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starkwlkr · 2 days ago

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she’s always a woman | max verstappen

an: this fic is a special birthday fic for my lovely friend anto!! happy birthday love!! hope you enjoy your special day <3 also let’s just pretend that lewis wasn’t battling max for the championship in 2021 instead it’s max and the reader

tw: jos mention and narcissistic mother

Max couldn’t really remember why your friendship ended. He was always there when you needed a shoulder to cry on, when you had a bad race and needed some support, etc. He was always there so when you stopped talking to him, he was confused and hurt.

KARTING DAYS

At the time, the boys you raced against hated being beat by a girl. It was humiliating! A girl was faster than them? No way! But when Max Verstappen saw how fast you were, he was amazed. You made it look so easy.

“How many trophies do you have now?” Seven year old Max asked you as you two shared a bag of gummy bears, your favorite snack.

“I haven’t counted. What about you?” You questioned.

“I haven’t counted either.” He replied.

It was a long day of practice and all Max wanted to do was spend time with you and eat gummy bears. He noticed how you only ate certain colors like red, blue, orange and yellow. He asked why only those colors and your response was that those colors were your favorites, all the other colors looked unappetizing.

Spending time with you was something Max loved about karting. Most of the boys you competed with would rather lose than hang out with a girl, but not Max. He liked being around you. And it seemed like you liked having Max around too so it made no sense to Max why you stopped talking to him.

As time went on, Jos Verstappen kept a close eye on you. He certainly didn’t want some girl distracting his son. He kept telling Max how much of a bad influence you were, but of course Max didn’t listen. Why would he? He liked you and you liked him.

Unlike Max, your mother’s words went to your head.

“He’s just like the other boys, sweetheart. When you least expect it, he’s going to leave you heartbroken.” Your mother told you one day after another successful win. She watched the way Max stood next to you on the podium and clapped for you.

“But he’s my friend.” You said lowly.

“What did I say about this sport? You are not here to make friends, they are not your friends and neither is he. He’s competition and if you want to keep winning then you need to keep away from that boy!”

The next time Max saw you, he was the heartbroken one. Every time he kept trying to get your attention, you ignored him and turned the other way.

Did I do something wrong? Maybe I forgot her birthday? No, it was a month ago and we ate chocolate cake together.

All day Max was wondering what he did to make you upset. He had even brought a tiny bag with only red, blue, orange and yellow gummy bears for you. He had spent an hour picking out your favorite gummy bears and now you weren’t talking to him. . .

Little Max Verstappen had his first heartbreak at the hands of his first love.

The next day he figured you would start talking to him, but it was like he didn’t even exist in your world. He was starting to lose hope.

“Good, now you won’t have any distractions.” Jos told him after Max mentioned how you had stopped talking to him.

“But she wasn’t!”

“She was.” Jos confirmed.

Max stayed quiet. He knew it was no use trying to argue with his father.

As you both grew up, Max was beside you at every podium even if you weren’t on speaking terms. He hoped that maybe one day you would speak to him. He also kept a plastic bag in his bag with your favorite gummy bears to share with you in case that day ever came.

2021 SEASON

Max was both nervous and excited for the last few races of the season. Both you and him were battling for the championship. It was like a dream come true for him, both of you in Formula 1 and now you’re both in the championship picture. He wouldn’t have it any other way. To Max, it would’ve been better if you could at least acknowledge him.

It was after the Brazilian Grand Prix when Max wanted to congratulate you on your win, but had to wait until you finished with your interviews. He was eager to talk to you.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind, but the moment that caught your attention was when a reporter, eager for a headline, asked you about Max Verstappen.

“We've heard that you and Max were childhood friends. What’s the story there? You two seem to be fierce competitors now. Was there any friendship left between you, or is it all business these days?"

Your smile tightened. It was the last thing you wanted to discuss, but you were a professional, and you knew better than to let your personal life spill over into the press room. Your gaze flicked to the corner where Max was conducting his own interviews, but you quickly refocused on the question.

“Max and I... we were friends, sure," you said coolly, your voice steady but your tone sharp, almost as if you were trying to distance yourself from the memory. "But that was a long time ago. I don’t really have time for friendships anymore. Racing’s my focus. It always has been."

“But you were so close back then," the reporter pressed. "Is it hard to battle him for the title, given your history?"

You shrugged, trying to maintain your composure. "Racing's not about who you used to be friends with. It’s about who’s the best right now. And I’m focused on being the best."

“So, no hard feelings?" he asked, genuinely curious.

You didn’t miss a beat. "No time for feelings," you replied, your lips curling into a faint, almost imperceptible smile. "Just results."

After finishing all your interviews, you walked back to your driver’s room. All you wanted was to lay down and take a much needed nap, but the sweet voice of a Dutchman stopped you. It had been years since you heard Max say your name.

Before you could say anything, Max stood up abruptly and walked toward you, his stride purposeful. He reached out, grabbing your arm with a firm grip, pulling you into your room without a word.

“Let go of me, Max," you whispered, but your voice cracked.

“No," he said simply, his tone rough, but his eyes were soft—something in them that you hadn’t seen in years. "I’m not letting you walk away again."

Your heart skipped a beat. His eyes searched yours, that fierce intensity you remembered from your childhood still present, though now mixed with something else—pain, perhaps. The unspoken hurt you both carried for so long hung between you two.

“Max," you began, but he cut you off.

“Why did you stop talking to me?" His voice was quieter now, but the question hung in the air, sharp and urgent. “Everyday i asked myself ‘did I do something wrong? Did I say something that hurt her?’ What is is? Why?”

Your throat tightened. You took a shaky breath, your eyes lowering to the floor. "You were my competition," you muttered. "And my mother… she made it clear. She said you would take everything from me. That I needed to stop talking to you or I’d lose everything." Your chest constricted, and you felt a sudden wave of bitterness rise within you. "She said you were nothing more than a threat to my future, and I had to focus—focus on winning.” It pained you to even remember all the talks your mother had with you about Max.

Max stared at you for a moment, taking in your words. The silence that followed was thick, the air between them charged with everything unspoken. Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

“I never wanted to take anything from you." His eyes were filled with a quiet sincerity that made your stomach twist. "I never asked for this. I never asked for us to be enemies."

Your breath hitched as a knot formed in your chest. You stepped back, your hands trembling. "But that’s what she wanted. She wanted me to beat you, to prove I was better. To make sure you didn’t have what I could have." Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in a flood of emotion you had long kept hidden. "I—"

Your words faltered as you felt the familiar sting of tears threatening to fall. You tried to hold them back, but the weight of it all—the pressure, the competition, the years of silence—was too much. You turned away, pressing your palms to your face, feeling the dam break inside you.

Max didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, his arms enveloping you in an instant. You stiffened at first, surprised by the warmth and steadiness of his embrace. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, couldn't think. But then, something inside you snapped, and you collapsed into him, your body shaking as the tears finally came.

Max didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He just held you, his hand gently rubbing your back, grounding you in the moment.

"I’m sorry," you whispered between sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” You kept repeating.

His grip tightened ever so slightly, as if offering you the comfort and understanding you had been denied for so long. "You didn’t deserve any of that." You clung to him, unable to stop the flood of emotions that had been building for years.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and the sobs turned into shallow breaths. Max didn’t let go. He stayed, a quiet anchor, as if he would hold you for as long as you needed.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were swollen, your makeup smudged, but you felt something lighter—something like relief, like a door you hadn’t realized was closed had finally opened.

“Does your dad know you’re here?” You wiped away the tears.

“I don’t really care about him right now,” Max responded. He took your hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “You need me right now.”

“Max, I don’t want you to get in trouble. You need to leave.”

“I’m a grown man. He can’t tell me who I can and any talk to.” He said.

“Then . . . I don’t care what my mother says either,” You declared. “You know, she said we couldn’t talk anymore because you were my competition. That I shouldn’t get too close to you. She thought it would make me weak."

“Your mom never understood that... you’re not my competition. You never were. You were my best friend. And I . . . I miss that.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.”

QATAR

The camera lights flickered on, and the usual hum of the media circus surrounded Max Verstappen as he sat in front of the press. Another victory under his belt, but the atmosphere in the room felt different today—slightly more tense than usual. The 2021 season was in full swing, and the rivalry between Max and his childhood best friend and fellow F1 driver, had become one of the most talked-about stories of the year.

“Max, earlier this week, someone that you knew quite well was quoted saying, ‘No time for feelings, just results,’ when talking about your past friendship. Given the intensity of your current rivalry, how do you feel about that statement?”

He took a breath and leaned forward, his voice steady but laced with an undeniable undercurrent of emotion.

“she’s one of the most focused and driven people I know. I don’t think anyone truly understands what it’s like to be in her head—how much racing means to her. She’s an artist, in every sense of the word, when it comes to driving. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

A brief silence fell over the room. Max seemed to weigh his next words carefully.

“We’ve both been through a lot over the years, and yeah . . . I get why she said what she did. This sport can make you say things you don’t always mean. It can make you choose things—like cutting ties with people who used to be your family, just so you can win. But trust me, it’s not easy for her. Or for me.”

His voice softened slightly, the edge of competition giving way to something more genuine—something rooted in your shared history.

“She’s not the kind of person to just forget about things or people. I know her better than anyone,” He continued. It was as if he could talk about you all day and never get bored. “As for the championship, yeah, It’s just the way it is. But that doesn’t change the fact that I respect her more than anyone. She’s a hell of a driver, and I know what she’s capable of.”

Max leaned back slightly, the cool exterior of the driver once again overtaking his emotions. He was a fighter. And this season, he wasn’t just fighting for the title.

ABU DHABI

It had been weeks since your last conversation with Max, but occasionally you would sneak glances at each other. Maybe even smile at him, which caused the media to wonder if your friendship had finally been restored.

The paddock was bustling with the usual pre-race energy—team members darting around, engineers checking telemetry, and drivers preparing for what would be a pivotal race. But Max Verstappen was not focused on the usual chaos. He was standing in front of your motorhome, his jaw clenched as he faced a woman who had been an obstacle in his life for far too long: you mother.

All he wanted to do before the race was to wish you good luck but he had one problem that came in the form of your mother.

“This is a pivotal moment for her career, Max. The championship is on the line. She needs to focus.” Your mother spoke.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “She doesn’t need you to tell her how to focus. She’s not a child anymore. She’s not your puppet.”

She smirked, her gaze calculating. “Oh, I know exactly how to handle her. You, on the other hand, have always been a distraction. Just like you were when you were kids. I told her back then that you were competition. And look where we are now—competing for the championship.”

Max took a step forward, his voice low but sharp. “You don’t get to control her anymore. She doesn’t deserve the way you treated her. She never did. She’s not some tool for you to use to further your own agenda. She’s a person. A damn good one, too.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a smug grin. “And now you think you have feelings for her? After all these years? You’re wasting your time, Max.

Max’s chest tightened, a sudden rush of frustration coursing through him. He had always felt something for you—something deep and complicated—but he hadn’t realized how much until he saw you again. How could he not? The way you made him laugh, the way you understood him in a way no one else did. The way your presence grounded him when the world felt chaotic.

“I’m not wasting my time,” Max snapped, his voice rising. He was no longer just angry; there was something more vulnerable beneath his words. “I... I care about her. More than you’ll ever understand. And I’m not going to just stand by and watch you tear her down again.”

Her eyes widened, the smugness on her face faltering for just a moment. She hadn’t expected that. But she quickly recovered, her icy demeanor back in place. “You think you can just waltz in and change everything, Max? You think she’s going to forget the way I’ve always looked out for her?”

Max’s pulse was racing now. “You’ve never looked out for her. You’ve held her back. You’ve made her feel like she couldn’t trust herself. Do you know how many times she’s questioned her worth because of you?”

Before your mother could reply, Max spoke again. “If you think for a second that I’m going to back off now, you’re wrong.”

Your mother glared at the Dutchman. “I’ve spent years in Formula 1, fighting for every ounce of respect, and now I’m fighting for her, too. And I’m not letting anyone—least of all you—tell me what I can or can’t feel about her.”

His words hung in the air between them, the weight of them settling in. He turned to leave, but paused at the door of your motorhome, looking back one last time.

“Tell her,” Max said, softer now, “Tell her I’ll be waiting at the finish line. I’ll always be waiting.”

Maybe your mother would pass on the message, maybe not. Either way, Max would still be waiting for you.

The roar of the crowd still echoes in the distance, but it’s muffled, almost surreal, as you stand behind the barriers, your helmet under your arm, heart still racing from the intensity of the race. The buzz of the paddock feels far away, and your body is heavy with exhaustion and disappointment. You finished second—close, but not close enough. Max had done it. He’d won the championship, after all the drama and all the battles that had led them to this final, decisive moment.

You lift your eyes and see him, standing by his car. Max, in his usual composed way, looking like he belongs there, like he's always belonged there, standing among the team and the media, all his focus, all his attention fixed on you. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips when he spots you, but it’s the way he’s standing, waiting, that hits you. Like he said he would.

You hesitate for a moment, thinking about your mother’s words, about everything that has always been said about Max—his arrogance, his rivalry, the fact that he’s always been competition. But this, here, this feels like something different. He’s not the enemy anymore. At least, not in the way they used to think of each other.

You take a breath, and then, almost instinctively, you walk toward him. As you step closer, you hear the whisper of her mother’s voice in the back of your mind, a warning you’ve heard so many times before. Stay focused. Don’t let him distract you. He’s your competition, not your friend.

But your steps don’t falter. You reach him, and when you do, you look up at him, your gaze soft, not the hardened competitive stare it once was. Max’s grin deepens, though it’s filled with something almost bittersweet.

“I heard you were waiting for me,” You said, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your voice is steady, but there’s a touch of vulnerability in it, something you can’t quite mask.

Max’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like time pauses. He looks at you as if he’s not seeing the driver, the fierce competitor, but the girl he used to know—the one he used to race against in karting, the one who once shared the same dream, the one who still, in some ways, understands him better than anyone else.

“I told you I would,” he replies quietly, his voice low and calm. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Your mind flashes back to the words he said to your mother, the promise he made—I’ll always be waiting.

“You won. Congratulations.”

Max’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a certain warmth in the way he looks at you, a quiet understanding that goes beyond just racing. He takes a step closer, his voice a little softer now. “You’re better than you think. I have a feeling you’ll take it away from me next year.”

You shake your head, but there’s no bitterness in your gesture. “Next year,” you repeat. Your fingers press the edge of your helmet tighter, almost like you’re grounding herself in this moment. But there’s something else too—a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Maybe. But I’m just glad you’re here.”

Max’s smile is genuine now. “I’ll always be here. Waiting for you to finally beat me.”

You laugh—a real laugh this time, one that’s not forced. “Maybe I’ll take you up on that one day,” you say, your voice a little lighter. “You should go with your team, I’m sure they’re waiting to drown you in champagne.”

Max chuckles, then steps forward. For a moment, it’s just the two of you, standing in the midst of the chaos, everything else fading into the background. You breathe in, realizing just how much this—this moment—matters more than the championship itself.

“So, Max, you’ve just won the title, but there’s a lot of talk about your competitor. She’s been called ‘too emotional’ in the past by some. What’s your take on how she handled this title fight?”

Max turns towards the reporter, a protective energy surging in him. He absolutely hated doing interviews, all he wanted to do was get back to you. “Well, for one, I think anyone who says she’s ‘too emotional’ is clearly not paying attention. She’s one of the most focused drivers out there. Honestly, anyone who thinks you can compete in this sport at the level we’ve been at, especially in the last few races, without being deeply passionate—well, they don’t understand what it takes.” He glances over at you, who’s trying to hide a smile while also looking frustrated with the question.

While you were a few feet away from him doing your own interview, you could hear Max. You tried hard to listen to the interview questions, but all you wanted to do was listen to what Max had to say.

“isn’t it a bit too much? The way she gets in her own head. She’s been—well, let’s just say, a bit of a perfectionist this season.”

Max shook his head, chuckling at the reporters words. “But, you know, that’s exactly why she’ll be winning a championship someday soon. I have no doubt about it, but I’m excited for the day she takes my championship away.”

Max could hear you burst into laughter at his words. His smile grew ten times bigger. “Seriously, though, she’s one of the most talented drivers I’ve ever known. she’ll steal the show when you least expect it. And maybe she’s a little bit hard to understand at times, but that’s exactly what makes her great.”

The reporter nodded. “Are you saying she’s like, uh, the Billy Joel song?” He asked confused.

Max grinned, clearly amused by the confusion. “She’s always a woman to me. Maybe I’m not the best person to explain it, but you get the idea.”

You chuckled once again as you heard Max. He really had a way with words.

“And one day, I’ll be watching her take the title with the same respect I have for her right now.”

That’s when you decide to step in after finishing your interview. “Maybe, Max. But for now, I think I'll let you have your moment. You’ve earned it.”

“We both did. I owe it all to you.”

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sahkuna · 2 days ago

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TO YOU SOMEDAY — GOJO SATORU

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

synopsis: time makes the heart grow fonder... you think. from your early childhood years to navigating life as adults, there are key moments that gojo satoru holds near and dear. there are so many things he wants and hopes to say to you, someday. but for now, the memories and things that he keeps will suffice.

series content warning(s): afab reader, 18+ so mdni, modern au/canon divergence, childhood friends, frienemies to lovers, slow-ish burn, flashback(s) used a lil to drive plot, fluff & domestic fluff, pining, small angst if you squint sorry, eventual smut/smut → resolved sexual tension, #MMC BEING SO IN 🤍 WITH FMC IT'S PATHETIC (WE ALL CHEERED).

word count: 3k :3 | series masterlist

THEN

You’re about eight years old on the wet, gloomy April morning you first met him.

His arrival was unexpected, especially considering he entered the school year about two weeks after it had started.

“Everyone,” your third-grade teacher, Ms. Ayase, stood at the front of the classroom with her hands clasped together. Beside her was a child, a boy, no taller than the middle half of her torso. “Today we have a new student joining our class!”

This news sparked excited whispers and chatter that floated through the rows of desks and chairs in the room. You sat a little taller in your seat, your eyes zeroed in on the new kid who stood motionless beside your teacher.

Ms. Ayase thumped her palm loudly against the chalkboard— twice, then three times— to regain her class’s attention. Pleased once everyone had fallen silent, she opened her mouth to speak again. “I’d like you all to meet Gojo. Gojo Satoru.”

Young, curious eyes around the room took turns peeking at their new classmate with prolonged stares. Sharp blue eyes matched their curiosity with an uninterested gaze. His little fists jammed tight into his pockets as he stared straight toward the back of the room as if he’d rather be elsewhere.

“I trust that you all will make him feel welcome today and going forward,” Ms. Ayase continued.

You’d seen most kids cry and buckle under the sudden weight of attention thrown onto them while being introduced to 20-something pairs of eyes staring right back at them. In contrast, other kids basked in the spotlight with glee, quick to spew fun facts about themselves or whatever cool interests they were dying to share with the class.

But this kid? Gojo?

He didn’t even crack the smallest of smiles. Not even when your fellow classmate and friend, Momo, waved a cheerful hand at him.

For a split second, large, bright blue eyes landed on you and settled there for a fleeting moment before he shifted his attention away.

The harsh, bright light from the class’s luminescent bulbs glinted against the rims of Ms. Ayase’s red rectangular glasses when she glanced down at her new student. “We’re having one of our custodians bring you a new desk, Gojo. So for the time being I’ll have you sit tight right next to…”

Your teacher’s warm brown eyes scanned the room of third graders as many enthusiastic arms shot up in the air paired with piercing “Me!”s and “Choose me!”s chorused all around you.

You felt relieved when you saw everyone throwing their hat into the ring to have Gojo Satoru sit beside them because now you wouldn’t have to worry about making small talk, especially with a boy.

Content with the many options Ms. Ayase now had to choose from, you drifted your attention outside the window toward the school campus courtyard. With all the commotion now drowned out, you took the time to ponder about what games you’d play with your friends during the next recess.

Seconds slipped by with you lost in your thoughts, oblivious to how classmates' antics had stopped and the sudden hush that blanketed the classroom. It was so unnatural and it dawned on you that Ms. Ayase must have already made her choice. So, when you snap your focus back to the front of the room, you’re jolted at the fact that everyone is now looking at you.

It took a moment for reality to sink in that your teacher had called your name until she repeated it, shaking you from your daze. A few more students turned in their seats and cast mixed looks of envy and surprise.

Out of everyone who had raised their hands, of course, she had to have chosen you to be Gojo’s temporary seatmate. Of. Course.

“Huh?” you squawked in bewilderment, taken aback by her impromptu choice. “Me!?” Suddenly nervous under the scrutiny of your classmates, you shrunk into your seat in a weak attempt to lessen the heat of their stares.

Judging by the looks of it, he doesn’t look all too thrilled about her decision either. As if he were sizing you up, Gojo gives you a jaded once-over before hauling his navy blue backpack from the floor with a quipped, “Sure.”

Fortunately enough for Ms. Ayase, your desk wasn’t far from the front, so it took her only a minute or so to take an extra chair from the corner of her room and drag it aaall the way over to you.

Once at your desk, she plopped the chair beside you with a resounding thud. She flapped her hand a few times as if to signal you to scooch over and make some room. So, you did. And not far behind her, Gojo walked over to your desk and dropped into the chair next to you, without sparing you a glance.

Great!

You hadn’t even spoken a word to the boy and he was already giving you the cold shoulder.

Either oblivious to Gojo’s distant nature or blatantly choosing to overlook it, Ms. Ayase—pleased with her seating arrangements—gave you an approving nod before she walked back to the front of the classroom to begin her lesson.

Amid her teaching, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at Gojo inconspicuously. He was an odd case, and you wanted to take a crack at breaking down his stony exterior. You don’t mind being the first to extend an olive branch to kickstart the beginning of a hopefully new friendship.

“It’s nice to meet you,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper so you wouldn’t disturb the flow of other students who tried to learn. First-day jitters get the best of everyone and you had wanted to give this Gojo Satoru kid a chance to at least be acquainted with you before you start to form your own opinions on him.

You were doing a good thing. You were being a friend, a great one at that. That’s what any new transfer would want on their first day at a new school, right?

Well...

It came as a shock to you that upon hearing your voice, you caught how Gojo’s gaze slowly shifted from his scattered notes and childish cartoon-like sketches to forcefully land on you as if you were doing him a disservice at trying to be friendly.

The kind smile that had graced your lips before his unrelenting stare now turned sour and awkward.

His expression wasn’t mean, but it certainly wasn’t friendly either. Just… blank. And the more he stared, surveying you, probably looking down on you and your attempts to befriend him, the more annoyed you became.

Yeah, never mind.

What was his damage?!

Never have you ever met a child so strange.

With your lips twisted into a faint sneer and your brows bunched tightly together, you exhaled a vexed hmph at Gojo’s less-than-pleasant attitude and shot your eyes back to Ms. Ayase— who was now scribbling a bunch of numbers and diagrams onto the blackboard. You even shunt your seat a few spaces away from him to show your disfavour.

You simply concluded that getting to know let alone, befriending Gojo Satoru may not be in the cards for you… ever.

Every day you thanked your lucky stars for the handy dandy custodian, Mr. Taro, who had fast-tracked the delivery of your sworn enemy’s (which was one-sided) desk within the next few days after his arrival.

You no longer had to worry yourself sick every morning on the walk to school about brushing shoulders and sharing textbooks with your classmate, Gojo Satoru.

That had been a whole five months ago, though, and you now only had a week left of your summer break before your second semester would begin. Since the very first day you met him, you’ve watched Gojo grow into the role of your class’s star student.

He was everyone’s first choice for P.E. if there were teams for the games you’d play, and he was invited to everyone’s birthday party. Anyone who managed to prompt a conversation that lasted more than a few minutes with Gojo was determined to be one of the lucky ones. It was a known fact that everyone at school wanted to be his friend.

Well… almost everyone.

Tired of swinging on the swings, you launched yourself off the play set and into a pile of woodchips that cushioned the land onto your feet. The sun crept lower on the horizon, painting the sky with warm oranges and blues. You remembered your mom having told you that you were expected to come home before dinner.

Your buddy, Momo, had walked home from the neighbourhood park long before you, and seeing that you had nothing else to do, you decided to start your short trek home.

“Time to go,” you said to no one in particular. You walked over to your bag that was thrown haphazardly on one of the picnic tables and swung it over to slink your arms through each strap.

Unbeknownst to you, you must’ve forgotten to zip up your backpack completely earlier, prompting most of your bag’s contents to spill across the pavement.

You grunted in aggravation. “Jeez,” you growled to yourself, as you scooped up the scattered pencils and trading cards you had packed into your hands in a crabby fashion. There must’ve been at least 15 of these cards that you needed to gather.

After spending maybe a good two minutes picking up your things and wiping the dirt off them, right as you reached for your last trading card a huge gust of wind accosted you and blew the cards up and into the air.

“Hey!” you exclaimed in shock. With great dread and an air of urgency, you shoved the rest of your belongings into your bag and chased after your runaway card.

You yelled and hollered down the sidewalks of your quiet neighbourhood thankful for the most part that it was vacant. God forbid if someone you knew from school saw you running and screaming bloody murder over a damn trading card. “Stop!”

This was the kind of chase scene you’d seen play out in a children’s TV show with the obnoxious laugh track faintly playing in the back. To say you were mortified at your predicament would be an understatement.

The card having a mind of its own took a sharp turn around a corner, and you not far behind followed it. Unfortunately, unaware that there could be another being behind that very corner, your sharp turn wound you to bump into someone’s back. Hard.

You let out an audible oomph right as you tumbled onto the ground.

Well, there goes one of your most prized possessions. You knew it was a bad idea to bring your high-ranking cards to the park, but nooo, Momo wanted to see them before her family trip to Hakone before school started.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

You groaned and swiped a frustrated hand against your eyes as that nipping, uncomfortable feeling that you just lost your favourite card.

Do not cry. You scolded yourself, as you pressed your fist harder against your eyes as the familiar heat of tears began to prick at your waterline. Not over a card. Especially in front of a stranger.

Reminded that you had company, you quickly rose to your feet again and dusted yourself off as if nothing had happened. “Sorry,” you said with your head down.

You sidestepped around the person, ready to make your dejected walk home with now 14 cards in tow.

Things couldn’t have gotten any worse is what you thought until you heard the “stranger” behind you make their presence known.

“You like Digimon?”

Oh God.

When you turned to see your worst-case scenario personified, there in his hand, was your only Skullgreymon Digimon collector’s edition card in all its glory.

You’re half happy— because your card managed to be saved— and half-mortified— because your card managed to be saved by public enemy number one, Gojo Satoru.

Immediately, you decided to skip the formalities and extended your arm to snatch your card away from your hero-turned-villain. But you’re not quick enough.

“You like Digimon?” Gojo repeated, this time with more volume in his voice. The hand that held your dear Skullgreymon swivelled behind his back to keep it far from your range.

This was the most you’ve heard him speak (to you, that is). You tried not to let the wonderment of this event cloud over the fact that Gojo had something that belonged to you and kept you from taking it.

“Yes,” you grunted and took one step forward in an attempt to grab your card again to no avail. “I do.”

Gojo blinked at you, his snowy white lashes fluttered with thoughtful consideration. When Gojo isn’t giving you blank stares or expressions that practically screamed he was judging you, you think he could be quite nice. You think.

“Me too,” he finally said.

“... Okay.” you said, because what else are you supposed to say!?

Gauging that Gojo was in no hurry to give you back Skullgreymon anytime soon, your arm fell limp at your side and you huffed in defeat.

You expected him to follow his confession with something else, but instead, the two of you stood on the side of the sidewalk in silence. This went on far longer than you would have liked for it to have gone.

Gojo’s blue eyes bore into your soul with a look of expectation that stretched across his features, as he thumbed the back of your sparkly card behind him.

Your gaze diverted away from him and glanced at the slow start of a darkening sky, which was your indicator that you really needed to get home soon. But you’d be damned if you left without Skullgreymon!

Chancing a glimpse back at Gojo, his face is unreadable and serious in all its intensity. His eyebrows you were so used to seeing in straight impassive lines were now creased tight with confusion and… annoyance?

That’s when it struck you that he was waiting for you to say something!

Oh, so now he wanted you to extend the olive branch? Funny! Hilarious, even!

No shot.

You snorted and answered his unspoken open invitation and question to play with a curt shake of your head, “Give me back my—”

“I don’t have any training lessons with my tutor tomorrow,” Gojo replied, cutting you off. You watched with horror as he tucked your card into the front pocket of his black khakis. He even tucked his hands into them to intercede any chance of you swiping it back from him. “Bring more of your cards here in the afternoon and I’ll show you some of mine.”

Without even bothering to wait for your response, let alone agreement, Gojo Satoru turned on his heel and walked his merry self home.

And that very next day you waited at the park, just like he had ordered you to do, brewed to the brim with indignation that Gojo managed to swindle you into leaving your house to meet/play/whatever it was that he wanted to see you for… with him.

Arms crossed tightly against your chest as you pressed yourself against the swingset beam, you waited for Gojo to make his arrival. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long.

“You’re here.”

Behind you, you spotted Gojo. Today he wore a different set of khakis, all-too-expensive sneakers that were not park material and… a dark blue Digimon tee. Stowed between his arm and side, he carried a black binder, probably decked out with all his Digimon cards.

Just as he had said.

Oh.

There’s a creeping sensation of guilt that bullies your conscience. Maybe you were a tad bit mean yesterday in not being open to meeting up with Gojo because today it seemed like he wanted to make a fair impression on you.

Maybe today would be the one shot for you guys to get to know each other better.

Noticing your silence that drawled on for too long, you quickly countered with a clipped, “Of course I am!” You nodded your chin at him. “You stole my card!”

You thought you spotted a ghost of a smile dancing across his lips, but it disappeared as quickly as you must have imagined it.

Gojo flung his binder—you swallowed the urge to tell him to be careful— and sat on the ground.

When you hadn’t immediately followed his lead, Gojo looked up at you incredulously. “Aren’t you going to sit?”

So, you do.

You would have been silly to pass up the rare opportunity of talking to Gojo like a normal human being rather than sworn enemies (once again, one-sided on your part).

From that day onward, there was a miraculous shift in the way you interact with your classmates. The shell of the bratty, blunt, and sometimes abrasive nature of Gojo Satoru you once knew him to have was no more.

After summer break when school was back and in session, when Ms. Ayase revealed the new seating chart for the classroom and you discovered you’d only be a desk away from Gojo, you caught the white tuft of his hair whirl to find across the class before he shot you a thumbs up.

But it didn’t stop there.

No longer did Gojo roll his eyes when you were picked to be on the same team as him during P.E. Instead, if he were captain for one of the games, much to the class’s (and your) surprise, you were almost always chosen first.

He also intruded on the many recess sessions you’d have to play with your friends to urge you to ditch them and start a match of DCG with him.

This spurred you to learn that Gojo had a grand fixation and bountiful admiration for Digimon— he was (and still) is a class-A nerd when it comes to all things in the Digimon franchise, more so than you.

Things had changed from where it all started in April of 1997. Gojo had changed, and you’d like to say you had to.

Satoru never wound up giving you that card back. But you no longer seemed to care about that, nor his antics.

Not anymore.

OKAYYYY SHE (me) FINALLY DELIVERED. thank you for reading until the end! if you liked it, please yell at me about it will yell (/pos) right back <333 I HOPE YOU GUYS WILL STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT PARTS OF THIS MINI-SERIES! as it will come soon :) until then DUECES STINKIES!

*EDIT: you know, i think this will be more so a prologue/chapter "0" rather than it being chapter 1...? this is just the bones of this series. nonetheless eeeee, childhood friends to lover trope on TOP. WHO ELSE CHEERED

#sahkuna!#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo fluff #jjk fluff #eventual smut #later on... OBVIOUSLY.#to you someday

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kngrose · 3 days ago

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imagine a situationship with sevika

WARNINGS: mentions of cheating, drinking, bi! reader but wlw, eventual smut, modern au

AN: i have way too many thoughts about this— this will have multiple parts ^^

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t plan for it. But somewhere along the line, something changed. Your relationship had gotten too… comfortable. At first, the changes were subtle; He wasn’t saying anything outlandish, nothing to make you question your relationship.

But there were small instances, ones where he’d forget plans you made, or when he’d linger on his phone a little longer than usual in your company. You told yourself it was nothing; he might just be a little more stressed than usual– maybe there’s something personal he’s going through.

But as time passed, the pattern became clearer. Conversations that used to flow easily were now strained, almost forced, filled with half-hearted responses. He didn't pick up on the little things anymore; your new manicure or your haircut you had gotten to perfectly frame your face, in hopes that he would notice.

He wouldn’t be as passionate anymore, the fire he once held slowly dimming before your eyes. It was disheartening. The spark that once kept your relationship alive is fading, and you're left with a gnawing feeling of emptiness that you can’t quite explain.

And then there was her.

It wasn’t anything too large, the event. Just a kickback amongst some of your shared friends and some extras they’d invited. You’d tagged along with your boyfriend who’d long forgotten about you, chopping it up with a few of the guys on the couch. You felt a sour twinge in your gut as you sat beside him; this is the most enthusiasm he’s shown in weeks.

You’d noticed her in your solitude; shooting you glances across the room. Similar to you, she hadn’t said much of anything, just idly man-spread on the neighboring couch, red cup held loosely in her hand. You’ve never seen her before… you wonder whose friend she is.

You can't help but return the glances– look at her. Her broad shoulders, her thighs, her hands decorated with rings. The piercings that decorate her face. Those eyes, assessing you as she circles the rim of her cup with an index finger, a little smirk forming on her dark lips.

How could you help it– when she’s just radiating with unspoken confidence? It’s captivating, drawing you in like a deer in headlights. There’s a sharpness in her eyes that unsettles you, and yet, something about it excites you. She’s not like anyone you’ve ever seen.

You realized later that she was just waiting. Waiting for your boyfriend to excuse himself so she could move in. It’ll make you wonder later, how much of this she premeditated. It doesn’t take her long to approach you when he leaves, sliding into the spot next to you curtly, smirking as she meets your eyes. She’s beautiful up close.

She’s looking at you with that calculating gaze, making it clear she’s intrigued. She scans your face up and down, “Like your hair… suits you.”

Her voice was deep, commanding, like she had the power to bend the world to her will. You feel your cheeks warm under her gaze, touching your hair softly. “Thank you.” You manage to retort, embarrassingly glancing away. When you shot your eyes back to hers your breath got caught in your chest, her gaze is unwavering. A chuckle rumbles from her throat, “You’re cute.”

But it's not just the look—it’s the way she speaks to you. It’s amazing how easily she manages to fluster you, it’s effortless. Sevika, you learn that her name is, charms you with her dry humor and college stories, entertaining you the entirety of the night.

She tells you about all of the petty fights she’s been in, and all of her run ins with the police. Some of which are so descriptive you have to wonder if she’s being generous with the details. All the while she’s charming you up, placing a hand on your knee, then to your thigh, drawing small circles. You take note of the way she seems to fixate on your hair, constantly moving it from your face or twisting the strands between her fingers.

The flirtation feels different—darker. Her voice rumbles with a kind of quiet power, and when her hand brushes against yours, it lingers just a little too long. You want to pull away, but instead, you stay. The tension builds, and despite your better judgment, a part of you is drawn to it. To her.

You wish you could go back in time and slap yourself. You knew better than to get yourself alone with this girl, this freakishly charismatic, freakishly, randomly attractive girl. But you let her lead you away to a secluded hallway of the house, her excuse being the music was too loud.

And she continued conversing with you, leaning against the wall and swallowing down the rest of the cup. She huffed out something between a scoff and a laugh, “You a nanny or somethin’?” You shot her a confused look in response. She looked down, nodding her head towards the red cup in your hand. “You’re babysitting.”

“Oh, this…” You mutter, swirling the drink around plainly. “Not much of a drinker.” You notice the roll of her eyes as she pushes herself off the wall and your breath hitches as she closes in on you. She pulls the cup from your hand, raising a large hand to your chin to tilt your head back. You barely manage to sputter, “What are you doing–!” before she orders you to, “Open,” nudging your chin softly.

You lock eyes with her for the umpteenth time, her eyes filled with something different this time around. You hesitantly part your lips, allowing her to pour the rest of the content into your mouth. There’s a soft groan leaving her mouth as she watches some of it spill from the corner of your lips down your chin.

The way her eyes lingered on your lips made your heart race. You were suddenly aware of how close you were, how her scent filled your senses, how her gaze felt like a slow burn.

You don’t say anything, but you can feel the heat between you both, the pull that’s been growing stronger with each passing second. Before you know it, she’s kissing you—rough and urgent, her hands gripping your hips with a hunger that matches the storm brewing inside you. Her kiss is overwhelming, like a fire that consumes you whole. You melt into it, into her, not thinking about the consequences, not thinking about him.

The moment ends just as quickly as it began, but the aftershocks are impossible to ignore. You stand there, breathless, disoriented, and yet, there’s a part of you that doesn’t regret it. It feels raw, real, and alive in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

You pull away from Sevika, your chest tight with confusion and shame. But Sevika just watches you, unfazed. There’s no sympathy in her gaze, in fact, all you could register was a sly smirk on her lips. Sevika moves to stand close to you, her presence overwhelming, wrapping a hand around your throat, "What's holding you back?" she mumbles against your lips.

And in that moment, you realize that nothing is holding you back. You’ve already made your choice without even knowing it.

There’s no turning back now.

please let me know if you would like to be added to my taglist to be notified everytime i post, xx

taglist: @opropheticsoul

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #arcane sevika #sevika x oc #sevika smut #arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane season 2 #arcane smut #arcane x reader #wlw #lesbian #ao3

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sanriovin · 3 days ago

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hear me out on this one y'all.

imagine yourself coming back home from a hard day at work, right? all overwhelmed, exhausted, annoyed at the world, and so on. as soon as you walk into your shared room though, you see a sight you weren't expecting in the least.

your husband, kento nanami, jerking himself off.

poor man, on his one day off, which were EXTREMELY rare for him, you, as luck had it, had to go to work :( and he was all needy and desperate for you, resorting to masturbating, which he never did often, even more so after the two of you became a couple.

his big, strong, calloused hand from the type of jobs he was involved in, wrapped nicely around his aching, pulsing cock, fisting himself, as pathetic, desperate groans and moans of your name and how good he was feeling left his lips, as his hips bucked up further into his hand from the pleasure he was feeling.

his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, head lolling back into the soft, welcoming pillows, dressed in a gentle linen pillowcase, undoubtedly not even realising that you had came home. the sight before you stirred something inside of you, making the exhaustion and annoyance from the day disappear completely, instead, replacing it with a feeling of your own neediness, and a sense of pride, seeing how your husband could fall apart. it gave you ideas. MANY ideas.

"Kento?" you spoke from your spot at the door, your eyes trailing down your husband's half-nude form; his trousers and boxers gone, his tie loosened, three tops buttons undone from the top.

hearing your voice breaking through the sounds of his ragged breathing, loud grunts of pleasure, and the occasional moan or two, his hand came to a stop, his eyes opened wide, looking at you, with shock, embarrassment, and shame. he couldn't even bring himself to hide his body, in a state of processing what had happened.

placing your bag down on the dresser near the door, you took one step, then another, then another, as you approached your shared bed, your eyes locked onto kento, not looking away for even a mere second, in fear that you would miss even the slightest reaction from your normally composed husband.

he swallowed harshly, audibly, slowly moving his hand away from where it was nicely wrapped around previously, placing it down on the linen clad duvet, averting eye contact with you, his cheeks flushed a soft pink, from either the embarrassment, or the physicality and feelings that masturbation brought, or both?

"I'm sorry, darling, I wasn't expecting you to be home so soon." he spoke a quiet apology, seeming genuine with it, but how could you even be mad at him? or how could he even think you would be mad at him?

shaking your head, you moved yourself down onto the bed, situating yourself in between his thighs, watching how his adam's apple bobbed with nervousness and excitement, how a dribble of precum ran down his dick with every tremor that ran down his body.

"You're sorry for what, Kento?" you asked, the question being more of a chastise for him even thinking that he needed to apologise for this, rather than an actual question. in all honesty, seeing your husband like this, undone into a puddle of desperation and lust, was something you would kill to see on a daily, so you were definitely not complaining.

taking a single finger, you trailed it down his thigh, inching closer and closer to the one spot that was the key to getting rid of all his frustrations and stress, even if just for a day. he let out a quiet sigh, watching you with eager eyes, silently pleading with you to do something, anything, to relieve the pulsing ache.

"Do you want me to help you, Kento?" you, once again, gave him a question. your voice was sweet, soft, as if lulling him into a sort of haze. your voice worked like a siren's, bringing him in and in, with only mere words. having him wrapped around your pinky. true, most of the time, nanami preferred to be the dominating one, the one in control, however, he also knew how to let himself be taken care of by others, specifically, you.

"Please, honey, please, I need you so badly." his voice was strained, barely managing to hold himself back; hold himself out for long enough for you to do something.

taking that as your sign to continue, you put a coy little smile on your face, lowering yourself to lay comfortably between his legs on the soft bed, before placing one, single, chaste kiss to his angry, red tip.

he let out a groan in response, head falling back, peeking at you from under his eyelashes, hands trembling slightly at the feeling. your kiss felt good, so good, but it wasn't near enough for what he wanted, no, needed.

"Darling you, fuck, tease..." he groaned out, situating himself to rest on his elbows, so he could see you better, and see what you were up to.

you would have teased him for longer, but the look on his face, one of love, neediness, pure eagerness and desire, was enough to pull you out of your teasing and cruel state, and you decided to help your beloved partner, help him release all the stress within him.

opening your lips, you slowly lowered yourself onto his aching, hardened cock, lowering yourself further and further, as you attempted to take him fully, with, as you soon found out, ended futilely on the first go, with uncovered space still left at his base. however, that alone was enough to cause nanami to let out a low moan, pressing his eyes shut again, letting the darkness consume him as he focused entirely on the pleasure he felt in the moment.

the scene was messy. your drool dribbling down nanami's sensitive cock, the tip of it pressed and poked against the back of your throat, trying to push further and further, however, it was stopped through the tightening of your throat, and the sounds of gags and chokes on his large size.

he gently moved one of his hands to rest on your head, not pushing, not pressing down, just trying to ground himself to reality from the immense pleasure he felt. "Sweetheart, it feels so good... You're doing so well..."

nanami kento has a way with words. a way that made you feel eager and excited to pleasure him, to satisfy him, in hopes of getting more and more praise.

trying to breathe through your nose, you slowly relaxed your throat, bobbing your head up and down, attempting to inch further and further down his large dick, holding onto his thighs with trembling hands, as your tongue swirled around his leaking tip, which resulted in a loud, higher pitched moan than before from nanami.

the moan was all you needed to proceed with your actions, desperately trying to bring your beloved to the edge of release, as you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking on his cock so well he could practically see stars in his eyes.

taking one of your hands, you gingerly brought it to his balls, beginning to slowly mess and play with them, testing new waters to see if it would have the desired effect on nanami.

and it did not fail.

in mere seconds, nanami was falling apart on the bed, his legs trembling pathetically, his hips jerking up to your mouth, his back on the bed, his arms having lost all strength to support himself. curses, moans, and groans of your name kept spilling from his mouth, as not once did he open his eyes. hot spurts of his cum landed in your mouth, on your tongue, as you began to taste the salty yet slightly bitter taste of it on your tongue.

letting him ride out high long-awaited orgasm, you took all that he gave you, only pulling off once you saw his body laying practically limp on the bed, regaining himself from the experience.

but, of course, he was a gentleman at heart. he wouldn't let such a favour go unrewarded, oh no, he couldn't have that.

"How about you let me pleasure you now, love? What do you say?"

(author's note: finished writing this after finishing AOT S3 - the ending hurt so bad that i couldn't even cry)

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spenceillustrates · 1 day ago

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Hi there!! I’ve been a bit quiet since my Into The Wild project, but I wanted to come back and share something exciting! I’m a part of @harriertail ‘s Warrior Cats cover zine!

I’m soo excited to share my full piece with you all - but I can’t just yet! In the meantime, I encourage whoever might be interested to keep your eyes on this collaborative project because printing is real soon and a physical copy of the zine will be available to purchase!

Thank you all so much for the love of my previous project, and i’m so so excited to share my cover with you - I’ll give you a clue which one it is: It’s a book from The Prophecies Begin!

I haven’t shared these yet! These are 6 illustrations from my university project that was based on warriors! I chose to draw 6 scenes from Into the Wild from the 1st arc!

#warrior cats #warriors #the prophecies begin #warrior cats cover zine #zine #fan zine #collaborative zine #my art

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persicipen · 2 days ago

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₊ ˙ ⊹ . 𝓑𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓𝒔. ALHAITHAM. KAVEH ₊ ˙ ⊹ .

ৎ୭ — · · 1.6k ノ afab gn reader — visiting them in their office and ending up spread open on their desk. semi public space. no one is getting caught. oral with kaveh — reader receiving. established relationship ノ fontaine version here!

₊ ˙ ⊹ . ALHAITHAM ノ

For him, it’s a simple deduction. A reasonable consequence to the outcome of you arriving in his office with the intention of teasing him. The wet glide of his shaft is an almost perfect match, piercing you deep and rhythmically, chasing that burning bliss of ecstasy.

Already fucked silly, you tremble on the desk, feeling your essence dripping down your thighs. The sixth sense in you rouses goosebumps at the obvious, prickling sensation of Alhaitham smirking behind you — in almost a nonchalant way, enjoying the view he was working on so eagerly these past minutes.

“Turn around. I want to see your face,” he commands, his low voice raspy, barely containing that he’s just as affected by the hot air that brims with excitement between your bodies.

A languid roll of your form follows, and you spread your legs, inviting him between them, waiting for him to settle where you need him the most. He towers over you like a pillar of fortitude, a stellar man that you could stare at for years and never get bored with his beauty, so enchanted by the dark blush blooming on his cheeks that you almost forget to react when he presses his fat tip against your entrance.

Oh, he’s pretty desperate, his movement ragged and only in the last moment holding off just to smear more of your arousal along his shaft. A precaution. He snaps his hips and enters you swiftly, relishing in the cosiness of your welcoming heat.

“Mhm, love, you’re always so good to me,” he purrs in a husky tone, words hissed through the clenched teeth as the muscles on his jaw flex. “You’re such a welcomed distraction, aren’t you? Coming to my office just when I was getting bored with the paperwork.”

“F-feels so nice,” you answer with a weak voice, wrapping your legs around his waist and inviting him further to become one, skin clinging to skin like glued with resin.

Moans bitten back with a nibble on the lips echo through the tight proximity of your embrace, accompanied by the sound of his pelvis hitting yours — the sloppy plap plap plap embarrassingly erotic.

An unusual behaviour to see him that needy, bordering impatience to sink into your dewy core, all to your happy giggles and cut-out mewls. He leans down, burying his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily the scent of your perfumes (the ones he loves the most on your skin) and leaving mint-flavoured kisses all over your clavicles.

Just a moment later, he lifts himself and straightens his back, grabbing your knees and pulling you towards him. You gasp at the change of position, manoeuvred near the edge of his desk whilst his cock drives into you deeper, delectably overwhelming, a shy kiss to your womb.

The wooden legs squeak underneath, a warning to not go overboard the limits of the poor furniture. But how can he control himself when you look like the incarnation of sensual sin laid bare right in front of him?

Your eyes shine brighter than the hazy sun behind the stained glass windows, framed with eyelashes that flutter from every jolt that reverberates through your bodies.

Alhaitham presses his lips against yours, not kissing, just panting into your mouth; his breath tastes like freshly brewed coffee, and the mint leaves you saw him chewing on earlier. He grips your waist, tugging you on and off his cock in long thrusts, letting you feel every pulsing vein of his hardness with an impassioned vigour.

In your sweetest dreams, you wish you could take him always and forever, if only not for your body unable to store such intense pleasure. You whine in protest at his mercy, impaling yourself in a trance onto his swollen erection, continuing the sloppy dance that entangles you both in a shared desire.

“Lookin’ beautiful, you know?” His words, ornate with sincerity and tenderness, make you focus for a mere second on his voice before the pace of his hips sends you back into blissful dullness. “Taking me so well.”

You whimper at his compliment, at the way he looks at you, his gaze mellow like Padisarah flowers. A contrast to his rushed actions — actions that will leave you all sore for the remainder of the day, for sure.

If it hadn’t been for the unwavering support of Alhaitham’s sturdy arms, you already would have melted in a puddle on the surface of his desk. Every time you glance downwards, your clit throbs painfully at the sight of his cock entering you in such a cogent way. Intermingled juices ease its passage, glistening trails sticking to your inner thighs as you take the most out of the forced proximity of being stuck between the paperwork and the scribe.

₊ ˙ ⊹ . KAVEH ノ

The very sweet sensation of being handled, a refined mannerism like he’s trying to understand the principles of your figure, was one of the many reasons you fell in love with Kaveh. The warmth of his hands burns through your skin, sending a rush of lust pulsing through your veins. He takes his time, leaning in to inhale the sweet scent of your arousal before dipping his head down and pressing his lips against your soft folds. He can already feel his mouth watering at the sight of your pussy uncovered in front of him.

It never ceases to amaze him how it affects him, how wet you can get at the chance of spending time with him — how each little flick of his tongue causes a tiny ripple of pleasure that pulses through your core.

“Why do we always end up like this?” You ask as your body arches up, trying to align your clit with his kisses, but his lips are too delicate.

“You’re irresistible.”

“Enough to ignore the work on your desk?”

“You’re the only work on my desk that I care about now.” Sun-kissed cheeks flush red from his exertions, sweat clinging to his brow, dark eyelashes fanning his cheekbones while he holds his arms out to support himself on the large surface of his workshop table. “I can’t wait to feel you come again,” he mumbles, his voice deep and husky from eating you out just a few minutes ago. “One or two projects can wait until we’re finished, right?”

The watery muscle swirls over your bundle of nerves, suckling on it until you are gasping and writhing underneath him. Just how he loves you, completely at bliss, a sheen layer of rosy satisfaction beaming from your silhouette like another perfect arch he would love to include in his sketched-out plans. You moan softly, reaching out to touch his face, your palms brushing over his silky golden hair. It is messy and wild from your earlier liaison, thick locks framing his long face and shadowing his ruby eyes. Weaving his fingers with yours, his hand comes up to grip yours as he dives anew into your heat, a starved man at the oasis.

The dim rays of the fading sun can only slightly illuminate the mess that is his office — especially after how long you and Kaveh have been tangled together in here.

But, by the archons, he swears that nothing else matters right now, besides his beloved muse coming undone underneath him. The erotic sounds of your laboured breathing are music to his ears. Your nails scratching the smooth surface of his worktable only make his cock twitch against the fabric of his pants.

You had walked in with an innocent desire to bring him lunch and something to drink. He always forgets about such things when deep in thoughts. And Kaveh is always working, not that you mind because you love seeing him doing what he loves. In your eyes, he is so beautifully talented. No matter what it is, he could always find a way to master it. He has such a natural gift for creation that you find yourself endlessly attracted to.

However, the way he had tugged you closer, after greeting you with a kiss on your forehead, alerted you enough to know there’s something else on his mind regarding your visit.

A not so innocent desire, that was.

“Kaveh!” you whine, your voice breaking with the upcoming release. You are so sensitive right now that your legs shake with each kitten lick on your pearl. “Please, please!”

Mouth occupied, yet he smiles softly as he looks up from between your thighs. With the light touch, your stomach contracts in anticipation, tingling fingertips trying to untangle from the held hands, but to no avail. Your hips cant up off the table to meet his mouth, desperate for more contact, for more pleasure. And Kaveh, being the amiable man he is, leans in closer and lock your legs in place over his shoulders.

Pinpricks of tears sparkle at the corners of your eyes and you desperately try to find something to focus on while he savours you like a delectable meal. From experience, you know that there is no stopping him. Once determined to make you come, he will only let go once it has happened.

A white-hot fever falls on your face and you open your mouth to protest, but the only thing that escapes is a broken moan when his nose flicks against your mons. Oh. His tongue slides back down to the opening of your cunt, twirling around the wetness there. A bead of slick trails from the tip when he pulls away, eyes glinting with mischievous intent.

Following the droplet as he relishes in your scent, drawing the sweetness into his mouth until he has to force himself to swallow — unwilling to let go.

#—writing.#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin smut #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham smut #kaveh x reader #kaveh x you #kaveh smut

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moonchild9350 · 22 hours ago

Text

Always

summary: you and Hyunjin have a peculiar relationship with your roommate Felix

pairing: est. relationship Hyunjin x fab!reader x roommate Felix

genre: sprinkle of fluff, smut-18+MDNI

word count: 2.7k

warnings: cockwarming, spanking, breeding kink, mention of pregnancy, partner sharing, unprotected sex (don't), multiple creampies, squirting, nipply play, dirty talk, use of term slut

notes: short, sweet, and filthy lol I just love hyunjin and felix omg

If you enjoyed, consider a reblog, comment, or like as it keeps me motivated ♡

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

It’s the end of the day, the part where you start to wind down, your mind exhausted from the day’s activities. You’re sitting on your bed holding your penguin plushie as you scroll through your phone when you notice the time.

Seeing that it is almost seven, you sit up as excitement courses through you, your core clenching in anticipation for the evening that’s in store.

Hyunjin will be home soon after a long day at work. You miss your boyfriend dearly, the hours long without him.

At the thought of seeing him soon, you get up out of bed and shimmy out of your sweatpants and panties, leaving yourself in only his oversized shirt, the hem barely grazing your thighs.

You pad to the door and open it, making your way to the living room where a certain blond is sitting, his eyes trained on the tv…that is until you walk in.

At your entrance, Felix looks up and flashes the smile you have grown to love, all teeth and dimples, as he sets his phone down. He beckons you over, his tiny finger making a come hither motion as he invites you to sit on his lap.

You stand there for a moment, gazing at the beautiful man, your hands behind your back. You take him in, how the bulge within his grey sweats is ever enlarging, his cock twitching as you take one step forward.

“That’s it, come here sweetheart,” Felix purrs as he pushes his hair out of his freckled face.

You’re wet, incredibly so, as your body is trained almost like Pavlov’s dog. At the stroke of seven, you become horny, the thought of cock filling you up making the feeling almost unbearable.

You arrive in front of Felix and giggle, as your cheeks flush at the sight of the blond.

“Ready sweetheart?” Felix asks, his hands reaching into his sweats to pull his cock out, giving it a few strokes as he spreads the precum that’s leaking from the tip around.

You nod as you take in his hard cock, perfect and chubby, all ready for you.

He holds it steady as you straddle his legs and bring your core to his length. Felix helps you line his cock with your entrance as you experimentally lower yourself, sighing at the stretch his tip provides.

You left your hips up before bringing them down once more, this time taking all of him. You let out a whimper at feeling full, your pussy keeping his member nice and snug within your wet walls.

You wrap your arms around Felix and nuzzle your head in the crook of his neck as he holds you close. You just sit there, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath, reveling in the comfort of being in Felix’s arms.

You relax further as his hands sneak beneath your shirt, his fingers gently trailing your back as he continues to watch the show on the tv screen.

And so it goes. You and your boyfriend have a particular arrangement with Felix, your roommate. He joined your little abode around a year ago, all sunshine and happiness, and thankful for you both taking him in.

As time went on and you three became closer, feelings of friendship turning into something a little more with each passing day. You were already dating Hyunjin, and Felix knew that, but he couldn’t let his feelings go to waste, confessing one day while at movie night.

You remember looking at Hyunjin, a smirk forming on your face at the confession. Little did Felix know that you both liked Felix too and were more than willing to open up your relationship to include him.

Felix was delighted, as the best case scenario played out. However, before he could get too excited, Hyunjin laid down some ground rules.

The first rule he imposed was you were his at the end of the day and only his, but Felix can enjoy the perks of having you close by, whatever those perks may be. He also demanded that Felix prep you and get you ready for him before he got home.

Felix readily agreed, as he got to be with you, feel you, and that was more than he had bargained for.

So here he was, “prepping” you by having you warm his cock. He loved how you felt around him, your pussy always warm and wet, your slick dripping down onto his pants, forming a constantly enlarging wet spot.

You both sat there for a while, waiting for the door to open and for Hyunjin to walk in. However, you were starting to feel needy, Felix’s cock feeling too good within you. You knew you were playing with fire, but decided to proceed, needing some type of relief as you waited for your love.

Smirking against Felix’s neck, you clenched down on his length while pressing wet kisses to his neck, a soft whimper escaping your lips.

Felix’s breath hitched for a moment before he recovered, lightly tapping your ass and gripping the flesh tight. You grinned before repeating the motion, this time feeling his cock twitch within you as he let out a low groan at the sensation. Felix gently rocked your hips over his cock, his length dragging deliciously against your walls.

You gripped his neck tighter as you breath caught, hoping he would do it again. However, Felix recovered, remembering that Hyunjin gets to have you first.

“Behave,” he said, his deep voice rumbling deep within his chest and flowing to your ears.

You let out a sigh, as you lightly nipped his skin, Felix jumping at the slight pain. You’re not sure how much longer you could wait, needing to move, to gain any type of friction to ease your aching pussy.

As you thought of moving again, the door opened and in walked Hyunjin. You watched as he dropped his bags and kicked off his shoes before walking over to the living area. He smiled at seeing the two of you, wrapped in an intimate embrace, as you warmed Felix’s cock.

“You two are adorable,” Hyunjin cooed, taking out his phone to snap a picture, wanting to add it to his ever growing collection of his two favorite people.

Hyunjin continued to gaze at you two, the blood flowing to his cock as he took in your flushed cheeks, your disheveled hair as you continued to nuzzle your head in the crook of Felix’s neck. He took in Felix, his eyes dilated and veins prominent on his hands as he gripped your ass tighter. He knew how Felix felt, your pussy too warm, wet, and just perfect.

“Ready love?” Hyunjin asked, walking closer to you.

You nodded your head, keeping your face tucked into Felix’s neck as Hyunjin wrapped his arms around your waist. You let out a moan as Hyunjin lifted you off of Felix’s cock, the sudden emptiness making your walls contract as he carried you bridle style to your bedroom.

He laid you down on the soft sheets and began stripping his clothes off, his eyes on you the whole time. You watched as his cock sprang free, as he dragged his sweats down his thick thighs, licking your lips at the sight.

“Take your shirt off love, you know the drill,” Hyunjin commanded as he stood before you in all his glory.

You shuffled to take the garment off, your tits now on display for your lover. You leaned back and fondled the flesh, watching as Hyunjin stroked his length.

“Mm spread your legs love, show me your pussy,” Hyunjin said, as he bit his plush lips.

He let out a moan as you spread your legs, your folds parting and displaying your wet entrance and puffy clit. You whimpered as you swiveled your hips, wanting to touch yourself to ease the ache. However, you didn’t dare touch what was his, wanting him to have his fill first.

“That’s it love, such a pretty pussy just for me.”

Hyunjin approached you, as he slotted himself between your legs. He leaned over you, his body hovering over yours as caged you in, his lips finding purchase against yours. He kissed you passionately as he brought his cock to your entrance, pushing the tip in with a swift motion.

You moaned loudly against his mouth as his cock speared you open, your pussy welcoming him in with no hesitation. Hyunjin smirked at your reaction as he snapped his hips into yours once, twice, as he pushed your body up against the bed with the force each thrust. He set a fast pace, as he pounded into you, his hips withdrawing until his cock was almost out of your pussy before slamming back in.

Loud moans rang through the room, as Hyunjin fucked you, so loud you’re sure Felix could hear you from the living room. However, that was part of the thrill, the thought of Felix with his cock out, his hands stroking his length, the thought of fucking you at the forefront of his mind.

You squealed as Hyunjin adjusted his hips, the new angle causing his cock to brush against your sweet spot with each thrust, the drag sending little shockwaves through your core.

You tried to say his name, but nothing came out, your mouth left wide open as Hyunjin brought you closer to your orgasm.

Hyunjin could tell you were close, as your walls clenched around him, attempting to keep him deep inside you. He listened intently as you mumbled words, the syllables barely audible as you became cock drunk, chanting that you need his cock and don’t stop.

He could never get used to your pussy, how wet you get as he fucks you, as Felix teases you as you cockwarm him every night. Your pussy was made for him, stretching perfectly to accommodate him.

“Cum in me,” you whimpered, hoping he would not pull out like he usually does.

You wanted to be filled, to have his cum stuffed within you, so much so that it leaks out and doesn’t stop.

Hyunjin was shocked at first, but quickly recovered, grinning at your words, more than happy to oblige.

“My love wants me to fill her up, breed her good hmm?” Hyunjin asked as he swiveled his hips against yours.

“Yes, baby please, breed me,” you whined as you locked your legs around his ass pulling him as close as you could.

Hyunjin sought out your lips, pressing sloppy kisses to them as he continued to grind into you, the neatly trimmed hairs rubbing against your clit with each thrust. He felt like he would go insane as your walls clamped around him, urging him to cum, your tits rubbing against his chest perfectly, adding extra stimulation to his sensitive nipples. He placed his lips right at your ear as he continued to whisper dirty words to you.

“Fuck this pussy, love. Gonna cum, breed this pussy so good that it’ll stick and make you a mommy.”

At that you let out a loud cry, the thought of carrying Hyunjin’s child causing you let go, your orgasm wrecking through your body. You clutched onto him as he continued to fuck you through your high, his pace never faltering.

You whispered in his ear, your litany of his name causing him to moan as he came, spurt after spurt of his cum painting your walls white.

You rocked your hips against his thrusts, holding him close as he finished emptying himself within you. With a shaky breath he stilled, collapsing gently on top of you.

You laid there for a while, your breathing slowly going back to normal as Hyunjin pressed lazy kisses to your neck.

“We’re not done yet love,” Hyunjin finally whispered in a sultry voice.

He got up, withdrawing his now softened cock from your core. You could feel his cum slowly seep out, the trickle forming a sticky path down your ass. Hyunjin tutted at the sight, his finger gathering his cum before stuffing it back inside of you.

“Need that to stick don’t we? Keep it in love.” Hyunjin warned as he gave you a stern look.

You nodded in agreement, as he maneuvered behind you. He brought you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you snuggly. He pressed a kiss to your hair whispering sweet nothings as you both rested in the moment as two.

“Felix,” Hyunjin called shortly after, his arms still wrapped around you as he cradled your body.

The blond opened the door and walked in, a smile plastered on his freckled face.

“Sounds like Hyunjin took good care of you sweetheart,” Felix cooed as he got undressed. “Think you can take me too?”

You knew it was a rhetorical question as you would take his cock regardless but you answered nonetheless, wanting to please Felix.

“Give me your cock Lix,” you said, spreading your legs wide for him. Hyunjin gripped your thighs, bringing them to your chest to keep you open for him. Felix wasted no time slotting himself between your legs, his eyes trained on your swollen pussy.

“Would you look at that, you’re dripping in cum,” he teased. “Let’s just push that back in,” Felix grunted as he slid his cock into your pussy, a loud squelch echoing throughout the room as his cock pushed Hyunjin’s cum further inside you.

“You’re so wet sweetheart, take it all yeah?” Felix grunted as he slid his cock in and out in and out, your pussy letting both men know how wet you were with each thrust.

You whimpered as Felix began to pound into you, your eyes on his beautiful face. Your walls clenched at the sight of him falling apart above you, his hair falling in his face with the exertion.

You were about to reach up and grasp his face when Hyunjin let go of your legs and pinched your nipples, the jolt of pain sending waves of pleasure straight to you core.

“Ahh!” You moaned as Hyunjin toyed with your nipples, his fingers alternating between brushing against them and pinching them.

“Is Felix fucking you good love? Keep those legs open,” Hyunjin said, his voice right at your ear.

“Mm yes!” You said as you took a shaky breath.

“Love this pussy, just taking me. Look at that, sucking me right in,” Felix groaned his eyes trained on your walls stretching over his cock.

“Not gonna last long sweetheart, gonna cum, gonna give you my cum yeah?”

Hyunjin chuckled, his breath tickling your ear. “Hear that love? Gonna let Felix breed you full too?”

You were floating at his words, wanting nothing more than Felix’s cum within you.

“Lix give me your cum,” you begged as you spread your legs even wider, keeping them open just like Hyunjin instructed.

“Damn sweetheart, Hyunjin’s cum not enough for you that you need mine too? Are you our little cum dump?” Felix teased as he smirked.

You nodded quickly, little “mmms” leaving your lips.

As Hyunjin continue to play with your tits, he said in a low voice, “my little slut, gonna let Felix breed you too. Fill you up, give you his baby hmm?”

At the thought of carrying their babies, not knowing who the father was, you let out a loud whine, as you squirted, your walls contracting rhythmically around Felix’s cock.

The feel of you clamping down on him, holding him in tipped him over the edge, his cum filling your pussy, the fluid mixing with Hyunjin’s.

You whimpered as he pulled out, a gush of fluid leaking out down your ass and onto the sheets. You preened as Hyunjin whispered praises in your ear, his hands softly stroking your sides.

You watched as Felix left to go find a towel, returning shortly after leaving. He helped clean you off, before pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Good night sweetheart,” Felix said as he gave you a smile. He then got up and snatched his clothes, leaving to go back to his room.

“Let’s get you ready for bed. Get under the blankets love,” Hyunjin said as he helped you maneuver under the warm fabric.

He got in next to you and pulled you close. You were on the verge of sleep when Hyunjin broke the silence.

“I hope it really did stick and you’re carrying one of our babies.”

You didn’t say anything but laid there thinking about what he said. You wouldn’t be mad but actually happy at the thought as you loved both of the boys.

And that was a thought that you knew would always remain.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @amarecerasus @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92 @velvetmoonlght @possum-playground

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h5eavenly · 2 days ago

Text

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

Twenty-four - a little of me, warnings: slight mention of death and descriptions of grief etc..

Masterlist ✶ prev ✶ next

You had woken up feeling awful. It doesn’t really come as a surprise not when these exact moments have been recurring like daydreams that you somehow swim through with a hazy mind and aching limbs. It all started with a slight cough and a runny nose at the beginning of the week, nothing that was too hard to handle for you. The weather was starting to turn crueler, your clothes layered more, thicker in fabric so when you woke up the very next day completely fine you had guessed that the seven cups of tea you had dawned throughout the previous day had surely done their magic.

You were so wrong.

Your body had decided to collapse on you in the middle of the day. Dizziness sneaking into your mind as if you weren’t just running away from Sunghoon with a laughter so loud you were sure you were gonna turn someone deaf. Thankfully Jake was nowhere around to see you and as Sunghoon was fanning you while you lied down on one of the dressing rooms couches you had made him swear not to tell a soul about it – given his love to announce everyone’s news like they’re his own.

So, it didn’t take you long to figure out there’s definitely something wrong with your body, perhaps it was exhaustion yet no matter how many hours you manage to drown in sleep nothing seems to be helping. You make a mental note to get a checkup thinking it might be an iron deficiency or something along these lines.

And yet each day you open your eyes there is something else wrong with you. be your aching body or a scratch in your throat you can’t seem to cough. It’s torture and it feels like your body keeps toying between the line of being sick and healthy, not sure where to lean into more.

“Jesus. You look awful.” Sunghoon comments as soon as you meet him in front of the elevator.

“Yeah, what the fuck is wrong with your face?” Sunoo adds from beside him with a look of unrestrained disgust etched into his face.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence guys.” You reply with a roll of your eyes, sniffling as you walk into the elevator, and they follow while the cold seems to trail as quickly swirling through the space, and you tighten your arms around your shaking body.

You should have taken a painkiller before leaving your apartment.

“Do you even have makeup on?” Sunoo asks, his disgust is washed away by a look of pure worrisome instead. Although the way it’s directed at you somehow feels offensive rather than warming.

“Yeah. I have concealer on.”

“Yikes.” Sunghoon coughs.

“Maybe you should try a different brand. You know something that actually covers your dark circles” Sunoo pouts, his eyebrows knitting in what seems to be pity as his hand rubs your shoulder soothingly. It takes a few counted seconds for you to register his words. The insult sneaked into it has rancor slipping into your feature just as vast as you squint your eyes at him.

“Are you worried about me or the brands of makeup I use?”

“Your makeup. Duh.” Sunoo rolls his eyes, pulling out his phone and Sunghoon snickers from beside you.

You think you’re aware that you don’t look your best. Although to be quite honest you’re not as worried about your face as how the state of your body is stamping its anxiety deep within you. You don’t get sick often, make sure to take care of yourself in that sense at least and the thought of being home, cuddled up in your bed with a snotty nose and a pounding headache isn’t very exciting and nor do you wish for that to happen.

You’re really praying to every fucking god that exists you’re not actually falling sick.

You’ll be fine though – or at least that’s what you think. That’s what you keep praying for -

Please god please please please!!

At this point you have had your fair share of showing up to work half a mess a day then fully got it together the next day so a few of perturbed coated comments from Sunoo and Sunghoon aren’t gonna bother you too much.

However, it does get to you when you’re face to face with Jay and Soojin - who seem to have tagged along after the two of them sharing a breakfast together - You don’t think Jay has ever been this surprised or is he horrified? While looking at your face as he is right now. You blink at him and as his stare stretches a second too long you wonder if you have grown a third arm in the time you walked from the elevator.

“Oh, you look...” he crosses his arms, his eyes sweeping over your figure as he tilts his head. As if finding a word to describe your state is harder than it appears to be “not every good.” He settles with. Cringing at himself or at you. You’re not very sure of anything anymore.

“For fuck’s sake guys okay! I look like an ugly duckling I get it!” you exaggeratingly whine throwing both of your arms in the air as if it expresses your distress and throw yourself onto the couch with a dry sob and bury your face into one of the pillows. Nor your cry or attempt to suffocate yourself with the awful scent of fake leather seem to be working nor gaining you any grain of commiseration because Sunghoon starts cackling from behind you. Almost as clamorous as your sob.

“Aww yn. Don’t mind these silly boys. They’re just being dumb.” Soojin coos gently, sitting down next to you and turning you on your back and you welcome her with a pout that probably does resemble an ugly duckling.

“Like always.” She adds, raises an eyebrow at Sunghoon who shuts up almost immediately, his face turns expressionless in the blink of an eye, and he pretends to be busy examining the snack table. That is empty. while Jay looks away from you. With an awkward scratch to his neck, you could almost detect the wheels in his head finding error in his words.

“Are you sick?” She asks, tone much softer and clement as she moves her hand up and down your arm. You could stare back for a few silent minutes, mouth slightly agape at the power Seo Soojin seem to contain with merely existing.

You don’t think you could ever make Sunghoon shut up this quickly even with the presence of weapons nearby (not that you’ve ever tried. You definitely would never do such a thing).

“I think I’m just a little tired.” you reply, remembering to close your mouth when it feels too dry.

“You don’t look a little tired though.” She rests the open of her palm on the skin of your forehead and you shiver “thankfully, you don’t seem to have a fever.”

“I do have a bit of a headache.” You say, sitting up probably when you almost feel your body slipping down the couch.

“Maybe you should head home.” She rubs your shoulder soothingly.

“And do what?”

“Rest.” Soojin blinks at you slowly as if the dumbest question has just tumbled out your mouth. You wonder if you have managed to lose braincells while growing a third arm.

“Oh, I’ll be fine don’t worry. Besides, I probably have so much to do and- “Soojin doesn’t even let you finish turning her head away from you towards Jay. Yet her palm remains. It’s warm against your shoulder in contrast to how freezing the weather outside is.

“Jay, does yn have anything urgent today?”

“Not really. Jake’s schedule is very light these days and I could pretty much handle it on my own.” The response comes immediately that you have trouble keeping up, eyes darting between the two.

“Great!” she turns to face you again; a smilemounts up her face and it’s somehow as warm as the heat of the missing sun “I’m getting you an uber and you’re going home to rest!”

“Soojin I’m fine seriously. “Once again, she doesn’t give room for you to argue, your words – or rather complaints melting off your tongue when she stands up from the couch, pulling you up with her.

“You owe it to yourself to take care of yourself yeah?” she says, and you hesitate for a few seconds, unsure of what to say back to such tenderness “we need to remember to be gentle with ourselves too.”

“Okay.” You sigh and she smiles “If I feel worse then I’ll leave!-“ you add and her smile vanishes, replaced by the shaking of her head.

“Jay.” She calls turning her face away from you and he straightens in his seat “call jake and tell him that yn is taking the day off.” Jay obliges almost as forthwith as your exhale. With no questions asked and you could only stare between the two, an amused smile tugging at the edge of your lips with a bigger strive to balance on your feet.

As Jay brings the phone to his ear he seems to notice your eyes on him, however he doesn’t seem to notice the sparkle that comes to life at witnessing affection tinting the air, at knowing there are deeper emotions between two people that they aren’t as aware of.

“Ivy’s the boss here. whatever she says, happens.” He says with a shrug, your eyes shift to Soojin, and you think your smile grows bigger as the slightest, lightest hue of pink settles upon her cheeks. It could be passed by as her red sweater bringing color to her face, the light of the room or maybe it’s the tint she applied carefully before leaving her house.

But you know, and she knows that such a display of sentiment comes from something a lot more cavernous and if not for her tugging you out the room while you’re still attempting to fight the decisions already made, you’d think you’re somehow intruding into a forbidden territory.

“That guy is whipped for you.” you comment, bumping your shoulder into hers with a giggle.

“No, he’s not.” Soojin denies, woven with stubborn rebuttal and a shake of her head “He’s that way with everyone.” She adds and it comes out much softer. Like a hushed conviction.

“He doesn’t even listen to Jennie the way he listens to you.” your voice grows louder in strives to prove your truth and she shushes you when you pass by a group of staff members “and she’s his actual boss!” you whisper yell.

“Shut up your uber is almost here.” She chuckles tinting the air with sparkles of affection and it brings a warm smile to your face to witness such a tale.

“Why does he call you Ivy anyway?”

“It’s my English name.”

“That’s cute. You must be special.” You wiggle your brows at her and then a sneeze interrupts your teasing, followed by her giggle as she pushes you into the backseat of the uber.

“Very cute. Now go rest and if you need anything don’t hesitate to text me.” She urges a warning in her gaze that displays her sincerity and perhaps you are a lot sicker than you thought or maybe your head hurts a lot more than when you first woke up because a very strange ache to pout and cry like a child almost takes over you.

Deep down within all the regrets and the shame you keep locked away, a strand of guilt remains there at all the times you were mean to her before. A part of you wishes you could blame your foolishness on the declining state of your health.

“Thank you.” you tell her, and you think Soojin sees through it all and you think she knows you’re about to cry so in the next moment she’s slamming the door shut and points to her ears with her index finger.

“I can’t hear you!” her voice is muffled by the glass of the window and it’s more than ample room for your chuckles to fill the car and gains you a strange look from your uber driver.

On your way home a gentle rain grazes the rooftops across the city, and the sky remains gray even when you’re inside your apartment. You change your clothes and sneak into your very comfortable warm pajamas. You sniffle as you brew your close to 50th cup of green tea this week. Silence fills every corner and despite your throbbing body you realize you’re not sure what to do if you’re not working.

You have been working for as long as you remember, have taken up part-time jobs as soon as you were conscious enough to digest the fact that money was everything. Especially in your case so you always remembered to suck it up. Even when you were sixteen waiting tables in a shitty diner and your boss had thrown inappropriate comments your way daily. You sucked it up. and sure, you have had days off and you have fallen sick before, but it’s been so long. That you feel like a stranger in your apartment when it’s light outside, when your body knows you should be working.

That, accompanied by the fact that the silence gives voice to your thoughts, for your anxiety to bloom and before you gain enough power to shut it down you have already dived into them. Your mind drifting to all the events you have been too busy to think about.

Niki.

Jake

Niki

Jake

Niki.

You rub the sides of your head with your fingers and then you’re taking your hot cup of tea into your living room. You sit on your couch with a groan at the throb persisting in your limbs. You reach for your phone and take small sips of your tea when you dial the number of your friend.

“Thick or regular?” Heeseung asks as soon as he picks up your call.

“Uh-“ you blink at the black screen of your tv “What are we talking about exactly?”

“Soy sauce.” He answers, the voice of strangers around him gives away his crowded surroundings.

“I didn’t even know there’s such thing as thick soy sauce.”

“Apparently thickness is taking over the world. That’s why bbls are a thing yn.” you snort.

“Maybe you should consider getting one.” A clear offended gasp from Heeseung cuts through and for a moment you would think you have insulted the entirety of his family tree.

“Okay I’m surrounded by soy sauce and you’re talking about how flat my ass is I’m so overwhelmed right now.” The gravity coating every word of his has you bursting out in laughter “It’s not like I’m getting backshots soon.” He adds and you choke on your laughter, your tea almost burns the skin of your thigh if you aren’t careful enough.

“I will be the one doing backshots,” you can almost hear the prideful smirk in his voice.

“Okay moving on from you and your shots.” You snort sounding somewhere between disgusted and petrified “Are you at the supermarket?” you ask, placing your cup on the table and adjusting your legs on the couch.

“Yeah. I forgot to make an order of Soy Sauce for the restaurant, so my dad is punishing me by making me go buy some.”

“You seem to be having fun so is it really a punishment?” you chuckle, leaning your head against one of the pillows and for a moment your headache subsides for a bit. Heeseung hums an agreement.

“What’s up with you? you sound like shit.” He asks after a few beats of silence.

“Thanks, I only heard that like ten times today.”

“Are you sick?”

“Probably. I’m really overwhelmed right now too.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Unalloyed concern clads his tone, and you sink into quietness for a few seconds before sighing.

“I’m honestly still really worried about Niki.” You mumble.

“What did that fucker do?” The sound of a child crying rises in the background and your head slightly pounds at the noise.

“Nothing. I’m just worried about him. I know he said he’s gonna retake his tests, but he has never failed anything in his life Hee.” You lie flat on your back and the sound of crying grows louder “Never. Even when he was in and out of hospitals so I can’t help but worry about him.” You add.

“Yeah I know – hold on-“ there’s shuffling on the other line. Heeseung’s voice grows a tad further but still coherent enough for you to hear “Hey can you stop being a little bitch?” The sound of crying abruptly stops and you blink rapidly at your ceiling with attempts to make sense of what’s going on.

“Or go fucking cry and be a little bitch in a different aisle.” He adds and then there’s an unsettling silence. It doesn’t last long, and it’s interrupted by a loud wail followed by an ear piercing “MOM!!”

“Kids these days am I right?” Heeseung says, voice clearer and tone nonchalant.

“Heeseung did you just call a kid a little bitch?”

“Yeah. Anyways back to Niki,” you open and close your mouth a handful of times, closer to speechless but then you’re shaking your heard with reminders that this is Heeseung and at this point in your lives it’s little that surprises you with him.

“Yeah anyways. I was wondering if you know anything about what's going on with him? Maybe he felt comfortable talking to you about it.”

“Not really. He’s been acting the same too.” He replies and you faintly exhale. Feeling a little defeated and lost with what to do with your worry “If you’re that worried about his grades dropping, I can talk to him about doing less shifts at the restaurant until his exams are over.” He adds with a hum, seeming a bit absentminded “I don’t know if he’ll be happy about it though.”

You try to let his words permeate your mind with inhuman effort and as you tilt your head at nothing in particular it takes you 10 seconds to comprehend what he just said. You sit up with confusion and then shock pushing you forward.

“Hold on,” you suck in a breath and your brows scrunch “What do you mean shifts? He’s been working at the restaurant?”

“Shit yeah. it’s been a while now. You didn't know?”

“What the fuck? No I didn't know. Why would you give him a job Hee? You know his body can’t handle it.” you berate, frustration woven in your tone.

“I don’t fucking know bro. he told me he needed the money, so I gave him one.”

“Did he tell you what he needed the money for? He has been selling his paintings online why would he need more money out of nowhere.” You run your hand through your hair tiredly, your body growing hot and you aren’t sure if its irritation manifesting in your veins or a fever.

“I really don’t know yn.” Heeseung sighs on the other line “But either way I’ll talk to him when he comes into work later. Don’t worry.”

“That would be good, thank you.” you reply, not worrying is an impossible task.

“Of course.”

“I’ll talk to him about everything properly once I’m over this cold or whatever it is. I don’t want him to get sick.” You say falling back onto the couch and stretching your legs. They weigh heavy and your heart feels heavier in your chest.

“Yeah, you better rest for now. I’ll talk to you later and text me if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

As soon as you hang up, your anxiety seems to have doubled, Like ghosts swarming by your feet and slowly it feels like they’re taking over every cell of your essence. A strand of penitence comes to life in the midst of it all and you can’t help but wonder if perhaps were negligent of Niki due to how messy your life has been these past few months. Did you not pay enough attention to his struggles? How long has it been and when did he ever need anything and didn’t feel comfortable to tell you? Was there a stretching distance between you that you hadn’t noticed?

The thought is terrifying to you, it shakes you from within and when you check the time on your phone, it feels like it hasn’t moved ever since you stepped foot into your apartment. You close your eyes with a shuddered breath

Somewhere along the worries plaguing your mind like permanently sharpened needles and your hands digging for solution you manage to doze off on your couch. Curled with your knees held to your chest and wrapped with your arms. You aren’t sure how long you slept. It’s long enough for the rain to subside and short enough for the gray clouds to remain. The sky, mystified by the lack of light and night, is yet to unfurl.

The only reason that’s strong enough to pull you out of your sleep is the sound of your doorbell reverberating through your walls. And at first you think it’s a part of your dream but you’re picking apples and they’re crispy red and shiny but there’s a dying fish by your feet and who the fuck is at your door?

You open your eyes with a croaky groan. Your head pounds with an even worse migraine and your stomach is clenching in excruciating building nausea. You sit up and if you thought you felt awful earlier then it’s nothing compared to this. Like every bone in your body is aching and your fingers itch with an urge like sneaking through your flesh and squeezing tight.

Your doorbell rings again and this time it’s repeated, wrapped in evident panic at the lack of response from you and you finally decide to move. Shuffling to your door and maybe you are still in a hazy dream because as soon as you open your door Jake is standing there. Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that has you blinking into reality. His hair is undone, falling over his eyes naturally and his skin glimmers just the same. He looks like he just showered, and you almost don’t recognize him in his plain white sweatshirt topped with a brown jacket and jeans.

You eye him scrutinizingly, taking note of the two plastic bags he’s carrying.

“Jake? What are you doing here?” your voice is shattered, tinted by the remnant of your sleep and then confusion.

“Yn.” he exhales as if he’s relieved, he’s not stumbling upon your corpse and instead you’re alive “Jay told me you were sick and I was gonna send you some stuff but uh – “ he speaks hastily, hand scratching at the back of his neck and eyes fleeing from you and his words almost as scattered as your thoughts and perhaps that’s why it feels like you don’t understand anything he’s saying. His gaze finds you and he clear his throat. Almost like he falters at your silence.

You must be really sick or still dreaming.

“Anyways are you okay?” He asks hastily yet gently, and he remains gentle in the way his voice infiltrates your being, benign in the way he looks at you as his gaze darts over your figure and then they linger on the discomfort painting your features. It has his own brows furrowing deeper with growing concern.

He tells himself he shouldn’t be this panicked – this nervous. Shouldn’t let it show so obviously, clearer than the gray skies. Albeit he had practiced every word he wanted to say to you, all the excuses he was ready to spill upon finding his way to your home. Uninvited and perhaps unwelcome. For fuck’s sake he thinks he bought the entirety of the small convince store close to your apartment building and there’s embarrassment brewing in his blood, his excuses withering at the tip of his tongue the deeper your discomfort seep into your face.

And no words of his permeates your mind strong enough and instead all you could think about is your head is pounding, and you need to sit down or bash it against the wall. It’s solely why you don’t say anything back and instead turn around in search of relief.

“Yn.” Jake calls with scattered disconcertment as he follows you inside, the plastic bags are a hassle, and he curses himself yet remembers to close the door behind him and his voice echoes through your mind and your living the room when he calls again “Bunny.”

You sit down on your previous spot on your couch, the room is darkened by your blinds and when you bury your head in the palms of your hands it’s not quick enough for you to not witness Jake kneeling in front of you with no hesitation, his bags abandoned on the floor as if he hadn’t spent wasting minutes on deciding what to get, what’s best for you. he doesn’t touch you and his hand hovers awkwardly above your back and yet you swear you could feel its heat as if he is touching you.

“Bunny what’s wrong? Are you dizzy?” his voice betrays an unsubdued concern almost frantic, and you deny his question with a shake of your head.

“Can you talk to me? I wanna be able to help you okay?” He gently coaxes and you keep quiet because you could still sense his hand hovering, and you wonder why can’t his hand be as gentle “Can you tell me what you’re feeling? Mhm?” he suggests once again.

“My head hurts so bad.” You whimper and it feels so silly, the urge percolating into you to cry. It’s the type of pain that makes you wish you could peel your skin off. Abandon your skull somewhere.

“Okay.” He stands up and you peer up at him through your palms and he’s looking around as if he’s trying to decide what he should do next. Evidently nervous as he runs his hand through his hair “Painkillers. I’ll get you some painkillers.” And then he’s walking towards one of the bags he was carrying, digging through them with seemingly no avail as he curses under his breath.

“Fucking hell how did I forget to buy painkillers?” He berates himself, digging into the second bag only to end with failure. “Do you have any painkillers?” He asks looking up at you and the sight of you on your couch huddled up in pain even if it’s something as minor as a mere headache sends the same ache dripping from your fingertips and nestling its way right to the middle of his chest, digging and digging.

He doesn’t wait for your answer and seconds pass by and then you hear him rummaging through the cabinets of your kitchen. His search doesn’t last long thanks to the painkillers you had left on the counter this morning with complementation. You feel his presence and there’s a glass of water in his hand.

“This will make you feel better. Come on bunny.”

He’s standing in front of you again and weirdly enough the way he speaks as if the autumn sunlight is in his voice rather than the cruel winter outside makes you feel vulnerable and when he offers comfort in the palm of his hand, places the glass of water on the table you could only manage to shake your head once again with denial.

“I’m really nauseous and I don’t feel like I could take anything right now without throwing up.” You complain with a snivel and your tone breaks as if you’re about to shed tears and Jake feels it hit him in the pit of his stomach. It’s uncomfortable and unjust because despite how scratched and heavy his heart is your pain still manages to nip at him in different places. As if there’s no way for him not to feel you.

You leer at him and your eyes are misty, you see his hands clench then unclench by his sides and you imagine he’s fighting against restraints to not touch you. His teeth sink into his bottom lips, his fingers dig crescents into the tender skin of his palm. And you wonder how a feeling as tender manages to suffuse within you. You wonder how your mind finds room amidst the pain to fantasize about him when he is right in front of you.

But then Jake is kneeling right by your knees once again and your eyes widen only slightly when he replaces your hands with his. Pressing his thumbs into your temples.

“What are you doing?”

“Shh. Doing this helps me with my headaches sometimes.” He explains and you shut your eyes when he applies light pressure with his fingers. And yet you are overly aware of how wavering you persist to be.

You’re unsure if you’re dizzy because your body is catching up to how weary you feel or because he’s suddenly so close. Close enough to feel his breath hit your face, the pads of his fingers are rough and yet contrastingly warm and it’s been so long since he touched you.

“Is there anything else that’s hurting you?” He asks – whispers delicately - after a few moments of silence with only the sound of your intermingled breaths.

“My body hurts too.” You reply – whisper back just as delicately - and you can’t fight against the small pout jutting your bottom lip out. You think if you were in the right state of mind, you’d be cringing at how dramatic you’re acting.

“Thankfully you don’t seem to be having a fever.” The swipes of his thumbs circle your skin soothingly “You’ll be okay.” He reassures, applying harder pressure every now and then. For a fleeting moment you aren’t sure if he’s trying to comfort you or himself.

“I have you.” it’s a faint whisper. Barely inaudible and for a different fleeting moment it feels like a lie your sick mind had conjured up to feed your thirsting heart. The same fragile heart that pulsates against your ribcage and you don’t want it to be a lie or a heedless imagination.

“Do you promise?” you childishly ask, and Jake lets out a breathy chuckle that tickles your face. You open your eyes, and they prance around his. The chuckle that has melted onto a small smile slowly disappears from his face and you don’t know what kind of expression you’re wearing, what kind of mask you should be hiding behind.

“I promise.” He replies and you sigh because you don’t know if he means that you’ll be okay or that he’s got you, but you hold onto the latter. With clutches roughened by the selfishness of your own longing and shut your eyes with silly covets like not unveiling it.

It’s only when enough time has passed for your body to relax. No longer tense shoulders and shuddered breaths. Instead, the tranquil silence that has settled right between you two settles in the depths of your chest just the same as Jake speaks;

“Better?” He asks.

“Mhm.”

“Do you think you could try taking the painkiller now?”

“Yeah.” you clear your throat, pushing your eyes to open when his hands abandon your skin, and you wish you lied.

Even for a bit longer as he hands you the pills, he had picked up earlier followed by water that you chug diligently and it’s only when your glass is empty that you exhale. Wiping at the corner of your mouth at the few straying drops. He eyes you tentatively when you look up at him.

“Sorry.”

“For what?” His eyebrows furrow in clear confusion.

“For troubling you. Being a burden. I don’t know.” you slightly wince, eyes shifting somewhere else before catching his yet again and he abides unremitting.

“You’re not a burden bunny.” You can sense there’s more that linger at the tip of his tongue, and you wait “I’m here because I was worried about you.” he finishes and your cheeks splash with pink evoked to steal his attention by your pale face.

“Does your body still hurt?” He asks when you’re quiet for far too long, with running gazes and nerves colored hands and pretends he didn’t feel his face burning up at his confession.

“A bit.” You answer, scratching at your wrist and clearing your throat “Can you hand me my laptop, please?” you ask, pointing somewhere behind him and he raises a displeased eyebrow at you.

“For what?”

“There’s a couple of stuff I need to get done.”

“Like what? What’s so important that you need to do now?”

“Bills. Rent is due soon and there’s Yeonjun’s car fees. I was gonna do them earlier but I ended up falling asleep.” You explain, rubbing your forehead warily and the space between his brows deepen with confusion.

“Car fees?” he questions and you nod as if he’s supposed to understand “yeah I need to pay him. I need my laptop.” You move to stand up and your head is spinning a bit but you don’t get to make it far before his hands are on your shoulders pushing you to sit back down and then Jake is on his knees again, chasing after your eyes with a tilt of his head.

You wish he wouldn’t kneel so easily, as if he won’t swallow your heart up and flee.

“Are they urgent?” He asks tenderly and your chest tightens as if there isn’t enough room for your breaths to leave.

“No but I have to do them right now.” You insist with a shaky voice when his hands cradle your face with loving forbearance, one that has you feeling languid.

“Shh, you don’t need to do anything right now, okay?” he reassures as if you were panicked and perhaps you were, you aren’t sure if it’s because of your lack of work or simply because Jake is in the same space as you and you aren’t sure how to act without vomiting words lodged at the back of your throat.

I've missed you so much that I've been naming the stars in the sky after you.

“You’re on sick leave for a reason. Your body needs rest.” His thumb swipes at your cheek and his face is within centimeters of yours “You can do all of these things tomorrow or whenever you feel better, okay?” you let a shuddered breath out and for a second it feels like looking away from him is unobtainable, not when his gaze glints with golden specks, ones that feels like they are reserved for you.

“Okay.” You whisper back, overtaken by defeat and perhaps you never stood a chance.

“Good.” He grins, overtaken by triumphant.

Strands of his black hair fall over his face, and you don’t think you have ever felt this much envy towards anything aside from a human being. Your fingers itch on your lap with temptation to push it out of the way yet you hold yourself back, despite the lure entangled in every move he makes. You are too aware of the distance, too aware of the space you shouldn’t cross, and you will enough power not to slip again.

You fall into silence with purpose, mainly because you feel like a cuddled child and yet you have this growing fear inside of you. It slithers its path to your flickering glances, right into the skin of his palms as he strokes your cheeks. You’re so awfully scared of splitting yourself open, baring your insides and submitting your soul to disaster.

“How about I run you a bath?” He suggests with a slight hum, and you shake your head when his hands trail to your knees.

“No.”

“Why not? It will help you feel better.”

“I don’t really wanna move right now.” As if to prove your point you lie down on the couch, your hair spread like a halo around you and although the room is enveloped in darkness, and everything falls into one color he swears he could almost see the sunrays infiltrating through your strands. its warmth travels to him and he almost want to spread his arms wide open to welcome it.

And perhaps it is enough force to coaxes his smile to rise – his eyes sink into excruciating benevolence and there you are stumbling yet again. Unable to look away from him, not when he’s everything you wish to behold. It pushes you into folding your desire into itself. Tucking it into the space none of you dare to take.

“Weren’t you just fine moving a second ago to get your laptop?”

“That’s different.” You argue with a shrug, making no attempts to further strengthen your point.

“It will be warm, and it will help with soothing the ache in your body.” He says, try to persuade you with a hum and the air tastes fragile, enticing you with an ache to bury your face in the middle of his chest and sing a melody of your name into it, tattoo your name into the canvas of his soul, or maybe it’s you.

“My ache is fine actually, thank you.”

“Oh yeah? is that why your legs are shaking?” he arches a brow at you, smile tilting upwards as if they’re claiming to reach for the stars and you look down at your body, haven’t realized the slight tremble wrecking through it.

“That’s because I’m cold.”

Wordlessly he shrugs off his brown jacket and places it over your lower body, covering your legs and it provides little to no warmth but the scent of laundry detergent engulfs your being. It waters your fervent longing back to the surface. Drowning you in it and you wish to drown in everything that makes up Jake. You didn’t know you could miss someone when they’re right in front of you and you didn’t quite grasp how hard it is to shake the hallucinating thoughts of him – where touching him isn’t forbidden and looking at him comes easily – without threats for your words to spill.

“What about you?” you mumble, pointing at his thin , almost see through sweatshirt.

“I can handle the cold just fine.” He retorts “You know what would help you warm up though? A bath.”

“I’m gonna feel cold as I undress to get into the bathtub.”

“I’ll make it really warm to make up for the few minutes of coldness you’re gonna feel.” He counteracts with a chuckle emerging from his lips and landing right in the middle of your heart. You’re quiet, as if you’re contemplating his words and he thinks he won as your eyes flit elsewhere – he misses you.

“What if the water is too hot it burns my skin?” you ask, softly and yet seriously enough for him to feel the same feeling welling in the pit of his stomach again – as if a flower is fighting its way to bloom through cracks of sorrow and he isn’t sure how to deal with it.

The sunrays, the flowers and the sorrow. He won.

“I’ll make sure nothing like that happens to you.” he replies, just as softly as tender as gingerly. And it’s unfair because you feel your heart palpitate at his mere existence and you already know he won the minute he stepped foot in here.

“How about this,” he straightens, pushes his hair away from his face and you’re envious at his hands and grateful all at once for granting you a clearer glimpse to his features “I’ll go run the bath. Make sure everything is perfect for you and then if you still feel like you don’t want to go in, you don’t have to, okay?”

You don’t think you’re brave enough to accept his kindness as it is. You will always manage to find different facets of it. Dress it in the intensity of affection and stare at his smile as if spilled lullabies are woven to call for their home – within your soul.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

He shushes you and when he stands up, his hand lingers above your head. His own urges – hankerings to brush through your hair betray themselves in the flicker of light in his gaze so you cowardly look away because you’re scared of betraying your burning heart in yours. Scared of being rejected and falling between the walls of whys.

“I’ll be back.” He whispers, flown away and you could still smell the rain on your skin.

Your house – a small apartment is the complete opposite of his. He never was into the intricacies of home décor. Hence why the space of his home remains plain and simple. His own touches of life lacking and the only thing close to boisterous are his forget me nots and the painting that somehow managed to lead back to you.

You, however, stay lively with scattered hanged pictures of Japan across the walls. And your dessert shaped candles, your bathroom smells like Sakura petals, and you manage to inject your love into everything you surround. He thinks he likes it here.

He’s gone for two minutes only; the bath is half full when you peak your head through the door of your own bathroom. Your hair is disheveled, and his jacket is now around your shoulders.

“Changed your mind?” He asks with a grin that churrs your insides.

“The thought of a bath didn’t seem so bad after all.” You answer as you step inside. You take a seat on the closed toilet seat and watch as Jake reads the back label of your pink bubble bath soap, his nose scrunches a little too adorably as if he is displeased of what it contains. Your heart warms at the sight and he still pours a generous amount of it into the tub, filling it with bubbles and then he follows it with your bodywash.

The scent of vanilla overtakes the Sakura.

“This smells just like you.”

“It is my bodywash after all.”

“I like it.” He says, eyes drifting to the water as he tests the temperate with his hands. How I smell or merely the scent? you want to ask but you don’t.

When the water is warm and full. He trudges towards you, his cheeks are slightly pink due to the heat and there’s a soft smile dispersing across his lips with coated fondness. It steals your breath away when he’s leaning down and taking off your socks for you. You slightly flinch with a bout of embarrassment.

“Y-You don’t have to do this Jake.” You fumble diffidently, with your words and your racing heart.

“I know.” He looks up at you “I want to. Am I making you uncomfortable?” He questions throwing your socks to the side. You’re left to wonder how you are supposed to accept his integrity, his attentiveness, the unfair ability to have you wavering on this warmth of his.

“No.” you admit, with a rattled breath and perhaps the tilt of his lips is worth it.

“Can I?” He still asks when his hands reach for the buttons of your pajama top, you shrug his jacket off and nod with a burning face.

Silence rushes in unwelcomed, and your keep your gaze downcast. watch as his fingers seemingly slower than you wish unbutton every single one. Your heart picks up speed with each one and breathing grows harder when your eyes dart towards his and yet still vacillating. Because it is not lust that fetters the air but rather something that feels much more intimate. Like exchanging words between your gazes that your tongue will not be able to match.

And it stays even when you’re finally in the bathtub. Encircled by a familiar scent, warmth and Jake at the edge of your tub. The water is as pleasant as he promised, and your body relaxes.

“Just call for me if you need anything, alright?”

Suddenly you’re inundated with a colossal amount of disappointment at being left alone. Your eyes shifting, fingers picking at the surface of your tub.

“Alright, bunny?” He asks again and maybe it is your tiresome tinting all logical thinking that you should have but then you’re shaking your head, kicking your pride to the side.

“What if I need something but I can’t call for you?” stupid, stupid yearning.

Jake looks perplexed for a few seconds, but his expression is softened by a fond smile. He had broken hearts before – not intentionally. And he never was the man to listen to others strives to grasp for his affectionate. And yet in this moment, he’d rather have you break his heart than refuse what your eyes are seeking.

“I’ll just stay then.” He tells you, tender and you’re shy. Cheeks glowing pink and he feels his fondness for you trickle into his blood and it bumps faster, rougher through his veins when you catch his gaze.

You lean back into the tub with your lips slightly tilting, pushing the entirety of your hair to the side. The ends swim alongside you and stray rivulets of water slips down your neck. Catching his gaze as it lingers for a minute too long on the necklace that’s always there.

It's just you, unadulterated with the weather outside and draped with effulgence as he always knew you to be. And it’s him, without the echoes of all his doubtful battles. Perhaps he managed to empty his mind in the water and your necklace – his – remains around your neck even when you’re bare. It’s like you’re wearing him, and he likes to think he’s woven into the fabric of your soul.

He looks away for a spilt second, a puff of a chuckle forces its way past his lips.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to the side with a growing smile and God – you’re breathtaking.

“I just had a stupid thought.” He shakes his head, and the water slightly splashes when you move closer to him.

“Tell me.” you say, and he thinks you’re too tangled in his soul.

“It just feels like it’s been a while since we looked at each other.” He says softly “But we see each other every day so it’s stupid.” He continues and recognition fills your eyes like you know exactly what he means.

“It’s not stupid.” you reply, and you are too tangled in his soul “I have actual stupid thoughts all the time. And you know it.”

“They’re extraordinary, I wouldn’t call them stupid.”

“That’s just a nicer way of saying I’m stupid.” You retort with a playful snort; your smile remains soft.

“Shut up you’re not stupid.” He insists and a comparable softness traverse in his irises and it pushes you right into quietness.

You never were one for silence. Because silence is uncomfortable and it’s vast with its weight. It vocalizes everything you’ve been trying to evade all day, perhaps all week or maybe it’s been long enough to be called months. However, right now it doesn’t feel like that. It’s akin to placid waters, your reflection comes back crystalline clear rather than distorted.

“You’re the last person I expected it to see today if I’m being honest.” You speak after stretching minutes of none of you saying anything, fingers drawing star shapes into the water and his eyes watch you with faithful attention.

“What would have you done if I wasn’t here?” He doesn’t ask why, and you wonder if he knows or is merely uninterested.

“Probably become one with my couch until I felt better.” You shrug and he shakes his head with a tsk of disapproval. For an odd reason a knot forms in your stomach, impossibly tight and the skin of your neck ignites in flame. You tell yourself you’re growing too hot and that’s it.

“I wish you took care of yourself the way you take care of others.” He says, candor embraces every syllable with ease. A similar knot forms in the middle of your tongue. Deeming it useless. There is no peace in confessing that you aren’t sure how to do that. Not when you have spent a lifetime with amiability directed at anyone but yourself.

“I don’t think I know how to do that.” There’s no peace in confessing yet you still do it. Perhaps you were tired of trying to light a matchstick that refuses to obey, his eyes mellow down into nothing but adoration.

Was there a point in trying to save someone that refuses to be saved?

But Jake hasn’t been acting like himself. Following his impulses blindly, it’s evoked by the callings of his heart, yearning to be near so he showed up to your door like there’s room for him. He touched you like he wasn’t made from poison and he can scour through every rational thought but they’re all adjudged futile against the softness that is you.

“I’m here now.” He says, I’m here to take care of you, you hear.

The enormity of his desire disgusts him, it’s a craving beyond his flesh and it’s unjust. I’ll shape myself into something that’s worth taking care of you, he means.

“You have been working hard, your body is probably upset with you.” He adds when you’re quiet, eyes darting over your dubious figure and he thinks your cheeks have drained the colors from the world, they’re pink and the sky is gray.

He’s unworthy but it’s a great honor to think he’s the reason why.

“Tell that to my boss.” You joke and Jake narrows his eyes at you.

“I actually heard your boss is super nice,”

“Did you now?”

“Uh huh, super nice and handsome too. Ripped body. Killer smile. I could go on forever. Really.” He trails, lowering his fingers one by one and you roll your eyes with a forced giggle tumbling out your lips, one that you cannot seem to be able to hold back.

“Who’s feeding you these lies? Jay?”

“So, you don’t agree that I’m handsome?”

“Beauty is subjective.”

“Is that a no?” a look of faux offense clambers over his face and your giggle uprears in volume, grows further from fatigue and closer to how you usually sound. You pretend to zip your mouth shut, raising palms in surrender as if you can’t help it.

A deeper umbrage takes claim on his face, and he attempts to splash water at you, you turn your head with a laugh, and he sees Sakura petals bloom across your face, they come from within, watered by you.

“In all seriousness,” he itches closer to you. and your smile melts off your face at the sudden propinquity it has your body engulfed in heat that isn’t provided by the bath. His fingers trail underwater, and when his eyes catch yours, they’re soaked with softness and your reflection is so clear. when his fingers graze yours, they fail to intertwine, and your heart is beating so fast you feel like you could throw It up.

“You’re doing a good job, bunny.” Your eyes soften as marginally, you bring your knees up to your chest. Attempts to hide the joy that overtakes your sentiment – the warmth that caresses your heart. You allow yourself to bask in it and a faint voice whispers in your heart;

You have managed to stumble on a lost star – he shines so brightly and burns just as bright. And he calls for you in a sea of flesh.

“You’re doing a good job too, Jake.” He smiles and your mind careens.

“Tell that to my assistant.”

This time it’s you who splashes him with water and this time it’s him who laughs like the world shrinks into nothing but you and him in the middle of your small bathroom. And you smile like your heart has never known pain, but you don’t tell him that you didn’t let the water get to him on purpose, and you don’t show him that love writes itself in the corners of your face.

“Shall I help you wash your hair?” He asks when his laughter had died down and the glint in his eyes shines brighter.

“You don’t have to.”

At your answer he’s already getting up, hands reaching for your bottle of shampoo. When he’s behind you, hands entangled in your hair. You bury your face in your knees with a profound urge to weep taking over your sensitive heart. It’s foolishly emerging from the fog of your confusion at the reminder that you don’t remember the last time someone cared for you this deeply, this tenderly. And there’s unavoidable loneliness at the thought, there’s melancholy in the feeling, knowing that this tenderness is temporary.

No matter how selfishly you hope for it to last. Your mind is a battlefield, haunted by touches of love. Stories upon stories stitched together by great ardor. You have seen it all around you, in movies, written in pages of a novel and in ending relationships your friends had gone through – none of them are yours.

“Bunny I can’t wash your hair if you’re leaning that far off.” Jake comments with a chuckle.

You keep quiet, too embarrassed to cry over something as inevitable as Jake leaving. Too ashamed of the covetous ache brimming in your blood. You have tried to discard it, but you aren’t sure how are you supposed to drain your blood without kneeling into death.

Jake follows your silence. Maybe he thinks you’re stubbornly childish, maybe he thinks you’re teasing him or maybe he sees it through it all and your weakness is unabashed and it’s a glaring red siren coaxing him into the complexity of your essence. You don’t see him, but you feel him moving behind you, the sound of a lid uncapping and then his hands are on your back with lathered soup, vanilla fills the empty spaces of silence.

His hands aren’t soft against your skin, they’re rough, washed raw and dry. You could almost distinguish every scar that embellishes them, the healing ones, old ones you haven’t been there to witness taint his skin. His sadness – unrelenting guilt is unabashed, and you never knew such callous hands could be this gentle.

It’s another stupid thought – but maybe there’s room for something to belong to you.

When the sun sets outside. The lights in your hallway stay the same. While Jake takes an alarmingly long time to wash his hands. Long enough for enervation to sink deeper into your bones, it drains the color from your face. and it transpires itself into imaginary leg cuffs around your ankles making your movement closer to a harder task than breathing.

You somehow feel even more tired, dragged further down the hole of sickness.

“You okay?” He asks when he finds you in your bedroom, sitting on your velvet vanity chair and clothed in your robe. Your hair is slightly damp and the colors of the sun leaving seeps in through the openings of your curtains.

“Just a little tired.” You answer, throwing a glance at his direction and it leaves him wondering – perhaps for days – how you manage to look like you stepped out of the painting of his dreams.

In his dreams, his heart isn’t as filthy and merging into you isn’t as fearful.

In reality, he clears his throat and steps into your room, inhales your perfume and envelopes his filthy heart with faux courage.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Mhm.” You lean your head back onto his chest when he’s standing behind you. He conceals his surprise with immense force, not fast enough for the betrayal of his slightly widened eyes. cinnamon and vanilla overtake his senses, your face is doused in exhaustion and his mind is fuzzy.

“Not yet.” He inhales you.

“We’ll need to get some food in your system, yeah?” He whispers and you hum, eyes falling shut when he tentatively brushes his fingers through your hair “We’ll also need to do something about your hair – can’t have you getting sicker.”

“I don’t feel like doing anything.” You faintly complain, a small pout adorning your lips when you look up at him, the sunset glimmers in your eyes and reality pales in comparison.

“I’ll do it for you.” He replies with an amused grin at the way you’re acting. It gives room for the moon to rise.

You aren’t sure what he means by that – however a long sigh caged in your chest escapes when he starts brushing your hair. He’s extremely gentle, fingers coated in delicacy that you don’t even provide for your own hair. And there’s a peculiar domesticity painting the air. As if this was how everything was meant to unfold. For you to eventually end up here and for him to be behind you through it all.

“I never thought that the Jake Sim would be good at braiding hair.” You comment lightly when he starts sectioning your hair, he catches your eyes in the mirror.

“My mum taught me.” he mumbles, eyes returning to his work and seeming completely focused on your hair “I used to braid her hair for her all the time.”

“That’s really sweet.” You reply with a lowered tone – a hushed softness and Jake is quiet for a few moments. You think his words die here but then he speaks again.

“I vividly remember how each time the braid grew smaller and smaller because she kept losing so much hair.” His words flow as easy as autumn breeze, bittered by the winter as if the image is still fresh in his head. Rather than a distant memory. It’s an image that still glides throughout his reality.

“She always joked that it’s better this way. That it’s easier for me to braid.” He chuckles but it lacks life, joy, and his eyes deepen with distant – longing and your heart tightens, brows slightly furrowing at his undeniable grief.

I’m sorry. Lingers at the tip of your tongue but you’re well aware that’s not the kind of words that will bring him peace. It won’t ease his pain or lessen the depth of his sadness – anger. You’re well aware not to act upon the urges clashing inside of you. truthfully you want to know everything about him. The thoughts that invade his mind at night, in the mornings and right now when he’s dozing off with pieces of you in between his fingers.

What is he like when his anger isn’t restrained – what is he like when he’s not bottling everything up and what would it be like to peek into his sorrowful river. You don’t give room for yourself to decipher the cause of this urge. You know it’s not trivial curiosity, but rather the desire to peer into the corners of his souls. Like a book you wish to read, your fingers itching. Yet you manage to hold yourself back. You smile and night has painted the sky.

“She sounds like a lively woman.”

“She is.” He says absentmindedly while his hands braid the ends of your hair “She was.” He corrects in a fleeting second “She was the type of person to find happiness even on the darkest and gloomiest days.”

Jake’s lament displays itself in the floods of his existence with no shame. There’s softness twined in his gaze; one that appears naturally at the mention of a person he holds so dearly to his heart, yet the bitterness abides part of it all. It’s a wound that had yet to stop aching in pain, to stop bleeding. He doesn’t know why he tells you all this and doesn’t know how the words slipped out of his mouth but his eyes stumble upon yours there’s not a single cell of regret in his body.

You don’t look at him with pity nor sympathy. Jake had showed off his scars to you and you still look at him like it’s just – him. Not his shame, or grief. His existence had always felt like a garden of black and red agonies. Had seen it tickle down his cheeks with rivulets of his sorrow, witnessed the blood seep out his fingers and drench the ground with every step he takes. But you’re there, in the midst of it all and you’re not looking at him with disdain. Instead, you flourish with ease, as if he isn’t made of prickling thorns.

“I’m sure she’s still watching over you, proudly.” You tell him with a fragile smile, and it shouldn’t shake his soul the way it does. He looks away with a slight tremble in his hand. A labored breath and he can’t say anything back to you. You don’t look at him as shame or grief and he can’t let you look at him as his regret, his guilt.

Jake is made up of a garden tainted with black and red agonies – his remorse remains a master of it all. He doesn’t find enough courage to come face to face with the fact that it’s not that. That if his mother knew, if you knew how he lived his life. Glory has no place to exist. So, instead he grins and ties your hair for you.

“All done.”

“Wow! it’s really well done actually.” You say, bringing your hair to the front and staring at it, between your hands. A pang of ache nestles its way into his stomach and it’s peculiar to feel like you’re holding a piece of him so delicately.

“it’s just one of my many talents.” He quips and you giggle slightly.

You keep your eyes glued to your hair and he senses something shifting in your eyes and your lips cast downwards faster than he’d like. He senses a realization in you unfold as your brows start to furrow.

“My mom,” you speak suddenly and then you’re looking at him, a smile doused in sorrow similar to his is on your face “my mom never really taught me anything.” You murmur like a confession pulled from the depths of your soul. For a moment he thinks he sees your scars too, they’re raw and have yet to stop bleeding, he thinks he tastes your heartache on your tongue.

It’s bitter and doesn’t belong in you.

“You still turned out wonderful.” He says, every word, tone is inundated with sincerity and your eyes flit to his with purpose to steal his heart. They glimmer and he wonders how envious the moon must be – he wonders if there’s room for him to linger around.

“You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m sick.” You joke lightly, you ended up baring your insides after all.

“Have I ever lied to you?” He whispers, not colored with amuse like you had hoped.

“No.” you answer, and you think you can’t slip when you have already fallen, and he smiles like he knows he won.

You realize it then – how scary intimacy truly is. Not the one evoked by lust and hunger but this one. The one that saturates the air with vulnerability. Baring your soul with its ugly scratches, your hideous mistakes while blind to everything that’s coming your way.

And he realizes it then – that there’s so much of you he has yet to unveil, he sees parts of you everywhere, in the love you spill into everything you do. And in your so ever called hope. Jake was never optimistic. Life hadn’t given him the privilege to be and somewhere in the darkened nights in his garden he lost the ability to believe in such an intangible thing as hope. So, he wonders why he wishes for your hope to never wither away. He feels this immense urge to peer into your soul, look through the pages of your book.

You open your mouth to say something and the hairs on his body rise in anticipation to listen with devotion. It’s an odd feeling to thirst for someone like this. Not for their body to touch yours or unload accumulated stress through them but rather to intertwine with him, crave for your hand to mesh into them. How selfish it is, to crave someone this bad, as if he has any right to call you his.

Your phone dings multiple times on your vanity, seemingly with messages and your mouth closes, eyes averting and his anticipation is stripped away, overtaken by disappointment at your fleeting attention.

“Sorry,” you mumble, picking up your phone and going through the notifications. Your brows slightly furrow, and he grows hatred for your phone.

“Is everything okay?” he asks at your lingering worry.

“Yeah um,” your fingers move across your screen as you type to a response to whatever stole your gazes from him “Niki is here?” you add and it comes out more as a question colored with bewilderment.

“Did you know he was coming?”

“No,” you lock your phone and stand up “I told him to come up. He wants to talk to me about something.” You explain further, heading towards your closet in search of clothes to wear. You pull a plain thick sweater over your head, hands reaching for a pair of shorts closest to your hand.

The sound of your door unlocking has Jake’s eyes slightly widening at the speed of your brother. Did he fucking teleport to your floor or what?

“Anyways it probably won’t be long so just stay here.” You add and he cocks a brow at your choice of clothing .

“Are you seriously wearing that?” he asks eyes trailing over your figure.

“Yeah, why?”

“You have been complaining about being cold all day and now you’re wearing shorts? Do you want to die?” you blink at him slowly “Change. Wear something warm.” He adds crossing his arms and tone stern unlike how he has been talking to you gently earlier, it’s slightly amusing and it has your lips twitching upwards.

“Yes boss.” You joke heading for your closet again and he rolls his eye and then your back faces him and you fail to see his smile, it’s adorned with affection.

After changing into thicker pajama pants and gaining a nod of approval from Jake, you make it out to your living room. Niki is on your couch and upon hearing the sound of your steps his eyes shift from the plastic bags on the floor to you. irritation paints his face quickly and you sigh warily.

“What the fuck yn?”

To be continued....

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yappinbich4life · 1 day ago

Text

Not to be dramatic or anything but this is easily one of the hottest fics I’ve ever read and I know that I will read this over and over again! When I read the tags I got so excited cause it was like you were using all of my favourite words 😭 and god the entire thing was just WOW! Him buying the pill had me 😔😔😔 tho. I seriously can’t wait for the next parts! Thank you so much for sharing this with us🫶🏾🙂‍↕️

only man allowed

pairing: toxic!bucky barnes x toxic!female reader

summary: you're feeling particularly needy one night, but when you text your situationship to come over, he reminds you that he won't wear a condom, which is a problem since it's a risky time of the month for you. but you tell him to come over anyway.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established situationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f receiving), consensual non-consent and consensual sexual coercion, sexual roleplay, 'just the tip' trope, breeding kink, bdsm elements, some biting and marking, some dacryphilia, some pain play, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, pet names (baby), begging, teasing, multiple orgasms, aftercare, taking and sending nude photos, possessive behavior, toxic behavior, jealousy, referenced but not shown situationship between reader and john walker, very anti-john walker behavior

word count: 8.5k

a/n: listen, i definitely wrote this at a certain time of the month and i'm not going to apologize for it!!! what i will apologize for is the fact that this ended up being way longer than i expected!! i wanted these to be short little fics, but apparently toxic bucky won't let me keep things short 🤭 anyway, this was fun to write and i hope y'all enjoy it!! ♡

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

You missing me, baby?

You could perfectly imagine the arrogant smirk on Bucky Barnes’ stupidly handsome face and the playful glint of mischief in his eye as he asked you that question in response to the picture you’d sent. It was a hastily taken photo of your body clad only in one of Bucky’s t-shirts, your fingers pulling up the hem to show a pair of panties—the ones that had made him groan like he was being tortured when he’d first seen them.

The truth was, you were missing him. You were horny as fuck and you didn’t care if he knew it—which, you were certain he did, because you only ever sent him lewd photos of yourself when you wanted him—but would it kill Bucky to show a little bit of reciprocity, instead of sending you that teasing response?

It didn’t matter that his playfully cocky words only drove your need higher, your body warming as heat flooded between your thighs. You were missing Bucky’s brand of arrogance, and it was all you could think about, the deep rasp of his voice in your ear while he pounded into you, the dirty and depraved things he’d say as his cock slid into your pussy, stretching you out just the way you needed.

You knew, without even touching yourself, that neither your fingers nor your toys would be enough for you that evening. You needed Bucky. Not John Walker, not any of the other guys on your roster—only Bucky Barnes could satisfy the need burning through your body.

So you rolled onto your knees and lowered your upper body to your bed, arching your ass high in the air. You positioned your phone and took a photo of your curved ass, barely clad in your panties, with the TV on your dresser also in frame. You took photos until you got one that you liked well enough and sent it to Bucky.

I’m bored, come chill.

Your text deliberately didn’t acknowledge Bucky’s question—and you weren’t asking him to come over, you were demanding it. You refused to beg a guy like Bucky Barnes, who refused to be exclusive with you, to come over and fuck you.

But you knew the simple request would drag him away from whatever he was doing on that Saturday evening and get him to your apartment.

So you were surprised when he texted back and didn’t immediately say he was on his way.

You sure? If we end up fucking, I’m not wearing a condom.

The second you finished reading Bucky’s text, you shoved your face into one of your pillows and let out a frustrated groan. Of course Bucky hadn’t forgotten you were in the process of switching to a new birth control and you’d told him that if he was going to fuck you, he’d have to wear a condom.

He’d taken it better than you expected—especially for a guy who claimed sex with you “didn’t feel as good” when he wore a condom. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum or tried to talk you into fucking bare while it was unsafe. He’d seemed happy enough with handjobs and blowjobs, and had always reciprocated by getting you off with his fingers or mouth.

But you could tell from his text that he was reaching his limit and, truthfully, so were you.

You missed the feeling of Bucky’s bare cock sliding into you, the heat of his stiff length and the drag of his veins against your sensitive inner walls. You were desperate to feel his cum flooding your cunt, filling you up with his seed while his balls twitched against your ass or clit, and he groaned low and deep in your ear.

Bucky was the only man on your roster allowed to fuck you bare, and it was entirely contingent on him swearing on his mother’s grave that you were the only girl he fucked without a condom. As far as you knew, Bucky had kept his promise—which you knew because you made him get tested at the local clinic at least once a month.

Still, you were only four weeks in to the 4-6 week period where your doctor had told you to use secondary methods of birth control while you were switching prescriptions. And you were so horny that you were probably ovulating—but you wanted Bucky so bad you could barely think.

In fact, the thought of letting Bucky cum inside you when it wasn’t a safe time of the month, and was extra not safe because you were switching your birth control, turned you on so much, your whole body shivered with need. Something about the idea, how risky it was, how it might mean Bucky would knock you up, was too good to be ignored.

You were so horny, you were seconds away from shoving a pillow between your thighs simply so you’d have something to hump against. That probably should’ve been a sign that you weren’t thinking clearly, but instead, it had you making up your mind.

You decided having Bucky over—having him fuck you raw—was worth the risk. In a brief moment of clarity, you reasoned with yourself that there was always the morning after pill. That was good enough for you.

So you texted him back.

I’m sure.

Bucky showed up to your apartment so soon after you texted him that you were sure that he either broke a number of traffic laws driving over from wherever he’d been, or he’d already been on his way. You loved both ideas, and didn’t want him to give you another reason, so you opted not to ask.

But for how fast he’d gotten to your place, he seemed content to take his time getting to the main event. When you opened the door, you’d been expecting (or, rather, hoping) he’d pounce on you. Instead, he pulled you into his arms and gave you a brief, chaste kiss, asking how your week was and how you’d been since he last saw you.

Then, as you entertained his desire for small talk, Bucky made himself comfortable, stretching out on your bed after kicking off his shoes and beckoning you to curl up with him. You did so, a little warily, and even put on a show you’d seen a million times since you figured Bucky would distract you from it soon enough.

But he didn’t.

You lasted all of five minutes before you were lifting your head from Bucky’s chest to look at him, surprised to find the guy you’d texted to come over and fuck you was seemingly engrossed in your show. You whined his name in a pitiful voice, “Bucky.”

The arrogant smirk you’d pictured when he’d texted you earlier spread across his face and he squeezed you tighter in his hard, muscled arms.

“Shhh, baby, watch your show,” he rumbled, rolling you onto your back so he was curled around your side, throwing a leg over yours and burying his scruffy face in your neck. “I’m just here to chill, right?” There was a teasing note in his voice that had you huffing out a frustrated sound.

“Bucky…” you grumbled, even as you shifted your head on your pillows to give him easier access to your neck. He rewarded you by kissing your soft skin, sending a tendril of heat curling down your spine and settling heavily between your thighs. “You know this isn’t what I meant when I told you to come over.”

Bucky lifted himself up onto his forearm, hovering above you so he could stare down into your eyes. His arrogant smirk had slipped off his face, leaving a serious expression as he took in the pinched, frustrated look on yours. He seemed to come to some kind of decision as he stared at you.

“It’s not a safe time for you, right, baby?” he asked, each word said slowly, intentionally, another meaning laced within. “You don’t want me to tell you that I’m horny as fuck and the only thing I want is to bury my bare cock in you and cum in your unprotected pussy—you don’t want me to try to talk you into it, to coerce you, right, baby?”

At his filthy words, your heart thundered in your chest and your pulse thrummed between your thighs, and for a brief, blistering moment, you considered throwing a whole entire hissy fit because that’s not what you wanted. You wanted the opposite of what Bucky was saying—and then the deeper meaning in his words hit you.

Bucky wasn’t really asking if you wanted him to be nice and respectful of the boundaries you’d set, even though you’d already essentially given him permission to ignore them. He was asking if you wanted to play along with the idea that you were reluctant to let him fuck you without a condom while you were at risk of getting knocked up.

“That’s not what you want, is it, baby?” Bucky rumbled, his gaze holding yours as he nodded his head slowly, the gesture so at odds with his words, it could only mean he was asking you the opposite of what he said.

You’d been eager for Bucky to fuck you—you were so horny, it was the only thing you could think about—but the opportunity of playing this game with him was too enticing to pass up. Pretending to be reluctant, pretending to slowly give in to Bucky’s whims when it was what you both really wanted, would only make the sex that much hotter.

An excited smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you saw Bucky’s gaze drop to your lips, his own face flickering with elation as he took in your reaction. You waited until his eyes returned to yours before you answered him.

“Noooo, that’s definitely not what I want, daddy,” you whimpered huskily, the barest hint of sarcasm in your tone as you struggled to stop from smirking. Your head was nodding just as Bucky’s had, and he was the first to break, an eager grin spreading across his face.

He ducked down and brushed another frustratingly brief kiss to your lips. “You got it, baby, no fucking tonight—just chilling,” he murmured, a teasing tone in his voice that had your body tingling with anticipation.

You were less surprised that time when Bucky snuggled back down on top of you, his mouth going back to your neck where he was working on sucking a hickey into the side of your throat.

Since you knew the game you were playing, it was a little easier to settle in and watch your show, all the while trying to forget the way your pussy was pulsing with need. Still, you wouldn’t have said it was easy to ignore the steady twitching of Bucky’s cock against your thigh as he hardened in his sweatpants.

It only got more difficult to keep your attention on your show when Bucky’s hand slid under your shirt, his fingers trailing idly over your stomach until he eventually reached your tits. He began kneading your soft flesh lazily, his fingers plucking teasingly at your nipples, while his mouth sucked on your neck.

Despite how obvious it was that Bucky was taking his time, it wasn’t long before you were a wet, whimpering mess beneath him.

“Bucky, w-we shouldn’t fool around,” you murmured breathily, mouth tripping over the words as you voiced the exact opposite of what you wanted. It was like your lips didn’t want to play the game you’d started, but you were rewarded for their effort by his frustrated growl, which had you throbbing between your thighs.

“It’s fine, baby, we’re not doing anything we shouldn’t…” he rumbled against your neck, his teeth nipping at your sensitive skin and making you shiver.

The word “yet” hung unspoken in what little space there was between your bodies, and the promise of it had you warming even more, pressing your thighs together against the ache pulsing in your core. “Bucky,” you whimpered his name, your hips twisting toward him like they had a mind of their own.

“Are ya getting wet, baby?” he asked teasingly in your ear, his fingers tripping down your body until they skimmed along the hem of your panties. All you could do was whine in response and Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, I bet you’re dripping for me.”

Your chest was already heaving with heavier breaths just from the way Bucky was teasing his fingers beneath the edge of your panties, taking his sweet time going any lower to where you really needed him. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, and your intention had been to shove his hand deeper into your panties so he’d finally touch your pussy, but instead he stopped.

“Don’t worry, baby, ‘m not gonna fuck you, no matter how wet your pretty little pussy is,” Bucky murmured in your ear, brushing a kiss to your cheek.

Though his words might’ve sounded reassuring, his tone was a deliciously teasing rumble and you could feel his smirk against your cheek. Your body trembled, your thighs parting for Bucky of their own accord, which had him humming a pleased sound.

“Good girl, just let me feel you.”

Bucky’s fingers finally dipped into your panties and slid down to your pussy, a breathy little moan bursting from your lips. The feel of his warm, skilled fingers slipping through your soaking wet folds, bumping against your clit before swirling around your aching, clenching hole, was almost too much.

You had to bite your lip against the urge to beg Bucky to fuck you already, not wanting to ruin the game that was making everything hotter. But he seemed to lose himself for a moment, burying his face in your neck and groaning while his fingers slipped between your swollen and soppy lower lips.

“Fucking hell, baby, you’re drenched for me,” Bucky growled, his voice low and no longer teasing. His fingers were dipping shallowly into your hole and spreading your wetness around, making a mess of your pussy. “You feel so fucking ripe, I gotta feel it—gotta feel you against my cock.”

Bucky was already pushing your panties down your thighs, rising above you and tearing his shirt off over his head before tugging your own shirt from your body.

At the same time, you were kicking your panties from around your ankles and spreading your legs, sitting up shove at the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants. When his cock bounced free, you reached for his perfect length, saliva already pooling in your mouth as you gave his girth a reverent stroke.

But then Bucky was urging you back down, guiding your shoulders to the bed and covering your body with his own. You arched up into his warmth while he settled between your thighs, your fingers clinging to his sides.

His darkened eyes were fixed on the juncture of your legs, his fingers going back to playing through your wetness and spreading it around to make a mess of your pussy. Occasionally, he’d bump against your clit, which made your body jolt every time he brushed the needy bundle of nerves.

Bucky felt so good, and you were so close to getting what you really wanted—his cock inside you—but you forced yourself to remember the game you were playing.

You grabbed Bucky’s face in both hands, tipping it up so you could catch his eye. There was an almost dazed look on his face, but he blinked and focused back on you.

“It isn’t a safe time of the month,” you said, as sternly as you could manage. But your breaths were coming too quickly for there to be much steel in your voice. Bucky’s thumb brushed over your clit purposefully and your hips bore down on his hand, your body begging for more as you whined, “You can’t fuck me bare, Bucky.”

“I won’t, baby,” Bucky purred, wrapping the fingers that were sticky with your desire around the hard length of his cock. He chuckled when you whimpered at the loss of his touch, leaning down over you and brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Just let me rub against you—you’re so wet, it’ll feel so good. I won’t push inside your drippy little pussy, baby, I promise.”

You knew he was lying, and you knew Bucky knew you knew he was lying. For some reason, that made everything so much hotter. So did playing the reluctant participant, which was why you bit your lip with fake nervousness as you stared up at Bucky, your panting breaths adding even more uncertainty to your voice when you spoke.

“Oh-okay, daddy, you can rub against me—but no more.”

The words were barely out of your mouth before Bucky was sliding his thick, hard cock between your pussy lips, making you moan and spread your legs wider, raising your knees toward your chest to give him all the access he needed.

Bucky let out a groan and dropped down to cover you with his body, his arms digging beneath your back to hold you pinned tightly against his chest. Your sensitive nipples rubbed against him, teasing you relentlessly.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” Bucky rumbled, rocking his hips so his cock dragged between your swollen, dripping folds, rubbing against your clit and sending sparks of pleasure swirling through your body. “So wet… You’re making a fucking mess on my cock, baby.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered in Bucky’s ear, your body shuddering under the onslaught of blistering pleasure and aching emptiness in your core.

You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s shoulders, hands digging into his soft brown hair and holding onto him while his hips kept rocking into the cradle of your body, his cock grinding against your clit until you were gushing with wetness all over his stiff length.

“Doesn’t it feel good, baby?” Bucky murmured in your ear, his voice sweetly entreating, like he was trying to convince you of something, though you were already very well aware that his hard shaft grinding into your dripping wet pussy felt better than it had any right. “You’re creaming all over daddy’s cock, baby—tell me how good it feels.”

“Nngh, so goooood,” you keened, hooking your ankles around the backs of Bucky’s thighs to get better leverage to grind against his hard length. You were caught between wanting more and wanting to keep grinding against him. “Your cock feels sooo good, daddy, so big and hard against my drippy pussy.”

“Fuck, ‘m so hard for you,” Bucky groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he rutted into your soft, drenched folds with rough, punishing thrusts. “My dick’s throbbing for your cunt, baby, can you feel it?”

He pressed his shaft deep into your slit, the flared head of his cock bullying your clit, and you could feel it. You could feel the pulse in his hard length, joining the rhythm in your center.

Your body reacted on instinct, your inner walls clenching hard around nothing while you whined his name, “Buckyyy.”

“I can feel you, baby,” Bucky rumbled, the teasing tone back in his voice. “I can feel your cunt mouthing at my cock.”

Bucky’s words sounded so deliciously depraved that you wanted to turn your head and kiss him, to taste his debauchery straight from his tongue. You knew he had a filthy mouth, but his dirty talk was even hotter because of the game you were playing—and he just kept talking.

“Feels like ya want me to fuck you, baby,” he cooed, lifting his head to speak directly in your ear. “Does your pretty little cunt wanna get fucked?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to scream, ‘Yes!’ You wanted to get fucked so bad. You practically desperate for Bucky to push inside you and impale you on his cock, to pump into your pussy bare and cum inside you. You managed to bite it back at the last second for the sake of the role you were playing, but you couldn’t get any other words out.

When you were quiet, save for your panting breaths while Bucky’s hips kept up their torturous rocking, he lifted himself, bracing on his forearms so he could hover above you and see your face. He raised an eyebrow in question, his body slowing its movement as his gaze raked over your face, uncertainty flickering in the depths of his blue eyes.

It was clear he was questioning whether you still wanted to play the game you’d both started, and the fact that he was taking the time to check in with you had your heart squeezing uncomfortably in your chest.

It was an annoying reminder that Bucky wasn’t the kind of man to be selfish and self-absorbed in bed. Even if he was only your situationship, he made sure you were enjoying everything he was doing.

And you wanted him to know you were enjoying yourself very much—and that you still wanted to play the role you’d been given.

“I want you so bad, Bucky.” The words tumbled from your lips as you gave in to the urge to assuage Bucky’s concern. “I want you so bad, but we shouldn’t,” you whined, pouting up at him as you slipped back into the game.

The furrow of concern smoothed itself from Bucky’s brow and he smirked before ducking down to capture your lips in a quick kiss.

His hips began rocking into you again, and he swallowed your responding moan greedily. He groaned himself when you used your ankles hooked around his thighs to grind back against him, your soft, wet pussy sliding against the rough ridge of his cock and making a mess of both of you.

“What if I…what if I just push the tip in?” Bucky rasped, pulling away and catching your eye, a smirk fluttered at the edges of his mouth, like he was trying to hold it back but was failing. “Just the tip—just let me feel you. Please, baby, I wanna feel you so fucking bad.”

Bucky bowed his head, pressing sweet kisses to your collarbones, a barely restrained chuckle rumbling his chest. It seemed he’d lost the battle with being able to keep a straight face and you couldn’t blame him, your mouth was spread in a mischievous grin while your nails raked through his short brown hair.

“It’s not safe,” you reminded him, but there was an edge of glee in your tone.

You couldn’t hide the fact that you were having fun with Bucky, playing out the little game he’d started. You were so close to getting what you wanted, that it only made it more difficult to pretend you didn’t want it.

So when you murmured, “If you cum inside me, Bucky…” your voice was breathless with desire, and you had to cut yourself off to bite back the moan that wanted to be set free.

Bucky smirked against your neck, his teeth nipping playfully at the mark he’d left on your throat before he responded. “It’s just the tip, baby, promise—I won’t cum inside you.”

Had it always been so easy for you to hear when Bucky was lying, or had he given up on the pretense of the game so much that it was even more obvious?

The question flitted across your mind but didn’t stay long. You were too busy gasping a quick, “Ok,” your hips tilting, trying to catch the tip of Bucky’s cock in your hole on one of his grinding thrusts. However, it wasn’t until he pulled his hips back that the head of his hard length notched at your tight, clenching pussy.

Both of you held your breath when Bucky pushed inside. He stopped when just the tip was nestled inside the entrance of your warm, wet cunt.

“Fuuuck,” Bucky groaned, pressing his face into the side of your neck, his hot breath fanning over the hollow of your throat and his scruff rasping against your sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking warm, baby,” he rumbled into your neck, the sensation of his mouth against your throat making you shiver all over. “Gotta do it again.”

His muttered words were your only warning before his hips reared back, the broad tip of his cock pulling free from your grasping hole. A tortured whimper slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, and Bucky chuckled as he slid back inside you, your pitiful sound dissolving into a moan when the head of his cock popped into your cunt.

“Yeah, that feels good, doesn’t it?” Bucky crooned in your ear, doing it again, slower that time, making you feel every tiny bit of his tip pushing into your weeping hole. “My cock sliding into your drippy little cunt—you’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Bucky, so wet for you,” you echoed, unable to do more when all your focus was on not impaling yourself on Bucky’s cock. Your body squirmed beneath his larger form, one of Bucky’s big hands pressing down on your hip like he knew you were barely holding back from pushing yourself down on his cock.

“It would be so easy for me to slide all the way inside, don’t ya think, baby?” Bucky purred in a teasing tone, his hips rocking forward until he’d pushed another inch deeper before pulling back so only the tip was inside you again.

Just that little tease had you moaning mindlessly beneath Bucky, tears of desire and frustration springing to your eyes.

Your arms wrapped tightly around Bucky’s shoulders and your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs, trying to pull him in deeper. You needed more, to hell with the game you’d been playing. You needed him inside you already.

“Bucky, please,” you begged on a sob, pressing your face into his cheek.

“I can feel your cunt gripping me, baby, sucking on me—she wants me to push deeper,” Bucky rumbled in your ear, a gruffness to his voice that told you he was reaching the limit of his patience with the game as well.

In that moment, you’d have done anything to get Bucky to fuck you properly, but before you could speak, he went on.

“Do you want it, baby?” he asked, his voice rough as crushed rock, his own breaths hot and heavy against your skin. “Want my cock buried deep inside you, filling you up and fucking you hard?”

“Yes, Bucky, please,” you gasped, your hands diving into his hair and pulling his head up so you could look him in the eye. You had to blink the tears from your eyes to do it, but you didn’t want there to be any confusion about what you wanted. “Fuck me, daddy, please!”

A slow, depraved grin spread across Bucky’s face as his eyes roved over your tear-stained cheeks. You felt the tip of his cock twitch inside you, and your body gave an answering clench, like it was begging him to slide inside. But Bucky seemed happy to let his eyes wander over your face, relishing the sight of you crying and begging him to fuck you.

It felt like a small eternity before his gaze met yours again and he seemed ready to give you what you wanted.

“But don’t cum inside you, right, baby?” Bucky asked, a devious tone in his voice. His hips pulled back and thrust forward slowly, pushing his big cock inside you at a torturous pace. Bucky’s grin was teasing as he went on, murmuring, “Wouldn’t want daddy knocking you up, right, baby?”

At Bucky’s words, something inside you snapped. Your mind went blank and your body moved on its own, your legs hiking up Bucky’s sides to wrap tightly around his lower back. Your heels dug into his firm ass and you whined loudly until he let you pull him deeper inside you.

Bucky’s cock impaled you with one thrust, a pleasured grunt slipping from his mouth, half-muffled against your neck. He filled you up all the way to the root of his thick cock and you moaned, long and loud in his ear.

You finally got what you wanted. Finally, you were full of his cock.

Bucky was buried so deep inside you that you could feel his balls pressed against your ass—his big, heavy balls, full of the seed you desperately wanted him to pump inside you. The desire left you dizzy and dazed, your body thrumming with a need to be filled, to be knocked up, to be bred by your situationship.

“Breed me, Bucky,” you whispered breathlessly in his ear.

He stilled for a very brief second, but then he was groaning obscenely, sucking hard on the hickey he’d already left. Whether it was a reward or a punishment, you didn’t know—nor did you care.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky grunted, his legs shifting on your bed and repositioning himself to fight against the stranglehold you had on his body.

He pushed up onto his forearms so he could hover above you, his eyes raking over your face as he rolled his hips to fuck you in hard, shallow thrusts that had your lips parting, punched-out whines slipping from your mouth.

You were so consumed in basking in your pleasure that it took you a moment to realize Bucky had gone quiet—quieter than he normally was when he was fucking you. It took another moment for you to blink your vision back into focus and when you did, you sucked in a sharp breath at the look of pure, depraved desire on Bucky’s face.

“Do you have something you want to tell me, baby?” he asked dryly, lifting an eyebrow in question. Before you could answer, he ducked down and captured your lips in a searing kiss, the heat of his tongue flicking into your mouth making you moan. “Does my girl have a breeding kink she failed to tell me about?” he asked in a teasing tone, plunging his cock deep into your pussy and grinding hard against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Not your girl,” you managed to gasp, even through the pleasure.

A low growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest, but it cut off abruptly. It seemed your situationship didn’t like being reminded that he wasn’t the only one who fucked you. Bucky nipped at your bottom lip, biting it a little harshly, making your pussy clench around his cock as you whined through the brief sting.

“Does John fucking Walker know about your breeding kink?” Bucky seethed, his voice suddenly furious. His anger was reflected in the way he picked up the pace of his hips, fucking you in rough, hard thrusts that had you crying out and clinging to his shoulders, your nails sinking deep into his golden skin. “Do you let John fucking Walker fuck you raw—fucking tell me, baby.”

“No,” you cried, tears of pleasure slipping from your eyes and trailing down your temples into your hair. Bucky’s lips found the salty tears and he kissed them from your skin, making your heart and pussy clench simultaneously. “You’re the only one allowed to fuck me bare, Bucky, you know that.”

“That’s fucking right,” he growled, punctuating each of his words with brutal thrusts. “I’m the only man who fucks this pussy raw,” he went on in a gruff, furious voice, raising up onto his arms so he could look you in the eye. “I’m the only man who cums inside this cunt, who fills you up until you’re leaking my seed all down your pretty thighs—I’m the only man who breeds you, isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes—yes, Bucky, only you,” you cried, squirming beneath him, using your ankles hooked around his thighs to meet Bucky’s thrusts. It didn’t even occur to you to fight him on his possessive questions—he was right. He was the only one allowed to do all those things. “Only you, only you—please, I need you to breed me Bucky!”

You were getting close, but before you could tumble over the edge of your release, Bucky sat up, breaking the hold of your arms as he pushed up onto his knees. You let out a frustrated wail, but stopped short at the expression on Bucky’s face.

The look in his eye was wild, nearly feral. His hands were rough and possessive when he grabbed your plush thighs, pushing them up toward your chest until you were folded in half. His cock was still inside you, but not nearly as deep as you wanted it in the position Bucky was in.

Your hips squirmed, a whine working its way up your throat before spilling free.

Bucky leaned back down on top of you, pinning your legs to your chest and your body to the bed as his cock slid deeper until you were so full of him, you swore you could feel him in womb—even though you knew that was impossible.

He stayed like that, buried inside you, his cock stretching out your tight cunt while he rocked his hips, grinding deeper into you. All the while, he stared at you, his gaze glittering with the wildness that spoke of a deep-rooted possessiveness, but when he spoke, his voice was deceptively sweet.

“You want daddy to breed you, baby?” Bucky cooed in your ear, his mouth pressing wet, messy kisses to your cheek and jaw. “You knew it wasn’t a safe time of the month, and you let me fuck you raw anyway—such a silly little cumslut pretending you didn’t want it, but you do, right, baby?”

All you could manage was a punched-out, “Uh huh,” Bucky’s heavy weight pressing the air from your lungs while he crushed you to the bed. He shifted a little, so you could breathe, but it didn’t seem to matter that you’d responded, because he went on as if he hadn’t even heard you.

“You wanna feel my fat cock bruising your cervix, baby?” he huffed, pausing only to nip at the lobe of your ear with his teeth, making you clench hard around his cock. His next words came out on a filthy groan, pouring into your ear and settling deep in your mind. “Ya want me to flood your fertile little cunt with my seed and breed you—is that it?”

You were half feral yourself with desire, with your need to cum—with your need to feel him cum inside you—and you weren’t sure if Bucky was checking in with you, or if he was getting off on teasing you, but you rushed to answer, telling him the truth.

“God, Bucky, yes—please,” you whined, your fingers digging into his soft hair and towing his head until your mouth found his, kissing him messily while he kept fucking you in hard, rough thrusts. “Fill me up with your cum, daddy, make me your pretty little cumdump, please, I want it—I need it!” you cried into Bucky’s mouth, your words half muffled because neither of you wanted to pull away.

“Jesus fucking christ, baby,” Bucky grunted, his hot breath panting past your lips. You felt his mouth curve into a sly smirk. “First you don’t want me to fuck you because it isn’t safe,” he murmured in a teasing tone. “And now you want me to breed your little pussy full of cum—which is it, baby, d’you want me to pull out or cum inside your unprotected cunt?”

A mindless moan slipped from your lips at his filthy question, your mind going entirely blank for a split second. All you could do was feel—Bucky’s thick cock pounding into your pussy, the tip hitting a spot inside you that felt so good, you never wanted him to stop. It was too good, you didn’t want him to pull out, even if it would’ve been the smart decision.

“Breed me, daddy,” you begged in a throaty, desperate voice. “Breed me, cum inside me—please, please, please!”

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed, but he sounded pleased, too. “I’m so fucking close, baby, so close to draining my balls in your tight little cunt.”

His body shifted and then he was pounding into you in a new, better angle, making you feel impossibly good as you careened toward the edge of your release.

“Tell me, baby,” he rasped, his forehead pressed to yours. “Tell me you never let John fucking Walker cum inside you—tell me I’m the only man allowed to breed you.”

You whined, well aware you’d already told him—and he already knew he was the only one allowed to cum inside you. But it fed the possessiveness Bucky felt, and it felt good to give him that, so you did.

“You’re the only one,” you promised in a thready voice, your pleasure dripping from every word. “The only man allowed to cum inside me—you’re the only man allowed to breed me, daddy!”

Bucky captured your mouth in a dominating kiss, his tongue plunging past your lips like he was desperate to fuck as many of your holes at the same time as possible. You moaned into his mouth, gripping his face and holding him close while you sucked on his tongue, your nails raking through the scruff on his jaw, both of you groaning at how good the other felt.

Finally, Bucky managed to wrench himself away from your clinging grip and his face hovered above yours, a devious smirk on his plump lips.

“Ya know I heard,” he started, his voice a little breathless and gruff, the deep sound of it singing through your body and making you shiver as your pussy pulsed around his thrusting cock. “If you cum at the same time as me, you’re more likely to get knocked up.”

A violent shiver raced down your spine and your pussy clenched hard around Bucky’s cock. His words were going to be the end of you, you just knew it, but what a glorious end it would be.

Bucky grinned at your body’s reaction, looking far too pleased with himself, though you were too far gone in your pleasure to try to wipe that smirk off his face. Not that he gave you much opportunity, ducking down to murmur in your ear.

“Rub your clit, baby, I wanna feel you cumming on my cock while I’m knocking you up.”

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you whimpered pleasure spiraling through you at his words, but you did as he said.

You slipped your hand between your bodies, finding your clit messy and sticky with your desire, your fingertips brushing the thick shaft of Bucky’s cock as he fucked you. Rubbing your clit in ruthless little circles, your body pulled tight.

“Bucky, I’m gonna cum—don’t stop!”

Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as the coiled tension in your body finally shattered, and you came with a strangled cry, pleasure consuming your mind and body.

Your release washed over you in waves of bliss that were so intense, you could feel your arms and legs trembling, your cunt clenching hard around Bucky’s thick length that was still plunging deep into your grasping channel.

“That’s it, baby, cum on daddy’s cock,” Bucky rasped, brushing sloppy kisses to your face as he rutted into you, his thrusts turning wild and rough. “You feel so fucking good, baby, you’re doing so good for me, gonna make me a daddy for real, baby—Jesus fuck.”

Bucky cut himself off on a groan, his hips pressing flush to the backs of your thighs, his cock impaled to the hilt in your still fluttering cunt. He came with a loud moan, his cock twitching inside you as he shot rope after rope of cum into your pussy. Your inner walls milked every last drop of seed from his balls while he painted the inside of you white.

When Bucky was finally spent, he collapsed on top of you, your bodies easing into a more comfortable position. He lay on top of you in the cradle of your thighs, his palms smoothing over your hips and sides while your fingers stroked idly through his soft hair. You made small sounds of contentment, and an answering, pleased rumble, sounded in his chest.

Finally, just when it was beginning to get uncomfortable bearing so much of Bucky’s weight, he heaved himself up onto his knees and carefully slid his cock from your thoroughly used pussy. You watched him, his gaze focused on the slit between your thighs, and you saw the moment his blue eyes darkened when his cum started dripping out of you.

You reached between you thighs, which were splayed over his his spread knees, to clean up the cum before it made a mess of your bedsheets, but Bucky knocked your hand away. He fished through the mussed up bedding until he found his discarded sweatpants and pulled his phone from the pocket.

Your body was limp with sated pleasure, and he’d taken enough post-sex photos of you, that you let Bucky arrange you how he wanted. You even held your legs open for him so he could position his phone above your pussy and take a couple close-up photos of his cum spilling out of your pussy. Then he pulled his phone back, so your whole body was in the shot.

“Say, ‘I’m gonna be a mommy,’ baby,” Bucky ordered, a lazy grin on his face.

Between your thighs, your pussy pulsed at the words, which sounded so innocent and so filthy at the same time. Heat filled your cheeks and you turned your head to the side, trying to bury your face in a pillow while you whined, “Bucky.”

You knew it was silly to be shy about saying something so innocuous, especially after everything you and Bucky had just said and done, but the moment was over. You didn’t normally have such a breeding kink, but you’d been so horny and it had made you so hot to talk about getting bred while Bucky was inside you.

However, it felt like a whole other thing to play into it when the heat of the moment had passed. It felt like the kind of thing boyfriends and girlfriends did, and you knew better than to tread into that territory.

Still, your body warmed at the idea of looking into Bucky’s camera and saying those words…

“Baby,” Bucky crooned, leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “C’mon, I know you wanna,” he murmured in your ear, his mouth brushing butterfly kisses along your jaw. “You don’t have to be shy with me, baby, I know you’re a dirty little breeding slut desperate to be daddy’s good little cumdump.”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky,” you groaned, but you were smiling when you turned your head and met his mouth for a kiss.

Bucky let you kiss him for a few moments before he pulled away and sat up, holding his camera in position while he raised his eyebrows at you in an expectant expression.

“I’m gonna be a mommy,” you mumbled, pouting up at the camera while Bucky snapped a few photos. It wasn’t long before you were smiling and preening for the camera, sticking your tits out and holding your legs even wider for Bucky.

“Good girl,” he murmured, catching your eye as he lowered his phone. He was giving you a pleased smirk, and you smiled up at him in return.

Bucky gently moved your legs from around his waist and flopped down on the bed beside you, swiping through the photos he’d taken of his cum leaking out of your pussy while you curled around his bicep. You had to admit, they looked hot—even the ones of you pouting and mumbling up at him.

Seeing yourself like that was turning you on and you were just about to shimmy down Bucky’s body and lick his cock clean until he was hard again when he spoke, derailing your dirty thoughts.

“I’ll pick up the morning after pill for you before I head home,” he rumbled absentmindedly, still focused more on his phone. You could see him favoriting some of the photos he’d taken and saving them to a separate folder. “And if you are knocked up, I’ll pay to have it taken care of—but don’t expect me to cuddle you and do boyfriend shit after.”

For a moment, you restrained the urge to smack Bucky in the face with a pillow. And then you thought, why not? You weren’t his girlfriend, you didn’t need to play nice.

So you grabbed the pillow behind your head and brought it down right on Bucky’s face. He let out a satisfying, startled ‘oomph’ sound, and you chuckled as you rolled out of bed.

“Gee, thanks,” you shot over your shoulder sarcastically as you padded toward the bathroom, intent on cleaning Bucky’s cum from between your thighs.

But then you had an evil thought and a wicked smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. You wiped that look off your face, though, as you turned and leaned against your doorway, striking a casual pose.

“Maybe if I’m knocked up, I’ll just let John fuck me bare and tell him it’s his,” you said, giving a carefree little shrug while trying not to make it obvious how close you were watching Bucky.

You were delighted when his head snapped toward you, his gaze finally pulling away from his phone as his brows lowered into a glare. His soft mouth turned down at the corners, a furious frown darkening his face.

“D’you think John would offer to marry me?” you asked, ignoring Bucky’s reaction and tapping your chin with one finger like you were thinking. “He strikes me as the type of man who’d want to make an ‘honest woman’ out of me.” You couldn’t hold in your eye roll, even as you were trying to torture Bucky with the possibility of you marrying John fucking Walker.

In an instant, Bucky was up and off the bed, pinning you to the doorframe of your room with every inch of his big, strong body pressed against yours. You only had time to gasp while Bucky quickly gathered your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head. His hardening cock was trapped against your belly, the stickiness of both your releases rubbing into your skin.

“You’re not marrying John fucking Walker, baby,” Bucky growled while he loomed over you. He was so close, you had to tilt your head back to look up at him, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking. “And you’re certainly not raising my kid with Walker’s last name.”

At that, you had to laugh. But when you saw how serious Bucky still looked, you realized he didn’t realize you were just trying to get a rise out of him. Something about the thought of you marrying John Walker had clearly made all rational thought completely abandon Bucky in that moment.

Instead of thinking too hard about Bucky’s reaction, you explained yourself to him.

“Bucky, it was a joke,” you wheezed, giving him an incredulous look. “Of course I’m not gonna marry John.”

Bucky’s eyes flitted back and forth between yours, like he was checking to make sure you were being honest. He must’ve decided you were because he blew out a breath and closed his eyes, his forehead falling to yours.

“Jesus, baby, you drive me fucking wild sometimes,” he rumbled, but there was humor in his tone, albeit reluctant.

A breathless laugh slipped from your lips and you leaned back against the doorframe, hiking your leg up around Bucky’s waist. He caught it in his free hand, the movement pressing his thickening cock between your thighs, making both of you groan.

“I think you should show me exactly how wild I make you,” you purred, rocking your hips against his stiff length, coating him in the mixture of your desire and his cum still leaking out of you.

Bucky growled, his eyes flying open as he stared at you and worked his cock against your pussy.

“Careful what you ask for, baby,” he rumbled, his tone a delicious taunt that had your toes curling against the floorboards and your hips tilting so you could rub your clit against his hard shaft. “Or you’re gonna get another load pumped into your tight, unprotected little cunt.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, daddy,” you sassed, smirking up at Bucky and watching as his eyes darkened with desire.

In a flash, Bucky dropped your leg and let go of your wrists, spinning you around to face the doorframe and yanking your hips toward his lap with a rough, possessive grip on your body. Your upper body fell forward and your hands clung to the doorframe, nails digging into the wood when Bucky entered you in a swift, hard thrust.

Bucky fucked you in the doorway of your bedroom, making you promise yet again that you’d never let John Walker fuck you without a condom before emptying a second load inside you.

After, he followed you to the bathroom, hopping in the shower with you where he drained what little cum was left in his balls inside your pussy before helping you clean up—though you suspected he only offered to help so he could finger his cum deeper into your cunt under the pretense of cleaning you.

When you were both finally, finally sated, you collapsed into your bed together. Your mind was blissfully blank and your body deliciously sore as you cuddled together. Bucky dozed for a bit, his head on your chest while you carded your fingers through his hair and watched your show.

After a while, Bucky roused and got dressed, going out to get you the morning after pill from the nearest drug store, just like he’d said he would.

He also brought you back your favorite sports drink and snacks, explaining in a gruff voice that he’d read the potential side effects of the pill on the box and wanted you to be prepared. You refused to feel any type of way about that.

Then Bucky kissed you and left to head home.

All things considered, it was a good thing your new birth control had taken effect, or the morning after pill had worked, and you didn’t get pregnant despite the evening you’d had with Bucky. It was a relief when you were able to tell him that your risky night hadn’t led to any of the consequences the both of you had willfully ignored.

When you texted him to tell him you’d gotten your period, he responded quickly, messaging twice in quick succession. The first text made you roll your eyes, because you thought that was all he’d have to say.

Good.

But then you saw the second message, and you could imagine the arrogant smirk on Bucky Barnes’ ridiculously handsome face and the playful glint of mischief in his eye when he’d sent it.

It made you smile, and you had to bite your lip against a giggle, forcefully reminding yourself that he was just a situationship.

Let me know when you wanna play ‘just the tip’ to ‘breed me, daddy’ again, baby.

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

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