick vein, “I don’t think- Logan, that won’t fit-”
The thumb shifts up. Pleasure burning through as he rolls the pad across you clit. His brow pulled in concentration, but there’s a flesh of white teeth.
“Sure it will, baby.” It’s slick, how he touches you. His cock grinding again and again against a spot that steals your breath, “You were made to take it. We’ll make it fit.”
It makes you moan. Your fingers sliding into his hair tugging at him. He comes willingly, a soft sound as his mouth dips to press against yours. Turning hungry as your lips part. Rubbing at you as his tongue strokes against yours, deepening the kiss. 
The pleasure licks in your veins, a molten feeling building in your core. 
A rough murmur against your lips, “Tell me you want it. I’ll make you feel good, sweetheart.”
You parrot it back to him without thinking, hips chasing the press of his thumb. 
“I want it,” You keen, “Your k-knot.”
Willing to do just about anything he asks if he keeps touching you like this. If he keeps rutting against the spot that makes your arousal leak around his cock, each drive of his hips loud and messy in the quiet room. 
He groans, the hand at your thigh pinching, sure to leave bruises tomorrow. The fingers at your clit slipping up to splay across your abdomen, his palm hot again your skin. 
“Yeah?” Logan husks - pressing down, almost as if he can feel himself buried inside you, “Fuck, you’d look so good filled with my pups.”
His rhythm going sloppy, as a hand slips up to palm at your breasts, “These pretty tits nice and round. Wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off you, baby.”
Some of his words are new to you, but your body still reacts to his tone. The need, the longing. An intrinsic understanding of what he wants, even if it’s impossible with your implant. It still doesn’t stop your hand from slipping down to replace his.
Of pretending, with him. 
The circles practiced, leaving him to concentrate on his own end. Soft panting cries pulling from you as the pounding of his hips drags you closer. 
He’s close, as well. Those sharp thrusts growing shallow, messy. Letting go of your thighs, letting them wrap around his waist as he drives you into the padded mats. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, lips pressing against your jaw. Tongue dipping out to drag against a spot on your neck that makes you go slack in his arms. 
“Should mate you,” He rasps. Teeth pinching down, where his tongue just was, “Bite you right here. Make you mine.”
The words tip you over the edge. A ragged gasp as your pussy clamps down around him, blood thundering in your ears. Nails catching on the panels of his suit as you cling to him, moans ripped from your throat as you pulse around him in time with your thudding heartbeat.
There’s no sharp bite of teeth. Just a muffled groan against your skin as he grasps at your hips. The sharp feeling of pressure increasing, as something thick works its way inside you. You keen as it stretches you, swelling so he can’t withdraw. 
Twin ragged moans, as you’re joined together. 
He comes with you squirming on his knot, his lips pressed against your throat. Sweet nothings murmured - “squeezing me so fucking tight, baby”, “gonna need you to take every drop, atta girl” - his cock throbbing as he spills inside you, pumping you full.
Still grinding into you. It draws your own orgasm out, with the way he’s rubbing against your walls, nothing left untouched. Overstimulation flickering at the corner of your mind, but you’re locked in place as he breeds you. 
Understanding what he meant by using you - you feel it now. Fucked out and boneless and it sends another gush of sticky need between your thighs. 
The sharp, panting breath starts to ebb. The ghost of his teeth becomes the nuzzle of his face, that strung-tight pull of his muscles turning liquid as he relaxes into your embrace. 
“Why were you so worried?”
It comes out hushed, in the now-silent room. You’re sore - will be, tomorrow. Pleasure-drunk certainly, but not quite as ruined as he promised. 
Almost to your disappointment. 
“That wasn’t too much.”
Logan laughs, the sound dripping with condescension. A flex of his hips, still knotted inside you. Cum leaking from your swollen pussy, smearing against your inner thighs.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He coos, “Ruts can last for days.”
His fingers drop, dragging through his spend. Finding your clit again, rubbing slick circles against the tight little bud. 
Intent on doing this one himself. 
“We’re only just getting started.”
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[moodboard] // I had two ideas for his claws after the movie - this was the second one! This is my first time writing something like this, so keeping it a little light with the dynamics 💖 thanks for reading!
and speaking of - I have to link this amazing alpha!logan thot by the incredible @avocado-writing! please check it out! 💕
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sceletaflores · 3 months ago
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slippin' and slidin' all over you!
pair: logan howlett x fem!reader
wc: 4k
contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, sweating, mutual masturbation, sweat licking (i don't know???), not-so-dry humping, p in v, JUST THE TIP RAHHH, creampie, fingering (fem!recieving), oral sex (fem!receiving), come swapping, come eating, literally over four thousand words of pure nasty smut, this is gross lowkey, idk i'm h*rny, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.
nat’s note: very much not the winner or even an option of the poll i posted last week but...shhh don't hate me. it’s october and over 80 every single day, what the fuck is that? only good thing that came from this heat is thoughts of nasty sweaty sex with logan. once again shoutout to my wonderful husband @ebodebo for reading this over for me (i successfully changed her vendetta against sucking up some man sweat...which was the real point of this fic tbh) go give her fics some love if you're a slut for ghost! kisses!
logan forgot to fix the ac...
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It's too hot out to be alive. 36°C and sunny.
One of the hottest days in recent memory for Alberta, and you're really feeling it.
"Remind me," you say slowly, the first words spoken in almost ten minutes. "How many times did I ask you to fix the air conditioner?"
"Don't start," Logan says from his spot across the room. His head is tipped back to rest on the couch cushion, eyes slipped shut.
You ignore him, lazily rolling your head to the side to look at him through squinted eyes, your brows furrowed in thought. "Was it ten? Or maybe thirteen?"
Logan huffs a breath, slow and heavy, but he doesn't move--doesn't even open his eyes. “I said don’t start,” he mutters again, though there’s the faintest edge of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
"Don't worry baby," you say, voice pitched lower in a terrible impersonation of Logan. "I'll get to it, promise. Won’t get too hot for another couple months."
Logan finally cracks an eye open, just enough to give you a sideways glance, his mouth twitching with amusement. "You done?"
You hum noncommittally, the sound lingering in the air like the lazy summer breeze doing nothing to cool the temperature outside. Your gaze slips down the side of his face to trace the jut of his jaw, then lower to the sweaty column of his neck. 
Both you and Logan lost most of your clothes earlier in the day, too hot to bother wearing anything but underwear. You trudged around the house like zombies until you finally gave up on trying to be productive, you both ended up in the living room. 
All the windows are cracked open, trying in vain to let in any cool air. You claimed the armchair closest to the fan, refusing to be anywhere near Logan and the massive heat wave he constantly gives off.
Logan’s on the couch, stripped down to the thinnest pair of sleep shorts you’ve ever seen. His chest is bare, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat that mats the dark hair dusted along his pecs to his skin. 
You can’t help the way your eyes follow the drops of moisture that slide slowly down the contours of his abs. A low heat starting to swirl through your gut when it disappears into his happy trail.
It's funny. When you basically peeled yourself off your mattress this morning, sex was the absolute last thing on your mind.
Now, as your eyes glide over the strong expanse of Logan's body on full display, you're having second thoughts.
Maybe it just comes with the heat. That sort of slow, syrupy feeling that slides along your overheated skin to pulse pleasantly between your thighs.
A bead of sweat slides down the length of your spine slowly, falling until it soaks into the damp waistband of your panties. You try to not notice how Logan is halfway across the room, not touching you.
You fail.
“It’s just a shame, though,” you start, fingers idly toying with the hem of your tank top. “If it was cooler, I could come over there.”
You slide a leg up, letting it rest against the wooden rest, newly exposed skin gleaming under the sunlight filtering in. 
The move isn't lost on Logan. You see his jaw clench slightly, the tiniest shift in his posture.
"Something you wanted?" Logan asks, his voice going low and teasing. "Looks like you've been gettin' yourself all worked up over there."
“Just thinking,” you reply, shifting slightly on the sticky leather of the chair.
Logan’s fingers twitch at his sides, his chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. His eyes slide the rest of the way open, his gaze heavy and lingering as it ventures down to where your thin shirt sticks to your skin, outlining every curve.
“Oh yeah?” he prompts, his voice a little rougher now. “Thinkin’ about what, baby?”
“You,” you say easily, fingers slipping down to your thigh. You bring your other leg up, perching it against the opposite armrest. Your thighs spread wide enough that you know Logan has a full view of the wet spot growing along the gusset of your panties.
The hitch in Logan’s breath has you stifling a smug smile, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch the way his chest starts rising faster.
"That's real sweet, sugar," he drawls, an unimpressed look on his face as he drags his eyes back up to your own. "But if you're tryin' to get me over there, you're gonna have to do better than that." His voice slides through the air heavy and warm like molasses.
You bite back a grin, enjoying the slow game that's unfolding between the two of you. 
"Maybe I don’t want you to come over here," you let your fingers trail a little lower, just to the edge of your panties, teasing. “Maybe I like you right where you are.”
Logan’s brow raises, his thighs tensing before he spreads them just a touch wider. The fabric of his boxers goes taut over the strong muscle, riding up to expose even more hairy skin to your greedy eyes.
"You're playin' with fire, kid," he warns.
The tent in his shorts is obvious now, the hard length of his cock pressing against the fabric where it lays across his thigh. Your other hand twitches by your side at just the sight, your pussy throbbing with the sudden need to be filled.
"Am I?" you murmur, your fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties, just enough to make sure he knows exactly where this is headed. ”It’s not like you’re going to do anything about it, you’re too busy pouting."
With a deliberate slowness, you slide your fingers lower, brushing against your clit with just enough pressure to let out a soft gasp at the contact. You arch your back slightly, relishing in the way the air feels against your skin, hot and sticky.
You want him to see how badly you need him—how his heat is the only thing that could truly satisfy the insatiable ache building between your legs.
Logan's nostrils flare, jaw tightening and eyes darkening at the sight of you teasing yourself. His restraint is slipping, and you can practically feel the tension building in the room, thick and stifling like the oppressive summer heat. 
But he still doesn’t move, doesn’t rush over like you expect him to. Instead, he shifts his hips slightly, spreading his legs wider and letting his hand fall on his thigh. 
You can’t help the way your breath quickens at the sight, the way his fingers drift dangerously close to his own growing bulge, teasing you just as much as you’re teasing him. 
You tilt your head to the side, gazing at him through your lashes. “You're really just gonna leave me hanging?” you goad, fingers circling lazily around your sensitive clit. “Come on stud, whip it out.”
Logan chuckles low, a sound that sends shivers through you. "Is that what you want, baby?" he asks, voice thick and taunting, a smirk curling on his lips. “You want me to whip it out for you?”
“Yeah,” you murmur breathlessly, biting your lip as you maintain eye contact, your breath starting to come in short bursts. “I need to see you, Logan. Need to see how hard you are for me.”
“Need to, huh,” he muses slowly, fingers finally grazing over the hard length of his cock. “What’s in it for me?”
“How about this?” You slip your hand out from your ruined panties, fingers glistening with your own wetness as you hook your thumbs on either side and drag them down your legs.
You let the soaked cotton fall to the floor, leaving you completely exposed to him.
Logan’s pupils dilate, an inky black completely swallowing the warm hazel. He licks his lips slowly, the tip of his tongue running along his teeth like he wants to sink them into you. His cock twitches visibly beneath his shorts, the growing tension in the air between you thick enough to choke on.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, his voice low and gravelly, more of a growl than a word.
You smile, shifting in the chair to give him an even better view, your legs spreading wider. "Yeah?" you purr, running your fingers over your slick inner thigh, feeling the heat radiating from your own skin. “You like what you see?”
Logan swallows hard, his hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts, palming his cock as he watches you. “You know I do,” he says, voice rougher than before. 
You let your hand trail back down to your clit, rubbing it in slow, teasing circles as you hold his gaze. “Then show me, Logan,” you whisper, your voice almost a plea now. "I wanna see you."
Logan lets out a low, rumbling groan, his fingers making quick work of shoving his shorts down enough to free his cock. It springs free to slap lewdly against his stomach and you can’t help the moan that escapes your lips at the sight.
He strokes himself slowly to start, his eyes locked on you, watching your every reaction, feeding off the way your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths.
"Like this?" he asks, his tone taunting as he strokes himself from base to tip, his thumb swiping over the head with a low hiss. “That what you wanted?”
Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him, straining and in his hand. The sight of his thumb brushing over the tip of his cock sends a hot, electric pulse through your body, your hand between your legs moving in time with his slow strokes.
"Yeah," you whisper, voice trembling with need. "Just like that."
You slip your hand lower, sliding two fingers inside yourself with a low moan. Logan groans like he’s the one being touched, his hand speeds up, eyes glued to where your fingers disappear in your slick heat.
His cock leaks pre-come over his knuckles each time his fist passes over the dripping head, the wet sound of it mixing with the low hum of the fan and your own breathy sighs.
"You look so fuckin' good like this honey," Logan groans, his voice rough, strained. "All spread out, playing with that pretty pussy for me."
You whimper at his words, your body aching for more than just your own touch. You need him, need the feel of his rough hands on your skin, his mouth, his cock—anything.
Your fingers move faster, slipping deeper inside with each pump, but it’s still not enough. The stretch is nothing compared to taking Logan, to the feeling of him carving a place for his thick cock inside your pussy, hitting that spot inside you that your fingers can’t quite reach.
Your hips buck up towards your hand, your back arching off the chair as your free hand clutches the armrest tightly.
Logan’s pace quickens, his fist pumping his cock with a new urgency, heavy balls bouncing with every rough tug.
“God, look at you, such a needy fuckin’ thing” he growls, chest heaving as his gaze flicks between your flushed face and the glistening mess you’re making of yourself like he can’t decide where to look. “You want it bad, don’t you?”
"Please," you whine, desperation creeping into your voice. Too keyed up to draw this out any longer. “I need you inside me, Logan. I can’t take it anymore.”
Logan groans, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. His hand falters slightly on his cock, squeezing hard around the base as your words push him dangerously close to the edge. His jaw clenches, eyes raking over you, and with a growl, he stands. 
The last threads of his restraint snapping.
 He crosses the room in two long strides, towering over you where you sit. His cock swollen and hard, sways between his legs with every step, glistening with pre-come that drips to the floor. His eyes, hooded and burning, drink you in as he reaches down, yanking your hand away from your slick heat.
“Thought you said it was too hot to move,” you tease breathlessly, unable to quit egging him on even when your legs start to tremble with need, spreading wider to welcome him.
Logan ignores you, tugging your hand to his lips. Your breath catches in your chest, a weak moan escaping you as he takes your soaked fingers in his mouth. His tongue swirling along your skin to taste you, his eyes never leaving yours as he does.
“Changed my mind,” he growls, strong hands rough and possessive as they drop your wrist and haul you out of the chair so he can spin around, collapsing into it with you in his lap. The wood gives a warning creak beneath you but neither of you care.
Not when his mouth is on yours, hot and demanding as he slides his tongue past the seam of your lips. The heat radiating off his body is suffocating, but you welcome it—craving the weight of him on you.
You melt against him, feeling the hard planes of his body against yours, every inch of him alive and pulsating with need. Logan’s hands find their way to your hips, fingers digging in just enough to send a rush coursing through you.
It’s intoxicating, the way he devours you, his hands exploring every inch of your back, grasping and pulling you impossibly closer. 
The hard jut of his cock presses against your thigh, a thick plane of heat that makes your pussy throb with need. You shift your hips, grinding down on him in messy circles.
“You feel that?” he growls, lips brushing against your ear. “That’s all for you, darlin’.”
“Need you,” you whimper, grinding down against him faster, desperate for the friction that sends pleasure rippling through you. “Please, Logan, I need you inside me now.”
“Hold on, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low and husky, sending sparks all up your spine.
He dips his head, capturing your lips again, while his hands roam hungrily down your sides, fingers curling around your thighs to urge your legs open wider. “You wanna tease me, you’re gonna have to get off just like this.”
Logan angles his hips so that his cock slips between your drenched folds the next time you roll your own down.
The hot, slick glide sends electric shocks of pleasure racing through you, your body responding instinctively to his touch. You gasp against his lips, fingers tangling in his hair as you push down, desperate for more.
“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, his voice dripping with lust as he watches your movements with hungry eyes. “Just for me, huh? She’s droolin’ just for me.”
You nod breathlessly, chasing the friction, craving the feel of him so close. You lift your hips and rock back down again, the blunt head of his cock brushing against your swollen clit, and you feel your body pulse in response. 
“More,” you plead, leaning in to nibble at his lower lip. “I need it.”
Logan pulls away, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Come on, tough shot,” he says, giving your ass a quick smack and kneading the tender flesh in his hand roughly. “You’re gonna come like this, you can do it baby.”
You whine, dropping your chin to your chest. Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging crescent moons into the strong muscle. Your chest slips slickly against his, the front of your tank almost entirely soaked with sweat.
Yours or his, it doesn't matter. The white cotton turned transparent enough that your breasts are on full display, nipples hard and visible.
You watch a single bead of sweat make its way down the length of his throat. It trickles down and down and down until it dips between the pronounced muscles of his chest.
You duck your head, dragging your tongue up the valley of his pecs. A deep moan bursts from your lips, pussy drooling more slick over Logan’s cock at the coarse feel of his thick hair on your tongue, at the heady taste of his sweat filling your senses.
Logan groans, hands tightening their hold on your waist. The dull ache his strength leaves behind is enough to let you know that two hand shaped bruises will be blooming over your skin by tomorrow morning. 
“Come on, girly,” he encourages, nipping at the sweaty column of your throat, the sharp points of his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin deliciously. “Fuck me, give it to me good.”
Your hips speed up, his hard cock sliding through the slick folds of your cunt faster. The tip bumps against your clit deliciously with every move, smearing pre-come along the way to add even more to the mess between your legs.
“Gonna fuckin’ fill you up,” he groans, breath puffing warm and hot agasint the slick skin of your lips. “Pump you so full of my come you’ll be leakin’ for a goddamn week.”
He shifts underneath you, the tip of his cock catching on your entrance just enough for it to push inside on the next grind of your hips.
The barely there fullness has you coming with a sharp cry, nails roughly dragging down Logan’s back hard enough to leave red welts that heal as you go.
The pain mixing with the pleasure of finally getting to feel the warm, wet suction of your pussy has Logan coming with a rough shout of your name. He throws his head back, hands tightening their grip on your hips enough to have your bones grinding together as he pumps you full of his come. 
“Logan…” you mewl, your pussy fluttering over the tip of his cock, greedy little clenches like you're trying to suck him the rest of the way in. Drunk on the way his release paints your insides, how you can feel each thick spray coating your walls to claim you in the rawest way.
Logan pulls back just far enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark and smoldering as he watches you squirm in his lap.
"You’re not tapping out on me already, are you?" he teases, his voice rough and gravelly. "I thought you were tougher than that."
A weak, breathy laugh escapes you, but it’s cut short when he applies just a little more pressure, making your thighs quiver. "Not tapping out," you manage between shallow breaths, your head falling back against the chair. "But you’re—fuck—you’re insatiable."
Logan smirks, leaning in to nip at the sensitive skin of your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to send shivers coursing through you.
"When it comes to you, baby?" he murmurs against your skin, the heat of his breath fanning over your pulse point. "Fuckin’ always."
A lazily smile takes over your lips as you tighten your core and push, the rest of Logan’s come leaking out over his fingers. Logan groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder to try and ground himself.
His cock throbs where it sways heavily between his thighs, still hard and ready to go even after he just came. His hand slips down your body, thick fingers running through the creamy mess of come and slick to messily push it back inside you.
“Fuckin’ shit, honey,” he groans lowly, pressing his thumb to your clit. “You’re gonna kill me.” 
Before you can respond, he stands again, gently placing your trembling form back into the chair and dropping to his knees in front of you.
Your breath hitches, legs widening despite the way your pussy shakes with overstimulation, like you can’t help but spread your legs for Logan anytime he wants.
Logan smirks up at you from between your legs, his lips already ghosting over the inside of your thigh. "Look at you," he growls, voice low and filled with lust. "Still so needy."
The slick heat of his tongue runs along your folds, lapping at the mess he just made of you. You let out a sharp gasp, thighs trembling as your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer.
The sensation is overwhelming—the rough, demanding pace of his tongue as it swirls around your clit, teasing you, while his hands grip your thighs with bruising force. Keeping you exactly where he wants you, keeping you spread open for his tongue.
Your body arches off the chair with a loud cry, every nerve alight with raw pleasure as he feasts on you, his growls vibrating against your sensitive skin.
"Fuck! Logan," you moan breathlessly, head falling back as you try to keep up with the sensations he's pulling from you.
The heat that was pooling low in your belly reignites, stoked by the way his tongue flicks faster against your clit, each stroke sending you higher.
Logan doesn’t let up, his tongue delving deeper, drinking in every moan, every shaky gasp as he drives you closer to the edge. He moans into your pussy, his own arousal clear in the way his hips buck into the air, seeking any kind of friction.
You tug on his hair harder, desperate for more, for release. "Logan, please," you whimper, your voice barely above a whisper, thick with need.
"Atta’ girl," he rasps, his voice thick with desire as he watches your face contort with pleasure. "So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna give me another one, baby? Gonna come for me again?"
Every lick, every rough squeeze to your thighs, every teasing stroke sends you spiraling closer to that edge you’re dying to reach again. You can feel the heat radiating off him, his breath hot against your soaked skin and driving you wild.
“Logan, I—” You gasp, fingers tightening in his hair, urging him closer, closer, closer. “I’m so close—”
His eyes flick up to meet yours, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, nose and jaw glistening in your juices.
"Give it to me," he growls, the rough rasp of his voice sending a shiver through your overheated body. "I wanna feel you come on my tongue."
It’s all the encouragement you need. With a strangled cry, your body tenses, thighs quaking as the orgasm crashes over you.
Logan keeps his mouth on you, tongue working you through every pulse, drawing it out until you’re trembling and gasping, your body boneless in the chair.
When you finally come down, panting and spent, Logan pulls away. With one last kiss pressed over your clit, he makes his way up your body, not dropping eye contact as he settles over you.
His hand comes up to your face, thumbs meanly hooking into either side of your cheeks to gently force your mouth open. You part your lips willingly, the heat still radiating between you, a mix of lingering pleasure.
Logan leans in, and the intoxicating scent of sweat and sex surrounds you as he spits what he collected from between your legs back into your own mouth. 
Your cheeks burn with shame, a broken moan ringing through the space between you. Your glassy eyes stare into Logan’s, his own gaze so intense and all consuming you fight the urge to squirm.
"Swallow," he commands, unwavering. 
You hesitate for just a moment, caught off guard by the pure audacity, but the way his eyes darken with hunger makes your resolve crumble. With a breathless whimper, you obey, tasting the remnants of your own pleasure mingling with his, the act both humiliating and intensely arousing.
Logan watches you closely, his gaze never straying as you swallow, a dirty smirk creeping onto his lips. “That's my girl,” he praises, his tone thick with satisfaction.
As the taste lingers on your tongue, you can feel the weight of Logan’s stare like a physical touch.
“Think you can handle another round?” he teases, his voice low and sultry. “I don’t plan on letting you off that easy, kid. Not with all that mouthing off earlier.”
You catch your breath, shaking your head in exasperation. “You’re relentless,” you whisper, a hint of laughter in your voice, though your body betrays you, already craving more.
“Only for you, baby” he replies, brushing the strands of hair plastered to your sweaty forehead behind your ear. “Only for you.”
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tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!
mini nat's note: i started my period today chickens...that explains it...
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lostfracturess · 4 days ago
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HOW TO FAKE DATE A DOCTOR — SATORU GOJO
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pairing — doctor!satoru gojo x fem!reader
summary — for six months, you've watched dr. satoru gojo order the sweetest coffee on your menu every morning at exactly 7:15 AM. for six months, you've convinced yourself his intense stares must mean he's spotted something medically concerning about you—maybe a suspicious mole or concerning symptom. but when a desperate white lie about a fake boyfriend results in him volunteering to play the part at your family's christmas dinner, what begins as a simple pretend relationship might just turn into something real.
word count — 9 k
genre/tags — coffee shop AU, holiday romance, fake dating, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, fluff, idiots in love, reader is a med student and barista, gojo is a cardiologist, age difference (reader is 25/gojo early 30s)
warnings — 16+ ONLY. contains suggestive sexual content, non-graphic medical talk
author's note — hey lovelies, welcome to my first attempt at a holiday romance. this was meant to be a short drabble but somehow turned into this 9 k words of pure fluff and pining. it's my little christmas gift to you all hehe. whether you're celebrating with family, working holiday shifts, or just enjoying a quiet day, hope this makes you smile. thank you for reading, and merry christmas !! <3 (fanart in the header)
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You first noticed him six months ago.
It wasn't just because he was strikingly handsome, with hair the color of fresh snow and the bluest eyes you'd ever seen, though that certainly didn't hurt. It wasn't even because of his white coat and the stethoscope casually draped around his neck, marking him as one of the doctors from the nearby hospital.
No, what caught your attention was the way he looked at you.
Every morning, like clockwork, the bell above the door would chime at precisely 7:15 AM, and Dr. Satoru Gojo would walk into your café. He'd order the sweetest drink on your menu (always with extra whipped cream), and while you prepared it, his eyes would follow your every movement.
It wasn't creepy or uncomfortable. And it definitely wasn't flirting — at least, you didn't think it was. Perhaps he saw something, a suspicious mole you'd never noticed, and now he was trying to figure out how to tell the coffee girl she’s dying without ruining her morning rush. 
That had to be it.
You’d catch his gaze lingering when he thought you weren't looking. Sometimes, he'd tilt his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on his lips. It made you wonder what he was thinking. Was he judging your latte art? Probably. You were still working on that.
But when you turned around to give him his iced vanilla latte with extra whipped cream and three shots of caramel (it never varied, not once in six months), he'd break his smile to you, his gaze softening for a second, and then his fingers would brush against yours as you handed him the paper cup.
He always thanked you with “Much appreciated”. It made your heart skip a beat, if you'd be honest. Not that you read all too much into it of course. And so for six months, this had been your routine. 
5:30 AM: Arrive at the café.
6:00 AM: Open up, prep for the day. 
7:13 AM: Start making his drink because you knew he'd walk in exactly two minutes later. 
7:15 AM: Heart fluttering slightly as your hand brushed his as you gave him his order.
10:00 AM: Shift end. 
10:30 AM: Rush to classes.
Some mornings, he’d arrive in wrinkled scrubs, the faint scent of antiseptic clinging to him. Other days, it was a tailored dress shirt, sometimes with a matching tie. But the routine never changed.
Same order, same time, the same easy smile that would soften slightly when you remembered his order without him having to say it. Not that it was hard to begin with. 
“Someone’s got a secret admirer,” Maki would say, nudging you with her elbow as Dr. Gojo left. You’d roll your eyes, but a faint blush crept up your neck anyway.
Between customers, you'd try to squeeze in some studying. The early morning shift wasn't exactly ideal, but it paid better, and you needed every cent you could get for your pre-med textbooks. Those things cost more than your rent, it felt like.
Your anatomy textbook usually lay open behind the counter, hidden from customers' view but accessible during slower moments. Sometimes, when the morning rush died down, you'd catch Dr. Gojo's eyes flickering to the pages as you made his latte. His expression would shift slightly, but he never commented on it.
You wondered sometimes if he was judging your highlighting technique (chaotic at best) or your margin notes (mostly question marks). He must have gone through all this years ago, probably with much more grace than your current fumbling through medical terminology.
The café job barely covered your expenses — between tuition, rent, and those damn textbooks — but at least it was flexible with your class schedule. Your manager understood when you needed to switch shifts for exams, and the free coffee helped during all-nighters.
Your coworkers thought you were crazy for taking such early shifts. "No one should be awake at 5:30 AM," they'd say. But they didn't understand the quiet peace of morning prep, the satisfaction of perfect latte art, or the way certain blue eyes would crinkle at the corners when you got his order just right.
It was a small thing, a fleeting smile, a brush of fingertips, but it was enough to make the early mornings, the aching feet, the constant struggle, almost worth it.
Not that you stuck to this schedule just for him. Obviously not. The extra dollar per hour for opening shift was the real motivator. The fact that it coincided with Dr. Gojo's apparent coffee schedule was just... coincidence.
Sometimes, during chaotic study sessions between customers, you'd catch him watching you mouth medical terms to yourself as you steamed milk. His eyes would linger on your textbook, then flick back to your face with that same intense look that made you wonder if he was counting your remaining days or something—or still trying to figure out if that one mole on your cheek was turning malignant.
The morning you had your anatomy midterm, your textbook sat next to the register, full of sticky notes and frantic annotations. You saw him notice it, saw something shift in his expression as he took in the obvious signs of exam stress. That day, he left an extra large tip with a small note that just said "Good luck."
It was probably just pity. He'd been through med school. He knew the hell you were going through. That had to be it. Absolutely. No other explanation.
That’s what you told yourself, anyway, as you added the note into your wallet, shoving it down next to a crumpled grocery list and a faded movie ticket stub, as if burying it under a pile of mundane objects could somehow bury the flutter in your chest.
For six months, this had been your life. Balancing early mornings, late classes, endless studying, and the mystery of a doctor who looked at you like you were a puzzle he couldn't quite solve.
So when he finally broke pattern that random rainy monday morning, it wasn't with some dramatic revelation about your health you’d imagined. Instead, he tilted his head slightly while waiting for his usual and said, "You changed your hair."
You nearly dropped the caramel syrup. After six months of intense stares and loaded silences, after convincing yourself he was cataloging your symptoms or contemplating your mortality, he was commenting on your hair?
"Oh." Your hand instinctively went to the ends you'd trimmed over the weekend. "Yeah, just a few inches."
"It suits you." He said it so casually, like he hadn't just shattered half a year of mysterious doctor mystique with three words. Then, with that same matter-of-fact tone, "The pathophysiology textbook you were reading last week—Robbins, right? It’s really good. Especially the part about metaplasia. Interesting stuff."
And just like that, the spell was broken. No terminal diagnosis. No earth-shattering revelations. Just a doctor who apparently noticed haircuts and had opinions about medical textbooks. 
The sudden normalcy of it all was almost jarring. For months, you’d been half-convinced he was silently cataloging your every freckle, every mole, every perceived imperfection, convinced he was about to deliver some devastating news. Now? He was talking about metaplasia. It was almot—anticlimactic. 
And, if you were being honest, a little embarrassing. All those covert checks in the reflection of the espresso machine, all those frantic Google searches for “atypical nevi”—for this?
You almost wanted to laugh.
After that day, your morning routine shifted slightly. He still came in at exactly 7:15, still ordered the same diabetis-inducing latte, still watched you work with those intense blue eyes the color of glacial ice. But now he'd occasionally comment on your study materials, or mention an interesting case that related to whatever chapter you were currently highlighting.
"Cardiac arrhythmias today?" he'd ask, spotting your textbook. "Had a case of atrial fibrillation yesterday. The patient presented with…" He’d then launch into a quick explanation, sketching a diagram on a napkin that somehow made more sense than three hours of lecture on the same topic.
Your coworkers were almost disappointed by this development. "That's it?" Maki had said when you told her. "Six months of smoldering looks and he just... helps you study?"
But somehow, it felt right. The mysterious doctor with pretty eyes turned out to be just a man who noticed details and perhaps had a soft spot for struggling med students. 
He still made your heart do that stupid flutter thing when his fingers brushed yours during the handoff, but now you had a perfectly logical explanation for that of course—the vagus nerve or some other equally fascinating cardiovascular phenomenon he'd just explained.
That had to be it.
Some mornings, when the café was quiet and you were stumped by a concept, he'd even linger a few minutes after getting his order. He’d lean against the counter, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne, gesturing with his cup while breaking down complex medical theories into digestible pieces, somehow making autoimmune disorders sound as simple as iced latte recipes. 
"You'll make a good doctor," he said one morning, completely out of nowhere and your cheeks flushed a deep crimson.
Your relationship—if you could even call it that—settled into something comfortably in-between. More than customer and barista, less than friends, but with a rhythm all its own. He'd quiz you while you made his usual, turning morning coffee runs into study sessions.
"Name three complications of chronic hypertension," he'd say while you pumped caramel into his cup.
"Increased risk of heart attack, stroke, and kidney disease," you'd reply, adding the extra shot of espresso he never actually ordered but always appreciated.
"Good. Now tell me about secondary causes."
One random Tuesday morning, however, the bell didn't chime at 7:15. You glanced at the clock, then back at the door. 
7:16. 
7:17. 
A knot of unease tightened in your stomach. It was ridiculous, really. Why did you even care? He was just a customer. A regular customer, yes, but still just a customer. It wasn't like you were waiting for him or anything. You were just—used to the routine. That was all. 
But despite your attempts at rationalization, a small, nagging worry began to gnaw at you. Had something happened? Was he okay? You found yourself staring at the door, your hand hovering over the espresso machine, your usual movements faltering slightly. You even messed up a latte, the foam swirling into a sad, lopsided blob instead of the usual pretty rosetta. 
At 7:20, just as you were about to convince yourself he’d just overslept and that you were being completely ridiculous, the bell finally rang. He rushed in, slightly out of breath, his cheeks flushed. "Sorry I'm late," he said, his voice a little rushed. "Crazy morning at the hospital."
He looked like he’d run all the way, which was odd. Why would he run? It’s not like his coffee was that important. Right? And yet, your stupid heart did a little flip at the sight of him, a traitorous swell of warmth blooming in your chest. He made it. He was here.
He stayed extra long that morning. After the rush died down, he listened to you recite your flashcards, correcting your pronunciation of medical terms with a patience that made you wonder if he moonlighted as a professor. It was a strange sort of intimacy, this shared moment of slow study amidst the busy morning rush and the soft hum of the refrigerators. 
And you never wanted that morning to end.
Your coworkers had stopped teasing you about him—mostly—and started asking if he could explain their own health questions instead. Then came the random stormy Wednesday that changed everything.
The morning had started normally enough—he arriving at 7:15 sharp, you already having his sugar latte ready. But the sky had opened up while he was waiting, rain drumming against the café windows. It wasn’t a gentle shower. It was a deluge, the kind that turned streets into rivers in minutes.
"Did you bring an umbrella?" he asked, watching you glance at the downpour.
"No," you sighed, already dreading the soggy walk to campus. "I checked the forecast last night—it said sunny all day." You internally cursed the weather app.
"When does your shift end?"
"Huh? Oh, uhm 10 AM. I have microbiology at 10:30."
His lips twitched into a faint smile and he left without another word. You tried not to feel disappointed—what had you expected? It's not like he could control the weather.
But at 10 AM sharp, as you were pulling your jacket tighter and preparing to make a run for it, you spotted him through the rain-streaked windows. He was standing outside the café in his white coat, holding a large dark blue umbrella. 
Your heart definitely did more than flutter this time.
"Ready?" he asked when you emerged, as if waiting in the pouring rain for some barista was perfectly normal doctor behavior.
"You didn't have to—"
"Can't have my favorite barista catching pneumonia," he said. "Besides, I'm heading that direction anyway." You knew for a fact the hospital was in the opposite direction.
The walk to campus was suddenly—intimate. It was strange being this close to him. You’d seen him every morning for months, but always across the counter, a safe distance separating you. Now, you were walking side-by-side, the scent of his cologne so close it made it hard to focus on anything but his proximity, to say the least.
"So, what are you studying in Microbiology?" he asked, breaking the silence.
"We're covering bacterial pathogenesis this week," you replied, and the conversation drifted naturally to a discussion of how different pathogens could affect various organ systems like it was normal small talk.
As other pedestrians passed, their own umbrellas bobbing and weaving, he’d subtly pull you closer. Each time he did, your breath would catch in your throat, and a fresh wave of warmth would wash over you. You were grateful for his height, because you were certain your cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red.
It was absurd, how flustered you were by such a simple act, but the feeling of his arm occasionally brushing against yours, the shared intimacy of the small space beneath the umbrella, was enough to send your heart racing.
Desperate to focus on something else, you blurted out, "What kind of doctor are you, anyway? I never actually asked."
"Cardiology," he replied simply.
“Cardiology,” you repeated, the word lingering on your tongue. A doctor of the heart. When you reached the medical sciences building, he paused, lowering the umbrella slightly. The rain had begun to ease, but the air still smelled wet and clean.
"Thanks," you said, meeting his gaze. "For the umbrella escort."
"Anytime." That soft smile again, the one that made your heart do a stupid little skip again.
As you watched him walk away, umbrella tilted against the rain, you realized something had shifted. Maybe you weren't quite friends, maybe you weren't quite anything definable, but whatever this was—it felt like the beginning of something. Something more than just sharing an umbrella on rainy days.
⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚。❆
Winter arrived on a random thursday morning, transforming rain into snow and turning your early morning walks to work into arctic expeditions.
It was during one of these frigid mornings, while you were preparing Dr. Gojo's usual order and the steam from the espresso machines fogging up the frost-covered windows, that your phone rang. Your mother's contact photo flashed on the screen.
You answered with your phone pressed between ear and shoulder, still working the machines. "Hi, Mom."
"Sweetheart! I was just planning Christmas dinner. You're bringing someone this year, right? That nice boy from your anatomy class you mentioned?"
You winced, catching Dr. Gojo's raised eyebrow from where he stood at the counter. "Mom—"
"Because Aunt Marie's daughter just got engaged, and you know how she gets—"
"My boyfriend's actually busy with hospital rotations," you blurted out, immediately wanting to punch yourself. "He's, uh, very dedicated to his work."
"Boyfriend? Why didn't you tell me? What's his name? What does he—"
"Sorry, Mom, huge line forming, gotta go!" You hung up, letting your forehead thump against the coffee machine with a groan.
"That sounded stressful," Dr. Gojo commented, amusement clear in his voice.
You looked up to find him watching you with that slight smile that always made you shiver. "Just my mom being... my mom." You resumed making his latte. "She's convinced that at twenty-five, I'm practically a spinster."
"Ah." He tilted his head. "And this fictional boyfriend with hospital rotations?"
Your cheeks heated. "Seemed easier than explaining why I'm still single. Between work, classes, and studying, I barely have time to sleep, let alone date." You handed him his usual. "Plus, now she'll stop trying to set me up with every eligible male she meets through her book club."
"A creative solution," he said, taking a sip. "Though hospital rotations over Christmas? Sounds like a terrible boyfriend." A playful smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
"Yeah, well, imaginary men are often disappointing." You started wiping down the counter, needing something to do with your hands. "At least this way I'll have a few weeks of peace before I have to tell her we broke up."
"Sounds like you've done this before," he observed, watching you attack an imaginary coffee stain with perhaps too much force.
"Is it that obvious?" You sighed, abandoning your fake cleaning. "Last year he was studying abroad. The year before that, he was sick. I'm running out of excuses, honestly. Pretty sure my mom's stopped believing me, but she plays along because it's less awkward than admitting we both know I'm lying."
He made a thoughtful sound, then pulled out his prescription pad (why did doctors always carry those around anyway?). You watched, confused, as he scribbled something down and slid it across the counter.
"Here," he said. "My number. Call me during Christmas dinner."
You stared at him. "What?"
"Well, your imaginary boyfriend should at least make an effort, don't you think?" His eyes held that familiar amusement. "I'll tell your mom all about my very important hospital rounds, maybe throw in some medical words. Make it convincing."
You stared at him, mouth slightly agape. Was he… offering to pretend to be your boyfriend? You couldn't quite process what was happening. 
"You know," he said, after you'd probably been quiet for too long, "some of us actually do work hospital rotations over Christmas."
"I know, I just—" You stopped, realizing how her words might have sounded. "Oh god, I didn't mean to imply… I know you probably have to work during the holidays too, I wasn't trying to—"
"Someone has to make sure all those Christmas dinner caused heart attacks are properly treated," he interrupted, that familiar, almost-smirk back on his face, easing the tension in your shoulders. "Though I do get Christmas morning off this year."
You couldn't tell if he was trying to make you feel better about your lie, your accidental insult, or just sharing information. With Dr. Gojo, it was often hard to tell. After a moment of stunned silence, you managed, "Are you… sure?"
"Perfectly.”
"Thank you," you said, finally finding your voice as you picked up the slip of paper. "Really, thank you."
"Anytime," he said, that familiar, soft smile gracing his lips. "Consider it a Christmas gift. From your very dedicated, albeit fictional, boyfriend."
As you watched him leave, coffee in hand and snowflakes catching in his white hair. Even if he was probably going to tease you endlessly about your fictional, workaholic boyfriend for weeks to come, a small, stupid part of you was already looking forward to it.
⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚。❆
The Christmas dinner was a random Friday night.
The table, laden with enough food to feed a small army, was surrounded by the usual suspects and the dinner turned out to be exactly as excruciating as you'd expected. You'd barely made it through the appetizers before the interrogation began.
"So, this boyfriend of yours," Aunt Marie started. "What did you say he does again?"
"He's a doctor," you said into your mashed potatoes.
"A doctor!" your mother brightened. "You never mentioned that part."
Your cousin Sarah leaned forward. "What kind of doctor? Where did he study? How did you meet?"
You were considering faking a sudden illness when your phone buzzed. Dr. Gojo's name lit up your screen with a video call request. You hadn't even suggested a video call—he was truly committing to this.
"Oh, that's him now!" Your mother said, clapping her hands together. "Put him on speaker!"
Before you could protest, you were surrounded by a sea of curious relatives as you answered the call. The screen filled with Dr. Gojo's face, and—oh god—he was actually in scrubs, in what looked like a real operating room.
"Hey, my love," he said as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and the casual nickname hit you like a train, making you forget your own name. You felt your cheeks flush and it didn’t help that he somehow managed to look unfairly handsome even under the surgical lights. "Sorry I couldn't make it. We had an emergency valve replacement come in."
"Are you... actually in surgery right now?" you asked.
"Just finished!" He tilted the phone slightly to show a glimpse of a team of medical staff behind him, all of whom waved. One even gave a thumbs up. "Thought I'd catch you before dessert. Is that your family I see?"
Your entire extended family crammed themselves into frame, cooing and waving at your "doctor boyfriend" who was dedicated enough to call from work.
"Oh my god, he's gorgeous," your cousin said.
"Dr. Gojo," your mother pushed forward, "we're so disappointed you couldn't join us. Though of course, saving lives comes first!"
"Please, call me Satoru," he said, flashing that unfairly attractive smile of his. "And I'm more disappointed than anyone. I was really looking forward to trying your famous apple pie that your daughter keeps telling me about."
Your mother clutched her chest, delighted. You had never once mentioned her apple pie to him. 
"Are those Christmas decorations I see in the OR?" your aunt squinted at the screen.
And indeed, there were actual Christmas lights strung up in the background. Either this hospital was very festive, or he'd gone to ridiculous lengths for this act.
"We try to keep the holiday spirit alive, even here," he said, then suddenly looked off-screen. "Oh, looks like we have another emergency coming in." Dramatic beeping noises increased in the background. "I'm so sorry, but duty calls. It was lovely meeting you all!"
"Such a dedicated young man," your mother sighed after you ended the call.
"So handsome too," Aunt Marie added. "Those eyes!"
You slumped in your chair, caught between mortification and amusement. He really didn't have to go that far—the Christmas lights in the OR? The perfectly timed “emergency”? The entire surgical team playing along? It was almost impressive.
Your phone buzzed with a text: 'How'd I do? The lights were my colleague's idea. They says Merry Christmas, by the way. Your family seems nice.'
Another buzz, a separate message: 'Also, I expect a slice of that famous apple pie at the café tomorrow. After that performance, I think I've earned it.'
You typed back: 'You are absolutely insufferable. That was completely over the top.'
His response came almost instantly: 'Is that any way to talk to your dedicated doctor boyfriend who just saved a life AND charmed your entire family? I'm hurt.'
Despite yourself, you smiled.
Your phone buzzed one more time: 'By the way, your cousin already found my hospital's public contact info and sent a friend request. Should I accept? I feel like a committed boyfriend would.'
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. He was absolutely loving this. 
Way too much.
The next morning, you weren't surprised when he showed up at his usual 7:15, despite it being his day off. What did surprise you was that he was still wearing scrubs. They were rumpled, like he'd been wearing them for a while.
"Please tell me you didn't actually work all night just to make that video call more convincing," you said as he approached the counter.
"You know, I am a doctor in real life, right? This isn't just a cover for your mom." He smirked. "But anyway, just finished an actual emergency shift." He glanced at the paper bag you had waiting next to his usual sugary coffee. "Is that… what I think it is?"
"Your well-earned reward for yesterday's Oscar-worthy performance." You handed him both coffee and pie. "Though I still can't believe you got your entire surgical team to play along."
"Bold of you to assume I had to ask." He took a bite of the pie and his eyes widened slightly. "Okay, your mom's reputation is deserved. This is actually amazing."
"Yeah, well, enjoy it while it lasts, because—" You hesitated, took a deep breath, and decided to just rip the bandage off. "She invited you to dinner. Tomorrow."
He paused mid-bite. "Oh?"
"I told her you're probably busy—"
"What time?"
You stared at him. "What?"
"What time is dinner?" He took another bite of pie, looking perfectly casual about the whole thing. "I actually have Sunday evening off, and this pie has convinced me your mom's cooking is worth experiencing in person."
"You can't be serious."
"Why not?" He shrugged. "I've already met them virtually. Might as well complete the experience. Unless you're worried I'll embarrass you?"
"I'm worried you'll be too convincing again," you said. "My mom's already planning our wedding, by the way. She told me this morning that your 'dedication to work' proves you'd be a good husband."
"Well, I'd hate to disappoint a future mother-in-law."
"This isn't funny!"
"It's a little funny." He leaned against the counter, grinning. "Come on, one dinner. I promise to be slightly less charming this time."
"Somehow I doubt that's possible," you said before you could stop yourself.
His smile widened. "Was that a compliment?"
"That was a complaint about your inability to do anything halfway." You busied yourself with wiping down the already clean counter. "But fine. Sunday at seven. Try not to bring Christmas lights this time."
"No promises." He pushed off from the counter, taking his coffee and pie. "Oh, and by the way?"
"Hmm?"
"I accepted your cousin's friend request. She's already invited me to your family's New Year's party."
He was halfway to the door when he paused, turning back with an expression that was softer than his usual teasing smile. "You look pretty today, by the way. The new sweater suits you." 
You froze, your heart skipping a beat. You hadn't even realized he'd noticed you'd changed from your usual work shirt into a cozy sweater for your afternoon classes.
He was out the door before you could stammer out a response, leaving you to wonder what exactly you had gotten yourself into. And why one simple, genuine compliment made your heart race more than all his dramatic boyfriend performances combined.
⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚。❆
Sunday evening found you pacing a worn path in the carpet by your parents' front door, checking your phone every two minutes. 7:15 came and went—apparently his almost unnervingly precise timing only applied to coffee runs. 
You tried to convince yourself it was fine, that doctors had unpredictable schedules, but a nervous flutter had taken up residence in your stomach.
At 7:20, your mom’s worried, "Maybe he got called into surgery?" was interrupted by the doorbell. You took a deep breath, smoothing down your dress, and opened the door.
Standing there was Dr. Gojo—Satoru, you supposed you should call him now—looking slightly disheveled in a way that somehow only emphasized his unfairly attractive features. His white dress shirt, though slightly untucked at the waist, bore the clear signs of a hurried ironing, and he was carrying what looked like an expensive bottle of wine—definitely not the kind you’d find at the corner store.
"I'm so sorry," he said, running a hand through his already slightly tousled white hair. "Emergency consultation ran late, and then traffic was—"
"It's fine," you interrupted, a wave of relief washing over you. He’d actually come. "Really. You didn't have to—"
But the rest of your sentence disappeared into a surprised squeak as he stepped forward, closing the small gap between you. He leaned in and gently pressed a kiss to your cheek, his free hand settling naturally on your waist, just above your hip, as if he’d done it a hundred times before.
"Hi," he whispered against your ear, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Missed you today at the café."
You stood frozen, brain short-circuiting from the casual intimacy of it all. This wasn't part of the plan. You hadn't discussed... this. The way his hand felt warm through your dress, how his cologne made you slightly dizzy, how natural it felt to have him this close. It was as if your body already knew this was right, even if your mind was still scrambling to catch up.
"I... you..." Words. You needed words. "You're late."
He pulled back just enough to give you that familiar amused look. "And you're blushing."
Before you could even process that observation—or the fact that your heart was currently attempting to beat its way out of your chest—your mother appeared behind you. "Satoru! We're so glad you could make it!"
He smoothly stepped past you to greet your parents, all charm and apologies for his lateness, seamlessly weaving a plausible story about a last-minute emergency consult and unexpected traffic. He shook your father’s hand with just the right amount of respectful firmness and charmed your mother with a compliment about her festive decorations. All while he left you standing in the doorway, slightly dazed, trying to remember how to perform basic human functions like breathing and blinking.
The slight smirk he threw over his shoulder as he joined the others in the living room told you he knew exactly what he'd done.
Insufferable man.
The dinner was simultaneously the longest and shortest evening of your life. Satoru slipped into the role of doting boyfriend with an unsettling ease, weaving medical anecdotes (carefully tailored for a non-medical audience) and charming compliments into the conversation like he'd been rehearsing for weeks. He even managed to compliment Aunt Marie’s notoriously sweet cheesecake without visibly wincing.
He sat close enough that your legs brushed under the table, his hand finding its way to your knee during your mother's third attempt to bring up wedding venues (she was already browsing bridal magazines online, you’d noticed). The casual touch, which should have made you incredibly nervous, instead felt strangely good, like a shared secret between the two of you in the midst of the family chaos.
"And how did you two actually meet?" your aunt asked over dessert.
"She makes the best coffee in the city," Satoru answered smoothly, his thumb drawing absent circles on your thigh beneath the tablecloth. "Though it took me months to work up the courage to say more than my order."
You nearly choked on your wine. He was mixing truth and fiction so seamlessly you almost believed it yourself. 
Every story he told had just enough reality to make you question your own memory. He mentioned how you study between customers, but added details about imaginary conversations. He even talked about your first "date" with such specificity that you found yourself half-believing it had happened.
His hand never left your leg for long, occasionally squeezing gently when your relatives’ questions became too invasive. Somehow, he’d effortlessly positioned himself as both the charming guest and the attentive boyfriend, deflecting awkward questions with a disarming smile. And you’d never been so grateful for anything in your life as you were for him breaking the pattern on that random, rainy Monday morning.
"He even helped me with pathophysiology," you found yourself saying, leaning into him slightly, enjoying it. Two could play at this game.
"She didn't need much help," he replied, his voice laced with a warmth that sounded genuinely proud. It made your heart flutter. "Just someone to hold her flashcards while she made my ridiculously sweet coffee."
Your father, who hadn't said much all evening, finally smiled. "She works too hard sometimes."
"She does," Satoru agreed, his hand sliding just a fraction higher on your thigh under the table. "Though that's one of the things I admire most about her." A wave of heat rushed to your face, and you quickly looked away, focusing on a particularly uninteresting spot on the tablecloth. This is getting out of hand.
As the conversation shifted to some other topic—something about your uncle's questionable golf swing—you leaned in slightly, whispering just loud enough for him to hear, "You're awfully charming."
He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower so that only you could hear. "Funny, you don't seem to hate it." You felt your cheeks burn even hotter now.
By the time dinner ended, your mother was completely smitten, your aunts were bickering over who would host the next family gathering (with Satoru as the guest of honor, of course), and your cousin had somehow convinced him to follow her Instagram—and had already tagged him in three separate stories.
It was all too smooth, too perfect, too real. 
The way he helped you clear the table, his hand brushing the small of your back in a casual, yet intimate touch as he passed. How he effortlessly recalled every detail you’d ever mentioned about your family, from your grandmother’s obsession with crossword puzzles to your father’s love of bad puns. The soft, lingering looks he gave you when he thought no one was watching, filled with an emotion you couldn't quite decipher.
"You're very good at this," you said as you stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes after dinner.
"At what?"
"Playing pretend."
His hands paused for just a moment. "Who says I'm pretending?"
The wine glass you were drying slipped from your suddenly nerveless fingers. You managed to catch it before it shattered on the tile floor, but not before making enough noise to draw his attention.
"Hey." His hand was immediately at your waist, steadying you. "You okay?"
"Fine! I'm fine, just—" You set the glass down carefully, very aware of how close he was standing.  When you turned to face him, you found yourself effectively trapped between his broad frame and the hard edge of the kitchen counter. "Slippery hands. From the... soap."
"Hmm." His eyes searched your face, and for a fleeting moment, you thought—you could have sworn—his gaze flickered down to your lips before returning to meet your eyes. "You know, for someone who spends all day handling hot liquids, you've seemed very clumsy tonight."
"Maybe I'm just… distracted.”
You could feel the warmth of his breath on your face as he leaned infinitesimally closer, his eyes fixed on yours. One hand came up to gently brush a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his fingertips grazing your skin, the contact sending a shiver down your spine. "By what?" 
"You're doing it again," you whispered.
"Doing what?"
"Being too convincing."
A slow, almost hesitant smile spread across his face. It was a smile that reached his eyes, a smile that felt utterly real, utterly intimate, making your heart stutter in your chest. "Perhaps," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath against your skin, "maybe I'm not trying to convince anyone anymore."
You could feel his breath ghosting over your lips, the slight tremor in his hand where it rested on your waist, the way the kitchen suddenly felt too warm, too small, too—
"Who wants coffee?" your mother's voice carried from the dining room, making you both jump apart. Satoru cleared his throat, taking a hasty step back, his hand dropping from your waist. 
The rest of dinner passed in a surreal haze, neither of you quite able to forget the charged moment in the kitchen. What was that? You kept replaying the scene in your mind. His hand on your waist, his breath on your lips, the sudden shift in his eyes. It had felt… different. More real than any of the playacting. 
It wasn't until your aunt, after a drawn out round of goodbyes and air kisses, finally got up to leave that anyone noticed the shift in the weather. "Oh my goodness," your mother gasped, pulling back the curtains. "When did it start snowing?"
Outside, the world had transformed into a winter wonderland that would've been charming under different circumstances. At least a foot of snow covered everything, still falling heavily in thick, white sheets.
"The weather alert says it's going to continue all night," your father reported, checking his phone. "They're advising against any travel. Roads are already getting bad."
Your mother immediately switched into hostess mode. "You absolutely can't drive in this, Satoru. These roads won't be plowed until morning, at the earliest."
"I'm sure I can—" he started.
"Absolutely not," she interrupted. "You'll stay here tonight. Both of you."
You nearly choked on air. "Mom—"
"Don't be silly, dear," she said, already bustling towards the hallway. "You can take your old room, of course. It's all made up. Satoru," she called over her shoulder, "I'll go find some spare cloths for you." Then, turning back to you, she added, "And honey, you still have some things in your old room, so it'll be just like old times!"
Old times? What old times? Your childhood bedroom with those old embarrassing school photos and faded posters of your first boyband crush that you’d somehow never gotten around to taking down? This was not part of the plan. This was definitely not part of the plan.
He wasn't supposed to see that side of you.
As you counted down the seconds until you completely died from embarrassment your parents bustled off to prepare the rooms, leaving you and Satoru alone again. He leaned against the window, watching the snow fall, a small smile playing at his lips.
"Convenient weather we're having," you said suspiciously.
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you implying I somehow arranged a snowstorm?"
"At this point, I wouldn't put it past you."
His laugh was soft and warm. "As flattered as I am by your faith in my abilities, even I can't control the weather." He glanced at you. "Though I have to admit, this is working out better than my original plan of pretending my car wouldn't start."
"You're impossible," you groaned.
"So I've been told." He pushed off from the window, moving closer. He stopped just inches away, until you could feel the heat from his body. His gaze dropped—or you thought it did, your pulse quickening at the mere possibility—to your lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet your eyes. You blinked, trying to clear your head. No, it couldn't be. "Though I notice you're not exactly complaining about the situation."
Before you could formulate a witty retort (or even a coherent thought, for that matter), your mother’s voice rang out from upstairs, effectively putting an end to whatever was about to happen. "I found some spare clothes, Satoru! And honey," she called down, "your old band t-shirts are still in your dresser!"
You covered your face with your hands. "Please forget everything she's about to show you."
"Now how could I possibly pass up the chance to see teenage you's fashion choices?" 
You peaked through your fingers to find him smirking, looking far too delighted by this turn of events. This was going to be a very long night.
⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚。❆
"I really can sleep on the floor," Satoru offered for the third time, shifting his weight awkwardly in the doorway of your childhood bedroom. He looked around, taking in your teenage decorating choices, and you could practically hear the gears turning in his head.
"Don't be ridiculous." You tried to sound casual as you smoothed down the NASA bedsheets you'd had since high school on your small bed, that suddenly looked barely big enough for one, let alone two adults. "We're both adults. We can share a bed without it being weird."
He was quiet for a moment, and when you glanced up, you found him studying your teenage self's wall decorations with poorly hidden amusement. It was a chaotic mixture of faded movie posters (mostly featuring heartthrobs from your early teens), band posters (an ambarrasing One Direction poster taking center stage), and a poorly crafted periodic table, complete with hand-drawn elements and color-coded categories.
"Nice periodic table," he finally said.
"Shut up," you muttered, throwing a pillow at him. He caught it easily, because of course he did. "Some of us were nerds before med school."
You turned to your old closet, pulling out one of those oversized band t-shirts you'd lived in during high school. You gripped the hem of your sweater, suddenly very aware of his presence in the small room.
You could feel his eyes on you, a weight on your back, and you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. You paused, your fingers frozen on the soft knit. "Um… could you…?" you trailed off, not wanting to meet his gaze.
He didn't say anything, didn't move. You could practically feel his gaze burning into your back. Finally, you turned, holding your band t-shirt protectively in front of you. "Seriously. Turn around."
He blinked. "You know, I am a doctor. I've seen it all."
"Still," you insisted, your cheeks flushing. "Turn. Around."
He sighed, but finally turned his back, though the lingering amusement in his eyes told you he was still enjoying the situation immensely.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you muttered, pulling the t-shirt over your head. You smoothed it down, then took a deep breath. 
"I would never," he said.
"You can turn around now."
He turned, his face carefully composed, though a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth gave him away. His eyes traveled from the hem of the shirt to your face, making your heart stutter. "You look… cute."
"You're a terrible liar.”
You both settled into bed with careful movements, lying rigid as boards, backs facing each other in a vain attempt at maintaining some sort of personal space. The mattress, however, had other plans. It dipped under his weight, creating a subtle slope that kept trying to draw you toward the center—toward him. 
Your childhood bed, which had seemed perfectly adequate when you were sixteen, now felt absurdly small. You pressed against the edge, but it was no use, there couldn't have been more than a few inches between your back and his. You could feel the heat of his body, warming the small space between you, his every breath, the subtle shift of the sheets when he moved.
The silence stretched, filled only with the sound of falling snow outside your window and your own heartbeat. It felt so loud, you were certain he could hear it.
"Thank you," you finally whispered into the darkness. "For tonight. For all of it. You didn't have to do any of this."
The bed shifted as he turned over. After a moment's hesitation, you did too, finding yourself face to face with him in the dim light of the streetlamp filtering through your old curtains. His hair was disheveled from the pillow, his expression softer than you'd ever seen it.
"It was fun," he said simply, his breath warm against your cheek.
A small laugh escaped your lips. "Fun? My mom interrogated you about your entire medical history, my dad made you look at his coin collection for an hour, and my cousin tried to show you every embarrassing photo of me from middle school."
"The braces years were particularly charming."
You kicked his shin lightly under the covers. "Shut up."
He grinned, the warmth in his eyes visible even in the dim light. "I mean it, though. Your family is… lively."
"That's a polite way of saying chaotic."
"They care about you. It's nice."
You studied his face, searching for the truth in his words. "Why did you really come tonight? You could have easily found an excuse to avoid this disaster of a family dinner."
"Would you believe me if I said I wanted to?"
"No," you said. "Nobody wants to spend their evening being questioned by my parents and subjected to my aunt's weird baking."
He was quiet for a moment, his eyes never leaving yours. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. "Maybe I wanted to understand you better. See where you came from. Meet the people who made you... you."
Your heart stuttered in your chest. "Why would you care about any of that?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
You stared at him, suddenly very aware of how close you were, how little space there was between you in this too-small bed. "No," you whispered. "It's not obvious at all."
"Then I must be doing a terrible job of showing you."
Your heart was racing now, your voice barely audible. "Showing me what?"
Before you could respond, he shifted, until he was hovering above you. Your breath caught at the change, at how his white hair fell forward framing his face, at how his eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies in them.
And then he kissed you.
The kiss was nothing like the casual touch of lips from before. It was soft, sweet, and achingly tender at first. He moved against you slowly, his lips parting slightly, inviting you to deepen the kiss. You met his silent invitation, your own lips parting in response. One hand cupped your face, his thumb gently stroking your cheek, while the other braced against the mattress, supporting his weight. 
Then, with a soft sigh, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a gentle urgency that made your heart ache with a longing you hadn’t known you carried. He pulled you closer, just a fraction, the kiss becoming more urgent, more demanding, yet still laced with a surprising tenderness. 
You could feel the rapid thump of his heart against your own chest but then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulled back, breaking the kiss. He didn't move far, though, remaining close enough that you could still feel his breath on your face, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. "Still think I'm just playing pretend?"
This time, you didn't hesitate. You were the one who moved forward, your hand sliding into his hair, the soft strands tangling around your fingers, pulling him back down to you. His surprised intake of breath was quickly lost as your lips met again.
This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent, six months of watching and waiting poured into a single moment. He made a low sound in his throat as your fingers tightened in his hair, urging him closer. 
His own hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, his fingers pressing gently into the sensitive skin there. The weight of him pressed you into the mattress, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric of your band t-shirt.
"I've wanted to do that since the first time you rolled your eyes at my coffee order," he said against your lips, his voice rough in a way that sent shivers down your spine.
"That long?" You tried to sound teasing, but it came out breathless instead.
He smiled against your lips. "Longer, probably." He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jawline. "Though watching you try to diagnose yourself with every terrible disease I mentioned was pretty entertaining, too."
You groaned, burying your face in the crook of his neck. "You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"
"Never," he agreed, pressing a kiss to your temple. Then, quieter, more intimate, "But I've got plenty of time to make it up to you."
His lips trailed down your neck, each gentle press sending shivers through your body. When he reached the collar of your t-shirt, he paused, his fingers toying with the hem. "Can I?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice, and he slowly, teasingly, pushed the fabric up, revealing your stomach inch by inch. The first brush of his lips against your bare skin made you gasp, your fingers tightening reflexively in his silky hair.
He took his time, pressing kisses to your belly, your ribs, the valley between your breasts. His tongue darted out, tasting your skin, leaving trails of fire in its wake. Your back arched, subtly at first, but with increasing urgency as his lips and hands explored your skin.
His fingers, still toying with the hem of your shirt, finally slipped beneath the fabric. He traced the curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When his thumbs brushed over your nipples, you couldn't suppress the moan that escaped your lips. "More," you whispered, the word barely audible, but he heard it, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.
"You sure?"
"Yes," you breathed. "Please."
His fingers hooked into the waistband of your sleeping shorts. Your heart raced, your skin flushed, every nerve ending racing with the promise of what was to come.
He dragged the fabric down your legs, the cool air hitting your heated skin making you shiver. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders forcing your legs wider, and lifted one of your legs over his shoulder, his kisses trailing down your inner thigh. And then his mouth was on you, and the world fell away. 
⋆꙳•❅•̩❅*̩‧͙ *̩❆₊˚。❆
The next morning felt like stepping into a dream—a world where Dr. Satoru Gojo, the man you’d spent six months convinced was silently diagnosing you with rare diseases, was actually just a man utterly smitten with you.
It was as if a blurry lens had finally snapped into focus, revealing a picture so obvious you almost laughed. All those intense stares, the carefully timed coffee shop visits, the way he’d linger at your counter, even helping you study—it had never been about mysterious illnesses or professional concern. 
He’d simply been trying to be near you, and you’d been too busy inventing medical mysteries to notice.
And the most embarrassing part? How obvious it had been to everyone else. Your coworkers’ knowing looks finally made sense, as did your mother’s immediate acceptance of him as your “boyfriend.” Even his colleagues had been in on it, helping stage that ridiculous Christmas video call just to make you smile. 
When you later confessed your obliviousness to your coworkers, their reactions ranged from “Finally!” to a bewildered “Wait, you mean he wasn’t actually your boyfriend this whole time?”
Over breakfast, as he effortlessly charmed your mother into accepting a third helping of pancakes he casually dropped the bomb to your mom, “I actually rearranged my entire consultation schedule to match her shifts. I don't even like coffee."
Your mind went blank for a moment. He… what? Then, the implications crashed down on you. He’d rearranged his entire work schedule just to see you. And he hated coffee. He’d only ever ordered those sugary lattes because… because of you.
A blush crept up your neck, and you couldn't believe how adorably dense you’d been.
He met your gaze then, his blue eyes softening in that way that always made your heart flutter. Only now you understood what that look truly meant. He hadn’t been studying you. He’d been cherishing you with his gaze. He’d wanted to see you, to be near you, to simply be with you. And the realization made you ridiculously, undeniably happy.
Satoru walked over to you from where he stood next to your mom and leaned down, his breath warm against your temple, and pressed a soft kiss there. You closed your eyes, savoring the simple touch. God, you wanted more. You wanted him closer, his arms around you, his lips on yours again, just like last night.
You'll probably never get enough of that.
He pulled back slightly, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb gently stroking your skin. His gaze held yours, a soft smile playing on his lips. Then he whispered three words that made your world stand still, "I love you."
Three little words.
But those three words little changed everything.
It felt as though time itself had stopped. He loves me, the thought echoed in your mind, a fragile, beautiful sound you couldn't quite believe was real. You’d imagined this moment countless times in secret, tucked away in the quiet corners of your heart, but you'd never truly believed it could happen.
And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of his hand, the sweet scent of pancakes, and the soft morning light filtering through the kitchen window, you knew you’d never been happier in your entire life. 
And most importantly, you didn't have to pretend anymore. He wasn't just someone you were pretending to date for your family's sake. He was actually your boyfriend. Really, truly your boyfriend. And what had once felt like a performance suddenly felt very much like coming home.
But the best part? At exactly 7:15 the next morning, he still walked in, ordered his usual diabetes in a cup, and watched you work with those intense blue eyes. Only now, when you handed him his drink, he'd pull you close for a kiss that tasted of caramel and cinnamon.
"You know," he said one morning, watching you make his order, "for someone smart enough to get into med school, you were remarkably dense about this whole thing."
"Says the man who spent six months staring instead of just asking me out."
"I was building suspense."
"You were being creepy."
"Maybe," he said, then smilled. "But it worked, didn't it?"
And really, you couldn't argue with that. Though you did make his next latte extra sweet, just to watch him pretend to enjoy it.
After all, some things were worth suffering through overly sugary coffee for.
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masterlist
author's note — if you're familiar with a certain story on my blog, then no you didn't see this story, and this is definitely not a healthier version of another couple, and i absolutely do not have a thing for medical AUs, okay thank you.
anway, this was supposed to get spicier, but time got away from me because i really wanted to share it with you all for christmas so this is only suggestive, but i hope you enjoyed it either way. & thank you so much for reading this far !! your support means everything to me.
wishing you all a very merry christmas !! hope your holidays are filled with sweet coffee, warm embraces, and maybe even a handsome doctor of your own <3
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ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!
tags — @fayuki @starmapz @snowsilver2000 @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna
@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia
@janbannan @bloopsstuff
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© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.
4K notes · View notes
lxnarphase · 11 months ago
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g. satoru who is a massive pervert and constantly whines for you to let him touch you all the time, even when you're both around others. you've lost count of how many times he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, his warm hands slipping under your shirt while sitting next to g. suguru, who's attention is no longer on the tv.
'he doesn't mind,' satoru always comforts you, grinning into the skin of your neck. 'sugu's my best friend, he knows i can't help but touch you, baby.'
best friend or not, that doesn't explain how you always ended up with your legs spread open wide in satoru's lap, your jeans and panties discarded somewhere on the floor as suguru kisses all over your thighs. the two of them talk like you aren't even there, as if you aren't growing wetter as each second passes.
"satoru," suguru purrs, his fingers running up and down your soft lips, parting them open to watch slick slowly drip out of you. "you must be doing something else to her. i've never seen it get wet so quickly." the way he speaks so calmly makes you dizzy. it's unfair, so fucking unfair how calm and collected suguru is when he's inches away from your pussy, those pretty purple eyes focused on it.
"yeah? 's wet?" it's also unfair how riled up it gets satoru, seeing his pretty baby getting shy because his best friend is rubbing his fingers up and down her slick folds. "she's so messy, isn't she? she's the prettiest little pussy," he coos into your ear. that gets a chuckle from suguru, his eyes finally looking at you. "always the one to talk to the pussy and not about it, aren't you, satoru?"
his fingers finally focus on your clit, rubbing little circles into it. both you and satoru look pretty from this angle, suguru notices. the pure need and shyness on your face paired with that manic desperation on satoru's...it's a perfect picture, one he wants saved forever. maybe next time you'll let him take some pictures...after all, he needs a new background for his phone.
"c'mooon, sugu...give her a kiss? c'mon, c'mon, give that cunt a kiss, tell me how sticky 'n' wet she is," satoru fucking begs, acting as if he's the one spread open and dripping. but you second the thought, giving suguru the prettiest little puppy eyes.
"anything for you, princess," he coos softly, leaning down and pressing a little kiss on your clit. it's so light you barely feel it but then he's peppering kisses on it, your wetness starting to get on his lips and making each press of his lips sticker and wetter. "s-sugu-!" before you can even beg for more, his mouth is on you. his tongue is so wet and hot on your cunt, it feels like he was drooling for you.
"does she taste good? how wet is she, suguru, c'mon, tell me, tell me how that pussy tastes, pretty please?"
"mm, satoru, it's almost as if you wanted to be between her legs."
"who wouldn't? she's so pretty, she's squirmin' so cutely, my pretty baby, my needy little mochi, her pussy's always so creamy and warm and messy, god, i miss it right now."
"shit...stop talking like that, you're gettin' me flustered, should i-"
"s-sugu, please, keep going," you so politely ask. it's unbearable how cute you are, it's taking everything in him to keep being nice, to keep treating your cunt nicely. he knows satoru is mean and practically bullies your pretty slit almost every day, but he wants to be the nice one, the one who you go to when your 'toru' is being too mean. yet, you're making it so fucking hard when you look at him with lidded eyes that beg him to be rougher with you...
but he knows he's done for when satoru whispers something in your ear that has your eyes fluttering a bit and gets a pretty little gasp from you. those gorgeous eyes—oh, do you have little tears in them too?—connect with his and he's fucked.
"s-suguuu, please," you coo to him, moving your legs to hook over his shoulders and pull him closer to the apex of your thighs. "i need your mouth on my pussy r-really bad, please don't tease me." you take a pause and squeeze your eyes shut, whining a little as satoru coos for you to keep going. "g-give my...my messy cunt attention, suguru..."
suguru shakily sighs and the next thing you know, his mouth is smushed against your pussy, his tongue hungrily swirling against your clit as his hands grab onto the fat of your thighs. he doesn't know what gojo told you in order to hear you say that, but he's silently thanking him as he messily sucks and slurps at your juicy cunt.
it's so hot, all it takes is a few swipes of his tongue and you're gushing everywhere. suguru lowers his head to dip into your hole and he moans. he missed this, missed the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue as you squirmed and moaned for him, your boyfriend's best friend.
"fuck, i-i can hear how wet she is," comes satoru's pitiful whine, his hand dipping down to swipe at your clit as suguru focused on lapping up everything that dripped out of you. "lemme help, lemme help, wanna help you get her creamy, sugu." the feeling of suguru groaning into your puffy folds has you keening, arching your back against satoru's chest. oh, he's in heaven watching you both. "yeah, you didn't know she could cream, didya? put your fingers in her, sugu, put 'em in that sticky little pussy 'n' angle up."
reluctantly pulling his mouth off you with a wet sound, suguru slips two of his fingers in you. he doesn't miss the cry of his name, but he really doesn't miss the delirious giggle and moan when he angles his fingers up, rubbing against that spongy spot.
"f-fuck, she's dripping..."
"go on, fuck her with your fingers, you know you wanna see her make a mess. make her fucking cream, suguru, get her prepped. maybe t'day she'll let you put it in...oh, based on your face, she just clenched on your fingers, yeah?"
his fingers are still swirling around your clit, his other coming down to press on your abdomen. he can hear you getting wetter, your little whimpers turning to moans as you slur their names desperately. he wants you to lose all thoughts, only able to think about him and suguru...yeah, he wants you all soft and sweet so he and his best friend can try and slip into those warm, slick walls.
"mmn...she's really creaming...god, pretty girl, can you cum for me? i wanna see you cum on my fingers. satoru, move your fingers, the poor thing needs my mouth on her."
"hmmm, suddenly you know what she needs? ehehehe, you're learninggg, suguruuuu!" if you had turned to look at satoru, you'd see the charged look in his eye, blue eyes practically glowing with insanity. his hand grabs a fistful of suguru's hair and pulls his face directly into your cunt, unable to handle any more of this. he wanted to see you cum on suguru's face.
"c'mon, c'mon, kiss it, suguru, make it messy for the both of us. mmh, fuck, listen to you making out with her pussy, s' wet and sticky, isn't it? oohmygod, both of you sound so good, she's gonna cum, sugu, she's gonna cum in your mouth...fuck, i love you both so much, can't wait to see you both fucking each other."
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nottsangel · 1 month ago
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blood moon — t.n. & m.r. part 1
pairing: dark!theodore nott x fem!reader x dark!mattheo riddle. (mattheo makes his appearance in pt2)
warnings: smut 18+, dubcon, breaking and entering, violence, blood, knives (cutting into skin), rough oral sex (m. receiving), mask kink, mentions of murder, swearing
word count: 4k
summary: purge night— a night you’ve feared all year despite coming from a rich and powerful family. but when six masked men show up at your door, are you really as safe as you thought?
the purge au… moodboard. nav. more.
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“This is not a test, this is your Emergency Broadcast System. Announcing the commencement of the annual purge sanctioned by the Government. Weapons of class four and lower have been authorised for use during the purge; all other weapons are restricted. Commencing at the siren, any and all crime (including murder) will be legal for 12 continuous hours. Police, fire, and Emergency Medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m, when the purge concludes. Blessed be our new founding fathers—”
“Blah, blah, blah… we get it. Same shit every year.” Pansy sighed dramatically through the phone, her tone dripping with annoyance. You could tell she was rolling her eyes, and you didn’t need to see her to know she was slouched lazily somewhere. 
Not much later, the ominous, bone-chilling sirens blared violently through the entire city, blasting through the walls and echoing in the still-empty streets. The all so familiar sound never failed to give you goosebumps all over your stiffened body, instantly raising your heartbeat. You briefly closed your eyes, trying to steady your racing heart as you struggled to control your shaky breathing. 
“Hellooo? Are you still there or have you been murdered already?” Pansy joked with a taunting laugh. Your eyes snapped open, her static-filled voice dragging you back to reality, and her humorous tone nearly making you forget the reality of this cruel night. 
Because it wasn’t just any regular night— it was Purge Night. The one night you’d been dreading all year, every year, in which all crime becomes legal for twelve long hours. Logically, you were well aware that you had nothing to fear. Your parents were successful entrepreneurs with plenty of money to afford the most advanced security equipment, keeping you safe from any outside danger.
Yes, to protect you, and only you. Not them— they were out at a purge party, the details of which you didn’t even want to know, shamelessly networking with other high-profile elites while the poor were brutally murdered in the streets surrounding them. Everything about this night gave you a sickening feeling in your stomach. But of course, you knew it would be fine. All you had to do was survive— survive in your mansion, surrounded by unbreachable security. Nothing was going to happen. 
“Yeah, yeah, very funny.” you responded, your voice tinged with irritation as you hurried from your bedroom down the wooden stairs to the security room, figuring that if you could check the cameras around the house, it might calm you down a bit. You couldn’t shake the feeling of needing to tiptoe carefully down each step, as though someone might hear you— which was ridiculous, considering how large and heavily secured the house was. 
The eerily quiet house was broken by the first distant, chilling screams of pure terror from outside, making you grimace as you opened the creaky door to the small room, your eyes instantly squinting at the many bright screens that made your eyes burn. 
“It’s just… I hope this night will be over soon, that’s all.” you continued, one hand holding the phone close to your ear while your eyes fleetingly scanned over the security cameras, which were strategically placed to cover every corner outside the house. 
“Oh please, don’t be such a scaredy-cat! Every year it goes just fine, so this year will be no different. When has anything…” Pansy chattered in her usual attempt to comfort you, completely unaware that her words were only doing the opposite, when her voice slowly faded away into the background and your eyes narrowed at one of the top-right screens, which was focused on your front door. What the fuck?
With your heart nearly pounding out of your chest and your hand shakily gripping the phone, you inched closer to the screen, moving as slowly as possible, almost as if the slowness would somehow alter the nightmare playing out before you. A sudden coldness washed over you, your eyes rapidly blinking. No, no, no… this can’t be happening. 
On the pixelated, dark screen, you saw six masked men standing in front of your door, their heads tilted as they stared right at the cameras. You felt lightheaded, your left hand reaching up to lightly clasp your throat, the panic threatening to overwhelm you once you noticed the various weapons they were holding— baseball bats, knives, axes, and god knows what else.
“P—pansy… I, uh… there are people standing in front of my door…” you stammered shakily, still staring at the screen, your body frozen in place with your hand gripping the phone so tightly that your knuckles turned white and your breathing became ragged and uneven. 
“Oh, they’re probably just trying to scare you, babe. I mean, come on, they can’t even come in for fuck’s sake!” she let out a mocking laugh as the chaotic thoughts in your head raced a hundred miles an hour, leaving you paralysed with uncertainty. 
“Pansy, what the fu— you know what? Forget it.” you snapped, your trembling fingers tapping frantically at the screen before finally ending the call, frustrated at not being taken seriously by your best friend— though, to be fair, when had she ever? 
You hastily slipped your phone into your back pocket, already dreading the snarky text she was sure to send you for ending the call, before shifting your attention back to the screen. One of the men removed his mask, prompting you to move even closer with narrowed eyes, your forehead nearly touching the cold glass. 
“Good evening.” he called out in a stoic, chilling voice, his shiny black hair neatly styled, and his stance tall, commanding and unmistakably intimidating. 
“Sorry to bother you at this ungodly hour, but let me kindly introduce myself. My name is Tom, and these guys— they are my friends.” The scene you were intently staring at filled you with pure terror— this unknown man named Tom, surrounded by men in masks, each carrying weapons that could easily kill you, weapons that were already completely soaked in blood, the dark droplets dripping ominously onto your front porch. 
“This can go one of two ways; you simply let us in, and we will steal— sorry, I mean take whatever we desire, and then, we leave! Or…  we can do this the hard way. But I can assure you, you will not survive the latter.” His tone was almost amused as he finished speaking, and through the grainy pixels, you could see a controlled, sinister smile spreading across his pale face. 
“Do not think you are invincible. We can enter any home we want. And we will want, as wanting is our will on this fine purge night. Do not force us to hurt you.”
His menacing words sent tingles across your skin, all the muscles in your body tightening. And for a good ten minutes, they did nothing but stand there, staring straight into the camera, waiting—expecting—for you to open the door for them. 
It was a chilling sight. Almost as if you were staring at a photograph, the men stood completely still, their blood-covered hands tightly gripping their equally blood-soaked weapons, knowing your blood would be next to splatter across them, mixing with that of other poor, helpless victims. 
When they realised you weren’t going to open the door, Tom gave his men a quick signal, waving his finger in the air, which caused you to cock your head in both curiosity and unease.
“Alright then.” He said, the sinister smile on his face growing wider. But it was fine. You knew they couldn’t come inside anyway. Your house was so securely protected, there was no way they could come in and— Is that a fucking blowtorch? 
“Yes, we are prepared. And you— oh, you chose the wrong option.” Tom coldly stated as if he could read your mind, dragging the words in a chilling tone. Two of his men quickly got to work, the blowtorch slowly cutting through the thick metal doors, meanwhile, Tom continued to stare directly at the camera, his evil, dark smile never faltering, his soulless eyes not blinking once.
“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” This was when real panic set in, your eyes flickering with pure terror as you slowly backed away from the screens, gripping whatever furniture was nearby to steady yourself. You hurried out of the room, realising this was the time to hide.
Quickly but silently running up the stairs again, you heard the agonising sound of the blowtorch cutting through the metal, sending shivers all over your body and urging you to move faster. 
You burst into your room, breathless, slamming the door behind you and you panickedly scanned the small space, frantically searching for the best hiding spot. There weren’t many options, but the closet seemed like your only chance, so without hesitation, you flung the door open, stepped inside, and crouched down, wrapping your trembling arms tightly around your knees. 
“It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine, it’ll be fine.” You kept repeating to yourself in a quiet, trembling voice, desperately trying to gaslight yourself into believing it. But who the fuck are you kidding? They were inevitably coming in, and then… well, you didn’t even want to think about it.
You gasped loudly at the sudden sound of a loud bang, followed by distant voices and approaching footsteps downstairs. Nibbling on your bottom lip and one hand clutching your throat, you struggled to calm your ragged breathing, but hoping to make out the conversation happening downstairs— although you weren’t even sure if you wanted to hear it in the first place. 
“We are coming, aha! And we will find you, you little fucking bitch” an unfamiliar voice taunted from down the stairs followed by a menacing laugh, clearly relishing the undeniable fear they were instilling in you as the footsteps and faint chatter grew louder with every passing second.
“Mattheo, control yourself. Search for the girl downstairs, and Theo, you check upstairs. The rest of us will take whatever is valuable and leave for the next house.” You heared Tom instruct two of his men, his voice stern and cold, before adding, “Oh, and whatever you do, make it as painful as possible. I want her to suffer.” 
Goosebumps covered your entire body hearing the chilling words, and you could tell that these guys didn’t fuck around. Everything about them was incredibly organised and prepared. This wasn’t their first time purging. No, they knew exactly what they were doing.
Heavy, resolute footsteps then made their way up the stairs, each deep step resonating through the house, making the silence feel like it was closing it. Theo. There was no way out of this. The only thing you could do was pray that he wouldn’t find you. But deep down, you knew he would. 
“You can’t hide from me, piccola.” a deep, husky voice teased, his voice slightly muffled by the mask he wore. It surprised you to hear a foreign accent— Italian, you guessed. And fuck, you could punch yourself in the face right now for finding it… hot. 
The steps grew louder, tantalisingly slow, until his footsteps reached your room. Your hand flew to your mouth to keep yourself quiet, your brows furrowed as you squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on steadying your breath. Your heart beat out of your chest, and you worried it was beating loud enough for him to hear. 
Then it was quiet. No sounds. You swallowed, your mouth feeling dry with tears brimming at your waterline, and you gasped when you suddenly heard his voice so close to you. Thank fucking god you still had your mouth covered. 
“You’re here, aren’t you?” He said in a dark, knowing manner, and the only thing you could do at this very moment was repeat ‘please don’t find me’ in your head while only hoping your death would be less painful than Tom had ordered it to be. “I know you are...” 
The closet door then abruptly swung open, causing you to let out a loud, surprised gasp. The tears you had so desperately tried to suppress now uncontrollably streamed down your cheeks as your head shot up. Soft ‘no’s slipped from your lips when he grabbed you by the arm and aggressively pulled you out of the closet, the words barely audible and you panickedly shook your head, feeling lightheaded due to pure fear. 
“Shut up, cazzo.” he muttered irritably as he threw you on your bed with exasperated aggression. And you immediately complied— not only because he asked you to, but because you didn’t want Matthew to hear you, knowing that Theo had found you, worried of what he might do to you. Matthew… Was his name even Matthew? 
He stood still before you, and for the first time, you took him in, scanning him from head to toe as his imposing, tall frame loomed over you, casting a shadow over where you sat on the bed.
A white mask fully covered his face, and in his right hand, he held a bloody, sharp knife, causing you to gulp in fear. Oh, he looked fucking terrifying— but there was something else, something other than fear deep inside of you. A feeling you desperately tried to suppress. A feeling you felt ashamed to feel. A feeling you could not bring yourself to admit. 
“Huh.” he commented, his head tilting slightly to the left. “Tom didn’t tell me you were such a pretty little thing.” he reached his hand out, his thumb brushing over your cheek, causing you to instinctively pull away, stiffening under his touch. 
“Così carina.” he chuckled mockingly, and your eyes were drawn to his hand that was expertly spinning the knife. His other hand then abruptly gripped your hair, making you gasp, and he slightly tilted your head to expose your neck. 
From your peripheral vision, you could see the bloody knife drawing closer to your neck, making you instantly shut your eyes with furrowed brows, knowing this was it. 
“Can’t wait to see these white sheets turn red.” Theo taunted, but you were shaking, crying and nervously biting down on your lip so hard that blood welled up, waiting for the moment you finally felt the sharp knife against your delicate skin.
And then you did. You felt the cold blade lightly dig into the skin of your neck, the sharp, stinging sensation causing you to tightly grip the sheets, followed by fresh, crimson droplets of blood slowly trickling down your skin— but then he stopped.
“Hm. You know what, bella?” Theo paused for a moment, crouching down to get on eye level with you. The closer he got to you, the faster your heart raced, your whole body heating up with a mix of fear and something else. The deep sense of guilt you felt for feeling… this way gnawed at you from the inside. 
“I might just have other plans for you.” Your head snapped toward him, and you hissed at the fresh cut stretching open, your hand instinctively reaching to the wound, carefully dabbing your fingers on the blood still trickling out.
“You wanna live?” He questioned, and you reluctantly nodded, still unable to shake off the feeling of unease, even as a slight sense of relief—or maybe hope— began to grow inside of you. 
“Then I advise you to get on your knees before I change my mind.” You blinked rapidly, unsure if you heard him correctly. Surely not. 
“I— what?” You stammered, breathing in so fast you nearly choked on air as your heart pounded out of your chest. 
“Oh, you heard me.” He rose to his feet, and your eyes intently followed his every movement. The way the moonlight seeped through the blinds illuminated him, and for the first time, you could clearly see his ocean-blue eyes gazing down at you with intense focus— the only feature of his face that was visible through the mask. 
He reached the knife out again, causing you to flinch, but this time he pressed it under your chin to lift your head, the pointy end digging into your soft skin.
“You don’t think I noticed?” he began, and you sat frozen, knowing that a single movement would press the knife deep into your skin. 
“You don’t think I noticed the way you looked at me with those pretty eyes?” You raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, unsure of what he was hinting at, and you absolutely hated this— the vagueness of his words. You hated having to guess what he meant. It made you anxious. 
“I have purged a lot of people, bella. And there is one thing aaall of them have in common— they all have this same, fearful look in their eyes.” he continued, and it made you wonder what he saw in yours. 
“But you… cazzo. With you, I see something else sparkling in those pupils.” The way the mask muffled his voice made you unconsciously lean in closer to hear him better, and he did the same, but for an entirely different reason, until you were merely inches apart. It was a strange observation to make in such a moment like this, but oddly enough, he smelt nice, very nice. A pleasant, musky cologne with the undertone of cigarettes filled your senses. 
“With you I see… lust, yearning, desperation.” he whispered into your ear, the knife digging deeper into your skin, yet still not deep enough to draw blood. Your eyes shot wide open before locking with his, and you felt caught. He hit the hammer right on the nail. 
“Go on, tell me I’m fuckin’ wrong.” but you couldn’t. You couldn’t tell him he was wrong. Because he wasn’t. Your eyes darted nervously around the room, unable to meet those intense, piercing eyes as the ache between your legs only grew stronger. 
“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Bet your panties are soaked already, aren’t they?” you heard a muffled, condescending chuckle coming from under his mask as he slowly twisted the knife under your chin. You so desperately wanted to bite back, to defend yourself, to tell him that he was being ridiculous— but the words were stuck in your throat.
“So… back to where we were.” he growled as he unbuckled his belt and pushed his pants down, suddenly remembering Matthew wandering around downstairs and being able to walk in at any time, causing him to rush. 
“C’mon sweetheart. I need to feel those pretty lips wrapped around me if you want to live, a’ight? If Mattheo finds us, it’s over for you.” Ohhhh, Mattheo… right, right.
You hesitantly walked over to him before getting on your knees right in front of him— right in front of his already hard erection trapped in his boxers, desperately wanting to escape as the tip formed a wet patch of precum on the fabric. 
“Well… you know I could just kick you in the balls right now and run away?” There it finally was— the words that had been stuck in your throat, and the boldness inside of you that had finally come free. It was that unexpectedly tender demeanour of his emerging in brief moments, causing you to see him in a humane light, which stilled your fears. 
He scoffed before aggressively gripping your hair and pulling your head back, causing you to hiss at the fresh wound on your neck stinging at the movement. He drew closer to you before suddenly holding the knife to your throat again, the softness you’d glimpsed earlier vanishing in an instant.
“Oh yeah? You don’t think I’m gonna find you and cut you open? Go for it. Give it a try. Let’s see how that ends.” he warned in a low, menacing tone, your brows furrowing as you clenched your teeth, staring right into his narrowed eyes. 
“Acting as if you aren’t practically begging to suck me off right now, tsk. Hurry the fuck up.” he ordered in a harsh tone, abruptly letting go of your hair and retracting the knife from your throat.
Realising you had no other choice but to follow his orders, you stared up at his masked face, before your gaze fell on his boxers. You could tell he was big just from the imprint through the thin fabric— oh, there was no doubt in that. Reluctantly, you drew your head closer to his crotch, teasingly using your teeth to pull the waistband of his boxers down before slowly sliding them off. 
“See, I knew you were a fucking slut.” he growled, his amusement evident as his erection sprang free against his toned abs, precum glistening at the tip. Oh, well fuck. He was indeed huge, causing your eyes to widen momentarily as you swallowed hard. You glanced back up at him one more time, and he gave you a sharp nod, his hand on the back of your head pressing insistently, urging you closer. 
Your head slowly inched closer to his intimidatingly large cock, and you started with placing soft kitten licks on the tip, tasting the salty precum, when suddenly a mischievous smile began to curve your glossed lips. In one swift, unexpected motion, you wrapped your mouth around his throbbing length, firmly pressing your teeth into the skin while at the same time your hand darted to his balls, your sharp nails digging deep into the sensitive flesh. 
“That fuckin’ hurts, you bitch. Cazzo!” Theo cursed, aggressively pushing you back until you hit the bed, yet the same mischievous smile on your face only widened. It confused him how the terrified, weak girl he saw earlier had transformed into… this. 
“Didn’t expect you to be such a fucking pussy.” you challenged him, fire burning in your eyes. Not because you wanted to die, but because deep down you knew you weren’t going to. If he wanted to kill you, he would’ve done that already. With the precum leaking from his painfully hard erection right in front of you, you knew the only thing on his mind was finding his release. He was a man after all— simple, driven by his desires.
“You better shut that little mouth—” 
“Or what? You're gonna threaten me again with that stupid little knife—” before you could even finish your sentence, he grabbed you by the hair, yanking you roughly towards him, his cock forcing its way into your mouth. The tip hit the back of your throat instantly, triggering your gag reflex as you struggled to breathe around his thick, aching erection. He quickly set a brutal rhythm, bucking his hips aggressively into your mouth, and you felt your eyes well with tears, saliva running down your chin. 
“If you stop, I’ll make you fucking regret it.” His hand gripped your hair in a tight ponytail, pulling you to meet his thrusts as he relentlessly fucked your mouth. Gagging sounds filled the room as he forced your head down as far as possible, groaning at the sight beneath him— a sight that could so easily make him come already.
“You wanted this from the start, huh? Such a pathetic—” Theo’s sentence was then abruptly cut off when the door suddenly swung open and slammed against the wall, causing you both to freeze and stare, wide-eyed and horrified. A chill ran down your spine as you noticed another masked man standing in the doorway, holding a blood-soaked baseball bat while casually leaning against the doorframe. Oh no.  
“Well, well, well… look what we have here. You really thought I wouldn’t find out, Theodore? How cute.” 
Mattheo. 
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reminder: reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated and keep me motivated. ty! ♡
a/n: thank you sm for reading ^_^!!!!!!! this was supposed to be one long fic but i decided to cut in into two (or maybe more if needed) parts! im not sure when the next part will be posted but ill try to work on it soon !!! <3
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tonycries · 9 months ago
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Little Heaven
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Synopsis. He’s just your friend-with-benefits, right? So why - in the still haze of the soft sheets and you, fúcking you so sensual and tenderly - does he feel like he’s found his own personal heaven?
Pairing. Multiple x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, kinda fluffy, he’s both pússydrunk and in love, slow to rough, marking, mentions of marriage and kids, morning, swearing.
Word count. 1.3k
A/N. Probably the fluffiest smút I’ve ever written.
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You were just his friend-with-benefits, right? No strings attached, right? 
So why was he here? Sinking into your plush mattress, quiet morning sun just barely peeking in through the curtains as he wraps his arms around your naked figure. 
God, he really shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be laying you on your side, drinking in your soft little, “G’mornin’.” Both of your movements languid and still burning with soreness. Your hips pushing back desperately into his as he positions himself so that his leaking tip was just kissing your swollen folds. 
He shouldn’t be whispering soft kisses into the marks that littered your skin. Licking one, long stripe up the sinful trail of hickies down your neck. All sensual touches where it was bruising grips last night. 
That was rule #1, right? No marks. 
Or was it #4… 
Ah, right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when his greedy eyes wander the expanse of your face, fingers trailing along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Tracing delicate patterns across your skin, snaking down, down, down to leisurely lift your leg a little higher. 
Bare chest warm against your back, his voice is low and gravelly in your ear as he whispers, “I had a dream y’know.” 
Mind still thinly veiled with sleep, you lean into his warm touch, “Mhm?” 
Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip. Smearing your juices with his thumb as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good. You almost miss the way he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring a soft “Had a dream of us.”
Oh? 
Before you can overthink his words, he’s nudging in gently. So agonizingly gentle. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as he bullies his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. 
You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy and him. 
And it seems he was drunk on you just as much, because as soon as his hips are flush against yours, the words escape him. So quiet and groggy with sleep, that you almost don’t catch them.
“Had a dream that I made you my beautiful bride.”
Oh. 
That was new. His words hung heavy in the heady air. 
Shivers run down your spine - all the way to where he was buried in your dripping cunt. Your voice is slightly shaky as you let out a humorless laugh, “Oh yeah? Must’ve been a nightmare then.”
Soft lips press against your forehead, breathing in your scent. Absolutely searing as he mutters out a muffled, “No, was the best dream I ever had.”
And then, with the audacity of someone who didn’t just send your mind reeling, he pulls his hips back unhurriedly. Immediately fucking into you at a slow, sensual pace. Tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips languidly into yours, making sure you feel every bump and graze against your tight walls.
You don’t know what’s more maddening - his agonizing pace or the words that tumble out of his lips. “Y’looked so beautiful in white. So pretty walking down the aisle to me.” 
His lips brush against yours, hands dancing across every inch of you he could reach. Gently caressing the skin like it’s something divine, soothing over the marks from last night as if an apology. “Don’ think I’d want to see anyone else there.”
You glance back at him - only to find his eyes already on you. A jolt of electricity runs across your skin at the pure warmth in them. And you realize that, no, this wasn’t a joke. 
Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply grind your hips down to meet his, abs rubbing against your ass. Letting out a broken whimper of what sounds like his name as he moves down a hand to press rough, little circles over and over your throbbing clit. 
“Saw a little something else too.” he hums, a sly smile curling his lips as his other hand dances across your body to press down on your stomach. Hard. “Saw that I had some competition - two actually. Funny, right?”
“Hah- h-hilarious.” you manage to choke out as his thumb speeds up on your clit, hips moving a bit more purposefully. A bit more like you were used to. Rock-hard cock plunging into your quivering cunt in deliberate, sloppy thrusts that have you white-knuckling the sheets. 
“Though…” he trails off dangerously, pulling back all the way until his furiously hard tip was just kissing your waiting hole. “I wouldn’t really mind.”
And with that he’s sheathing his throbbing erection in your wet pussy completely. A gasp of delight leaves him at the way you take him so readily. Walls sucking him up so sinfully - perfect. You were always so perfect for him. 
“Dreamt we had a lil’ house with a big garden.” God, he can feel his cock harden so painfully at the fucked-out little ah! ah! ah! leaving your pretty lips each time his hip smack into yours. It’s music to his ears, such a shame he just can’t shut the fuck up right now. “And then you dressed the kids up while I made breakfast.”
“Then you made us do taxes and I didn’t even fucking mind.” His voice is strained now, words slurring together as he rams his cock deeper and deeper, glistening with your slick in the soft morning glow. 
“And finally at night, I say we should make a third one.” 
He looks at you, a sly grin stretching his lips, eyes half-lidded and a dangerous twinkle in them that has you wondering whether everything he said before was merely a ruse to fuck you silly. And it probably shows on your face - because he grins lowly in your ear, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we have till our wedding night f’me to fuck you slow.”
And oh he almost feels guilty. But he can’t bring himself to slow down at the way your swollen lips drop into such a pretty oh! at his words. Mewling at the sting of his heavy balls as they smack your ass. Walls clamping down desperately on his dick, milking him for every drop of pleasure. Each thrust into your warm core has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, brows furrowing in ecstasy as he focuses on making you lose your mind. 
He shifts his angle slightly, grinding expertly against your g-spot just right, and you throw your head back, releasing a low moan of his name.
“Shit. Yeah, say m’name, sweetheart. Jus’ like that.” he moans breathlessly. 
His name - soon to be yours.
Maybe.
You turn your head to face him, eyes fiery as you capture his in an equally scorching kiss. Cock slamming into your poor, abused cunt with an intensity that matches that of your lips.
Probably. 
Biting down on his lower lips, soft yet insistent. Humming deliriously against his mouth - and in the heat of it all, he feels you smile against his lips. Ever-so-slightly. 
Definitely. 
And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure behind your eyes, walls clamping down so deliciously around his twitching cock. It sends him over the edge as well - whispering your name as if a prayer, voice hoarse with emotions neither of you could name at this very moment. 
Hot ropes of his thick cum paint your trembling cunt white, milking the soul out of him as you both ride out your climaxes together. A creamy ring forming around his base as some truly animalistic part of himself fucks his seed into you - a promise, he likes to think.
“I’m serious about the dream.”
Almost as gentle as that one. 
As the haze settles, his thrusts slowing down to just shallow grinds, a fragile silence envelopes the room as neither of you speak. Because maybe no other words were needed. 
And right now, morning sunlight harsh on his skin, strong arms pulling you warm body flush against his, no one but you two in this quiet world - he doesn’t think he’d like to be anywhere else.
All is well in your little heaven.
- GOJO, GETO, Choso, SUNA, ATSUMU, Tsukishima, Kuroo, EREN
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A/N. Bro it took longer to think of what to write than to write this. 
Plagiarism not authorized.
14K notes · View notes
ghstzzn · 2 months ago
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so needy — enhypen hyung line
pairing(s): enhypen hyung line x fem!reader (separate!)
genre(s): pure smut. with some plot from overexplaining.
tags/warnings: SMUT! MDNI! needy but not quite subby, rough & sloppy unprotexted sex, face fucking, jake munch agenda, masturbating (m. rec), male whimpering yupp, lots and lots of descriptions of boners, seriously they are all hard. no prep for reader, exhibition heh.. (parking lot & bathroom at a party), tried my hardest to go needy im a hard!dom writer im sorry, creampie, one pullout method, cum eating, cum... feeding?, biting, uhh lmk if i missed any srsly. wc: 3.2k. 400-700 for each
💭: WE LIKE OUR MEN IN HEAT GROWLS🦅🦅🦅 @jjunieworld and i. we went insane. i went insane. i seriously tried to make them needy and jakes is probably the closest ill ever get to writing a subby idol. its hard. sorry. ill try harder because i like this i think. <3 i need to get them pregnant asap.
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heeseung had been in the recording studio since he had woken up, and yet he still had a long night ahead of him due to editing and touch ups. he was going insane.
you had sent him a selfie of you when you woke up, complaining about him being gone. it was innocent. but heeseung has been rock hard since.
his thoughts were full of you— every lyric had just reminded him of you and fuck he’s never needed you this badly before. the pillow that he’s kept on his lap all day felt like a fucking brick and he’s been subconsciously bucking his hips into it.
heeseung lets out a groan, throwing his head back as he cups his hardened cock through his flimsy sweats. he cannot take it anymore. pulling out his phone, he shoots you a text, complaining that he was hungry and didn’t feel good— a little lie because he knows if he told you he was painfully hard, you’d just tell him to wait. he can’t do that.
you’re so sweet to him, truly, you ask him if he’s okay and tell him you’ll be there in ten.
the door automatically locks when it's shut and you walk up to him, resting your hand on his forehead. he is feeling warm. heeseung leans into your touch and groans softly before grabbing your wrist, throwing the pillow and sitting you on his lap.
not even three minutes later, he’s thrusting up into you relentlessly. you’re desperately trying to grip onto anything, his shoulders, the chair and even the equipment table behind you. heeseungs grip on your hips is tight, bruising even. 
you’re both already cumming, the pace he set was too much for you and he’s simply been hard way too long to last more than seven minutes. though, as soon as he emptied himself inside you, he’s lifting you out of his lap, shoving aside an expensive keyboard and shoving your face down onto the table.
“fuck- fucking take it,” he spits as he continues pounding you from behind. “b-been so fucking hard all day, all because of you.”
his cock is hitting the most sensitive spots with his brutal speed, you almost feel as if you really did something wrong. you reach up to grip onto something, knocking into a few buttons in the process, turning on some music— which honestly helped cover the sounds of your moans but probably not necessary due to the soundproof room.
“hah- heeseung it’s t-too much!” you manage to squeak out, hiccuping and whimpering.
you’re spasming around his cock once more, he sloppily thrusts into you a few more times before pulling out and emptying himself on your lower back. you weakly lift yourself to peek behind you, glancing back and forth between his still hard cock and his eyes that were full of nothing but lust. 
heeseung will be here all night— and so will you.
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jay thought it’d be a good idea, a great one! he brought you with him to tour some fancy guitar museum he was invited to. you both were so excited to attend, throwing on your best outfits— which included that one dress that jay absolutely went feral for.
he could barely focus on the guitar he was testing out when you were sitting so pretty and patient in front of him, smiling and cheering him on. he didn’t even realize he was fucking up the chords, face red when he realized it wasn’t just you and him in the room.
you sat in the acoustics room with him, dress riding up your legs, leather jacket hanging off your shoulder as you watched him pick at each string with so much adoration in your eyes.
jay was going to go fucking insane. he can feel himself hardening at the mere sight of you— truly he’s usually better at keeping himself kept in public.
when you asked so sweetly to try out at guitar yourself, he thought he would combust right there.
he helps you choose a guitar, slipping the strap around your neck and even setting up the amp for you. jay sits back and watches as you play around with different chords you’ve picked up from him, but his eyes refuse to leave your fingers.
the way they delicately pluck each string or how they grip the guitar pick, how your other hand grips the neck of the guitar to hold down strings. he almost groans when he watches you almost struggle to fit them around it.
if only that were his cock. 
jay has to keep yanking and pulling at his jeans. he almost grabs the guitar from you just to cover his inevitable boner. his jaw is clenched, he wants to leave so fucking bad. he’s seconds away from pulling you into the closest room and tarnishing his image just to fuck you.
finally, your time at the guitar center was over. jay’s practically dragging you to the car and you aren’t even sure why. maybe you did something to upset him?
as soon as you reach the car, he’s sandwiching you between him and the cold surface. your boyfriend doesnt waste a second before grabbing your hand and forcing you to grab his throbbing cock through his jeans.
“for the past four fucking hours,” he grits out, nuzzling his face against your cheek, “four fucking hours that i’ve been so fucking hard. because of you.”
your face is red and you’re whipping your head around the parking lots, it’s almost empty thankfully— and dark outside. “i-i did this?”
he groans in the crook of your neck, “please, baby, fucking need you now.”
those are the only words you need to get you to drop to your knees. your hands shake slightly as they fumble with his belt, pulling it apart and yanking his jeans down just enough to free his cock. 
it’s practically red and leaking, you almost pout when you think about your poor boyfriend being that hard for so long because of you.
jay seems to not like how long you're taking because he’s immediately taking your hair into his fist and smacking his tip against your lips. you eagerly invite his length into your mouth, using your hands to work whatever you can’t fit. 
he has to hold back from cumming right there. the way your lips wrap around him so well, your throat struggling to take him. this is exactly what got him hard in the first place. jay rocks his hips back and forth, pushing his cock further and further into your mouth.
“yeah- fuck. taking me so well, huh?” jay mutters, biting his lip to contain his grunts. “thought about this exact fucking thing in there. so pretty around my cock.”
his words make you hum in arousal, sending vibrations down his length. jay groans and throws his head back, pushing you further down his cock. the gag that rips from your throat is almost enough to make him empty himself all over your face.
jay continues to practically fuck your mouth. your hands drop to grip his thighs as you let him use your mouth however he pleases. both of his big hands in your hair, forming a messy ponytail tail as he continues to thrust into you roughly.
“fuckfuckfuck! almost there, baby.” he’s almost whimpering, it’s so good. after a few more thrusts, he’s pulling out and cumming, emptying himself onto your cheeks and lips. 
there’s so much cum you have to take him back into your mouth to save yourself from a messy shirt.
jay pants as you ride him through his intense orgasm. needless to say, he’s fucking you again in the car this time.
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jake was restless. he was quite literally rolling around on your bed as you ignored him for some stupid fucking book.
“jake, i seriously need to cram this by tonight. then we can hang out!” you promised him.
six fucking hours ago. he groans loudly, loud enough to make you scoff and shake your head.
“why don’t you go play on my pc?” you suggest sweetly, “you love the games i have on there!”
“i dont want to do that.” 
you sigh and shrug your shoulders in response, you already told him countless times that you were busy and he’s the one who chose to stay.
“baby, please just take a break.” he pleads. “there’s no way you’re finishing this by tonight.”
he rolls over on his stomach and grips onto your leg, sporting a dramatic expression. jake was right, there was no way you were finishing any of your work tonight, but that almost gives you more reasons to not take a break. 
“the sooner i finish, the sooner i'll be all yours baby.” you tell him, patting his fluffed up hair down, messy from rolling around.
he groans again, “noo, baby i want you- no i need you now!”
“why are you so antsy right now, jake?” 
jake drops his head into your lap, muffling his voice. “ ‘m so horny.”
“hm?” you hum, not quite hearing him. he only responds by softly kissing your inner thighs, unable to hold back any longer.
he pushes his jean clad cock against your soft mattress as he travels down your thighs, leaving a trail of kisses behind. 
“jake.”
“i said im horny. im so fucking horny and you smell so good.” he repeats, lifting his head to look you in your eyes.
your brain freezes at his words. “i… i’ll be done soon, i promise- just-“
he cuts off your words by pressing a desperate kiss over your clothes cunt, sending shivers down your spine. you can feel yourself getting wet by his needy and desperate actions.
“jake!” you whimper out when he licks a stripe over your pajama shorts. he doesn’t even care that you’re still fully clothed, a piece of flimsy fabric won't stop him.
your boyfriend continues to make out with your cunt through your shorts, shifting to bite and suck at your thighs. “pleaasee.” he lets out a muffled whine.
you’ve already dropped your books and papers beside you, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as your hands find their spot in his long hair. “fuck— jake slow down!”
jake shakes his head, his own hands moving to yank down your sleep shorts. he knew you weren’t wearing panties, and he’s pretty sure that’s what got him so horny in the first place. the amount of times he looked down at your thighs to catch small glimpses of your ass and cute cunt because they were barely covered.
it took so much restraint to not shove his aching cock between your thighs— make you forget all about your boring paperwork.
jake attaches his lips to your clit, sucking and practically making out with it. every now and then he shoves his tongue as deep as he can inside your oozing hole, gathering all your juices on his tongue and slurping.
you can’t tell who's moaning louder, you or him. he’s attacking your cunt with everything he has all while rutting his hips into your mattress, attempting to pleasure himself but he could honestly cum untouched as long as he had your sweet pussy in his mouth.
he’s groaning against your cunt and letting out incoherent curses, “f-fuck.. hmph so- so good.”
your eyes roll to the back of your neck and you can feel the heat pool in your lower stomach.
“jake- gonna cum, please dont fucking stop!” 
jake listens well, continues to suck and lap at your wetness as if its his last fucking meal. you don't even notice his hand leaving your thigh to jerk himself off but when you do— it pushes you immediately over the edge. 
you tremble as you cum all over his mouth, and he only eagerly slurps it up. he doesn’t pull away and until you yank him up by his hair, you stare at his soaked lips, your arousal dripping down his face. 
he lifts himself up to kiss you, feeding you your own cum, his hand comes up to grip your neck as you engage in a desperate kiss.
when he lets go of you to rid himself of his pants, your hand comes up to touch the wetness left on your cheek— it hits you that jake came all over his own hand while eating you out.
there was no way you were letting him out of your sight tonight.
───────────────────
sunghoon was giddy when he found out he could bring a plus one to the prada after party. he literally couldn’t wipe the grin off his face when he told you that you could accompany him.
but now he almost regrets it. 
since you were his plus one, you had gotten a free outfit from the brand. and god was it the best thing he’s ever seen you wear. but also the worst.
this wasn’t his only issue. you were his plus one. so why the fuck were you pretty much attached to jungwon at the hip? why were you ignoring him when he’s the reason you were there?
it’s not like he was angry either, instead he just really really wanted you right there next to him. he was so fucking horny. 
even before you both left the house to head over. he had no idea what the outfit looked like until you put it on and his eyes almost popped out of his head.
sunghoons also not really the type to voice his every thought to you, otherwise you both would’ve skipped the party entirely just to fuck.
well, he wasn't angry. but he can’t help it when the horniness eventually turns into pure sexual frustration. he leans further into the couch as he watches you bounce back and forth from jungwon and heeseung. 
your lonely boyfriend couldn’t even tell if he was jealous, angry or hurt. above all, he just wanted you to sit on his cock for the rest of the night. he understood that you were having fun, some of your other friends in the industry were also invited to this party but he couldn’t help but to feel so left out.
he almost groans as he watches you make your way to yet another one of his members. what about him? he’s here too! his cock twitches beneath his dress pants and he sets his hand with his drink on top of it, hoping it’s not obvious that he’s suffering at this very moment.
“you okay, man?” a voice calls from behind the couch, sunghoon looks up to see jake hovering. “you haven’t moved from that spot in about 40 minutes.”
sunghoon nods and shrugs, “can you tell my girlfriend to meet me over here? i haven’t seen her all night.” he lies through his teeth, he’s literally been watching you all night.
jake tilts his head in confusion, “uh, yeah. i’ll go get her, be right back.”
he taps his finger on his cup as he watches jake whisper in your ear, pointing behind him in his direction. you glance behind jake and sunghoon quickly averts his gaze.
you nod and respond to jake before making your way over to your boyfriend. 
sunghoon quickly downs his drink as he sees you walk towards him, a soft smile on your lips. so now you’re finally paying attention to him?
“what’s wrong, hoonie? jake said you needed me.” 
he nods, setting his drink down and grabbing your wrist instead, “yeah. i do need you, right fucking now.”
you don’t get a chance to question his words before he’s yanking you towards the furthest bathroom in the building. you’re heels almost make it too hard to keep up with him and you’re calling out his name but he’s too occupied on finding any empty bathroom to fuck you in.
sunghoon finally finds one, tugging you into it and slamming the door behind you and clicking the lock.
“what’s wrong, baby?” you ask him again.
“why are you talking to every single one of my members but not me?” 
you blink at him, surely you’ve interacted with him throughout the night. a smile grows on your face when it clicks. “awwe, hoonie! are you jealous?”
sunghoon grips your chin with his hand, “i’m not jealous. you ignored me, there’s a difference.”
“i wasn’t! and i’m here now, right?” 
he rolls his eyes, smushing his body against yours and the door. “baby seriously. need you so bad right now, i had to watch you talk to everyone while i was sitting there so fucking hard.”
your eyes widen slightly, “why didn’t you tell me?”
“god this fucking dress— i’m going insane.” he ignores your question completely, pulling the bottom of your dress up your thighs.
“sunghoon! we can’t- not here!” 
“mm, i don’t care.” sunghoon mutters as he pulls your dress above your hips. “told you i needed you, huh?”
he grips your hips and moves you against the fancy bathroom vanity, turning you around and laying you flat against the counter.
sunghoon ruts his clothed hardon over your own panty clad cunt. “feel it? feel how hard you make me all because a stupid dress?”
“y-yeah, hoonie.”
he sucks in a breath of air and yanks down your flimsy thong before practically ripping the button off his overpriced pants to free his angry cock.
you glance at him in the mirror when he aligns his leaking tip with your wet entrance. no amount of slick and arousal could make taking his size any easier.
“wait- baby i can’t take you like that..!” you pleaded with him.
sunghoon doesn't listen, stuffing you with his length, ripping a gasp from you, forcing you to throw a hand over your mouth to contain any more noises from you.
he wastes no time before beginning to pound into you, your hips slamming against the edge of the vanity with each thrust. you feel every vein against your walls and soon the initial pain turns into pleasure.
your boyfriend’s sloppy and brutal pace tells you just how fucking needy he’s been for the past few hours. sunghoons letting out a string of curses as he continues to abuse your cunt to chase the orgasm he’s been craving for so long.
“god. fuck- so fucking tight.” he groans out. “n-need it so bad.”
you’re biting your own hand to contain the noises that are desperately escaping your mouth, his pace making it impossible for you to stay silent. sunghoons bending over as he continues to fuck into you, gripping your throat as he leaves harsh bites on your shoulder— marks that’d be impossible to cover due to the thin and flimsy straps on your dress.
“shit—“ his movements stutter before hitting his peak, his warm cum filling up your insides but he doesn’t dare stop.
he continues to desperately thrust into you, overstimulating himself because he’s still so stupidly hard. grunts and whimpers are leaving his mouth, muffled by your neck and hair— but his noises only bring you closer to your own peak.
“hoon..! c-cumming, please.” 
even after you cream around his cock, his movements don’t stop. his thrusts are sloppy and his cock is knocking against your cervix, fucking you hard and deep all because he needs to cum again.
sunghoon lets out a loud groan as he finds himself emptying himself once more inside of you. rocking his hips slowly to ride himself through his second intense orgasm, it was almost painful.
he slips out of you with a grunt, his cock still half hard but he decided right there that the both of you would be leaving the party early.
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xazse · 3 months ago
Note
okay hear me out…. reverse hybrid au… with tigerhybrid!sukuna bc nobody else can handle him because he’s so aggressive and overbearing .. so reader is their last resort zoo caretaker and they’re is shocked at how it’s like reader has a leash on tigerhybrid!sukuna 😚
I’VE GOT IT?
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Synopsis: You’re head of a completely different department so why are you being asked to help with an odd situation?
Warnings: Female!reader + Mean!Sukuna + cringe tropes (sorry) + Hybrid!Sukuna: ears and a tail + heat + cumming inside + doggy + NOTPROOFREAD!!! + obsessed!Sukuna
Pairings: Tigerhybrid!Sukuna x female!Reader
Notes: I’m really working to improve my writing for you guys!! Esp my non-English speakers
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“Miss please you know we would never beg like this if it wasn’t urgent.”
“I don’t specialize in that field, how many times must I tell you?”
You were getting sick of these scientists coming to you more often than normal, there’s three right now begging for you to take on a case that you didn’t want to do.
“Sukuna is out of control, he’s already injured five of our best, now they refuse to work with him”
“And I should be the sixth?” You say with a quirk of your brow.
They all stop and stare at one another, you have a good ass point what makes them think that you’ll be the antidote for their beast they decided to keep.
“Like I said, my stance on this won’t change.”
Another voice in the doorway of your office speaks up: “I’ll upgrade your pay and have you transferred up.”
Your ears perk up at this offer, to go even further where you are right now means business and a fuck ton of money. On the flip side it means facing whatever they’re against but you’ve always been a little greedy for money so you oblige.
The scientists made sure to throw you in the thinnest garments: “to let him know you don’t have anything on you.” As they put it.
They also had told you no sudden movements and to talk with him in a calm manner, show him you aren’t afraid and find out what’s been making him so angry lately. Easy peasy except your life is on the line!
You disregard any negative thoughts of death and make your way into the place where they keep their hybrids, it’s like little apartments where they can do as they please in return for information on their biology, as far as you know they love it here. You’ve once met puppy!hybrids Satoru and Suguru they were very sweet men, needy but sweet.
Your first step into the apartment is met with a strong smell, a smell of something primal if that even has a smell. It’s warm.
You start poking around his place, checking his fridge and looking for anything out of the ordinary, nothing seems amiss though. It’s not until you come up to one of the doors and hear slight noises. You press your ear up closer making the noise more clearer: whining it sounds like whining.
Could he perhaps be In pain? You knock three times and announce you’re coming in. The door clicks and you start slowly pulling it open. You see the man in all his glory resting upon his bed, arms wrapped around his pillow and an unreadable expression.
Sukuna is big, he’s a big man compared to all the other hybrids, he’s brimming with pure muscle. Does he workout in here? Your thoughts are interrupted by slight growling: he’s warning you. Step any close r and he will have no choice but to harm you.
You pay him no mind, instead you step fully in and start looking around without a care in the world.
“You’re making trouble- why is that?” You say while looking through his dresser.
“You’re being extremely nosy, leave before I kill you.” He threatens harshly.
“If you harm me I’ll have you sent somewhere else, I know where you come from and I’m assuming you don’t want to go back.”
The room goes eerily silent like he’s making a choice, he opens his mouth to speak but a groan accidentally slips past his lips.
Oh… the big oaf is in heat, and top scientists couldn’t tell or try to track his cycle?
“You in heat big guy?”
“No-“
“Such a liar, I’m not here to make fun of you, I’m here to make sure you get proper help.”
“The only way I’ll get proper help is if I fuck someone.” So damn blunt you think to yourself.
He continues speaking: “I think you know they won’t allow that though.”
“Would you like some toys? I can request that for you.”
“Useless.”
You let out the loudest sigh and plop down on his fluffy bed. Bending your head in his direction you see he’s not looking at your face but your body, eyes fully trained on your pert nipples because of the cold.
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You allow the poor suffering hybrid to mount you, putting a good bit of his weight on your back you can feel the outline of his thick meaty cock resting near your cunt and ass.
He’s hard, fully hard and probably has been for a while: you feel almost a little bad.
Sukuna doesn’t waste anytime grinding down against you, it feels so fucking good, his cock is accepting anything even if it’s the bare minimum. Everytime he meets your ass he whines, such a needy tiger you coo.
He’s ignoring all the dirty little comments you send his way too focused on the only good sensation he’s felt for a while, his hand doesn’t compare to your rounded ass. You reach between your legs and pull his shorts down, letting his cock bob free for a minute before he’s pushing up against you again.
He’s producing so much precum that youCan feel it through your silky garments.
“Smells so good… really good.” “Mhhhphmmm-“ he’s now being open with his groans too focused on the feeling of his tip prodding your clothed pussy. His swishing tail is within your eyesight, you grab it and rub it for extra stimulation.
You help him a little bit by bouncing your ass against him. He places his head in the crook of your neck and starts nibbling on your neck, you can feel how sharp his damn teeth are and pray to yourself he isn’t going to bite you: killing you in the process.
He doesn’t do any of that instead he just lightly bites, using no strength at all. While he’s busying tearing up your neck you slip your panties off, grabbing his fat length and teasing your wet hole. Just feeling it in your hand has your body burning up in arousal it’s been a while since you’ve had a cock, especially a cock his size.
You slowly start inching it in, the stretch is so damn unbearable and uncomfortable. When he feels what you’re doing he starts moving his hips already. An impatient thing such as him isn’t gonna wait. He gets about halfway in and you feel a thick liquid fill you, did this beast just cum? Already?
“Nhhhnn.. fuck-..” this doesn’t deter him because he’s sitting fully on his knees and pulling you flush against him, his entire length snuggly inside your pussy. He doesn’t wait to bounce you back on him, you can’t comprehend anything properly so shocked by how he just made you take every inch of him.
Your lashes flutter closed as he ruts into you like you’re the damn sex tox he’s been given, one he wasn’t gonna take care of properly. His hold on you is extremely tight so you can do nothing but take him fully, even when your walls threaten to constrict around him he pushes through it and keeps fucking Into you.
You allow him, allow him to thrust like a wild animal, mercilessly pulling all the way out of you just to slam back in. Drool is seeping down your neck where he’s latched on in droves. He’s far too gone, pussy has never felt this good.
By the end Sukuna is still rutting uselessly, he’s not even hard anymore he just can’t stop leaking cum nor has that good euphoric feeling stopped. He’s made a mess of your pussy, his cum and yours seeping down your thighs and onto his ruined sheets.
Hes licking at your face and you can hear a deep rumbling in his chest, this big hybrid is purring in content. Any attempt to move from under him is completely halted, he won’t let you move even an inch.
He begins sucking on your nipples, they’re definitely gonna be sore later but now it seems he just wants comfort and you fully give that to him. Rubbing his ears and whispering sweet nothings to him.
After that incident Sukuna is completely attached, he constantly whines for you to come see him including the scientists also calling for you to calm him down. He won’t let you have a moments peace.
Even when you tell him you’re extremely busy he’s having none of it, if he wants you to laze around and do nothing but rub him or praise/coddle him he completely expects it!
As his mate you’re meant to be with him all the time you should be grateful he’s even letting you leave the nest.
You were left fully shocked when he first called you his mate but the scientists explained that you were his first and now you are his last, they had all praised you because testing was made easier if you were there.
They’re all surprised to see him completely like mush under you, like one time when it was time for his blood to be drawn he made you come and sit in his lap while he had it taken. The doctors said he seemed to be completely smitten with you, in love and so possessive.
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brunchable · 2 months ago
Text
𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 2 ]
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Part One Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Sexual Innuendo/humour,Guy next door, situational comedy? Sexual Themes 18+ ONLY: fingering, cunnilingus, Bucky loves tiddies, dirty talk. Summary: Though you've become oddly close to SergeantBarnes, it's still difficult to act normal around him. A/N: I didn't think many would ask for a part two but here you go. divider by @cafekitsune
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It was a peaceful evening in the apartment gym—or, at least, it was supposed to be. You had your plan: thirty minutes on the stair climber, some stretches, and you’d be out of there before any awkwardness could find you.
But then you heard it—the unmistakable sound of weights clanging, followed by a deep, low grunt that made your entire body freeze.
You glanced up, hoping against hope that it wasn’t who you thought it was. But, of course, there he was: Bucky, over at the hip thrust machine, setting up his weights directly in front of you. Perfect, you thought. Of all the machines in here, he has to pick the most… suggestive one.
Your eyes flicked back to the tiny screen on your machine. Stay focused, you told yourself. Don’t look. Just ignore him.
But the moment he started his set, you heard it—a low, powerful grunt that practically reverberated through the gym. You immediately bit down on your lip, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead, pretending you weren’t having flashbacks to his other kind of workouts.
Another deep grunt.
Your hands clenched the stair climber’s handles like a lifeline. Do NOT look, you told yourself, the mantra echoing in your mind. But your treacherous eyes slid sideways, just for a second, and you caught a glimpse of him, face focused, breaths heavy as he powered through each hip thrust. The guy was practically a one-man gym commercial.
You looked away, focusing on your steps—your very uneven, slightly panicked steps. It’s just a hip thrust, for crying out loud! Nothing unusual here, you told yourself, trying to stomp out the heat creeping up your cheeks. But every time he exhaled, your mind filled with images of… well, his other performances.
Then, in the middle of one of his reps, Bucky let out a particularly deep, guttural grunt that nearly threw you off balance. Your foot slipped, your rhythm stuttered, and in a moment of pure panic, you clutched the handles and stumbled forward, practically throwing yourself onto the machine.
“Shit!” you yelped, fumbling to regain your balance as your legs moved faster than your brain, desperately trying not to faceplant.
You heard Bucky chuckle, that low, infuriatingly amused laugh, and felt your cheeks practically ignite. You looked up, heart pounding, only to find him smirking in your direction, eyes dancing with mischief.
“Careful there, Y/N,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Stair climbers are brutal.”
“Oh, yeah, totally!” you squeaked, straightening up, trying to look like you meant to almost eat it. “Just… keeping things interesting. Got to keep the cardio exciting, you know?”
“Looks like it’s working,” he replied, wiping his forehead with a towel, his grin widening as he noticed your death grip on the machine. “You sure you’re good over there?”
“Oh, I’m… I’m great,” you lied, your face flaming as you tried to regain your composure. But he wasn’t done with you yet.
“Glad to hear it,” he said, voice way too smooth. He paused, then tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Gotta admit, though… this machine setup does feel a bit familiar.”
Your brain nearly exploded. Did he just—? He couldn’t mean… But his eyes sparkled with that infuriating, knowing look, and you knew exactly what he was hinting at. Your face went beet red as your foot slipped again, but this time you managed to catch yourself, narrowly avoiding another disaster.
“Uh-huh,” you said, laughing nervously, desperately trying to hold it together. “Well, enjoy your… uh, workout!”
“Oh, I am,” he said, chuckling softly. “Especially with the view.” He winked, setting up for another set while you tried not to spontaneously combust.
With one final, mortified glance, you turned your attention back to the stair climber, mentally swearing you’d never step foot in this gym again after this.
Since you survived the stair climber ordeal without faceplanting (barely), you decided it was time to move on. Somewhere—anywhere—that didn’t involve Bucky’s hip thrusts or his incessant, maddening smirk.
You zeroed in on the bench press. Safe, you thought, relieved. Just a standard exercise. Nothing suggestive, no chance of stumbling, tripping, or looking like a klutz. You grabbed the bar, took a deep breath, and mentally prepped yourself. Easy-peasy.
And then—because the universe simply refused to give you a break—you heard that all-too-familiar voice right beside you.
“Need a spot?”
You looked up and almost swallowed your tongue. There was Bucky, looming over you with that same damn smirk, wiping his hands on a towel like he was gearing up for some personal training session from your worst/best nightmares.
“Oh, uh… I—” you stammered, already feeling the heat creep up your neck. You’ve got this, you told yourself. Just let him help you. No big deal. You’re a mature, fully-functioning adult.
“Yeah, sure!” you squeaked, trying to sound normal as he stepped closer, positioning himself behind the bench. You laid back, gripping the bar, and immediately realized what a horrible, terrible mistake this was. You were now lying flat on your back, Bucky leaning over you, his face far too close as he focused on making sure you could lift the weight.
“You ready?” he asked, his face all business, but his lips still had that mischievous curve.
“Ready,” you mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but up at him, trying to ignore how absolutely awkwardly intimate this felt. You started your set, breathing steadily as you lifted the bar, determined to act as if this were a completely normal workout.
But then, midway through the reps, he leaned down a little closer. “By the way, did you check out my new video?”
Your hands nearly slipped. You fumbled the bar, barely catching it as your brain short-circuited. 
“W-What?” you managed, voice strangled, heart racing.
“My new video,” he repeated, casually reaching out to help guide the bar back into place as you struggled not to lose it. “Thought you might’ve seen it by now.”
Your cheeks flamed, but you somehow managed to choke out, “N-No! I… I haven’t seen it!”
Bucky chuckled softly, raising an eyebrow as he straightened up, his voice taking on a teasing, almost disappointed tone. 
“Oh. That’s a shame,” he said, smirk lingering. “Didn’t have a costar this time—just me, actually. First time I’ve ever done that.”
Your mouth dropped open. Just him? Your brain skidded to a halt. Suddenly, you were far too interested in a video you’d just denied seeing. 
“Oh, um… interesting?” you squeaked, trying to keep your face neutral but definitely failing.
“Yeah,” he replied with a shrug, looking at you with twinkling eyes. “Guess you’ll have to let me know what you think… whenever you get around to it.”
“Actually, I… uh… I kind of stopped watching… since we, you know… know each other. Just… feels awkward.”
Bucky’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up with amusement. 
“Oh, so you’re telling me we’re too close for you to watch my work now?” He raised an eyebrow, looking mockingly offended. “I thought we were supporting local artists.”
Your cheeks practically combusted as he said it, and you fumbled with the bar, desperately trying to pretend you hadn’t heard him. Supporting local artists? Was he serious right now?
“Oh my god,” you mumbled, absolutely mortified. “This is not— You’re not— I mean…!”
But he just looked down at you, that smug grin firmly in place as he leaned in, clearly enjoying every second of your flustered state. 
“What?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Don’t you believe in supporting the arts?”
Your mouth opened and closed like a fish, words completely failing you. “This… this is not the same!” you finally blurted, clutching the bar like it was your only lifeline.
“Oh really?” he replied, chuckling. “Because it sounds like you’re saying we’re too close for me to keep doing what I do. You know, my passion.”
You practically choked, waving your hands around in frantic denial. “No! No! That’s not— I’m not stopping you! I’m just— I don’t know, maybe supporting from a… distant, supportive spiritual place?”
He laughed outright, shaking his head. “So, what—you’re like cheering me on… but from across the street?”
You nodded vigorously, still trying to save face. “Exactly! Just… supportive… but in a non-participatory kind of way.”
“Got it,” he said, smirking. “So, I’m officially your guilty pleasure now.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hands as he chuckled, clearly far too pleased with himself. 
Note to self: Avoid all future conversations with Bucky Barnes for the rest of eternity.
× × × × 
That evening, you were finally settled at your dining table, a bowl of pasta in front of you, determined to put the entire gym disaster behind you. You’d survived another encounter with Bucky—barely—and now all you wanted was some quiet, non-embarrassing time with carbs.
But as you twirled your fork in the noodles, your brain betrayed you, replaying his words from earlier.
“Did you check out my new video?”
You paused mid-bite, the fork hovering near your mouth as you stared blankly at the wall, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and dread bubbling up. What could he have meant by “just me”? You tried to shake it off, forcing another forkful of pasta into your mouth. Nope, not going there.
But the thought lingered, nudging you, until you found yourself setting down the fork, fingers hovering over your phone. Just one quick search, you reasoned, glancing around your empty apartment as if someone might catch you.
You typed in the familiar site, thumbs hesitating above the search bar, nearly typing “SergeantBarnes new video” before you snapped back to reality, dropping the phone like it burned.
“Oh, no,” you muttered to yourself, horrified at how close you’d come. “Absolutely not. What am I, insane?”
You shoved another forkful of pasta into your mouth, shaking your head furiously. “I am not doing this.”
But as you continued eating, your eyes kept darting back to the phone, the curiosity gnawing at you, leaving you torn between common sense and the very persuasive power of nosiness.
You took a deep breath, clenching your fists. “Get a grip, Y/N. You are absolutely not watching that video.”
...But maybe just a preview?
You groaned, stuffing your face with more pasta, determined to win this internal battle.
× × × ×
The next morning, just as you were heading out the door for work, you spotted something bright and obnoxiously neon-colored taped to the wall near the mailboxes. Curiosity got the better of you, and you stepped closer, squinting at the bold, glittery letters.
POOL PARTY THIS WEEKEND! it proclaimed. Food, drinks, music, fun! Don’t miss it!
You raised an eyebrow, debating if you’d actually brave a building-wide party when suddenly, the quiet hallway was shattered by a loud, unmistakably ecstatic moan. The kind that could only mean one thing.
From none other than Bucky’s apartment.
You froze, eyes widening in disbelief. Is that—? Is he—?
A second moan, even louder than the first, confirmed it. This wasn’t just any moan; this was the sound of someone—some woman—having the time of her life. At what had to be eight o’clock in the morning.
“Oh, seriously?!” you hissed under your breath, glancing down the hallway as if there might be witnesses to this auditory ambush. Just then, the woman’s voice hit a pitch so high it practically reverberated off the walls.
You winced, clutching your bag like it could somehow shield you from this. Who even has that much energy in the morning? You took a step back, hoping to escape the sonic nightmare, but the moans only got louder, each sound more animated than the last.
You threw your hands over your ears, eyes squeezed shut as you muttered furiously to yourself. 
“Nope, nope, absolutely not. Not today, not right now.” You spun on your heel, practically power-walking down the hall, doing your best to drown out the soundtrack blaring from his apartment.
“YES, SERGEANT! OH MY GOD!”
You practically stumbled, muttering an alarmed, “Oh my god, stop!” as you picked up the pace, pressing your hands even harder against your ears. It was like some kind of cruel game—the closer you got to the elevator, the louder it seemed to get, echoing in your ears like a siren you couldn’t escape.
You winced, feeling your face burn as you all but sprinted down the hall, chanting, “Nope, nope, NOPE!” under your breath like a mantra. It was as if your feet couldn’t carry you fast enough, each step a desperate attempt to put some distance between you and… whatever was happening in that apartment.
Finally, you made it to the elevator, slamming your finger against the button with more force than necessary, glancing nervously over your shoulder as if the sounds might follow you. The doors mercifully slid open, and you dove inside, leaning back against the wall and pressing your hands over your ears one last time, breathing a sigh of relief.
But just as the doors began to close, one last triumphant shout echoed down the hallway, loud and clear, like the universe had decided you hadn’t suffered enough.
You groaned, staring up at the ceiling as the doors shut, wondering if this building had any quiet hours, or if you were doomed to start every morning with a full-blown soundscape of… Bucky’s extracurricular activities.
Note to self: Invest in earplugs. Maybe some noise-canceling headphones. Or a new apartment altogether.
× × × ×
You arrived at work looking like you’d barely survived a natural disaster. Traumatized, sleep-deprived, and still hearing the morning’s very loud soundtrack echoing in your mind, you slumped into your chair, hoping to quietly blend into the office scenery and get through the day in peace.
Naturally, that was too much to ask.
“Whoa,” Trish said, swiveling in her chair to eye you like you were a science experiment gone wrong. “You look like you just spent a night in a haunted house.”
“Or… like you had a wild morning,” Amy added, raising her eyebrows. “You okay there, Y/N?”
“Fine,” you muttered, barely making eye contact as you set your bag down, trying to erase the vivid flashbacks of Bucky’s… extremely enthusiastic co-worker.
Before you could even recover, Trish leaned in, her grin spreading like wildfire. “Sooo… did you finally get around to watching Sergeant Barnes’ new video?”
Your head snapped up, heart stopping in your chest. “Wha—no! Why would I… I mean… I—”
“Oh, come on,” Amy said, nudging you like she’d just caught you in a guilty pleasure. “You don’t know what you’re missing. He’s alone in this one.” She leaned closer, adding in a stage whisper, “The man has talent.”
“Uh-huh,” Trish agreed, nodding like a sage. “No costars this time. Just him, going all in. It’s… impressive.”
You clutched the edge of your desk, mentally scrambling for any kind of response that would shut them down without revealing the secret you swore you’d take to the grave: that Sergeant Barnes was actually your neighbor.
You swallowed, managing to squeak out, “You know we’re in an office, right? As in, the place we do work?”
“Oh please, don’t act like you’re all professional now!” Trish smirked, crossing her arms as she gave you a knowing look. “You were all too eager to do some ‘research’ when we told you about him the first time.”
“Yeah!” Amy joined in, her grin absolutely diabolical. “You should be thanking us! The way you’re looking right now, I’d bet you already took a look this morning.”
You spluttered, mortified. “No! I mean, of course not! It’s just—this is… inappropriate.”
Amy snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh, sure. And here I thought you had a little curiosity.”
You glared, fully prepared to tell them off, but Amy cut in first, smirking as she leaned over your desk. 
“C’mon, Y/N, it’s just us girls. Tell me you don’t have some curiosity about what the man can do when it’s just him and the camera.”
You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, struggling to keep your cool. “No, I’m not curious! Not at all. And maybe you two shouldn’t be either, because, oh, I don’t know… WE ARE AT WORK!”
They both cracked up, sharing a delighted high-five as you buried your face in your hands, praying for the ground to open up and swallow you.
“Oh, we’re just messing with you,” Trish said, barely holding back laughter. “But seriously, girl… you look like you need to unwind. Maybe with a drink or… you know… a little quality screen time?”
“Or maybe someone live and in-person?” Amy chimed in, waggling her eyebrows.
You groaned, face down on your desk, cursing the fact that they would never, ever know the full story.
× × × × 
You stepped into the lobby, utterly drained from the day, just as the elevator doors began to slide shut. Without a second thought, you bolted, slipping in right before they closed. Only then did you realize the universe was playing tricks on you.
Because standing right there, with a half-smirk on his face and way too much knowing mischief in his eyes, was Bucky. Alone.
You froze, instantly regretting every choice that had led to this moment. But it was too late now, so you plastered on a polite smile and tried not to look like a deer caught in headlights.
Bucky’s eyes twinkled as he took you in, leaning casually against the side of the elevator as he said, “Tired?”
You laughed, and before you could stop it, the laugh turned into a borderline deranged chuckle. 
“Oh, yes, thank you very much,” you replied, sarcasm slipping out before you could rein it in. Then, muttering under your breath but clearly audible, you added, “Maybe keep it down too… in the morning.”
He chuckled, looking way too amused. “Sorry about that. Work, you know? She, uh… went home right after, don’t worry.”
Your face went flaming hot, and you whipped your head to look straight ahead, pressing your lips together like that would somehow save you from this horror. 
“Oh, you don’t… you don’t have to explain it to me,” you stammered, feeling like your cheeks were practically on fire. “I’m not worried.”
The smirk only widened. “Good to know.” He leaned in just a little, adding, “I wouldn’t want to keep you up… unintentionally.”
You choked, your hand flying up to cover your mouth as you let out a mortified laugh that you could barely stop from turning into a squeak. Just get to your floor, just get to your floor… you chanted internally, keeping your gaze laser-focused on the elevator doors.
But you could feel him watching you, could practically feel the amusement radiating off him as you tried to pretend that your life hadn’t just devolved into a rom-com nightmare.
Finally—finally—the elevator dinged at your floor. You stepped out, sighing with relief, only for Bucky to step out right behind you.
“Hey,” he called, making you pause and turn reluctantly. He was smiling, hands casually shoved into his pockets as he looked you over. “Are you coming to the rooftop pool party this weekend?”
“No,” you replied flatly, the answer escaping before you could even pretend to think about it.
He laughed, clearly not deterred. “Aw, come on. You sure? It’ll be fun.”
You shook your head vigorously, waving him off. “No, no, I’m good. I’m… not much of a party person.”
“Really?” he replied, stepping a little closer, his smile turning into something dangerously persuasive. “It’s just neighbors hanging out, not some crazy nightclub thing. Good music, food… probably no loud… work, either.”
You glared, suppressing an eye roll as he gave you a wink. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“Oh, come on,” he said, still grinning. “If you don’t show up, who am I going to talk to about all the ‘work’ complaints?”
You stifled a laugh, trying to maintain your resolve. “Pretty sure there are other people you can bother with that.”
“But none of them have your… constructive feedback,” he replied, his gaze dropping to the floor as he pretended to look shy. “And honestly, I need someone to keep me in check. I’m a handful at parties. Who else is going to stop me from climbing onto tables?”
You snorted, crossing your arms as you tried not to crack a smile. “I highly doubt you’re a handful at a pool party.”
He raised an eyebrow, challenging you. “Come and find out.”
You looked away, shaking your head but feeling the corners of your mouth tug upward. “Bucky, I’m not going.”
“So, you’re saying you’ll leave me up there with all these people who… don’t know me as well as you do?” He tilted his head, giving you a mock-pout.
Your face turned red, and you sputtered, “I don’t know you! I barely know you!”
“Oh, so all those research sessions weren’t exactly getting to know me?” he replied, grinning as he watched you turn an even deeper shade of crimson.
“You—ugh, you’re impossible,” you muttered, finally laughing despite yourself.
“That’s what everyone says,” he said, his voice softening just a little as he held your gaze. “Come on, Y/N. I promise, no loud work. I’ll even save you a spot.”
You sighed, feeling the last bit of resistance crumble. “Fine. But only for an hour.”
He beamed, triumphant. “Deal. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find something to actually talk about… outside of work.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart did a little flip. This is going to be a disaster, you thought. But somehow, you didn’t mind as much as you thought you would.
× × × × 
The weekend took forever to arrive, but somehow, you survived it—mostly by avoiding Bucky and doing your best not to think about that ridiculously intriguing video he’d hinted at. Nope, not even a peek. It was your own personal victory, though it took every ounce of willpower you had.
And now, here you were, standing at the rooftop entrance, mentally psyching yourself up. You’d put on a two-piece swimsuit under a white sheer cover-up, feeling only slightly self-conscious as you stepped out. Only because you hated drawing attention to your body. 
The party was already in full swing, a mix of upbeat music and laughter filling the air. You scanned the crowd for a certain troublemaking neighbor, but no sign of him. Great, you thought, rolling your eyes. Bucky drags me up here, then vanishes like an ass. Typical.
You made a beeline for an empty lounge chair, setting down your bag and towel, hoping you’d have a chance to relax before anyone else noticed you. But just as you were about to sit, a deep voice called out.
“Hey there!”
You turned to see an equally impressive figure—a tall, muscular guy with a sun-kissed smile, striding over with a confident swagger. 
“I’m Johnny,” he said, flashing a grin as he handed you a cold glass of beer. “Welcome to the party.”
“Oh! Thanks,” you said, taking the glass, feeling only slightly overwhelmed by all the testosterone on this rooftop. “Nice to meet you, Johnny.”
“Likewise,” he said, eyes flicking over you with the appreciation of someone who knew exactly what he was looking at. “Didn’t expect to see a new face up here. I know most of the regulars.”
“Yeah, I… usually keep to myself,” you admitted, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze.
“Well, glad you’re here,” he said smoothly, gesturing to a chair beside yours. “Mind if I join you?”
Before you could answer, another familiar voice cut through the air, low and unmistakably amused. “Johnny.”
You turned slowly, bracing yourself for whatever cocky look Bucky had in store, but when you finally laid eyes on him, your brain just… stopped. No thoughts, head empty, because the second he strolled into view, you swore you heard the sultry opening saxophone of Careless Whisper start playing, echoing dramatically in your head like some corny, slow-motion rom-com entrance.
He moved in perfect sync to the imaginary music in your head, each step more absurdly cinematic than the last. This can’t be happening, you thought, but somehow, there he was—tan skin, swim trunks slung just right, and that damn casual shirt hanging open over his shoulders. The man looked like a vacation ad, except he was bringing you dangerously close to a heatstroke.
As he got closer, the sax solo in your mind reached ridiculous, life-altering levels of intensity. Why do you have to look like this? you thought, nearly choking on the vision before you. Bucky’s smirk turned into something almost smug, like he knew exactly what effect he was having, as if he, too, could hear the George Michael anthem of seduction playing in your head. You half-expected him to whip out an actual saxophone and start serenading you right there.
You swallowed, barely keeping yourself from drooling, and willed yourself to stay composed. Get a grip, you told yourself, though you were about 98% certain your jaw was on the verge of dropping.
“Sorry, Johnny,” he said smoothly, not even glancing at the other guy. “I think she already has company.”
You quickly tried to compose yourself, forcing a neutral expression as you willed your face not to betray the sheer catastrophe your brain was going through. 
“Oh, hey, Bucky,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t sound as strangled as you felt. Inside, you were practically screaming. Why do you have to look like a freaking Greek god, Barnes? It’s rude, honestly.
Johnny raised an eyebrow, his eyes flicking between the two of you, clearly picking up on the tension. “You two know each other?”
Bucky leaned casually against the lounge chair next to yours, flashing a grin that practically oozed mischief. 
“You could say that. She’s my neighbor,” he said, his tone implying… well, all sorts of things. You immediately knew that everyone within earshot was definitely getting the wrong idea. “And I’ve been trying to get her to come out of her shell for a while now.”
Come out of her shell? You wanted to throttle him. But before you could retort, Johnny, ever the gentleman, just gave you a knowing wink and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. 
“Well, guess I’ll let you take over, then,” he said, sauntering off with an amused smile.
You sighed, turning to face Bucky, who looked all too pleased with himself as he settled in beside you, stretching out like he owned the place. 
“So, you made it,” he said, taking a leisurely sip of his drink as his eyes did a once-over that was a little too thorough.
“Yep,” you replied, your voice barely concealing your exasperation. “I showed up, just like I said I would. Where were you?”
He shrugged, that stupid smirk still plastered on his face. “Was just giving you a chance to make some new friends,” he said, his tone way too casual.
You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the beer Johnny had given you. “Please. You just love making an entrance.”
He chuckled, clinking his glass with yours. “Can’t say you’re wrong about that.”
As he leaned back, his gaze lingered a little too long, making your cheeks heat up. 
“Nice cover-up, by the way,” he commented, smirk widening. “It’s… modest.”
You shot him a look, feeling suddenly self-conscious about the sheer fabric draped over your swimsuit. “Why, thank you. That was kind of the point.”
“Yeah?” he replied, his voice dropping just a notch. “Shame, though. Bet that swimsuit’s got a whole lot of personality under there.”
You practically choked on your drink, coughing as you glared at him. “You’re such a flirt, Barnes.”
He chuckled, clearly unbothered by your reaction. “Hey, just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
You settled back in your chair, determined not to let him get the upper hand. But as you sat there, pretending to ignore him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, despite everything, you were enjoying this game just as much as he was.
You took a deep breath, narrowing your eyes at Bucky, who was looking far too pleased with himself. 
“Like I said, just one hour,” you told him firmly, crossing your arms as if that would somehow fortify your resolve against whatever mischievous plans he undoubtedly had.
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning even more devilish. “Oh, I’m sure an hour will be more than enough.”
You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “For what? So you can drive me insane and then sit back and enjoy the show?”
He chuckled, leaning a little closer, and you felt your heart rate spike. “Maybe. But I was thinking more along the lines of just… keeping you entertained.”
“Oh, I’m plenty entertained, thanks,” you shot back, trying to sound unimpressed despite the heat creeping up your neck.
He shrugged, unfazed, and settled back into his lounge chair. 
“Good. Then let’s make it the best hour of your week,” he said, flashing you a wink that sent a new wave of exasperation—and, annoyingly, a bit of excitement—through you.
You huffed, shaking your head as you took a sip of your drink, determined not to let him see just how much that smirk was affecting you. Just one hour, you reminded yourself. What could possibly happen in one hour?
As you and Bucky settled into a strange, almost comfortable silence, you heard a booming voice from across the pool.
“CHICKEN FIGHT!” Johnny’s voice rang out, loud and enthusiastic, immediately grabbing everyone’s attention.
You whipped your head around, eyes widening. Johnny was wading into the pool, rallying everyone like some kind of pool party commander. “Come on! Everyone in! We need two teams!”
“Oh, no,” you muttered under your breath, instinctively shrinking into your lounge chair, hoping you’d be overlooked in the shuffle. Absolutely not happening, you thought, clutching your drink like a lifeline.
But Bucky, of course, was already grinning ear to ear. He turned to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement and mischief. 
“You heard him,” he said, patting your shoulder like this was some team-building exercise. “We’re going in.”
“What? No!” you hissed, clutching your drink tighter as if that would save you. “I didn’t sign up for a chicken fight. I’m just here for moral support.”
Bucky laughed, standing up and stretching in that way that only he could pull off without looking ridiculous. 
“Oh, come on,” he said, flashing you that smug, challenging grin. “Afraid of a little friendly competition?”
You shook your head, digging your heels in. “Nope. Not happening. And it’s not friendly—it’s dangerous!”
“Oh, don’t be such a chicken.” His smirk widened, and then, with a theatrical sigh, he added, “Guess I’ll just have to find someone braver.”
Your jaw dropped. “Oh, you’re really going to play that card?”
He shrugged, glancing around with feigned disappointment. “Guess so. Shame though. I thought you could handle it.”
It was the final straw. With an exasperated groan, you threw down your drink and stood up. 
“Fine! I’ll do it.” The second the words left your mouth, you instantly regretted them, especially as you saw Bucky’s smirk morph into full-blown satisfaction.
“Perfect,” he said, clearly thrilled with himself.
You sighed, slipping off your sheer cover-up, feeling a sudden self-consciousness as you stood there in just your swimsuit. Bucky’s gaze flicked over you with open admiration, his grin widening just a bit. You forced yourself to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, rolling your eyes at his blatant staring.
“Enjoying the view?” you deadpanned.
“Oh, absolutely,” he replied without missing a beat, his eyes twinkling. “But we’ve got a fight to win.”
Before you could second-guess your decision, he grabbed your hand and pulled you toward the pool. Johnny spotted the two of you and cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “Yes! We got a team! Bucky and… Y/N, right?”
You forced a smile, giving him a thumbs-up while silently planning your escape route. But before you knew it, you were waist-deep in the water, Bucky hoisting you up with surprising ease, positioning you on his shoulders.
“Oh my god, this is insane,” you muttered, gripping onto his head for balance as he adjusted to your weight. “I feel like a five-year-old at a theme park.”
“Just hold on,” he chuckled, steadying himself under you. “I’ve got you.”
Your heart skipped a beat as his hands firmly held your thighs, and suddenly, this was a whole new level of intense. Focus on the fight, not the incredibly attractive man holding you in the pool, you told yourself, cheeks flaming.
Johnny waded over with his partner—a muscular, tattooed guy named Jake who was definitely taking this way too seriously. 
“Ready to lose, Barnes?” Jake taunted, grinning up at you.
Bucky chuckled, his hands tightening on your legs just slightly. “Not a chance.”
“Alright, you’re up top!” Johnny yelled, clapping his hands. “Let’s see what you’ve got!”
You barely had time to brace yourself before Jake and his partner charged at you, water splashing everywhere as they made their move. Instinctively, you shrieked, grabbing onto Bucky’s hair for dear life as the force of the impact sent you both wobbling.
“Easy on the hair!” Bucky grunted, though he was laughing, his shoulders steadying beneath you as he held his ground.
“Oh, sorry!” you gasped, adjusting your grip. But before you could even catch your breath, Jake’s partner was lunging at you again, arms flailing as he tried to knock you off balance.
“Oh, no you don’t!” you muttered, your competitive spirit kicking in. You threw your hands out, grabbing his wrists and pushing back with everything you had, determined to hold your ground.
“Yeah, that’s it!” Bucky cheered from below, his laughter bubbling up as he shifted to help keep you steady. “Show ‘em what you’ve got!”
Fueled by his encouragement—and a surprising amount of adrenaline—you leaned forward, pushing against Jake’s partner with all your strength. The guy’s face twisted in concentration, but with one final shove, you managed to throw him off balance. He teetered, arms flailing, before finally toppling backward into the water with a massive splash.
“Yes!” you shouted, punching the air triumphantly as Johnny and Jake went down in a flurry of water and defeat. “Suck on that!”
The words had barely left your mouth when reality crashed back in. You blinked, suddenly realizing that maybe—just maybe—you’d gotten a little too carried away. Oh god, did I really just shout that? you thought, the heat rushing to your cheeks as your triumphant grin quickly turned into a sheepish smile.
“Well, look at you,” Bucky chuckled from below, clearly amused by your victory-induced outburst. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Yeah, well… neither did I,” you muttered, feeling the embarrassment settling in as you tried to slide off his shoulders, desperate to save whatever shred of dignity you had left. But as you started to wriggle down, you realized Bucky’s hands were still firmly gripping your thighs, holding you in place.
You froze, looking down at him. “Uh, Bucky… you can, you know… let go now.”
He glanced up, smirking. “Oh, but you’re comfortable up there. Why rush it?”
You huffed, your face going a deeper shade of red. “Because I’m very much done being the human flagpole, thank you very much.”
Bucky’s grin only widened as he kept his hold, clearly enjoying the situation far more than he should. “Nah, I think I like you right where you are. Adds a bit of… height to my reputation.”
“Oh my god,” you groaned, feeling your mortification level spike. “If you don’t let me down, I swear I’ll—”
“Fine, fine,” he laughed, finally loosening his grip, letting you slide back into the water. But just as your feet touched down, he didn’t back away—instead, he shifted closer, his hands still lingering on your waist, his gaze locking onto yours with a look that sent your pulse racing.
You took a half-step back, but there was no real room to escape, not with the edge of the pool just behind you and Bucky’s broad frame in front, all mischief and steady, unbreakable eye contact. 
“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “you could stay longer.”
Your breath hitched as Bucky leaned just the slightest bit closer, his hands still warm and steady on your waist, his smirk turning softer yet somehow more intense. Every nerve in your body seemed to jolt to life as he held your gaze.
You cleared your throat, attempting to find your voice amid the chaos of your thoughts. 
“Uh… stay longer? For what?” you managed, trying to sound casual, though your pulse was anything but.
His smirk grew, the corners of his mouth lifting in that way that was dangerously charming. 
“For the victory lap, of course,” he murmured, his voice just above a whisper. “After all, we did just crush the competition. Wouldn’t want you running off too fast.”
“Oh, right, a victory lap,” you muttered, trying to regain your composure but finding it difficult with his hands still lingering on your waist. “But I think the whole pool just watched that ‘lap’…”
“Then they got a good show,” he chuckled, his voice warm with that teasing tone you were starting to know all too well. “But the best part of winning is savoring it… right here.”
Your face went hot as his fingers brushed slightly against your sides, sending a little spark of energy straight up your spine. 
“Bucky,” you said, the word barely a whisper. “You’re… awfully close.”
“Oh, am I?” He didn’t back away; instead, he raised a brow, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Didn’t hear you complaining when you were up there, champ.”
Your cheeks went impossibly warmer. “That was different. That was, you know… competitive. Strategic.”
“Competitive and strategic?” he echoed, his grin turning almost wicked. “Well, in that case…” He shifted his hands slightly, bringing you even closer as he leaned in. “Let’s see if you’re still competitive outside the game.”
He hovered just a breath away, his gaze flickering to your lips for a moment that felt like an eternity. You felt yourself leaning in almost on instinct, your pulse racing, and for one wild, heart-stopping second, it seemed like he might actually kiss you.
But then, as if on cue, someone nearby let out a loud, obnoxious cheer, snapping both of you out of the moment. The sound jolted you, and you quickly took a step back, breaking the tension as reality crashed in.
Bucky chuckled softly, looking slightly too smug as he let his hands fall from your waist. 
“Guess that victory lap will have to wait,” he murmured, giving you one last look that promised he wasn’t quite finished with his teasing yet.
You swallowed, desperately trying to get your heart rate back to normal. “Yeah, guess so.”
As the night went on, you’d lost count of how many concoction drinks had been handed to you, and at this point, your usual sense of caution was practically nonexistent. The rooftop was a haze of laughter, lights, and music, and the whole place felt like it was buzzing with energy. Any embarrassment from earlier had dissolved into pure, uninhibited confidence, each drink making you feel bolder than the last.
One minute, you were in a drinking game, cheering Bucky on as he took down a round of shots like it was nothing. The next, you found yourself in a game of truth or dare that had somehow escalated into body shots. You’d laughed, nearly choking on your drink, when you saw Bucky sprawled out on a table, daring you with that infuriating grin to take your turn.
“Oh, come on, that's not fair,” you slurred, trying to wave off the dare as he raised an eyebrow, that smug look firmly in place.
“Back out now if you can’t handle it,” he teased, lying back and folding his arms behind his head, acting like he hadn’t a care in the world.
The crowd cheered you on, and fueled by liquid courage, you rolled your eyes and leaned down, pressing your lips to his abs, feeling his warm skin under your touch as you took the shot in a quick, heated moment. His laughter mingled with the cheers around you, and you couldn’t help but feel a rush from the attention, from his gaze, from the heat spreading across your face.
Before you knew it, you were in a round of flip cup with Bucky as your teammate, and he downed his drink, slamming his cup down with a victorious shout. He grabbed you by the waist, lifting you up and spinning you around, both of you laughing so hard you could barely stand straight when he finally set you down.
Somehow, you ended up on the makeshift dance floor, music thumping as the party around you roared on, the lights around the rooftop pool casting a glow over everyone. You’d danced with other people throughout the night, but Bucky seemed to have a way of drawing you back, his energy magnetic, his laughter contagious. It was like he was everywhere you turned, keeping pace with you, matching every laugh and smirk with one of his own.
The music thumped, lights flashed, and the DJ’s voice blared over the speakers, “Alright, party people! Here’s the deal—find someone you want to… get close to tonight and give them a kiss, a hug, heck, even a lick if you’re feeling bold!”
Everyone around you burst into cheers and laughter, the party’s energy wild and reckless. By now, you were buzzing on so much liquid courage that everything felt like the best idea ever, including the fact that you were swaying against Bucky, who’d somehow stayed by your side all night.
He leaned in, his smirk way too mischievous, and the alcohol made it feel impossibly close. 
“Did you hear that?” he slurred, barely keeping the laughter out of his voice. “I think it’d be a shame if we ignore the DJ’s request don’t you?”
You rolled your eyes, trying to brush it off, but he just grinned wider, leaning in until his cheek was practically pressed against yours. 
“Hold still,” he whispered, a laugh lurking in his voice.
Then, in a move so outrageous you could barely comprehend it, he dragged his tongue slowly from your chin up to your forehead.
“Bucky!” you shrieked, stumbling back and half falling over yourself, laughter bubbling out of you as you clutched your face in shock. “Oh my god, you did not just—”
He stepped back, looking beyond pleased with himself, the grin on his face pure, unfiltered pride. 
“What? I’m just being… obedient,” he slurred, raising his hands in mock innocence.
“You are the worst!” you squealed, laughing so hard you could barely keep it together, grabbing his arm as you steadied yourself, still half in disbelief. He just chuckled, clearly reveling in your reaction as he pulled you right back into the rhythm, your laughter mixing with the cheers around you as the dance floor pulsed with music.
They cranked up the music, and suddenly, the beat was all around you, pulsing through the crowd, as if daring everyone to let loose. The energy was infectious, and you found yourself moving in sync with him, laughing as you danced together, every touch and sway between you crackling with a chemistry that had been simmering all night.
Without thinking, you stepped closer, your hands drifting to his chest, letting your fingers splay against the warm, solid muscle. Your movements grew slower, more deliberate, and his hands instinctively found your waist, pulling you against him until there was barely any space left between you. His gaze dropped, glued on your lips, and you felt a shiver run through you, your breath hitching as he leaned in, his face just inches from yours. His nose brushed yours, and you looked up to meet his gaze, seeing the same surprised intensity reflected in his eyes.
Bucky held your gaze, his breath mingling with yours, and you could feel the tension building, electric and undeniable. He was waiting—leaving the next move up to you. If you wanted him, you knew he’d let you take him.
🎶Just let me know, can you be the one to hold and not let me go?🎶
Heart pounding, you somehow managed to press yourself even closer, feeling the swell of your chest against him, igniting a flush across his cheeks. But it wasn’t embarrassment you saw in his eyes—it was heat, a look that sent a thrill down your spine. His hand shifted, his fingers tracing along the curve of your hip, and you could feel the strength of his grip as he held you.
🎶I need to know, could you be the one to call when I lose control?🎶
The tension was unbearable, and as you tilted your face up, your lips brushed his in the softest, most hesitant caress—a question, an invitation. His resolve crumbled instantly. His hand slid to your waist, gripping the flesh there as his other hand threaded into your hair, guiding your head back so he could kiss you deeper, tasting you with an intensity that left you breathless. You let out a startled, breathless sound, and he responded by pulling you closer, cradling your face as if you were something precious, something he couldn’t bear to let go of.
Your lips parted for him, and he kissed you with a hunger that had been building for some time. His tongue traced yours, swallowing your quiet moans, anchoring you to him as his hand kept you steady. It wasn’t forceful, just… tender, like he was holding something priceless.
Your breaths came heavy, your cheeks flushed, but you barely noticed; all you could feel was him, his touch, his heartbeat pounding against yours, and the fire in his veins matching your own. In that moment, propriety, the crowd around you, everything else faded into oblivion. If he wanted you to take him right there, you couldn’t even think of saying no.
Every nerve in your body was alive, tingling with an incredible sense of lust and need as his arms held you close. His lips pressed harder, deepening the kiss, his passion and intensity only spurring you to match it. You melted against him, completely consumed by the heat and need between you, and for those moments, it was as if nothing else existed. Oxygen became secondary; the only thing that mattered was the connection between you, growing more fervent with each second.
Finally, when the need for air became overwhelming, you both broke apart, gasping, your faces inches from each other, breaths mingling as you took each other in. His lips tingled, mirroring your own, and every beat of your heart seemed to urge you back into his embrace.
“Let’s get out of here… yours or mine?” Bucky stammered between breaths, his voice husky, his eyes still filled with fire. His body radiated heat, and he looked like he’d dive into the pool at any second just to cool down.
“Mine,” you whispered, your voice breathless, cheeks flushed, a shy smile tugging at your lips as you held his gaze.
× × × × 
You both barely made it down the hallway before the urgency hit, the tension that had been building all night finally snapping. Bucky’s hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, pulling you against him as you fumbled for your keys, the both of you practically tripping over each other in your haste. As soon as you managed to unlock the door, you pushed it open, stumbling inside, his mouth crashing into yours before it even closed behind you.
Wetness pooled inside you, the need for him overwhelming as you pressed back against the door, his body meeting yours in a frenzy of heat and desperation. His stubble scraped against your skin, rough and deliciously manly, a reminder that he was all raw power and intensity. You loved it, the way it scratched against your cheek, adding to the thrill and making your skin tingle wherever he touched.
His lips found the side of your neck, warm and insistent as he kissed his way down, nipping softly, each touch leaving you breathless. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, exposing the full length of your neck to his hungry mouth. His hands slid up your sides, his fingers pressing in firmly, possessively, as his teeth grazed your skin, sending a jolt of electricity through you.
“God,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
You could only gasp, clutching onto him as his mouth moved up to your jaw, his hands never stilling, gripping you as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Bucky reached a hand up and placed it on your left breast, over the bikini top, and then brought his hand up to the back of your neck to pull you in closer to him. You undid the straps of your top, and down fell the top, exposing your naked breasts to him.
Holy shit—this can’t be real. Am I hallucinating? Is this actually happening? Wait—oh god, is he about to put my boobs in his mouth?!
Like a hungry child desperate for milk Bucky suckled on your nipple, squeezing the bottom of your breast passionately with one hand, and holding the other breast in his other hand. You looked down at him, licking, sucking, rubbing, and he looked as though he was transported to paradise.
He worked himself into a frenzy playing with your breast, until he wanted more. He lifted you up under your thighs, off the floor, and pressed your back against the wall.
Oh shit!
He kissed you again, his hand sliding down to press against you over your bikini bottom. With a quick, desperate motion, he tugged the fabric to the side, his fingers brushing bare skin, making your breath hitch.
As his hand cupped you, he began to move slowly, his fingers exploring, teasing. “Damn,” he murmured, his voice thick with surprise and satisfaction. “You’re so wet. Is this what happens every time you watch my videos?”
“M-maybe…” you stammered, cheeks heating, barely able to meet his eyes as a grin spread across his face.
His fingers slid inside you, moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm, each motion sending sparks through your entire body. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he asked, “How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?”
You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan as he continued, each movement intensifying the heat pooling inside you. 
“Mmmh—why would I tell you that?” you managed, trying to sound teasing but barely able to keep your voice steady.
His grin widened, a mischievous glint in his eyes as his fingers pressed deeper, his thumb brushing against you just right. “Because I want to hear every filthy detail.”
He kissed your other nipple, the one he missed when before. Bucky always gave equal time to the breasts. Suckling on one nipple, fingering you harder and harder, you were getting more and more excited for the moment he would penetrate you.
“Oh my god—” You swallowed, feeling your face heat up and you could feel yourself slightly sobering up. With a nervous laugh, you finally gave in, your voice soft but steady.
“Fine… sometimes, late at night—ah—I’d imagine you between my legs, devouring me like your life depended on it,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks burn. “I’d—fuck—I’d think about your hands, the way they’d feel inside me, moving exactly like this…mmmh,” you gasped as his fingers pressed deeper, your own words sparking the desire between you. 
His fingers never stopped their steady, torturous rhythm, each movement deliberate, coaxing you toward the edge with a patience that was as maddening as it was intoxicating.
“And? That’s it?” he asked, his tone thick with amusement, daring you to reveal more. His thumb brushed against you in just the right way, as if encouraging you to keep talking, to give him every last detail he was craving.
“And—hah—I’d picture you… spitting in my mouth while you’re turning me on, you’d put your hand on my neck while I beg you to i dunno? reorganize my guts—because you’re so big Bucky. . . I don’t think you’ll fit inside me.”
“Oh the innocent looking ones are always the dirtiest.” Bucky’s smirk turned darker, his fingers pressing into you with a newfound intensity, his digits hooking and pressing into your most sensitive spot, causing your hips to jerk against his palm. 
“And was I just as good in your imagination as I am now?” he murmured, voice low and rough, sending shivers straight down your spine.
“Yes… yes…” The words left your lips almost involuntarily, your hands gripping his shoulders as your nails dug in, grounding yourself against the overwhelming sensation. Your face twisted with pleasure, each stroke of his digits making it harder to catch your breath. 
Bucky’s eyes darkened with a fierce satisfaction as he watched you, his smirk deepening. “Better than you imagined?”
"Mhhm," you tried to respond, but it came out more like a needy moan, your voice barely a whisper under the intensity of his touch.
Bucky's smirk grew at the sound, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he took in every reaction, every tremble. "That’s what I thought," he murmured, his voice dark and teasing.
Bucky carried you through the open door of your bedroom, his movements purposeful, every touch sending sparks across your skin. When he reached the edge of the bed, he lowered you onto the mattress, but before letting you go, he bent down to capture your lips in a kiss—a kiss that felt as intimate as it did electrifying.
You couldn’t help but notice the difference; this was something he never did in his videos. Bucky never kissed anyone on the lips on screen. But here, he kissed you slowly, deeply.
His hands moved to your shoulders, firm but gentle as he guided you back into the soft downy mattress. “There you go, baby,” he murmured, his voice warm and low. “Lean back.”
He knelt down at the side of the bed. He pulled off your panties, the final barrier to your sex. He pushed your legs apart and back, and gazed at your pussy, already wet for him.
He stared at your exposed pussy for ten seconds, admiring it like it was the greatest work of art he had ever seen.
"Your pussy," he said, his lips nearly brushing your sex. "It's beautiful.”
You lifted your  head up and looked at him. Your jaw was dropped and you were already starting to feel tingles up your body, even though he hadn't licked you yet. You heard his breathing get heavier and heavier, he was so excited to put his lips on your pussy.
Two large fingers of his left hand spread your lips. Two large fingers of his right hand rubbed your clit in strong circles. Each circle sends a shock wave through your body.
"You smell fantastic," he declared, and he dove his mouth right on top of your wet and stimulated clit. Up and down he licked. Up and down, his mouth clasped tight against your pussy.
"Oh," you moaned, as your eyes rolled up to the back of your head. Your arms—with a mind of their own—grabbed the back of your thighs and lifted them back, presenting yourself to this man who used to be on the screen and was now bringing you to ecstasy. He'd only just started to lick you, but even so you felt ready for him to enter you and never leave. 
As Bucky continued to eat you like you’re his last meal, each suction sending thrills through you, a sudden wave of doubt crashed over you, freezing you in place. Images flooded your mind—women he’d been with, all effortlessly beautiful, the kind who exuded confidence and allure. How could you compare? This had to be nothing more than another fleeting thing for him, a “friendship” that would end the moment the night was over.
You tensed, your hands moving to gently push him back. “Bucky… wait,” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.
He looked up from between your legs, his expression softening instantly as he met your gaze. 
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentle, concerned.
“I… I just…” You stammered, the words getting caught in your throat before you finally managed, “I don’t want to be… one of your girls.”
Bucky blinked, taken aback, his expression shifting as if the words had struck something unexpected, almost offended. 
“One of my girls?”
You nodded, biting your lip as you searched for the right way to explain. “I… I don’t do one-night stands,” you admitted, feeling vulnerable. 
Bucky nodded slowly, his tongue pressing into his cheek as he rose to his feet. "Mhm—no, I get it... it's because of my job," he said, his tone carrying a hint of defensiveness.
You sat up, noticing the shift in his demeanor. "Are you mad?" you asked softly, uncertainty creeping into your voice.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not mad," he replied, though his clenched jaw suggested otherwise. "I just didn't think you'd see me that way."
"See you what way?" you pressed gently.
He met your gaze, his eyes reflecting a mix of frustration and vulnerability. "Like I'm some guy who just goes around collecting flings," he explained. "I thought you knew me better than that."
You swallowed, choosing your words carefully. “It's not that I think poorly of you,” you said. “It's just... your work makes things complicated for me. I don't want to be another notch on anyone's belt.”
He took a deep breath, his expression softening. “I understand where you're coming from,” he admitted. “But believe me when I say that this—” he gestured between the two of you “—is different for me.”
“How do I know that?” you asked quietly.
He stepped closer, his eyes sincere. “Because I don't share moments like this with just anyone,” he said. “You think I go around kissing people like that? Off-camera, in my real life?”
Bucky’s expression shifted, his brows knitting together as he crossed his arms, clearly growing more frustrated. “I thought you knew the difference between who I am on-camera and who I am off it,” he replied, his tone clipped.
You sighed, trying to hold your ground. “Bucky, you’re the one who kept teasing me to watch your videos, practically encouraging me to make it my new hobby—how am I supposed to ignore what you do?”
He scoffed, running a hand through his hair in irritation. “Because those videos aren’t me,” he said, voice rising. “You’re acting like everything I do there is just some extension of my personal life, but it’s a job, Y/N. I don’t go around living like that off-set.”
You crossed your arms, not caring that the blanket had slipped off, leaving you bare before him. 
“And I’m supposed to just... pretend that all of it doesn’t mean anything?” you shot back, feeling a twinge of vulnerability but refusing to let it show. “You kept making those jokes, those comments—you have to see how confusing it is for me.”
He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing. “And you think I just do that with everyone? That every person who walks into my life gets these... moments with me?” His gaze softened slightly as he gestured between the two of you. “If that were the case, do you think I’d be here, right now, trying to convince you?”
You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat. His intensity was throwing you off balance, forcing you to question your assumptions. You’d expected him to brush this off or laugh, not take it to heart.
He shook his head, a frustrated laugh escaping him. “You don’t get it, do you?” He looked at you, his eyes full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t have to be here, fighting for this. I could have walked away and yet here I am.”
You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat as the weight of his words settled heavily between you. The intensity of his gaze, the raw honesty in his voice—it was all too much, too fast, and yet it tugged at something deep inside you, making it impossible to brush off. But your heart was pounding, confusion and vulnerability swirling together, and you weren’t ready to face everything his words were unearthing.
“I… I think we should call it a night,” you said quietly, barely able to meet his gaze, the words coming out softer than you intended.
For a moment, he looked at you, his expression unreadable, and you could see him processing your response. Then, with a quiet sigh, he nodded, stepping back to give you space.
“Alright,” he replied, his voice subdued. “If that’s what you want.”
The room felt suddenly colder, the tension between you now tinged with a quiet ache. You could tell he was holding back more that he wanted to say, but he respected your decision, his expression guarded as he looked away.
You bit your lip, your mind racing with things you couldn’t bring yourself to say, with emotions you weren’t quite ready to admit. 
“Thank you… for understanding,” you managed, feeling the weight of your choice settle over you.
He gave a small nod, his jaw tight, before he turned toward the door. 
“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said softly, pausing for a moment as if hoping you might change your mind, before finally leaving your apartment, the main door shutting made you flinch even though Bucky closed it softly.
The silence that followed felt heavier than you expected. The tension that had filled the room moments ago lingered, and a wave of frustration washed over you, mixing with regret and uncertainty. You took a shaky breath, running a hand through your hair before letting out a long, exhausted sigh.
Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest pillow, buried your face into it, and let out a muffled scream, releasing all the emotions you couldn’t quite put into words. The pillow absorbed the sound, but it did nothing to ease the twist of emotions churning inside you. Finally, you pulled the pillow away, feeling just as conflicted as before, wondering if you’d made the right choice… or a terrible mistake.
tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714
@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101
@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld
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sttoru · 3 months ago
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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: your boyfriend comes to pick you after a long day at uni. sensing your jealousy about the attention he’s getting from your classmates, he makes it up to you in his own way.
tags. olderbf!gojo x female reader. fluff, tiny bit of angst, suggestive [make out sesh]. age gap — reader above 20, gojo early 30’s. jealousy. reader gets called ‘princess, baby, beautiful.’ not proof read !
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satoru’s arrival, as per usual, serves as pure entertainment for many students. it’s not often that they get to see such a tall and handsome man around campus after all.
you patiently stand there, waiting for that said man to come and get you. the increase in giggles and whispers around you can only mean one thing: he’s nearby.
your boyfriend’s car comes to a stop in the distance. satoru steps out of the driver’s seat a second later, one of his hands running through his fluffy, snowy hair.
‘. . damn, he’s fucking hot,’ ‘yep. heard he’s in a relationship though. sucks,’ ‘girl— do i look like i care? need him so baaaaddd.’
it’s infuriating to hear those words while you - his girlfriend - are standing close to them. you decide not to give those girls any attention nor do you try to speak up. it’s not worth the effort.
satoru closes the car door behind him, his hands in the pockets of his slacks while he strolls up to where you’re standing. it’s as if he’s walking down a runway - graceful, confident, every step executed with perfect balance.
he can hear the murmurs from the students around, but he simply does not care. his steady gaze has been fixed on you the moment he spotted your figure from across campus.
“cute,” satoru mutters under his breath with a small smile, blue eyes taking in the sight of you standing there against a wall. the way you’re fiddling with the strap of your bag while pretending not to have noticed him is quite endearing.
you look down at the ground until a pair of black oxfords come into view, stopping right in front of yours. you slowly tilt your head back until you’re face to face with the man himself.
“hey, beautiful,” satoru greets, his voice smooth and slightly deep, a faint smirk playing on his lips. his knuckles brush against your cheek whilst he admires your every feature, acting as if he hasn’t seen you in days.
you nod in response, whispering a small ‘hi’ before your eyes dart around campus again. your bottom lip pushes forward just a tiny bit to form a small pout.
. . and there it is; satoru knows that look in your eyes like the back of his hand. he’s seen that same pout before, along with the hint of jealousy lurking behind your gaze that you try so hard to hide.
he understands why you’re feeling that way.
the other girls on campus, the way they ogle him and whisper, it would make any woman insecure. but to him, there was no need for that. satoru is yours, and he’s made that known to every single soul around you a million times before.
perhaps they need to be reminded once more.
satoru wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close, his touch gentle and possessive. he can see how you’re trying to act normal, though he knows you way better than that.
the pad of his thumb rubs small circles into your hip as your lover leans in and speaks in a low yet intimate voice that only you get to hear, “oh? look at you, acting all tough with your little pout.”
“tell me. what’s up, princess?” satoru whispers, his breath warm against your ticklish skin. he lowers his head to your face and plants a small kiss on your nose, gaining a mix of delighted yet irritated whispers of the people around you.
“usually you jump right into my arms after seeing me— y’know, like a lil’ bunny,” the white-haired man starts sulking as well, pressing your body flush against his. “where’s my cute ‘n clingy babyyyy?”
satoru’s over-exaggerated whine makes your nose scrunch up, though you can’t deny the truth. he knows you better than you know yourself. he can see right through your attempt to disguise your jealousy, yet you’re still too stubborn to admit anything.
“whatever. come on,” you roll your eyes before grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. you want nothing more than to escape your surroundings. you’re getting tired of the continuous and unwanted attention satoru is getting.
it’s irksome. you know satoru doesn’t give them the attention they so desire - he never will - yet you still feel this pang in your chest whenever you see those girls shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.
satoru, being naturally observant, notices your sudden eagerness to leave campus. he can tell that your jealousy is growing worse because of the other students that keep on eyeing him. while he is used to the attention, he hates seeing it affect you.
the whispers and giggles from the other women are like white noise, insignificant background fodder that barely warranted his notice. you’re all he sees and listens to— no matter what.
your presence, your voice, your body, your soul. . . you’re the only one he cares about. he just wishes you’d realise that.
satoru wordlessly allows himself to be dragged off. his gaze is fixated on the back of your head, a mixture of amusement and worry glinting in those blue eyes of his. he can’t help but feel guilty. even if he didn’t really do anything wrong.
he wants to make it up to you, somehow.
once you reach the car, satoru gently shoos your hand away from the door handle the moment he catches you try to get in yourself. he reaches around you and pulls it open with a soft ‘click’.
satoru then surprises you by kissing your forehead— his free hand coming up to cup the back of your head. his fingers bury themselves in your hair. a subtle smirk tugs at his glossy lips as he senses the envious glares from the other, irrelevant onlookers.
that’s exactly what he’s trying to accomplish. to make it known to the world that he’s your man. he’ll gladly do it over and over again, until all of them finally take the hint.
“ladies first,” satoru gestures, his voice gentle and loving. he pulls back and smiles at you with his dimples showing. you’re slightly taken aback by the smooth gesture before thanking him in a small murmur.
“thank you.”
it’s silent for a good couple seconds after satoru gets into the driver’s seat. he settles his keys into the ignition switch, though doesn’t turn them. instead, he faces you with a small sigh.
your lover already recognises what’s up. you probably won’t talk to him until the jealousy subsides. but that isn’t how he wants to fix this situation— he wants you to communicate with him.
“hey,” satoru tries to get you to look at him. your body is slightly turned away, your eyes looking out of the car window. it’s painfully obvious that you’re upset with him, even when it isn’t specifically his fault.
“don’t hide from me, c’mon,” he chuckles and tries to make you feel better by bringing your hand up to his lips. satoru leaves small kisses on your palm, eyes peering over the rims of his sunglasses to gauge your reaction.
you still don’t turn to face him. you’re too caught up in your own feelings— too stubborn to talk about the jealousy and insecurities that are bugging you. you know it’s unfair to your partner, but you currently can’t fix your own emotions.
sensing your insistent reluctance to face him, satoru places his hand gently under your chin. his fingers curl around your jaw and gently guide your gaze to meet his. the sight of your downcast expression - plagued with insecurity - tugs on his heartstrings.
“oh, my sweet little baby,” the white-haired man sighs once more.
without another word, the gap between you quickly closes as satoru leans in, his lips meeting yours in a firm but soft kiss. a soft gasp escapes your lips at the suddenness of his kiss, but the tension in your shoulders slowly starts to dissappear as you melt into his embrace.
the touch of his calloused fingers on your jaw is a wordless command you cannot resist. the kiss is a silent form of reassurance, a way for him to remind you of his feelings for you.
his want and need for you.
satoru can nearly taste the jealousy etched into your initial resistance, which he seeks to silence with his touch. thus, he deepens the kiss with renewed vigor. his free hand cups the back of your head and gently tilts it upwards to gain a better angle.
“mh. sweet,” satoru’s tongue swipes over your bottom lip. he eagerly swallows the faint taste of candy that you had eaten earlier. his tongue delves into your mouth the moment your lips make way, memorising every part of it.
he doesn’t let go of you until you’re both breathless. the sorcerer pulls back, though keeps the distance between your lips at a minimum. his cheeks are painted a soft pink, eyes half lidded and lips even glossier with your saliva now coating them.
“haah— fuck,” satoru catches his breath while his free hand rubs up and down your waist. he resists the urge to pull you into his lap and ravage you right then and there. he’ll leave that for when you’re home.
his gaze is on your parted lips once more. he simply cannot hold himself back from leaning in. his body moves closer to yours, caging you in between him and the passenger seat.
“i’m all yours,” satoru murmurs against your soft lips. he cups your face as he places a quick peck on your mouth. “only yours,” another chaste kiss causes your smile to find its way back onto your face. “don’t you forget,” and a third kiss finally makes you giggle.
your lover hums in satisfaction. he nuzzles his nose against yours, grinning widely as he successfully managed to coax the jealousy away— to gain his beautiful, happy girlfriend back. “there she is,” satoru coos and squeezes your cheeks together.
you huff at the feeling of your lips forced into a deformed ‘o’ shape, yet the bright smile tugging at your lips doesn’t disappear. “sorry for acting so childish,” you apologise for your own behavior. if it wasn’t for satoru taking the initiative to make it up to you, you would have given him the silent treatment.
the white-haired man shakes his head. he ruffles your hair affectionately while his lips settle on your cheek. he tenderly nibbles on the plush flesh, “no need to apologise. ‘t was cute,” he replies in a muffled voice.
satoru pulls back and his thumb brushes over the subtle mark that his teeth left on your skin. “besides,” he pinches your cheek before cocking his head to the right. your eyes follow the direction he’s looking at— which is your car window.
“i think everyone finally realised that y’re the one ‘n only girl for me.”
your heart drops as you only then remember that satoru’s car windows aren’t tinted. that means that everyone on campus probably has seen the little make out session you had with your boyfriend just now.
your eyes quickly dart around the crowded area. the way your fellow students are glancing at you - some with envy and others with embarrassment - tells you more than enough. . .
you clear your throat and try to hide your face with the sleeves of your top. you don’t know how you’re going back to university after today without facing the humiliating consequences of your (satoru’s) actions.
your shameless boyfriend sits there and grins from ear to ear, proud of his accomplishment and oblivious to your embarrassed state until you speak up again;
“. . satoru, please drive away as fast as you can.”
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