#putting the soft in soft dom | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nephynes · 11 days ago

Text

To everyone else, you’re Jake’s girlfriend and picture of innocence—soft spoken, always with a smile, the type to bake cookies and kiss him goodbye on the cheek. His friends are sure he’s not getting what he needs, and they don’t hold back their advice for him to cheat, flirt, find someone who’ll actually put out. Jake doesn’t even bother correcting them, cause not only are they wrong, they’re wildly off the mark.

nsfw warnings: SMUT, toxic male friendship dynamics, back-talking, gaslighting, multiple rounds of sex, overstimulation, oral (m & f receiving), creampie, fingering, light breathplay, praise kink, mild degradation, anal play (established dynamic), light powerplay, hair pulling, dirty talk, cockwarming, light possessiveness, squirting, soft dom/sub elements, and begging. 7.9k

Jake Sim is...hard to explain.

If you ask around, you'll hear a thousand different versions. Jake Sim is hot. Jake Sim is an asshole. Jake Sim is the sweetest guy you'll ever meet. Jake Sim is the guy who'll flirt with you all night, fuck you into the mattress, and then forget your name before the sun even rises. Jake Sim is a player, a charmer, he's the guy everyone warns everyone about always a little too late.

And to be honest? they're not exactly wrong. Jake is the kind of guy who makes a mess just to see if someone else will clean it up. The kind who smiles like he knows all the answers to everything and doesn't care to share them. Jake's never had to try hard for anything—not attention, not girls, not the kind of casual popularity that clings to people like him for no reason other than sheer gravity.

He floats through life on charm and instinct, making trouble look too effortless.

Well, not until you.

You never belonged in Jake's world, like not even a little bit. You didn't chase parties or post thirst traps. You weren't loud, or flashy, or easy to figure out. But you were soft spoken and self contained, always in those oversized knit sweaters and delicate little necklaces. You said "pardon?" instead of "what," and you never once looked at Jake like you wanted anything from him. In fact you never looked at him at all.

Maybe that's why he couldn't stop staring, because you didn't orbit around him like everyone else did. You truly just existed in your own world and you didn't give a toss that he was attractive in the way that made people act stupid. You were genuinely kind, irritatingly kind Jake would say, and it made him feel like a walking glitch in your perfect little universe.

He was the kind to ghost girls. You were the kind to remember everyone's birthdays. He blew off midterms sometimes. You sent people your notes when you noticed they weren't in class.

You weren't his type in any sense and he sure as hell wasn't yours. But that didn't stop him from going after you anyway.

It didn't stop the way he'd linger outside the library when he knew you were in there, with his eyes low and his fingers twitching. It didn't stop him from getting your number from someone he'd never even spoken to in his life but he saw them speak to you once and that was enough for him. It didn't stop whatever this became—this quietly consuming, slow burn kind of obsession that made Jake Sim, the most unserious, nonchalant boy in the world, go dead serious when it came to you.

So dead serious that he made you his girlfriend quicker than you could think to even consider saying no, and goddamn if you didn't love him and the intensity of it all too.

The promise ring he asked you to be his girlfriend with was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. You remember how red in the face he was, a little awkward too, holding out a tiny velvet box.

You'd slipped it on without hesitation, and now it lives on your finger, always warm from your skin and twirled endlessly whenever you're anxious or shy or thinking a little too hard. Jake watches you do it sometimes when you're talking to him, or even when you're not. It makes his chest tight in the best way possible.

You're still not officially living with him. But your things are everywhere, all over his apartment. Your makeup clutters the edge of his bathroom sin, your slippers sit beside his sneakers at the front door, your clothes even hang in his closet, slowly but surely taking over, and your lacey panties end up in his laundry pile more often than not—a discovery Jake reacts to every time like it's Christmas morning.

He swears he loves it, all of it, all of you.

He loves the way you hum to yourself when you cook, loves how you taste everything off the spoon and make him do the same thing. He loves waking up to the smell of something sweet in the oven, loves hearing you sing along to songs you think he can't hear from the other room. He loves the softness you bring into his space, it’s like his whole apartment exhales when you're in it.

And right now, he's trying not to smile like an idiot as you leave the tray of cookies fresh from the oven on the coffee table for him and his friends, they’re still warm and rich with the scent of vanilla and browned butter. The boys dive in immediately, tearing into them like they've been starving all day.

"Dude," Sunghoon mumbles with his mouth full. "What does she put in these?"

"Crack," Heeseung says, reaching for another. "Crack cocaine, I’m so damn sure."

Jake just smirks, watching you tidy up in the kitchen with your hair pulled back, phone in hand before heading toward the living room again, eyes already on him.

"I'm heading to the mall with my friends," you tell him sweetly, swinging your purse over your shoulder and leaning down to kiss one cheek, then the other. "Don't eat all the cookies before I get back." You tell them even though you know it’ll all be gone by the time you’re back.

Jake smiles up at you. "No promises."

You glance at the guys. "Enjoy, boys."

"Thanks, sweetheart," Sunghoon replies automatically, and Heeseung raises his cookie in salute.

The door to the apartment shuts behind you and the silence gets loaded.

Jake barely has time to reach for another cookie before Heeseung squints at him over the edge of his glass and says, "Okay but like...how often do you jerk off?"

Jake blinks. "What?"

"You know," Heeseung gestures vaguely. "When she's not around. Or even when she is. Like, how bad's the drought?"

Jake frowns. "What are you even—"

"Come on dude. She bakes, she cleans, she kisses your cheeks like a fucking disney character," Sunghoon says, shaking his head like he's genuinely concerned. "And she's got you wearing a promise ring, bro. Be serious."

Jake raises an eyebrow.

"She's your girlfriend, not your chastity coach," Heeseung adds, mouth full. "It's okay to like her, man. Be whipped or whatever, but every guy's got needs." He does air quotes with his fingers at whipped.

"Exactly," Sunghoon nods. "You're telling us you haven't cracked once? Eight months and she's still playing house instead of playing with your dick?"

Jake laughs.

It's low and easy as he tosses a cookie up in air, catching it in his mouth like he doesn't have a care in the world. "You guys don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Oh, come on—"

He doesn't let them finish.

Just shrugs, wipes a crumb off his jeans, and leans back against the couch cushions with that same frustratingly calm grin. Not confirming anything or denying either and definitely not offering a damn thing more.

And maybe that's what gets them most. Sunghoon is about to continue with his drilling but the apartment door bangs open and Jay barrels in like he was trying to break the door open.

"I had to park three fucking blocks away—why are there so many delivery trucks on your str—" He stops question when he spots the half empty cookie tray and Jake's face. "Ah. What’s going on?"

Heeseung and Sunghoon exchange a look that says perfect timing.

Sunghoon jerks a thumb toward Jake. "We're staging an intervention. Lover boy here claims he hasn't touched himself for eight months because little miss betty boop apparently doesn't—"

"Dude," Jake warns, voice flat.

Heeseung dives in anyway. "We're just saying every guy's got needs, and she's not exactly—" he twirls a hand, searching for a polite word and failing—"open access."

Jay slumps into the couch slowly, suddenly wary. "Okay, first? Why is this our business? Second, she literally did my laundry when I was half dead with the flu last month. She's an angel—"

"Exactly," Sunghoon interrupts, irritated that Jay isn't backing him. "She's too angelic. Jake's basically wasting away. I know a girl who wouldn't care that you’re taken—she'll rock your fucking world, no strings."

Jay's eyebrows shoot up. "Bro, are you actually telling him to cheat? That's fucked up."

Heeseung waves him off. "Look, pastor Jay, spare us the sermon. We’re being practical."

Jay crosses his arms. "Practical? Or fucking sleazy?"

Sunghoon's jaw tics. "Fine, keep your halo. I'm trying to help our boy here."

"Help?" Jay snorts. "You're insinuating his girlfriend's a prude and pushing him toward some side piece because you can't fathom a relationship that isn't twenty-four/seven fucking."

Heeseung lets out a low laugh. "Prude? She's sweet, yeah—but let's be real, she's a little stuck-up. Bet she makes him say please and thank you before he even—"

"Enough."

His voice isn't loud, but it's close to lethal and it make the room still. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locked on Heeseung. "Don't talk about my girlfriend like that."

The silence is as thick as caramel.

Heeseung opens his mouth, thinks better of it and just shrugs instead. Sunghoon raises both hands in a mock surrender. "All right, all right. We're just looking out for you, man."

Jake sits back, expression unmoving except for the tight belt of muscle along his jaw. "Appreciate the concern but drop it."

Jay exhales, tension easing from his shoulders as he snags a cookie. "Cool. Crisis averted. Let's talk about literally anything else—basketball, stocks, the weather—"

But the mood has unfortunately shifted too far. Under the warm scent of sugar and butter, something colder threads the air, like a line drawn or a warning given.

Jake breaks off a crumb, flicks it onto the tray, and doesn't say another word.

The hangout's pretty much dead, even though they try to shift the conversation, try to joke but nothing lands. Not with Jake sitting there, stiff as a statue, jaw tight, barely looking up. Heeseung's chewing slower, the cookies don't taste as good anymore, and Sunghoon keeps checking his phone like there's somewhere else he needs to be.

Because there is.

Anywhere but here that’s for sure.

Jake's not even yelling, but does he have to? The way he's gone quiet should be enough. He's not laughing at their dumb jokes, not biting back with sarcasm like usual. He’s just sitting there on his own couch like he doesn't even recognize it.

Jay finally clears his throat. "Uh...I should probably get going. Early shift tomorrow."

Heeseung stands. "Yeah. Same." He doesn’t even have a job.

Sunghoon mumbles something about traffic, already halfway to the door. No one says it, but they all feel it, feel the vibe shot and Jake's silence holding the smoking gun.

Jay lingers a little longer near the door. He glances back, eyes softer than before. "Hey...sorry, man. I’m sure they didn't mean for it to go there."

Jake doesn't look at him. Just rubs the heel of his palm into one eye. "Yeah. Whatever."

Jay nods once and doesn't push. The door clicks shut behind them, and Jake's left alone in the quiet. He slumps back on the couch, eyes drifting to the half empty cookie tray on the coffee table.

You made those for them.

And they still had the audacity to talk about you like that. To reduce you to some outdated stereotype of some sweet, doting, sexless girlfriend he must clearly be suffering through.

The door creaks open a moment later, and you waltz bouncing with happiness, arms overflowing with shopping bags. You toe off your shoes at the door, grin still plastered on your face as you make your way inside, the scent of your perfume trailing behind you like sunshine.

"Babyyy," you call out cheerfully. "You will not believe the sale I hit today."

You find him on the couch, slouched deep into the cushions, hoodie up, face shadowed by the TV glow and a silence that immediately makes you feel like something is wrong.

Your grin falters. "Jake?"

He turns his head toward you, offers a weak smile that’s just a twitch of his lips, not the real one that crinkles his eyes and melts your stomach.

You pause at the edge of the couch, looking at him, then the table, at the cookie tray that’s half full. There’s not a crumb in sight on the cushions or floor, which is odd because the boys always devour them like wolves.

Your heart sinks a little.

Something is wrong.

Without a word, you gently set your shopping bags down and crawl into his lap, settling your weight carefully over him, but his hands stay limp at his sides. He doesn't even tuck them around your waist like he always does. Doesn't nose into your neck or murmur a "missed you."

You touch his face, frown deepening. "Jakey..." you whisper, brushing his hair off his forehead. "Talk to me. What happened? You were fine when I left."

He shrugs once and his eyes stay distant, so you lean in and kiss his cheek, then the other, then his forehead, then the corner of his mouth but still nothing.

You press a soft slow kiss to his lips and his eyes flutter shut for a second.

He finally breathes out a sigh at that, like you've loosened something that was wrapped too tight in his chest.

"Just..." he mumbles, pulling you in by the waist now, finally holding you, finally here with you. "Some stupid shit with the boys."

You lean your forehead against his. "Hmm…what kind of stupid?"

He shakes his head, exhaling through his nose, jaw still ticking. "Doesn't matter."

"It matters if it makes this face," you say, gently pinching his pout. "Talk to me, baby."

He sighs again, but this time it's softer and a little less bitter. For a second, he just holds you, arms snug around your waist, your fingers in his hair, the scent of fresh cookies and the ghost of something ugly lingering in the air between you.

But at least you're here now and he’s already starting to feel better.

"They were just..." He swallows, jaw clenched. "Saying shit. About you. About us."

You pull back just a little, just enough to look into his eyes, head tilting softly. "Like what?"

He doesn't answer at first, he just presses his lips together like the words taste unpleasant on his tongue.

"That you're too sweet," he says finally. "Too innocent. That I must be struggling. That I'm not getting...what I need." He can't even say the rest while looking at you so his gaze drops to your collarbone. "Sunghoon even suggested that I should cheat. That he knew some girl who wouldn't care if I had a girlfriend."

“Jay was different though, he wasn’t having any of it.”

Your breath stutters just a little, but it’s enough that he notices and enough that it makes his stomach drop.

There it is—your face crumpling, it’s not dramatic, it’s like your heart folded in on itself for a second, and you're working quickly to iron it flat again.

Jake hates himself for putting that look there.

But then—God, your smile. It comes immediately after and it’s soft and unshaken.

"That's really shitty," you say, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. "But it doesn't matter what they think."

Jake's eyes flick up, searching yours for any signs of insincerity.

"You know that's not true," you continue. "Right?"

He nods, slowly. "Of course I do."

"Then that's all that matters," you whisper. You lean in and kiss his forehead again, warm and reassuring. "Maybe you just need to reevaluate your little bro club. Pick the ones who don't suggest cheating on your girlfriend over cookies she baked for them."

Jake exhales a breath of a laugh, tension starting to ease from his shoulders.

You smile again, a little sly this time. "Honestly, I always liked Jay more than the rest, anyway."

Jake huffs through his nose. "Yeah?"

You nod. "He defended my honor. What a man."

Jake finally smiles, real and wide and completely helpless. "I love you."

"I know, baby. I love you too." You kiss the corner of his mouth. "Now help me carry in all my bags. I got new panties." You say and push off him and that shuts him up fast, he’s already standing and following you into the bedroom like a possessed man, with eyes that gleam and hands that twitch, absolutely thrilled to see what you spent his money on.

You're already pulling out bags, giggling as you place each one on the bed like a dramatic little fashion show.

"Okay, ready?" you ask, grinning as you kneel on the mattress, surrounded by tissue paper, paper bags and receipts.

He flops down beside you, eyes wide, nodding like this is the first time you’ve done this, it’s not.

You hold up a dainty little silk top. "Cute, right?"

"That’s so hot, princess."

Followed by a miniskirt. "Too short?"

"No such thing."

He leans back on the bed, hands behind his head, watching you with an easy smile as you sift through your shopping bags, showing him more of what you got. He doesn't even bother hiding how proud he is watching you flaunt everything you bought.

You hold up a cute little white dress next. "This one was kinda expensive..."

Jake hums, eyes raking over you. "Worth every cent if you're wearing it."

You snort, but you're smiling as you slip it over your head. You smooth the fabric down and twirl once. "Do I look like someone's sugar baby?"

"You are someone's sugar baby," Jake grins, "you just cook too well for it to be obvious."

You giggle, tugging the hem down before sighing. "Okay, I'm not about to stain this with lipstick or lotion—hold on."

You casually peel the dress back off and toss it onto a nearby chair, standing fully naked in front of him without a second thought.

He lets his gaze drag slowly down your body, the same way it always does when you’re naked in his presence, so lazy but heated and familiar. Like he knows every inch of you by heart and never gets tired of seeing it.

"C'mere," he says, voice so deep, you already know what’s on his mind and you barely take a step before he's already got his hands on your waist, pulling you into his lap so he can have you straddling him, arms wrapping around his neck, and he just leans in, pressing his face into your skin, right at the curve of your neck.

"You always smell so fucking good," he tells you, lips brushing your collarbone. "And you're warm."

"I'm always warm," you murmur, threading your fingers through his hair.

He grins into your skin. "Yeah. Especially when you're on top of me like this, titties in my face and everything."

His lips trail along your collarbone, soft and slow, and his hands stay steady at your waist, thumbs pressing into the dip of your back, holding you in place

You sigh when he kisses your neck, just below your ear, and he feels the way your body softens in his lap, you're melting just for him.

He nips your jaw, then lower, moving his mouth down your throat, so warm and unhurried, open mouthed kisses skating down your chest until he reaches one of your breasts, wrapping his lips around it with a low groan like he's finally getting something he's been craving all day.

You arch into him instinctively, fingers curling in his hair as his tongue swirls around your nipple—lazy at first, then firmer and hungrier.

"Jake," you whisper, breath catching a little.

He hums against you, sucking slow and deep, one hand sliding up to cup the other side, thumb circling with the same rhythm his mouth sets.

Your hips shift without meaning to grind down unto him, and he catches that too, cock already hard beneath you.

"I’m so fucking in love with you," he mumbles into your skin, kissing across your chest to the other side.

His mouth stays wrapped tightly around your nipple, sucking on it so hard you moan a little, then he continues trailing wet kisses over your chest, his lips drag down your sternum before slipping one of his hands between your thighs. He's lazy about it at first, tracing idle circles against the inside of your thigh, like he's in no rush, or like he doesn't already feel how warm and wet you are sitting right on top of him.

You shift your hips, needing more, trying to grind down on him, but Jake just smiles against your skin. "Getting needy already, baby?" he murmurs, moving your panties to the side with two fingers, knuckles brushing deliberately light against your folds, teasing. "You're already wet," he mutters, almost to himself. His thumb grazes just barely over your clit, featherlight. "You know what that does to me?"

You whine and he grins like he's won something. But then his grin falters when you grab his wrist and hold it still.

Your voice is soft. "Jake."

He glances up at you.

"Stop teasing."

Before he can say anything back, you push firmly at his chest with both hands and he lets you. Lets himself fall back onto the mattress with a small gasp of surprise that turns into a breathless laugh.

"Shit," he laughs under his breath, one arm behind his head now, the other resting on your thigh. "You don't even let me pretend I'm in control anymore, huh?"

You raise a brow as you settle over him properly, your hands moving down his torso, nails dragging just enough to make him tense.

He bites his lip, eyes flicking between yours and your mouth, already drunk on the way you’re naked above him and so sure of what you want.

Jake's always had game. He's had his fun, knew what it meant to chase and win. But with you? With you, it's never been a game.

Your palm works him over his cock through his sweats, slow and deliberate, your thumb catching the outline of him through the fabric just right, and Jake's head tips back into the pillow with a strangled sound, breath hitching like he absolutely cannot help it.

"F–fuck," he whimpers, hips twitching up into your hand. "I love you. I'm so in love with you."

You lean down, nuzzling your nose against his cheek, voice soft and syrupy as you coo, "Yeah? You love me, Jakey?"

He nods fast, his chest rising and falling hard beneath you, completely gone for you already, and you hum sweetly like you're proud of him, almost like you're indulging a boy who's trying so hard to be good.

You tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, just enough to free his cock, and he lifts his hips obediently, still panting.

And when you finally pull him out, your eyes widen.

"Oh my god," you gasp, like you haven't seen him a hundred times before.

Jake lets out a breathless laugh, flushed and glowing with affection. "You do that every time," he grins.

You wrap your hand around him, giving one firm, languid stroke, eyes still fixed in reverence. "It shocks me every time."

Jake groans, both hands flying up to grip your hips now cause he needs to hold on to something, as if the worship in your voice is just as dangerous as your touch.

"Baby," he breathes, already dizzy, "please..."

His hands tighten on your hips. "My heart," he says, breathless but steady, "can you sit on it for me?"

Your brows lift in teasing surprise. "You asking nicely now?"

He leans up, kisses the swell of your breast before dragging his mouth to your neck. "Please," he murmurs against your skin.

You giggle, glancing down between your bodies where he's hard and leaking pre cum against your stomach. You drag your fingers over his tip and grin when he twitches. "Jakey, I don't know...it's so big. Not sure I can take it."

He lets out a full bodied groan and his hands shoot up to cover his face like your words physically broke something in him. "Fuck—don't say that."

You laugh, warm and wicked, and reach down to line him up with your pussy.

He peeks through his fingers at you, eyes dark and glassy. "You know what that does to me."

You lean in, kiss his jaw and whisper, "I do, baby." Slowly sinking yourself down on his cock, and Jake's mouth falls open around a gasp so needy it makes your stomach flip.

All his confidence and playboy charm melts into raw want for you. And you know he wouldn't trade it for anything else in the world, so when you settle fully on him with you clit nearly brushing his pubic bone, you gasp at the stretch like it's brand new, even though he's been inside you more times than you can count.

Jake watches with blown pupils, biting down on a groan as your walls flutter around him. You're breathless, clutching his shoulders, eyes glazed and already starting to tremble from how deep in your cunt he hits.

But it's still you who says it first, voice all sweet, whiny, and almost demanding. "Please fuck me, Jakey."

That’s truly all he needs and he doesn’t even hesitate, his hands lock under your thighs and he drives his cock up into you, fucking you from below with a pace so sharp it knocks the air from your lungs. The slap of skin on skin fills the room instantly, his hips pistoning up into yours like he's making up for every second he ever spent apart from you.

You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders, clinging to him as your head tips back. “Oh!—Just like that, baby!”

"You take me so well," he pants, staring up at you with so much love and adoration. "Always do. So fucking good for me."

You can't even answer cause with every snap of his hips, your body jerking helplessly every time he hits that spot inside you just right and you're jus too far gone, moaning as your thighs start to tremble,

Your moans get higher, needier, and Jake just holds you tighter, fucking you harder like he knows you're getting close. “Ah—Shit! I love this pussy—I love you.”

And the you whimper his name in that high pitched tone, he already knows what’s coming.

"Jake...Jake, please..." He groans, lifting his whole body and head to kiss you through it, breath hot and desperate against your mouth.

His hand slips between your bodies without thinking too much, fingers finding that sensitive little clit and the moment he starts rubbing tight, practiced circles into it, your whole body jolts, your hips stutter as well as your breath.

"Jake—" you cry out, the sound thin and wrecked as your orgasm nears.

"I've got you," he says, voice husky and strained as he keeps thrusting up into you. "Come on, baby. Cum for me."

Your eyes roll back, mouth falling open as your walls clamp down hard around his cock. You never had a shot, not with his cock so deep and thick inside you, not with his fingers rubbing so deliciously at your clit.

Your orgasm slams into you with a force that makes your back arch and your nails dig into his shoulders, shaking as pleasure floods your veins. “Oh my—F-Fuck! Jake! I’m cumming! I’m cumming for you!”

You're moaning his name like it's the only word you know, clenching around him so tight he practically growls.

"Fuck—you're so tight—" Jake's hands grip your hips, fingers digging in. "Gonna cum, baby—gonna fill you up—"

He snaps his hips up one, two, three more times before burying himself deep with a sharp gasp, thick ropes of cum spilling inside you as he lets out a low, trembling groan against your shoulder. “Just like that, take it baby.”

His whole body tenses, as he continues to fuck his cum deeper into your pussy, before melting beneath you and wrapping his arms around your waist cause he needs to come back to earth.

You sit there on his cock, fucked out with your body is still twitching from aftershocks, then he sits up presses a soft kiss to your collarbone and speaks, almost dazed, "I love you. You know that right?."

Your chest heaves just like his as you try to catch your breath as well, your skin is dewy and flushed, thighs still trembling slightly where they cradle his hips. Jake lies beneath you, hair stuck to his forehead and completely ruined and glowing in the aftermath.

His cock stays buried inside you, still thick but it’s starting soften and warm from his and your cum.

Jake's eyes are barely open when you start to move again, just with slow and lazy rolls of your hips, like you're testing him, like you already miss the stretch. His eyes snap up to meet yours, wide and glassy.

"Baby..." he rasps, voice rough with the tail end of his orgasm. "Again?"

You nod, bottom lip between your teeth, hands planted firmly on his chest as you grind your hips just right. He twitches inside you, not fully hard yet again, but your walls squeeze around him like you're coaxing him back to life.

"Need you hard again, baby." You whisper, a little whine slipping into your voice. "Want more."

Jake actually groans but his hands flying to your waist regardless, it’s not to stop you, it’s to anchor himself.

"You're insatiable," he mutters, head dropping back on the pillow. "You know that?"

You giggle breathlessly, grinding down again. "But you like it, don’t you?"

He laughs, weak but wrecked, already feeling himself swell inside you again. "Fuck, of course I do, you know I do."

He’s already giving in, letting you use him, letting you move how you want, letting you chase what you need. Because you always take what you want from him and Jake fucking lives for it.

His finger squeeze your waist as your hips keep rocking against him, slow but hungry and so greedy, so fucking sweet about it, whining for more when he's still soft and sensitive. It has his head spinning.

"God, you're gonna kill me," he groans, voice low and shaky.

But you just smile down at him, hips grinding insistently, eyes all sparkly with mischief and need.

That's what does it.

He sits up with a sudden growl and grabs your thighs, flipping you onto your back in one smooth quick motion that makes you squeal and giggle. Before you can protest, he's sliding your leg up, hooking it over his shoulder and settling between your thighs again, his cock already twitching back to life as it presses against your slick pussy.

"Since you don't know when to stop..." he mutters, leaning over you, forehead pressed to yours, breath hot against your lips, "guess I'll have to fuck it out of you."

You gasp, fingers digging into his arms as he ruts forward slowly, stretching you out and you're still so wet and swollen around him from your first orgasm that he slips right back in. A shaky moan tumbles from your lips as he bottoms out, and Jake watches your face melt with satisfaction.

"There she is," he breathes, cupping your jaw. "Always so ready for me."

You try to sass him, you open your mouth with something smug, but then he draws his hips back and slams back in deep, and all you can do is cry out and clutch at his arms. “Jake! Fuck!”

He grins. "Yeah? You like that, baby?"

With your leg slung over his shoulder, every thrust drives his cock in at a perfect, punishing angle, he’s so deep it punches the air from your lungs, makes your head tilt back and your fingers claw down his back.

"Yes Jake—"

He groans low at the sound of his name from your lips, fucking in harder and rougher now, one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressing down beside your head.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, voice wrecked and breathless. "You feel so good—so tight, still?"

You're barely holding on, moaning so high and needy with your eyes fluttering. "Because I want you all the time," you whisper, drunk on the stretch and the rhythm of him. "Wanna fuck all the time."

Jake curses, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. "That's fucking insane," he gasps, his hips jerking for a moment. "You're—Fuck."

You hold him tighter, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as your leg slips from his grip, both feet now planted flat so you can rock up to meet every thrust. Your mouths meet in a messy kiss, full of panting breaths and whispered "I love you"s between the moans as he fucks you into the sheets.

You gasp, "Oh baby, please don't stop," he just nods frantically, already lost in you all over again.

His thrusts slow as he feels your body start to tighten again, that telltale tremble of both your orgasms building. You're gasping his name, legs shaking on either side of his hips, hands gripping at his arms so hard he’s sure you’re gonna leave marks.

"That's it, baby," he pants, breath hot against your cheek as he presses his forehead to yours. "You gonna cum for me again? I can feel it—fuck, you're squeezing me so tight—"

Your nails dig into his shoulders and your voice breaks. "Jake—Jake—I'm—"

He doesn't let up his thrust, he continues to fuck his cock into your cunt deeper and faster. "Make you cum for me. Let me feel it."

Your back arches, mouth falling open in a soundless cry, and then it hits again and your whole body jolts as you gush your release around him, warmth flooding between your legs. Jake groans, deep and raw, watching you as it happens.

"Holy shit, baby—look at you," he breathes, eyes glued to where your bodies meet. His fingers slip down instinctively, sliding through the mess of cum and squirt and pushing two inside you with ease, curling them so deep, you jerk under him, overstimulated, crying out, but he's grinning like he's the one being worshipped.

"Yeah baby," he rasps, fucking his fingers into your cunt so fast and deep, he's coaxing out every last tremble, every aftershock. "You're so fucking perfect—fuck, I love when you do that."

You're whining, twitching beneath him, but not stopping him either and he knows you won't, especially when you don't even pause to catch your breath. You're already pushing up, hands slipping against his sweat-slick skin, eyes glassy and blown wide with lust.

"Baby—" he starts, but you're pushing him on his back again and wrapping your mouth around his cock in one desperate and hungry motion.

Jake chokes on a moan, his head falling back with a thud against the pillow. "F—fuck, baby..."

You're still shaking from your own orgasm, but your mouth sucks him so good with your lips stretched wide and your eyes fluttering shut as you take his cock deeper in your throat that tightens around him. He's still wet from you, slick and throbbing on your tongue, and the mix of it all makes your head spin.

"Jesus—shit," Jake growls, both hands fisting in your hair as he begins thrusting into your throat, fast and controlled, his hips twitching as he groans through his teeth.

"You're—fuck—you're gonna make me cum," he breathes, voice strained, eyes locked on the obscene sight of you between his legs with your cheeks hollowed, looking so fucking pretty even now.

You hum around him, fingers digging into his thighs for balance, tears prickling at your lashes as he hits the back of your throat again and again. He swears under his breath, tightening his grip in your hair, one hand cupping the back of your head as he starts to move a little rougher, chasing that high you're dragging out of him like it's yours.

"Fuck—just like that—don't stop—don't—"

"Y/n—Baby." He groans, jerking into your mouth as he cums hard, hips stuttering, holding your head down on him while he spills down your throat.

His hands fall away, and you finally pull back, swallowing his cum with a soft gasp. Your lips are swollen and your cheeks are flushed but you're smiling up at him cause to you, you've done nothing out of the ordinary.

"Holy shit," he whispers, grinning up as you flop half on top of him and on the bed.

His skin is warm, still damp from sweat, and his voice is soft and sweet when he starts talking.

"We should go to the farmer's market tomorrow," he says through breaths, turning his face toward you with a sleepy smile. "Get that jelly you like. Maybe brunch after...or just come back and stay in bed all day."

You hum in agreement, eyes half-lidded as you turn to face him. "Mhm. That sounds perfect."

He's still talking, "We could also check out that new restaurant you wanted to try—" Then he feels your leg slides over his, bare skin gliding against his thigh as you spread yourself open beside him. His voice stutters, pauses, but he doesn't think much of it until your hand finds his.

Still speaking so sweetly, like he doesn't even notice what's happening, Jake continues, "And maybe get stuff for dinner too. We could try that new reci—"

You take his hand and slowly guide it down your stomach, between your thighs...but instead of stopping on your pussy like he expects, you slide his fingers just a little further back.

He stops talking and his brows knit. "Wait..." he breathes, lifting himself onto one elbow to look down at where you're gently positioning him, not quite shy, but quiet.

"Oh?" His voice lifts a little, soft and surprised, fingers frozen in place.

"Here?" he asks, tilting his head, eyes searching your face.

You nod, biting your lip, pupils wide, cheeks heated, just the tiniest bit nervous but far more excited. Jake's heart patters at the sight.

He blinks, then lets out the softest, most reverent little, "Fuck," as his fingers twitch against your hole.

He goes still for a second before glancing down at you with a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jake huffs a soft laugh, rubbing his fingers gently where you've placed him. "You really want that again?"

Your lips part in a quiet sigh. "Mhm. Haven't stopped thinking about it."

He grunts in his throat, already adjusting his position to hover over you, his hand still between your thighs. "God, baby...you're unbelievable."

"Please," you whisper.

Jake leans down, kissing your neck with a grin. "Okay, baby."

Jake does exactly what you ask without question, without teasing this time, without dragging it out. Just the steady glide of his fingers, slick with you, working your hole open with practiced care. He knows what you like now. Knows how to curve them just right, how much pressure to apply, when to slow down and when to ruin you.

You're shaking under him, body arching, fists gripping at the sheets. Your eyes flutter back and your mouth falls open but no real words are coming out, just breathy, broken sounds that melt into helpless little moans.

"Fuck, princess," Jake breathes, watching your face like he's obsessed. "Look at you."

You're drooling and you don't even care. Your brain's gone soft and syrupy, babbling nonsense, hiccupping between whines. "So full...s'too good, Jake— I—"

"You can," he murmurs, curling his fingers deeper. "You asked for it, baby."

You whimper hard at that, thighs squeezing around his hand.

Jake leans down, kissing your jaw, your ear, whispering all the filth you crave like praise. "My pretty girl. So greedy for me, huh? Couldn't even wait. Got your fill twice and now you want more."

"Need it," you mewl, "need you— please, please—"

"You have me," he says, voice thick devout as he strokes his own cock back to life, and pushes it in your hole just enough to have you gasping again, moaning as your body clenches hard around his cock.

His thrusts start slow, so deep into you and deliberate, loving the way you squeeze around him and trying not to lose it too fast. Every push forward is a grind of his hips and a filthy exhale against your skin.

But then he hears that sweet little whine you make and he feels your fingers dig into his back, he loses all his patience.

"That's it, baby," His voice is shaking. "Doing so good."

Then his pace starts to speed up, his hips snap harder and sharper. Each thrust makes the pressure mount, your breath hitching as your body rocks forward with every stroke. He holds you firmly, one hand pressing into the mattress, the other one at your hip—dragging you down so his cock can slide deeper and deeper into your ass.

The drag of him against your walls is so intense, even his hips are starting to jerk erratically in their movements, his body slick with sweat, every nerve in him frayed and completely on fire, but he doesn't stop. He can't. Not when you're shaking like this beneath him with tears in your eyes from how good he’s fucking you, so good that you're clawing at him.

He's already come twice and his body sore and overstimulated, but none of it matters cause he has to make you cum one time.

"C'mon, princess," he pants into your neck, his voice is bordering on a little whimper now, "need you to cum for me—give it to me, yeah?"

You nod, your fingers digging into his back. "Jake—I'm—I'm close—"

"I know," he says, sliding a hand between your bodies, thumb immediately circling your clit just the way he knows you like it as he continues to fuck your ass faster and harder, his rhythm never faltering even when his whole body twitches from the overstimulation.

"Fuck—!" you cry out, eyes squeezing shut, thighs locking around him.

Jake moans when he feels you start to clench again, the grip of your body making him curse into your skin. "That's it. Just like that. Be good for me, baby—cum for me."

Your body listens to him and you cum so hard and loud, you’re nearly sobbing through it, your whole body shaking as you gush your release around him again.

Jake groans like he's in pain and pleasure all at once, overstimulated out of his mind but still working his thumb through your orgasm, riding it out with you, whispering, "That's my girl. So good for me. So good."

He's trembling too, face buried in your neck, still inside you, still twitching, but all he cares about is the way you're still falling apart in his arms.

"You've got one more in you," Jake whispers, lips brushing your cheek. "I know you do. Be good for me, baby. Just one more, yeah?"

You're still shaking with how hard your third orgasm just rocked you, but you nod, because you know he knows exactly how to touch you that’ll have that fourth orgasm he wants dragged it out of you.

"You know," he says, lips curling into something darker, "the guys still think you're some sweet little thing who doesn't even let me touch her."

Your eyes snap open.

"They really think I'm suffering over here. Poor Jake, dating the world's most innocent girl," he chuckles in your ear, his fingers pressing harder, cock thrusting faster and faster just the way you need. "Wonder what they'd say if they saw you like this."

"Jake—" you gasp, nails raking down his back. "Don't— don't say that—"

"Why not?" he groans, barely holding on himself. "Look at you. Fucking soaked for me. Begging me to fuck your ass. Taking my cock like this—over and over."

You're gone, completely unraveling under him with your hips bucking, your back arching and a scream caught in your throat as you fall apart, wet and messy and uncontrollable.

Jake watches it all with a dark, fucked out smile, his lips on your cheek as he whispers, "Yeah...real fucking innocent, huh?" His words slam into you like a wave. You arch off the bed, fingers tangling in the sheets, mouth falling open in an enraptured cry.

"Fuck!" you sob, hips bucking involuntarily around his hand and his cock. "Oh god—Jake—"

You're shuddering and everything going white at the edges, and then you cum again, for the fourth time. You squirt around his fingers and cock again, every muscle spasming as you cry out his name again and again, lost in the release.

Jake drops his mouth right where you’re squirting so he can get some into his mouth and suck down on your clit, to guide you through each quaking wave. One of his hands trails back to finger your ass while the other one strokes his cock until he cums into the sheets.

“Yes baby—Oh shit!”

His tongue keeps tracing delicate patterns over your clit and your whole pussy that keep you teetering on the edge even as you ride out your climax before pulling back and looking down at you.

When you look up at him, he looks like he’s on the verge of passing out, then he drapes himself over you, chest slick against yours, breath heavy and shallow as he nuzzles into the crook of your neck.

"Baby..." he starts, boneless and spent. "You're insane."

You giggle, tracing lazy circles along the curve of his spine, still catching your own breath.

He gave you everything, held you down and pulled you apart until your body trembled under his, until he had nothing left to give. And now he's here, lips brushing your collarbone with every exhale, trying to hang on to consciousness.

"We should try double penetration." You say, running your fingers through his hair and feeling his body stiffen at your words as his head lifts slightly to look into your eyes.

"What?"

You grin. "You know. Your cock and a dildo. Just once."

Jake's eyes flutter close and open again, the look he gives you is somewhere between bewilderment and disbelief. His mouth opens like maybe he wants to say something, but doesn't even know where to start.

"Princess," he breathes, collapsing back down on top of you with a dramatic groan. "You might actually kill me one day."

You hum sweetly, threading your fingers through his damp hair. "You'd like it."

"I know I would. That's the problem." He grins against your skin. "Let me survive tonight first."

You laugh, soft and warm beneath him, already thinking about which toy you'll pick and feeling his breathing go even.

He falls asleep like that, with his arms wrapped around you, utterly spent, murmuring something about needing to train for you like it's a sport. And as you run your fingers through his hair, smiling to yourself, one thing's crystal clear.

Jake's friends have no idea just how completely undone he is by you.

➺ a/n: who wants a boyfriend like jake? MEEEEE!!!!

#jake smut #jake x reader #jake sim #jake angst #jake fanfiction #jake fic #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fics #enhypen angst #enhablr #enha smut #enha x reader #enha angst #enha fanfiction

4K notes · View notes

mooningningg · 17 days ago

Text

After Hours - Toji F.

about. After hours, the library is supposed to be quiet. Peaceful. Safe. But ever since you found him — wounded, dangerous, and far too tempting for your own good — silence became a luxury. Now he keeps showing up. And tonight? He’s not leaving without a reminder of who you belong to.

pairings. Yakuza!Toji x Librarian!Reader

words. 17.09k

content. mentions of drugs, blood, violence, guns, swearing, multiple rounds, both receiving. library sex (multiple locations), semi-public, size kink, oral (f receiving), creampie, overstimulation, filthy dirty talk, possessive!toji, jealousy, phone sex but it’s accidental, toji being so in love he brings you flowers, playful ending w/ interns (yuuji & nobara), aftercare-ish, 18+ only, unprotected sex, manhandling, rough sex, dom!toji but soft touches, mild possessiveness, mention of canon character (naoya) as a rival/date, yuuji & nobara being nosy AF, some explicit language, minor marking/bruising, reader gets absolutely ruined

notes. gosh i hope i dont bore you guys with a fuckass 17k word oneshot, i hope i made up with the sex part at least.

The rain had been threatening all afternoon. It loomed behind the windows in heavy gray waves, each low rumble of thunder sounding like it was clearing its throat, waiting for the exact moment the sky could justify breaking open.

Inside the library, it smelled like old paper, polished wood, and the faintest hint of citrus from your linen spray. You moved between the aisles in your soft cotton dress, hem brushing your ankles, sleeves rolled just below your elbows. It was the kind of dress that whispered instead of shouted—no frills, no bold colors. Just you, in your quiet, elegant orbit.

You were checking through the cart of returns, fingers moving lightly across worn spines, sorting them instinctively. You didn’t need the barcode scanner—not when you knew every section and every call number like muscle memory. History to the left. Philosophy to the top right. The language dictionaries always got stuck behind the self-help books for some reason.

“Miss Y/N!” came a call from across the stacks.

You turned just as Yuuji popped his head out from behind the oversized encyclopedias like a prairie dog.

“Where do we shelve books about marine biology again?” he asked, holding up a thick hardcover titled The Living Sea with an octopus mid-ink attack on the cover.

You blinked. “You’ve been here for four months, Yuuji.”

“I know, but that’s science, right? And science is... everywhere.”

“Third shelf in the science bay, just before botany. It’s labeled,” you said, trying not to smile.

Yuuji disappeared again, mumbling, “Botany’s fake anyway.”

From the front desk, Nobara chimed in, not looking up from the return logs.

“Tell him biology isn’t the same as space. He put a book about the solar system next to the reptiles last week.”

You raised a brow.

“Seriously?”

“He said ‘they’re both cold’,” Nobara deadpanned.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you took the next book from the cart.

The quiet rhythm of the end-of-day shift resumed: the sound of books sliding into place, the occasional sigh from Nobara when she had to fix someone’s misfile, Yuuji humming a One Piece opening from the history section.

The air conditioner clicked off with a final wheeze. Almost closing time.

You started your final sweep of the east wing, fingers trailing the spines of the classics—dusting, straightening, pausing to flip over one copy of The Old Man and the Sea that someone had shelved upside down.

The rain outside had finally begun. It tapped against the windows in bursts, steady and heavy, filling the quiet building with the rhythm of a ticking clock. A perfect backdrop to a peaceful end of shift.

Then—

the front door creaked.

Not the smooth automatic swoosh of someone arriving during business hours. This was deliberate. Slow. Someone pushing open the old wooden emergency door that hadn’t been used since the power outage last semester.

You frowned.

“Nobara?” you called out softly, moving around the shelf.

“Still here!” she answered from the desk.

You rounded the corner toward the main entrance.

And your heart stuttered.

Because it wasn’t a student. Not a professor. Not even the weird local guy who liked to sit in the non-fiction section just to read outdated cookbooks.

No.

It was a man.

A bleeding man.

Tall. Broad. Shirt clinging to him like a second skin, black and soaked through from the rain, his muscular frame hunched as he leaned heavily against the wall. One arm clutched tightly to his side. Blood soaked the lower left of his shirt, trailing along his white pants in ugly streaks. His jaw clenched. His green eyes were dull but alert. Black bangs stuck to his forehead, framing a face that looked carved out of war stories.

He looked like he’d walked out of another life—and bled all over the pages.

Your breath caught.

You knew those tattoos.

You’d seen them on crime reports, on back pages of tabloid photos, flashing behind grainy camera shots and pixelated mugshots.

A Yakuza.

In your library.

Bleeding. At 7:59 PM. On a Sunday.

The man didn’t speak at first.

You didn’t either.

You just stood there, fingers frozen mid-reach for your phone, lips parted like your brain couldn’t quite catch up to what your eyes were telling you.

He looked up at you.

Sharp green eyes. Too sharp. Too aware.

You froze.

The silence was loud. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out at first. Then—

“You—need to leave. N-Now,” you hissed, keeping your voice low and stern. “I’ll call the cops.”

The man huffed a laugh.

You could see the tattoos curling along his arms—old, rough lines from a life that didn’t play by civilian rules. You’d read enough newspapers. Seen enough warnings. That ink meant something. He wasn’t a lost drunk. Or some desperate college student.

He was something worse. A yakuza.

And now, bleeding in your library.

“Oh yeah?” he drawled, still leaning against the wall. “That’s cute, sweetheart. But I don’t think you’re gonna do that.”

Your breath hitched. “I’m not kidding.”

“You’re scared,” he said, eyes lazily dragging over your figure. Not in a way that made your skin crawl—but in a way that made your stomach twist. He was... calculating. “Smart girl. But scared.”

“You’re bleeding all over the goddamn carpet,” you snapped, still keeping your voice low. “And this is a public building. You can’t just walk in—”

“I was expecting an old man,” he interrupted, flexing his jaw as he slowly slid down the wall to crouch, wincing. “Some wrinkled, half-blind staffer I could bribe for a rag and a phone call.”

His lip twitched up at the corner. A smile.

“But instead,” he muttered, glancing up at you, “I get you.”

You took a step back.

“Stay there,” you warned.

He lifted a hand, mock-innocent. “Hey, don’t worry. I ain’t in any shape to chase you. Not today.”

“You shouldn’t be here at all.”

“And yet,” he exhaled, head tipping back against the wall, “here I am.”

You watched as he repositioned himself—tucking his injured side behind a rolling cart of textbooks. His posture was casual, almost lazy, but the way he moved was too precise. A trained body. A man who’d been hurt worse than this before.

“I’ve got two interns here,” you said, softly but firm. “Teenagers. If they see you—”

“I clocked ’em,” he murmured, looking past you toward the main hall. “Spotted the pink one stacking dictionaries. Loud little shit.”

You stiffened. “Don’t talk about them—”

“I ain’t here for them,” he cut in, voice sharpening just a touch. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. Just need to stop the bleeding. Catch my breath.”

“And then what?” you whispered. “You walk out like nothing happened?”

He smirked, eyes half-lidded, jaw flexing again as he sucked in a breath and adjusted how he was sitting.

“You’re not dumb,” he said quietly, eyes locking on yours again. “You know what I am.”

You didn’t reply.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then you know I’ve got no reason to lie.”

You stared at him for a beat. Still six feet away. Phone still in your pocket.

Your mind raced: What if he has a gun? What if he can’t walk? What if he passes out? What if Yuuji comes around the corner and sees him—

And then his voice cut through your thoughts. Calm. Low. Almost... amused.

“Help me out, yeah?”

He was bleeding. He was dangerous. He was watching you like a wolf in a corner who still had all his teeth.

But that tone—So casual. So confident, like he already knew you would.

Your hand hovered at your side.

One librarian, one bleeding yakuza, and one extremely poor decision waiting to happen.

The second you stepped back into the main hall, you were hit with two things:

The sound of Yuuji humming from behind the returns desk.

The intense awareness that you were now actively hiding a criminal in your library.

You took a deep breath, brushed invisible dust off your dress, and approached them with a smile you had to force into place.

“Alright,” you said gently. “Both of you clock out.”

Yuuji blinked at you. “Huh? But we didn’t finish—”

“I’ll take care of the rest,” you said quickly. “It’s past closing. Go home. It’s storming.”

Nobara narrowed her eyes. “You never send us home early.”

“I’m feeling generous.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes. Of stress. Go.”

They exchanged looks. Suspicious ones. But they shrugged, grabbed their bags, and made their way to the door.

“Bye Miss Y/N,” Yuuji said, hoodie half-zipped and hair a mess. “See you Tuesday!”

“Don’t die alone in here!” Nobara added, half-teasing.

You smiled tightly. “I’ll do my best.”

When the doors finally clicked shut behind them and the silence returned, it came louder than before. Your breath escaped you in one long sigh.

You turned on your heel.

You already knew where you were going.

There, just barely visible along the floor—a trail of blood. Still fresh, dark and glossy, leading away from the wall where he first appeared, and vanishing behind the door to the storage room.

He’d listened.

Of course he did.

You told him to hide, and he had—like a predator beneath the surface.

You gathered what you needed quickly: first aid kit, antiseptic, towels, gloves. Your hands were steady, but your heart wasn’t. Every part of you screamed this is so, so stupid.

But a smaller voice whispered: If I don’t help him, who will?

Maybe you were too kind. Maybe you were too curious.

Or maybe you’d just never seen a man who looked like that fall into your world and bleed all over your polished floors.

You pushed open the storage room door.

And there he was.

Leaning against the wall like he owned it. One hand still pressed to his side, shirt pushed up just enough to reveal a canvas of muscle and ink. His green eyes flicked up lazily as the light hit him—and for one long, electric moment, he just looked at you.

“Took you long enough, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough. Like gravel soaked in honey.

You swallowed. “You’re lucky I didn’t let you bleed out.”

“Mm. Don’t feel very lucky.” A grin. Sharp. Dangerous. Almost smug.

He didn’t look like he was in agony. No—he looked like he was comfortable.

Comfortable bleeding out in your storage room like it was a five-star suite.

Your eyes dropped for a split second.

The scar.

It sat just above his right hip—a thick, pale slice healed over long ago. A different story. A different time.

And near it, curling around his side and crawling toward his ribs, were inked waves and smoke, thick black lines forming serpents and clouds across his skin. A mark of the clan.

He watched you watch him, and his grin widened. “Like what you see?”

You snapped your eyes back up. “Shut up.”

“I’m wounded,” he said, mock-offended.

“You’re a criminal.”

“You’re observant.”

You knelt beside him, unzipping the kit. “Lift your shirt.”

He smirked, then complied—pulling the drenched fabric up and over the gash.

Your breath caught.

Not just because of the wound—though it was nasty, clean but deep, the kind of thing you weren’t technically trained to deal with. No.

It was everything else.

Toji was built like a sin. Solid muscle. V-shaped torso. Abs so defined you could’ve run your finger along each one and never miss a beat. His skin was a battlefield: scars, ink, tension. And he smelled like rain and gunmetal.

You reached for the gloves.

He reached for your wrist.

“Relax,” he said. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not a nurse,” you replied, brushing his hand off and dipping gauze in antiseptic.

“I can tell,” he murmured, amused. “But you’re doin’ fine.”

Your fingers grazed his abs—trying to clean the wound—and his breath hitched.

You looked up. He was watching you now with something different in his gaze. Still teasing. Still unreadable.

But... interested.

“You always help out strange men bleeding in your back room?” he asked.

“Only the ones who don’t bleed on my books,” you muttered.

“Lucky me,” he said, tilting his head. “What’s your name?”

You hesitated.

“...Y/N.”

“Toji,” he offered back. Like you hadn’t already figured that out. Like you hadn’t heard it whispered through every true crime article in the back of your mind since he walked in.

“I know.”

“Of course you do,” he smirked.

You pressed the gauze a little harder. He didn’t flinch.

“You’re not gonna tell me how this happened, are you?”

He shrugged with one arm. “What, ruin the mystery?”

You met his gaze. “I’m helping you. I deserve to know if I’m gonna die because of it.”

He leaned forward, slow, like he was tasting your fear—or maybe your stubbornness.

“You sure your pretty little head is ready for it?”

His voice was lower now.

Closer.

You didn’t realize how close he was until you were looking up, your faces barely inches apart—his head tilted, mouth near your cheek, green eyes dark and... amused. You could feel the heat off his body. The tension between your knees.

You could also feel your common sense shriveling up and dying a painful death.

Yakuza or not, Toji Fushiguro looks stupid good in pain.

The antiseptic stung.

You could tell—not because he flinched (he didn’t), but because his nostrils flared just slightly, and his jaw set tight like he’d been trained not to react.

Toji had the kind of pain tolerance that made you question if he even registered it as pain anymore.

You dipped the fresh cloth into warm water again, wrung it out, and continued dabbing around the wound, cleaning off the dried blood. Your face was calm, your movements delicate—but your mind was screaming. Not just because he was massive, shirt now fully lifted over his stomach, his tattooed side on full display like something out of a noir crime fantasy—

—but because he was talking.

“You ever do business with assholes who smile too much?” he muttered, voice low, head still tilted back against the wall.

“I work in a library,” you replied dryly, not looking up.

He snorted. “Yeah, well. I had a deal. Real clean. Fast in, fast out. Nothin’ loud.”

You pressed gauze to the cut gently. “Clearly that didn’t happen.”

“Bastards ganged up. Greedy little rats,” he said, voice gruffer now. “Didn’t like how I handled distribution. Thought they could jump me, take the product, pocket the cash.”

You swallowed.

Product. Cash. Blood.

“And this is what you chose?” you asked softly, eyes still on the wound. “That kind of life?”

There was a pause.

“I didn’t exactly get a PowerPoint presentation of options, sweetheart.”

You looked up at him, finally.

Toji looked down at you—really looked. His green eyes weren’t as sharp now, but there was a pull to them. Heat. Calculation. Curiosity.

“Why? You offerin’ a better one?” he asked, mouth tilted in a lazy smirk.

You pressed the bandage down a little too firmly.

“Maybe I’ll read you a brochure,” you muttered.

He laughed—quiet and deep in his chest, like it surprised even him.

When you finally finished bandaging the wound, you stood to your full height, brushing your skirt down and meeting his gaze once more. You didn’t say anything at first—just met him, face to face, stomach still fluttering at the ridiculous fact that you had just patched up a very wanted and very muscular yakuza in your storage room.

“All done,” you said softly.

Toji, like a menace, lifted his shirt again and looked at your work.

Neat. Tight. Clean.

He exhaled, impressed.

“Shit,” he murmured, “you really got hands on you, don’t you?”

You flushed.

“Don’t—start.”

“C’mon,” he teased, eyes dragging across your face slowly. “You gonna tell me no one’s called you pretty before?”

Your heart did an Olympic-level backflip.

“Please stop calling me that,” you mumbled, looking away.

“Why?” he grinned, stepping closer—just enough to make you feel the shift in space. “Pretty’s what you are.”

His hand didn’t touch you, but his voice wrapped around your neck like silk.

“You stitched me up like a pro. Looked real good doin’ it, too. All gentle in that little dress…”

Your eyes shot back to him. “Toji—”

“—Mmh,” he interrupted, voice velvet. “Say it again.”

“What?”

“My name. Like that.”

You opened your mouth to retort—but he leaned in before you could.

And kissed your cheek.

Not a brush. Not a thank-you peck.

A kiss.

Warm, slow, and low. Just next to your lips—his palm barely grazing your hip. His lips lingered like he wanted to leave something there.

He pulled back half an inch, enough for you to see the smug glint in his eyes.

“I owe you now.”

You were frozen. Still bent slightly forward, lips parted in shock. Heat rushed to your face so fast you felt dizzy.

A yakuza just kissed you, and not just any yakuza. Him.

He chuckled, shifting off the wall with a soft grunt, stretching his neck until it cracked, then rolling his shoulders and flexing his knuckles like he was about to fight God himself.

You watched, absolutely unable to stop fanning yourself with your own breath.

Toji walked to the door casually, glancing around like he hadn’t just threatened your sense of safety and sexual identity in the last ten minutes.

He paused at the threshold.

Glanced over his shoulder.

Smirked.

“‘m so hurt,” he rasped, voice like smoke, “you’re not beggin’ me to stay, pretty.”

And then—he winked.

“See you soon.”

The door shut behind him before you could even curse his name.

And you stood in the storage room, heart thudding like it wanted out of your chest.

Maybe Nobara had a point.

You were going to die alone in here.

You’ve been kissed by a yakuza once and now you’re a changed woman. Probably. Maybe. Shut up.

There were thirty-four books in the returns bin, alphabetized and logged.

The desk was polished. The register was balanced. Not a single overdue tab still hung.

So why—why—were you still gazing into the middle distance like your brain was buffering?

You blinked, snapped out of it, looked down at your own hands—then immediately brushed your fingers up against the edge of your cheek.

Right where he kissed you.

That voice again. Smooth. Dangerous. Too close.

“I owe you now.”

God.

You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“This is so stupid,” you whispered to no one, glaring at the computer monitor like it betrayed you. “Get it together.”

Because you were not—repeat, not—the type of woman who fawned over criminals. You recycled. You alphabetized non-fiction by subject and subcategory. You owned slippers.

You were a sophisticated woman.

You had standards.

You did not—

“Looked real good doin’ it, too. All gentle in that little dress…”

You slapped your palm against the desk.

“NOPE.”

“—NOPE what?” came a voice behind you.

You jumped out of your chair like it had tried to electrocute you.

Nobara stood there, already halfway through the staff entrance, raising a perfect brow at you with her tote bag slung over one shoulder and her hair swept into a messy clip that still looked editorial.

She blinked once, then twice. “...You good?”

You cleared your throat and slapped on a tight smile.

“Yep! Totally. Normal. Great. Not hallucinating men or anything. Hi.”

Nobara stared at you for a long beat.

“Okay…” she said, “...I’m gonna pretend that wasn’t a sentence.”

You nodded. “Thank you.”

She stepped in, dropping her bag beside the returns counter. “By the way—Yuuji’s gonna be late. He got roped into helping the art class paint some giant wall thing.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking. “Right.”

“Yeah. Don’t know why they keep asking him. Kid can barely draw a straight line.”

You tried to smile. Tried to act normal.

And then—

“Y/N-san.”

You looked up.

Her face was blank.

Her gaze lowered.

“…Are you wearing a dress that’s above your knee?”

You felt your entire soul leave your body.

You looked down. Slowly. As if you’d somehow forgotten what you were wearing.

Oh. Right. The dress.

It wasn’t even that short. It was tasteful. Soft. A light fabric that hugged your figure just barely. The neckline was modest. The sleeves capped. But yes—

It ended mid-thigh.

And it was pink.

Not beige. Not navy. Not librarian-core. It was... flirty.

You swallowed.

“It’s hot,” you said defensively. “The forecast said humid. Plus ventilation back here sucks and—”

“—Is that perfume?”

“I ALWAYS wear perfume.”

“Ma’am, you smell like vanilla and intention.”

“I just wanted to try something different.”

“Did something happen?”

“What? No.”

Nobara squinted at you.

“You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You reorganized the manga shelf by protagonist hair color.”

“That’s—functionally viable.”

“You alphabetized the tea packets in the staff lounge.”

“I was bored.”

“You’ve been whispering ‘Nope’ to yourself every ten minutes.”

You glared at her.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Who is he?” she asked plainly.

You froze. “Who—what—”

Nobara stepped closer, eyes narrowed like a hawk. “You’re glowing. You’re jumpy. You’re dressing like the main love interest in a K-drama. You’re not fooling anyone. Spill.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Rubbed your temples. Considered confession. Considered fleeing the country. Considered swearing her to secrecy and then lying anyway.

After several seconds, you took a long breath and said:

“...I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nobara gasped like you slapped her.

“YOU ABSOLUTE TEASE.”

“I swear—”

“Was he hot?”

Your face gave you away instantly.

“OH MY GOD,” she screamed, grabbing you by the shoulders. “HE WAS HOT??”

“Lower your voice!”

“IS THIS WHOLE ‘DRESS ABOVE THE KNEE’ THING FOR HIM??”

“I just—felt cute today!”

She stared at you.

You stared back.

A moment passed.

You flopped back into your chair, groaning into your hands.

Because deep down, under all the panic and guilt and confusion, one undeniable truth still lingered.

You liked it.

And somehow, you knew— He knew it too.

You weren’t expecting him. But your heart still leaped. Stupid.

It was cold in the basement—like always. The stone walls down there held onto the chill of fall like they hoarded it, refusing to give way to the heavy warmth of summer. The lights buzzed overhead, old and faint, and you moved slowly along the long wooden shelves—carefully.

These were the precious books. Rare copies. Out-of-print editions. A first edition Mishima with gold edging. A soft-leather-bound medical tome from 1890. A handwritten poetry book in a glass case that smelled like a grandfather’s attic.

You always did your rounds down here with both reverence and a quiet joy.

Today, though, your mind wasn’t on the books.

It was somewhere else entirely.

Somewhere more dangerous.

You traced your fingers along the spines, slowly heading toward the stairs again, your shift nearly over, when the sound of footsteps thudded faintly above you.

Then, a voice. Nobara’s.

“Y/N-san! Someone’s looking for you!”

Your heart dropped. Then soared. Then panicked.

Him?

Was it—

Your feet carried you faster than they should, thudding softly up the stairs, your breath catching in your throat like a dam about to break.

What was wrong with you? Were you seriously hoping he—

You were.

You hated it.

But you were.

Toji.

The way he smirked. His voice—low and playful and dangerous. The kiss on your cheek. The heat of his body so close you could feel your skin buzz beneath your dress.

You had replayed it in your head so many times now it was practically a daydream.

And now—he was here?

He came back?

You smiled. You were smiling, already smoothing your dress as you reached the top of the stairs, already preparing yourself, already crafting a joke or a quip or something to hide the fact that you’d been—

Not Toji.

Your smile dropped the second your eyes met the man by the door.

It wasn’t him.

It wasn’t him at all.

And something in your chest wilted. Heavy. Sharp.

Standing by the front desk—was Naoya.

You stopped walking.

He hadn’t noticed you yet. He was leaned on the edge of the counter, talking to Nobara about something, head slightly tilted, that smug expression on his face like he owned the building.

You used to know that look. You used to see it in the university halls, back when you were both younger and he thought he had charm. When he tried to flirt with you at study tables, at cafés, at late-night events—always smooth, always well-groomed, always sharp-tongued and just short of kind.

And now here he was. Hair slicked back as usual, designer shirt a little too fitted, one hand stuffed in his pocket. Polished. Presentable.

Your smile was long gone.

Nobara spotted you over his shoulder and nodded. “She’s right there.”

Naoya turned.

You took a slow breath and walked forward. Calm. Professional. Blank-faced.

“Naoya,” you said, polite.

“Y/N,” he said, that half-laugh in his voice, eyes already raking over you like he was looking for something to comment on. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

You gave a small smile. Neutral.

“Mm. It has.”

“I was nearby,” he said, waving a casual hand. “Thought I’d stop by. You still working yourself to death down here?”

“Still running this place like it won’t fall apart without me.”

He grinned. “Some things never change.”

You wanted to leave. Already, your shoulders felt tight. Already, you were too aware of how different he felt than the man you were expecting.

How strange that you’d wanted a yakuza to walk through the door. And how even stranger it was that when he didn’t, you felt… disappointed.

Naoya was still talking. His voice smooth, sure of itself. The kind of man who had never had to wonder if he was charming.

But you weren’t listening anymore.

Your mind drifted again—back to the storage room.

Back to green eyes. Bloodied hands. That voice.

“See you soon, pretty.”

And your fingers brushed your cheek again—absent, remembering.

You’d take the bleeding yakuza over this any day.

Naoya had always been like this.

The conversation had barely started, and already he was speaking with that effortless, overfed confidence that could only come from someone who had never been told no in his entire life.

“I gotta say,” he was rambling, “never thought you’d stay in something like this long-term. The library, I mean. Not exactly fast-paced, but you’ve always been good with quiet things, huh?”

You blinked.

“That’s one way to put it.”

“I mean—still!” he said, laughing like he hadn’t just insulted your entire career. “You always did have that… what do they call it—feminine touch? Everything soft and put together. Not like most girls now. All loud and aggressive.”

You smiled with your teeth.

Nobara, at your side behind the desk, slowly turned her head toward you like a wind-up toy.

You ignored her.

“I suppose you could say the library’s still a good fit for me,” you said lightly.

Naoya leaned a little closer. “Not that you don’t have options, though. You always were smart. You could’ve gone corporate. Or married rich,” he added, with a chuckle like he was the punchline.

Nobara coughed.

You pressed your lips together, praying for strength.

Naoya didn’t stop.

“Anyway, it's great you’ve kept it all together. I mean, you look good. Really good. Honestly surprised you’re still single. You are single, right?”

Nobara full-on snorted at that.

You didn’t respond, still holding your polite-librarian smile like a weapon.

Naoya, oblivious, pushed on. “Back in college, I remember telling the guys you’d be married by, like, twenty-five. You just had that energy—you know. Wifey material.”

Nobara leaned in beside you and whispered—without breaking eye contact:

“I hate this man.”

You whispered back without moving your lips: “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. I’m going to strangle him with a charging cable.”

“Nobara—”

“You deserve better. You could date a felon and I’d still root for you harder.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Naoya clapped his hands together suddenly. “Anyway! I should get going. I’ve got dinner with some of the guys. Real estate dinner. You know how it is.”

You nodded like you had a clue what that meant.

He grinned again, gaze skimming over you a little too long. “Really good seeing you, Y/N.”

“You too, Naoya,” you lied beautifully.

And just like that—he turned, adjusted his collar, and walked toward the exit with all the pomp of a man who thought he had left an impression.

The second the door closed behind him, you exhaled so hard it knocked your bangs loose.

Nobara slapped both palms on the desk and howled.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL WAS THAT?”

You cracked a smile, covering your face. “That was... college nostalgia gone wrong.”

“He called you quiet and soft like he was describing a teacup poodle.”

“He’s always been like that,” you muttered, dragging your palms down your face.

“He said wifey material, I almost punched him.”

“I handled it.”

“You deserve financial compensation.”

You laughed again, leaning against the desk. “Thank god it’s over.”

Nobara smirked. “So... any other ex-classmates I should be aware of?”

You snorted. “No. Just a real estate misogynists this week.”

She gasped. “Put that on your resume.”

He didn’t come back. You told yourself that. Over and over again. Until he did.

It was closing time again.

The city hummed low outside the library windows. Pale orange streetlights bled through the blinds in soft strips across the wood floor, and the overhead fluorescents clicked faintly like they were catching their breath. Another long day was done.

Nobara was packing up her bag, muttering darkly as she tightened the drawstrings.

“You’re late again tomorrow,” she snapped, “and I swear to god, I’m going to stuff that wall paintbrush down your throat, Itadori.”

Yuuji, still trying to untangle his earbuds, flinched.

“I said sorry! That mural was like three stories high!”

“You were at the snack stall.”

“That was after!”

“Still counts.”

You stood at the desk, keys already in your hand, letting the two of them bicker as usual. It was familiar. Background noise. Like the AC or the soft creak of the stairs. They always did this—and for once, you were grateful for it.

It distracted you.

From the disappointment.

He hadn’t come back.

You didn’t know why you expected him to. Why your ears pricked up at every footstep outside. Why you kept checking the security mirror by the front desk, hoping to see a flash of dark hair or green eyes or that stupid confident walk—

You swallowed.

What were you hoping for? That he’d show up again? Bleeding again? Half-dead again?

Flirting again?

It didn’t matter. Because he didn’t. And instead, you’d had to entertain Naoya.

God.

Life was a little cruel sometimes.

Nobara shouted a final “Good night!” as she and Yuuji clattered out the front door, still bickering.

The library fell quiet.

You sighed, heading toward a table near the middle of the main floor where two books had been left behind. Probably someone who thought they’d checked them in. You scooped them up, turning them in your hands.

One was a book on knife forging. The other—an old collection of translated yakuza memoirs.

Of course.

You snorted under your breath. “Funny.”

You headed toward their sections. Nonfiction, organized by criminal history. Your heels clicked quietly on the floorboards as you slid between the narrow aisles, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling the air like incense.

You moved slower this time.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet that reminded you that you were alone. That even the bickering was gone now. That the fluorescent lights buzzed a little too loud when you really listened.

You shelved the first book.

Then turned to place the second one.

Then—

Movement.

Behind you.

A brush of air. A shadow. Something big.

You turned.

Too late.

He was right there.

Towering.

The shelf hit your back.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t even breathe. Just stared—mouth parted, eyes wide, frozen in place like your body knew him before your brain caught up.

His hands weren’t caging you in. He didn’t need to.

His presence alone was doing it.

Close. Heavy. Heat radiating off his chest through his shirt, through your dress. You could smell rain and sweat and something smoky. He didn’t touch you, but his closeness pinned you tighter than any grip could.

He looked down.

You looked up.

Toji.

His green eyes didn’t smile—but something sharp gleamed behind them. His bangs were damp from the air outside, falling loose over his forehead. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stared down at you like he had every right to be there. Like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you.

Your lips parted to say something—but no words came.

You couldn’t think.

His head tilted slightly.

Your heart hammered.

You were shocked. More than shocked. How was he even here? How had you not heard him come in? What did he want? Was he hurt again?

No. He didn’t look hurt.

He looked dangerous.

Dangerous in that whole way. Not bloody. Not desperate.

Intentional.

His eyes flicked from your lips to your cheek. You knew where. The place he’d kissed you. A slight smirk pulled at his mouth—just a twitch.

Then, his voice—low and sinful:

“Missed me?"

For a man who says he owes you, he sure acts like he owns the room.

You stayed pinned.

Not because he held you there—he hadn’t even touched you—but because your body didn’t quite remember how to move when he was this close. Every inch of space between you burned like a live wire, and Toji… Toji was standing like he had all the time in the world.

His mouth curled slightly, teasing.

You stared. And blinked.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Toji leaned back just slightly—not to give you room, no, just enough to really look at you. His gaze dropped down your body, slow and smooth, not in a disrespectful way, more like someone admiring something… just for themselves.

“I know what you were doing,” he said, voice low. “End of shift. Picking up stray books. Following your own damn routine like clockwork.”

Your brows lifted slightly.

“Stalking me now?” you asked, trying to sound unimpressed, even as your heart thundered in your ears.

He huffed something like a laugh and stepped just a little closer again, mouth brushing a smirk.

“Call it reconnaissance. Gotta know what I’m paying back.”

You shook your head, trying not to smile—but failing.

And then Toji added, like it was the most casual thing in the world:

“Oh—and sorry ‘bout my dumbass relative dropping by.”

You blinked again.

“Wait. Naoya?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, grinning. “Yeah. He’s one of them."

Your jaw dropped. “You’re related to that guy?!”

Toji tilted his head, looking deeply unbothered by the horror on your face.

“Distant. I don’t claim him.”

You snorted—loudly, before you could catch it. And Toji’s eyes lit up. He looked... pleased to have made you laugh. Like he liked the sound of it. Too much.

You straightened again, attempting to recover. “Still can’t believe it. Out of everyone in the world—Naoya.”

Toji looked at you again, slower this time. His voice dropped to something dark and warm.

“Still can’t believe you wore this.”

Your body stiffened slightly.

“What?”

He looked pointedly down. “This little thing. Dress like that, late at night, all alone in here? Might give a guy the wrong idea.”

You looked down too—at the hem brushing above your knee, your bare legs under soft lights—and your face immediately flushed.

“I—It’s not that short—”

“It’s short enough,” Toji muttered, almost under his breath. His eyes dragged along your legs. “Fuck. You’re lucky I’m not a worse man.”

Your heart pounded.

You swallowed. “Why are you here, Toji?”

He lifted a brow. “Still figuring that out.”

You blinked. “Figuring…?”

“What I’m gonna give you.”

You looked up at him, dumbfounded. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

Toji grinned again. “Yeah? That little kiss did it for you, huh?”

You opened your mouth, flustered—and then shrugged with a slightly bashful glare. “It wasn’t even on the lips.”

He smirked again, low and satisfied. “Didn’t need to be.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks hot. Your fingers fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, heart still refusing to slow down.

Toji leaned just a little closer, brushing his breath across your cheek again as he murmured,

“Can’t really come out during the day. Too many eyes. Too many assholes with nothing better to do than try to stab me.”

You turned toward him slightly. “That sounds… healthy.”

“I’ll try to come at night. If I can. Once I figure out what I owe you.”

You met his gaze, and for once—you didn’t flinch.

“…Alright,” you said quietly.

His expression softened just a hair. Something quiet passed between you—something not quite as sharp as before. Not lust. Not wit. Something that felt… almost like care.

Then, without a word, he leaned down once more—and pressed a soft, slow kiss to your cheek.

The same spot.

You didn’t move.

His mouth lingered, then left.

He didn’t say goodbye.

Didn’t explain where he’d come from.

Or how, even now, you didn’t hear him leave. Just the fading scent of him. Rain. Smoke. Warmth.

What you didn’t know—

—was that once he stepped out that door, one of his men—a man dressed like a night-shift courier—nodded discreetly at him from across the street.

Eyes always on you.

For the last three days, things had settled into a strange rhythm.

You’d be there, alone in the library at the close of another shift. Quiet. The sound of rain against the windows or a gust of wind sending a cool breeze across your skin. You’d finish your work—storing away books, cleaning up the desk, making sure everything was in its place. You didn’t mind the silence, and the stillness helped you think, helped you relax.

But then, just before you could slip into the hum of your thoughts and turn off the lights for the night, the door would open. And every time, just like clockwork, Toji would be there—stepping into the quiet space, the soft echo of his boots on the wooden floor the only sound.

He’d always have that same sharp, almost cocky smile on his face as he greeted you. Sometimes he’d just stand at the doorway, letting the air settle before walking toward the shelves. No need for fancy words. No need for pleasantries. Just the shared silence of two people in a room, sharing an unspoken understanding. He never let his presence overwhelm you—but it always did.

At first, you tried to keep up the casual distance—telling him about your day, ranting about some of the more absurd parts of your job, sharing bits of personal history. You didn’t expect him to care, but somehow—he did. It was funny. How, despite all the roughness of his exterior, his quiet listening made him stand out among the other men you’d met in your life.

Of course, his comments always carried a bit of edge, a lot of teasing, and there was always the lingering sense of tension. But those moments between the two of you weren’t about the danger or the dirty jokes. No, it was something more—it was a connection. A strange, unexpected bond.

And as the nights rolled on, Toji always left the same way: with a kiss to your cheek—soft but always laced with something deeper. It was a small thing. A fleeting gesture. But it always felt like more. Like he wasn’t just leaving the library—he was leaving something behind every time.

The office was nothing like the picture of a grand yakuza hideout you’d expect. It was rusted. Aesthetically raw and a bit grimy, the air thick with the smell of tobacco, ink, and something metallic. Old furniture. Unpolished. A small desk was piled with papers and phone bills, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting on a coaster.

This was Toji's world. No glittering gold or flashy decor. Just the bare essentials. A place for work and survival. A place where he could think and decide without too many distractions.

The walls were adorned with a couple of old, weathered portraits of men and women who looked like they’d been here far too long, watching the world change while staying the same.

And then, as expected, a man walked in. His face was lean, eyes sharp but tired. His dark hair was short, cropped close to the scalp, but he had a certain weight to him—like a man who knew exactly how far his influence could reach.

This was Suguru Geto, Toji’s trusted associate. A former ally of Toji, now walking the delicate line between the old days and whatever future they’d carve out for themselves.

He walked in, not bothering to knock.

“Everything’s going smoothly. As usual,” Suguru said, sounding indifferent as he took a seat across from Toji.

Toji grunted in response, taking a long drag of his cigarette and staring out the window. He didn’t say anything right away, the silence stretching out as Suguru settled in, flicking a few papers over on the desk.

Then, Suguru let out a sharp breath, flicking his gaze toward Toji. His tone shifted—becoming more pointed, more serious.

“You know, it’s getting dangerous,” Suguru said, his voice turning cold. “The rats from the east are making moves. Drugs, mostly. They’re pushing, and it's getting worse.”

Toji glanced over at him, but there was no real reaction. Suguru continued.

“They’re pushing hard, Toji. We’re not just talking about the low-level guys. They’re coming for us now. We gotta be careful.”

Toji leaned back in his chair, putting his cigarette out in the ashtray. His eyes didn’t leave Suguru’s.

“Mm. I know,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. “I’ve already got a few guys out checking on the perimeter. Nothing we can’t handle.”

Suguru’s face tightened. “That’s not the point. We’re talking about full-on war now. If we don’t start striking, we’re going to get caught.”

“I know,” Toji repeated, his voice a little more tense now. “We’ll handle it. Get me the list of their suppliers and I’ll make sure we have leverage.”

Suguru nodded, but before he could leave, he paused. His gaze slid over to the side where Toji’s desk was littered with papers and books. He followed the trail to the windowsill, where an open book rested in the dim light—one that was entirely out of place in Toji’s rough surroundings.

Toji caught Suguru's eye and followed his gaze.

“That book?” Suguru asked, raising an eyebrow.

Toji rubbed his face and let out a sigh. “Yeah. It’s… uh. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Suguru smirked, clearly unconvinced. “What’s that? A romance novel? One of those cheesy ones? Or maybe you’re a poetry man now, huh?”

Toji’s lips twitched slightly, but he didn’t respond to the jibe. Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, his voice suddenly serious.

“Yeah, well, don’t worry about that.” He glanced out the window, eyes darkening slightly. “I’m more concerned about something else.”

Suguru waited, arms crossed, before giving Toji a knowing look. “What’s that?”

Toji finally looked up at him. His gaze was sharp. Cold. But there was a hint of something… softer in his eyes that Suguru hadn’t seen in years.

“She’s dangerous,” Toji muttered, his voice low. “I didn’t expect her to be there. I was just looking for somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one could bother me. And then…”

Suguru’s lips quirked. “And then what? You found a pretty librarian in the middle of nowhere?”

Toji let out a frustrated grunt. “She wasn’t just pretty. She was different. I didn’t expect to see someone like that there. All soft, you know? Not… rough like me. I don’t know, Suguru, but I can’t get her outta my head.”

Suguru’s expression became a little more serious.

“Toji—” he warned, his voice low, “you’re a yakuza. You know what happens when you get attached. Anyone close to you becomes a target. Anything that touches you gets dragged into your shit.”

Toji’s eyes narrowed. He knew this. Knew the rules.

“I don’t need reminding, Suguru.”

Suguru raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying. It’s a little librarian, man. Think about it. If you’re gonna get that close, it’s gonna be hell for her.”

For a moment, Toji didn’t speak. The weight of the words hung in the air, and for the first time in a while, he felt a pull in his chest—something he couldn’t control.

His gaze flickered to the window once more. The quiet street below, rain still falling gently. Her face flashed in his mind.

“Yeah,” Toji finally said, his voice rough. “I know. But I can’t help it.”

The library was quiet. Far too quiet.

The kind of quiet that crawls under your skin and makes you question your thoughts, your decisions, your life. The lights flickered, casting long shadows across the rows of bookshelves. The evening had stretched on longer than usual, and Toji hadn’t shown up. The thought lingered like a weight in your chest, and despite your best efforts, you couldn’t push it away.

You waited.

The clock ticked steadily—its hands creeping forward in a way that felt mocking. Your fingers tapped anxiously against the desk, but you weren’t looking at anything. Not really. Your gaze kept darting back to the door, every creak of the old wood, every gust of wind rattling the windows, making your heart jump just a little, even though you knew it was just the weather.

Where was he?

For the past week, you’d grown used to seeing him stand in the doorway, that familiar smirk on his lips, the lean, muscular build in his black compression shirt, his eyes scanning the room like he owned it. You’d grown used to the way he’d walk in, sit across from you, and listen to your ramblings about books, about life, about anything and everything. His teasing comments. His flirtation. Those lingering, soft kisses he left on your cheek before leaving.

But tonight… nothing.

It had been hours since you’d closed up the books, well past the time you should’ve left. You had work to do—another round of inventory, tidying up the shelves, reordering things—but you’d been waiting for him. Foolishly, you told yourself. Foolishly, because you couldn’t figure out if you were waiting for him to show up again just for the comfort of his presence or if it was something more.

What was wrong with you?

You scoffed at yourself, shaking your head. What was this? Why were you waiting? You had never been the type of woman to get so caught up in someone like this, especially not someone like him. Toji was a yakuza. The things he did, the world he lived in—nothing about it was safe.

You cursed under your breath, standing up abruptly from the desk. The sound echoed in the otherwise silent library. You glanced at the door once more, as if willing it to open and for Toji to walk through. But nothing happened.

“Get a grip,” you whispered to yourself, grabbing your coat from the back of the chair. The fabric was soft, heavy, a welcome warmth against the chill of the evening air. You buttoned it up, securing it tightly around your body as you made your way toward the exit.

You had never closed the library early before, but tonight felt like it was the right thing to do. A cold sense of realization settled over you.

You had been waiting for a man who had no place in your life.

A yakuza. A killer. Someone who played by rules you didn’t understand, in a world you didn’t belong to.

With one last glance around the room—everything still in place, just as it should be—you turned off the lights and locked the door behind you. The click of the lock sounded too final, like the end of a chapter you weren’t quite ready to close.

You stepped out onto the street.

The night was colder than usual, the kind of cold that wrapped around your body like a second skin. Your breath misted in front of you as you walked down the quiet street, the sounds of the small town settling for the night. The dim streetlights cast long shadows, the soft hum of the wind carrying the scent of rain that had just passed through.

The path home was familiar. You’d walked it every night for years, the little Japanese house nestled among the narrow streets and traditional homes of the town. Your neighborhood was small, and most of the people here knew each other by name.

But tonight, as you walked, something felt different.

You tried to shake the feeling off, but it stuck to you like the chill in the air. Your thoughts drifted back to Toji—his words, his teasing, his presence. What had you become? Someone who waited for a man like that? A dangerous man who wasn’t even here tonight?

The pace of your steps quickened as you reached the small, quiet street that led to your home. The houses here were old, but charming. You could already see the outline of your house at the end of the street—the soft glow of the porch light flickering like a welcome beacon.

You sighed in relief. The warmth of your little house, the quiet comfort of it, was a relief. At least here, you could forget about Toji for a little while.

But just as you were about to turn the corner toward your house, you heard it.

A slight noise.

A faint creak from behind you.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as you slowly turned your head.

And there he was.

A figure, emerging from the darkness, standing in the shadows. The man was tall, his face partially obscured by the night. You couldn’t see his expression, but you could feel the weight of his gaze. He was standing just a few feet away, close enough that you could hear the faint rustle of his clothing as he shifted his weight.

You instinctively reached for your phone in your pocket, but before you could pull it out, the man took a step closer. Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly turned your back to him, trying to walk faster.

And then it came—a sharp pressure against your back, cold steel pressed into your spine.

A knife.

Your breath caught in your throat as you froze, the icy tip of the blade threatening to push further into your flesh. The man was so close—his body just inches away from yours, the blade a clear threat.

“You’re quite a sight,” the man whispered, his voice low and gruff. He was close enough now that you could smell the faint scent of cologne mixed with something else—something sharper, like metal.

Your mind raced. What was happening? What did he want from you?

But then, as quickly as the threat appeared, the man’s voice softened. He pressed the knife a little harder, just enough to remind you of its existence, before he spoke again.

“You’re alone tonight.”

A strange shiver ran down your spine, and you felt the sudden, dangerous realization hit you—this was no random encounter. Whoever he was, he knew exactly what he was doing.

And worse, you didn’t know what the hell to do about it.

The man behind you was breathing heavily. His presence was suffocating, an oppressive force that stole all the air from the night. You could feel the cold steel of the knife still pressed against your back, just enough to send a shock of fear racing through your veins. Your breath hitched, and you froze, trying to steady your pulse, but panic was quickly taking over.

The knife didn’t budge, but his breath became more erratic. Your hands trembled, and your heart pounded wildly in your chest as the man’s presence pressed closer.

He chuckled darkly. “Think you can walk around here unscathed, princess?” The words were spat like venom, harsh and rough, and you could feel the mockery in his tone.

You tried to hold yourself together, trying to hold on to the fleeting sense of control. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t want to scream. You didn’t want to provoke him, but every part of your body was screaming for help.

With a sudden movement, his hand shot out, striking your cheek with a harsh slap.

The force of the hit sent you staggering sideways, your skin burning from the sting. You barely had time to react before the heel of his boot was driven into your stomach, knocking the wind out of you.

You gasped, hands clutching at your middle as the pain radiated outward, your knees buckling beneath you. The world spun, and the searing pain in your abdomen made everything feel dizzy and out of reach. Your vision blurred. The taste of blood was suddenly in your mouth—your lip cut from the force of the slap.

The man was muttering to himself, as though he was slowly getting more enraged, more unstable.

"You're just another piece of trash to me. But, hell, I like watching pretty things break."

His voice was unhinged, and the sound of it made your skin crawl. You tried to stand, your legs unsteady beneath you, but the fear that gripped your chest made you feel weak, vulnerable.

You could feel him raising the knife once more, ready to finish what he’d started.

Then, suddenly, a loud, sharp noise shattered the air—a gunshot.

You froze. Your heart skipped a beat.

The world tilted sideways. For a moment, your mind went blank. It was as though time had stopped. You felt the adrenaline surge in your bloodstream, but it wasn’t the kind you could control. It was the kind that made your limbs heavy, your body shaking.

And then, like a distant echo, the man who had been threatening you collapsed to the ground with a sickening thud.

You flinched, instinctively covering your ears, but the ringing of the gunshot still reverberated in your skull. The sound of the shot was still too fresh, too sharp. You could hear the blood rushing in your ears, but all you could do was kneel there, trembling.

Your hands were shaking uncontrollably. Your cheek burned where he slapped you. The cut on your lip stung every time you moved your mouth. The pain in your stomach was a heavy, nauseating pressure.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you glanced up, trying to understand what had just happened.

And then you saw him.

A man—dressed in dark, nondescript clothes—was standing over the body of the would-be assailant, his gun still smoking in the night air. His face was stoic, detached, as if he was used to this kind of violence.

“Stay down,” he commanded in a low, cold voice. You didn’t even have time to react as he crouched beside you, speaking into a phone. His words were low and urgent, but they barely registered in your dazed mind.

"She's alive," he muttered into the phone, his voice firm. "Get the car ready. We’re bringing her in."

You tried to speak, tried to move, but everything felt wrong. You were frozen, your body numb from the terror, from the shock of it all. Your entire body felt like it was shutting down, your limbs too heavy to move.

"Please," you whispered, barely able to get the words out. "What’s happening? Who are you?"

But before you could process anything, the man stepped back, his grip on your arm firm but not painful. His movements were smooth, practiced. Efficient.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone too calm. “We’re just getting you out of here.”

You didn’t understand what was happening. You didn’t know who this man was or why he’d shot the other man, but your mind was spiraling. The pain in your stomach had spread, but you couldn’t even feel the bruise on your cheek anymore. All you felt was cold, dread, and the overwhelming pressure of what was about to happen.

You tried to gather yourself, but the shock was too much. Your body felt like it was shutting down, and you couldn’t stop shaking.

Another car pulled up, and the man helped you into the backseat, his grip firm on your arm. The lights were harsh as they shone down on you, and you felt a wave of nausea surge through you. You barely registered anything as the car doors slammed shut and the vehicle lurched forward.

You leaned against the seat, your face aching, your stomach still burning with pain. Your mind raced as you tried to piece together what had just happened. Had you been saved? Or had you just been dragged further into something darker, something far more dangerous?

Your breath caught in your throat, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

The car drove off into the night, the world outside passing by in a blur. You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t know what was happening. But the only thing you knew for sure was that this wasn’t just some random attack.

This was his world. Toji’s world.

And you had just been pulled deeper into it.

The world outside the car blurred as it sped down winding roads, the headlights illuminating the darkness in brief flashes. The car’s interior was cold, and despite the warmth of the vehicle, your body was shivering, still in shock from everything that had happened. Every bump of the road made your stomach churn, and the pressure on your chest felt like it was suffocating you.

You tried to breathe, but it felt impossible. It wasn’t just the fear—it was the unknown. The feeling of being completely out of control. Of having no idea where you were going or why this was happening.

The car turned sharply and slowed to a stop, its tires crunching over gravel. For a brief moment, the silence in the car was deafening, the only sound your shallow breaths and the distant hum of the engine.

When the door opened, the same man who had been holding you earlier reached inside and pulled you out with practiced ease. He didn’t speak to you as he guided you through the front gates, his grip firm around your arm.

Your eyes scanned the surroundings—the first thing you noticed was that this place wasn’t as polished as you imagined a yakuza estate would be. The sprawling grounds were quiet, the kind of quiet that made your skin crawl. It wasn’t a grand estate with marble pillars or gold statues. It was more… subdued. The buildings were large but not ornate. They looked expensive, but not in an obvious way. There was an understated luxury about everything here, like it was designed to intimidate without trying too hard.

As you walked past several men standing near the entrance, you could hear the low murmur of voices, the clinking of bottles, and the occasional burst of laughter. They were laughing at something, some kind of inside joke, and their voices echoed against the cold, stone walls. You caught glimpses of their faces, some smiling, others with looks that told you they’d seen far too much in their lives. They wore dark suits—well-tailored but not overly flashy. Guns were tucked into holsters under their jackets, some visible, some hidden beneath layers.

Everything about this place felt wrong.

You couldn’t help the shiver that crawled down your spine.

One of the men, the same one who had brought you here, was still talking on his phone, his voice low but insistent. He was giving coordinates. A location. Something about a “cleaning crew.” You couldn’t catch all the words, but the tone in his voice made it clear that this was just another task. Another body to clean up. Yakuza things. It was all too familiar to them, all too casual.

As you were escorted through the halls, the realization began to hit you—this wasn’t just some random thug who had come after you. This was his world. This was Toji’s world. The one he had dragged you into without warning, without mercy.

You passed more men—some of them nodded at you, others didn’t even spare you a glance. Their eyes were too focused on the mission at hand, whatever that was. But they all had the same cold look in their eyes, a look that made you feel like you were the prey in a room full of predators.

The air smelled faintly of smoke, whiskey, and something metallic that made your stomach tighten in fear. You could feel the weight of the place pressing down on you, suffocating you.

Finally, you came to a stop in front of two large, double doors. The man who had been escorting you gave you a push, his hand firm on your back as he led you inside. Your heart was hammering in your chest, but you had no choice but to follow.

The doors opened with a heavy creak, revealing a large room. The walls were decorated with dark wood, thick carpets covering the floor. It was luxurious, but in a different way—a darker, more oppressive kind of luxury. The kind of place where power and danger were palpable in the air, where every piece of furniture, every art piece, was meant to make a statement.

And there he was.

Toji.

Standing in the middle of the room, his body leaned slightly against the desk in front of him. His broad shoulders and muscular build filled the space with an undeniable presence. He wasn’t sitting, and he wasn’t pacing. He was just there, waiting. His expression was unreadable, but the tension in his posture was clear.

He had heard you coming.

He could feel the shift in the air, the energy of the room changing the moment you walked in. His sharp eyes snapped to you, taking you in with that same intensity he always had. But tonight, it was different. There was something in his gaze. Something deeper.

You stood there in the doorway, unsure of whether to step forward or turn and run.

You didn’t know what to do.

What could you do?

Your pulse was racing, the silence between you both thick and suffocating. He didn’t move. He just stood there, his gaze locked on you, his expression unreadable. The weight of the moment stretched out between you like a rope taut with tension, and for the first time, you realized just how dangerous it was to be in his world.

You swallowed hard, the taste of fear still in your mouth. You could hear the soft thud of your heart as it pounded in your chest. Your breath came in shallow gasps as you stood frozen in place, waiting for him to make the first move.

But Toji didn’t move.

He just watched you.

And in that moment, you knew something had changed between you.

This wasn’t just some game anymore.

This wasn’t just a chance encounter.

He was involved now.

And you?

You were in deeper than you ever thought possible.

The silence between you and Toji hung heavy, thick like smoke in the air. You stood in the room, your body still trembling from the fear and anger that had built up over the past hour. Every part of you wanted to scream, to cry, to throw something. But all you could do was stand there, fists clenched by your sides, staring at him.

Toji’s eyes softened slightly when he saw the bruises on your face—the handprint on your cheek and the cut on your lip. But there was no apology, no remorse in his expression. Instead, there was that same, familiar coolness.

He stepped toward you, his gaze never leaving yours. As he approached, he raised a hand, and for a moment, it seemed like he was going to touch the bruise on your cheek, to make sure you were okay. But when his fingers neared your skin, you jerked away, the anger flaring up inside you like wildfire.

“Don’t touch me.” You spat the words out, your voice trembling with fury. His hand paused mid-air, but he didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem phased.

He looked at you, confused, almost as if he didn’t understand why you were reacting this way. “What’s your problem?” he asked, his voice still low and calm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions that were swirling inside you.

You stepped back, anger bubbling up like a pot left to boil over. Your chest heaved with the effort to contain it. "You fucking coward," you snarled, your words sharp and cutting. “You think I’m angry ‘cause you brought me here? No, I’m pissed off because you weren’t here when I needed you the most.”

Toji blinked, the confusion still etched on his face. His sharp eyes searched yours, and for a brief second, you could see the weight of the situation hit him—but only for a moment. It was clear: he hadn’t expected this kind of response from you. Toji was used to being the one in control, the one who decided what happened, when, and how. You weren’t playing along. You were making him feel something he wasn’t used to.

You were tired of the calm, cool demeanor that he always wore like armor. This man wasn’t some mythical creature, some untouchable gangster with an unshakable hold over everything and everyone. He was just a man. A man who let you get hurt.

Your chest tightened, and for a brief second, all you could think about was that moment. The man with the knife. The sound of the gunshot. The terror that surged through you. And Toji? Where the hell was he when you needed him? You didn’t care about his world, his rules, his so-called control.

He was right there, but he wasn’t there for you.

You felt a sharp pain in your throat as the words left your mouth. “I was scared. I thought I was gonna die tonight, and you—you weren’t even here.”

Toji didn’t say anything for a beat, and when he did, it was a soft exhale, like he’d come to some kind of realization. His gaze softened, but only slightly. “I repaid you already, didn’t I?” His voice was low, gravelly. “I saved your life, didn’t I? My men were watching you, making sure you were safe.”

The words struck you like a slap.

He had men watching you? That was his way of keeping you safe?

Your head spun as anger flared up again. The audacity of this man. You thought you had been wrong about him, but now, all you could feel was disgust.

The nerve on this guy. After everything he’d done, and what he hadn’t done, he had the fucking audacity to say that?

Your hand shot up before you could even think, and with a sharp crack, you punched him in the chest. Your fist landed with a dull thud, but it didn’t make him move an inch. He just stood there, his broad chest unmoving beneath the blow, like he hadn’t even felt it.

You were trembling with rage, your entire body on fire, and yet he was still as composed as ever. That pissed you off even more.

“You really think I’m gonna thank you for saving my life?” Your words came out like venom. “Fuck you, Toji. I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

Toji didn’t react to the punch. He didn’t flinch, didn’t even seem phased. Instead, he stared down at you with that same, unwavering gaze, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He took a step forward, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud about to break.

“You’re gonna get lost in this place, y’know.” His voice was smooth, low, and that trademark smirk of his returned, even as the tension between you crackled.

Your hands were shaking, but not from fear. It was from frustration. From anger. From all the emotions you were trying to bottle up but couldn’t.

“I don’t care.” The words spilled out before you could stop them. You took a deep breath, standing your ground despite the raging fire inside you. “I don’t care if I get lost. I don’t care if I never see you again. Just go, Toji. I’m not gonna sit around here and play your games.”

You turned away, your pulse thumping in your ears.

The night had settled in much colder than usual, the chill from outside creeping through the library’s large windows. The rain had been relentless, a soft tapping sound in the background of your thoughts as you sat behind the front desk. It had been two days since you had been dragged into that estate by Toji’s men, two days since he had saved you—if you could even call it that—and kissed your cheek like nothing was wrong. That man… Toji… you hated him. But, damn it, you couldn't stop thinking about him.

The way he had pressed you against the bookshelf, his smirk never wavering, even when your entire body was trembling. His voice, calm and unwavering, saying that you owed him now. That he would come back. He’d come back. And now, here you were, trying to forget him, trying to erase his touch from your mind.

But you couldn’t. How could you?

You weren’t that naïve. You knew you’d never see him the same way again. It wasn’t just the danger he brought with him, or the fact that he was a part of a world you didn’t belong to, a world you could never understand. It was him. The way he was, the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel even when you wanted nothing to do with him.

You shook your head, trying to shake the thoughts away.

But here you were, stuck in the library, your mind still swirling with everything that had happened.

You hadn’t meant to let things get to this point. You hadn’t meant to get involved with someone like him, and you certainly hadn’t meant to let him invade your life this much. But you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Fuck him.

That’s what you kept telling yourself as you stared at the clock. It was nearing 9 p.m., and Naoya had told you he’d pick you up right after your shift. You didn’t particularly want to go out with him, but you knew you needed to get your mind off everything that had happened. Naoya was persistent—too persistent, really—but you figured if he could give you a few hours of distraction, you might be able to get your life back in order, if only for a little while.

So, you pulled out a short, tight dress from the back of your closet, something you would never wear for work. You didn't like the idea of it at first, but something inside you urged you to just get out, to do something different. You didn’t want to be the same woman who had been held in that mansion, who had let herself get lost in thoughts of a yakuza.

You stared at yourself in the mirror as you applied a thin layer of makeup—just enough to hide the dark circles under your eyes. You brushed out your hair and let it fall loose around your shoulders. You didn’t recognize yourself anymore, not since that night. The woman in the mirror looked a little too sad, a little too tired.

But you’ll get through this.

You spritzed on a bit of perfume, just enough to make yourself feel a little more presentable, a little more you. And yet, as you inhaled the scent, something nagged at you. A memory. His scent. The warmth of his breath against your skin, the whisper of his lips, the feel of his body so close to yours. You cursed under your breath.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you from your thoughts.

Naoya was running late—surprise, surprise. You sighed, glancing at the clock again. At least you had time to breathe, to clear your mind, before dealing with him.

But as you waited, the night seemed to drag on, the clock ticking ever so slowly. You crossed the room and glanced out of the window. The rain had softened, but the chill still lingered, the kind that made you pull your coat tighter around your shoulders. Your fingers traced along the edges of your purse as you waited for Naoya’s call, your heart hammering in your chest for reasons you couldn’t explain.

You tried not to think about Toji.

But it was hard.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you barely noticed the footsteps until they were right behind you.

A familiar creak of the door echoed in the silence. You froze.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and your eyes widened.

It was him. The door had opened, and there was no mistaking the silhouette standing in the doorway.

Toji.

For a split second, you didn’t know what to do. Your body was frozen in place, your pulse racing as you turned slowly toward the sound. He was standing there in the doorway, a dark figure, the glow of the outside streetlights casting shadows around him. He didn’t move, but you could feel his eyes on you. His gaze was heavy, sharp, and inescapable.

The tension that had been building inside of you suddenly surged, a familiar heat rushing to your face. Your heart beat in your chest, fast, too fast, and your skin tingled at the thought of him being here—right here. In your library. After everything that had happened.

You stood there, caught between fear and something else—something you couldn’t explain. You didn’t want to see him, you didn’t want to feel him, but there he was, taking up all the space in the room, as if he owned it.

And, damn it, he knew it.

The air between you was thick, heavy with unspoken words and the oppressive weight of his presence. Toji stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed in front of him, as though he owned the entire space. And, in a way, he probably did. His gaze never left you, his eyes dark and intense, like he was reading you with every flicker of his gaze.

“Getting ready for someone else, huh?” Toji’s voice cut through the silence, smooth and seductive, every word carefully chosen, like he was toying with you. "You look beautiful, though." His eyes lingered on you in a way that made your breath hitch. There was no shame in the way he looked at you, no pretense. He was blunt. Direct. And it felt like a physical weight pressing down on you, like the temperature in the room had just risen by ten degrees.

Your heart raced. The words he’d just spoken—the way he made them sound—made something stir inside you. You knew you should be mad. You should be angry at him for showing up like this, for making everything more complicated. But damn it, you couldn’t help it. He was Toji. He was tall, commanding, and impossible to ignore. And it pissed you off that you couldn’t stop thinking about him.

“I don’t need you here,” you said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. “You figured out what you owed me, so why are you still here?” Your voice was shaky despite your attempts to sound confident, but you couldn't hide the nervousness crawling under your skin. You took a deep breath and stepped away from the desk, crossing the room toward the towering bookshelves.

You needed space. You needed distance from him. But of course, Toji wasn’t going to let you have that. Not when he could see the way you were affected, even if you were pretending otherwise.

“Come on, baby…” His voice was low now, dripping with that casual confidence that you hated and loved all at once. "You're really mad about that?" He followed you, his heavy footsteps soft against the floor, but his presence was everywhere. You could feel him getting closer, feel the heat of his body like an unseen flame licking at your skin.

You ignored him at first, fingers running along the spines of books, as if they could somehow provide the answers to the mess he’d created. But every time you reached for one, the movement felt too forced, too... calculated. He was distracting you. You knew it. He knew it. You hated that he knew.

“Stop following me.” You said it with as much authority as you could muster, but the irritation in your voice betrayed you. You were tense, wound up, ready to explode.

But he didn’t stop. Of course, he didn’t. Toji was never one to take a step back.

"Make me," Toji purred from behind you, his voice an intoxicating mix of amusement and something darker—something predatory. His words were like a physical caress, his voice sliding under your skin in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Something inside you snapped. You spun around, facing him head-on, your fists clenched at your sides. “You shouldn’t be here. You don’t get to do this—this game of yours. I told you I don’t need you.” The words came out more forcefully than you intended, but your anger flared again. You didn’t want to admit that he had gotten under your skin.

Toji tilted his head slightly, watching you like he was studying a puzzle. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips. He was enjoying this. You could see it in his eyes. He was savoring every second of your frustration.

Before you could react, Toji moved. He crossed the distance between you in two strides, his large frame towering over you. Before you knew it, you were pressed against the shelf, the books digging into your back as he pinned you there with the sheer force of his presence. You gasped at the suddenness of it, the pressure of his body against yours, his breath warm against your ear.

“Listen, baby,” he said, his voice now a husky whisper, right against your ear. “I’m not here to play games. But I don’t think you really want me to leave, do you?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you felt his hand come up to rest on the shelf beside your head, his fingers brushing against the wood just inches from your face. His other hand slid to your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress. You couldn’t breathe. He was so close. Too close.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Toji murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

The heat of his body radiated against yours, making it impossible to think straight. You felt his breath against your neck, his scent overwhelming your senses. He was teasing you, pushing you to the brink, but you couldn’t find the strength to push him away. Everything about him—his voice, his presence—was pulling you in. Even the anger you felt was starting to burn out, leaving only that raw, needy desire that you couldn’t suppress.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to speak. “You… you’re so insufferable,” you whispered, though you knew it was a lie. The truth was, you wanted him. But you were too proud to admit it. Too scared of what it meant.

Toji’s smirk deepened. His thumb brushed across your waist, a touch so light, so deliberate, that it sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes never left yours, and in that moment, you could see the dark amusement, the satisfaction of having you right where he wanted you.

“Tell me I’m wrong, then,” he challenged softly, his lips inches from yours, the heat of his breath mixing with yours. "Come on, pretty. Tell me I'm wrong."

Your lips parted as you searched his eyes, your chest heaving with the breath you couldn’t take. For a split second, you were almost afraid to speak, afraid to let him know the truth. But before you could say anything, Toji closed the gap.

His lips were on yours, claiming you in an instant, with a kiss that was as hot and possessive as everything he had ever said. It was raw, desperate, and full of intent, the kind of kiss that left you breathless and dizzy. He didn’t give you a chance to pull away, his hand gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His other hand cupped the back of your head, tilting it just enough to deepen the kiss.

Everything else disappeared. There was no library, no shelves, no frustration. There was only him. And you.

Toji’s kiss was everything you had been trying to resist, everything you knew you shouldn’t want. But in that moment, you didn’t care. You were already lost.

You were done pretending.

He slammed you back into the shelf with a thud that sent books shivering from their spines. His mouth crushed yours, hot and furious, stealing every breath you’d saved for arguing. One hand gripped your jaw. The other slid down — greedy — to cup your breast over the thin fabric of your dress.

“You wanna forget about me?” he growled between kisses, yanking the neckline down to expose you. “Is that it, sweetheart? Thought a pretty little dress and some other man’s attention would help you erase me?”

His mouth descended, teeth grazing your neck, tongue hot and slick as he devoured the skin he once claimed. You gasped when he bit down lightly at your pulse, his hands roaming, kneading, possessive and rough.

“Toji—”

“You’re mine,” he snarled against your throat, dragging your leg up around his waist before dropping to his knees. Toji Fushiguro on his knees. A sight hell itself couldn’t imagine.

He tossed your panties to the floor with a low whistle. “Fuck, this pussy missed me, didn’t it? Look at her,” he groaned, spreading you open with a thumb. “All dressed up for another man but dripping for me.”

Your back hit the bookshelf hard as he hoisted one of your legs over his shoulder, tongue flicking against your clit with a slow, devastating pace. His tongue was hot. Hungry. Each stroke was wickedly precise — drawing shapes only a sinner could spell.

You moaned his name, breath hitching as your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking. His eyes flicked up, dark and amused.

“You try to fuckin’ forget about me but your body’s got no loyalty, sweetheart.”

He dove back in — deeper, tongue curling inside you, groaning against your heat like it was the only thing keeping him alive. He gripped your thighs like a man possessed, dragging you closer, messier, wetter.

The shelf behind you rattled, a book falling with a loud thud, but neither of you cared.

He slid two fingers inside, crooking them just right, his mouth still latched to your clit. “You gonna cum on my tongue while that smug bastard’s running late?” he smirked against you, voice hoarse and thick. “You think he could make you feel this fucked out? You think he could have you shaking like this, baby?”

You couldn’t even respond. Your vision blurred, hips twitching, thighs quivering around his head. He groaned when you tugged harder on his hair, the vibration sending you straight to the edge—

“Toji, I—fuck—Toji!”

Your orgasm slammed into you like a freight train, hard and fast, his name a chant from your lips as your body trembled against the shelf. He didn’t stop. Not until you were gasping, breathless, legs like jelly.

And then he stood, fingers wet, mouth glistening.

“Still think I’m forgettable, baby?” he rasped, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, smirking as he leaned into your ear.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget how to spell his name.”

Your breath was still shaky, your thighs slick and trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you like a fucking symphony — loud, messy, unforgettable.

Toji stood over you now, towering, broad chest rising with each heavy breath. The way he looked down at you? Like you were prey. Owned. His.

He wiped his mouth with his thumb, then sucked the taste of you off it with a slow groan. “Mmm. You taste like you missed me,” he muttered, voice thick with desire, gravel and hunger soaked into every word.

You were dizzy — from the high, from him — but there was one thing clearer than anything else in that moment: you needed more.

So you sank to your knees. Right there. Between the stacks of the classics section. Dust and forgotten titles above you, sin between you.

Toji’s dark brow cocked, smug as sin. “Oh? Look at you,” he murmured, voice low like a growl. “Pretty thing just can’t get enough, huh?”

Your fingers reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly, teasingly, but he didn’t have the patience. He let out a dark chuckle and shoved his pants down for you, underwear and all, his cock springing free — thick, veiny, already hard and heavy.

“Open up, baby,” he said, tapping the tip against your lips. “You wear that tight little dress for another man, but now you're on your knees for me. What would that bastard Naoya say if he saw you like this? Huh?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were too busy wrapping your lips around the thick, hot length of him, eyes fluttering shut as his scent hit your nose — musk, cologne, and just a hint of smoke and danger.

“Fuuuuck,” Toji groaned, tilting his head back slightly, one large hand immediately sinking into your hair, gripping. “That’s it, sweetheart. Goddamn, that mouth was made for me.”

You bobbed your head slowly at first, sucking, tongue swirling around the head, feeling him twitch against your tongue as you sank deeper. The stretch of him was obscene, your jaw already sore, but the way he moaned — the way he looked down at you like you were his salvation — made it worth it.

His other hand caressed your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw. Then, without warning, his hips rolled forward. He thrust into your mouth — shallow, careful at first — then a little deeper, a little filthier.

“You take me so well,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “That bastard wouldn’t know what to do with a mouth like yours.”

He looked down at you — eyes half-lidded, pupils blown wide, lips parted. “Fuck, I could cum just watching you look up at me like that…”

You moaned around him — vibrations that made his hips jerk. His grip in your hair tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know he was holding back.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this,” he murmured, brushing your hair back from your face to watch your lips stretch around his cock. “All that sass earlier, all that attitude — and now? Just my good little slut on her knees.”

You gagged just a little as he hit the back of your throat, and Toji groaned deep — the kind of sound that made your thighs press together again despite the orgasm you just had.

“Shit—gonna make me lose it,” he breathed, pulling back for a second to look at the mess you made of him. Your lips were wet, spit trailing down your chin, eyes glassy. “Goddamn.”

He cupped your jaw, smeared his thumb over your lips, then shoved his cock back into your mouth with a growl. “Not done yet, baby. You wanted more — take it.”

You did. Willingly. Obediently. Loving every second.

Your hands braced on his thighs as he fucked into your mouth now, slow but filthy. “This mouth belongs to me,” he grunted. “You hear me? Doesn’t matter who you say yes to. This right here? Mine.”

And you wanted it to be. Every part of you.

You moaned again, feeling him twitch, his abs flexing as his head fell back and his voice dropped into something feral.

“Fuck—‘m close. Wanna paint that pretty face, sweetheart. Want you dripping in me when he shows up. Let him see who you really belong to.”

You moaned again, looking up at him through lashes wet with tears from the stretch. He swore loudly, pulled out just in time and—

Hot ropes of cum hit your lips, your tongue, your cheek. It was filthy. Messy. Possessive.

And you loved it.

He breathed hard above you, still staring down at the mess he made of you, eyes dark with something primal. “There you go. Look at you,” he murmured, brushing some of it off your cheek with his thumb and pressing it into your mouth. “Taste me. Good fuckin’ girl.”

You sucked it off his thumb, chest rising, lips swollen, completely ruined.

But Toji?

Toji smirked down at you, cock still half-hard, a dangerous glint in his eye. “We’re not done, sweetheart.”

The shelves were cold beneath your palms, wood biting into your skin as you tried to breathe — tried to think — but everything in your body screamed for one thing:

More of him.

Toji didn’t even give you time to wipe the cum off your chin. He had you turned around, bent over the damn shelf like a girl in some late-night fantasy, your hands struggling to find purchase on the wood while he stood behind you, big and burning and starving.

“Bend that ass for me, sweetheart,” he growled, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise as he hiked your dress up over your hips. “You let that fuckin’ dress hug your ass for him?”

His palm smacked across your cheek — not your face, the other one — and you gasped, a moan curling from your lips like a prayer.

“Too fuckin’ bad,” he hissed. “This ass belongs to me.”

You felt the thick head of his cock sliding through your folds — teasing, soaking, coated in your slick — and you whimpered, legs shaking already from anticipation. But he just kept grinding, letting you feel every inch before he even gave it to you.

“Fucking dripping,” he muttered, like he couldn’t believe it. “You gonna take all of me, baby? You remember how fuckin’ big I am?”

You nodded frantically, voice gone, knees weak.

He leaned in close, his massive body draped over your back, breath hot against your ear. “Then say it,” he growled. “Tell me how big I am.”

You whined, arching your back, desperate. “T-Toji… you’re—fuck—you’re too big, I can’t—”

He cut you off with a deep thrust.

Your cry echoed through the library, sinful and sharp, as the air was punched from your lungs.

“Ohhh fuck,” you gasped, nearly collapsing over the shelf as your fingers clawed at the edge. “Toji—!”

“That’s it,” he groaned, dragging out slowly, letting you feel every ridge, every vein. “This pussy’s so fucking tight, baby… trying to squeeze the life outta me.”

He grabbed your hips with both hands, pulling you back onto him as he thrust again — hard. The sound of skin slapping echoed like thunder in the quiet space.

And Toji? He was fucking gone.

“God, I missed this pussy,” he grunted. “You think anyone else can stretch you like this? Huh? You think any other man can stuff this perfect little cunt the way I do?”

You were a mess — bent over the shelf, hair clinging to your face, tears in your eyes from the intensity. One of your shoes had slipped off. Your dress was around your waist. You didn’t care.

All you could feel was him.

His cock was thick — almost too much — and every thrust had your walls fluttering, your legs trembling, your body begging for more even as it struggled to take it.

He slid a hand up your back, palm pressing between your shoulders, forcing your chest to the shelf as he pounded into you from behind.

“Look at you,” he groaned, eyes glued to the way his cock disappeared into you over and over. “Gripping the shelf like your life depends on it. That tight little pussy can’t get enough, huh?”

He slapped your ass again, harder, and the sting only made the heat grow worse between your legs.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re mine.”

“I—I’m yours,” you sobbed, cheek pressed to the cool wood, barely able to speak.

“Louder.”

“I’M YOURS, TOJI.”

“Fucking right you are.”

He was breathless now, grunting with every thrust, his rhythm faster, rougher. He was losing it — drunk off the feel of you, the sound of your whimpers, the way you clenched around him like your body was molded just for him.

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good, baby,” he rasped, dragging his fingers down your spine. “This pussy… fuck… I could stay buried in you for hours.”

Your legs buckled again, body going limp, but he caught you — big arms locking around your waist, pulling you back to him so your spine arched and your ass met his hips with every sharp snap.

“Too much?” he smirked, licking the shell of your ear.

You whimpered. “N-No—don’t stop—please—!”

He chuckled. Low. Dark. Filthy.

“Didn’t plan to, sweetheart.”

But then… he pulled out.

You cried out at the sudden emptiness, turning to look at him with wide, teary eyes.

Toji’s jaw clenched, sweat beading at his temple. His cock twitched, thick and glistening, standing proud as he looked down at you with a possessive gleam in his eye.

“Turn around,” he ordered, voice rough. “Lay back. Legs open. I wanna see this pretty face while I fuck you stupid.”

The library floor was cool against your back. Dust clung to the hem of your dress. The tall shelves surrounded you like towering shadows, like they were hiding your sin from the world — but nothing could hide you from him.

Toji’s body hovered over yours, all heat and muscle and controlled fury. One hand gripped your thigh, holding your leg open like it was his right. His cock pushed inside again, slow, devastating, like he had nowhere else to be but here, splitting you open inch by inch.

“Don’t look away,” he murmured.

You couldn’t. His eyes — dark, quiet, consuming — pinned you to the floor harder than his weight ever could.

“You look too damn pretty like this.”

Your moan broke between clenched teeth, legs trembling as he rolled his hips deeper, slower.

“You weren’t supposed to be here tonight,” you whispered.

“I didn’t plan to be,” he said simply, not stopping. “But then you put on this dress… and said yes to him.”

He didn’t even say Naoya’s name. He didn’t need to.

“I wasn’t gonna show up.” Another thrust. Deeper. “But the thought of him looking at you like this? Talking to you like he deserves you?”

He clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring. “I couldn’t stomach it.”

Your head tipped back, hand gripping the back of his neck. “Toji—”

Buzz. Buzz.

The sound cut through the tension, sharp and intrusive. Your phone lit up near the mess of your bag.

You froze.

Toji didn’t.

He stilled inside you, reached for the phone, and glanced at the screen.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face.

“Naoya,” he muttered, voice flat. “Of course.”

You panicked. “Don’t—”

But he answered.

He didn’t pull out. He didn’t stop. He just leaned down, set the phone next to your ear, and said nothing.

And then — he started to move again.

Slow, deep thrusts that had you choking on your own breath.

“Y/n?”

Naoya’s voice crackled through the speaker, too loud in this sacred, shameful moment.

“Where are you? I’m outside… it looks like the library’s locked. Are you okay?”

You whimpered, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood as Toji’s cock dragged in and out of you with surgical precision.

His head dipped to your shoulder, voice low. “Be quiet,” he whispered, not mocking — warning. “Don’t give him anything.”

You nodded desperately, hand covering your mouth.

“I’ve been knocking for like ten minutes—” Naoya kept talking. “It doesn’t even look like anyone’s inside.”

Toji looked down at you, sweat at his brow, lips parted just slightly as he watched your body shake under his.

Still so quiet.

Still so deep inside you.

“You’re not gonna answer him?” he asked, voice like a quiet bruise. “Not even gonna tell him you changed your mind?”

You could barely breathe.

Toji’s eyes never left yours as he rolled his hips forward with one hard thrust.

Your moan cracked out, small but real.

“Y/n?” Naoya’s voice sharpened. “You okay?”

Your lips parted, trying to form words, but your throat locked up. Toji’s hand curled around the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek, gentle — so gentle — as if to mock the way he was breaking you from the inside out.

And then, without looking away, he picked up the phone.

“You should go home.”

Silence. Then—

“Toji?”

A pause.

“Yeah,” Toji said calmly. “She’s busy.”

Another thrust. Hard. Your gasp punched the air.

“What the fuck—”

Toji hung up.

No smirk. No insult. Just a quiet shake of his head as he tossed the phone aside like it was trash.

“You always talk about not wanting this life,” he murmured, eyes heavy as he leaned over you again. “But your body keeps saying otherwise.”

You trembled beneath him, legs twitching, cunt soaked and stretched, your moans spilling freely now, raw and shameless.

“You wanted him to be gentle, huh?” Toji whispered, mouth brushing your temple. “You thought maybe if you dressed nice, smiled soft, you’d forget what it feels like to be ruined.”

His thrusts sped up, hips snapping against you with a force that sent echoes between the shelves.

“You were never gonna let him touch you.”

His voice turned breathless, raw with something deeper.

“You were always gonna end up right here.”

You wrapped your arms around him, nails dragging down his back, too far gone to fight.

He kissed your neck once — slow, reverent — before pulling out.

You whimpered, aching from the loss.

Toji grabbed your waist, lifted you gently, and flipped you over onto your stomach, guiding you up onto your knees.

“Hold onto something,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes burning.

“Why?”

He slid back inside with one hard thrust that made the shelf in front of you rattle.

“Because I’m not done.”

The library was unusually quiet.

Not because it was empty — it wasn’t. Nobara was restocking the new arrivals shelf with a scowl. Yuuji was sneakily eating chips behind the desk like you didn’t see him. But it was quiet because you were quiet.

You stood by the checkout counter, trying to look composed. Professional. Normal.

But your lower back ached, your thighs still felt like jelly, and every time you moved, you remembered the sound of your moans echoing between those tall wooden shelves.

And of course, right on cue—

ding-a-ling

The little bell above the door rang.

You looked up — and froze.

There he was.

Toji Fushiguro.

Wearing a black button-up (the sleeves rolled to his elbows, naturally), tattoos on full display. One hand in his pocket. And the other?

Holding a bouquet.

Not just any bouquet. One of those overly wrapped, overly expensive, one-hand-could-barely-carry-it type of bouquets.

Toji looked… pissed.

Like he couldn’t believe he was standing there holding them. Like he’d tried to not come here and ended up in front of the library anyway.

And when his eyes met yours?

They softened.

Just a little.

“You gonna come get ‘em,” he muttered, “or am I standing here like a goddamn idiot all day?”

You blinked. Stared at the flowers.

Then— “...are those peonies?” you said, suspicious.

He shrugged. “Lady said they meant somethin’ about apologies. Or romance. Whatever.”

You smiled despite yourself, cheeks warm. “You… brought me flowers?”

Toji muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” you asked.

“I said don’t make it a thing.”

But then—

“WAIT.”

Yuuji’s voice pierced the heavens from across the room.

He stood slowly behind the counter, eyes wide, a chip half-hanging out of his mouth. Nobara emerged from the shelves at full speed, her stare deadly.

“Oh my god,” she said. “You’re the guy.”

“What guy?” Yuuji asked, still stunned.

“The guy. The one who made her wear short dresses.”

Toji raised an eyebrow. “You two always this nosy?”

“Yes,” they said in sync.

Your hand slapped to your face. “I’m so sorry, Toji—”

But he didn’t look mad. In fact, his lips curled into that slow, wicked little grin — the one that always came before trouble.

“Didn’t know I had competition,” he said, stepping forward, placing the bouquet gently on your desk… before slipping a hand around your waist, palm splaying against your lower back.

You jolted. “Toji—!”

But he just leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Relax, sweetheart. Just saying hi.”

Nobara’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. Is he grabbing your ass?!”

“Can’t help it,” Toji said, unbothered. “It’s a good ass.”

“Sir this is a public institution—” Yuuji started, half-horrified, half-impressed.

Toji just smirked and kissed your cheek. Lingering. Hot. Too hot.

“Don’t work too late,” he muttered low, voice dark and soft. “Unless you want another late-night visit.”

Your face burned. Your knees nearly gave.

And then he turned on his heel and walked out — leaving behind the faint smell of cologne, cigarette smoke, and wild, unspeakable memories between the shelves.

The door shut.

Silence.

You blinked.

Yuuji blinked.

Nobara slowly turned to you and said:

“…You’re so getting railed on that desk tonight, aren’t you?”

You said nothing.

But the bouquet wasn’t the only thing he left you with.

Your lips still tingled from the ghost of his kiss.

And somewhere deep inside?

You were already looking forward to closing hours.

dividers by, @cafekitsune

4K notes · View notes

tojbnuy · 3 months ago

Text

highly requested part 2 of roommate!sukuna :) part 1 !!

cw: lol. humping, rubbing thru panties what’s the proper term for this? soft!dom sukuna he thinks he’s mean but he’s a softie, sub!reader, she’s bit of a bimbo we love her, tit fucking, feelings if you squint. MDNI.

a/n : not proofread but thank you for all the love on part one, any suggestions for the jjk roommate series are greatly appreciated :)

sukuna had been thinking about it all week. been creating an intervention in his mind about your way of living. he was putting an end to this. the past week itself was enough to finalize it for him. nearly every night you guys had sat down on the couch together to binge watch your current show. and every night you had been in your underwear and a thin tank top. sometimes he even turned the ac on so you’d feel colder and put a cardigan on. that backfired however when you were still cold and decided to seek heat from your big warm roommate. sukuna had dug his own grave because for the next one and a half hours he had your tits pressed up against his side and your ponytail draped over his arms. he could feel your hard nipples, could smell your shampoo and could see practically the entirety of your ass. safe to say he had a very long and cold shower that night while you ran along to your bed. and last night you had walked past him in the kitchen and ran your fingers up and down his back ogling his tattoos.

‘i really like your tattoos kuna’ you had said with the sweetest little smile on your face. you really had no idea what you did to him.

so tonight was the night. sukuna was gonna tell you what was on his mind. and you had presented the moment perfectly by tiptoeing into his room at 2:13am with your bunny plushy squeezed tight in your arms. sukuna was shocked to see you, he was planning to make his was to your room where he knew you were awake scrolling on your phone.

‘kuna i wanna sleep with you.’

his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. knowing you, you would talk about sex so carelessly.

‘what??’

‘i wanna sleep with you.’ your voice was all tiny and whiny and you had that same fucking adorable tone that made him want to shove you in his pocket.

but to his relief (sort of) you peeled back the blanket and climbed into his lap, curling up like all the pictures of baby deers that you showed him. you made yourself comfortable by shuffling around some, your legs were around his waist, arms dropping to your sides.

‘why can’t you sleep in your own room.’

‘because i watched a scary video and it’s too cold in my room for me to get eight hours of sleep.’

Right. well his life just got ten times harder. he thought he’d have this problem sorted yet said problem was now in his lap. there were two ways he could do this. stroke your hair and pat your back as he explained what was bothering him. or pull your hair and smack your ass. unfortunately sukuna had never been much of a nice person.

‘listen doll there’s only so much i can tolerate.’

that had your attention, he rarely ever used this tone with you so you’d clearly made him mad.

‘i need to know exactly why you have no respect for me-‘

‘what? i respect you’

‘no you don’t. if you did, you wouldn’t be treating me like i’m one of your girlfriends. running around my place in your underwear. shoving your tits in my face every goddamn second of the day. grinding your little ass on me every time you fucking sit down.’

you had no words. you never thought sukuna would call you out on your behavior.

‘what? cat got your tongue now doll?’

‘i don’t like wearing clothes! i feel more comfy with no clothes on. i’m sorry.’

okay now he wasn’t tryna make you feel bad.

‘and you shoving your tits in my face every chance you get? jumping into my lap like a cat.’

‘i just. i feel nice when im close to you.’

‘nice? nice how?’

‘i don’t know how to say it. just feels nice.’

‘you mean nice here?’ he said as his hand cupped your warm cunt. immediately you gasped and shoved your face into his chest.

‘answer me.’

‘yes.’

‘knew you had it in you.’

‘now i would ask if you want me to carry on. but id say you deserve a little punishment for the way you’ve been acting don’t you think.’

he said as he lightly massaged you through you underwear. sukuna was so mean.

tiny little whimpers left you as his thumb drew circles over your clit through your panties, his other hand harshly gripping your ass cheek.

‘no no please. please kuna.’

‘please what doll? you think you deserve anything nice after acting like that? always so desperate aren’t you.’

‘please please, it hurts.’

you were growing frantic now, grinding your hips around and chasing for any more friction other than his single thumb.

‘only cos i’m feeling nice today. but i’m not giving you anymore than this. you need to learn a lesson.’

he pressed his index and middle fingers harder against your clit rubbing frantically as you all but wept into his chest.

‘sensitive baby aren’t you?’

‘feels so good kuna’

his fingers were relentless on your pussy, but he made sure never to move your underwear out the way. it didn’t take long before you were coming in your panties, tiny sighs breathed into his neck.

‘now doll. take your shirt off for me.’

‘mm okay’ and so obediently you lifted your shirt off and threw it to the floor.

sukuna took a minute to admire you. such pretty tits that he was finally seeing in their full glory. he grabbed a fistful of each and pulled harshly at your nipples.

‘you wanted this didn’t you? s’that why they’re always in my face?’

‘no no i wasn’t trying anything.’ you said with your eyes shut firmly at the slight burn. you couldn’t deny having his hands on you had that tingly warmth growing inside you again.

‘get my dick out for me doll.’

you knew not make him repeat himself. sukuna watched as your smaller hands (those trademark pink nails) shimmied his sweats down and reached into his boxers. he was already throbbing and you gasped at the sheer size of him in your palms.

‘please will you. can you-‘

‘what you wanna get fucked? you think you deserve that?’

‘yes i do please kuna’

‘yeah well i dont, now lay down here.’

he maneuvered you onto your back and peppered small kisses along your jaw. somehow kissing you on the mouth felt slightly too intimate.

‘push your tits together for me doll.’

‘like this?’

you said with the sweetest expression on your face, your small hands pushing at your breasts.

‘just like that doll.’

then he was straddling your chest and he began to thrust himself through the small gap between your pretty tits. fast and hard cos that was the only way to do it.

‘stick your tongue out for me’

and of course you did as told. this sight was all he needed from today onwards. you with the fat of your breasts spilling out your hands. eyes slightly teary and your tongue out licking at his tip.

he was quick to come himself, moving fast so he could cum directly on your tits.

neither of you spoke as he caught his breath. he could sense your shy demeanor coming back and as mean as he was, he wasn’t like that.

‘hey doll.’ he said with a little tap to your cheek to bring your eyes to his. he left hand stroked your cheek as his other used his shirt to wipe away the mess he’d left on your chest.

‘you still wanna sleep in my bed?’

‘yes please?’

‘always so sweet aren’t you?’

he picked you up and placed you on his chest. he wasn’t much of a cuddler but you obviously were. you snuggled your face into the crook of his neck and you warm tits were squished against his own pecs. it was still quite cold so he held you close, there was a lot more for the two of you to talk about which kept his mind busy while he attempted to put you to bed.

just as he had thought you’d drifted off, your little voice spoke up.

‘kuna?’

‘yeah doll.’

‘does this mean i can still not wear clothes in the house?’

he couldn’t help but laugh at that. your biggest worry being if you’d have to wear clothes from now on.

‘nah doll your good. you can keep em off’

‘yay.’

taglist: @totallygyomeiswife @26xidk @kamospeach @desi-laila @chaestwbryz @blueemochii @wrldtups

5K notes · View notes

barnes-babydoll · 1 month ago

Text

You’re the Glue | b.b 𐙚˙⋆.˚

Pairing | New Avengers!Bucky Barnes x New Avengers!Reader

Summary | After a mission goes horribly wrong, the team ends up stewing in their own anger on the car ride home. You try to lighten the mood, but instead it makes everyone angrier. When you're down, Bucky’s there to comfort you.

Warnings/tags | Thunderbolts* spoilers?? Tower fic, fluff, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, yearning, cursing, nsfw, MDNI (18+), smut, p in v sex, unprotected sex, praise kink, soft dom!Bucky, kissing, protective!Bucky, breast play, oral (f receiving), fingering, your honor Bucky’s obsessed with reader, no use of y/n.

Word Count | 12.3k

A/N | Baby's first fanfic!! I’ve been wanting to write for some time and how fitting that my first one is about my husband. Please have mercy on me, I write for fun. It’s not great, but I had a blast writing it. I hope you enjoy!! And if you did let me know:))

Read on AO3:)

It’s a cold day. The kind of cold that sits deep in your bones, chilling you to your very core. No snow is on the ground, but it’s getting close to that time of year. You shiver in your seat, wrapping your arms tightly around your middle to bring warmth back into your system.

The car sways slightly with the intense winds, but Bucky has a firm handle on the wheel, keeping it steady. Silence settles over the car; only the occasional groan, sigh, and low engine rumble break the quiet.

The team just completed a mission, and though everything worked out in the end, it didn’t seem to matter. Many things had gone wrong. The intel you had gathered was bad, the plan was thrown out the window, and the whole team was out of sync. All of that caused a rift between the members in the car.

Bucky’s driving, grip so tight on the wheel that his knuckles are white. You’re not sure if it’s from anger that the team had entirely ignored the meticulous plan you and Bucky had put together hours before you left, or if the uncomfortable silence is eating at him like it is you.

Yelena is in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dash, picking at the chipped polish on her nails. Her face says everything. She’s pissed. At everyone, but specifically Walker.

During the mission, he went to throw a punch, and instead of hitting his original target, he clocked Yelena right in the jaw. You don’t think she meant to get in the way, but she was just so occupied with getting the mission done that she wasn’t too keen on her surroundings. Now, a purple bloom of color is setting into her skin, along with other marks littered across her face and body, not unlike the others sitting in the car.

Walker is sitting in the bench seat ahead of you, closest to the window. He’s rubbing at his jaw, where Yelena punched him as “payback” on the walk back to the car. When Walker hit her, it was an accident. She didn’t see it that way; no one could convince her otherwise. You had to stifle a laugh when it happened because it was so abrupt, but also because of the clear shock on John’s face.

Ava’s next to him, arms crossed over her chest, and her brows drawn together. She occasionally bumps Walker with her elbow when the car drifts off its straight path, causing grunts and a string of low curses from the blonde man’s mouth.

Alexei’s eyes are closed, no doubt sleeping, next to Ava, who paid him no mind. You don’t think he’s upset with anyone, but the stillness lulled him to sleep, and you’re envious that he can nap at a time like this. But he can doze off at any time, no matter the circumstance. One time, you found him snoring upright while waiting for the microwave to beep, notifying him that his ramen was finished.

Bob is to your left on the second bench seat. You can feel the anxiety radiating off of him. Though he hadn’t helped out on the mission, he decided to come along for the ride. But he most likely regrets his decision now because he hates seeing the team like this. Bob always tries to lighten the mood, but he knows it’s useless this time.

You, on the other hand, don’t share everyone else’s sentiments. Yeah, every single thing was fucked from the start. But at least the job is done, and no one has any serious injuries, which is a win in your book.

Your head is swimming with ways to get everyone to stop sulking, but you don’t want to make an already bad situation worse. So, you settle on breaking the silence and suffering the consequences.

“Still on for movie night?” You say almost sheepishly, but there’s a hint of amusement in your tone. You’re met with silence. Only Bob looks your way briefly before his head drops between his shoulders, eyeing the floor. Instead of letting that deter you, you continue your pursuit.

“John picked last time, so it’s someone else’s turn. And I don’t think I can sit through another shit action movie. It’s just an excuse for men to blow shit up at this point.” That earns a strained laugh from the man beside you, but he doesn’t lift his head.

”Hell no.” Yelena grumbles from the front seat. “After this car ride, I am not sitting next to any of you.”

”I second that notion.” Walker pipes up, rolling his eyes in the process.

”At least there’s something we can agree on.” Ava ‘accidentally’ knocks her elbow into Walker’s arm again, and he looks like he’s seconds away from losing it.

You sit up in your seat, trying to draw their attention. “Oh, come on. We always watch a movie every other Friday. It’s tradition.”

John shakes his head. “Not happening.”

”I made homemade brownies, and I’ll make popcorn.” You put on your best smile, even if it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. Your smile quickly fades when no one answers. You glance around the car, and not a single soul is looking your way.

You lock eyes with Bucky in the rearview mirror. He loosens his grip on the steering wheel and gives you an almost apologetic expression. Your heart stutters in your chest. It’s a simple gesture but still melts some tension away from your shoulders.

You and Bucky have become friends over the last few months, or at least that’s what you’d like to think. When you first met the super soldier, he was closed off, grumpy, and didn’t talk much outside of a mission. But if you were lucky, you’d earn a stiff nod or grunt in response.

You strangely saw him as some sort of challenge. And you never backed down from a challenge. He didn’t have to like you, but you at least wanted to get more than a gruff sound from deep in his chest.

You started to memorize his schedule. Not like a creep, you just noticed the little things he did throughout the day. He wasn’t a morning person, so you avoided him until he finished his early workout. Usually, that changed his mood drastically; his posture was less guarded, and his expression had softened slightly.

He’d come to the kitchen after exercising, and you’d always have coffee ready, offering him a cup. Plain black coffee, just the way he likes it. You’d slide the mug near him with some sweet treat you had made prior that week. He would nod as a thanks, which had already been a small victory.

The common room was a safe place for him to gather intel or scope out potential missions. Pieces of paper were sprawled out on the table, and a soft glow illuminated his face from the screen on his laptop.

You caught on pretty quickly to what he was doing and started asking if he needed help. He always looked up from his work, stormy blue eyes meeting yours, and shook his head, no. Unfortunately for him, you were persistent.

You flopped down in the seat next to him with your laptop. His dark eyebrows knit together in confusion as he stared at you from behind his screen. You propped your head in your hand while the other was busy scrolling through articles, news reports, and random findings online.

You turned your screen around, giving him the vital information you found. Soon after, you began working together as a team, granting you much more than his usual guttural noises. From then on, everything was a breeze. Well, not exactly a breeze, but you considered him your friend.

Bucky made small talk in the morning over coffee, complementing you on whatever pastry, muffin, or dessert you made. He asked you to spar with him after John had slept in one morning. You were giddy with excitement that he chose you, but that feeling disappeared when he kicked your ass that day. Your chest heaved with exertion as your body slumped down on the mat, sore and aching. You knew he wouldn’t go easy on you, which was okay with you. You just had to step up your game.

It became easier to spar with Bucky after learning his tells. He would give you a few helpful pointers, which your original sparring partner, Yelena, hadn’t cared to do.

There were plenty of late nights between the two of you. You and Bucky hunched over a laptop, leaning into each other's space while researching and losing sleep.

But, if you’re being honest, you didn’t mind being sleep-deprived because you liked being next to him. Breathing in his scent, a mix of sandalwood, musk, and a hint of spearmint. Hearing the snort he let out when you made a joke. Seeing the corner of his lip turn up when you get animated about certain information.

It had turned from friends in your head to perhaps…more. You developed a crush on the tall, dark-haired man. Of course, you knew he was handsome; you weren’t blind. But you thought maybe the butterflies dancing in your stomach from his laugh or smile would go away. Then, his metal hand brushed against your skin. You’d feel like your world was turned on its axis and knew your attraction to him wouldn’t go away anytime soon.

As you sit in the car, gaze locked on Bucky’s blue irises, you must force yourself to look away so your heart doesn’t beat out of your chest. You tell yourself to try again to shake the team out of their irritated state. Maybe that will take your mind off your intense feelings for Bucky.

”We can order in Chinese. That’s always a comfort food of mine.” You offer.

Yelena turns entirely in her seat, shooting daggers at you. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Your back hits the seat as if she stabbed you. Yelena never raises her voice at you, not even when angry, because she’s never angry at you.

You consider Yelena more of a friend than anyone in the car. You connect more deeply with her, for which you are genuinely grateful. But now, as she stares you down, you feel a sense of dread putting down roots in the pit of your stomach.

“What?” It comes out smaller than you intended, and you can hear the hurt in your voice. Bucky hears it and immediately tries to meet your gaze in the mirror, but your eyes are directly on Yelena’s. They’re usually deeply warming, but there’s only a raging fire right now.

“Not everything is a puzzle you can assemble and force the pieces to fit. You can’t make everything better. You don’t make anything better.” Yelena’s voice is booming in your ears, loud and harsh. You feel too vulnerable. Too seen. You don’t know whether to scream or cry. You decide to stay silent instead, letting the anger boil beneath the surface.

”Knock it off, Yelena.” Bucky speaks up. His jaw is clenched, as if he could say more, but he chooses not to. You’re glad he doesn’t, though, because you might just let yourself cry in front of the team. All anyone will see is just how broken and raw you feel on the inside. But the others in the car don’t seem to be paying too much attention. Either they’re trying their hardest to ignore it, or they’re determined not to get involved.

Yelena’s eyes haven’t left yours, completely ignoring Bucky’s warning. “I’m sick of you trying to fix everything. Just let it be broken for once.” The anger threatens to bubble up, but you keep it at bay.

”Enough!” Bucky seethes at Yelena, whipping his head in her direction. Yelena finally settles back into her seat, satisfied with releasing her wrath on you.

You take a deep breath in before you say a word. ”Got it. Loud and fucking clear.” Your voice is steady, firm even. You're not going to let everyone see the raw and bleeding parts of you. Not now. Not ever. You glance out the window, a storm brewing behind your eyes, focusing on how the buildings pass by in a flash.

You hear a soft groan in front of you, but you don’t look for the source of the sound, too busy stewing in your irritation. “Did I fall asleep?” You recognize the voice as Alexei’s. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and pats his thighs, sitting up in his seat. “Well, what did I miss?”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Everyone breaks off in different directions once they’re back at the Tower. No one has said a word. Maybe it’s better that way so that everyone can cool down. Bucky follows behind you, keeping just enough distance for it not to be noticeable. He wants to check on you but isn’t quite sure how.

You’re quiet, and your muscles are taut, which is unlike you. Bucky knows all your intricate details, and you are far from a quiet person. Sure, there’s a gentleness about you, but you’re also lively. Especially when it comes to you talking about your passions. Your face lights up, and it’s as if the colors around you are suddenly brighter.

One of his favorite things is to catch you in the kitchen, hips swaying to the smooth music drifting through the speakers. You always seem in your element when baking and humming along to the song while your hands are whisking. Bucky would be embarrassed if anyone caught him, but it’s addicting. You’re addicting.

When the gentle parts of you come to the surface, it’s like watching a butterfly float through the air. There’s something so delicate about that side of you, like you're made of glass.

You’re constantly checking up on the team. You make sure they’ve eaten or drank enough water, or if they need a person to talk to. You’re always there. And now, no one is there for you when you need it most, which kills Bucky.

You’re speed walking to your room, arms tucked against your chest as if you’re closing in on yourself. Bucky practically trips over his feet, trying to catch up to you. He calls your name, but you don’t seem to hear. He finally gets close enough to grab hold of your arm. Not forcefully, just a light touch against your skin to pull you out of your daze.

Your breath hitches in your throat at the sudden contact, and you stop dead in your tracks. You glance down at where his flesh hand is and then up at his eyes. He drops his hand to rest at his side when he has your attention. His fingertips tingle from touching your skin, and it feels like tiny jolts of electricity.

There’s a beat of silence as he clenches and unclenches his fist before he clears his throat. “So, no movie night?”

”You heard them, it’s not happening.” You mumble, your voice is so soft. He might've missed it if he hadn’t been beside you.

“Right,” Bucky murmurs back, matching your tone so he doesn’t scare you away. He wants to say he’s still up for it, but then it’ll just be the two of you. Then again, is that so bad? You stare at each other without speaking. He opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off.

”Look, I’m pretty tired. I’m gonna go to bed. It’s been a long day.” You rub a hand over your arm, where he touched you, and now he’s spiraling. Maybe she didn’t want to be touched, and now she’s trying to rid her skin of any trace of me. He shakes the thought away and gives you a stiff nod.

“Of course, you must be exhausted. Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning.”

”Night.” You give him a tight-lipped smile before turning away and heading to your room, disappearing into the hallway's darkness.

Bucky stands there, one hand on his forehead, as he rubs at the growing headache. His mind is racing. He should have said so many things and asked if you were okay or wanted to talk about it. But Bucky was never truly good with feelings. He’d rather cram them deep down inside than open that Pandora’s box of issues.

He’s getting better, though, revealing the dark parts of himself. The nightmares, the memories that make his muscles tense, Hydra. Not to everyone, just to you. And you always listen. You make it your purpose to give him all your attention; he knows he doesn’t deserve that. But you give that part of yourself so freely.

He can’t just stand idly by while you’re hurting. So, he turns from his spot and wanders around the Tower to find Yelena. She’s not too hard to find. She’s standing in the kitchen watching her mug rotate around in the microwave with a cookie in her mouth. Bucky stands right behind her, hands on his hips.

”Apologize.”

Yelena spins around, clutching the spot on her chest right over her heart with her eyebrows raised. “Fuck, James. Give a girl some warning.” Her voice comes out muffled from her mouth full of crumbs.

“You’re an ex-assassin. You’re supposed to hear me coming from a mile away.” Bucky deadpans.

Yelena swallows down what’s in her mouth before speaking. ”I am off the clock. My guard is down.” She shrugs her shoulders, then points a finger at the super soldier as if scolding him. “Plus, I was chewing. I could have choked.”

Bucky ignores her dramatics and repeats himself. “Apologize.”

”No.” She whirls around as the microwave beeps and takes out the cup of hot water, placing it on the counter.

”Why?”

Yelena grabs a white packet from the cupboard, ripping off the top and shaking the contents into her mug. “Because I’m sick of her being so positive all the time.” She grabs a spoon from the drawer to stir the rich chocolate liquid.

“And? What’s wrong with that? This team needs a little fucking positivity.” Bucky snaps.

She twists to face Bucky, leaning against the counter and bringing the cup of hot chocolate to her lips. “Seems like you need a little positivity.”

“Yeah, maybe I do.” Bucky lowers his voice; his mind flicks to you and how content you make him when you’re around. “Listen, without her, this team would be nothing.”

Yelena tilts her head; her voice is thick with faux pity. “Are you saying she’s the glue that holds us together?”

“Yes,” Bucky says simply. Even if she doesn’t mean what she says, that’s precisely what he meant. You’re the glue.

Yelena quirks a brow. “Have you gone soft, Barnes?

He disregards her question and continues. “Just apologize.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t get your panties in a twist. I will…tomorrow.” She takes another swig of the dark liquid.

“No, right now.”

Yelena rolls her eyes and begins walking out of the kitchen, Bucky hot on her heels. “I’m tired. I’ll do it bright and early tomorrow so you can see her beautiful smile.” He pauses for a moment, caught off guard by her statement. She smirks at him over her shoulder as she strides to her room. He recovers quickly, following her again.

She snorts when he doesn’t answer. “That is what this is about, right? You can’t stand to see her sad. It’s breaking you. Making you have all kinds of feelings. Your little heart can’t take it.” Yelena opens her door, getting ready to close it behind her.

“No, that’s not-.” Before he can deny her revelation, she interrupts him.

“Goodnight, Barnes. Or should I say loverboy?” Yelena gives him a smug look, wiggling her eyebrows before closing the door in his face.

Great, he thinks, that’s what I get for prying.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It’s been a couple of hours, and you're still lying in bed, wide awake, to your dismay. You spent about an hour tossing and turning, then another hour staring at the ceiling. Now, you can’t decide between a blanket or no blanket. Maybe you need a glass of water, but no, scratch that; you need a drink.

You can’t help but play the day's events over in your head: the mission, Yelena’s words, Bucky. Your skin still prickles where he touched your arm. He was so gentle with you, as if you were fragile.

Of course, he knows you're not. You’ve tripped him up a few times while sparring, knocking him flat on his ass. That shouldn’t give you as much thrill as it does, but who can blame you?

Still, you think about his hand gingerly placed on your arm as he examined you with concern etched on his face. And, you had pushed him away. Not because you didn’t want him. Fuck, you wanted him. But you knew if you opened up and let him see how wounded you were, that would leave you more exposed than you already felt. You’re wishing you had stayed. Let him take your mind off everything, but it’s too late.

You kick your feet over the side of the bed and amble over to your bedroom door, neglecting to put on your slippers. You pad through the hallway, and a figure in the living room snags your attention.

Bucky is on the couch, a quilt draped over his legs as colors dance across his form, and he’s taking you in. You note how his shoulders drop and his features soften, almost as if he were waiting for you. But that’s absurd. You rid the thought immediately.

He pulls you out of your daze as his voice cuts through the air. “You alright?”

You shrug, gesturing to him on the sofa. “I could ask you the same question.”

His gaze flicks down as if noticing where he is and what he’s doing. “Oh, yeah, I couldn’t sleep.” He focuses back on you, no doubt wanting you to answer his question.

“Me either.” You tip your thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “You want a drink?”

“Sure, sounds good to me.”

You go to the bar, rummaging through the liquor cabinet until you find what you are searching for—a clear glass bottle with dark amber liquid. You couldn’t care less about how much it cost, but you can tell by the ornate design of the bottle that it had to cost half a fortune. It's not something you have the money for, especially before this job, but Valentina always supplied the best for appearance's sake.

You take two short whiskey glasses from the shelf, setting them on the counter before detaching the glass stopper from the geometric bottle. You fill both glasses halfway and head back to the living room.

You step around the couch and hand Bucky his. He nods in appreciation as you sink into the spot next to him. You’re close enough to feel his warmth, but there’s still some distance between you.

You take a sip of the liquid. A smooth, smoky, and vanilla flavor hits your taste buds and floods your senses—a welcoming contrast to distract from how shitty you feel.

You already feel a thousand times better, Bucky next to you, the liquor calming you, and the steady sound of the TV playing in the background. You tip your head toward the TV as you get comfortable.

You turn towards him as your arm rests on the back of the couch, elbow bent so your hand can support your head. “Having movie night without me?”

He shakes his head. ”No, never. It just happened to be on.” The corner of your lip lifts, and your chest warms. You can’t tell if it’s from the whisky heating your body temperature or the way he said never, and you think you might believe him.

”Well, you are watching a movie on movie night, so that’s a little suspicious.” You tease.

”Shit, I guess I am.” There’s amusement in his voice as a faint smile appears. He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, doll. I would’ve invited you but thought you wanted to be alone.”

You hum in response. “I thought I did, too, but I was wrong.”

Bucky’s tone turns serious as he scans your face. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

”Hell no. Distract me, please.”

“Anything for you.” He says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. You swear your heart skips a beat, and your cheeks flush slightly. Somehow, you know he’s not just saying that to make you feel better. You feel like you can breathe easier knowing that.

“Anything, huh?”

”Just say the words, sweetheart.”

“Care to share that blanket?” You think the whisky is calming you and giving you hidden confidence you didn’t know you had.

”I s’pose.” He drawls with a smirk on his face. You scoot closer, and he lifts the quilt, covering your legs. It was never about needing warmth, just an excuse to be near him.

“Much better.” You mumble.

Bucky stares at you, blue eyes flicking between your features like he’s trying to memorize you, and a shiver runs through you under his gaze. He clears his throat, running his metal hand through his hair.

“Right, distraction.” He leans his head back against the couch, examining the ceiling as he sifts through his brain for a topic of discussion. All you can think of is how distracted you already are.

“Oh, got it.” He locks his eyes with yours once again. “Alexei was riding the elevator this morning.”

Your eyebrows draw together, utterly confused. “That’s usually what happens.”

”For half an hour.”

You giggle at how strange that sounds. “Wait, why?”

”I don’t know. When I asked him about it, he said he was testing a theory and then swore me to secrecy. So, you can’t say anything.” He arches a brow. “I’m pretty sure he just pressed all the buttons, though.”

Laughter bubbles out of your mouth, exactly what you need. You’re hurt, and anger is a distant feeling.

“I have one.” Bucky nods his head for you to continue. “Ava phased through the bathroom the other day, and I was completely naked.”

His jaw drops, and then he proceeds to bust out laughing. It’s a sound you never get tired of hearing, probably because it’s so rare, but also from the way it makes your stomach do somersaults. “That’s the one place you shouldn’t phase into. Is she ever going to learn how to knock?”

”I wouldn’t hold out hope. She apologized profusely, but I know she won’t stop doing it.” You put your glass on the coffee table to give him your attention.

“I don’t know how to top that one.” There’s still a lingering grin fixed on his lips as he thinks for a moment. “I caught Walker watching Titanic. He kept telling me it was already on when he sat down.”

”I knew he was a sucker for romance.” You pause, tilting your head and narrowing your eyes at him. “Wait, that means you’ve watched Titanic.”

”Of course, I have. People say it’s one of the classics.”

“And, what did you think?”

“It was good.” You can hear the reluctance in his tone. You give him a look to carry on. Bucky rolls his eyes, but there’s no malice behind it. “Jack clearly could have fit on that door.”

“Right?” Your voice goes up an octave, and you're grinning from ear to ear like a lovesick fool. “Yelena and I had a whole conversation about how they could've made it work.” Your face drops immediately after you realize what you said.

You let out a long breath, and suddenly, whatever is on the TV is extremely interesting. Your eyes are directly on the person on the screen, but you’re not paying much attention because your head is spinning again.

Why are Yelena’s words affecting you so much? You’ve never truly cared what other people think. But, then again, she’s your friend. Perhaps your best friend. Shouldn’t her opinion matter?

Bucky breaks your train of thought, not easily deceived by your sudden intrigue in the television. “She’s wrong, y’know?”

“Hmm?”

“You do make everything better.” His words are like silk, soft and comforting. You whip your head to meet his gaze. There’s a slight smile on his lips; the color in his eyes is swirling and shifting. It’s like a tide pulling you in and telling you, you’re safe. You fully trust that he will keep you safe, and you won’t overlook that.

You return his smile, and the light reaches your eyes. He parts his lips and sucks in a breath—it’s subtle, but you notice. You don’t know what to say, but settle on, “Thank you, Bucky.”

“Sure thing, doll.”

You turn your attention to the TV to hide the blush crawling up your cheeks. Then, because that liquid courage is coursing through your veins, you rest your head on his shoulder. Bucky tenses beneath you, and you internally kick yourself for making him uncomfortable. You almost pick your head up. As if he’s reading your thoughts, he relaxes, and his breathing becomes lighter.

You stay like that for a while, enjoying each other’s company as you watch the movie. Your lids feel heavy, and before you know it, they flutter shut. You’re sleeping on Bucky’s arm like you belong there.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Bucky noticed your breathing even out about twenty minutes ago, but he’s still watching you like you're a masterpiece in the Louvre. He’s scrutinizing every aspect of your person as if he’ll be quizzed on it later. He wants to pull you into his arms and tuck your head under his chin as you lie on his chest, but he doesn’t want to overstep a boundary.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this calm; it’s refreshing. To forget about any piece of his past for a second and drown in you. There’s no promise of nightmares or bad memories taking shape at the forefront of his mind.

Bucky yawns and leans his head against the back of the sofa. Maybe I’ll rest my eyes for a moment, he thinks before closing them and drifting off to sleep.

The sun peeking through the curtains stirs him awake, and he reluctantly opens his eyes. Your head is still a gentle weight on his arm, which brings a sleepy smirk to his face.

It dawns on him how this must look, and he realizes he should get up before any team member sees. Yelena’s already hinting at his crush on you. He can’t have everyone on him about how dopey he must look, staring at you like you hung the stars.

Bucky slowly moves from his spot on the couch, careful not to rouse you. He takes your head in one hand and shifts to stand up. Bending over, he grabs a pillow and maneuvers it under you. He delicately pulls your legs and sets them on the couch, draping the blanket's full length over your shape. Your body twitches slightly as you settle into the new position.

He steals one last glance at your peaceful demeanor as he stretches. He groans at the sharp pain in his upper back and neck, no doubt from the way he fell asleep. But he honestly doesn’t care. He’d do it all over again to feel any part of you on him. Bucky leaves you to get some much-needed rest as he starts his morning.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You rise from sleep to the sound of clattering and blink a few times to adjust to the light. There’s a pillow under your head that you don’t remember putting there, and the quilt from last night covers the expanse of your body. You must have fallen asleep.

The recollection of last night hits you like a tidal wave. You were cuddled up on Bucky’s arm last night, which lulled you to sleep. He must have adjusted you before he went to bed. The thought gives you a fuzzy sensation in your brain.

The smell of coffee fills your nostrils, and you finally get off the couch. You drift into the kitchen. You spot Yelena and Walker talking by the counter. At least someone made up.

Walker detects you instantly. “Hey, sleepy head. How was the couch?” Yelena’s eyes dart up to meet you.

You shrug, stepping into the room. “Surprisingly, not bad.” Yelena turns around and opens the cupboard, reaching for a mug.

John nods and clears his throat. “Sorry for yesterday. Our dumb asses ruined movie night.”

You wave him off. “Don’t worry about it.” You watch Yelena bring the coffee pot to the mouth of the cup, pouring the dark liquid as steam wafts into the air.

”No, movie night is important to you. We should have sucked it up and watched it.” He reiterates.

”It’s no big deal. That just means we're watching two next Friday night.” You jokingly add.

Walker chuckles. “It’s only fair.”

Yelena turns around and hands you the cup. You must have missed her putting cream in because now it’s a swirl of tan and white. You give her a look of gratitude before bringing the warm drink to your lips.

“Can we talk?” Yelena asks with a soft expression. You can almost see her guilt on display.

”Yeah.” You murmur as your hands wrap around the mug, soaking up the heat.

”Alone, dipshit.” She adds, shooting Walker a glare over her shoulder.

He frowns, his eyebrows scrunching together. ”I was literally in here before both of you.”

It’s your turn to glare at the blonde man. He raises his hands in surrender and wanders out of the kitchen, mumbling something about women under his breath.

Yelena flicks her gaze to you and begins. “I apologize for what I said yesterday. I regretted it as soon as the words left my mouth. If I could take them back, I would.”

Yelena glances around the room, trying to find the words to convey her feelings. “I wanted to stay mad, but you were changing my mind about being mad, making me more mad. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you, though.”

You sigh, shaking your head. ”It’s okay. I should have read the room instead of pushing everyone to feel a certain way.”

“No, you were right. It was a stupid reason to be upset with each other. Although there’s always a good reason to be angry at Walker.” She tilts her head in the direction John went. You let out a soft chuckle. “Do you forgive me? You can punch the other side of my jaw if that makes you feel better.”

You snort. “Tempting, but no. I forgive you.”

”That’s a relief. I thought I was going to have to replace you with one of the boys, and that makes me want to vomit.”

Your jaw drops in mock horror as you clutch your chest. “You would replace me? You wound me.”

”I’m kidding. No one could replace you.” Yelena hums as a thought pops into her head. “Barnes was right; you are the glue.”

You quirk a brow. “Huh?”

”We were talking last night. He was the one who told me to apologize.” She pauses, raising a hand. “To be clear, I was going to anyway. Plus, I never let a man tell me what to do.”

That causes you to giggle, and then you gesture for her to continue. “Go on.”

”Anyways, he implied that you’re the glue that holds this team together, and I couldn’t agree more.” She softly nudges you with her elbow. You feel your cheeks warm, and you sip at your coffee to hide how those words affect you.

Yelena rolls her eyes playfully. “Man, you two are ridiculous. Just kiss already.”

”What are you talking about?” You don’t even know why you’re trying to deny it; she caught you red-handed.

”Don’t get me started. How you look at each other, and Barnes is so protective of you. I also found you both cuddled up on the couch this morning when I was on my way to apologize to you.” Yelena gives you a look that says, Don’t you dare try to gaslight me.

Cuddled up on the couch this morning? That means Bucky didn’t leave in the middle of the night like you thought. He stayed. You bite your lip to suppress a smile, but how ecstatic you are is no secret.

”Ugh, you’re so weird. Remind me never to talk about him around you again.” She turns on her heels and heads out of the room, leaving you with a mess of feelings to sort out in your head.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

It’s late afternoon when you eventually get the courage to talk to Bucky. You’ve been avoiding all the usual places he goes throughout the day because you're afraid you’ll tell him how you feel. Gosh, you feel like a foolish teenager.

You want this more than anything. You want him more than anything. But there are a lot of what-ifs to consider. What if he doesn’t feel the same, and then you feel awkward? What if you do test this out and it doesn’t work out? Now you’ve ruined your friendship. And worst, what if he has feelings for you and wants you just as badly? You won’t know how to act with that last one.

You ultimately said to hell with all those questions because you need answers, and the only person who can answer them is Bucky. You won’t beat around the bush any longer; if there are consequences, so be it. You can live with whatever outcome, even if it hurts.

When you arrive at his bedroom, the door is already open a crack. You softly knock on it, causing it to swing open more. His gravelly voice comes through the door. “Come in.”

You push the door to proceed forward into his space before closing the door behind you. Bucky is leaning against the headboard, one leg crossed over the other with his laptop on his thigh. “Hey.” You mutter as you step closer to his bed.

He straightens instantly, placing his laptop next to him. “Hi.” As he moves to sit on the edge of his bed, he sucks air through his teeth and his face contorts into one of discomfort. He tries to hide how sore he is, but fails miserably. “What’s up?” His voice comes out strained.

Concern is written on your face as you examine him. “You’re in pain.” You cross the room to stand before him.

Bucky tries to brush off your worries. ”It’s nothing. I must’ve pulled something while training.”

You give him an unimpressed look and motion for him to turn. “May I?”

“Really, I’m fine.” He shrugs, but even that gesture seems to cause him more pain.

“Can I touch you or not, James?” Your tone relays a sense of authority, but your voice remains soft.

He lets out a deep sigh and reluctantly turns to the side, so you have access to his back. “Yes, ma’am. You can go ahead and touch me.”

You’ve never been one for formalities, but the way he says ma’am has you reeling. You recover, though, positioning yourself behind him, a knee propped on the bed for leverage.

You place your hands on his shoulders, lightly squeezing his muscles and working your way down his arms. He’s stiff beneath your touch, so you gently coax him by whispering in his ear.

“Relax for me.” As if you commanded him, he drops his shoulders and lets his head fall forward. You increase the pressure and start to massage the knots in his neck, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. You continue to knead his upper back, neck, and shoulder muscles until you can feel the tension melting.

”Training, huh?” You ask as you carry on with your task.

”That’s what I said.” Bucky mumbles, evidently lost in the relief you’re giving him.

”Yes, but you’re lying.”

You hear him swallow hard. “What?”

”I know you fell asleep with me on the couch last night.”

Bucky picks his head up, though he hasn’t turned to meet your gaze. “Were you awake?”

”No, Yelena told me.” You pause, rubbing at a stubborn knot in his back. “You could have gone to bed, y’know?”

He nods once. “Yeah, I know, but,” the super soldier wavers slightly, “I didn’t want to.”

The confession hits like a punch to the gut. You want to press the matter, but as your hands journey back up to his shoulders, he rests a hand over yours, and you freeze.

He pivots to face you, his flesh hand still over yours. As he turns, your other hand falls to your side, and you pick your knee off the bed. “Thank you, but why did you actually come here? Because I know you didn’t come here to take care of me, sweetheart.”

Suddenly, you’re incredibly nervous. His eyes are locked on you, and his hand's warmth causes your heart to race. “Uh…it’s something Yelena said.”

Bucky grabs your hand off his shoulder, taking it in both of his—flesh and metal. He starts to rub soothing circles into the skin. “You two made up then?”

“Yeah,” the word seems to get caught in your throat from how he’s massaging your hand.

”Good, I’m glad.” He rotates your hand, palm up, and repeats the action to that side. “So, what did she say?”

You swallow hard to regain your composure, but your heart is still rapidly beating. “She said I’m the glue that holds this team together. She mentioned that she may have gotten that from someone else.” You give him a knowing look.

Bucky halts his actions and releases your hand. Then, he moves to the other one and starts massaging it. “I wonder who.” You arch a brow, and he sighs, conceding in his efforts to deny it.

“Fine, I said it and I meant it.” He adds emphasis to the last part. “You do a lot for this team; we don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve you.” You quietly gasp, but he still hears it.

He drops your hand and proceeds. “You’re kind, caring, and you always listen. Even if it’s not worthy of your attention. I mean how many times have you listened to the same damn story from Alexei’s ‘glory days’?”

You giggle, light and breathy. You flush a deep red color, and there’s no use in hiding it. “I don’t mind.”

”See, that’s what I’m talking about.” Bucky braces his hands on his knees and hauls himself up to stand before you. “You care so much about everyone else, but don’t let anyone do the same for you.”

He leans in, and you sharply inhale. Your eyes dart between both his eyes before your attention dips to his parted lips briefly. He notices, because of course he does, and the corner of his lip lifts into a sly smirk. He glances down at your lips in return.

Did you die and go to heaven? Because there is no way this is happening. Are you reading this wrong, or did he honestly look at your lips? You want to close the distance, but it’s not that simple. You have to leave before you do something stupid.

You step around him and begin to book it to his door, but he’s much quicker than you. “Where are you going?” Bucky snatches your arm before you can get too far. He spins you around to scan your face.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, and you’re sure he’s going to drive you wild. ”I think I might do something reckless if I stay.” You murmur.

”Then, let me do it instead, doll.” Bucky’s voice is low and rough, sending shivers down your spine.

He inspects you for any sign of hesitation, but there is none. His flesh hand moves to brush your hair out of your face and tuck it behind your ear. Bucky lets his touch drag down your jaw, tracing the skin there. Then, he takes a firm hold of it and brings you closer, capturing your lips.

The kiss is soft and slow at first, lips moving against each other like you have all the time in the world. Bucky’s other hand finds your waist, and he pulls you closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. You melt into him, and one of your arms wraps around him as your other hand cups the back of his neck, deepening the kiss.

It quickly turns hungry, your lips moving with his in a desperate dance of passion. As it starts to get heated, his tongue runs along your bottom lip, requesting access.

You part your lips immediately, and his tongue slips into your mouth. He lets out a satisfied hum when he finds your tongue. He’s completely immersed in you. His tongue explores your mouth like it’s a personal mission to taste every inch of you. Your knees buckle slightly, and his hand leaves your jaw to grab your hip, granting you stability.

Your tongues slide and swirl with one another as your hand snakes up and under his shirt, feeling his bare skin. Bucky positions his leg between your thighs, and you moan into the kiss at the contact.

He breaks the kiss and gazes down at you. You’re flushed and trembling with desire. You're both trying to slow your breathing, but it’s pointless. He dips his head to attach his lips to your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your collarbone. You grind against his leg, needing some friction. “Bucky,” you breathe.

He growls against your skin, sending vibrations through you. He tightens his grip on your hip and begins to help guide your movement. Then, he moves to your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and licking its shell. “Tell me what you need, doll.” His tone is raspy in your ear.

Your breathing turns erratic at all the sensations, and your knees threaten to give out, but you know he has you. “I…I need you.”

“Fuck,” he drawls in your ear before pulling back to get a glimpse of you. “That’s all I want to hear. Are you going to let me take care of you?”

You open your mouth to speak, but the words won’t come. You nod in response, and he doesn’t waste any time.

“Good girl.” Bucky picks you up by your thighs effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. You realize you’ve always wanted to witness that super soldier strength firsthand, and now you have a front row seat to the show.

Bucky carries you the short distance to the bed and lays you down gingerly. He crawls onto the mattress after you and nudges your legs apart with his knee so that he can situate himself between your thighs. He braces his arm next to your head, hovering over you. You bite your lip at the sight of his bicep on full display. He lets out a low chuckle as his other hand slips under your shirt.

He lets his fingers dance across your flesh, reveling in the way you shiver. Bucky takes the hem of your shirt in both hands and pulls it over your head, tossing it somewhere in the room. He hums at the sight of you before making quick work of your bra. He reaches around you and unclasps it as he lowers the straps off your shoulders.

He drinks you in, naked from the waist up. “Damn, you’re gorgeous.” Bucky plunges to kiss along your sternum while his hand wanders up to cup your breast. He trails kisses to your other breast before his tongue darts out to tease your nipple.

His eyes flick up to you as he wraps his lips around your nipple, sucking and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. His hand gently squeezes and massages your other breast. You arch your back and you let out a soft whimper. You feel a heat pool in your lower stomach as the tension builds in your aching body.

“Bucky, please.” You beg while you buck your hips up into him to relieve some of that growing pressure.

He releases your nipple with a soft pop. “Shh…patience, doll. Let me take my time with this beautiful body of yours.”

Bucky switches to the other, giving each breast equal attention. You grunt in frustration, and he laughs against your skin. You begin to protest, but he bites your nipple, causing a new wave of pleasure to crash over you. You silence yourself and let him work his magic.

As he languidly kisses and sucks the opposite breast, his fingers toy with your other one. Bucky’s thumb rubs and flicks over your nipple, drawing a moan from your lips.

Once he’s satisfied, his mouth moves further down. He kisses and nips at your skin as he travels to your lower stomach. Bucky licks along the spot above your waistband, and you squirm underneath him.

“Lift your hips for me, doll.” He pats your thigh and glances up at you; his blue eyes are dark. You obey, digging your heels into the mattress to lift the lower half of your body. He hooks his thumbs into your shorts and peels them off, leaving you in just your panties.

He’s breathless as he admires the way you’re sporting those black, lace panties. Bucky licks his bottom lip before taking it between his teeth. You’re thrumming with anticipation from how he’s examining you like you’re his next meal and he’s starving. He traces the outline of your underwear with a single digit. Then, runs his finger over your core, his touch feather-light, but it still causes you to twitch.

“Mmm…so wet for me.” Bucky plants a soft kiss to your underwear clad clit. He takes the lace band and drags it down your thighs. You raise your legs, and he slips them off and stuffs them in the back pocket of his jeans. You playfully roll your eyes, and he smirks at you.

“What, I can’t have a little souvenir of our first time?” He grabs the underside of your knee and hooks it over his shoulder as he kisses your inner thigh.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, I just kinda like that pair.” You jest.

”I can see why.” Bucky looks up through his lashes and winks at you. You giggle, and you’re sure that this man is going to be the death of you. “But, I gotta say, I prefer you in nothing.” He fans his hot breath across you as his mouth gets closer to where you need him most. “Such a pretty pussy.”

Yep, he’s going to kill you, and if it isn’t from that handsome face, then it will be from that filthy mouth. You smooth his hair back and out of his face, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of him. He looks like a dream. Maybe this is a dream because he’s too damn perfect.

Bucky leans into your touch as you run your fingers through his long hair. His expression softens, and he presses a lingering kiss to your thigh.

“Can I taste you, babydoll?” His voice goes deep and husky. Your breathing stutters at the nickname; he can tell you like it.

“Yes, please.” Your eyes are pleading, like you can’t wait a second longer.

”Anything for you.” He lowers his mouth to lick a strip up your center. You whine and grip his dark strands. Bucky’s tongue dives back in, devouring you. His tongue works expertly on your wet heat, licking up your juices and teasing your entrance.

You writhe and squirm under him as erotic sounds exit your wide-open mouth. “Fuck, that feels so good. Your mouth is perfection.”

Bucky groans against your pussy hearing your sounds and praises. His metal hand rises to rest on your lower stomach as the other one grabs your hip, holding you still. He flicks his tongue over your clit before lightly sucking on it. He swirls his tongue around you in tight circles. You tip your head back, letting out a loud, throaty moan.

He lets go of your hip and traces a finger around your entrance as he continues to suck and lick your bundle of nerves. Bucky dips his finger into you and steadily pumps it in and out.

You whimper at the sudden intrusion, and your free hand searches for something to grab onto. You find Bucky’s metal hand on your stomach and grasp the back of it, trying to ground yourself. He flips his hand over, holding your hand in his as he works at your cunt.

He slides a second finger in, stretching you out and pumping deeper into you. Bucky breaks away from your clit, his teeth faintly grazing it, as he comes up for air. Now that you can see his whole face, you notice the way his mouth and chin are covered in your juices. It only adds to the intense pleasure you feel from his skilled fingers.

”You’re doing so well, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing your knuckles before resting your clasped hands on your abdomen again.

You can feel the pressure building inside you with every stroke of his fingers, and it’s overwhelming. You don’t think anyone has ever made you feel this incredible, and you never want the pleasure to end.

He curls his digits inside you, caressing your walls. You squeeze around his fingers, and he picks up the pace, wanting to bring you to the edge. Your thighs begin to quiver as moans and whimpers fill the room. “Bucky…I’m so close. Please, don’t stop.”

”Wasn’t plannin’ on it.” He drops his head down, mouth pushing between your slick folds. Bucky doubles down on his efforts. His fingers thrust faster while he sucks on your clit hard, then his tongue starts to move with even more purpose—swirling, flicking, and teasing.

Without warning, your orgasm wracks through your body. Wave after wave of pleasure crashing down upon you. You come undone with a strangled cry as your eyes squeeze shut. Your hand instinctively pulls on Bucky’s hair as you ride out your climax. He helps you prolong your orgasm by keeping up with his ministrations.

He slows his movements to a stop and lets you catch your breath. You shudder with aftershocks of pleasure as you come down from your high.

He unhooks your leg from his shoulder and begins to kiss and nip up the expanse of your body. He inches up your form until he’s level with your face. Your eyes are still closed, and he chuckles low at your blissed out state. He plants kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and nose, making you release a breathy laugh. He finally places a soft, sweet kiss on your lips before leaning back to inspect you.

“You still with me, doll?” Bucky brushes a stray damp hair out of your face. You open your eyes, giving him a soft grin. “Ah, there’s my pretty girl. You doin’ okay?”

Your smile grows wider because he looks like an angel above you and has the nerve to call you pretty. “Better than okay. That was unreal.” You grab the back of his neck as your thumb caresses the skin. “Do you eat pussy for a living?” You jokingly add.

He gives you an amused look. “I can eat your pussy for a living. Keep me down there between your thighs and I’ll be a happy man.” He pinches your thigh to emphasize his words.

You giggle and wish time would stop for a minute because you want to stay in this moment forever. You snap yourself out of your daze and gesture between the two of you. “This isn’t fair.”

”What’s not fair, doll?” He gives you a quizzical expression.

”You’re wearing too many clothes.”

He shakes his head, grinning. “I can fix that.”

Bucky climbs off the bed and reaches behind him, pulling at the collar of his black shirt until it's off. You’re faced with sharp lines and toned muscles like a fucking ancient Greek sculpture. It’s absurd how sexy he is. You don’t know if you’ve met a more attractive person.

You lean on your forearms to better view him as he continues the show. Bucky unbuckles his belt; just the clang of the metal makes a fire light within your very bones. He slips it out of the belt loops of his dark-washed jeans before tugging them and his boxers down his legs.

You cast your eyes down at where the material pools at his feet, then slowly let them glide up his figure. Fuck. You don’t know where to look. His thighs, chest, biceps, abs, dick-

He’s huge, and he looks painfully hard. Forget what you said before about his handsome face and filthy mouth, his dick will be the death of you. You’re sure that’s the best way to go, though, so you can’t find it in your heart to care much.

Bucky crawls back over top of you, settling into his original place. Your hands are instantly on him, tracing his dips and contours. His stomach muscles flex beneath your touch.

“Stunning.” You mutter. You lift your head to kiss along the spot where skin meets metal, and he quivers above you.

“Doll-“ His voice is sweet and warm like honey in your ear. You register that his cock is hard against your thigh as you trail kisses to his neck. You grip him firmly in your hand, carefully stroking his leaky cock.

He gasps softly at the feel of your soft hand on him. Bucky’s forehead falls to your shoulder, and his breathing is ragged in your ear as you continue your movements. Your thumb swipes at the precum that beads at the slit, spreading it to give you more purchase.

”Oh, sweetheart.” He growls, low and rough. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.”

You hum in agreement as you free him from your grasp. “Well then,” you move your mouth to hover beside his ear and whisper. ”Take me, baby.”

Bucky grunts and pecks your shoulder before pulling away to gaze into your eyes. His eyes are dark with desire, matching your own. He takes his dick in his hand and positions himself between your thighs. He runs the head through your slick and teases your entrance with his tip.

“Are you ready for me?”

Your free hand finds a place on his bicep in preparation, knowing you’ll need stability from his sheer size. “Yes, Bucky.”

He slides inside of you, nice and slow, taking his time to stretch you out on his cock. His entire body stiffens as he feels how tight you are. Bucky groans and his jaw clenches as if it’s taking every bit of control not to slam into you. You suck in breath and tilt your head back. He instantly takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, gently forcing your gaze back on him.

“Eyes on me, doll. I want to watch you as it goes in.”

Fuck. You’re so turned on that you can’t even respond to him; you just obey. Your eyes are locked on his as he pushes inside you at an achingly slow pace like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you.

He bottoms out inside you, and you feel impossibly full. You’re just staring at each other now, your rapid breaths mingling in the space between you. Bucky’s giving you a moment to adjust before he even thinks about moving. He also wants to take a moment to feel you surrounding him; it’s overwhelming.

You have to remind yourself to breathe. The stretch of your pussy around him is intense. His dick is buried so far into your tight warmth it’s like he’s drowning in it, but instead you're the one losing oxygen.

He moves his hand from the spot on your chin to cup your cheek, stroking the flushed skin. He leans down and captures your lips in a hungry kiss, hot and desperate, like he needs to taste you. You reciprocate with equal fervor, your hand snaking up into his hair to deepen the kiss as your tongues merge.

He moves both his hands to grab your thighs and hikes them up to wrap your legs around his waist. Bucky’s metal hand settles on your hip as the other searches for your hand on the back of his head. He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls it from its place in his hair. He breaks the kiss and brings your palm to his lips, before pinning it above your head.

He leisurely starts to ease in and out of you while trying to get a read on your expression. He wants to make sure you’re feeling good or if you need more time to adjust. But, instead, you softly moan, giving him the reassurance he needs to speed up.

“Atta girl, taking me so well.” Bucky praises. It only seems to make your core wetter, making it easier for him to thrust into you. You tighten your grip on his bicep as he snaps his hips into you. His grip on your hip is bruising as he sets a rhythmic pace, steady and deep.

His hand on your wrist lets go before his fingers glide across your palm to interlock your hands, holding it against the mattress as if to say, I’m here, I’ve got you. You squeeze his hand in a silent reply to remind him that you’re here and not going anywhere.

Bucky adjusts himself as his thrusts turn erratic and sloppy as his pace quickens, slamming deeper into you. He wants to see you completely fall apart under him. You moan loudly at the new angle he’s providing you. He begins to hit that sweet spot deep inside you over and over. The tension rises sharply and quickly, like you might explode at any minute.

”Yes, Bucky. Just like that. So fucking good.” The words spew from your lips like an erupting volcano, and you can’t help the sounds you’re making, loud moans and strained whimpers.

”You sound so pretty, babydoll. Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.” He reaches between your bodies with his metal hand to rub your aching, sensitive clit with his thumb.

You arch your back into him and your hand finds purchase on the carved lines of his back, nails digging into the flesh, leaving behind little crescent moon shapes. The flood of sensations washing over you causes you to clench hard around him as you cry out in pleasure.

”Bucky, I-I’m…” You cut yourself off with a groan as he hits your cervix again.

”I know, sweetheart. I can feel you squeezin’ me.” He rubs your clit faster, applying more pressure, his thumb moving in tight circles. “Let go, doll. Come for me. I want to feel you come on my cock.”

That’s all the motivation you need as you scream his name while your pussy flutters around him. Your body is trembling as you orgasm for the second time tonight. Your vision blurs, and you’re seeing stars. The feeling is euphoric. It’s as if you’re on cloud nine, floating on ecstasy. It’s a struggle to keep your eyes open, but you need to watch him come undone.

He lets out a strangled moan as he feels you come. It’s the best feeling in the world, and he knows he could easily get addicted to it. He eases off your clit and returns his hold on your hip, firm as if he’s afraid to let go.

Bucky thrusts in once, twice, three times before spilling deep inside you. Hot ropes of cum filling you and coating your walls as he grunts your name, throwing his head back in pure bliss. He clutches your intertwined hands like a lifeline.

You watch in awe as he releases into you. Your mind is still in the clouds as you cup his jaw and force his head down. He opens his eyes, adoration swimming in his soft blues. He presses his forehead to yours as he works you both through your climax, pushing his cum deeper into you.

He ceases his movement, but stays buried to the hilt deep inside you. He wants to keep that connection for a bit longer. You can feel cum leaking out of you as your body goes limp. Bucky rests his weight on top of you, and you welcome it.

He nuzzles his face into your neck as you both come down from your highs, chests rising and falling rapidly. Your hand moves into his hair as you lightly scratch his scalp with your nails. Bucky groans in appreciation, and his lips brush against your neck with lazy kisses.

“Damn,” you breathe into the air. “Is it going to be like that every time?”

He chuckles into the side of your neck, vibrating your body. Bucky inclines his head back, letting go of your hand to lean on his forearm over you. His face has a soft expression, a mix of arrogance and amusement.

“I’m pretty sure it only gets better, doll. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.” He pinches your side, and you huff air out of your nose in laughter.

“Oh, really? You’re quite cocky, aren’t you?”

“I’m only confident in my ability to please you.” He shoots you a look like he knows how good he made you feel.

Bucky pulls out of you, causing you to softly gasp from how sensitive you are. He rolls over into the spot beside you and takes you with him, cradling you into his warm chest. He places a lingering kiss on your forehead and then tucks your head under his chin. It’s as if you belong there.

You practically melt into him, wrapping your arms around his waist and burrowing the side of your face into his chest. Bucky hums and starts playing with your hair while his metal fingers draw meaningless patterns into your back.

”I’ll clean us up in a bit. Maybe run a bath,” he thinks out loud, making a soft smile grow on your lips. “But right now, I just want to hold my pretty girl.”

You let your eyes flutter closed, reveling in the moment and his soothing actions on your back and hair. “You won’t hear any complaints from me, handsome.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You’re in the kitchen, three different pans heating on the stove. This could potentially be a fire hazard, but it isn’t much of a concern for you. You’re cooking pancakes, eggs, and sausage as you hum to one of the songs blasting from your phone.

Your hips sway to the music, gently, because it seems every time you move, pain surges between your thighs. You don’t mind, though. It’s a reminder of Bucky and the long night you spent together. But, fuck, you’re sore.

You didn’t realize how much stamina a super soldier has, but now you are acutely aware. You thought it would be a nice, relaxing bath after your first round, but someone got a little too handsy. And as you were drying, the towel wrapped snugly around you, Bucky tore it off and had his way with you again. Hence, why you’re hurting this morning, this kind of pain is something you can and will get used to, though.

You decided to make breakfast for him as soon as the sun woke you up, and you couldn’t stop admiring his sweet, sleepy expression. Half the reason is to thank him for rocking your world last night, and the other half is for much-needed sustenance.

You use your spatula to push at the edges of your fluffy pancake to flip it eventually. As you're flipping it, warm hands envelope your waist. You jump slightly, the sudden contact startling you. Bucky rests his chin on your shoulder and whispers in your ear.

”Sorry, doll. Didn’t mean to scare you.“ His voice is still thick with sleep; he must have just woken up.

You grin as you continue with your task. “You’re fine, I just didn’t hear you come in.”

”You left me.” Bucky murmurs against your skin as he kisses a trail down your neck to your shoulder.

”I was making you breakfast in bed, but now that you’re not in bed, it’s just breakfast.” You tease him as you check on your eggs.

He hums, clearly amused by your teasing. “Mmm…I missed you.” Bucky squeezes your torso, and you giggle. “I thought it was all a dream when I didn’t see you next to me.”

”No, not a dream. Very real. The throbbing between my legs is proof of that.”

Bucky snorts as his hands glide down your figure. “I would apologize, but I’m not that sorry. You know I can’t get enough of you.”

He dips his fingers under the hem of your oversized shirt and starts to massage your thighs as he mumbles in your ear. “I can’t keep my hands off of you.”

“Bucky,” You softly moan, enjoying the sensations he’s giving you. “You’re distracting me.” Your spatula drops to the counter as you reach up to rest a hand on his cheek, keeping him close to your ear.

He lightly laughs in your ear as he pulls you by your hips, your ass flush against his growing erection. His fingers dig into your flesh, gripping and rubbing at your thighs.

”A good distraction?” Bucky nibbles on your ear.

You bite your lip to suppress another moan. You take a firm hold of his jaw and turn your head, angling your lips inches from his.

”You know it.” You mutter against his mouth before pressing your lips to his.

It’s soft and tender, lips moving unhurriedly like you're learning from every brush of each other's mouth. His teeth graze your bottom lip, and he gently bites it, tugging on it before letting go.

Bucky dives back in, kissing you deeply as his tongue pushes its way past the seam of your lips. As he slides his tongue against yours, his fingertips trace your inner thighs. Your skin dots with goosebumps from his touch. You start grinding your ass on him until-

“Ah! What the fuck?” A voice cuts through the air, and you instantly break away from Bucky’s mouth to see the source of the words.

Yelena is shielding her eyes with a repulsed expression on her face. Bucky moves away from you, adjusting himself in his sweatpants. You straighten out your oversized shirt, bunched around your torso, even though you’re wearing shorts underneath.

“Is your dick out or can I open my eyes now?” Yelena can barely get out the words because she’s gagging.

Bucky groans, rubbing at his forehead, so you answer for him. ”Holy shit, Yelena. No! We’re not animals.” You glance over to Bucky, and he shrugs with a mischievous grin as if to say, Well…

You shake your head at him. “Not helping.” You whisper.

You turn back to Yelena, and her eyes are still squeezed shut. “You can open your eyes now.”

She hesitantly peels her eyes open, peeking behind her hand. Once she knows you’re both decent, she drops her hand to her side.

”Now, I have to wash my eyes with bleach to get that image out of my head.” Yelena grumbles, advancing further into the kitchen to the coffee pot.

”We were just kissing.” You insist, though you’re blushing.

”It looked like a lot more than kissing to me.” Yelena mutters as she begins to pour herself a cup.

Bucky steps around you, a hand on the small of your back as he kisses your cheek. “Sorry, that was my fault.” He murmurs. “Guess I should have stayed in bed. I’ll see you there?” He offers you an apologetic look.

You give him a soft smile. “Yeah, I’ll bring you breakfast in bed like I originally planned.”

He nods, giving you one last kiss on the cheek like he can’t resist you. “Alright, babydoll.” The nickname melts you, and you’re beaming at him before you know it.

Bucky begins to wander out of the kitchen, but pauses to glance over his shoulder. “Smells delicious, by the way. I meant to say that, but got a little…distracted.” You giggle, and he veers right and out of the room.

You return to your cooking and notice the pancake is slightly burnt. You scoop it onto a plate with an easy grin, like it doesn’t matter to you, because Bucky’s lips were on yours as it burned.

“Cute.” Yelena's voice breaks you from your trance, and when you glance at her, she’s slanted against the counter, sipping her coffee as she stares at you.

“Sickeningly cute, but I suppose cute nonetheless.” She mutters into the mouth of her mug.

You snort as you begin to assemble the breakfast on your dishes. As you're plating the food, you catch Yelena from the corner of your eye. She’s still studying you, and it’s starting to make you uncomfortable. You turn your body towards her.

”What is it?” You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for her to spit it out.

”Although I never want to see that again,” she gestures to the air around you, referring to the make-out session she just witnessed. “I’m happy for you two.”

Her words cause you to stagger briefly. That’s not what you thought she would say, but you are pleasantly surprised. “Thanks, Yelena.”

You consider Yelena’s statement for a second. You have this weightless feeling that you’ve never had in the morning. You seem to walk with a bounce to your step. There’s a constant fluttering in your stomach. You’re happy. And it’s all because of Bucky. Even though this is new and fresh, you somehow know that feeling will never disappear.

#bucky barnes x reader #marvel #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #avenger!bucky #avenger!reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes one shot #thunderbolts #one shot #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes smut #marvel fanfic #marvel x reader #sebastian stan

4K notes · View notes

saatorus · 2 months ago

Text

cyberboy come home to me!

art credits: @musapylsa

synopsis — you just really love shy, nerdy, awkward armin arlert. not to mention how much you adore his tongue piercing.

wc — 5.4k

warnings — oral (f receiving), brief m receiving oral, unprotected sex, dom! kinda reader? armin is a loser virgin, tongue piercing fixation, mentions of drinking and getting high.

“Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”

Armin downright whimpers when you silence his protest with a soft giggle and press your lips to his again, cupping his cheek like you’re trying to ease him into it. He kisses back, but it’s clumsy—his lips too hesitant, his breath shaky. The way his slightly clammy hands tremble as they slide awkwardly onto your waist gives him away completely. His fingers twitch like he’s unsure if he’s even allowed to touch you, like he’s expecting to be jolted awake from some perverse fever dream at any second.

You smile into it. He tastes a little like fruit punch and nerves.

How’d he even end up like this?

Honestly? He’s not entirely sure himself.

All he knows is that about an hour ago, he’d been forcibly dragged out of his safe, sacred little sanctuary—his room—by none other than Eren Jaeger, who’d called him a “shut-in loser” with all the affection of a lifelong best friend trying to get his social recluse ass to touch grass for once. “Just come out for one night,” Eren had said. “You never hang out anymore. You just rot in front of that stupid computer!”

That “stupid computer,” by the way, is the love of Armin’s life. A lovingly hand-built, high-performance rig that he’d spent months putting together with trembling excitement and a YouTube tab permanently open. The tower is pure art—transparent case with perfectly routed cable management, cool-toned RGB fans that change hues with each temperature spike, and a custom water-cooling loop that keeps everything running quieter than a whisper. The inside glows in a soft gradient from blue to violet, illuminating every pristine component like a spaceship console. His mechanical keyboard clicks satisfyingly under his fingers, each custom PBT keycap matte and worn in just enough. The desk is outfitted with dual curved monitors, a steelseries headset perched on a 3D-printed stand, and a carefully arranged line of anime figurines—each one dusted weekly.

He lives there. He thrives there. Not out here.

So when he’d first stepped foot into the frat house—blinking under dim purple lights, instantly accosted by the stench of sweat, alcohol, Axe body spray, and weed—he’d wanted to turn and run. Connie had looped an arm around his neck before he could so much as take a step back, dragging him further inside like a lamb to slaughter.

He would’ve given anything to be home. Back at his setup. Back where he could peacefully queue up for League of Legends or post a hot take on a message board about dungeon tier lists. His teammates were probably on Discord right now, wondering why his little green light hadn’t turned on tonight.

That was then.

Somehow– Somehow, in the haze of being drunk or high out of their minds— Eren was out of it, Connie was asleep on Sasha’s lap, whose head was on a knocked out Jean’s shoulder. Mikasa, for how composed she usually was, was slumped next to Eren, his hand wrapped around hers— you had managed to finally snag the shy boy to yourself.

You’d only recently started hanging out with the gang, weaving your way into their circle with a kind of natural confidence Armin found both mesmerizing and terrifying. You’re funny. Loud in a charming way. You speak your mind, talk to Eren and Mikasa like you’ve known them for years, and make sly little jokes that leave Connie wheezing. Even Sasha likes you—and she doesn’t like anyone new.

But around you, Armin turns into scrambled code. He avoids eye contact. Stumbles over his words. Does that thing where he pushes up his glasses like a reflex even when they’re already in place.

And it wasn’t hard to realize that Armin liked you.

He wasn’t subtle—not in the way he’d glance up from his phone screen when you laughed a little too loudly, or the way his ears would burn pink every time you plopped down next to him during hangouts, hips brushing, thighs touching just barely. He'd sit there stiffly, eyes wide behind his glasses, thumbs still tapping away at whatever gacha game or tactics RPG he was grinding, pretending not to notice how your perfume clung to the air between you like static.

You’d catch him staring sometimes—well, more than sometimes. Once when you bent over to grab a charger, and again when you wore that cropped shirt with the worn-out neckline, his gaze getting stuck right where your collarbone dipped into something just a bit more scandalous. But he’d always look away just in time, pretending to clean his glasses or scroll deeper into Reddit threads.

The boy was practically a walking Tumblr post from 2013. Always in those oversized hoodies with the sleeves too long, fingers tucked halfway into the cuffs, his laptop stickers flaking off from years of aggressive clicking. His room, as you’d come to discover later, was nothing short of a digital command center. Dual monitors—one vertical, one horizontal—cast a cold RGB glow over his unmade bed and tangle of charging cables. His mechanical keyboard clicked loud enough to echo through the dorm floor, each keystroke deliberate. Rows of Funko Pops lined the top of his bookshelf, mostly anime characters and one out-of-place Miku figurine he shyly claimed was "cute."

And that chair—God, that chair. It was one of those ridiculous ergonomic gaming thrones with a headrest, a lumbar support pillow, and armrests that he always adjusted like he was gearing up for war. You could tell it was his pride and joy, considering how he refused to let anyone else sit in it. Except, of course, for that one time you snuck in during a group hangout and plopped down in it just to see how far he’d go before breaking—he just stood there, mouth open, shifting awkwardly until he gave up and sat on the floor beside you. Pathetic. Adorable.

So yeah, it wasn’t hard to realize Armin liked you. He was just painfully obvious about it in a way that made you all the more obsessed.

Especially after that day Eren—loud-mouthed, smug Eren—dropped the most shocking bit of information mid-conversation over nachos and beer.

“Guess who finally let me bully him into getting a tongue piercing?”

Your head had snapped around so fast it almost gave you whiplash. "You're kidding."

Eren had just grinned like the devil himself. “Nope. Took him to the place on 8th. Cried like a bitch but hey, he’s got it now.”

You’d turned to look at Armin, who was red as a tomato, sipping his Sprite like he wished he could disappear behind the carbonation. He didn’t even deny it.

You haven't been able to stop thinking about it since.

Which brings you to now.

So when all of a sudden, you're sitting next to him on the too-small couch, murmuring something about there being something wrong with your phone, and desperately needing someone to fix it for you, and no, the dim lighting of the living room simply isn’t enough to inspect it properly—you somehow manage to drag him upstairs to one of the empty rooms, thigh pressed a little too close to his as you explain how glitchy your phone is, how you're so sure it must be some kind of weird virus, and wow, isn't that so crazy?

But cut the bullshit. Even Armin knew you were lying.

Phone glitching? Yeah, right. He’d seen your screen time stats by accident once—your camera roll was 95% front-facing selfies, memes, and blurry videos from nights out. He wasn’t stupid. But he was clueless—at least about your intentions.

You’d had a thing for him since day one, not that he knew, obviously. The first time Eren had pulled you into the fold, dragging you into their little friend group like some shiny new accessory, Armin had looked at you like you’d be gone by next week. He wasn’t good with new people—too shy, too stiff, too used to lurking in the background with his legs folded crisscross on the floor and his thumbs tapping away at his phone while everyone else drank and talked over each other.

Even now, when everyone hung out, Armin would be half-present—physically there, tucked into the corner of the room with his hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, but mentally god knows where. Probably grinding a mobile RPG or replying to a fan theory thread. He liked games where he could build things, micromanage every stat. His phone battery was always draining because he never stopped playing. Long, elegant fingers constantly moving, tapping, swiping. Even when you sat next to him, he couldn’t seem to stop. You once made a joke about how he probably tapped faster during battles than he would during sex.

You remember the way he’d choked on his Redbull.

But now—now he’s stuck. Sitting next to you in a quiet upstairs room, your perfume in his lungs, your thigh pressed right up against his, and your phone held limply between you both like some half-hearted prop.

He keeps glancing at you, lips parted like he wants to say something—anything—but nothing comes out.

“You gonna fix it or just keep staring at my lockscreen?” you tease, your voice low, syrupy sweet.

He blinks, startled, fumbling to grab the phone from your hands with a stuttered apology. “S-Sorry, I—um—yeah, let me just… check the settings, I guess.”

His hands shake slightly as he scrolls, and you bite your lip watching him. The way his jaw tenses, his brows furrow in concentration—it’s endearing. You wonder if he knows how flushed his ears are. You wonder if he knows how loud his breathing is.

You lean in just slightly, enough that your breath brushes the shell of his ear.

“You know,” you murmur, “I still haven’t seen that piercing.”

His entire body jolts. His fingers fumble the phone, almost dropping it in his lap. “W-What?”

You smile innocently, like you don’t already know exactly what you’re doing. “Your tongue. Eren told me. Kinda wanna see it for myself.”

Armin swallows hard, eyes wide as he looks at you like you just asked him to strip naked. “I-I mean, it’s not—It’s nothing, really. I-it’s just… uh…”

“C’mon,” you coax, fingers brushing the side of his knee. “I’m curious.”

He hesitates. Then, shakily, he sticks his tongue out just a little—just enough for the cool glint of metal to catch the light. Your stomach flips.

God, you didn’t expect that to be so hot. On him, of all people.

“You’re full of surprises, Armin Arlert,” you whisper, eyes meeting his.

And you swear to god, if you didn’t know better, you’d say the look in his eyes shifts. Just a little. Like something in him snaps or gives in. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“…Is your phone actually broken?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You grin. “Not even a little.”

And for once—for once—Armin smirks.

It's crooked. Barely there. But it's smug in the quietest, most devastating way, because he knows now. You're not here because of some bullshit glitch or broken screen. You're here for him.

The second you lean in, brushing a strand of his blond hair out of his face, he freezes—like a deer caught in headlights. His breath hitches, lips parting just slightly, and his fingers tense where they’re still holding your phone like it’s a lifeline.

“You’ve never kissed anyone before,” you say softly, not a question. Just an observation.

His cheeks flush bright red. He doesn’t answer.

You cock your head, smiling. “That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

His breath catches again, sharp and audible this time, and he shifts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands—does he drop your phone? Hold it? Hold you?

You take the decision away for him, gently slipping it from his fingers and setting it down on the nightstand. Then, without breaking eye contact, you slowly slide onto his lap, one knee at a time, until you’re straddling his narrow hips, hands settling on his shoulders.

His whole body goes stiff. “Ah… I’m not sure if we should be— mmph!”

You kiss his lips again, silencing him effectively.

“Armin,” you say as you pull back, voice low and amused. “Relax.”

He doesn’t. Not entirely. But his hands hover awkwardly near your waist now, like he’s trying to be respectful, like he’s afraid if he touches you wrong, the moment will combust.

You lean forward, just enough that your noses nearly brush.

“Close your eyes,” you whisper. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

He obeys, lashes fluttering shut. You let your lips graze his, soft and tentative, barely a kiss at all—just enough for him to taste your breath, to feel the warmth of you against his mouth.

He shivers.

You pull back slightly, your voice like silk against his ear. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

He exhales shakily. “It’s… it’s good. You’re… good.”

You smile. “You haven’t even gotten the full lesson yet.”

And then you kiss him.

Really kiss him.

You press your mouth against his fully this time, slow and confident, your lips moving gently over his like you’ve got all the time in the world. He kisses back clumsily at first, a little too much pressure, a little off with the rhythm, but it’s adorable, and you can feel the way his whole body trembles under you.

You guide him with quiet murmurs between kisses. “Slower… softer, yeah… there. Just like that.”

His hands finally land on your waist, unsure at first, then a little firmer when you deepen the kiss, your fingers threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. You part your lips slowly, and when he instinctively mimics you—nervous, but curious—you feel it.

The smooth, cool ball of metal.

You pause just barely, lips still brushing his, a grin curling at the corners of your mouth. “There it is.”

“Huh?” he whispers, dazed.

“That piercing,” you murmur, voice thick with heat. “Feels so fucking good.”

You kiss him again, and this time your tongue finds his. The sensation of the cold stud sliding against yours sends a sharp little jolt straight through your spine. It’s addictive. You roll your hips slightly against his, and he gasps into your mouth, fingers tightening on your waist like he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to pull you closer or push you away.

He tastes like mint and nervous energy, and the little helpless noises he lets out when you suck on his bottom lip are enough to make your thighs clench around his lap.

You pull back for a second, just to look at him. His lips are flushed, slightly swollen, eyes glazed with something between awe and pure panic.

“You okay?” you whisper, thumb brushing across his cheek.

He nods, almost too fast. “Y-Yeah. I just—I didn’t know it could feel like that.”

You lean in again, lips ghosting over his jaw. “That’s just the beginning.”

He groans—actually groans—and it’s the hottest fucking sound you’ve ever heard from him. You swear you feel him twitch beneath you. His hips shift slightly, involuntarily, and the friction makes both of you gasp.

You grab a fistful of his hoodie, tugging him back into another kiss, messier this time. Less structured. All tongue and heat and shallow breaths. That piercing catches on your lip as you suck on his tongue, and you moan softly against his mouth.

He's kissing you like he wants to prove something now. Still hesitant, still learning, but eager. Hungry. His hands slide up under your shirt, still shy but bolder than before, fingertips ghosting over the bare skin of your waist.

You roll your hips against him again, deliberately this time, and the noise he makes—somewhere between a whimper and a curse—goes straight to your core.

You smile into the kiss, breathless. “You’re such a quick learner.”

He swallows thickly. “I—I wanna keep learning.”

“Yeah?” You rock against him again, and his eyes flutter shut. “You will.”

You dip your head to press a kiss to his neck, right below his jaw. He gasps, tilting his head back like it’s instinct, and you suck a slow, wet mark into the pale skin, making him jolt beneath you.

“You’re so sensitive,” you whisper. “Bet I could make you fall apart with just my mouth.”

He whimpers.

And fuck, that sound does something to you.

You're grinding against him now, fully, the heat between your legs pressing right against the growing bulge in his pants. The way his hips buck up helplessly, like he can’t stop himself, is intoxicating.

You mouth at his jaw, then his ear, letting your breath tickle the shell of it.

“Armin,” you purr, “do you want me to show you more?”

He looks up at you like he’s ready to beg.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Please. Show me everything.”

You don’t make him ask twice.

You kiss him again, deep and slow, feeling the way he melts into it now. No hesitation—just heat, want, and the softest desperation in how his mouth opens for you like he’s starving. You taste that metal ball again, glide your tongue along it, and the sound he makes—fuck, you’re obsessed.

Your hips move instinctively, grinding down on his lap, and you can feel him. Hard. Pressed right up against your core through his worn out jeans and your shorts. The friction draws a moan from your throat that has his eyes fluttering open, pupils blown wide.

“Fuck,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “You’re so hard already.”

He nods, frantic, breath stuttering. “I—yeah, I can’t—I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh.” You cup his jaw, tilt his face up. “Don’t be embarrassed. You think I didn’t want that?”

You shift just a little, rolling your hips down with purpose, dragging your clothed pussy against his cock. He chokes on a gasp, his fingers digging into your waist like he’s trying to stop himself from bucking up into you again. You grab his hand, beckoning him to slip his fingers under your shorts, under the waistband of your panties.

“Feel how wet I am for you?” you murmur, lips brushing his ear.

He nods again, helpless. “Yeah—yeah, I feel it—fuck—”

You smile wickedly and grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one motion. His mouth drops open.

He stares.

Hard.

Like he’s short-circuiting. Like he’s never seen anyone naked before and can’t figure out where to look. His hands twitch like he wants to touch you but doesn’t know if he’s allowed.

You guide them to your tits.

“Touch me, baby,” you say softly. “It’s okay. You can.”

He swallows hard and palms your breasts gently, reverently, like he’s afraid to squeeze too hard. His thumbs ghost over your nipples and you sigh, arching your back into his touch, giving him a show.

“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes.

“You’re cute,” you reply, pushing your hips down again. “And obedient.”

He whimpers at that.

You roll your hips slow and steady, grinding on him until you feel his thighs start to tremble beneath you.

Then you lean down, lips brushing his. “I want you to eat me out.”

His eyes widen. “I—what? I’ve never—”

“I’ll guide you. Just do what I say.”

You’re already sliding off his lap, standing between his legs and shimmying your shorts and underwear down in one motion. His breath stutters when he sees you like that, bare and dripping, your thighs glistening in the low light.

You make a move to lie back on the bed, but he stops you, pink in the face.

“S–Sorry, I– ah– Can you ride my face? Please?”

He looks like he wants to wipe his existence off the planet because why’d he say that in such a high pitched tone, why’d he stutter like that, why’d his voice crack when he said please, why'd he—

But you just giggle amusedly, pushing him back onto the bed, straddling his face.

His whole body tenses like he’s trying not to combust. “Are you sure you’re okay with thi—?”

You don’t answer. Just lower your hips slowly until you’re hovering just above his mouth.

“Open up.”

He does, and when your pussy presses against his lips, you sigh like it’s relief. He’s clumsy at first—licking too shallow, too soft—but you guide him. “Use your tongue. Flatten it—yeah, just like that. A little harder. Good. Fuck, Armin.”

The moment his tongue finds your clit, you moan, your hips jolting forward. And the pressure of that cold little ball dragging against your most sensitive spot?

It’s over.

You’re grinding on his face now, fingers buried in his soft blond hair, riding him through sloppy, wet licks and messy kisses that leave your thighs shaking. He moans beneath you, hands gripping your hips like he’s into it, like the taste of you is something he wants to memorize. His piercing continuously flicks against your clit, making you whine and shudder, thighs clamping around his head. And soon enough, you’re coming all over his tongue, his name leaving your mouth prettily.

He’s hard again—probably never stopped being hard—and when you finally can’t take it anymore, you slide down his body and palm him through his jeans.

“Fuck,” you breathe, eyes wide as you feel the outline of him. “You’ve been hiding this from me?”

He covers his face with one arm, flushed and overwhelmed. “I didn’t know I’d get like that so fast.”

“You’re adorable.” You lean down and press a kiss just above his waistband. “Let me take care of you.”

He whimpers again.

And when you tug his jeans down, his cock bounces free—hard, flushed, leaking at the tip. You stroke him once, slow and firm, and his whole body jolts.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, hands fisting the sheets. “I—I don’t think I can—”

“You can.” You kiss the head of his cock, swirl your tongue around it just once, and watch him squirm.

Then you straddle him again.

“Wait—” he gasps. “Are you—are we really—”

You line him up with your entrance, slow and steady, and you moan when the tip slips in.

“Fuck yes, baby,” you whisper, eyes fluttering shut as you sink down inch by inch. “You’re inside me.”

He’s panting, chest rising and falling like he’s about to pass out. “You feel… holy shit…”

“Tight?” you tease, grinding down once you’re seated fully.

He nods, eyes wide, mouth open. “I’m not gonna last—”

“You’ll learn,” you murmur, starting to move. “I’m gonna teach you everything.”

And as you ride him—slow, deliberate, dragging every sweet sound out of him—you know for a fact that this won’t be the last lesson. You bounce up and down on him, watching with a gaze full of lust and amusement as he croons your name, head thrown back, drool escaping the side of his lip, thick glasses askew.

He looks like he’s unraveling. Like his brain stopped functioning five minutes ago. Like all he can focus on is the way your cunt squeezes him every time you drop down.

“F-Fuck, you feel so good,” he whimpers, voice cracking with raw need. “I c-can’t… I’m not gonna last…”

You lean forward, letting your chest brush against his, your lips brushing his mouth as you whisper, “That’s okay. Just give it to me.”

His hands are shaking where they grip your hips, but he tries to match your rhythm anyway, pulling you down harder every time your ass slaps against his thighs. He’s trying so hard to keep it together for you—sweet, trembling thing, so eager to please despite how close he is.

“I–I’m gonna– I’m gonna– I don’t have a condom on, I—”

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, kissing the edge of his jaw, tongue flicking over his pulse point. “Just pull out, baby. I’ve got you.”

And it’s like your voice alone is enough to break him.

His grip tightens—frantic, bruising—and you barely have time to lift off before he comes, gasping your name like a prayer. Thick ropes spill over his stomach, twitching cock pulsing as he groans and writhes beneath you, flushed and utterly wrecked. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose, and he’s too dazed to fix them.

You exhale through a low laugh, trailing your fingers through his release before bringing them to your mouth and sucking them clean, just to tease him. His breath stutters at the sight, and his eyes roll slightly as he pants beneath you.

You collapse next to him, both of you catching your breath in the quiet, sticky air. The room smells like sweat and sex and faint body spray, and outside the door you can still hear the low thrum of party music, muffled now like the two of you are in a different world entirely.

He’s quiet. Still. Hands awkwardly covering himself, glasses pushed to the side. You catch the way his lashes flutter, how red his cheeks are, how he refuses to meet your eyes.

You turn on your side, resting your head on one hand. “What’s wrong?”

He swallows hard. “That was my first time,” he says softly. “Like… all of it. Kissing, sex, everything.”

You pause, the weight of his admission settling into the space between you. He glances up at you finally, face filled with anxiety.

“I… I hope I didn’t disappoint you.”

Your heart aches a little.

You reach out and gently remove his glasses, setting them on the nightstand, then cradle his face in your hand.

“Armin,” you say, voice low and sincere, “that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. You have no idea.”

He blinks, surprised.

“You were perfect,” you say, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “And I like that it was me. I like being the first.”

His face turns even redder, if that’s possible. “I–I didn’t even know what I was doing.”

“That’s the fun part.” You smile, brushing a strand of his hair off his forehead. “Means I get to teach you everything.”

He hides his face against your shoulder, groaning. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You laugh softly, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re such a cutie.”

You lay there together in the silence for a while, his head nestled against your chest, his arms tentatively curling around you like he’s not sure he’s allowed to hold you yet. You run your fingers through his hair, gently tugging here and there, and you feel him relax more and more under your touch.

“You still nervous?” you murmur after a while.

“A little,” he admits, voice muffled. “I just… I’ve never done this. Any of it. I don’t want to mess things up with you.”

You kiss the top of his head. “You’re not. I like you.”

He lifts his head to look at you, shy but hopeful. “Really?”

“Mhm.” You brush your lips against his again. “I’ve liked you since I saw you trailing behind Eren with your stupid oversized hoodie and your Switch in your hands like you were allergic to human interaction.”

He laughs, sheepish. “I kind of am.”

You grin. “And I kind of love that.”

He watches you for a moment, eyes soft and a little awestruck. Then he leans forward, kisses you with all the gentleness and hesitance of someone who’s just now realizing he might be falling for someone, and you smile into it, warm and full and smug.

Because you know you’ve got him.

—

It’s official now. You’re Armin’s girlfriend.

It had happened somewhere between all the blushing kisses and stolen glances and slow, breathy I like you’s whispered in the privacy of his bedroom. There was no dramatic confession, no rose petals or fireworks. Just him looking at you one afternoon with that overwhelmed, adoring gaze, thumb brushing over your knuckles while he mumbled, “Do you, um… want to be mine? Like… officially?”

And you’d kissed him stupid in response.

So now, two weeks later, you’re at his place again, perched sideways on his lap in his gaming chair, legs draped over one armrest while his are stretched beneath the desk, twitching slightly every time something exciting happens on screen.

You’re wearing one of his hoodies—big, soft, and smelling like fabric softener and his shampoo—and nothing else underneath. Which he hasn’t noticed. Yet.

His focus is laser-sharp, blue eyes narrowed behind his glasses, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth like he’s fighting for his life on whatever boss battle he’s got going. You shift a little, trying to get comfortable in his lap, but he doesn’t even flinch—just grunts something about “just give me a second, babe, I’m in the middle of something.”

And yeah, it’s a little infuriating. But also?

Ridiculously hot.

Like, his headset is way too big on him. He keeps muttering things under his breath about cooldowns and mechanics and DPS output. His fingers are flying across the keys, long and elegant and twitchy, like they were built to type essays at the speed of sound or code random passion projects no one ever asked for.

At one point, he actually shushes you. A little breathy “waitwaitwait– babe, hold on, this guy’s cheesing—oh my god I swear to god if this fucking healer dies I’m gonna—”

You blink. Then snort.

“You’re so nerdy,” you murmur, voice laced with amusement, “I can’t believe this is my boyfriend.”

He doesn’t look up. “You knew what I was when you signed up.”

“Oh, I did.” You lean in, dragging your fingers up the nape of his neck, just under the headset. “And I like it.”

He shudders a little. “You’re distracting me.”

“I know.”

Still, he plays. Fidgety, intense, mouthing instructions to himself like some kind of adorable, socially anxious commander. You watch the screen for a bit, half-understanding what’s happening—some massive raid, particles flying everywhere, his team yelling in the Discord chat you can hear leaking through his headphones. Armin doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s surprisingly confident. Precise.

“No, back left! You kite, I’ll stun—good—shit, I got hit, that’s fine, I’ve got mana—”

You shift again. This time a little more deliberately.

His hands pause on the keyboard. “...Are you doing that on purpose?”

You blink at him innocently. “Doing what?”

“You’re… squirming.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “I’m just trying to sit comfortably, Armin. Your thighs are kinda bony.”

“I—what? I—”

He falters. And you know he’s starting to get flustered. Because his hand slips on his mouse, and he curses softly under his breath as his character takes a hit onscreen.

“Can’t believe I’m being insulted and sabotaged right now,” he mumbles.

“I’m your girlfriend,” you remind him, turning so you’re fully straddling him now, knees on either side of his hips, “it’s in the job description.”

He swallows thickly. You can feel him beneath you now—half-hard already, tension building the longer you stay in his lap.

“Please let me finish this fight,” he whispers, jaw tight.

You kiss the edge of it.

“Okay.”

So you wait. Sort of.

You shift again. Start pressing little kisses to his throat. Let your fingers toy with the edge of his shirt, lifting it just slightly. Not enough to distract him fully. Just enough to make him sweat.

By the time he finally mutters a breathless, “Got him, holy shit,” and slumps back in the chair, he’s panting and flushed—and not just from the game.

You lean in, both hands planted on his chest now, smiling sweetly.

“All done?”

He nods.

“Good.” And then you roll your hips once against his, slow and deliberate.

He makes a soft, broken sound in his throat. “Y-You’re evil.”

“Mmhm,” you hum, dipping down to kiss him again, this time deeper, tongue teasing the edge of that stupid metal piercing he still refuses to tell you the story behind.

It’s so easy to ruin him.

His hands flutter uselessly for a second before they land on your hips, gripping like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to touch you. You grind down harder, and he whines into your mouth, glasses fogging up, hips twitching like he’s not in control of his own body anymore.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice high and shaking. “I’m—I was just trying to game.”

“You’ll live,” you whisper, licking into his mouth again. “Besides… I like seeing you like this. So desperate for me.”

He groans.

And you know right then, without a doubt, this little nerd is already obsessed with you. Completely and utterly whipped.

author's note: HELL YEAH I LOVE NERDIFYING ANIME MEN!!!! fantastic give me 14 more of them bzzzzz

seriously when i saw this fanart the first thing i did was open up google docs and get my ass to WORK i feel like by now its really obvious i have a thing for nerds :3

hope u guys #enjoyed i have a really bad tongue piercing fixation, not sure if it was obvious... (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )

#armin arlert #nerd armin #armin aot #armin arlert x reader #armin smut #armin arlert x reader smut #aot smut #nerdmin #nerdmin x reader #nerdmin smut #armin x reader #aot fanfiction #snk armin #aot x reader #aot reader x reader smut

3K notes · View notes