Trina, 26. A little bit of a good girl but not always. ♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️♾️ If interested in what I write, click here For music, click here For gawking at Mr. Shah Rukh Khan, click here
notes: hii. not proofread and i think its shit. lmk if its otherwise tho! reqs open and im trying to write more!
pairing: avengers!bucky barnes x avengers!reader
genre: smut, enemies to lovers??? (kinda), porn w/ plot
summary: You make it a goal to bicker and argue with Bucky Barnes as much as you can. One night changes everything between the two of you. Suddenly, he doesn’t sound so bad.
You and Bucky have never gotten along, but god that man is gorgeous.
You bicker and fight and argue like you hate each other. But deep down, fighting with Bucky turns you on. Infuriatingly so.
You never looked at Barnes like he was a monster, you looked at him like he was annoying. And Bucky didn't stop looking.
It all started when Steve introduced him to the team. A few looked at him with fear and irritation, you looked at him with nonchalance.
“This is Bucky, everyone. He’s still very… new, to all this. So please, try to help him out.” Steve smiled brightly. Bucky stood slightly behind Steve’s back like a kid behind their mother.
Tony scoffed, clearly against this whole thing. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, and simply walked off. You have never seen Tony speechless of a sarcastic comment. Suddenly, you sat up in your chair as all the other avengers began to walk out without a second glance to the pair.
You hummed, standing up and extending your arm. “Nice t’finally meet you, James.” You greeted. Bucky grunted, not accepting your hand. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t like you or if it was because he was scared to touch people yet. Either way, your jaw ticked in annoyance.
“M’names Bucky.” He murmured. You let your arm fall and squinted at him. Bucky didn’t back down, as if you were sizing the eachother up.
A beat passes as you two simply stare at each other, waiting for one to give in first.
“I don’t bite, James. Only when Steve asks me to.” You hummed playfully, noting Steve’s ear flush pink as he darted his gaze respectfully.
“I doubt it.” Bucky replied, not missing a beat. Your eyes widened in intrigue before your knuckled tightened at your sides.
You chew on the inside if your cheek, determining how much more of yourself you want to give up. With a breath, you admit defeat.
“Welcome to the team.” You huff, walking away from the two of them and resorting back to your room.
After that, tensions only began to rise. You pushed Bucky’s buttons, waiting for when his icy composure cracked.
It was early in the morning as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. You had always prided yourself on being the first up in a house of superhumans and assassins, but all that changed when Barnes arrived.
He walked into the kitchen, grunting as he noticed you occupying the machine. He leaned against the countertop as he waited.
“Starin’ problem, Barnes?” You clipped, noticing him staring at your hands as you poured the coffee. His eyes didn’t dart as if he had been caught.
“Jus’ waitin’ my turn.” He grumbled. You hummed. You let your own eyes scan over his body. After you’re done pouring, you didn’t move from the machine, blocking him from the pot.
It was only his first week. Dark bags under his eyes, hair long and recently washed for the first time, long sleeve red henley clinging to his form, sweatpants, and a glove on his left hand.
“Why do you wear the glove? Everyone knows about the arm. S’not a secret.” You blurted, looking at him pointedly.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Bucky asked, as if the answer was obvious. You rolled your eyes.
You sigh, turning to fully face Bucky.
”Vision has red skin with a gem on his forehead, Banner turns angry and green, Tony plays dress up in an iron suit, Sam flies a robot, Thor’s a fuckin’ god, and Wanda can play with your mind.” You ramble, giving him a pointed look.
“Nobodies judgin’ you for your arm.” You add. Bucky steps forward an inch. His jaw tightens in restraint.
A beat passes where you two share an intense glare. Neither of you bothering to say anything. The ball is in his court, even as his concealed metal arm grips the counter like a lifeline.
“What about you, agent? Whats wrong with you?” His voice drops right in your ear. Something sinful pools in your belly as your eyes dart back to the coffee pot.
“Wouldn’t be fun if I spoiled it f’you.” You murmured before slipping away from the pot, grabbing your cup, and heading back to your room.
Bucky threw his glove away when you were out of earshot.
A month passed and suddenly everyone was warming up to Bucky. Everyone except you. Bucky had begun to loosen up as well. No more long sleeves, no more gloves, and a haircut that had you drooling.
You were lounging on the couch, reading mission reports and news articles when Bucky passed through the living room.
He’s sweaty, his shorter hair glistening in the light as a bead of sweat rolls down the back of his neck. Your breath hitches on instinct.
Bucky had just came back from a mission. He had clearly disregarded his tactical vest, leaving him in just the tight fitted black shirt he wore underneath. His black tactical pants were still on, hugging his thighs criminally as he made his way to the kitchen.
He takes out a glass, pouring himself whiskey and tentatively taking a sip. You realized you had been staring at him, mouth agape this whole time. You cleared your throat, suddenly speaking up.
“It’s 9 in the morning, James.” You remind. Bucky nodded from the counter, topping pfd his glass once again. “Why are you drinking?”
He doesn’t turn to look at you, just grunts in acknowledgment of your presence.
“Cute pajamas.” He murmurs, trying to distract you. It works as your cheeks flush and your eyes dart down, seeing your cartoon pajama pants staring back at you.
You huff, angrily looking back at him as if he made you wear the childish pants when he walked in looking like a greek god.
“Doesn’t answer my question.” You clipped. Bucky grunted once more—clearly a prominent reaction for him—but this one was lower, like sin. It made your thighs tighten and your mouth water as he finally turned to look at you.
“I can’t feel it. Just the burn in my throat.” He admits, voice low and rough like gravel. You chew on your bottom lip as his biceps wink at you.
Bucky finishes his whiskey, placing the glass in the sink before he walks away to his room, no doubt looking to change out of his clothes.
Your panties are unmistakably wet. You sit in silence for a moment before retiring to your own room as well.
Your hands glide down into your pants as you begin to play with yourself. A small whine slips out as you tease yourself, imaging its him teasing you.
“All wet n’ warm f’me. Thought y’hated me?” He’d rasp in your ear as his metal fingers prep your cunt. He would slowly slip one digit in, swirling it and curling it as you begged for more.
You moan softly, biting down on your lip to stifle the sound.
His dog tags would tangle above you. Cold metal tickling your breasts as he had another finger. He would begin to pick up the pace, grinning down at you as you struggle to take it.
“B-buck.” You slur, your head lolling back as your own fingers begin to curl into you. No Bucky, no dog tags, no deliciously cool metal arm working you open.
You keen, your back arching as your moans turn breathless, your mouth agape but no noises slipping out.
You sighed as you came down from your high. You looked down, groaning in annoyance at the mess you’ve made.
The next time it happens is when you fuck up a mission. Bucky’s grown out his hair slightly, just enough to where you’d be able to run your fingers through it.
It was a duo operation between you and Bucky, one of the worst possible teams they could've sent for the mission.
It was supposed to be simple. Clean. To steal a hard drive and take it back to the compound to upload it, a simple in and out.
Unfortunately, you fucked up the mission. Bucky couldn’t have that. He’s never had an unsuccessful mission before.
Bucky takes three gunshots and a few hits for you.
You make it back to the jet and he's panting, his metal arm cradling the fabric where he was shot. Unfortunately, nobody thought to send any doctors with the two of you because it was supposed to be an in-and-out.
You pace around the room, murmuring to yourself.
“Calm down, sweetheart.” Bucky comforts, his voice a little hoarse as he breaths. He’s calming you down as he’s bleeding out.
“This is not fucking okay, James! You’re bleeding out and I-I can’t—I dunno how.” You hyperventilate. Bucky grunts from beside you.
“Sit down.”
“I’m a fucking agent. I don’t know how to help you—“
“Come here.”
Bucky’s voice cuts through the panic, your eyes snap towards him as you stop pacing. You realize his shirt is already off. Countless of scars and three new bullet holes trace his body.
His chest rises and falls as he pants. You nod, coming to sit down beside him as your mouth suddenly waters at the wrong time.
”M’gonna need you to stitch me up.” He reminds. You nod slowly before standing up and rummaging through supplies for the medical kit.
You sit back down, biting your inner cheek as he rips the bullets from his body.
“Don’t you just… regenerate? Or something?” You murmur, your lips quivering as your eyes steal glances of his muscles uncovered.
Bucky grunts.
“Something like that. But this’ll take me a few days. Need you before I fucking bleed out.” He reiterates. Your heart freezes on one phrase. Need you.
Suddenly you’re at Bucky Barnes’ beck and call. Whatever he needs from you, he will receive.
You begin to clean his wound, rubbing alcohol stinging his all-too familiar body. He doesn’t wince. He furrows his brows and hums.
You take your time, cleaning up Bucky. The various gunshot wounds are all on different parts of his body.
One is on his flesh arm, right under his broad shoulder blade. The other is close by, between his collarbone and his chest. The third one is on his stomach, against his faint abs.
You remember when Bucky was first introduced to the team. Beefy, muscular, a little bit of a dad bod. He’s slimmed down a little, but his arms and shoulders have barely changed.
You handle him with immense care. Partially because you don’t want Bucky Barnes to kill you. Also because you want to make this moment last.
The silence becomes suffocating, and there is a clear shift in the room as you realize you’re practically draped over his chest.
You clear your throat. “Okay, what’s next?” You murmur, refusing to meet his eyes as your gaze darts to the floor.
Bucky seems to be having the same dilemma, he stares at the wall in front of him, finally releasing a breath.
“Stitches. Grab the needle.” He instructs. Your shaky hands reach for the needle, beginning to thread it through as you hesitantly look back at the gun wounds.
“Great. Y’know what a running stitch is?” He asks, his voice pure gravel as his breathing has finally calmed.
“No, James. They don’t teach sewing classes anymore.” You clip sarcastically. Bucky grins for the first time tonight, a sense of pride swelling within you.
“All you need to do is weave the needle through the wound.” He hums, grabbing the needle to show you the ministrations.
You start, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you start to stitch him up.
The first one is rough. Bucky has to physically hold himself to his seat as you struggle to properly stitch him, poking him every few seconds.
After you finally finish, you feel rather accomplished. Bucky hums and doesn't spare it another word. The silence in the room is enough to choke on as Bucky puts his shirt back on and you move to a further seat.
Neither of you speak for the rest of the night. As the jet lands, you both silently retreat to your rooms, already preparing yourself to forget about everything thats happened.
After that, Bucky Barnes is gone.
He’s still in the tower. He’s still at team movie nights. He’s still at briefings. He’s still on missions. But he’s gone, for you.
He doesn’t stare like he used to. You no longer look up to find icy blues piercing through you. You no longer feel his gaze when you’re both in the gym. He doesn’t look in your general direction anymore.
His touch has vanished. Bucky has always been reserved, but it’s different now. He wont sit close to you, he wont hand you your suit or bags or guns, and he wont share a coffee pot with you.
Along with his touch goes with his presence. He’s completely changed his schedule to avoid you at all costs. He’s up before you can make breakfast. He’s changed his frequently used hallways. He goes to the gym at a different time. And he’s out of a room before you can even enter it.
He has completely vanished from you. And you don’t know why.
Bucky has to ignore you. Not only because he was vulnerable around you, because your touch was so soft, because you focused on him like he mattered.
But also because he was filthy. He could smell your arousal. He could hear your heartbeat quicken around him. And he could see the way your whole body reacted when he said something.
He didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve you in that way. So he settled for bickering with you. But after you patched him up, he was a goner. So he had to flee.
He had to get sway from you before he bent you over the nearest surface and whispered sweetly to you while fucking you raw.
It took a week of this treatment from Bucky before you went insane.
Everyone had to attend the weekly debriefings. Bucky made sure to sit as far away from you as possible. You endured an hour and a half lecture of Tony talking about pr training.
The whole time, you planned out how to corner Bucky. He practically bolted after meetings or anything that required the full team.
You chewed on the inside of your cheek, anxiously awaiting the words “You are dismissed” to slip from Tony.
When the words finally were announced, you followed Bucky. He took a turn down an abandoned hallway that no one uses. And you followed.
Finally, you called out.
“Are you gonna keep ignoring me?” You state clearly, your voice echoing off the walls of the hallway. He grunts in response.
“Busy.” He murmurs as he finally stops.
“No, you’re just avoiding me.” You replied. Bucky sighs, turning to finally face you. You’re closer than he thought, he takes a half step backwards and you furrow your brows.
He doesn’t respond. Just stares at you with such burn you realize you’ve missed this.
“Did I do something?” You ask, your stern tone starting to vanish as anxiety creeps in. You clear your throat. “Because you’re being an ass to me. All I did was try to help you and this is what I get?” You demand, passion beginning to seep through you like waves.
Bucky doesn’t respond. He steps closer, and closer, until suddenly your back hits the wall and he’s caging you in.
“You don’t know when to quit, doll.” He grumbles, voice low and rough. You realize his icy blues are a new shade of dark. This is all suddenly new. Hot white pleasure sizzles to your abdomen like a curse.
”Yeah? Im sure you could teach me.” You quip back, frustration boiling over again as you remember your mad at him. Bucky huffs low.
“Stand down, Agent.” Bucky reminds, although there is absolutely no professionalism in the way he has you pinned against the wall.
“Agent? We’re back to that? Be real, James.” You remark, pushing against his chest. He doesn't budge, his strength towering over yours as he simply crowds you further.
”Shut up.” Bucky grunts, all clever retorts and dry humor no where near him as he tries to regain his composure. You can’t seem to stop talking.
“Thats not fair. You can’t just tell me to shut up after you ignored me for an entire fucking—“
Your cut off by Bucky’s lips crashing into yours. You startle but don't back away. His tongue slips into yours mouth as you battle for dominance.
Eventually, Bucky wins and you whine, moaning softly into his mouth as his knee slots between your legs against the wall.
You yelp when you feel the connection of your clothed pussy against his pants. Your mouth breaks from his as you pant desperately.
“B-Bucky… fuck.” You moan as he grabs your hips, moving you back and forth against his leg.
“What happened to James?” He hums against your neck with a grin. You huff in frustration at his remark, your hips beginning to grind against his leg as you whine in pleasure.
He peppers opened mouth kisses against your neck and suddenly the two of you fall apart.
You’re taking your pleasure from him, grinding helplessly as he loses himself in you and your scent. He’s kissing you, marking you, licking you like this a wet dream.
“Y’gonna let me get you off, doll? Gonna let me fuck you all nice later? I’ll be good honey, promise.” He practically winces against you, his head peeling back to watch as you practically hump him.
“Mhm. ‘Course, James. Need it.” You pant breathlessly. It all becomes too much as your head falls forward.
His eyes are more black than blue as he watches you. A sudden spurt of possession washes over him. His eyes dart across the hallway.
“Not here. Need you in my bed.” He grunts before you’re suddenly being ripped from his thigh and into his arms.
He wastes no time to get you in his room, shutting the door and locking it before pinning you against it once more.
His mouth finds yours again. His tongue explores you as his hand cradles the back of your head.
“Don’t know how long I’ve wanted this.” He admits breathlessly. You nod in agreement, kissing his cheek, jawline, anything.
“Please, doll. Can I? Want these off. Wanna taste you s’bad.” He begs, his fingers playing with the waistband of your pants. You nod eagerly.
“Yes, James. Want it.” You agree. He hastily pulls off your clothes, his fingers work in expertise that you’ll surely interrogate him about later as he has you undressed in seconds.
He hoists you upwards. You yelp as he suspends you in the air, forcing your legs to wrap around his head on instinct.
He groans as he’s finally face-to-face with your sopping pussy. A whole new wave of arousal courses through you at his strength. It’s effortless for him. He effortlessly is holding you up to his height and to his mouth.
“Gotta taste. Can smell how fuckin’ sweet you are.” His tongue begins to lavish you, working open your cunt as your slick coats his mouth. He feasts on you eagerly, his tongue licking a stripe from your entrance to your clit.
“B-buck… James, don’t stop.” You moan breathlessly, your hips bucking involuntarily against his face as he groans in approval.
His eyes shoot upwards at you, dark and hungry as his mouth doesn't stop sucking on your clit. He studies your reactions with ease, finding out just what you like and doing it over and over and over again.
“Put me in a headlock. Suffocate me.” He pulls off enough to say, your eyes widened. You look back down and hesitate. Suddenly, his tongue swirls inside of you and you realize you have comply quickly.
Your thighs tighten around his head. He groans, his eyebrows fluttering shut in pleasure as his hips buck helplessly.
He can feel you getting close, can practically hear the shift in your body as a coil in your stomach prepared to snap.
His metal arm solely supports you as his other hand moves up to your breasts. His hand gropes and squeezes, twisting your nipple slightly.
Bucky’s nose bumps your clit repeatedly as you cry out in pleasure. Your eyes roll back slightly as you cum on Bucky’s mouth. He hums against you, lapping you up as if he was cleaning his plate.
He finally pulls back, moving you to his bed as you come down from your high. He puts you down with shocking care and gentleness, placing kisses along your body.
“Knew you’d get all soft f’me. Where’d all that bite go, sweetheart?” He teases, pulling away as he shrugs off his pants. You want to bite at his comment, but you’re too distracted watching him get undressed.
He pulls off his shirt, revealing all of that muscle you saw not too long ago. His gun wounds are already fully healed, like he said they would be.
“My sweet girl, aren’t you? Say it.” He murmurs lowly. You chew on the inside of your mouth. He wants you to fight. He wants your attitude.
You take the bait, per usual.
“Not your sweet girl.” You clip, feeling yourself getting worked up again as you notice the tent in his boxers.
“No? You sure sounded real sweet, doll.” He reinforces, biting hickeys into your neck snd the skin above your breasts.
He lavishes your body in kisses. Merciful. As if he was the quiet before the storm.
“Startin’ to get cold, James.” You sigh impatiently. Bucky leans back, shrugging off his boxers.
His cock bounces at full attention. Thick, long, and leaking for you. You swallow at the sight of it, and you realize it might not fit.
Bucky notices the look in your eyes immediately.
“Don’t worry, baby. M’gonna make it fit.” He grins cockily, you roll yours eyes with a huff. He snakes his way back up your body, tapping his tip against your cunt.
One. Two. Thre—
“Bucky…” You whine. He hums, his eyes meeting yours again in a haze.
”Say it.” He reminds. He drags his cock up and down your folds, using you to slick himself up. You groan as you realize your options. Edging for hours, or getting fucked now.
“I’m your sweet girl, James. Now fuck me.” You exasperate. He grins and slides easily through you. You moan, mouth agape as you feel his tip brush your cervix.
He’s waiting for you to adjust. He plants kisses along your stomach and his previously marked hickeys.
Slowly, he begins to move, finding the pace for both of you. He quickens, his hips beginning to snap against yours.
His dog tags dangle in your face as he thrusts into you. You whimper, feeling his cock effortlessly slide in and out of you.
Somethings off, you both know it.
“Faster, Buck.” You plead, eyes glossy as you look up at him. He grunts.
Suddenly, he grabs your legs, pulling them up and bending them till your knees touch your chest.
Your eyes instantly roll back as he hits deeper. You moan, his eyes widening as he finds your spot.
“There she is. So pretty f’me. Taking me so well. Just needed it deeper? Nobody found her before?” He rambles as he bullies that gooey spot in you.
Your head lolls backwards into the pillow as your cunt tightens around him eagerly.
Your orgasm comes in a blur, all you know is he doesn't stop even as you squirt around him. He grins with a feral look in his eye as his head drops lower.
“S’all yours, doll. Just gotta take it.” He rasps, his movement hypnotic as you smiled into the air, high off your own peak as he chases his.
He’s close, his movement growing clumsy as he tried to bring you to the edge again. It works.
“My good girl. My pretty girl. Doin’ so well f’me. Come with me.” He demands. His hands drifts to your clit, rubbing circles onto you as your back arches and you mewl pathetically.
He works you up quickly, already training you for him.
“Give it to me again. Means I did my job right. Made you feel good. C’mon.” He pleads with you. You nod into his pillow.
One more deep thrust is all it takes before you come together. He pants, ropes of his cum still going as he finally pulls out.
Your legs shakily fall down onto the bed. He falls beside you. The two of you bask in silence together, reminiscing happily. You dont think of the repercussions yet. Of how your supposed to hate him.
You just happily drift off as you feel a warm cloth clean you up.
“Mine now, honey. Only took a week for you to realize it.”
——————————————————————
thanks for reading!! reqs are open and i am fighting this writers block rn.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, aphrodisiac, sex pollen, dubious consent due to aphrodisiac, established relationship, blood/injury, rough sex, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size kink, strength kink, manhandling, prone bone, possessive sex, feral Steve Rogers, gentle Steve Rogers, protective Steve Rogers, praise kink, breeding kink, creampie, unprotected sex, aftercare, emotional hurt/comfort
Summary:
Steve Rogers has always been gentle with you.
When a mission exposes you both to an aphrodisiac, quarantine forces him to confront the difference between protecting you and holding himself back.
Author’s Note:
steve rogers sex pollen fic for everyone who has ever looked at that man and thought “okay but what if he actually used the super soldier strength”
Steve knew how to be careful with you.
Most of the time, that was one of the things you loved most about him. He remembered which old injuries needed gentler hands, which silences meant comfort, and which meant space. Steve was good at care.
He was simply worse at understanding that care and gentleness were not the same thing.
You had tried to tell him that carefully, then less carefully. You had asked him to hold you down harder. You had asked him not to pull back so quickly when his fingers tightened on your hips. You had told him more than once that you liked feeling how strong he was.
He listened every time, and he tried because that was who Steve was. Then, inevitably, you would feel the moment he remembered himself. His hands would ease. His body would shift, giving you room you had not asked for. His mouth would soften against yours as if tenderness could cover the shape of what you wanted.
You loved him for that, too, which made the frustration even more complicated. Steve had spent too much of his life being turned into an object, a weapon, a symbol, a body that belonged to everyone except himself. You understood why he treated his strength as something that needed rules.
You just wished he would believe you when you told him that you were not asking him to forget the rules.
You were asking him to trust you with them.
The HYDRA lab was colder than it should have been.
That was the first thing you noticed when the mission turned bad, not the broken glass or the blood on your glove or the technician crawling toward the console with one shaking hand. The cold came from the ventilation system overhead, pouring through the room in steady white streams that disturbed the pale gold vapor spilling from the ruptured canister at the center of the floor.
You had already inhaled by the time Steve shouted your name.
It had happened too fast. You had thrown yourself into the technician before he could reach the alarm override, and your shoulder had struck his ribs hard enough to knock the air out of both of you. He went down. You went with him. Something cracked under your elbow.
The canister hit the floor.
For half a second, the room looked almost beautiful. Gold mist rose through the emergency lights, turning the lab red and amber at once, and you thought absurdly of sunlight in dust.
Then your throat burned.
You coughed, rolling away from the technician, and Steve crossed the room in three strides.
“Don’t breathe,” he ordered.
You looked up at him through watering eyes. “Little late for that.”
He did not smile.
That scared you more than the chemical.
Steve’s hand closed around your arm, steady and warm through the sleeve of your suit. His grip was firm enough to anchor you, but even then, even in the middle of a contaminated HYDRA lab with alarms beginning to shriek overhead, you felt the restraint in it. He was holding you like something injured. He was holding you like something he could accidentally hurt.
The thought should not have made heat curl through your stomach.
It did.
Natasha’s voice cut through the comm. “Status?”
“Exposure,” Steve said. His voice was controlled. Too controlled. “Unknown agent. Canister breached. We both caught it.”
There was a pause.
You hated the pause.
“Symptoms?” Bruce asked.
You opened your mouth to answer and nearly embarrassed yourself.
Because there was pain. There was heat. There was dizziness and a strange, liquid weakness in your knees. But underneath it all was something else, something low and humiliating and far too recognizable to deny. It moved through you with the same terrible certainty as fever.
Your fingers tightened in Steve’s suit.
You did not mean to do it. One second, your hand was braced against his chest because standing had become more complicated than it should have been, and the next, your fist was curled into the dark tactical fabric over the star.
Steve went still without pulling away, which somehow made it worse. His body changed before his face did, the breath he took too careful, the muscles beneath your hand locking as if he had turned himself into a wall through discipline alone. When you looked up, his pupils were blown wide, his jaw clenched so tightly that a muscle jumped near his cheek.
“Steve,” you said.
His eyes dropped to your mouth.
It lasted less than a second.
Then he stepped back.
The loss of him hit you with embarrassing force. It was not just emotional. Your body noticed the absence of his heat like it had been denied something necessary, and frustration flashed through you so sharply that you almost reached for him again.
Almost.
“Don’t do that,” you said.
His eyes lifted. “Do what?”
“Act like I’m the hazard.”
His expression shifted, pained and stubborn in equal measure. “You’re not.”
“You just moved like I was.”
“You’re contaminated,” Clint said over the comm, which was unhelpful even by his standards. “Technically, he’s right.”
“Clint,” Natasha warned.
“What? I’m just saying, this feels like a situation where nobody should touch anybody.”
You closed your eyes. “I hate all of you.”
“You say that when you’re scared,” Steve said quietly.
You hated him a little for knowing that. You loved him more for saying it softly enough that only you could hear, even with the comms open.
“I’m not scared,” you lied.
Steve’s gaze moved over your face. You wondered what he saw. The flushed cheeks, probably. The sweat beginning at your hairline despite the cold air. The way you were breathing too quickly. The way your hand had curled into a fist at your side because you did not trust yourself not to reach for him again.
His own color was high. It was subtle, because Steve’s body did not betray him easily, but you knew him better than most people alive. You knew the signs. The tightness around his eyes. The careful set of his shoulders. The way he kept his hands loose when he wanted to clench them.
Bruce’s voice came back, low and focused. “Extraction in two minutes. Masks on. Don’t touch the canister, don’t touch any exposed surfaces, and try not to touch each other.”
You laughed once under your breath. “Great.”
Steve looked like someone had put him in front of a firing squad and asked him to stand still.
Natasha reached you first.
She came through the lab doors in a sealed respirator with emergency masks in hand, her eyes sharp above the clear visor. She took one look at you, one look at Steve, and understood too much.
That was the problem with Natasha. She was never unobservant when you needed mercy.
“Mask,” she said.
You took it. Your fingers did not work properly on the strap.
Steve moved.
Then stopped.
You saw the exact moment he caught himself, and something inside you twisted.
Natasha saw it too. She stepped between you both without comment and fastened the mask for you, her gloved hands efficient and careful. You stared past her shoulder at Steve. He stared back, miserable and fever-bright, and did not cross the three feet between you.
The ride back to the compound on the Quinjet was worse.
Bruce sealed the rear med bay, which meant you and Steve were isolated from the rest of the team but not from each other. You sat on opposite sides of the compartment, trying not to watch the width of his shoulders, the tension in his hands, the way he kept himself perfectly still because motion had become dangerous.
“You need to stop looking at me like that,” he said.
Your gaze snapped to his face.
His eyes were closed.
“I’m not looking at you like anything.”
“You are.”
“You have your eyes closed.”
“I can still tell.”
It should have been funny. Instead, the heat in your blood sharpened.
“You’re doing it too,” you said.
Steve’s eyes opened.
He looked wrecked.
“I’m trying not to,” he said.
That was worse.
Your fingers curled against your thigh. “Steve.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.”
The words landed too softly to be an accusation. You looked away first because your eyes had started to sting, and you did not know whether that was the chemical, frustration, or the awful tenderness of being known by someone who was still trying to deny you what you wanted.
“I know you too,” you said.
Steve did not answer.
When the Quinjet landed, medical was waiting.
Bruce met you in full protective gear beside Dr. Cho and two nurses you recognized, all of them moving with the efficient calm of people who were worried and trying not to make it worse. Tony hovered behind the quarantine barrier, tablet in one hand, expression caught somewhere between fear and a joke he knew better than to say.
Mostly.
“So,” Tony said as you and Steve were ushered into adjoining decontamination stalls, “good news, bad news, horrifyingly awkward news.”
“Tony,” Bruce said.
“I’m just setting expectations.”
You peeled off your gloves with more aggression than necessary. “If you say anything about HR, I’m coughing on you.”
Tony took a step back. “Noted.”
The decontamination process was necessary and humiliating in the way medical procedures often were. Your suit was sealed away. Your skin was scrubbed clean. Your temperature was taken three times. Blood was drawn. Your pulse was monitored until the sound of it began to feel accusatory.
Steve was on the other side of the frosted partition.
You could hear him.
That was the worst part. His voice was low and steady as he answered Bruce’s questions. Yes, elevated heart rate. Yes, increased body temperature. Yes, heightened sensory response. No, no loss of consciousness. No, no hallucinations.
Then Bruce asked something too quietly for you to hear.
Steve did not answer right away.
Your entire body went alert.
“I’m managing it,” he said at last.
Managing it.
You pressed your eyes shut.
The phrase felt like him. Like all the disciplined, self-punishing restraint that made him both wonderful and impossible. Steve managed pain. Steve managed fear. Steve managed his anger, his grief, his strength, his desire. He managed himself so carefully that sometimes you wondered whether he understood there was supposed to be a difference between control and loneliness.
A nurse handed you a loose medical shirt and soft pants through the decontamination slot. You changed behind the privacy shield with hands that shook more than you wanted to admit.
By the time they moved you into quarantine, your skin felt too small.
The containment suite had been stripped down to a bed, a couch, a bathroom, a table with water and medical supplies, cameras in the corners, and a glass wall with privacy film currently turned opaque.
And Steve.
He entered a few seconds after you, wearing gray medical sweats that did absolutely nothing to make him less distracting. The shirt clung to his shoulders. The pants hung low on his hips. His hair was damp from decontamination, darker at the roots, and when he looked at you, you saw the same hunger he had been trying to hide since the lab.
Only now there was nowhere for either of you to go.
The door sealed behind him.
A red light blinked once above it.
You laughed before you could stop yourself.
Steve’s brows drew together. “What?”
“This is absurd.”
His mouth softened, almost. “Yeah.”
“We have fought aliens.”
“I remember.”
“You punched a robot through a wall last week.”
“It was trying to kill Sam.”
“And now we’re trapped in horny jail because HYDRA made perfume for war criminals.”
For one blessed second, Steve looked like he might actually laugh.
Then your breath hitched.
It was small. Barely anything. A minor betrayal of your body as another wave of heat rolled through you, stronger than the last. But Steve heard it. Of course he heard it. His expression changed immediately, humor gone, concern rushing in to take its place.
He stepped toward you.
Then stopped again.
Your patience, already thin, tore.
“Steve.”
His hands flexed at his sides. “I’m trying to do this right.”
“I know.”
“I need you to understand that.”
“I do.”
“No.” His voice roughened, and the sound went through you like touch. “You don’t. This isn’t just—” He stopped and looked toward the opaque glass as though Bruce could somehow help him find the words. “This isn’t normal.”
You almost laughed again, but it would have come out wrong. “I’m aware.”
“It’s affecting judgment.”
“Yes.”
“It’s affecting inhibition.”
“Also, yes.”
“It’s pushing your body toward something you might not choose if you were clear-headed.”
That hurt. Not because it was unfair. Because it was almost fair, and almost fair was where Steve did his most damage without meaning to.
You crossed your arms, partly to hold yourself together and partly because the loose shirt brushed your skin in a way that made it difficult to concentrate. “You think I wouldn’t choose you?”
His face tightened. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
“You’re dosed too.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No,” you agreed. “It makes it complicated. But don’t stand there and talk like this is something happening to me that has nothing to do with us.”
Steve looked away.
The room hummed around you. Air filtration. Medical monitors. The low electronic pulse of containment systems doing their job. Beyond the glass, someone was probably watching your vitals spike in real time.
You stepped closer.
Steve noticed immediately. His eyes snapped back to yours, warning and want tangled so tightly that you could barely tell which was winning.
“Don’t,” he said.
You stopped. Not because you wanted to, but because his voice mattered. Even now. Especially now.
“I’m not going to touch you if you tell me not to,” you said.
His throat worked.
“But you don’t get to decide what I want by being afraid of it.”
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Bruce’s voice came through the speaker.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.”
You looked up at the ceiling. “No, you’re not.”
“I’m really not,” Tony added, farther from the microphone. “But Banner is.”
Bruce ignored him. “We have preliminary results. The compound appears to be a synthetic neurochemical stimulant. It’s targeting adrenaline, dopamine, oxytocin pathways, and likely other endocrine responses. The simplest explanation is that it was designed to heighten arousal and attachment under stress.”
Steve’s expression went blank in the terrifying way that meant he was angry.
“HYDRA was using it for compliance,” he said.
“Likely,” Bruce said.
Your stomach turned.
For a second, the heat receded beneath disgust. HYDRA had always been good at finding new ways to make bodies into battlefields. You looked down at your hands, flexed your fingers, and wished you had broken the technician’s jaw instead of his ribs.
Steve moved before he remembered not to.
He crossed two steps toward you, then caught himself halfway.
This time, the aborted comfort hurt less. You could see the anger in him now, the protective instinct that belonged to you and to every person HYDRA had ever tried to use. He wanted to touch you because he was worried. Because he loved you. Because the idea of that chemical in your blood made him look like he wanted to tear the whole lab apart brick by brick.
“Treatment?” Steve asked.
Bruce hesitated.
Tony made a faint sound in the background. “Here comes the awkward news.”
“Supportive care,” Bruce said carefully. “Hydration, monitoring, temperature management. Sedation is an option, but your vitals are already volatile, and with Steve’s serum involved, I can’t guarantee a predictable response.”
You looked at Steve.
Steve was staring at the speaker.
“What else?” he asked.
Bruce was silent for long enough that your face went hot for a reason that had nothing to do with the drug.
“The compound appears to metabolize fastest after peak hormonal release,” Bruce said finally, with the pained professionalism of a man who had attended too many universities to deserve this conversation. “In plain terms, sexual release would likely shorten the active period. Possibly significantly.”
Tony, because he was Tony, said, “Or, as absolutely no doctor should put it—”
“Do not,” Bruce snapped.
Tony lowered his voice and said it anyway. “Fuck it out.”
You covered your face with both hands.
Steve looked like he might commit a felony.
“I’m muting him,” Natasha said from somewhere beyond the speaker.
“Hey—”
Tony cut off abruptly.
“Thank you,” Steve said tightly.
Bruce sighed. “To be clear, no one is instructing you to do anything. The door remains sealed until we’re certain you’re not contagious and your vitals are stable. What happens inside quarantine is up to you, within safety limits. If either of you wants sedation, we’ll discuss it. If either of you wants privacy, we can disable visual monitoring and keep vitals only.”
Your heart was beating so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
Steve said, “How long if we wait it out?”
“Based on your current levels? For her, maybe eight to ten hours if we wait it out.” Bruce hesitated. “For you, Steve, your system is burning through it faster, but the serum is making the spikes worse. Shorter duration, higher peaks.”
Another wave hit as if summoned.
Your knees softened. You caught the edge of the table, breath leaving you in an unsteady rush, and Steve was there before you could tell him not to be. His hand closed around your waist instead of your arm or elbow, and the difference was immediate enough to steal the air from your lungs.
The pressure was firm, instinctive, and devastating.
You made a sound.
Steve froze.
So did you.
It was not loud. It was barely more than a breath broken around his name. But Steve heard it, and you felt his grip tighten once before he forced it loose.
He tried to step back.
You caught his wrist. “Don’t.”
His eyes found yours.
“I can’t be objective right now,” he said.
“Neither can I.”
“That’s the point.”
“No, Steve. The point is that we know what’s happening. We know it’s chemical, and awful, and not how either of us would have chosen to spend our Friday night.” His mouth twitched despite himself. “But you also know this isn’t coming from nowhere.”
The almost-smile disappeared.
“You know I want you,” you said. “You know I wanted you this morning. You know I’ll want you tomorrow when this is out of our systems.”
His voice was low. “That doesn’t mean—”
“It means you don’t get to pretend the drug invented it.”
The words landed.
“I’ve asked you before,” you said, quieter now. “I’ve asked you to stop being so careful. I’m not saying that to pressure you. I’m saying it because I need you to stop acting like wanting you like this means I’m not myself.”
Steve closed his eyes.
“You want rougher,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You’ve wanted that for a while.”
“Yes.”
“And I keep pulling back.”
You nodded.
“I know my strength,” he said. “You don’t always know what it feels like from my side. You ask me to hold you down, and I want to give you what you want. But then I feel how easy it is to move you, and all I can think about is what happens if I misjudge it.”
Your anger softened so abruptly that it almost hurt.
You let go of his wrist and covered the hand he had resting on your waist.
“You’re allowed to trust yourself,” you said.
His laugh was silent and humorless.
“You trust me in combat.”
His expression shifted.
You pressed his hand more firmly against your waist. “Trust me here.”
Steve looked toward the glass wall.
“Bruce,” he said.
The speaker crackled. “I’m here.”
“Visual monitoring off.”
A pause.
Then Natasha’s voice, gentler than before. “Done.”
The opaque privacy film deepened until the glass became a flat gray mirror. You could still see your reflections in it, blurred and strange. You looked flushed, unsteady, your hand over Steve’s. He looked like a man trying to stand at the edge of a cliff without looking down.
“Vitals remain monitored,” Bruce said. “Audio?”
Steve looked at you.
It was a question.
Even now, it was a question.
Your throat tightened. “Off unless we call you.”
The speaker clicked.
Silence settled over the room.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then Steve said, “I need you to say it again.”
Your pulse jumped. “Which part?”
His eyes were darker than you had ever seen them. “That you want me.”
You stepped closer. His hand slid more fully around your waist, not pulling yet, but ready.
“I want you,” you said.
His breath left him slowly.
“I want you when I’m sober,” you said. “I want you when I’m clear-headed. I want you sweet. I want you careful. I want you in all the ways you already know.”
His fingers tightened.
You felt it through the thin cotton of the medical shirt.
“And I want you rougher than you let yourself be.”
Steve’s expression changed.
It was not the chemical alone. You knew that. The drug was there in the fever-bright heat of his eyes, in the tremor that moved through his hand, in the way his control looked painfully thin. But underneath it was recognition. Not surprise. He knew. He had always known.
He had just never fully believed he was allowed to answer.
“You say red, I stop,” he said.
“Yes.”
“And if anything feels wrong, you tell me.”
“I will.”
“I can’t promise I’ll be as gentle as I usually am.”
The words moved through you like a match struck in the dark.
“I’m not asking you to be.”
His hand went still at your waist.
Then, very carefully, Steve pulled you to him.
It was not rough. Not yet. It was barely more than a closing of distance, his body meeting yours with enough restraint that you could feel the shape of what he was holding back. But after hours of aborted touches and careful avoidance, the contact hit hard enough to make your knees weaken.
Steve caught you.
This time, he did not let go.
His arms came around you properly, one at your waist and the other across your back, his hand spreading wide between your shoulder blades. He bent his head until his forehead rested against yours. You could feel him shaking.
Not from weakness.
From refusal.
From the effort of not taking too much too fast.
“Steve,” you whispered.
His eyes closed. “I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know if that helps.”
“It does.”
Your hands rose to his chest. His heart was racing under your palm, strong and fast and alive. For a second, you forgot the chemical. You forgot HYDRA, quarantine, cameras, and medical monitors. There was only Steve in front of you, still trying to be good in a situation designed to make goodness difficult.
You kissed him first.
Or you meant to.
You pushed onto your toes, and Steve met you halfway, his mouth catching yours with a sound that was almost relief. The kiss was hot, clumsy by Steve’s standards, a little too hard at first before he corrected himself.
Then you bit his lower lip.
Not hard.
Enough.
Steve made a sound against your mouth that you had never heard before.
Everything changed.
His hand tightened at your back, pulling you in so suddenly that your breath broke. The kiss deepened, lost its careful shape, and became something hungrier and less practiced. You felt the couch strike the back of your legs and realized he had moved you there without asking your feet to cooperate.
Your heart kicked.
Steve felt you tense and stopped instantly.
His mouth lifted from yours. “Tell me.”
“No,” you said quickly, almost offended by how fast he had pulled himself back. “No, I’m not scared.”
His eyes searched your face.
You reached for his hand, put it at your hip, and held it there.
“I liked that.”
Steve stared at you.
The realization came slowly. You watched it unfold across his face, not as shock but as reluctant understanding. The movement had not frightened you. The suddenness had not hurt. His strength had not been a mistake to apologize for.
You liked it.
His gaze dropped to where his hand covered your hip.
“Oh,” he said, very softly.
Your breath caught.
Because that was the moment.
Not the exposure, not Bruce’s terrible explanation, not the locked door or the privacy film or the heat crawling under your skin. This was the moment something between you tilted. Steve looked at your body under his hand and understood, maybe for the first time without softening the knowledge into something safer, that you were not merely allowing him to be stronger with you.
You wanted it.
His thumb moved once over your hip.
Then his hand tightened.
Your eyes fluttered.
Steve saw that too.
The look on his face changed again, and for one dizzy second you thought: Oh.
The realization startled you with its simplicity. Steve had not been waiting for permission to become someone else, and the aphrodisiac had not uncovered some secret cruelty buried beneath all that gentleness. He was still Steve, which was the part that made your chest ache around the heat.
But he liked this.
He liked your trust. He liked the way you responded when he stopped treating his strength as something shameful. He liked being asked for the power he spent so much time containing, and maybe the roughness itself was not the fantasy he would have chosen alone, but your wanting transformed it in his hands.
Steve Rogers did not secretly want to ruin you.
Steve Rogers wanted to give you what you asked for and had just realized that giving it to you did not make him a danger.
It made him yours.
“Tell me again,” he said.
His voice was lower.
You swallowed. “What?”
“What you want.”
You did.
Not all at once. Not crudely, though there would have been room for that in another version of the night, one without poison in your blood and medical staff outside the door. You told him where you wanted his hands. You told him you wanted his weight. You told him that when he moved you, when he held you still, when he stopped asking your body to pretend it did not know exactly how strong he was, it made you feel trusted too.
Steve listened.
He always listened.
Only this time, he did not translate every word into a warning.
The next wave of heat took both of you under.
It started with his mouth on yours, slower than you expected and rougher than he usually allowed himself to be. He kissed you like he was still giving you time to change your mind, but his hands had stopped pretending they did not know what they wanted. One stayed locked around your waist while the other slid up your back, spreading wide between your shoulder blades and pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.
You made a small sound into his mouth, and Steve went still for half a second.
“Still with me?” he asked, breathless.
“Yes,” you said immediately. You caught his jaw in your hand and made him look at you. “Still with you.”
Something in him broke open at that.
He kissed you again, and this time he let you feel him. Not carelessly. Never carelessly. But fully. His grip tightened at your waist, and then he lifted you as if it cost him nothing at all. Your legs wrapped around him on instinct, a sharp breath leaving you when his hands caught under your thighs and held you there, suspended against his body.
“I like it,” you whispered before he could ask. “I like when you move me like that.”
His jaw flexed.
Then he carried you to the bed.
He lowered you onto the mattress with maddening control, following you down until his body covered yours and his weight pressed you into the sheets. It was not enough to trap you. It was enough to make your thoughts blur at the edges, enough to make your hands fist in his shirt while relief moved through you so sharply it was almost pain.
“There,” you breathed.
Steve’s face changed. “There?”
You nodded, pulling at him until he understood. “Stay there.”
For once, he did.
His body settled over yours, heavy and warm and solid, and the sound that left you was embarrassing in its honesty. Steve’s eyes dropped to your mouth. His hand slid to your hip, fingers firm through the thin cotton of your pants.
“You really do want this,” he said, like the truth had finally reached a place in him deeper than fear.
“I’ve been telling you.”
“I know.” His voice went rough. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize right now.”
His mouth twitched, but the heat in his eyes did not soften. “Bossy.”
“You like it.”
His hand tightened at your hip. “Yeah,” he said, low enough to make your stomach pull tight. “I do.”
Then he kissed his way down your throat.
Steve had always been careful with his mouth. Gentle presses, patient attention, the kind of tenderness that made you feel cherished and occasionally made you want to scream. This was different. His lips dragged over your skin. His teeth grazed beneath your jaw, then closed lightly at the side of your neck, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to make you arch under him.
His hand caught your waist and held you down.
You froze, but not from fear.
Steve felt the change and lifted his head immediately. “Tell me.”
You swallowed, heat rushing into your face. “That was good.”
He looked at his hand where it held you against the bed.
Then he did it again.
Not harder. More deliberately.
His palm spread over your waist, his fingers pressing into the soft give of you, and he held you in place while his mouth returned to your neck. Your body reacted before your pride could stop it. Your knees shifted around his hips, your back trying to arch even though his hand kept you exactly where he wanted you.
Steve made a sound against your skin.
It was not gentle.
It was hungry.
The noise went through you so intensely that you nearly forgot how to breathe. You pulled at his shirt, impatient now, and Steve let you drag it up only so far before he took over. He sat back long enough to pull it over his head, flushed and broad-shouldered and breathing hard, his eyes fixed on you like he was done pretending looking was enough.
You reached for him.
He caught both your wrists in one hand and pinned them carefully above your head.
Your breath stopped.
So did his.
For one suspended moment, neither of you moved. Steve’s grip was firm, but not painful. His fingers circled your wrists with terrifying ease, holding you in place while his free hand braced beside your shoulder. He looked down at you, and you watched the exact second he understood what the expression on your face meant.
Not fear.
Want.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice low.
You tested his hold, just enough to feel that you could not break it unless he let you. Your pulse kicked hard, your body going hot and liquid beneath him.
“Very okay,” you said.
Steve’s eyes closed for half a second.
When they opened, something steadier had settled there. Still fevered. Still affected. But listening.
Always listening.
He lowered his mouth to yours again, kissing you while he kept your wrists above your head. His other hand moved down your body, slow enough to give you time and firm enough to make the touch impossible to ignore. He found the hem of your shirt and dragged it up, his knuckles brushing your ribs, his palm flattening briefly over your stomach as if he needed to feel you breathe.
“I’ve got you,” he said against your mouth.
“I know.” You lifted your head as much as his hold allowed. “That’s why I want it.”
The words hit him hard. You felt it in the shudder that moved through his body, in the way his grip tightened for one second before he made himself loosen it again.
“Steve,” you said softly. “You can hold me tighter than that.”
His eyes went dark.
Then he did.
His hand closed more securely around your wrists, still careful of the bones, still perfectly aware of his own strength, but no longer treating you like you might disappear beneath it. The pressure pinned you to the mattress. His body covered yours again, and this time when you arched against him, he did not pull back.
The kiss that followed was messy and deep, full of heat and teeth and his breath catching when you rolled your hips up against his.
After that, patience failed both of you.
Clothes came off in pieces, interrupted by kisses and Steve stopping only when he needed to look at your face. By the time there was nothing between you, his hands had learned a new kind of certainty. He touched you slowly at first, watching what made your eyes flutter and your breath break. Then he touched you with more confidence, his fingers firm on your thighs, spreading you open beneath him while his mouth moved lower.
You grabbed at his hair.
Steve looked up immediately.
“Don’t stop,” you said.
His mouth curved, barely.
Then he lowered his head again, and the room slipped sideways.
You lost track of time under his mouth. You knew only heat, his hands on your hips, the rough scrape of his jaw against your inner thigh, the obscene tenderness of how closely he watched you while he took you apart. Every time your body tried to twist away from the intensity, his arm came across your hips and held you there, keeping you open for him until your hands fisted in the sheets.
“Steve,” you gasped.
He lifted his head just enough to answer. “Too much?”
“Not too much. Don’t stop.”
His gaze held yours for another second, making sure.
Then he gave you exactly what you asked for.
When you came, it was with his name broken in your mouth and his hands holding you through it. He stayed there until the last tremor passed, pressing kisses to your skin as if gentleness had not disappeared at all. It had only changed shape.
By the time he crawled back over you, you were shaking.
Steve kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Still with me?”
You laughed weakly. “Unfortunately for your ego, yes.”
His smile flickered. “My ego?”
“You look smug.”
“I do not.”
“You absolutely do.”
He kissed you before you could say anything else, and you felt him hard against your thigh, hot and heavy and barely restrained. The contact made both of you go still.
Steve’s forehead dropped to yours.
“You’re sure?” he asked.
The question was quiet, but there was nothing casual in it. Not after everything. Not with both of you still fevered, still shaking, still aware that wanting was not enough unless it stayed a choice.
You touched his face. “I’m sure.”
His eyes searched yours.
You held him there. “I want you inside me. I want you to hold me down. I want to feel you tomorrow.”
Steve’s breath left him in a shudder.
He reached between you, and even with everything your body wanted, the first press of him made you inhale sharply. Steve stopped at once, his arm trembling beside your head.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Yes. Just slow.”
He kissed you, soft now, almost unbearably sweet. “Slow,” he promised.
He gave you slow. He gave you patient. He gave you every inch with his jaw clenched and his body shaking from the effort of not rushing, even as the chemical burned through both of you and made restraint feel like cruelty. Your hands slid over his shoulders, down his back, nails pressing into muscle as he filled you.
When he was finally seated deep, he went still.
You could feel his heart pounding.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The weight of him pinned you down, his chest against yours, his breath hot at your cheek. You had wanted his strength, but this was more than that. This was trust made physical. This was Steve giving you the part of himself he feared most and keeping it careful because you had asked him not to hide it.
You turned your head and kissed his jaw.
“Move,” you whispered.
Steve did.
The first thrust was measured, deep and controlled, and it drew a sound out of you that made his rhythm falter. His hand slid beneath your knee, lifting your leg higher around his hip, changing the angle until the next thrust made your eyes squeeze shut.
“There?” he asked, voice strained.
“Yes. There.”
His control thinned.
You felt it in the way his hips drove forward, still precise but harder now, each thrust pushing you deeper into the mattress. His hand found your waist and held you still, not letting you slip away from the force of him. The bed creaked beneath you. Your breath came in broken pieces. Steve’s mouth moved against your throat, your shoulder, anywhere he could reach.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, rough and low.
“It’s not.”
His grip tightened.
A helpless sound escaped you.
Steve groaned. “You like feeling me hold you down.”
“Yes.”
His hips snapped forward harder, and pleasure flashed through you so brightly that you grabbed at his arm. Steve stopped immediately, body locked above yours.
You shook your head before he could ask. “Don’t stop. I just—Steve, it felt good.”
For a second, he only stared at you.
Then he laughed once, breathless and disbelieving, and buried his face in your neck. “You’re going to kill me.”
“You’ll live.”
“I’m not sure.”
You smiled against his skin. “Steve.”
He lifted his head.
You wrapped your legs tighter around him. “Harder.”
The word changed him.
Not into someone else. Never that. His hand came to your face first, thumb brushing your cheek with aching tenderness. His eyes held yours, giving you one more chance, one more breath, one more place to stop.
You did not take it.
Steve kissed you, and then he stopped holding back.
He fucked you like he trusted you to know what you wanted. Like he trusted himself to listen. His body drove yours into the mattress, strong and relentless, one hand gripping your hip while the other braced beside your head. You felt surrounded by him, overwhelmed by him, held down by him, and the pleasure of it was so sharp that tears burned at the corners of your eyes.
Steve saw them.
His rhythm broke. “Sweetheart—”
“Good,” you gasped, pulling him back down. “It’s good. Please.”
His face twisted, desperate and tender all at once.
Then his mouth was on yours again, swallowing the next sound you made as his hand slid between your bodies. You came hard enough to lose the shape of the room. For a few seconds there was only Steve, his weight, his voice saying your name, his hand firm at your hip as he held you through every shaking second of it.
He followed soon after, burying his face in your shoulder with a broken sound as his body went rigid over yours. Even then, even at the edge of himself, he was careful. His hand cradled the back of your head. His weight shifted just enough not to crush you. His mouth pressed against your skin, trembling and reverent.
For a long time afterward, neither of you spoke.
Steve stayed inside you, breathing hard, his body still covering yours. You could feel him everywhere: in the ache of your thighs, the heat between your legs, the solid pressure of his chest against yours. His hand moved slowly over your hair, almost dazed.
“Too much?” he asked finally, voice wrecked.
You turned your face into his palm. “No.”
He exhaled.
“Intense,” you admitted. “But not too much.”
His eyes closed like the distinction mattered more than anything else you could have said.
You touched his cheek. “Come here.”
“I’m already here.”
“Closer.”
A faint, exhausted smile crossed his face. “That might be a medical impossibility.”
“Try.”
He lowered himself carefully, giving you more of his weight again, and you sighed with the comfort of it. His arms came around you. This time, when he held you, he did not loosen his grip before you asked.
You smiled against his shoulder.
“There,” you whispered.
Steve kissed your temple. “There.”
The serum made the whole thing absurd.
You knew Steve’s stamina. You had been dating him long enough to understand that ordinary human limits were, for him, more like polite suggestions. But the aphrodisiac took everything the serum already made unfair and pushed it into something almost ridiculous. Each time your body went loose and heavy with relief, his pulse would begin to slow for maybe a minute before another spike hit him, heat coming back into his eyes with an apology already forming on his mouth.
The third time it happened, you started laughing.
Steve looked stricken. “What?”
“You have got to be kidding me.”
His ears went red.
Actually red.
Even fevered, overwhelmed, and visibly fighting the urge to pull you back under him, Steve Rogers blushed because you had implied his recovery time was inconvenient.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
You laughed harder, then winced because your body was beginning to feel like you had survived both sex pollen and a full Avengers training circuit. “Don’t apologize. Just bring me the blue drink.”
He brought you the blue electrolyte drink. He opened it. He held it for you even though you were capable of holding it yourself, and when you gave him a look, he gave one right back.
“Hydrate,” he said.
“You’re such a romantic.”
His mouth curved, tired and fond and still hungry in a way that made your exhausted body consider mutiny.
“You love me,” he said.
“I do. Unfortunately.”
His smile faded into something softer.
The drug did not take that from him. It sharpened want, stripped patience, twisted need into something urgent and physical, but it could not manufacture the way Steve looked at you when he forgot to be afraid. That was yours. That had always been yours.
You reached for him.
He came.
The hours passed in heat and fragments. The bed. The couch. The cold bathroom tile against your feet when he helped you drink water between waves because even compromised by HYDRA’s poison and his own impossible stamina, Steve Rogers still cared about hydration. The first time his control slipped enough that his body covered yours fully, his weight pressing you down into the mattress in a way that made your mind go bright and empty with relief. When you told him harder, he believed you. When you told him wait, he waited. When you told him yes, he stopped making yes prove itself over and over before he accepted it.
At some point, Bruce’s voice came carefully through the speaker after a long warning chime, asking for a verbal status check. Steve had wrapped you in a blanket by then, one hand braced on the mattress beside your hip, his body angled between you and the rest of the room as if the sound system itself might threaten your modesty.
“We’re alive,” you called, because Steve looked like he might combust if forced to answer.
Bruce paused. “Vitals are improving.”
“Great,” you said.
“They’re still elevated.”
“No kidding.”
Steve put his face in his hands.
Bruce, clearly fighting for professionalism, said, “Do either of you require medical assistance?”
You looked at Steve. Steve looked at you.
His hair was a mess. His mouth was swollen. There was a red mark on his shoulder you were fairly sure you had put there with your teeth at some point, which meant Captain America was going to leave quarantine with visible evidence that his girlfriend had briefly lost her mind.
You felt a little proud.
Steve saw your expression and narrowed his eyes.
You smiled at the ceiling. “We need more water.”
“Sending it through the transfer drawer.”
“And maybe food.”
“Also sending food.”
“And if Tony is anywhere near the observation room, tell him I can still kill him from quarantine.”
A faint sound came through the speaker that might have been Natasha laughing.
Tony’s voice, farther away, protested, “I have been nothing but respectful during this medical crisis.”
“You told us to fuck it out,” Steve said.
“I said what the science implied!”
Natasha said, “Muted again.”
The speaker clicked off.
You closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the pillow. “I’m moving to Canada.”
Steve sat beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Why Canada?”
“I don’t know. It was the first place that came to mind.”
“You hate being cold.”
“I’ll adapt.”
His hand settled over your ankle beneath the blanket, warm and heavy and careful again.
The care made your chest hurt.
You opened your eyes.
Steve was looking at his hand on your ankle, thumb resting lightly against the bone as if he were cataloging every possible bruise before it appeared.
There it was.
The crash.
“Steve.”
“I’m okay,” he said.
“You are a terrible liar.”
His mouth tightened.
You pushed yourself up carefully. Every muscle objected. Steve moved to help you, then hesitated, his hand hovering near your elbow.
You stared at it.
He started to pull away.
“Oh, don’t you dare.”
His eyes jumped to yours.
“You don’t get to spend hours proving you can listen to me and then go right back to treating me like spun glass.”
The words were sharper than you intended, but you did not take them back. You were tired and sore and still flushed with the chemical’s fading heat, and you could not bear the thought of waking up tomorrow with Steve further away from you than he had been before.
His hand closed carefully around your elbow.
He helped you sit.
Then he let go.
You sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
He looked down.
The room was cooler now, or maybe your skin was finally returning to itself. The sheets were tangled around you, towels abandoned near the edge of the bed, and Steve had arranged water and protein bars on the table with the grim practicality of a soldier preparing supplies during a siege.
You touched his hand.
He went still, but he did not pull away.
“I remember,” you said.
His gaze lifted.
“I know you’re going to worry it was all fever and chemicals and that I’ll wake up horrified. So I’m telling you now. I remember asking. I remember you listening. I remember you stopping when I said wait. I remember you giving me water like the world’s most overqualified nurse.”
That got the smallest breath of amusement from him.
“And I remember liking it,” you said.
His expression closed.
You squeezed his hand before he could leave you from six inches away. “Steve.”
His voice was quiet. “There will be bruises.”
“Probably.”
“I was too rough.”
“You were rougher.”
His eyes met yours.
The distinction mattered. You could see him hearing it.
“You were not too rough,” you said. “If you had been, I would have told you.”
“You were drugged.”
“So were you.”
“That doesn’t cancel it out.”
“No. It means we talk about it like adults who were put in an awful situation by people who wanted to use our bodies against us.” Your throat tightened, but you kept going. “HYDRA did that. Not you.”
Steve looked away.
You shifted closer, giving him time to stop you.
He did not.
“The worst part,” you said softly, “is that I’m afraid you’re going to use this as proof that you were right to hold back.”
He did not answer.
That was answer enough.
“I don’t know how not to think about what could have happened,” he said. “I don’t know how to look at marks on you and not wonder if I misjudged. I don’t know how to be that with you without worrying I’ll become something I can’t take back.”
You cupped his face.
He went still.
“Listen to me,” you said. “I do not need you drugged. I do not need you out of control. I do not need you to become someone else. I need you listening. That’s all I’ve ever been asking for.”
His eyes closed.
You leaned forward and pressed your forehead to his.
“Sometimes I want sweet. Sometimes I want slow. Sometimes I want the way you touch me when you’re trying to remind me I’m safe.”
Steve’s hand rose to your waist, hesitant but there.
“And sometimes,” you continued, “I want to feel your strength because I already know I’m safe with you.”
His fingers tightened, not by much, but enough for you to notice.
You smiled.
His eyes opened, and this time he saw you clearly. You were tired and sore, sober enough to know what you were saying, and still leaning into his hand.
A long breath left him.
“I don’t know if I can promise to get it right every time,” he said.
“You don’t have to.”
His thumb moved once at your waist. “I can promise to keep listening.”
Your chest softened. “That’s the whole thing, Rogers.”
He huffed out a quiet laugh.
Then he kissed you.
It was gentle.
You let it be.
Gentle was not the enemy. Careful was not the enemy. You loved this part of him, the sweetness that survived war and serum and ice and every person who had tried to make him into something less human than he was.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours again.
“I love you,” he said.
“I know.”
His eyes narrowed.
You smiled. “I love you too.”
“Better.”
“You’re needy after sex pollen.”
His face went pink.
You laughed, and this time it did not hurt as much.
The speaker chimed before Bruce’s voice came through again, cautious but relieved. “Your levels are dropping. Steve’s are still elevated, but trending down.”
You patted Steve’s cheek. “Negative refractory period and slow toxin clearance. Tragic.”
Bruce coughed.
Steve closed his eyes. “Please don’t say that where he can hear you.”
Bruce, sounding like he regretted medical school, said, “You’re both past the worst of it.”
Past the worst of it.
You leaned into Steve and felt his arm come around you. Still careful. Always careful. But when you tucked yourself closer, he did not loosen his hold to give you space you had not requested.
He kept you there.
That felt like victory.
Several hours later, the door unsealed.
By then, you had showered, changed into clean clothes from the transfer drawer, eaten two protein bars, half a sandwich, and something Tony claimed was a recovery smoothie but looked like melted radioactive mint chip. Steve had refused to let you drink it until Bruce confirmed it was safe. You had refused to let Steve throw it away until you got to take a picture.
For blackmail, obviously.
The chemical had faded to an afterglow of exhaustion and tenderness by the time Dr. Cho cleared you both for release. She examined you first, clinically calm, making notes on your vitals and checking the places where bruises had begun to rise along your hips and thighs. Steve stood on the other side of the room pretending not to watch while absolutely watching.
Dr. Cho glanced between you once and said, “Any pain beyond expected muscle soreness?”
“No.”
Steve’s jaw tightened.
You shot him a look.
Dr. Cho’s mouth curved faintly. “Any dizziness? Nausea? Confusion?”
“No.”
“Do you feel safe leaving quarantine with Captain Rogers?”
Steve looked as if the question had physically struck him.
You answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
Dr. Cho nodded as if she had expected nothing else, then turned to Steve. “Do you?”
That surprised him.
It surprised you, too.
Steve blinked. “Do I what?”
“Feel safe leaving quarantine with her.”
For a second, he looked almost offended on your behalf. Then the question settled, and something complicated moved through his face.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
Dr. Cho made another note. “Good.”
When she left, Steve stared after her.
You bumped his arm with your shoulder. “Told you. Smart woman.”
He looked down at you. “You planned that?”
“No. I’m just choosing to take credit.”
His smile was small but real.
The hallway outside quarantine was empty except for Natasha, who leaned against the far wall with a paper bag in one hand and the expression of someone prepared to murder Tony Stark if necessary. She took in both of you with one sweep of her eyes, pausing only briefly on the marks high on Steve’s neck that his shirt did not fully cover.
Her brows rose.
Steve’s ears went red again.
You took the bag from her. “Please tell me that’s food.”
“Your actual clothes,” Natasha said. “And food.”
“I’ve never loved you more.”
“I know.”
Steve cleared his throat. “Where’s Tony?”
“Banned from this floor,” Natasha said. “Possibly forever, depending on whether he makes the T-shirt.”
You stared at her. “What T-shirt?”
“The one he absolutely should not make.”
Steve looked up at the ceiling like he was asking God for strength, and despite everything, you started laughing.
He looked at you like you were the sunrise and a headache at the same time.
Natasha’s expression softened by a fraction. “Go home. Sleep. Hydrate. Don’t let him brood too much.”
“I don’t brood,” Steve said.
Natasha and you looked at him.
He frowned. “I don’t brood that much.”
“That’s progress,” Natasha said, and walked away.
The elevator ride to Steve’s floor was quiet without being uncomfortable. Your body was exhausted in a deep, humming way, and Steve kept his hand around yours as if he had decided, finally, that touching you after quarantine was allowed.
“You’re thinking,” you said.
“I do that.”
“Dangerous habit.”
His mouth curved, then faded.
When the elevator doors opened, he did not move right away.
“I don’t want that to be the only time,” he said.
Your heart tripped.
Steve looked straight ahead into the empty hallway, jaw set as if he were bracing himself for enemy fire. “Not like that. Not because of the drug. I don’t want that again.”
“Me neither.”
“But what you asked for.” He glanced at you then, uncertain but honest. “I don’t want to go back to pretending I don’t hear you.”
The tenderness that moved through you was almost worse than the heat had been.
“Okay,” you said.
His brows drew together slightly. “Okay?”
“We don’t go back.”
Some of the tension eased from his shoulders.
“We talk,” you said. “When we’re rested. When there’s no toxin, no quarantine, no Tony making commentary from behind glass. We figure out what we both want. What’s okay. What isn’t. Where you need reassurance. Where I need you to stop deciding for me.”
Steve absorbed that.
Then he nodded. “I can do that.”
“I know.”
His eyes softened. “You sound very sure.”
“I am.”
“About me?”
You squeezed his hand. “Always.”
That one hit him. Steve could take praise in public if it were about Captain America, but give Steve Rogers certainty in private, and he looked like you had handed him something fragile enough to frighten him.
You loved him so much that it made you ache.
“Come on,” you said softly. “Take me to bed.”
His eyes darkened before he could stop them.
You pointed at him. “To sleep.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought it very loudly.”
“I have never thought loudly in my life.”
“You are a patriotic foghorn.”
He laughed then, a real laugh, tired and warm in the empty hallway. It followed you into his apartment, into the quiet space that smelled like laundry detergent and coffee and the faint cedar soap he liked. You changed into one of his shirts because your clean clothes were in Natasha’s bag and Steve’s were closer. He pretended not to watch you do it.
The bed felt impossibly soft.
Steve climbed in after you with unusual caution, lying on his back at first as though he did not want to presume. You let him suffer for approximately three seconds before rolling into his side.
His arm came around you.
Careful.
Then, after a pause, firmer.
You smiled against his chest.
“There,” you murmured.
Steve’s chin brushed the top of your head. “There?”
“That’s better.”
His hand spread against your back.
The weight of it was warm and solid and exactly enough.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. His heartbeat slowed beneath your ear. Yours followed. The city beyond the windows moved on without you, full of noise and light and people who had no idea that the world had narrowed for a few hours to a locked room, a terrible chemical, and the difference between fear and trust.
You were almost asleep when Steve said your name.
“Hm?”
“I was scared,” he said quietly. “Not of you. Not really of the drug either. I was scared I’d find out there was a part of me I couldn’t control.”
You lifted your head.
“And then I was scared because I could control it enough to listen,” he said. “Which meant all the times before, when you asked and I pulled back, it wasn’t because I couldn’t do it safely. It was because I didn’t trust myself.”
Your throat tightened. “It frustrated me. Sometimes it hurt my feelings. Not because you wouldn’t do exactly what I wanted, but because it felt like you trusted your fear more than you trusted me.”
His face softened with pain.
“But I understand why,” you said. “That doesn’t erase it. It gives us somewhere to go.”
His hand covered yours.
“I don’t need perfect,” you said. “I need honest. And I need you to stop looking at my bruises like they’re evidence in a murder investigation.”
A startled laugh broke out of him.
You grinned. “Some of those are mine emotionally.”
He shook his head, but the guilt in his eyes eased. “You’re impossible.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
“Unfortunately?”
His smile softened. “Never.”
That was unfair. You were too tired to be expected to survive Steve Rogers saying things like that while looking at you like you were the only place he had ever wanted to come home to.
You settled back against him, hiding your face in his shirt.
“Go to sleep,” he murmured.
“You first.”
“I can do this all night.”
“Negative refractory period and no sleep requirements. Tragic.”
“Please stop calling it that.”
“No.”
He sighed, but his arm tightened around you, and this time there was no fear in it.
Only warmth.
Only weight.
Only Steve, careful with you because he loved you.
And finally, finally, strong enough to understand that careful did not always mean letting go.
credit to @uzmacchiato for the cherry divider and @saradika-graphics for the Captain America divider
➸ Synopsis: “Wooow.” Yelena scans the living area of your room, walking around and poking at various things. “It’s much tidier than I thought, given you’ve been practically hiding away in here the past month.”
All you can do is stand, fidgeting as you watch her flit around the room before heading into your bedroom. Quickly, you follow behind. “I have not been hiding. I was just in the kitchen, wasn’t I?”
“Ah, you’re right, that was inaccurate.” She flops onto the bed before startling you with a serious expression. “You only hide away when Bucky’s here.”
➸ Notes: Reader's powers are inspired by Heartrenders from Six of Crows! I love the idea of being able to sense and control other people's bodies (hearts, lungs, blood, etc.) and how it affects someone living with that ability. I hope it came across well. Poor Reader doesn't know how much her team actually cares for her. It reminds me of that one clip from Meet the Robinsons where Goob is getting complimented and says, "They all hated me."
(づ-̩̩̩-̩̩̩_-̩̩̩-̩̩̩)づ Anyways, this is my first smut so please be gentle.
➸ Word Count: 8,805
Masterlist 🌒
Send me writing requests or just chat here, I’m lonely (ृ ु ´͈ ᵕ `͈ )ु
“Sir, please we don’t want trouble. There are kids here.” A woman, maybe in her late thirties, manages to say through her tears.
“Shut up and keep your head down.” One of the gunmen kicks the office desk she’s pressed against, making her cry harder.
Including the asshole scaring the woman, nine heartbeats thrum against your senses. Their breaths are quick but deep as they try to hold their composure. In situations like this, the robbers know that if the thirty-four civilians packed into the bank sense weakness, they’ll lose control fast.
Most of the hostages are clustered near the front entrance. It’s hard to focus only on the robbers heartbeats from this distance without accidentally killing someone or knocking out a civilian.
Finally, you catch hold of all nine, steady and taut inside your chest, as if they’re your own. With a breath, you begin to slow them. Slower. Another breath. Slower, and—
“I’m just saying this isn’t an Avengers-level threat.” Walker’s voice cuts through the silence, his “whisper” nowhere near as quiet as he thinks. It takes everything in you not to shove him out of the air duct you’re crouched in.
“Yeah, well, we’re not actually Avengers, so suck it up and let’s get this done.” Yelena elbows John aside, shimmying forward until she’s peering through the grate with you.
“We’ve got two down in the back. Bankers are safe in the vault. Bucky’s pursuing the last guy who tried to head for the roof… oh, never mind, we’ve got three down.” Ava’s voice crackles through your earpiece. You huff and pull it out.
“Can you two please shut up for one minute so I can concentrate?” You glare at Yelena and John before refocusing on the people below.
You feel the closest heart. You seize it. Then the next. Then—
“That’s it. You’re taking too long.” John interrupts, and before you or Yelena can react, he drops from the vent straight into the crowd.
“Shit.”
“Goddamn it.”
Both you and Yelena hiss before following him down.
You strip off your gloves, twist around one gunman, and press your hand to his neck. His heart seizes instantly, dropping him unconscious.
Another lunges for you. You dodge, barely, but Yelena is already there, taking him down with ease. Fighting has never been your strength; distance is safer, even if it takes longer to get a hold.
Your heartbeat spikes, except it’s not yours. Another gunman has grabbed a civilian, pressing his gun to her head. Hands raised in a mock surrender, you draw his heart into your chest. After a few seconds, you’ve got him. You stop it.
But in that final split second before blacking out, his finger pulls the trigger.
The shot is deafening. You don’t think, you just tackle the woman to the ground. Miraculously, you’re both unharmed. A quick check confirms she’s shaken but fine, so you’re back on your feet, sprinting toward the next gunman.
You lunge for his neck, but instead of skin your hand closes around a blade. Pain sears your palm as the man whirls, knife flashing toward your torso. He doesn’t get the chance, John slams his shield into him, knocking him flat, and kicks his head to keep him down.
Clutching your bleeding hand, you glare at John’s smug grin.
“You’re welcome,” he smirks before striding off.
The fight ends within seconds, though it felt like forever. As the team confirms the building is clear, you snag the knife, slice off a strip of your undershirt, and bind your palm tight. The gash isn’t deep, but it burns. Placing your gloves back on, you exhale sharply.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Quiet. Quick. Controlled. That was the plan, to minimize casualties. Your power isn’t meant for large groups; you should have been stationed in the back, where only three gunmen held their ground.
Normally, that’s what would’ve happened. You and Bucky had learned to work well together. He understood how much focus you needed, and his steady confidence in you made the job easier.
Now, though, concentration around him is next to impossible and the shame of why burns in your chest as you take in the aftermath.
Joining the others, you help guide the civilians out of the building. The evening sun is so bright it stings your eyes, forcing you to adjust after so long in an air duct. Behind the police barrier, the gathered crowd cheers, watching as hostages stumble into the arms of loved ones. You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips when you see the woman you saved throw her arms around her husband. His hands cradle her face as he kisses her forehead, relief written in every line of his body. That kind of life has never been in the cards for you, as much as you’ve ached for it. This line of work never allows for that kind of connection, and it doesn’t help that almost everyone you’ve met is afraid of you.
Across the crowd, Bucky strides toward the police, gesturing at the building as he no doubt gives instructions on containing the gunmen. Even from here you can feel his heart, steady and strong, threatening to stop your own. His metal arm catches the sunlight, flashing bright and your chest tightens. What you’d give to have his hands on you. He’s always so gentle, aware of the strength he carries. And his eyes, so soft despite everything he’s been through, always look at you like he can see right into your soul. Like now, as you realize you’ve been staring far too long. He’s noticed, of course. That crooked smile of his spreads, and you whip your head away. God, this is exactly why you can’t be near him, you lose focus and end up looking like a lovestruck idiot.
He starts moving toward you, cutting through the crowd, and your chest constricts. Before he can reach you, someone calls your name. You turn, grateful for the interruption until you see Val, waving you over toward the press.
Of course.
This has become your unofficial role on the team: stuck answering questions while the others get to pose for a few photos and head home.
“There she is. Isn’t she adorable?” Valentina trills, far too enthusiastic for the aftermath of a robbery. “She’s captured the hearts of people all across the world.”
You turn your head to hide the eye-roll threatening to break free. How long had she spent thinking of that line? From the looks of it, you’re the only one not amused. Bucky and Yelena stand nearby, the latter trying to suppress a laugh but failing miserably, until Ava calls them both away, clearly eager to return to the Watchtower.
With a long breath, you resign yourself to answering questions, hoping to wrap things up quickly enough to follow and maybe get back before sunset.
—————————————————————
After nearly two hours of standing under hot lights, dealing with Val, and forcing a smile, you finally make it to the tower. Exhaustion from the completely avoidable fight seeps into your bones. All you want is your bed.
The sound of arguing greets you before you even feel the quickened heartbeats in the common area. Suppressing a groan, you drag your feet toward the voices.
“This is ridiculous. I analyzed the situation, saw they were getting antsy, and made a tactical decision,” John Walker snaps, his voice rising with irritation. As you step sheepishly into the large room, his eyes snap to yours. “I wouldn’t have had to if she did her job.”
Don’t stop his heart. Don’t. It would be so easy, but then you’d have to dodge his shield when he woke up. Instead, you settle for rolling your eyes.
“Walker.” Bucky’s voice cuts across the room, sharp with warning. He leans against the wall, arms folded, watching.
“It’s not her fault you can’t keep your fat mouth shut, John,” Yelena drawls from the couch, sprawled out with a bag of chips. You drop into the only empty seat beside her.
“It was an easy job, and you couldn’t even handle it,” John fires back. “If you can’t fight, you should at least be able to do your… magic body stuff or whatever.”
“Magic body stuff?” Ava echoes mockingly, reaching over to steal chips from Yelena. “Don’t look at me like that. Bucky and I did our job. It’s not our fault you can’t.”
You lean forward, elbows braced on your knees, pushing your hair back with gloved hands. Being stuck with the world’s most unstable team is a challenge at the best of times. And you can’t even argue, because technically, John’s right, it was your fault. Ava should’ve taken your position, the three of them working the guards one by one. Still, no one hits your nerves quite like Walker does.
“You know,” you mutter, your voice quiet and tired, “next time I could just take the air from your lungs, Walker. Maybe then you’d stay quiet long enough for me to do my job.”
The room goes still, their heartbeats pounding louder in your ears. It’s absurd. You can barely knock out a room full of people for more than a few moments, let alone actually hurt someone unless your bare hands are on them. Even in a room full of seasoned killers, no one is immune to fearing what you can do.
“Oh wow, you guys look terrible.” Bob breezes into the room with a chuckle, climbing to his usual perch by the window.
You seize the chance for escape, pushing to your feet. “That was a joke. And I’m sorry, I’ll do better next time.”
They laugh it off, eager to let the tension shift, but you’re not listening. You slip toward the elevator, pain shoots up your hand as you press the button for your apartment's floor. The doors nearly close, until Bucky slides in at the last second. Exactly what you need to end your night: another opportunity to embarrass yourself.
You keep your gaze fixed on the panel as he presses a button. Not his floor, but to the infirmary.
Your eyes snap up, scanning him for any sign of injury. By now, you're attuned to his body; the rhythm of his heart, the way his lungs expand with each breath, the steady flow of blood through his veins. Everything moves faster than it should, a result of the serum, while the dull aches lingering beneath it all belong to a man far older than he looks. Chronic pain aside, everything is functioning exactly as it should.
Still, Bucky is good at hiding things, even from you. His control over his own body is remarkable, and considering his past, it isn't surprising.
“You’re hurt?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, worry overriding caution.
He stands tall, eyes on the glowing numbers. Only when the elevator slows does he glance at you, his brow lifting slightly. “No. But you are.”
Heat rushes up your neck. His eyes flick to your gloved hand, then back to your face. You’d forgotten about it completely, too caught up in the press and your exhaustion.
“It’s just a scratch, Bucky.”
His gaze softens, impossibly so, and it takes effort not to shrink beneath it. He shrugs, turning back to the doors. “Even scratches need to be taken care of. And that—” he gestures to your hand “—is not a scratch. You couldn’t even press the button without wincing.”
Damn ex-assassin always noticing everything.
After following him inside, you sit in the empty infirmary, watching as he pulls items out of drawers. You can’t help but take a deep breath, the room blissfully quiet as opposed to the war zone upstairs. The heart filling your chest is strong, soothing all of the nerves from the day as he lays out the disinfectant and wrap next to you.
Suddenly, he’s far closer than you thought he was. You had been too relaxed, and now his hand is open in front of you, waiting. Looking at him in question, you’re taken aback by the soft creases in his eyes as he smiles.
“Your hand.”
Hesitating, you slowly begin to remove your glove, and immediately pause. Bucky’s heart spikes, his breath hitching. To a normal person, looking at him you’d never know, his face gives nothing away. To you, though, it’s clear as day.
“I can do it, Buck.” You swallow the hurt, not wanting him to feel bad for being afraid when he’s the one trying to help.
His brows furrow before he steps closer, removing the glove for you.
You’re practically holding your breath as he unwraps your hand, his heartbeat steady once more. His flesh hand cradles yours, his metal one gently dabbing antiseptic over the cut. His hand is surprisingly soft, though it’s not as if you can compare it to many others.
You wince as the cut burns, instead focusing on the way his thumb moves in slow circles over the back of your hand.
“For the record, I think removing all the air from Walker’s lungs is a great idea.” His eyes lift to yours, humor flickering in them. “Or I could show you how to punch him properly, knock the wind outta him. Same result, and way more satisfying.”
A laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it. “I don’t think his ego would recover from that.”
“I don’t know, he’d probably manage. A little humility wouldn’t hurt.” Buckys pauses, “You really did great. I know you weren’t expecting a fight, and they should’ve been more careful.” His whole demeanor shifts, jaw tight as he stares at your palm before beginning to wrap it. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
“Well, he’s not totally wrong, Bucky. I should’ve seen the knife. I could’ve gotten someone hurt... or worse.” His thigh presses against yours as he secures the wrap, and you feel how close he is, his presence overwhelming. His head is bent, his hair falling forward, and you have to fight the urge to push it back so you can see him more clearly. Clearing your throat, you force yourself to look away. “I need to improve my combat skills, it’s not like I can spend all my time talking to the press.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t see why not. You’re good at it. Better than I was, you should’ve seen the interviews during my congressional run.” Oh, you’ve seen every one of them, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I think you’ve really captured everyone’s hearts.”
You groan. “Just for that, I’m sticking the press on you next time. You can tell them how worrying the robbery was.”
He laughs at that and in his concentration finishing the wrap, you watch as he catches his bottom lip, wetting it. Oh no.
Before he can give a snide reply, you’re standing, tucking your hand safely back into the glove. His face is surprised as you put distance between the two of you. This is way, way, way worse than you thought. “Thank you, Bucky. I, uh, I’m really tired so I should…” You gesture to the elevator with your thumb. Not waiting for a reply, you quickly make your exit.
———————————————————————
The kitchen is warm, the evening sun shining softly through the windows, perfectly from your seat at the dining table. Every now and then, you pull your eyes from your book, focusing your senses on those in the building, and tracing your gloved palm. The mark underneath now faded to just a scar.
“Stop sticking your hand in the box,” Bob complains, trying to snatch the cereal box from Alexie.
“I got it, I got it, don’t worry.” He pulls out a tiny figurine, but his enthusiasm drops as soon as he sees it. He clicks his tongue. “Ghost, why is it always Ghost, huh? Why not Red Guardian? My figure looks much cooler.”
“Because people love me,” Ava says from across from you, feet propped on the table, tossing a crumpled wrapper in the air and catching it.
“It’s easier to mass-produce, you wear a mask so the cereal company doesn’t have to spend more trying to detail a face.” You interject before feeling the wrapper hit your head. “Or it’s because people love you.”
Alexie places the figure on the shelf, in line with the rest of his collection. You turn your senses back to the building… still nothing, but it’s been a few hours, so it should be any time now.
“What’s wrong with you, huh? You’re all twitchy and weird-looking.”
Realizing Alexie is talking to you, you pull your focus back before overcompensating with a laugh. “I’m not twitchy. I’m reading.”
“You haven’t turned the page in 30 minutes,” Yelena sits on the counter, now holding the cereal box, snacking.
“Sometimes when I’m reading,” Bob interjects, “I— uh— read a whole page and when I get to the end I realize I wasn’t paying attention, so I have to start all over. Does that happen to anyone else?”
You snap your finger into a point at him. “Exactly.”
“No,” Ava replies at the same time as you.
As your eyes fall back to the page, you get a faint sense of two people arriving at the building. Snapping the book shut with a clap, you stand. “I can’t pay attention, I think I’ll finish in my room.”
“You’re not staying for dinner again?” Bob says, the frown causing a crease between his eyebrows, almost making you want to stay.
Almost.
“I ate a big lunch. Not hungry.” You reply, making your way toward the exit.
“Hmm shocker.” Ava drawls, sitting up and scanning you with her eyes.
“When the others get back just text me the updates on the weapon manufacturers.” You rush out, eager to exit. All you see before leaving the room is Ava giving an exasperated thumbs up at you.
You try to not look behind you as you walk through the halls and up to your floor because you can feel Yelena following you. Failing, you chance a glance over your shoulder, only to be greeted by her smile, way too excited. “Aren’t you staying for dinner?”
“Ah,” she pretends to think, “no.”
Finally, you arrive at your door, and before you can attempt to bid her goodnight, Yelena slips through and into your room.
“Wooow.” She scans the living area, walking around and poking at various things. “It’s much tidier than I thought, given you’ve been practically hiding away in here the past month.”
All you can do is stand, fidgeting as you watch her flit around the room before heading into your bedroom. Quickly, you follow behind. “I have not been hiding. I was just in the kitchen, wasn’t I?”
“Ah, you’re right, that was inaccurate.” She flops onto the bed before startling you with a serious expression. “You only hide away when Bucky’s here.”
Shit. Shit shit shit. Of course, she’d be the one to notice. You scoff, “I have not been hiding from Bucky. What reason could I possibly have to do that?”
“Now see, that is what I have been trying to figure out. But, you can’t lie to me, you are definitely hiding from him.” Checking various pockets in her pants, then her hoodie, she pulls out her phone. “On the 2nd, you finally left your room and went to the gym to walk on the treadmill, after 5 minutes you rushed back here saying you were already tired. Bucky returned from seeing Sam early, just a few minutes later. The 11th, you practically sprinted up the stairs from the common room, only for Bucky to show up with groceries.”
“That’s not—”
“And right now, let’s see. Ah yes,” she turns the screen around, and you watch the security footage of John and Bucky entering the elevator.
You groan, resigning to sitting on your bed, holding your head in your hands. It’s been exhausting, avoiding the man. You thought that if you just went a few days without seeing him, all of the stupid feelings swarming your brain would go away. Until a few days turned into weeks, then a month. It feels like the longer you go without facing him, the worse it seems to get. “Alright. Fine, yeah I’ve been hiding from him. Mystery solved. Are you happy?”
“No, see, I care more about the why. Did you do something to upset him? Because whatever it was it couldn’t be worse than whatever John does daily. And besides, he has a soft spot for you.”
You try to ignore that last part. “No.”
“Mmm, did he do something to upset you then?”
“Yelena—”
“Oh oh, I know!” Glaring, you take in her excitement at your expense. “You accidentally saw him changing after a mission. It would make sense, those military guys always just find a corner rather than a room with a lock like a normal person.”
Your cheeks burn red at the thought, and immediately you realize your mistake. She’s standing in an instant, the dawning smile taking over her face.
“Oooo no, it’s that you wish to see that, isn’t it?” Your mouth gaps at her. Wanting to refute her, but she’s obviously not going to be convinced she’s wrong.
“It’s not—“
“No, no listen I get it. He’s attractive for a man who is over a century old, people go crazy for that, not me but people, sure.” She pops up, pacing in front of you. “And the arm. It has an appeal, I can see how it could add to it.” Suddenly she stops, turning to you with a clap of her hands. “I will help you.”
She’ll… what? “No, absolutely not, Lena he’s basically our coworker, I don’t want help sleeping with him. In fact, I’m actively trying to not.”
“Of course not,” she says in mock offense. “What I meant was locking away in your room will do nothing for the problem. No, what I’m saying is, you need to get laid.”
That’s somehow so much worse. The thought of going out and finding a stranger to sleep with has never been appealing. Sure, going to a bar and flirting is fun, but as the night goes on, there's always the question of removing the gloves. It’s always felt wrong, lying and making up excuses about why you have to keep them on. The reality is, it would take one moment for you to end someone’s life with your hands on them, and it would be unfair for them not to know.
However, the biggest issue currently isn’t that. Bucky being attractive is an objective truth. It was somehow easier to write off the moments where your eyes would catch on Bucky’s hands, wondering how they’d feel on your thighs, or his lips behind your ear. Because if you just turned away, you could think of something else entirely. But the ache in your chest, of wanting the simple act of his hand in your own again, or your mind constantly trying to find ways to make him smile, is much harder to shake. It’s as if your mind is conjuring a shadow in every waking moment, morphing images of what it might be like to have him there. But he’s not, and he never will be, and that harsh reality is devastating, as if you’re mourning a life you’ll never be allowed.
So, you’ll continue your distance, wallowing in the grief silently. At least you were… until you had a spy determined to bring it all up to the ugly surface.
“I don’t want to sleep with a stranger, alright.” There’s no fight left in you, only the hope she’ll just drop it.
Yelena stands for a moment, her earlier energy dipping. You’re surprised by the way her breath hitches in her lungs. “Oh no,” she says softly, as though the realization of how deep you are is dawning on her. “I was wrong.”
You can't even hide the horror on your face as she stands, suddenly much more serious. The only words echoing in your mind are just drop it. “Oh, this is much harder to fix.”
You can’t hide the tears that threaten to spill. Instead, you turn away, finding something to keep you busy, but nothing is enough to stop the feeling of your chest constricting. “There’s no fixing this. The reality is, I’m running around the tower, hiding, and he probably hasn’t even noticed.” You can’t help but let out a sharp laugh. “It’s like Walker said, I can’t fight, I’m a terrible shot, I’m a liability in any instance against more than four people.”
She tries to cut in, but you don’t let her. “People are scared of me. I feel it. I feel it in you, I feel it in the rest of the team, and I’ve felt it every time I’ve ever tried to get close to someone.” You can’t keep the bitterness out of your voice. “I can’t kiss someone without feeling it. Can’t hold them. You know, I haven’t accidentally killed or hurt someone since I was seven, and still, I have to wear these stupid gloves because otherwise, people are too afraid to be within arm's length of me. I’m not allowed to love someone, because they will never, ever, truly want to love me.”
Your voice is raised, the weight of everything finally breaking through, and you can hear the tremor in your words.
“I didn’t—” Before Yelena can say whatever comfort she was planning, you're both startled by Ava.
“Oh my god, don’t do that!” Yelena shouts, as Ava clicks her mask open.
“I told you to stop phasing into my room.” You turn after blinking away any tears, using the distraction to compose yourself.
“The door was unlocked. Anyway, we’re meeting on the roof in ten. Apparently, the people we think stole all of the weapons material got a heads-up that we’re looking into them. We need to get there before they’re gone.” Before either of you can ask any questions, she’s gone.
The journey up to the roof is tense. Yelena looks like she’s fighting to continue the conversation, but you spend the entire jet ride in silence, avoiding eye contact with both her and Bucky. It’s not just you who’s upset; everyone seems frustrated, and it’s easy to see why. You’ve received reports of stolen military-grade material and finally connected the dots to the organization responsible. If they complete whatever weapons they’re mass-producing, there’s no telling who they’ll sell to or what those buyers plan to do with them.
The team silently makes its way to a large warehouse that seems empty. According to your reports, however, it leads to an entire operation beneath the building.
“I’m not picking up any activity,” Yelena says.
“Me neither. Can you sense anything?” Bucky looks at you, his brow creased.
You move away from him, crouching down. This is bad. “No. Not even one person. They must’ve already packed up. They could be anywhere by now.”
“Well, we don’t know that for sure. Let’s see if anyone’s down there,” Walker says, leading the way down a tunnel. The rest of you follow behind. When you reach the opening, you see it. The ‘basement’ is essentially another warehouse, but in much better condition than the one above.
Bucky takes charge, pointing to the two levels of the basement. “Alright. There are two stories. Yelena, lead Walker and Ava on this level. Look for anyone we didn’t pick up, or anything we can use to locate them. If you find any material or blueprints, bring them back. We can use them to figure out what they’re planning to build. Meet back at the jet in an hour.”
They all nod, Ava speaking up. “What about you two?”
Bucky responds, “We’ll take the second floor. It’s smaller, likely used for storage, not building.” Before you can say more, everyone moves in different directions. Yelena waits for you, her concern evident, but you nod at her reassuringly, letting her know you’ll be fine.
“Come on,” Bucky says, all hard edges. He usually is in the middle of a mission, his mind focused entirely on the task at hand, constantly aware of anything that could go wrong. Hopefully, he’ll be too distracted to notice just how not fine you are.
You crouch together near the stairs and listen. It’s hard to focus on anything past the pounding of your own heart. “Clear.”
As usual, you stick close to Bucky’s back, following him as he leads the way, his gun drawn. Both of you scan the area, but soon, his hand drops, holstering the gun. Though seemingly more relaxed, you can feel the frustration in him. He was right about this floor being smaller. The ceiling is normal height, as opposed to the expansive space upstairs.
The floor is mostly open, with only a few scattered rooms. You both spend time flipping through scattered papers and checking drawers. It becomes clear that they had a head start, and there’s almost nothing left.
Across the room, you watch Bucky’s back as he searches. His muscles tighten under the leather, and his hair, once neatly pushed back, falls in loose waves. Turning quickly, you run a hand over your heated face. Just get this done. One hour, then you can go back to the peace of your room.
Your eyes catch on one of the open rooms near the back, and you decide to check it out. The doorway is lined in metal with a panel on the side. Inside, it’s small, clearly just for storage, though the shelves lining the walls are bare. There’s a small metal table in the middle. You tap your finger on it, taking a moment to just breathe.
“We might not even need the whole hour; they’ve already cleared out,” Bucky says, startling you. You hadn’t even realized he’d followed you inside.
“Maybe we should just go back upstairs to help. They might’ve forgotten something there.” Your heart constricts; the distance you were trying to keep has now dwindled significantly, and you’re eager to get out of the room before the ex-assassin can try to question you.
A beep sounds and as you try make your way out of the room, you're jolted back. Bucky pulls you back towards his chest, and right where you stood, a metal door slams shut with a force that absolutely would’ve hurt you. Staring, you try to calm your rapid breaths as the reality of it seeps in. You’ve both just been locked in, and there’s no handle.
“Are you okay?” Bucky asks. You realize with a jolt that you’re still against his chest, his hands holding your arms where he grabbed you, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles while you calm yourself.
All at once, you try to put as much distance as you can. Which, in the tiny room —no, not room, vault— is not much at all. His eyes scan you, his heart still as fast as your own, before he turns to the sealed door. Watching as he attempts to pry it open, you try to shake the way his chest felt against your back, and the need lingering for wanting him there again.
One month, and all of these feelings are so much worse off, it’s as if you never left that stupid infirmary. “There has to be a way out.”
“There is.” He turns, hand resting on his hip. “The panel out there can open it.”
Pressing the comm in your ear, you try to reach someone from the upper level, only to be met with deafening silence. You lean against the far wall, trying to look more casual than you feel, though the way your chest is rising in panic is evidence enough. Surely they’ll notice and come for you both, right?
How fast do people run out of air in a room this size? Is it a few hours or a few minutes? With how fast you’re breathing, it’ll probably be much sooner. The vault is only dimly lit by one hanging bulb, and it feels as if everything is collapsing into darkness. There’s pressure on your face, and you feel as though everything is constricting until you register the cool metal.
“You need to slow your breathing.” As your eyes adjust, blurry from tears you didn’t even know had appeared, you see Bucky standing in front of you. His hands softly cup your face. “You can feel mine, can’t you? Take it in, follow the way I’m breathing.”
You can feel it. His breath is strong and slow, though his heartbeat is faster than his usual pace. Still, you hold onto the feeling, the way it melds into your chest as if it belongs there. As the panic from being stuck subsides, a far worse panic seeps in as you realize just how close he is. Your face heats under his hands, and he licks his lips before pulling away. You could’ve sworn he was pulling you closer.
“It’s a weapons vault, only made to keep things in. The others will realize we’re missing; we just gotta hold tight for an hour.” He moves a few steps away, leaning against the table. “Maybe less if Yelena comes down to check on you.”
Your head snaps up at that. “Why would she do that?”
In the dim light, you can barely make out the way his eyes squint as he stares. “Dunno, but she spent the entire ride looking like she was waiting for you to collapse. Or the way she was glued to your side even after I gave her orders to lead the others upstairs.”
Licking your lips nervously, you turn from his interrogating gaze. “I wasn’t feeling well earlier; she probably was just worried.”
His head nods. “That why you weren’t going to dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm.” His metal finger taps the table a few times as he chews over his words. Kicking off the table, he takes a step in your direction. “That why you’ve been missing almost every dinner the past month?”
Oh god. Every worst-case scenario you ran through in your head seems to hit you full force. Clearing your throat, you put on the most convincing face you can. “Yeah, I, uh, just have been really busy.”
Two more steps.
“That why you’ve been avoiding me all month?”
He noticed. Of course, he noticed. If Yelena did, then the man you’d been actively running from would, too. Your hand fidgets with your glove, suddenly very aware of the scar and the realization that came with it. “I wasn’t—”
Two more steps, and suddenly Bucky is back where he was just moments ago, and your chest seems to tighten again. “You were. You still are. I don’t know if you forgot, sweetheart, but I know when someone’s hiding from me.”
With nowhere else to look, your eyes land on the ground. Every explanation sounds worse than the last, and you fight against the urge to just blurt out the real reason. Rip the band-aid off so you can finally hear the words you’ve been running from: I don’t want you.
“You know I’ve had to deal with John following me around. Alexei, too. I’ve had to sit through him telling me about his glory days during the Cold War.” His head turns, biting the inside of his cheek before his eyes meet yours, the blue threatening to drown you. “I kept looking over, hoping you’d save me. Hell, I even considered setting off the alarm just to get you out of that room of yours.”
He missed you too. The truth of it causes guilt to creep in. Before you can get any word out, he continues, stepping just a bit further. “So I gotta know. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours that’s making you avoid me?”
“I wasn’t—”
“You were.” You feel his fingers as he softly pushes your hair behind your ear, before tilting your chin up, forcing you to face him. “And before you try to come up with some other lie, consider this: the reason you’ve been hiding from me is exactly the reason I’ve been wanting you not to.”
You can hear your heartbeat thrumming in your ears. Or maybe it’s his. His face is so close that you can’t just feel the breath inside him, but also feel it on your skin. No words form inside you, only every want that’s been building inside the past month. Before you can even comprehend what you’re doing, you're leaning in, catching his lips.
He wasn’t expecting that, made obvious by the way his heart stutters, but he’s quick to compose himself. The hand that was holding your chin now moves to the back of your head, deepening the kiss. You grasp for anything you can to hold yourself up, one arm around his neck like a lifeline, your back hitting the wall, and he’s moving with you. You feel his metal hand sliding onto your hip, and your mouth opens at the feeling of him holding you steady. With what feels like all of his effort, Bucky pulls away just enough to look at you. For a moment, the room is filled with nothing but your heavy breathing, and you think that if the room ran out of oxygen, at least you would die happy.
A smirk crawls onto his face. “As much as I enjoyed that, and will be doing it again, it doesn’t answer my question.”
You try to ignore the thrill his promise of again brings, instead trying your best to clear your head. In searching, your eyes land on your hand, which still rests along his neck. Hesitantly bringing it in front of you, you mumble, “I wanted to do that. The night in the infirmary and, if I’m being honest, a lot longer than before then.”
His hands catch your own, and your heart stutters. His eyes crease, breathing in slowly to calm himself. “Why didn’t you?”
That familiar feeling is back: shame. The burden you carry always throwing up a wall, right when you think things are going well. Pulling one hand from his, you place it on his chest, trying to ignore the way he swallows. “I felt it, when I went to take off my glove, Buck. And I don’t blame you, everyone feels like that with me. I’ve accepted it. But I…” The words die on your lips as you realize he’s smiling again, not teasing, but in disbelief.
“You know, I used to wear gloves. Never left my apartment without ‘em.” His metal arm appears in front of you, the black and gold shimmering faintly in the dim light. “I knew people were scared of it. Of me. It made me a weapon, and I thought that if I just covered it up, people would see me differently. But the thing is,” metal cools your cheek as he rests it against you, “it’ll always be part of me. And hiding it only made it harder to find people who didn’t just want me despite it, but because of it. Because of the man I am right now.”
He pauses, and for the first time, you catch something almost shy in his expression. “And that feeling you got from me in the infirmary wasn’t fear, it was me getting in my head about how badly I wanted to feel your hands on me.”
And the way he says it, there’s no room for argument. No interpretation needed or room for doubt. Only the fact that you’ve been aching to touch him, and he’s wanted the exact same thing. With a breath, you tear off the gloves, tossing them in the corner before they’re moving up his neck and into his hair. In that instant, his lips are back on yours, a soft groan escaping his lips at the feeling of you.
This kiss is harder, more desperate as he presses you against the wall, and you’re achingly aware of the way his body feels against you. Your hands can’t seem to still, wanting to feel as much of his as possible, and it seems his have the same idea. His flesh hand, warm against your cheek, as his mouth moves behind your ear. His lips are hot, and you can’t help the breath that escapes you. They’re not there long, moving down the expanse of your neck, until they make it to the spot just under your chin. Your body moves involuntarily against him, and you feel his lips curve into a smirk before nipping the skin. His other hand is back on your hip, testing the hem of your shirt. Desperate for more, you manage to breathe out a quiet, “please,” and you’re taken aback by the breathy sound that escapes him. His lips are back on yours, nipping your bottom lip, and as his hand reaches under your shirt, the cold metal against your ribs makes you gasp. He takes the opportunity to move his tongue, exploring your mouth.
It’s just a slight shift in his body, as his hand moves higher, but you become quickly aware of his leg between your legs, bent just barely. The movement makes you breathe his name. You can feel the weight on him against your hip, your own thigh grinding, adding not just pressure on yourself but to him as well. He breaks the kiss just long enough to see where you’re situated, a smile curving his lips just before returning. Cold metal jolts you as he gently moves your bra out of the way, your heart thrumming as he kneads, his thumb just barely catching your nipple. His flesh hand has moved back to your hip, seemingly desperate for you to move against him again. You feel his thigh, the muscles constricting under you, and you can’t help the tremble that overcomes you as he moves you again. You can feel how wet you are, desperate for more friction.
“Bucky,” your voice is a lot more pathetic than you thought it would be, and he’s quick to kiss your forehead, moving you again against him.
“I know, sweetheart, I know.” Your head falls back as his fingers pinch your nipple, his breath coming in heavy pants as he watches your face. “See what hiding was keeping you from?”
Of course, he’s going to tease you. You expect nothing less from James Barnes. But in your need, you can’t bring yourself to come up with a retort. Instead, you bring your hand to his cheek, hoping he will see the desperation. “Please, Bucky, I need more.”
Just like that, all of the composure he may have had disappears as he takes in a shaky breath. In one move, his hands move to your thighs, picking you up. Before you can let out a noise in surprise, his lips are back on you. Moving to the table, he gently sits you down, keeping the space between your bodies as minimal as possible. Your hands unzip his jacket, and he allows you to toss it off. Your hands dip under his shirt, exploring the new territory. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, the image seared into your memory, but the feeling is unimaginable. His breath hitches as you move to his back, one hand reaching his shoulder before slowly coming back down, nails lightly scraping the muscles. Where he stands between your legs, rather than his thigh, this time his hardness presses against you, and you can’t help the way your legs hook around him, desperate for more.
With a groan, Bucky’s head lands heavily on your shoulder, his breath heavy. “You know they could be looking for us right now.” His voice is deep, barely able to come out. You can’t help but want to claw more of those beautiful sounds out of him. Taking the opportunity he’s giving you with his forehead against your shoulder, you rake your hand through his hair, exposing his neck before latching on. His hands tremble against your thighs, breath hot, a soft whimper escaping as you nip and suck the spot behind his ear. With your other hand, while he’s distracted, you find his wrist. He protests as you pull away, bringing his wrist into view, and reading the numbers on his watch.
“We have 30 minutes.” A smile takes over your face at his disbelief.
He pulls in, and you think he’s going to kiss you again, but instead, he stops short. “Ya know, I should probably stop here, since you made me go a whole month not getting to see that pretty face of yours.” His breath is hot as he moves his lips across your skin, slowly until he’s ghosting your neck. “Do you know how crazy you made me? All I could think about was how I should’ve kissed you. Hell, how I should’ve kissed you the first day we met.” Shock rolls through you at his confession. His hands move back under your shirt, shifting slightly until it’s tossed over your head, and he’s kissing your chest. “All I could think about was how your hand felt, and these thighs against me.” He’s moved you so you’re laying down on the table, before moving to your thighs, kissing the fabric. His face is back to yours, long hair tickling your face as he kisses you. Finally, you manage to pull his shirt over his head, and you can’t help the way you stare.
“You’re so beautiful, Bucky.” You’re breathless as your eyes crawl back up to his face, tempted to trace the nervous crease of his brow. His lips are back on yours in an instant, his teeth nipping your bottom lip, distracting you as he unbuttons your pants. You gasp into his mouth, and he desperately takes it, as his hand dips down until he’s cupping your core. With a light touch of just his middle finger, he dips between your folds, his hip bucking against your thigh as he lets out a moan, his head coming to rest on your chest while he struggles to regain his composure.
“You’re so wet,” he drawls, his ring finger joining his middle finger, gathering your slick, and moving up to tease your clit pulling a desperate sound out of you. “That’s it, you’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”
Your back arches at the feeling, your hand gripping his hair. His lips attach to your nipple, sucking as you grind on his fingers. Through your haze, you admire the way his back moves, the muscles shifting with the way his fingers circle you, in a slow, steady rhythm. His eyes are shut, like he’s raging some kind of internal war, until it seemingly comes to a head. All at once, he’s above you again, kissing you hard until he removes his fingers. You want to mourn the loss, but instead, you watch as he places them in his mouth, letting out a groan. His mouth is on you as soon as his fingers are out, as if he can’t stand not having you on his tongue. His hands tease your hips until you’re lifting, so he can remove your pants, tossed somewhere in the tiny room with your gloves and shirt. You think he’s going to remove his own next, but instead, his mouth is trailing down, his hands rubbing circles on your thighs, begging you to open them. You let out a keening noise, needing more as his lips suck and nip at your thighs. Going everywhere but where you need them most.
He stops only long enough for his eyes to flit over your underwear, licking his lips before they turn into a teasing smile. Before you can question it, his thumb is pressing against the wet spot on your underwear. You whine, your back arching as he takes pleasure in teasing, softly touching the wet fabric until suddenly, his thumb dips beneath it, pushing the fabric to the side so his finger can dip into your folds. He moves it just a few times inside you, before he removes the fabric completely, and immediately pumps a finger inside again. His mouth is on you in an instant, his tongue licking a strip until his lips are on your clit, sucking gently. Your hands cling to his hair, and you lift your hips at the way his moan vibrates through you. As Bucky adds a second finger, curling until he’s hitting that soft spot inside you, the coil inside you seems to tighten. He knows, his eyes flitting over your body and to your face, watching the way his tongue twists its magic. He’s seen so many beautiful expressions on your face, but this has to be one of his new favorites. Your thighs clamp around his face, and he revels in the warmth, his beard scratching as you squirm. His lips suck on your clit, tongue flicking, and you swear you’ve never felt anything so wonderful. His name escapes you like a prayer as you ride out your orgasm, his tongue staying on you, fingers slowing until you have to pull him away. And that smile, the way it shines down on you, his eyes sparkling and lips wet and swollen, you swear you died and went to heaven.
Breathing heavily, you reach for him, wanting to taste yourself, and he happily does, his hair soft against you. In an instant, you’re recovered and reaching for his belt, but he hesitantly pulls away, biting your lip once more.
It’s like the words hurt to release, his voice quiet. “We have maybe five minutes before the others are bursting in here, and as beautiful as you are, I don’t really like sharing.”
He lets out a laugh at the way you jolt up. You were so lost in him you forgot where you were. His hands are on your shoulder, stilling you, his lips gently brushing your forehead. He gathers your clothes first, gentle hands helping you into each one. You’ve never had anyone do this, the care he takes as if you’ll wither under him, placing a kiss on your thigh, hip, chest, arms, all before they’re covered. Finally, he gets his own shirt and jacket settled, and you have the pleasure of zipping the leather as his soft eyes watch you.
“How long do you think it’ll take them to realize we’re gone?” It takes a moment for him to register his words, lost in watching you.
“Oh… right. Well, they should be here soon if they can stop arguing for more than a minute and realize it. But if they don’t, the timer said it’ll release after an hour-thirty” He has the decency to look sheepish as he confesses.
You jab a finger into his chest, feigning anger. “Bucky, did you lock us in here on purpose just to have sex with me?”
“No, of course not. I just wanted you to talk to me, but I wasn’t planning for you to kiss me like that.” His crooked smile melts you, and you can’t even pretend to stay mad. “In my defense, I thought I’d be able to pry the door open before that, especially once I realized I scared you.”
He grabs your chin, his gaze steady. “Besides, I haven’t slept with you yet. And if you want that, you’re gonna have to stop hiding out in your room and go on a couple of dates with me.” His eyes crinkle, his voice teasing. “I’m a gentleman, you know.”
“We’re a little past that, don’t you think?” You can’t help but glance at his lips, and, of course, he notices.
“Of course not. I’ve got a lot planned, and you’re gonna love it. Gotta make sure my girl gets the works.” Before you can process that last part, your attention is pulled away by the sound of yelling.
It takes a few minutes, but the others finally manage to open the vault, needing to work together to pry it open. Bucky silently apologizes for it. Honestly, you'd happily stay locked in that vault forever as long as he was there.
You all finally leave the vault and make it to the jet with minimal bickering, already planning your next move for the assignment. You watch Bucky as he talks to the others, catching the way he bites his cheek holding back a smile before heading into the jet. But then your eyes fall on Yelena, whose mouth is hanging open in the widest smile known to man. Looking down, you realize where she’s looking down at your bare hands, your gloves, long forgotten in the vault.
“you like that, don’t you?” the rasp in his voice mixed with the way he grinds his hips down slowly, cock stretching you out perfectly, causes your eyelids to flutter closed and your nails to sink into the skin of his hip with each thrust. “like feelin’ how deep i am, honey?” teeth nip at your ear, one of his hands pressed down on your back, keeping you pinned down on the bed while the other rests beside your head. “yeah, you do, just look at you.”
you try to reply but with how his hand presses down on your lower back again, your eyes roll back and your lips part with a choked moan at the deep stretch of his cock pressing deeper into your cunt, walls fluttering around him. “that’s it, let me in, honey.” he cooes into the shell of your ear.
beyond the room, you can faintly hear the sound of waves crashing outside the sliding doors, a subtle reminder of the vacation you both took together for some warranted down time, but your mind isn’t focused on that, it’s focused on the feeling of his slow thrusting, focused on the sound of his breathless panting. the world outside doesn’t exist. not when he’s with you.
“you’re so pretty, baby,” he groans deeply, palms of his hands landing on the globes of your ass, and his eyes; hooded and lustful, watch the bounce of flesh. “so pretty like this.”
the fabric of the pillows muffle your moans, muffles the choked whines each time his hand lands on your ass, squeezing and rubbing to ease sting away gently. your body begins to jolt, moving higher up the bed each time he pulls out so the tip remains, just to sink back into you a little harder. the sounds of skin slapping together echoes the room loudly.
“so deep,” your words are slurred and breathless, eyes half open. “you’re so deep, honey, can’t, oh fuck,” the hand you had on his hip flies off and grips the sheet tightly beneath you, eyes rolling back a second time when both his hands are dripping your hips, practically dragging you back and forth onto his cock.
you’re pretty sure you’ve got drool dribbling down the corner of your mouth and onto the silk sheets below, but you don’t seem to care, he sure as hell doesn’t. the thick vein on the underside of his cock throbs against your walls, and it causes you to squirm underneath him but his hands stay clamped around your hips, keeping you from moving away from him.
“nuh uh, stay here, baby, just stay right here. yeah, that’s it, good girl.” his praise goes straight to your cunt and your walls clamp around him tightly. “takin’ it so good,” he’s sitting back just enough to look at the way you’re both connected, the sight of the thick creamy white ring around the base of his cock causes him to growl. a growl that emits from deep in his chest. he huffs out a breath through his nose, and keeping his thrusts hard enough to have you whining and moaning, but then switches them to a slow grind of his hips to have you begging all over again.
the second he’s lowering himself over you, the angle causes him to sink even deeper if that’s possible; he moves from your hips, and forms his hands into fists and presses themdown onto the mattress on each side of your hips instead and one of your hands grab onto the hard muscle of his arm, nails sinking into the skin once his thrusts get harder, driving into you with vigor. “i love you,” he groans, sweat forming on the hairline of his face and then down his temple, eyes flickering between where his cock slides in and out of your cunt and then at the way your muscles in your back tense. “love you so much.”
you’re rendered speechless, hair sticking to your face, tears streak down your face at the pure feeling of him fucking you so deep and good into the mattress that any thoughts you did have are now gone. you bury your face deeper into the pillows when he’s suddenly moving his arm, not the one you’re still holding and slides his hand down your stomach before his fingers find your throbbing clit, that you scream into the pillow, his long digits rubbing slow but constant figure eights on the sensitive nub in tune with each of his thrusts. “ohmygod! don’t stop, please don’t stop.” you finally manage to cry out.
he grins smugly, and shakes his head despite you not being able to see him. “never, honey, never gonna stop.” he promises.
your orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, no prior warning and your walls tighten around his cock again, his breatch hitches at the feeling and clenches his jaw tightly and you can tell he isn’t far behind with how his movements get slower and sloppier above you, groaning and moaning breathlessly; the sweat from his forehead and chest drop onto your back but he doesn’t stop, his fingers against your clit don’t stop either.
“gonna cum, baby,” his voice is wrecked, raspy and low. “where do you want it?”
“inside,” you gasped out, your body still coming from the high of your own orgasm; you’re pretty sure he might even pull another one from you if he keeps it up. “want it inside, please, need it inside.”
all it takes is a few more deep thrusts, and his entire body locks and tenses before he’s spilling deep inside you. “wait, baby, don’t do that,” he chokes out weakly when your cunt flutters around him, trying to milk his cock for all he’s worth. “christ,” his cock twitches inside you, and when you hum contently at the feeling of him filling you up just like you always ask for he laughs hoarsly. “you’re greedy,” he murmurs, carefully lowering himself to press his chest against your back. his body was warm despite being sweaty. “and beautiful.”
once he’s close enough he presses his face into your neck from behind, you turn your head as best you can, even if the angle is awkward, and press a kiss to his temple; you hope it’s his temple; your eyes are still hooded and glazed. “love you, honey. stay like this with me for a while.”
“you’re still warm around me, not going anywhere. the beach and margaritas can wait” he murmurs into the damp skin on your neck. then softly, he speaks again. “love you more, always.”
Bucky Barnes new gf!reader, is a little freak. He doesn't know that yet of course. They've been together for three months, and bucky is holding back on his freak too because he doesn't wanna scare her or smthg. He always keeps his metal arm away when they're having sex. Not like...he removes it, but he doesn't do anything with it apart from touching her. One day, she asks him to finger her. He's only happy to oblige but then she shocks his system by asking him to do it with his METAL ARM.
You’ve been dating Bucky Barnes for three months, and it still feels like a dream you’re scared to wake from.
He’s gentle in a way that makes your chest ache—calloused hands cradling your face like you’re made of spun sugar, steel-blue eyes softening every time you laugh at one of his old-man jokes. The Winter Soldier carries the weight of a century on his shoulders, but with you, he’s just Bucky. Careful. Protective. Almost painfully restrained.
You, on the other hand, are kind of insane.
And he has no idea.
It started innocently enough—soft kisses on the couch that turned into heated make-outs, clothes shed slowly, reverently. He always kept his metal arm tucked away. Resting on your waist, stroking your thigh, never more. You noticed, of course. How he’d flex the plates with a quiet metallic whir and then consciously still them, like he was afraid the cool vibranium might shock you. Like he thought you’d flinch.
You never did.
You wanted it it so bad though.
Tonight, the rain taps against the windows of his Brooklyn apartment, a steady rhythm that matches the pulse between your legs. You’re in his bed, sheets twisted around your bare thighs, his dog tags cool against your sternum. Bucky hovers over you, shirtless, the scarred junction where metal meets flesh catching the low lamplight.
His flesh hand traces lazy circles on your hip, thumb brushing the edge of your panties.
“You sure?” he murmurs, voice gravel-rough with want, breath warm across your collarbone. “We don’t have to rush anything, doll.”
You cup his face, thumb stroking the stubble along his jaw. “I want you, Bucky. All of you.” Your voice drops, laced with the hunger you’ve been swallowing for weeks. “Please.”
His eyes darken, pupils swallowing the blue. A low groan rumbles in his chest as he kisses you—deep and filthy, tongue sliding against yours. His flesh hand slips beneath the lace, two thick fingers gliding through your slick folds. You arch into him with a gasp, already soaked. He works you open slowly, curling just right, thumb circling your clit until your thighs tremble.
But it’s not enough.
Not tonight.
You grab his wrist—the left one—before he can lose himself in the rhythm. His whole body stills.
“Baby?” The uncertainty in his voice nearly breaks you.
You guide his metal hand down, pressing the cool fingertips against your inner thigh. “With this one.”
Bucky’s breath catches sharp. The plates in his arm shift with a soft, mechanical click, like he’s fighting to keep them still. “You… you want my metal arm?”
You meet his gaze without flinching, letting him see the raw need burning there. “I want you to fuck me with it, Bucky. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks. How cold it’ll feel at first. How strong. How careful you’ll be until I’m begging you not to stop.”
For a second, he just stares—stunned, like you’ve short-circuited every safe protocol he built around himself.
Then something primal flickers across his face.
His metal fingers flex once, the smooth vibranium catching the light.
“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he breathes, half-laugh, half-groan. “You been hidin’ a filthy little mouth this whole time?”
You smile, wicked and sweet. “You have no idea.”
He shifts lower, settling between your spread thighs. The first touch of cool metal against your heated skin makes you jolt. Bucky pauses instantly, eyes flicking up to yours—but you nod, desperate.
“More.”
He drags two metal fingers through your wetness, coating them. The contrast—icy smooth metal against your burning core—pulls a broken moan from your throat. When he presses inside, slow and relentless, the stretch is perfect. Unyielding. The plates shift subtly as he curls them, seeking that spot that makes your vision spark white.
“Fuck,” he rasps, watching your face like it’s the only thing anchoring him. “You’re takin’ it so well. Look at you, drippin’ all over my arm.”
You rock your hips, chasing the sensation. The metal warms slightly from your heat but never loses that thrilling edge of coolness. He adds a third finger, scissoring gently, thumb—vibranium and impossibly precise—pressing firm circles on your clit. Every thrust is controlled, powerful, the faint mechanical hum vibrating through your core in the most devastating way.
You fist the sheets, head thrown back. “Bucky—harder. Please.”
He curses under his breath, something reverent in Russian, and gives you what you want. The pace turns punishing, metal fingers pumping deep while his flesh hand pins your hip, holding you open for him.
You shatter without warning.
Clenching around the unyielding vibranium as pleasure crashes through you in heavy waves. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your thigh—soft, wrecked, worshipful.
“That’s it, doll… so fuckin’ perfect. My dirty girl.”
When you finally come down, panting and boneless, he withdraws gently. The metal fingers glisten with your release. Bucky stares at them for a long moment—then brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, eyes locked on yours.
The sight alone nearly sends you over again.
He crawls up your body, caging you in, forehead pressed to yours. His cock strains against his boxers, hard and insistent, but he doesn’t rush.
“You’ve been holdin’ out on me,” he says, voice wrecked. A slow, dangerous smile curves his lips—the first real, unrestrained one you’ve seen. “Three months, and you never told me you wanted the Winter Soldier in your bed?”
You laugh breathlessly, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I didn’t want to scare you.”
“Scare me?” He kisses you hard, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Sweetheart, I’ve been jerkin’ off to the thought of ruining you since week two. Thought I’d terrify my sweet girl if I let go.”
You tug his dog tags, pulling him closer. “Then don’t hold back anymore, Sergeant.”
Bucky’s eyes flash.
The metal arm slides under your back, lifting you effortlessly as he flips you onto your stomach.
“You asked for it.”
The rain keeps falling outside.
But inside, the careful distance you both built finally crumbles away.
Robby knew you were off limits, you were his ex’s daughter for gods sake and he was your boss. But when you found yourself in a not so great situation he was the first to help. With one thing leading to another the two of you finally gave into your desires.
CW: 18+ MDNI, smut, fauxcest, use of dad and kid, unprotected piv, breeding kink, oral (m/f), fingering
Note: this one kinda got away from me hehe it’s 4.6k words of pure smut, also proofreading? Never heard of her 🤭…hope yall enjoy!
You were drunk, too drunk if you were honest. But at this moment you couldn’t care less. Even though you knew this was the absolute worst coping mechanism you could’ve possibly gone with, it was one you could do alone. Not having to burden everyone with your problems. Especially after receiving a rejection about your request to switch to a surgical residency.
Which is why you found yourself in the sketchy area of downtown Pittsburgh stumbling through the crowd to get to a bathroom. Finally arriving at a free stall almost ten minutes later you sat down to relieve yourself. Leaning over your knees and taking a breath was when the spins and just how far gone you were had hit. This was when you decided to ask for help.
You couldn’t remember who was on shift so you opted for texting the ‘Pittlings group chat’ that included; Trinity, Dennis, Javadi, and Samira. Or you thought you did. In reality you had texted the full dayshift chat that was only supposed to be used during shift for work related situations. Something you meant to avoid as that chat included your boss Robby, who also happened to be your moms ex.
They were together for a decently long time, they started dating when you were 18 and fresh out of highschool. Making it until your last year of medical school before they ended things. Which made starting your clinical rotations at Robby’s hospital just slightly awkward.
But now you’re 26 and a second year resident in the PTMC ED. However, things were still slightly awkward between the two of you. This was mostly in part because your mom had cheated on him. But the other part was the fact that you had been harboring a massive crush on the man since he had started dating your mom. Something you had told no one but Trinity, who then told Dennis. Who then accidentally let it slip to Javadi who had been with Samira when he said it.
So everyone knew. But everyone also knew that Robby looked at you the same way you did him.
Which meant that when your clearly drunk text came through reading ‘SOS drunc hornyyyy ned ridee’, no one questioned Robby’s immediate response of being on his way. You weren’t sure who responded to your message barely paying attention to names, but you at least saw the response of whoever it was being 5 min out.
Heading out of the dingey building with your arms around your body for any type of heat you could generate you regretted the decision to wait outside. Your jean microskirt, black tank-top, and sheer lace over shirt did nothing to keep you warm. But you sure as hell looked hot. Scoring at least three phone numbers, including one coming from a bartender who’d given you free drinks all night.
And it was that same bartender who was calling your name while walking out to where you stood on the curb now.
“Hey! I saw you standing out here and figured I’d see if you wanted to head out together?” His proximity was way too close for your liking now that you were just wanting to go home.
“Oh uhm, no thank you” you attempted a step back, “a friend is picking me up, I’m sorry”
Whatever distance you gained was instantly lost as he followed closely. Even going as far as grabbing your wrist fairly tightly.
“Oh come on don’t be like that” he scoffed pulling you closer by where he held you, “you’ve been flirting with me all night. You can’t just lead me on like that and not expect me to want something”
His words had sobered you up in record time, words no woman wanted to hear when they were alone on a dark street. The only self defence ideas you had going for you was the fact someone was on their way, and four moves Jack had taught you when you picked up a night shift once.
“Hey look here buddy! I don’t owe you anything asshole-” you didn’t get a chance to finish your sentence before a familiar scent enveloped you from behind, at the same time your arm was freed from the bartender's grip.
“Touch her again and it’ll be the last thing you do I can promise you that” Robby’s voice wasn’t loud, but his tone told the man and everyone around that he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Whatever” the bartender was quick to scoff trying to seem unbothered as he shook out his arms, “the bitch isn’t hot enough for this type of effort anyway”
“The fuck did you just say to her!”
You grabbed Robby’s arm in an attempt to stop the situation from going any further. Granted you skidded a few steps in effort but you were able to at least slow him down. But he only stopped at the sound of your soft and slightly wavering voice.
“Michael please, it’s fine I just w-wanna go home” you rarely called him by his first name, so you knew it would grab his attention.
With a reluctant nod he rested a hand at your lower back guiding you to his truck that he had left at the curb. The bright flashing hazard lights caused you to stumble just a bit seeing as you still had a slight wobble to your step. Your body seemingly not as caught up on sobering like your mind had.
Attempting to step up into the truck you felt a sharp tug on the hem of your skirt holding the material down. Now that you were out of the highly stressful situation you were able to process the feeling of confusion. You weren’t exactly sure why Robby out of everyone was here, or how he even knew you needed help getting home in the first place.
“How did you-”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing out here like this?” His sharp words cut you off, “do you know how worried I was when that text came through, and even worse when I tracked your location”
“You still have my location!?”
“That is the least of your goddamn worries right now,” Robby was pissed that much you did know, “and then you had to go and wear nothing but see through strips of fabric out here, you could’ve gotten hurt, you almost did get hurt!”
He wasn’t truly pissed about your clothing choice, you had the freedom to wear whatever you wanted. Robby was just pissed that other people got to see you and touch you like he wanted to. Even now he was trying his hardest not to stare at the way your skirt rode up your thighs, or how your breasts we’re spilling over the confines of your top.
You were his ex’s daughter for god's sake! He shouldn’t be thinking of how your soft skin and pouty lips would feel. Nor should he think about how much better you would be than your mother. But he had, he had thought about you one too many times with his fist tightly wrapped around himself. Imagining it was your hand or mouth around his aching cock choking him down instead.
So he couldn’t help but feel a little overprotective and angry about the situation he found you in. But you didn’t bother fighting back after that, you refused to be scolded like a child. Even though you ended up crossing your arms and slouching like one in his passenger seat. Going as far as to give him the silent treatment while only looking out the window the rest of the ride. Completely ignoring him until you realized the neighborhood he had pulled into was nowhere near your own.
“This isn’t my home” you grumbled, leaning forward to put your address in his GPS. Not getting very far as he slapped your hand away
“Yeah no shit sweetheart, I know where you live and you’re staying at mine tonight”
His sentence barely finished before he pulled into his driveway, reaching over and unbuckling your belt before he hopped out. Your jaw dropped open in disbelief of his curt behavior, one you hadn’t truly experienced outside of the hospital. Pulling out your phone your thumb was poised at the uber app when suddenly your door flew open. Robby stood there with an expectant look on his face.
“I’m not getting out” you refused to move, typing his address into the phone so that you could order a ride.
“Either you get out like a big girl or I make you”
You didn’t believe his words, thinking he wasn’t going to follow through and that he would just give up. But before you could hit submit on your screen, your body was manhandled out of the seat and onto your feet. A large hand gripping your bicep as he pulled you towards his front door before you could get a word out. He all but threw through his door and up to his bedroom before you were able to find the ability to speak.
“What do you think you’re doing!?”
“Take a shower, change, bed”
“You know you’re not with my mom anymore right? You don’t have to play hero with me.” You go to walk past him and out of his room, but Robby stays rooted in the doorway as an immovable statue.
“Do not make me repeat myself kid”
“Kid, seriously? I didn’t ask for your help Dad”
You were pissed that after all this time he still only saw you as a child. A realization that made your attraction to him feel so much more humiliating. But what you failed to notice in your anger was how his jaw clenched and his pupils dilated at the name you called him. No, you were too focused on his choice of words for yourself.
So out of spite you decided to listen to his previous statement, but carried out his request with an attitude. Turning to his closet you began riffling through his drawers. Throwing pieces of clothing on the floor until you found a shirt you wanted. Doing the same with his other drawers until you found a pair of boxers you felt was acceptable.
And Robby just stood there, arms crossed with a hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He was doing his best to keep his eyes on your face and not anywhere else while you bent over. But he just couldn’t help himself when a small strip of red lacy fabric caught his attention. However he quickly averted his eyes when you straightened up and turned towards the bathroom.
Stomping the whole way into his adjacent bathroom you made sure to slam the door closed, rattling the objects on his desk. If he was going to treat you like a child you were going to give him the whole act. You made sure to take an extra long shower. One that had the water running cold and condensation dripping down the mirror, and you used all of his products out of spite (desire). You also might have poured some down the drain so there wasn’t much left.
Stepping out of the now cold water you took the towel you assumed was his and wrapped it around your body, while making your way to his sink where you used his toothbrush. The heat from the shower had helped you sweat out most of the alcohol you had consumed, making you fully aware of the situation you now found yourself in.
You were alone with Robby. Something that you had been actively avoiding since he and your mom broke up. Especially since she had cheated on him and then blamed Robby for her cheating. You never understood your mom. She had a strong, handsome, well established man who treated her well and she just let it slip away. You weren’t surprised though, she was always reckless with her choices not caring who she hurt.
You wouldn’t do that to him, you would make sure he knew how much you wanted him. So with the opportunity all but dropped into your lap, you decided to take it. Drying your hair with the towel, you look at the items of clothing you brought. A worn grey northwestern shirt and a pair of boxers. Slipping on the worn piece of clothing you chose to forgo the boxers and bra before walking out in just his shirt.
Walking out of the bathroom you saw the clothes you had thrown on the floor were already picked up and Robby was nowhere to be found. But your confusion was stopped short when he came through the door carrying Tylenol and a glass of water. An action that had you feeling slightly guilty for being such a brat.
Wordlessly he went to hand you the two objects, and to his surprise instead of grabbing them you tilted your head back and opened your mouth. Robby knew what you wanted only hesitating for just a moment before dropping the two pills in your mouth and tipping the water glass to your lips.
You kept your eyes on his the whole time, watching how his own tracked the movement of your throat as you swallowed. Tracing the path rivulets of water took with his gaze as it dripped from the corners of your mouth. With a sharp inhale of breath through his nose he hurriedly took a step back. Seeming to realize just what you were doing.
But true to your original intentions, you weren’t about to let him go. For every step he took back you took one forward. Right up until his back hit the door and he had nowhere else to go.
“W-what do you think you’re doing? We can’t, c’mon kid you gotta stop” His voice shook just slightly in questioning, rising into mild panic when you dropped to your knees and ran your hands over his body.
“Again with the kid?” You roll your eyes while lifting his shirt up slightly and undoing the button on his bottoms. Nuzzling your face into the thick patch of dark hair that trailed his soft stomach, “relax dad, moms not here anymore and I am not a child”
Pressing featherlight kisses to his now exposed skin, you watched as the bulge at the front of his underwear grew and jump at the name you used once more. Running your nose over the coarse hair, you took a deep inhale before pulling his boxers down. His heavy cock bobbed up when released from the fabric. You paused for just a moment as you studied him. He was bigger than you imagined, his flushed and angry tip was trailed by a large vein that disappeared into dense and unruly curls at his base
“So fucking big dad” Tucking the band behind his balls you wrapped your hand around him while looking up at his face.
Pressing a kiss to his cock, Robby hisses at the sensation clenching his fists to stop himself from pushing you down further. He was almost refusing to look at you, not allowing himself to give in. So you lifted his cock up, making room for you to take his balls into your mouth. Suckling the smooth skin and rolling them around with your tongue.
“Oh fuck, please” you weren’t sure what he was begging for, but you knew he was finally breaking.
Releasing his balls you dragged your tongue, broad and flat, from base to tip in one smooth motion. Running your tongue under the ridge of his cockhead, watching a shudder flow through his body.
“Did mommy ever touch you like this?” You ask wile collecting his leaking precum and spreading it over his length as he shakes his head, “no, I didn’t think so, she never took care of you like I will. I can take it, I’m a big girl now, remember?”
He opened his mouth to reply, whatever thoughts he had quickly dissipated as you finally took him into your mouth. Taking him as far as you could manage, which to his surprise was all the way down until your nose found its way tucked into his coarse hairs once more. Robby couldn’t control how his hands flew up into your hair holding you there as your throat tightened around him when you attempted to swallow.
“Holy fuck, just like that sweetheart”
His hold loosened for you to move off and take a breath, trying his best to let you set the pace. Almost releasing your hair all the way before you moved his hand back into your hair, silently giving him permission to use you.
With both hands now rested against the back of your head he started off slow and shallow. But when your hands that rested on his legs pulled him forward in a jerking motion, he understood what you were telling him. It didn’t take him long to build confidence. Hitting the back of your throat with each thrust, drool leaking from the corners of your mouth.
One of your own hands let go of his legs and came to your throbbing clit. Rubbing tight circles as your cunt clenched around nothing. Moans vibrated from your mouth and onto his throbbing cock pushing Robby close to the edge. He quickly yanked your mouth off with a curse. A small whine left your own mouth from the absence. You went to complain but his hands scooped you from under your armpits and threw you onto the bed.
“Shit sweetheart, you trying to get yourself off while sucking dad’s cock?”
He stepped out of his pants and threw his shirt to the other side of the room, you doing the same with your own. Gripping the back of your thighs Robby lifts your bottom off the bed with a renewed fervor he didn’t have before. A moment passed of Robby just taking in the sight of your glistening cunt before leaning forward and sucking your clit into his mouth with deadly accuracy.
“Oh fuck Robby! Just like that !” A cry sounded around the room as he pulled off and gave a stinging slap to your puffy cunt.
“Don’t call me Robby, not now, not after you’ve been playing out your little fantasy this whole time”
“M’sorry, p-please don’t stop!”
“Then what do we say sweetheart?” Robby caressed the back of your thighs with his hands as he waited for your answer.
“I-I’m sorry dad”
You watched with wide eyes as he smirked in approval before spitting onto your clit. Taking two fingers to spread it around, and plunging those same fingers into your entrance with no warning. The absurd squelching noise that came from where he shoved his fingers into you made your cheeks bright red.
“All this for me?” Robby’s words were followed by the crook of his fingers, as he watched your cunt greedily swallow his fingers “such a dirty girl, practically begging her dad to fuck her. What would your momma say if she could see you now?”
You shook your head playing into the idea of getting caught, Robby chuckled watching you. Leaning forward he placed his mouth on your clit once more. His beard adding a delicious friction to your already sensitive skin. The combination of his movements had your impending orgasm building at lightning speed. He was hitting a spot you could never reach yourself, over and over again.
With your toes curled and hands twisted into the sheets, an unfamiliar feeling followed the tight flutter of your walls. You didn’t think much of it assuming it was because you hadn’t been with someone in a while. But by the squirm of your body, Robby knew exactly what was happening. Doubling down in his efforts he was the only one not surprised by the rush of fluid that coated his tongue and beard when your orgasm finally took over.
You on the other hand had no idea what just happened. At the first release of your peak, pleasure had completely overtaken your senses and ability to process your surroundings. So when you felt an obscene amount of wetness soak your thighs, all you could do was let out the most pornographic moan you had ever made. Mouth babbling nonsense as Robby kept fingering you. Not stopping until he felt your cunt relax around his hand.
Slipping his fingers out he set them into his mouth and licked them clean, savoring the taste. You however, were already halfway fucked dumb laying silent on the bed in an attempt to catch your breath. But before you could fully get comfortable Robby gripped your hips and flipped you onto your front. Arching your back as he manipulated your knees under you. Feeling his fingers trace your sensitive and overstimulated flesh your body tried to pull away.
“Ah ah ah, you’re the one who wanted to be treated like a big girl, but after only one orgasm you’re already falling asleep?” he chastised your behavior as you struggled to keep your eyes open, “gotta stay awake if you’re going to prove you can take it”
“Please d-dad, I-I can d-do it” your words were hiccuped and sluggish as they left your lips.
“Then take a nice big breath for me sweetheart”
Notching his cock at your cunt, as soon as he heard your lungs fill with air Robby pushed the entirety of his length into you. Smirking at the sound of that same air leaving your lungs at the impact. You had never felt so full before. He was bigger than any other partner you’ve had and you were struggling to hold onto your sanity.
Robby, noticing your intense focus, pulled back until only his tip rested inside you. Letting you catch a false sense of security before thrusting his cock back into you. Doing this a handful of times before creating a consistent deep and brutal pace.
“Feel so fucking good baby,” the new endearment slipped from his lips, “so much better than your mom, taking me better than she ever could”
Your cunt clenched at his words, choking his cock as he bullied it through your walls. His thick cockhead pressing against your cervix with each thrust, almost painfully so. But you were determined to show him that you could handle it. Robby knowing just how much you wanted to prove yourself pushed just a little harder than normal.
With one hand at your hip and the other pressing between your shoulder blades, he created a deep arch in your spine. Your noises were muffled by the mattress with every thrust, but just when you were starting to get comfortable in this position Robby once again effortlessly maneuvered your body. This time ending up on your back once more, but this time with both legs hooked over his shoulders.
Barely getting a breath in before sinking himself into your heat. This new position had you swearing that you felt him in your stomach. Low moans clawed their way up your throat as words were unable to form under the sheer pleasure that filled your body. Each snap of his hips sent a lewd reverberating smack throughout the room as his balls hit your bottom
“Would you look at that, poor thing can barely fit me but you’re doing so well sweetheart” his tone was slathered in honey but still slightly condescending.
You didn’t understand what he meant until he set a hand at your lower stomach, as he pressed down just slightly there was an increase in the pressure you felt as he fucked up into you. Peeking your eyes open you saw what he was so mesmerized with. A fairly prominent bulge was puffing up in your lower stomach with every single movement.
Throwing your head back, you reached a hand down placing it on top of his. A moment later you felt his pace pause just a moment and the stretch of your thighs pulled as he leaned over for just a moment. Eyes screwing shut while his cock pressed against the deepest part it could reach as you heard him grab something. You didn't think much of it before he resumed his movements, restarting at a rougher pace.
“Tell me how good you feel right now” Robby’s voice rattled around your otherwise empty brain.
“S’good, feels s’good”
“Now tell me, fuck, whose the only one who can touch you like this from now on”
“Y-you dad, o-only you” the clench of your cunt began building as your second orgasm crept up. Robby angling his hips to bullying that one spot he knew would have you waking the neighbors.
“That’s right baby, and your gonna let dad fuck a baby into you aren’t you? Give your momma a grandkid with her ex”
A resounding ‘yes please’ came in a high pitched mewl, as his words were paired with the start of a thumb circling your clit at the same pace his cock was moving.
“Open your eyes and say it to the camera baby”
Your eyes flew open watching how he moved the phone from where it had been recording the slick movements of his cock up to your face. That was the exact moment that your body decided to tip over the edge. Seizing up every single moral you could’ve possibly held onto and threw it out the window.
“Yes please, I want dad to give me a baby so bad!” Your sentence was spoken straight to the camera as he zoomed in.
He held it there for just one moment before setting it to the side while still recording. Grabbing your hips with both hands he brought your hips back to meet his thrusts. Your mouth hung open in a silent ‘o’ as his motions prolonged your orgasm. You were on the verge of tears when he finally let out a graveled grunt.
“Fuck baby! That’s it keep squeezing just like that ” he pressed forward bending you in half before seizing your lips with his for the first time that night. You felt the white hot ropes of his cum coat your walls as he lets out his own noises, letting them get swallowed up in your kiss.
Pressing himself deep as his hips continued with shallow thrusts, lips never leaving yours. Swiping his at the seam of your mouth you opened up, tasting the slight tang left over from yourself on his tongue. It was a long time before either of you came up for air. And an even longer time before he shut off the recording and went to grab a warm damp cloth from the bathroom.
After cleaning the both of you up, Robby settled in beside you promising to talk more in the morning about what this means. He made mention of how he didn’t deserve you, how it was wrong for him to do this and he should be the better example. Shushing his doubts, you told him that no one would have to know. The two of you fell asleep not long after that.
However, you had woken up at around 3am to the sound of soft snores leaving Robby's lips and the low volume of the tv in the living room. Getting an idea you sat up you searched for his phone. Unlocking it you saw how the old man didn’t have a lock on it, so you didn’t feel bad when you rifled through his photos and sent yourself the video he took.
After another moment of holding his phone you decided to send that video to a contact he still had in his phone but hadn’t messaged in years. You typed in your mothers name before hitting send. Waiting until the message said read and three little dots appeared before you hit block and delete. Setting it over on the bedside table, you silenced your own ringing cell before tucking yourself back into his side and falling back asleep.
imagine fucking robby, you’re in missionary his cock buried deep in you, slow and deep strokes as he looks deep in your eyes. “mm you take it so good sweetheart, my good girl.” this elicits a whimper from you pulling robby closer by his chain. “mmph f’me robby, deeper please daddy.” he looks down at you with a smirk, “your wish is my command baby.” he adjusts his hips, thrusting harder up into you, the angle change hitting so good. he moves his face closer to you, his chain dangling in your face. the harder he fucks up into you the harder it hits your face. you moan out and grip robbys shoulders harder; the cold of his chain dangling in your face and him hitting the angle just right sends you over the edge. “i can feel you getting closer sweetheart, wanna cum for me?” you clench around him, grabbing him by the chain, pulling him in for a kiss. “m’so close mikey please.” he changes his angle once more, hitting the right spot every time, focused on his chain in your face you moan out again, “whatta dirty girl you are baby, cumming around my cock over a chain.” he leans in kissing your neck, adding that extra tease he always tends to do. “c’mon bunny, be my good girl, cum on my cock.” and that you do, the sensation too much for you.
🎀
k speaks !! my return hahaha hello my angels! missed you guys lots and lots decided to switch it up for my well awaited return w my robby hopefully i can start pushing out more drafts love yall xoxo
A/N : In my defense, I'm ovulating 👀
Warnings : 18+ MDNI, smut, vibrators, masturbation (f), Tit worship, oral (f rec), PinV, PwP, foul language, Clark being a nerd and hot soft-dom boyfriend at the same time, perverted reader, even more perverted Clark
Word Count : 1.8 k
Nerd Clark who is the quietest person at the daily planet. Quiet to the point where people wonder if he's even fit to be a reporter. But as his interactions with the superman have proved, he's very worthy of his position despite being so……mysterious.
Nerd Clark who is shy to return smiles when you wish him a cheery good morning summoning the brightest smile on your face.
Nerd Clark who slowly opens up to you. And by opens up I mean he lets a few good mornings and goodbyes slip free when he watches you arrive or leave.
Nerd Clark who thinks you're friends.
Nerd Clark who has no idea how bad your intentions are. That you hardly want friendship from him. What you want is for him to ruin you.
Nerd Clark who watches you stare at him, thinking its a loving look on your face except your eyes are raking over his body thinking about how soft those curls would feel under your palms, how those glasses would fog up when you have him panting under you, how those massive ridges of muscles would ripple when he's thrusting into you and how those veins would feel if you traced it with your tongue.
Nerd Clark who snaps you out of your wild imagination with a snap of his fingers and you're left breathless and wet in the office in the middle of the day.
Nerd Clark who believes your excuse of not feeling well when you look all red and leave for home early.
Nerd Clark who would never know that you spent that night riding your vibrator pretending it to be him, moaning his name out loud until your walls have it memorised. (I meant bedroom walls, what're you even thinking, you dirty minded duckling)
Nerd Clark who's all shy when you kiss him for the first time. All nervous smiles and fumbling hands as his lips move over yours in a slow rhythm.
Nerd Clark whose glasses nugde against your nose when he leans in for a second kiss, much to his annoyance but only until you end up giggling against his mouth.
Nerd Clark who does not understand why you're so keen on him leaving his glasses on during the kiss even when it's in the way.
Nerd Clark who you think would be shy and soft and sweet in bed and turns out he's anything but.
Nerd Clark who has you pinned against the door the moment you close it after getting home.
Nerd Clark whose hungry eyes, dilated pupils, and shameless strokes of his fingers under your shirt surprise you in the best way becuase where did that shy nerd go who was nervous to kiss you?
Nerd Clark who has known everything since the beginning and still let you work for him, and yearn for him, all this time.
Nerd Clark whose voice is possesive and dark and rough when he leans in close to your ear and whispers “You've been testing my patience, baby” before his mouth is on you.
Nerd Clark who revels in watching you all shocked and dumbfounded at knowing how his shy personality just switches off around you.
Nerd Clark who has the filthiest mouth on him and loves to rile you up “Why do you look so dumb baby? Were’nt you the one who invited me here?”
Nerd Clark who chuckles against your lips when you have no words left and you decide kissing him would be the appropriate response.
Nerd Clark who picks you up like you weigh no more than a pillow before he trudges toward your bedroom.
Nerd Clark who takes his sweet time with you. Kissing his way down your body, worshipping every inch of skin revealed.
Nerd Clark who you know is gone when his eyes zeroe in on your tits, his tongue sneaking out to wet his lips before his mouth is on you. Warm and wet and so fucking desperate as he laps at your skin, nipping your nipple with his teeth ever so slightly to draw out those quiet gasps and whines you make for him.
Nerd Clark who spends way too much time fondling your tits, only stopping when they're tender and red from the assault his mouth put them through. He finally moves on with a whine when he sees you whimper at the overstimulation, but not before pressing a chaste kiss to both of your breasts like they're something living and could feel his affection.
Nerd Clark whose mouth is a weapon of mass destruction and you somehow have the misfortune (or should I say, fortune?) of being his target.
Nerd Clark who laps at your pussy like a man starved. Holding your thighs apart with those chiseled arms of his while he attacks your clit with little kitten licks. Giving only enough for you to writhe beneath him.
Nerd Clark who works you patiently, drawing your pleasure out until you snap on his tongue with his name loud in your mouth and your body convulsing around him.
Nerd Clark who let's you harshly tug at his hair as the force of your climax consumes you whole. He doesn't so much as whine in complaint when your thighs all but suffocate him with how tight they're wrapped around his neck, shoving his face deeper into you.
Nerd Clark who has almost all of his face shiny with your release when he crawls back up to you. The sight stealing all air out of your lungs becuase holy shit is this a sight to see. You're pretty sure you'd pay good amount of money for just another moment to watch him like this again.
Nerd Clark who has you losing your mind on his fingers next “This what you were thinking about that day, sweetheart?” He says as he curls his fingers slightly, hitting the spot that makes you cry out and confessing your ugly fantasies to him.
Nerd Clark who revels in the fact that he's got you so worked up you don't even know what you're confessing.
Nerd Clark who makes the mistake of trying to take off his fogged glasses to avoid losing the sight of you. Much to your displeasure as you shove them back on.
“Baby, I can't see you with these on” he punctuates between kisses, of course he wants the glasses off. Who would be dumb enough to not want to see you, all naked and flushed and moaning for him?
Nerd Clark who realises you have a very specific kink when he sees your reluctance to let the glasses leave his face.
Nerd Clark who slides them upward instead, letting the black frame rest in his hair like a little tiara and god if it doesn't drive you crazy.
Nerd Clark who can see the shift in your energy at that in the way your eyes go dark, and can't wait another moment before he's inside you.
Nerd Clark who is big enough to hurt even after he's stretched you out. And damn it if he isn't proud about it. “Am I too big for you, baby?” He teases, inching inside slowly, letting you adjust to the sheer size of him. “You're just a tiny little thing, aren't you?”
Nerd Clark who becomes utterly insufferable when he watches his cock slide all the way into you “Look at you, sweetie. All stretched out on my cock”
Nerd Clark who makes you think you've descended to heaven when he starts to move becuase surely a feeling like this doesn't exist in this universe.
Your hips rock up themselves, meeting his every thrust as endless curses spill from his lips, emphasising how good you feel around him, how perfect.
You let the praise wash over you and drive you closer to the climax.
Nerd Clark who is dominant and unrestrained but never rough enough to hurt. Always looking for signs of discomfort and monitoring your micro expressions to see if you're hurting.
Nerd Clark who doubles down when he hears your sounds pitching higher. His hands make their way to your knees pushing them toward you, making the angle steeper and hitting that deep spot inside you.
Nerd Clark who praises you through it when he sees how you react to it
“Such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”
“Taking my cock so well”
“You're gonna come for me? You gonna be a good girl?”
It makes your skin prickle, fingers tremble and toes curl into the mattress as you bite down on his shoulder to muffle the cry that tears out of you as your orgasm swallows you completely.
Nerd Clark whose thrusts grow erratic when he feels your warm walls convulsing and fluttering around him. The feeling addictive and ruining him at the same time.
His hand find your breasts again “Fuck me, these tits” he grunts, mouth enveloping a nipple as one of his hands grips and massages the other breast as if it is an achor he needs to hold onto to keep himself tethered to you.
Nerd Clark who is loud when he comes. Loud enough that you'll probably have your neighbours complaining tomorrow but your name in his mouth sounds so fucking delicious that you can't bring yourself to care about anything but the fact that you want to hear it again and again and again.
Nerd Clark who cleans you up after. And boy is it a sight to behold. His skin is flushed and glowing with the soft sheen of sweat. His curls all messed up, and you feel a flutter down south knowing its your hands that did that.
There's a shy smile on his face as he's back to the gentle, nerdy part of himself that you so dearly adore.
Nerd Clark who is a cuddler, he pulls you close immediately after he settles onto your bed, rubbing comforting circles on your back making you sleepy in his arms.
And you swear you hear him mumble something like “Sleep good, sweetheart” and soft lips pressing against your forehead before you finally let your eyes close, falling asleep in the arms of the man who you might fall in love with. Especially given everything that happened today. There's no way you're gonna let this be a one time thing.
WHITE NIGHTS
husband!bucky barnes x wife!reader [3.4k]
— ⟢ SUMMARY: your husband is hungry.
— ⟢ WARNINGS: bucky is down bad; pregnancy and postpartum stuff (they just had a baby); baby’s nickname is bean; fluff; smut; lactation kink; nipple play; coming untouched; pussy pronouns; breeding kink; fingering; mention of squirting.
A/N: this is not the breeding kink one-shot I was talking about in the poll, but this was already finished and unfortunately yesterday something happened and I’m not in a good place rn mentally. hope you’ll enjoy🥛sorry but it’s not really edited.
Bucky shivers as the usual warm weight pressed against his side is missing. He lethargically extends his arm to bring your plush body back to his, yet his fingers only meet wrinkly, tepid sheets. His eyes fly open, only to find your side empty.
It’s the middle of the night and your baby boy is sleeping soundly in the crib he assembled months ago, tucked close beside your bed. This allows Bucky to reach him the moment the faintest whimper slips from his lips—one of the many advantages of having enhanced senses. He can see the exhaustion pressing down on you, and still, you try to cram as many chores as possible into your schedule, nowadays reduced to feedings and diaper changes. But Bucky would do anything to make you feel like you’re keeping up.
These days your husband is always repeating the same thing: that he’ll handle the house, that you don’t need to push yourself like this. But you do anyway, unable to shake the guilt of leaving everything to him when he’s already the one waking in the night to take care of your son.
“I’m a super soldier, you pretty mama,” he promptly reminds you, his voice gentle against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Why would I leave this stuff to my beautiful wife when I don’t need that much rest in the first place?”
The ensuite is empty, which means you’re either in the kitchen pumping or the living room wide awake.
Bucky pushes himself up slowly, leaving the bedroom door open behind him—just in case. He could hear his son cry from miles away, but even the former Winter Soldier can’t quite shake the instinct to run to his son in case of potential danger.
The kitchen light catches his attention the moment he steps into the hallway, spilling across the floor in a warm glow. He follows it without thinking, but the sight that greets him makes him freeze on the doorway.
Bucky has always reserved particular attention to your chest since the first time you started fooling around while dating.
But this is different.
He never could have imagined that one day the mere sight of your nipples leaking milk would leave him stiff in his pants and drooling. That something as natural as your body providing for your child could feel so intimate. During your pregnancy, your breasts had grown fuller and heavier, often sore enough to make you whine in pain against his shoulder. More than once, you’d sighed in frustration at the milk that soaked through your bras, inconvenient and relentless.
And each time, Bucky had to suppress the instinct to clean you up. With his tongue.
He might be over a hundred years old, but he knows his way around the internet since the first time he grumpily announced he was going to look up what a creampie was, while you were in stitches on the couch. You still tried to warn him through your amusement, explaining that the internet is a treacherous place, one where everything should be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism.
The shame curling hot in his stomach is inevitable when he looks at your chest with his pants uncomfortably tight, but this fantasy only intensified with time, to the point where he feels like imploding at the slightest mention of you pumping.
Bucky gulps thickly, frowning in animosity at the two devices attached to your tits that peak out from your sports bra. He really wants to suckle on your nipples and feel your sweet milk bless his senses, however, despite all the years of dating and marriage, asking would probably feel like walking straight in front of a freight train running at full speed.
His tongue unconsciously licks his lips as you pour some of the freshly pumped milk in a baby bottle, before going through the motions of setting the devices back in place. The wearable breast pumps had been his idea, actually, after months spent buried in books, articles, and a concerning amount of online forums for new moms. He read everything he could get his hands on, determined to make things easier for you. Multiple people praised these over traditional ones for their gentler suction and better angles, so one day Bucky’d shown up with his laptop open to the website of a famous online store specialized in hands-free pumps, already halfway through his research and entirely ready to start measuring your breasts.
Your chest aches more often than not nowadays. You hadn’t expected to produce this much milk, or how constant it would feel. Not just during the day, but at night too, when you find yourself half-asleep at the kitchen counter, filling bottle after bottle while your body begs you to lie down.
Bucky knows everything got more sensitive and swollen for you since you got pregnant, so he often finds himself wondering if he could make you come just by stimulating your tits alone.
Shaking his head to calm himself down before entering the kitchen with a full hard-on, Bucky slowly approaches you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. He doesn’t miss the way your body automatically relaxes under his touch.
“Was wondering where my beautiful wife went.” He whispers, resting his chin on your shoulder to eye the battlefield of spilled milk and paper towels. “How are you feeling, lovely?”
“Tired.” You murmur around a yawn as your head falls back against his chest. “And aching.”
In this new position, his blue eyes can comfortably admire your cleavage. His stare on the plump skin of your chest spilling out from the tight sports bra is intense, though he clears his throat before his cock takes over his common sense and his teeth end up sinking in your tender flesh.
“Mmh… I can help, you know?” You glance back at him, eyebrows furrowed.
“No baby, you already do so much. Besides, these things are amazing! They do everything by themselves, I just have to empty them.” Bucky swallows, before gently turning you to face him.
“No, I meant—I want to help help you.” Your eyebrows raise, still not understanding.
“I want to taste it, doll.”
Oh.
Oh.
Your eyebrows shoot up stunned, before a small grin threatens to take over your lips.
“James Buchanan Barnes, you want to nurse on my breasts?” A pretty blush takes over the apples of his cheeks at your bluntness. Your husband has never looked so boyishly pretty before.
“Don’t say it like that.” His affronted voice wavers, pulling a chuckle out of you that makes your tits jiggle alluringly. His eyes promptly fall on them, before he flushes violently upon noticing you have caught him drooling red-handed.
“But that’s what you want, right Jamie?” You tilt your head teasingly, cradling his cheeks in your soft hands.
He nods expectantly, eyes sparkling despite the scorching embarrassment pooling into his belly.
“Okay, but let me remove these first.” His breath hitches at your nonchalant reaction.
Your husband’s chest heaves in anticipation as he waits for the electric pumps to finish, unable to stay put behind you like an overhyped puppy waiting for his treat. Bucky knows you are taking your time in storing the milk away on purpose—it’s not your fault he gets so adorable whenever he loses grip on the composure he is so proud of.
When you are done, you barely have time to turn around before his strong arms pick you up to place your butt on the counter, so he can be closer to your chest. He kisses you desperately, kneading your waist and thighs until you are left warm and moaning.
Eventually his lips end up tracing a trail of wet kisses down your throat, finally allowing his nose to gently graze the skin of your breasts. He helps you remove your bra with shaky hands, gasping when your torso is finally bare for him to toy with.
“Look at you.” His large hands encompass the swell of your tits, gently kneading the flesh to not hurt you. Your quiet whimper stops him instantly, looking up at you to catch any sign of discomfort. But he only receives a weak nod, your hands desperately gripping his biceps as his fingers reprise their exploring.
“They are so full, my love. I bet they hurt, right?” His eyes glass over, spellbound as the pads of his thumbs delicately circle both of your turgid nipples, drawing a few stray drops of milk. Bucky instantly brings the digits to his mouth, eyelids fluttering shut at the flavor blessing his taste buds.
“Fuck, you really are sweet everywhere, doll.” You shudder at his growled praise, your tired body extremely sensitive as his fingers keep stroking your nubs.
Your loud gasp is swallowed in the nick of time in fear of waking your son up, yet you stop yourself from flinching when Bucky’s lips finally engulf your right nipple. His mouth is hot and his tongue eager against the tender surface; you’ve always enjoyed the care and time he puts in worshipping your chest, but this time it feels completely different with the way his palms caress your tits, and his tongue patiently grazes your nipples with serenity written all over his features.
“Bucky—” You interrupt him as he starts sucking. It’s too soft, just like him, you think fondly. And it’s not that you don’t love it, but your milk will barely come out if he doesn’t get a little rougher.
“C’mon, honey, you can suck harder.” You encourage quietly, the only answer you get is him dazedly blinking up at you through his long, dark lashes.
His hand fondles the breast his lips aren’t occupying, while his vibranium arm wraps around your back to bring you impossibly closer. Fingertips dig into your supple skin as he obeys, his eyes rolling back at milk finally filling his mouth. The gentle licks soon transform into harsher suckles, and one of your hands goes straight to your mouth with a resounding smack to stop a loud whine from potentially reaching your neighbors.
Yes, it happened before. Too many times.
Bucky can smell your arousal, but his mind is clouded with his own pleasure to understand what’s happening around him.
He’s finally doing it, he’s drinking your milk directly from the source. This might potentially be the hottest thing you’ve ever done.
Well, apart from that time you fucked in one of the empty meeting rooms in his office.
Now that Bucky thinks about it, you probably conceived your baby boy that time. He remembers too clearly how aroused the both of you were. His body was on fire that day, he felt like a fucking animal in heat trapped in a cage after he was urgently called by his secretary as he was slowly thrusting his cock into your half-asleep body that morning. And you… well, it was actually your idea to have sex there.
You showed up at his workplace, calling him Congressman with that whiny voice of yours, and claimed you needed to have his cock inside you so bad as you both stood in front of his two secretaries hurriedly fixing his schedule around you, since it was a well-known fact that Bucky would abandon anything if his wife needed him.
Then you dragged him in one of the empty rooms by his tie, and God, he still shivers at the memory of how you rode him on that damn chair, only wearing that stupid little sundress he bought you on his last work trip, just because it looked cute. And fuck, now it was hanging loosely from your waist as you moaned loud enough for his whole staff to hear when he finally came inside you, stuffing you with his cum as you cried and trembled around him, his cock refusing to soften so Bucky picked you up and brought you to the conference table to roughly thrust inside you, making you squirt all over his pants—
Yeah... that’s a story for another time.
One of your hands cups the back of his head, slightly pulling at his hair as you lean forward with a whimper.
“Jesus Christ.” Your man groans through a mouthful of you.
“Yeah? Is it good?” You tease, giggling at the eager nod he gives you.
“So good, pretty girl.” He whines, pulling away from your nipple only to move onto the other.
His tongue plays with the hard peak, moaning when a quiet whine falls from your lips. The lewd, wet sounds of his licking and sucking prompt you to wrap your thighs around his hips and push against him, your nails digging into the meat of his shoulders to try and find a crumb of stimulation against his belly for your pussy. It’s so messy your arousal soaks through your thin shorts, now sticking uncomfortably to your damp skin.
Despite Bucky being completely lost into his own bliss, he still finds the mental strength to tighten his hold around your waist to keep you still against the counter and enjoy his midnight snack peacefully.
Your nipples are tender by now, abused and wet by one very hungry super soldier. Your head falls back unconsciously, a little embarrassed at the fact that you are probably ready to come and your pussy has been touched a total of zero times.
His large palm languidly slides down your thigh, until it cups your pussy, the vibrations of his low moan further stimulating your nub as your slick coats his fingers through the fabric. You urge him on, grinding onto the heel of his hand.
Two fingers finally travel under the waistband, the rough pads working over your clit, firm but not too fast, just how you like it.
Pleasure burns hotter and hotter with each press of his fingers against your nub, until they find your entrance, delicately rubbing over your folds and collecting your wetness before he nudges them in. Your jaw slackens around a silent moan as they stretch you out so deliciously, curling and rubbing that sweet spot that always makes you gush so prettily around him.
Bucky exhales sharply through his nose, still suckling on your nipples as your hole hungrily swallows his fingers. He is borderline dizzy from how good he feels with his fingers in your pussy and your milk down his throat.
“Feels good, doll?” The words are nothing short of a murmur against your skin. “She’s so needy for me, hm? Doesn’t wanna let go.”
Your cheeks are on fire, and he receives only a quick nod as an answer. The touch his lips leave across your chest burn, causing your lips to prettily open around a silent moan.
“Jamie, just like that, fuck—” You sigh blissed out, flinching when his thumb slowly goes back to toying with your puffy clit. Bucky didn’t realize how much he missed the way your core would turn all swollen with arousal.
“Missed this so much, missed you, honey.” A needy whimper claws out of his throat. “Talk to me, tell me what you wanna do to me.”
“Fucking hell,” he takes a deep breath, pressing soft pecks over your breasts. “Wanna fill you up, sweetheart. Can’t stop thinking about it, how gorgeous you looked all full with my baby.” His eyes briefly close in a futile attempt to ward off the painful throbbing of his cock pushing against his sweatpants.
You clamp around him, shivering when his other hand squeezes your hips.
“‘S all I can think about. Day and night.” He rambles brokenly. “So perfect, my perfect wife with her perfect pussy and her perfect tits—” His words dissolve into a low groan, still softly massaging your walls, the stretch so good it makes your legs tremble around his hips.
“Jamie, more.” You mewl, your hips twitching up helplessly. “Wanna feel you inside, need you to come over and over until it takes again. Jamie, pretty please?”
Bucky grits his teeth.
You can’t stay stuff like that, not when it’s only been two months. Not when he’s been desperate to see you round with his baby once more. Not when you are leaking milk from your breasts while begging for his cock.
“Can’t, babygirl.” He pants. You make your displeasure known loudly with a little wail, clinging tightly onto his shoulders.
“Please, Jamie.” Tears form at the corners of your eyes as your orgasm builds steadily in your belly.
“I know doll, I know. ‘M sorry, ‘m so sorry.”
Your body goes rigid for a second before turning pliant under his calloused hand abandoning your hips to properly take care of your swollen clit. Your pussy clenches, little squeaky moans slipping from your lips and muffled into his hair as you hug Bucky closer to your chest, sagging against him.
“Gonna make it up to you, baby, I swear.” He slurs out dizzily. “Wanna keep this pussy full and give my pretty wife all the babies she wants.”
“Jamie! Close—‘m so close, don’ stop.” He desperately focuses on matching the rhythm of his fingers thrusting inside with the ones rubbing your clit, savoring the eager twitches his cock gives at your pussy tightening.
Bucky then parts his lips, blindly mouthing at your skin until they finally latch onto your nipple once more, and start sucking like a wounded man seeing water after days spent under the scorching sun.
At the intense pressure around your sensitive nubs, the knot in your belly gets tighter and tighter. Your toes curl, and your orgasm finally hits you violently. You come with a gasp, the tension in your belly shattering all at once as your head falls back. Your chest pushes against his greedy mouth, flinching and panting as you find yourself stuck in a limbo of maddening pleasure with Bucky’s fingers still relentless on your pussy, even when small tears run down your cheeks.
And then, your husband grunts loudly, harshly exhaling against the fat of your chest.
“Fucking—shit.” His mouth leaves your nipple with a wet pop, and his head slowly lifts up, leaving your wet nubs exposed to the cold air of the kitchen. You shiver at the change of temperature, slumping against his shoulders as you feel your tits tingle with overstimulation.
He is gentle in removing his fingers from your puffy core, finally embracing you as you mourn the loss. His chin lazily rests on the top of your head for a bit, small kisses swarming your glistening forehead in hopes of easing the trembling of your limbs.
That’s when you see it. Opening your eyes with effort, you are directly met with the sight of a huge stain right on Bucky’s crotch, the grey fabric of his sweatpants darker in that exact place.
“Did you just come in your pants, baby?” You raise your head to look at him with a little grin.
Bucky’s already flushed cheeks flame up, and his eyes refuse to meet yours. Instead, he buries his face in the valley between your tits, hugging you tight.
“Sorry.” He mumbles. “Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Was it good?”
“No need to be sorry.” You hum. “It was so hot, Jamie.” Sighing satisfied, your arms wrap around his neck to caress his hair.
“I’ll help you from now on.” He adds solemnly, looking straight into your eyes. “After you pump out the milk for Bean, I get the last bits.” You can’t help but burst out laughing before pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Alright, alright. But baby, you are at work until late in the afternoon.”
“Don’t care.” He grunts, nuzzling your neck like a cat in need of cuddles. “I’ll do it at night.” Your eyes widen, immediately protesting.
“Bucky, no. You already take care of Bean when he wakes up throughout the night, then wake up early to go to work… I won’t wake you up just to—to drink my milk.” Your cheeks heat up at the absurdity of your statement.
Bucky huffs, coming out of his hiding place with an offended wrinkle between his brows.
“Doll,” he whines just like a kid trying to convince his mom to stay up later on a school day. His head falls back tiredly. “I’m a super soldier. The super soldier. I don’t need to rest.”
With a sigh you shake your head at his apparently innocent eyes, vaguely reminding you of Alpine when she’s trying to soften you up after pushing something off the table that probably ended up shattering on the floor.
“Please, please, please!” He attacks you with kisses, delicately holding your pliant body in his arms as his lips travel from your face to the slope of your neck, and then back up again.
Your attempts at keeping your laugh down are awful, but you can’t help it when your husband is being this adorable.
“Alright alright! Hey—okay stop, please stop! Stop!” Your lips press together to avoid releasing any loud noise that could potentially interrupt this rare, peaceful night.
Finally, Bucky relents, one hand cradling your cheek while the other massages your lower back with purpose.
“Promise?” His eyebrows raise expectantly and you just have to kiss him.
“Yeah yeah, promise, you hungry super soldier.”
“Good.” He mumbles against your mouth, following your lips for another kiss. “Now, let me properly take care of my wife.”
“What—Bucky!” You gasp as he picks you up, making his way towards the couch.
A devious grin blooms on his handsome face when you whimper at the way he deliberately moves your hips so your puffy folds brush against his imposing bulge with every step he takes.
“Tell me sweet girl, since I can’t fill you up yet, where do you want it? Face or tits?”
— ⟢ END NOTES: thank you so much for reading!
my masterlist → winteryn's masterlist
Balancing your final year as a resident while raising a five-year-old is hard enough. Co-parenting with your ex Michael Robinavitch? That’s a whole different challenge.
warning/tags: smut, minors DNI, porn with plot (lots of plot), age gap (but reader’s age isn’t disclosed) jealous!robby, co-parenting, Robby is sooo girl dad coded, attempt of slowburn, they're down bad for the other, inadequate medical terms, longing, unprotected piv, pussy eating, fingering, handjob, creampie, multiple orgasms
“Robby,” you repeated for the millionth time, staring at the way his focused eyes stayed glued to the computer screen. “Robby, are you even listening to what I’m saying?” Your words went in one ear and straight out the other. His attention was completely locked on the patient charts, as if the world had temporarily ceased to exist.
You let out a quiet sigh, then reached over the nurse station counter, fished a latex glove out of the open cardboard box, and with a quick movement, snapped it right against his back.
“Ouch!” Robby exclaimed, finally jerking his gaze away from the screen. He rubbed the spot where the glove had stung him, looking equal parts surprised and betrayed. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because I’ve been trying to talk to you!” You fought to keep your voice from snapping, though the frustration was definitely leaking through. “Did you call the bouncy castle people already?”
He nodded, leaning back in his chair with a groan. “Yeah, already did. They’re charging me two hundred extra for switching from the unicorn castle to the capybara one with less than a week’s notice, by the way.” He tried to sound annoyed, but it didn’t quite land. Michael loved his daughter far too much for that. If he had to build a goddamn capybara bouncy castle with his own two hands so she could have whatever she wanted in the entire world, he would do it without hesitation. Instead of irritation, his expression softened into something almost endearing, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was fighting back a smile at her latest demand.
“And you’re paying for it without complaining because you’re a great father,” you said matter-of-factly, unable to hide the fond smile tugging at your own lips. “Remember, the party’s at three. You still good for setup?”
Robby exhaled through his nose, the sound almost a laugh but not quite. "They're delivering the capybara monstrosity at one-thirty. Said they'd set it up in the backyard." He rubbed a hand over his jaw as if he was remembering what other arrangements he’d made. "Also confirmed the balloon guy with a helium tank, should be there by two."
You nodded, feeling the relief you always felt whenever Robby managed to take care of everything. Co-parenting with Robby has always been like this, efficient, practical, and competent. No missed pickups, no forgotten appointments. He'd never once let your daughter down, even when work tried to swallow him whole.
"And the cake?" you asked because you can't help it, even though you knew the answer.
He gave you a side-eye, the one that said do you even have to ask? "Chocolate with vanilla buttercream, extra sprinkles. Pickup at two-fifteen, I'll swing by after my shift ends, already talked to Shen and he’ll cover for me.”
Five years ago, you were a fourth-year med student rotating in this very department, terrified of screwing up in front of the mighty Dr. Robinavitch. Then Dr. Robinavitch slowly became Dr. Robby to you… and eventually he was just Michael when you were moaning his name under the weight of his body in his bed.
What you and Robby once had was simple, and you both liked it that way. It was the comfort of each other’s company after a brutal shift when neither of you wanted to be alone. No strings, no labels, no complications of being a real couple. No whispered rumors in the hospital about Robby seeing a med student outside of work. No pressure on Robby’s well-known inability to commit to anything more than passionate sex at night and coffee in the morning.
But simple things didn’t always stay simple, especially not when two adults knew exactly how risky it was to keep skipping protection, and neither of you ever felt much enthusiasm about pulling out. “Fuck, this is the last time, Michael,” you’d said more than once, breathless and frustrated. “Why are you nagging me?” he’d reply with a half-smirk, still catching his breath. “I had every intention of pulling out before you wrapped your legs around me like that.”
And that’s exactly how, six months after the first night you slept in Robby’s bed, you found yourself staring at the most terrifying sight you’d ever witnessed in your life: two pink lines on a plastic stick.
The conversation that followed was painfully awkward. You told Robby you were pregnant, and Robby, being who he was, decided it was time to put on his big boy pants and play his cards right. Life had handed him something he never thought he’d get, a baby, a real chance at a family. So he did what any traditional man would do in his position: he settled with you.
You’d moved into his house, and Robby and you had settled into a routine, not as two people who casually slept together on lonely nights, but as partners, and soon-to-be parents.
Robby took you to every single appointment. He insisted on every test to ensure his child’s safety, blended you the best prenatal smoothies, disgusting carrot-and-spinach concoctions that made you gag but that he swore were just what you needed, and even pushed hard for you to take early maternity leave. But of course, you refused, determined to finish your last year of med school before the baby arrived.
The day your daughter was born was the happiest day of Robby’s life. Even now, it still brought him to tears whenever he thought about it, the moment his entire life changed forever, the day he met his greatest love, his reason to keep going, to keep living, to try harder every single day.
But even as Robby put in his best effort to be a boyfriend, it didn’t take long for the fantasy to crumble. It wasn’t all sunrays and paradise, and after endless long shifts in the ED, endless diapers, and all-night cries that never seemed to stop, you were both running on fumes. It became painfully clear, day after day, that the only reason Robby had decided to settle down with you was because he’d gotten you pregnant.
You could see how unhappy he was. He barely spoke a word to you when he got home from work. He’d just sit on the couch with distant, lost eyes staring at the wall like he was the most miserable person alive. The only times he laughed or smiled were in the presence of his daughter. You couldn’t help but feel crushing guilt for trapping him in a relationship he never truly wanted. Robby had longed for a family and for company, but once he had it, he didn’t know what to do with it.
That’s why, after five months of fights and desperate trying, you decided it was time to do the most noble thing you could: let him go. Set him free instead of keeping him trapped beside you in a pretend marriage he’d only started because he was too considerate to let you raise his daughter alone.
Hannah Robinavitch had never once envied her friends whose parents were still married. She never got sad or asked why the three of you couldn’t just be a normal family. Because she already knew you were one, a little different from the others, maybe, but still a family nonetheless. And having separate parents actually had its perks. It meant two houses, twice as many birthday presents, and two different vacation destinations every single year.
Sunlight slanted through the tall maple trees lining the backyard fence, painting patterns across the grass. Your yard was huge, the short green grass always perfectly maintained, and the swimming pool sparkled with crystal-clear water that seemed to catch every ray of light. It was the kind of house you could never have afforded on a resident’s salary in a million years. But Robby had made sure you and Hannah had it anyway the moment the two of you decided to part ways and break up. He’d never blinked at the money when it came to his daughter. If giving her (and you) the nicest possible place to live during your half of the week with her, in a safe, beautiful neighborhood full of every comfort meant making his baby girl happy, then he would do it without hesitation.
Because fuck, Robby was such a good father. The kind who puts his little girl first and everything else second. He finally had a real reason to take days off work and actually go on vacations. He finally had something to look forward to, a future worth living for: taking care of his daughter, watching her grow up, teaching her things, just being needed by this helpless little angel who still demanded he check under the bed for monsters every single night.
You’d read once that when it came to having children, women should look for a man who would make a good father, not necessarily a good husband. Because love could run out. People broke up. They got divorced. But a child was a lifelong commitment. And you’d won the lottery with Michael, even if sometimes you still wished he could have been as good a partner as he was a father.
The enormous capybara-themed bouncy castle Hannah insisted on dominated the grass as screams of delight and the rhythmic thump-thump of small feet echoed from inside it. All her kindergarten friends chased each other in circles as their parents clustered near the patio tables, drinking iced tea and making polite small talk about preschool and summer camps.
You were on snack duty, refilling the chip bowls, and right on cue, the side gate swung open. Robby stepped through, wearing dark jeans and a button-down shirt rolled to the elbows, the sleeves catching on the muscles of his forearms, revealing Hannah’s name tattooed on his wrist.
He was carrying a large gift box wrapped in shiny silver paper with a bright red ribbon tied around it. The second Hannah’d spotted him, the entire backyard might as well have disappeared.
“Daddy!” She launched herself down the slide so fast the inflatable nearly tipped. She was sprinting with her bare feet on the grass before she even landed properly.
Robby dropped to one knee just in time to catch her as she collided into his chest like a missile. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, lifting her clean off the ground for a second, even though she was getting too big for it. She squealed and buried her face in his neck.
“You came! You came!”
“Wouldn’t miss it, babygirl.” He set her down but kept one hand on her shoulder. “Happy birthday.”
She was s already eyeing the box. “Is that for me?”
“Depends.” He raised an eyebrow. “You been good?”
“Super duper good! Ask Mommy! I only ate two cupcakes and I shared my shovel in the sandbox with the other kids!”
You caught his eye over her head, and Robby gave you the tiniest smirk, yeah, he knew “two cupcakes” was probably an undercount.
“Guess it’s yours then.” Robby set the box on the grass, and Hannah attacked the paper. A brand-new bike glints in the sunlight, purple with whitewall tires, training wheels already attached, and even a little bell shaped like a flower.
Hannah froze for half a second, then let out a shriek that made half the parents jump. “A BIKE! Daddy, a BIKE!”
She flung herself at him again, hugging him so hard he had to brace himself. He laughed again, softer this time, and rubbed a hand over her back. “Figured it was time for you to have some riding lessons.”
“I can ride it now? Right now?”
He glanced at you for a quick check-in, the way he always does when big decisions happen, and you nod once.
“Yeah, angel,” you said, walking over. “But helmet stays on, and daddy’ll hold your seat until you’re steady.”
Hannah was already trying to climb on, so Robby steadied the bike with one hand, using the other to guide her foot to the pedal. She wobbled the second her weight hit the seat, but she was grinning so wide it looked almost painful.
Robby shot you another look and then crouched beside Hannah again. “Ready?”
She nodded furiously, and Robby started walking her forward, keeping one hand on the seat, the other hovering near her shoulder to steady her in case she fell. She pedaled hard, poking her tongue out in concentration. The bike lurched, straightened, and lurched again. Robby kept pace easily as you watched from the patio steps. The man who once told you, half-asleep after a fifteen-hour shift, that he wasn’t sure he knew how to be anyone’s dad, was now the same man who walked backward in front of a wobbling five-year-old, talking her through every turn.
“Push harder with your right foot… there you go. Look where you want to go, not at the ground. Yeah, just like that.”
Hannah laughed when the bike finally held a straight line for more than three seconds, and Robby let go of the seat, just for a heartbeat, and then grabbed it again when she tipped.
“I did it! I almost did it!”
“You’re doing it,” he corrected her, encouraging like he’d read in so many parenting books. “Keep going.”
They made a loop around the bouncy castle. Parents pulled out phones to snap pictures of her, and someone even started clapping, making Hannah beam like she was crossing a finish line. You felt eyes on you, Robby’s, briefly. He didn’t say anything, but the look told enough: we made this kid. Look at her.
After another lap, he slowed her to a stop near the bouncy castle. She was flushed and sweaty, but utterly triumphant. “Can we take the training wheels off?” she asked immediately.
Robby exhaled a laugh. “Tomorrow, maybe. Today we celebrate the fact you didn’t eat pavement.”
He ruffled her hair, then stood, brushing grass off his jeans. Robby walked over to you, watching Hannah show off her new ride to anyone who’ll listen.
“You good?” He asked you. “You’ve been running this circus solo all afternoon.”
“I’m fine. Exhausted, but fine.” You paused, then added softly, “She’s having the best day. Because you’re here.”
He looked at you then, and something about his eyes reminded you of the way he used to look at you when you were falling asleep on his couch with a newborn between you. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
Hannah zoomed past again, ringing the little flower bell. “Five,” he muttered, almost to himself. “How the hell did that happen?”
You didn’t have an answer, you just stood there beside him, your shoulder almost brushing his, watching your daughter ride circles around the backyard.
Two hours later, you were cutting slices out of the chocolate cake while Robby stood right next to you, handing them out to the sugar-desperate kids swarming the table.
You passed another slice to Robby. He took it from your hands, brushing his fingers against yours for a brief second.
“You know, I didn’t see Vet Guy over here,” he said, pulling on a dramatically disappointed face. “Bummer. I was really hoping to finally meet the guy.” You decided to ignore the sarcastic, obviously ill-intended comment. Robby, never one to let silence win, kept going. “I suppose he was busy. Did he have a labradoodle to give a haircut?” He let out a loud, self-satisfied chuckle that rumbled into a deep “Ha!”
“That’s a pet esthetician, you know?” You mumbled, aggressively slicing the knife through the cake. “Vets don’t do haircuts.”
“Oh, you’re right,” he mock-apologized, not even pretending to drop the subject, not when he had weeks’ worth of jokes lined up. “Then I guess he had some high-risk procedure. Open-heart surgery on a hamster, maybe?”
“You’re hilarious, Michael,” you said with your biggest deadpan face. “How long did it take you to come up with that one?”
“Oh, I have plenty more where that came from,” he replied, grinning. “Do you even call him Doctor? I mean, vets aren’t even real doctors.”
“Of course they are!” you shot back with sudden, exaggerated respect for the veterinary profession, purely to piss him off.
Vet guy was nice. You’d met him at the hospital after he came in with a nasty dog bite on his leg. You’d tended to the wound while he respectfully flirted with you, not too hard, not desperate or aggressive, but just enough to make you feel seen. He asked genuine questions about you, shared funny stories from his own job, and somehow managed to pull real smiles out of you even after a brutal shift.
When he asked for your number, intending to take you to what he swore was the best Thai restaurant in Pittsburgh, you’d hesitated. You didn’t need more distractions from residency and motherhood. But Dana had insisted you accept. She said you needed to spend time with adults outside the hospital, to do something just for yourself, and to let yourself be treated nicely for one night. Secretly, you knew she was cracking up at the way Robby’s jealousy flared every time Vet guy flirted with you, the way he clenched his jaw, cleared his throat, and rolled his eyes like a petulant child.
You’d gone out with him a couple of times. It was fun. He was a gentleman, smart, funny, handsome, the type of man most women would be thrilled to stumble upon. But then your stupid, stupid brain did that awful thing it always did whenever you started seeing someone new: it compared him to Robby. Robby would’ve ordered that. Robby would’ve said that. Robby would’ve done that. As if your brain had never gotten the memo that you and Robby had broken up. That it hadn’t worked. That you were supposed to be looking for a guy who wasn’t like him at all.
“Oh, please. WE are doctors. They’re frauds.” Robby scoffed. “What’s that guy’s biggest life achievement? Getting vomited on by a dog?”
“You’ve clearly thought a lot about a guy I’ve only gone out with like two times,” you offered him your fakest smile. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were the one dating him, not me.”
Robby’s expression, which up until that moment had been mocking and sleazy, changed completely. His smile flattened into a thin, straight line, and his eyes turned serious. “Funny,” he mumbled as he handed another slice of cake to a waiting kid.
“And to answer your question, no, I wasn’t gonna bring some random guy I had dinner with a couple of times to my daughter’s birthday. You know me better than that.”
He didn’t say anything else. Robby knew you were right, you weren’t the type of person who introduced someone new into Hannah’s life unless it was truly serious. But behind all the mockery and cheap jokes, there was something dangerously close to jealousy. The thought of you deciding another man was better than him, more worthy of your time and interest, the idea of Hannah ever having a stepdad, of him no longer being the only male figure in both your lives… it infuriated him.
Was he an asshole for wanting to keep you all to himself when he had no right to demand to be the only man in your life? Maybe. Was he stupid to pretend that a gorgeous, smart, and amazing woman like you would stay single forever, living on the memory of what you two once were, waiting for him to finally grow a pair of balls and give you what you deserved? The same thing he’d had every chance to give you years ago, but had been too scared to reach for, letting it slip away Definitely.
As the party came to an end, kids hugged, and parents collected backpacks and stray shoes, mumbling thank yous to you and Robby.
You stood by the gate, waving and promising playdates. Robby was on Hannah duty now, helping her say goodbye to each friend, crouching so he was eye-level, reminding her to say “thank you for coming.”
Most of the crowd thinned out quickly, a few stragglers lingered, one of them was Ethan, father of Mia, one of Hanna’s closest friends from the four-year-old room. Divorced last year, or so the gossip went. Nice enough guy. Tall, with an easy smile. He was hanging back near the patio table, helping stack chairs while his daughter ran one last lap around the bouncy castle.
You walked over to grab the last of the empty cups. “Great party,” he said, straightening up. “Hanna’s in heaven. That bike was a killer gift.”
“Thanks. Robby picked it out.” You smiled, tossing cups into the trash bag. “She’s been begging for one since she saw the big kids riding at the park.”
Ethan nodded, lingering his eyes on your face for a second. “Smart move.” He paused, then added, softer, “You pulled this off like a pro. Solo hosting a kindergarten party? Respect.”
You laughed lightly. “Not entirely solo. Robby’s been here all afternoon.”
“Yeah, I saw.” His tone was casual, but there was a flicker of curiosity there, maybe appraisal. “You two seem… good. Co-parenting goals and all that.”
“We manage,” you said neutrally.
He stepped a little closer, dropping his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Listen, if you ever want a break from… all of this. I just… figured it might be nice to talk to someone who gets the single-parent thing.” He smiled warmly. “Mia talks about Hannah nonstop. Be good for them to have more playdates. And for us to… catch up. Maybe you could give me some tips for this whole co-parenting lifestyle.”
It wasn’t subtle at all. The way he held eye contact a beat too long, the slight lean, the casual brush of his hand against yours when he handed you a stray napkin. You felt heat creepong up your neck. It wasn’t interest, exactly, just the awkward awareness of being seen that way.
You opened your mouth to deflect politely. But before you could, behind you, a voice cut in.
“Ethan, right?” Robby was there suddenly, casual as anything, holding Hannah’s new helmet in one hand. “Mia’s dad.”
Ethan straightened, his smile faltering only a fraction like he’d been caught red-handed. “Yeah. Hey, man. Good to see you.”
Robby nodded once. “You too.” He flicked his gaze to you, then back to Ethan. “We’re starting to clean up over here. You need help finding her shoes? Think they’re by the slide.”
Ethan blinked, then laughed it off. “Nah, we’re good. Just saying goodbye.” He looked at you again. “Think about what I said, okay? No rush.” He waved, called for Mia, and headed toward the gate.
You exhaled slowly, but Robby didn’t move. He was quiet for a long minute, then: “Sooo. Ethan.”
You snorted as you started gathering stray plates from the patio table. “Yeah?”
Robby followed, picking up cups without being asked. “Seemed chatty.”
“He’s friendly.”
“Very friendly.” Robby stacked the cups. “Animated, even.”
You glanced at him. His face was neutral, almost too neutral, a sign of how secretly annoyed he was. “Robby.”
“What?” Innocent. It sounded too innocent.
“You’re being nosy. First with vet guy, and now again.”
“I’m making conversation.” He set the stack down. “Guy was all secretive talking in your ear. What’d he want?”
You laughed despite yourself. “None of your business.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That bad?”
“Not bad. Just… standard divorced-dad. He wanted to organize some playdates. The usual.”
Robby nodded slowly, like he was filing that away. “Huh.”
You waited, but he didn't elaborate. Instead, he picked up a stray balloon string, winding it around his fingers. “Guy’s got some nerve. Hitting on you in the middle of our kid’s birthday party.”
Our kid. He didn’t say it possessively, just as a fact. You turned to face him fully. “Jealous, Robinavitch?”
He met your eyes without flinching. “Curious,” he corrected. “Big difference.”
“Sure.”
He didn’t deny it. “Anyway,” he said, his voice back to normal without the edge of jealousy in it. “I’ll help deflate that monstrosity in the yard before it blows away. Then I’ll get out of your hair.”
After Robby had helped the bouncy castle guys, he hauled the last of the folding chairs back to the garage and carried out three trash bags without being asked. He stepped back into the kitchen through the sliding door. “Hannah's out cold,” he said, keeping his voice low so he didn’t wake her. “Tried to get her to brush her teeth, but she rolled over and kept sleeping.”
You laughed under your breath. “She’ll be up at six tomorrow demanding to ride the bike again.”
“Good luck trying to talk her out of it.” You felt the weight of his gaze as he pushed off the counter. “Anyway, I should head out. Early shift tomorrow.”
You turned the faucet off, drying your hands on a dish towel. “Thanks for everything today. Seriously. She had a great time thanks to you.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Thanks to both of us. We’re a good team.”
You walked him toward the front door. At the door, he stopped, with one hand on the knob as he turned back to you. For a second, he just looked, not at your face, but at all of you.
His eyes started at your bare shoulders where the thin straps of your sundress sat, tracing the line of your collarbone, then they dropped deliberately down the front of the dress. You felt suddenly aware of every inch it covered, and of every inch it didn’t. Robby lingered his gaze on your waist, the flare of your hips, and the hem brushing just above your knees. Then lower, to your legs, and back up again, slower this time, until he met your eyes.
There was heat in the way he looked at you, nothing subtle about the way his eyes roamed your body. It was the look of a man who was remembering exactly what you feel like under his hands, what you tasted like, what sounds you used to make when he was inside you. The kind of look that said he wanted to back you against the nearest wall, hike that dress up around your waist, and fuck you until the only thing either of you could hear was your own breathing and the wet sound of skin against skin.
He didn’t say anything, there was no need for words. Your mouth went dry as the heat coiled in your lower belly, the same way it had many nights before. Five years since you stopped sleeping together. Five years of boundaries, separate beds, separate lives. And still one look was enough to make your body remember.
He exhaled through his nose, almost an incredulous laugh, “Happy birthday to her,” he said quietly, nodding toward the living room. “We made something good.”
“Yeah,” you managed to say, your voice coming out softer than you meant it to. “We did.”
The weeks slid by in the same rhythm you’d grown accustomed to: long shifts at the hospital, trying to be a present mom whenever you weren’t buried in charts, and the handoffs with Robby at your house.
It was a Saturday afternoon, the day of Hannah’s ballet recital. You arrived a little early because she had been buzzing about it for weeks, her first real performance after long months of practice. Plus, you appreciated every rare opportunity life gave you to wear something that wasn’t scrubs. You’d gotten your hair done, put on soft makeup, slipped into a nice dress and high heels, and for once you felt like a whole different person. Someone confident. Someone who could take on the world.
You loved Hannah. You loved being a mom. But sometimes you missed the person you used to be before all of this. You missed being seen as more than just “Mom.” You missed conversations with adults that didn’t revolve around kindergarten, tantrums, or pediatric appointments. You were still young, and even though you’d always been mature for your age, you’d had to grow up fast the moment you became a mother. You had never imagined yourself with a child before you even became a doctor. You certainly hadn’t pictured managing residency at the same time you were raising a tiny human being.
But even if life hadn’t turned out the way you’d once planned, you didn’t regret any of the decisions that had brought you here in this auditorium, about to watch your daughter’s ballet recital.
You spotted Robby near the front row, saving seats for the two of you. When he saw you, he stood, waving you over with a half-smile. “Hey,” he said as you slid into the seat beside him. “She’s backstage, losing her mind. Kept asking if both of us were coming.”
You laughed softly, settling your purse on the floor. “Wouldn’t miss it. Was she nervous?”
“Not one bit. She made me practice clapping in the car.” He glanced at you, his eyes lingering a second longer than necessary. “You look nice.”
You couldn’t avoid feeling the heat creeping up your neck, but you brushed it off. “Thanks. You cleaned up nice, too.”
Before he could reply, the lights dimmed, and the ballet instructor, a woman in her sixties, welcomed everyone, and then the curtain slowly parted.
There she was. Hannah stood front and center in her pink leotard and tutu, her hair,the same brown shade as Robby’s, pulled into a slightly lopsided bun secured with a sparkly clip. She immediately scanned the audience, spotted the two of you sitting side by side, and her whole face lit up like sunrise. Forgetting every rule about staying still, she waved at you both with both hands.
The routine was equal parts adorable and chaotic, little arms waving with enthusiasm, a few spins that turned into giggles, and tiny dancers bumping into one another. But when it came time for her part in the middle, Hannah nailed it, twirling with maximum concentration, poking out her tongue slightly the way it always did when she was trying her hardest.
You were grinning so hard your cheeks ached as you recorded the whole thing on your phone, careful not to miss a single moment. Beside you, Robby was doing the same, leaning forward in his seat like he was afraid to miss even one second of his little girl shining under the stage lights.
When it ended, the room erupted in applause. You and Robby were on your feet first, clapping loud enough to drown out half the parents. Hannah beamed, blowing kisses at the audience, then bolting offstage the second she was allowed.
Backstage, Hannah launched herself at you both at once, her arms around your legs and Robby’s in a group hug.
“Did you see me twirl, Mommy? Daddy, did you see?”
“We saw everything,” Robby said, scooping her up in his arms. “You were the best one up there, angel. Hands down.”
“You were perfect,” you whispered, leaning to place a big and loud kiss into her hair. “So proud of you, baby.”
Hannah tugged at your hand. “Can we get ice cream? To celebrate?”
Robby raised an eyebrow at you as if awaiting to see what your answer would be, and silently hoping it’d be a yes.
You smiled. “Ice cream sounds perfect.”
He set Hannah down on the floor, then crouched so she could climb onto his back. She wrapped her little arms and legs around him tightly, her favorite perch. With a soft grunt and an easy smile, Robby straightened up, carrying her like she weighed nothing.
The three of you headed for the exit together. You walked beside Robby, close enough that your shoulder brushed against his every few steps, but neither of you pulled away. There was something about the way the three of you looked, almost like a picture-perfect family to anyone glancing from the outside. It made your mind loosen the reins on old fantasies: how different life would have been if the three of you had managed to make it work. If being together had been a choice made out of love instead of obligation, the only option he felt he had at the time.
God, how much you still wished things had worked with Robby. What wouldn’t you give to see him truly happy to be with you, instead of miserable the way he looked every time the two of you came home from a long shift.
The ice cream shop had a neon sign flickering “OPEN” in red letters, sticky vinyl booths, and the widest variety of ice cream flavors you’d ever seen. Hannah insisted on extra sprinkles and chocolate sauce on her cone. She was perched between you and Robby on the bench seat, swinging her legs and recounting her ballet routine for the third time.
“I did the spin and everyone clapped SO loud! Did you hear it, Daddy?”
“Loudest ovation in the room,” Robby said, wiping a streak of chocolate from her cheek with his thumb. “You owned that stage, babygirl.”
You watched them as you ate your strawberry ice cream cone drizzled with hot fudge. It was uncanny how much Hannah looked like Robby, like he had been cloned into a tiny, feminine version of himself. The same soft brown hair, the same big, puppy-brown eyes that were easily the warmest you’d ever seen in your life. Eyes you could never say no to, because one single look from them melted your heart every time.
She was already slowing down, the adrenaline from the recital and the sugar rush from the ice cream finally catching up with her. Her head rested heavily against Robby’s shoulder as she munched the last bites of her ice-cream, her little eyelids starting to flutter.
The walk home was only ten minutes, but Hannah's steps turned sluggish halfway there. Robby scooped her up without a word, and she curled against his shoulder as she’d always belonged there, tucking her head under his chin as she fisted her little hand on his shirt.
At your front door, Hannah was completely out, her rosy cheek smooshed against Robby’s collarbone, with her mouth slightly open. You unlocked the door quietly and stepped inside.
Robby carried her upstairs like she weighed nothing. You followed, watching the careful way he lowered her to the bed, tugged off her ballet slippers and pink tutu, and pulled the covers up.
Downstairs again, you were suddenly aware of how quiet the house was without her chatter filling it. He stopped a few feet away. “She’s wiped..”
“Yeah.” You smiled. “She had a big day today.”
He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you… in that dress. You’re punishing me. You have no idea what you do to me.”
“Robby.”
He didn’t back off. Just looked at you in the same way he did the night of the birthday party. Tracing his eyes over the neckline of the dress, the way it hugs your waist, the bare skin of your breasts.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you said, but your voice came out quieter than you intended. As if part of you didn’t really want him to stop. You longed for the validation, for knowing you were still the woman who drove him insane, the one who made him feel things no one else could, his soft spot, his weakness.
And for Robby, you still were. Until this day, you were the only one who could bring out the most vulnerable side of him. It wasn’t just the physical part, though God, your body drove him insane. He could still feel the ghost of your skin against his every night when he closed his eyes. It wasn’t the sex either, though in fifty-four years of life he’d never found anyone who felt quite like you did, anyone who made him feel so many things, who woke up the most primitive, most virile part of him.
It was simply you. Your strength when you carried a pregnancy and still worked your ass off for your career. Your quick mind and the way you could deliver a witty comeback that put him in his place when he deserved it. Your competence, something he found extremely attractive, both at work and as a mom. And watching you raise his daughter with a patience and love only you could give, loving her so fiercely with every bone in your body… it made him feel things he’d never felt before.
“Like what?”
“Like you want to eat me alive.”
He huffed a half-laugh as he stepped closer. “Can’t blame a guy for looking.”
You swallowed, using all the self-restraint you had in your body to stop yourself from jumping into his arms. “Every time we’re close like this, I have to remind myself why this is a bad idea.”
He tilted his head. He knew you too well, he could see how much you were trying to be strong and how much you wanted it too. “And why’s that, exactly?”
“Because we tried. We crashed. We hurt each other. We’ve got a kid now, it’s not just us we gotta think of, but her. And we’ve got a good thing going on, we’re good at this.” You gestured between you. “At being her parents. At not screwing it up. Adding… whatever this is… risks that.”
He’s quiet for a beat. Then: “Don’t think. Just do what you want.”
You stared at him. “Is that your new motto? ‘Don’t think, just do it?’”
He took another half-step, close enough you could smell the mint from his ice-cream on his breath. “One night,” he said. “Doesn’t have to mean more. Doesn’t have to change anything tomorrow. We used to be so good together. You remember that? Because I do, I remember it every single night.”
Your pulse hammered in your throat, a rhythm that matched the sudden heat blooming in your belly. You remembered it too, every vivid and overwhelming detail.
The kind of chemistry you and Robby had in bed had been like nothing you’d ever experienced before. The way your bodies responded to each other was like they were made for it, instinctive, almost frightening in its intensity. Every single touch felt magnetic and electrifying, sending sparks racing across your skin even from the lightest brush of his fingers. The way he knew exactly how to unravel you, and how you could do the same to him. You had both cried out in pleasure every single time, sounds that echoed in the dark of his bedroom, your bodies slick and trembling, chasing that peak until the world narrowed down to nothing but the two of you.
It was the kind of fire you only find once in a lifetime. But you couldn’t do it.
You couldn’t risk setting that fire loose again and burning down the delicate, carefully manufactured system you had built together. For Hannah’s sake, you needed to keep Robby exactly where he was: your co-parent, your reliable partner in raising your daughter, not your lover anymore. One wrong move, one night of giving in to the pull that still crackled between you, and everything could crumble, the peaceful handoffs, the shared birthdays, the stability Hannah thrived on. You refused to gamble with her sense of security just because your body still remembered how perfectly he once fit against you, how his voice sounded when he fell apart because of you.
“Of course you’re horny. You just want a quick fuck. I should’ve known.”
His expression flickered, showing a little of something that looked like hurt in his eyes. “Come on. It’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like?”
“Okay, fine. Maybe I do want sex,” Robby admitted, “but come on, don’t pretend you don’t want it too. You remember how much fun we used to have.”
He found your waist, pulling you gently against him. You gasped softly as he slid his palms lower, cupping your ass through the fabric, possessive squeezes that send sparks straight through you. He massaged your flesh deliberately, pressing his thumbs in just the right spots, drawing you closer until you were flush against his chest.
“God, I want you,” he murmured against your ear. “So fucking much. Always have. Always will, probably.”
He dug his fingers a little harder into the curve of your ass, kneading the soft flesh with confidence. You were so close that you could already feel the hard outline of his cock pressing insistently against your lower stomach. He was hard for you, just from being this close, just from a few lingering touches. It took every ounce of willpower you had not to give in, not to reach down and palm him over his pants until he groaned into your mouth the way he used to.
“Keep your hands where I can see them, Robinavitch,” you warned, trying to sound threatening. It came out breathy and weak instead. You couldn’t fool anyone, least of all him. You wanted this, maybe even more than he did.
“You don’t want my hands where you can see them,” he replied with that stupid, cocky tone he always slipped into when he knew he had you right where he wanted you. “You want them in places you can’t see. You haven’t forgotten how good I am with them, have you? Nah… some things these hands did to you are impossible to forget.”
You bit your lip hard to stop yourself from smiling. Cocky motherfucker.
Finally, with the last scrap of self-control you could muster, you pushed him away. “You had your fun. Time for you to leave.”
“I was barely starting to have fun,” he said with a wicked smile as he took a step back, rubbing one hand over his face. “You, cruel, cruel woman.”
“You’ll live,” you muttered. “Go chase some nurses. They love you. Well… the ones who don’t actually work with you do.”
“You hurt me,” he exclaimed dramatically, pressing a hand over his heart in mock offense. “I don’t have any nurse to chase. And even if I did, nobody could compare to us. You know that.”
“You broke things off with the last one?” you asked in mock surprise, playing dumb. “What was her name? Nora? N… Natalie?”
You knew Robby had had his fair share of affairs throughout the years, nothing too serious, nothing that ever deserved a real conversation, and definitely nothing meaningful enough to introduce to Hannah. Still, it stung. You couldn’t exactly throw it in his face, you’d gone out with people too. But you wished the asshole would keep his flings away from the hospital, away from the place where you had to watch him flash those stupid little smiles and do his little shoe-lace trick for whatever nurse had caught his eye this month. The same way he’d once done it for you.
“I won’t answer to those accusations against me,” he said, shaking his head with a low chuckle. Robby stepped closer again and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. “Have a good night. I’ll see myself out.”
You couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips as you watched him walk toward the door and finally leave the house. Five years later, and your body still caught fire whenever his hands were on you. Five years later, and you still loved your silly arguments and the way he could make you laugh even when you were pretending to be mad at him. Five years later… and you were still deeply enamored with Michael Robinavitch.
The clock on your nightstand glowed 2:17 a.m. when the first cry cut through the dark.
It wasn’t not the usual sleepy whimper or the “I had a bad dream” whine. It was a sharp sound, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of vomit hitting the floor.
You were out of bed before your brain fully registered it, rushing down the hall. Hannah’s room light was already on, and she was sitting up in bed, with the bedsheets twisted around her legs, her face shiny with sweat, and her eyes glassy because of the tears. There was a small puddle of bile on the rug beside her, and another streak down the front of her pajama top.
“Mommy—”
“I’m here, baby.” You dropped to your knees beside the bed, lifting your hand to her forehead. She was burning, her skin hot enough to make your palm sting. “Oh, sweetheart.”
She leaned heavily into you, her body trembling as another wave hit her. This time it was dry heaves because there was nothing left in her stomach to bring up. You lunged for the small trash can under her desk just in time, holding it steady beneath her chin while your other hand gathered her soft brown hair back from her face. With gentleness, you rubbed slow, soothing circles on her back, murmuring the same comforting nonsense you always did in moments like this.
Your voice stayed calm and steady for her sake, but inside, your mind had flipped into full doctor mode, racing through the mental checklist at lightning speed. Fever. Persistent vomiting. She had been fine at bedtime, tired from her long ballet practice, a little sniffly maybe, but nothing that had raised any red flags.
“Mommy… tummy aches,” Hannah mumbled weakly.
Your heart clenched so hard it hurt. You scooped her up immediately, blanket and all, and carried her to the bathroom. You ran a washcloth under cold water, wrung it out, and pressed it gently to the back of her neck, hoping the chill would bring some relief. Then you offered her a small sip of water from the cup on the sink. She took it obediently, but almost instantly spat it back out, coughing and whimpering.
Reaching out for the thermometer from the medicine cabinet, you grabbed it and slipped it under her tongue, holding her close while you waited for the beep. 103.8. You managed to get a dose of Tylenol into her, but she could barely keep it down, her whole body shuddered as she fought the nausea, and her teeth chattered from the fever chills as she curled into you even tighter, shaking hard.
Helpless, that’s how you felt, completely helpless. And as a mother, feeling helpless was the worst torture imaginable. You were a doctor, and yet here in your own house, with your own child, there was only so much you could do. The cold washcloths weren’t bringing her temperature down fast enough. The medicine wasn’t staying in her long enough to work. Nothing seemed to help.
You couldn’t stand seeing your baby like this: so pale, so tired, her usual bright energy drained away, her little body trembling in your arms.. In this moment, more than anything, you wished Robby were here. Robby would know exactly what to do. He always did. He’d take one look at her, assess the situation and figure out what was wrong with Hannah right away. He’d fix it the same way he fixed dozens of people every single day in the pitt.
You sat on the edge of the tub with her in your lap, rocking her slowly, trying to keep her calm while you dialed Robby.
He picked up on the second ring. His voice was rough with sleep, but instantly alert when he realized you wouldn’t be calling this late at night if there wasn’t something really urgent going on. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Hannah’s sick. Fever’s 103.8, she’s been vomiting for the last twenty minutes. Won’t keep anything down. She’s shaking.”
There was the rustle of sheets and the immediate creak of a bedframe on Robby’s end. He was already moving, even half-asleep. You could practically see him sitting up in the dark.
“Okay,” his voice came through the phone. “Did you give her Tylenol?”
“Yes.”
“Motrin too? You should alternate if the fever’s that high.”
“I only have children’s Tylenol here,” you answered. “Motrin’s at your place.”
There was a brief pause, then a quiet “Okay… okay. Alright.” You heard him exhale slowly, the sound of fabric shifting as he moved. “Cool clothes? Cold washcloth on her neck or forehead?”
“I’m trying the cloth right now, but I’m not seeing any changes. The fever won’t come down at all.”
“Are you hydrating her? Give her small sips of water, tiny amounts so she doesn’t throw it right back up.”
“I am,” you said, glancing at the half-empty cup on the bathroom counter. “She’s spitting most of it back up. She can’t keep anything down.”
Another pause stretched between you. Even for a man who could keep ice-cold composure during the most chaotic live-or-die codes in the ED, something in Robby’s voice betrayed how uneasy he really was. You heard the rustle of clothes being pulled on quickly, then the unmistakable jingle of keys.
“So, fever’s still not budging?” he asked.
“Not yet. She’s miserable, Robby. Keeps saying her tummy hurts, and the dry heaves are getting worse. She’s shaking so hard her teeth are chattering.”
You heard loud, hurried footsteps crossing his floorboards, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing with a firm sound.
“Take her to the ER. Now.” There was no hesitation left in his words. “I’ll meet you there.”
Your stomach dropped. “You think it’s that bad?”
“I think 103.8 in a five-year-old who can’t keep meds or fluids down is worth getting checked. Could be viral, could be something else. Better be safe.”
You nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “Okay. I’ll get her dressed. We’re leaving in five.”
“I’m already in the car. Text me when you’re on the road.”
He hung up, and you moved fast, changing Hannah into fresh pajamas, wiping her face, and wrapping her in the softest blanket she owned. She was listless now, her soft head lolling against your shoulder as small whimpers left her lips every time the nausea rolled through her again. You grabbed her insurance card, your wallet, a spare change of clothes for her, and the little stuffed unicorn she’d been sleeping with every night.
You placed Hannah in her car seat, with her blanket tucked around her. You buckled her in carefully, kissing her hot forehead. “We’re going to see the doctors, okay? Daddy’s meeting us there. You’re gonna feel better soon.”
She just nodded with her eyes half-closed. The drive to the hospital was only fifteen minutes at this hour through the dark and empty streets. You kept one hand on the wheel, and the other reaching back to hold hers. She was quiet except for the occasional gags into the bowl you’d wedged beside her seat.
You pulled into the ambulance bay lot, killed the engine and unbuckled Hannah. She was burning up, her usually light body now felt heavy and limp because of the fever. You wrapped the blanket tighter around her and lifted her carefully into your arms as you hurried toward the sliding glass doors.
They whooshed open, and Lena, the night-shift charge nurse, looked up from the desk. Her face immediately softened with concern the moment she recognized you.
“Hey… oh, honey.” Her voice dropped gently. “Is that Hannah?”
“Fever hit 103.8 at home,” you rattled off, shifting your daughter’s weight higher on your hip, trying to keep your voice steady, as if you were presenting a case, not describing your daughter’s symptoms. “Persistent vomiting, abdominal pain. I gave her Tylenol twenty minutes ago, but no improvement at all.”
Lena nodded briskly, already waving you over. “Bay six. We’ll get vitals right away.”
“Who’s on tonight?” you asked, walking fast down the familiar hallway. “Shen?”
“Dr. Abbot. I’ll send him your way as soon as he’s free.”
“Oh, thank God,” you exhaled, the relief hitting you so hard it made your shoulders sag for a moment. If there was anyone in this entire hospital you’d trust with Hannah besides Robby, it was Jack, Hannah’s godfather. You still remembered the day Robby had asked him to be his daughter’s godfather. The way Jack’s eyes had filled with tears, the two men pulling each other into a tight hug like brothers, like two men who were the only ones who truly understood the weight of this life, the long shifts, the losses, and the rare moments of hope like that one. Abbot had promised right then that he’d always have her back, no matter what.
You were halfway down the hall when Robby rounded the corner. The second his eyes landed on Hannah in your arms, his entire expression shifted to fatherly fear.
“Hey, angel,” he said softly, stepping close. He brushed a gentle hand over her back. “Mom said you’re not feeling good, huh?”
Hannah managed a weak, cracked little “Daddy…” before turning her face back into your neck, hiding from the bright lights and the unfamiliar sounds.
Robby flicked his gaze up to yours, doing that assessing scan he always did, checking not just Hannah, but how you were holding up. “You okay?”
“Fine,” you whispered, though your voice trembled as the tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “Just… scared. I hate seeing her like this. She’s never been this sick.”
He nodded once. “I’ve got her.”
You handed her over without hesitation. Hannah clung to him immediately, wrapping her small arms around his neck and burying her face against his shoulder like he was her safe place. Robby carried her the rest of the way into the bay. He laid her down gently on the hospital bed, keeping one hand resting protectively on her stomach while the other smoothed damp strands of hair off her forehead with tenderness.
One of the night-shift nurses stepped in right away and rechecked her temperature. “It’s up to 104.1 now.” Her oxygen saturation was still holding steady, but she was clearly dehydrated, her lips cracked and dry, her eyes a little sunken, her usually rosy cheeks pale.
A couple of seconds later, Abbot strode into the bay, sweeping his eyes over the scene: little Hannah lying on the bed, Robby standing guard on one side, you on the other.
“Hey,” Abbot said, pulling Robby into a quick, one-armed brotherly hug, clapping his back once, and giving you a nod. “Heard our girl was here. Sorry, I was tied up with a gunshot wound, perforated lung. It’s chaos tonight.”
“She’s been throwing up everything, couldn’t even keep the Tylenol down,” Robby reported, giving the facts the way two attendings would, except this time his voice carried an edge of helplessness he rarely showed. He wasn’t the doctor tonight. He was the father. “Fever’s up to 104.1. We should get an IV going, more Tylenol, Zofr—”
“I’ve got this,” Abbot interrupted gently but firmly, keeping his tone calm and reassuring as he stepped closer to the bed. He looked down at Hannah with the softest smile, dropping his voice into that sweet, playful tone he saved only for kids. “Hey, Hannah Banana… we’re gonna get you feeling brand new before you even realize, okay?” He offered her a warm smile and the gentlest pinch on her cheek.
“Uncle Jack…” she mumbled, her voice cracking pitifully as another wave of nausea rolled through her.
The nurse started the IV in her tiny hand. Hannah cried out at the poke, a heartbreaking whimper that twisted something deep in your chest. Robby was right there, holding her other hand tightly, talking her through it in that calm voice he used with every scared kid who came through these doors. “Just a little pinch, angel. You’re being so brave. Almost done… that’s my good girl. Daddy’s right here.”
You stood on the opposite side of the bed, holding her foot gently in both hands and rubbing soothing circles over her ankle with your thumb, as if your touch alone could somehow absorb her pain and make it yours instead.
“We’ll keep her under observation for a while, wait for the fever to come down,” Abbot told you both. “I’ll come back in fifteen to check on her again, but she’s in the best hands tonight with the two of you right here.”
“Thank you, Jack,” you said quietly with gratitude. He gave your shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze before stepping back.
“Thanks, brother,” Robby added right after you, his hand never leaving Hannah’s hair.
Robby didn’t leave her side for even a second. He didn’t glance at his phone, didn’t step out to grab coffee, didn’t let himself get distracted by anything else. He stayed right there, anchored to the bed, resting one large hand gently on Hannah’s forehead, occasionally stroking her damp hair back from her skin. Every few minutes he’d lean in and murmur soft, ridiculous nonsense to her sleeping body, telling her she was tougher than any superhero, that the doctors here were the absolute best because they all knew her dad, and that meant she was getting the royal treatment, the best care in the house. You watched him from the corner of your eye. Even after everything, this was still who he was when it mattered most: steady, devoted, completely focused on the tiny human you’d made together.
The hours dragged, and eventually, after the second round of meds, Hannah’s fever finally started trending down. It had dropped to 100.7, and for the first time all night, some color began creeping back into her pale cheeks as her chest rose and fell more peacefully under the blanket.
You and Robby were slumped in the two chairs pulled up beside her bed. Robby broke the silence first. “I know what you’re thinking. You did everything right.”
You let out a shaky breath, staring at Hannah’s sleeping face. “Maybe I should’ve brought her sooner. She would’ve gotten better faster.”
He shook his head slowly. “You waited until it was warranted. You’re a doctor. You know the signs.” He reached over without hesitation, covering your hand with his on the shared armrest. His palm was warm and grounding in a way that made your throat tighten. “It’s just viral. She’s gonna be okay.”
Without thinking, you turned your hand over beneath his and laced your fingers through his, holding on tightly. For a moment, you didn’t care what it meant, or what anyone walking past the bay might think if they glanced in and saw the two of you like this, exes, co-parents, sitting together holding hands. The exhaustion of the night had stripped everything down, and right now, all that mattered was that Hannah was improving and Robby was here.
“Thanks for coming,” you whispered, even though you knew the words weren’t really necessary. Robby would drop everything and be anywhere either of you needed him, that had never been in question.
“Always.” He brushed his thumb slowly over your knuckles, a gentle motion. “Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
By the 6 a.m. check, Hannah’s fever had already dropped to 99.8. The IV fluids had done their job, and she hadn’t vomited anymore, even managed a few sips of apple juice without it coming right back up.
She shifted under the blanket, blinking up at you both. “Mommy? Daddy?”
“Hey, sweetheart,” you whispered, leaning forward to brush her hair back. “How’s your tummy?”
“Better,” she mumbled. “Did uncle Jack cure me?”
“He did.” You smiled, feeling a wave of relief flood through you. “You’re doing great now.”
Robby reached over, stroking his thumb over her cheek. “Morning, angel. You scared us.”
She managed a tiny smile, then winced. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He kissed her temple, lingering there for an extra second. “Just glad you’re feeling better.”
Jack came back a moment later for a quick exam and a review of vitals and labs, thankfully nothing alarming. Viral gastroenteritis, most likely, with a febrile response.
“Thanks for curing me, Uncle Jack,” Hannah said softly with that radiant smile that could melt absolutely anyone in seconds. “You’re the best doctor ever.”
Abbot grinned widely, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at her. “Well, thank you, Hannah Banana. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”
Robby cleared his throat dramatically from the other side of the bay, crossing his arms. “Second best,” he corrected, raising an eyebrow at his daughter.
“Second best,” Hannah agreed immediately, turning that same sweet, dimpled smile toward Robby now, like she was bestowing him with the highest honor.
“Don’t worry, Hannah,” Jack said, leaning in conspiratorially and lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret. “I won’t tell your dad that you actually think I’m the better doctor.” He glanced sideways at his best friend with a mischievous glint. “A man with a fragile ego like him couldn’t take it.”
Robby let out a low, genuine chuckle, shaking his head. “Is she clear to go back home?” he asked, his tone shifting into something more serious, though the corner of his mouth still twitched. “See? I’m asking for your professional opinion and everything.”
Jack nodded, glancing once more at the monitor readings before looking back at both of you. “I’d say she can go home. Fever’s trending nicely downward, and she’s keeping fluids down now. Just keep checking her temperature regularly to make sure it stays down. If she starts vomiting again or the fever spikes back up, bring her straight back, but you two already know that better than most.”
Robby stood, stretching his back with a low groan. “I should head out,” he said, glancing at his watch. “Shift starts in thirty. Gotta change, grab coffee, pretend I’m human.”
You looked up at him, still holding Hannah’s hand. “You’re going in?”
He shrugged, like it was obvious. “Someone’s gotta run this place. You—” He nodded toward Hannah, then you. “—should take the day. Go home with her. Get some sleep, keep an eye on her. She’s fine now, but she’s still wiped. And you’ve been up all night.”
You opened your mouth to argue, out of pure habit, mostly. The words were already forming on your tongue, something about not wanting to burden the team, about pulling your weight like everyone else. But they died the instant your eyes landed on Hannah.
She was curled up small on her side in the hospital bed, the blanket tucked around her shoulders. You couldn’t stay away from her, not today. The thought of leaving her for twelve long hours, of being stuck in the ED while she was at home, possibly starting to feel worse again without you to notice the fever creeping back up made your stomach drop. You wouldn’t be able to focus. You wouldn’t feel at ease for even a second. Every patient you saw would be overshadowed by the constant fear that Hannah might need you and you wouldn’t be there to catch it, to bring her right back in.
And honestly… part of you simply wanted the day off. You wanted to take her home, wrap her up in her favorite blanket, and spend the whole day curled together on the couch. Just the two of you. A Disney marathon playing in the background while she rested her head on your chest and you stroked her hair.
So instead of arguing, you closed your mouth and let the silence settle. The decision had already been made the moment you looked at her.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Okay.”
Robby nodded, satisfied. He leaned down to kiss Hannah’s forehead again. “I’ll come by after shift to see how you’re doing.” He straightened and hesitated for half a second, then reached out and squeezed your shoulder, brushing the side of your neck, just once, before he pulled back. “Text me updates. I’ll turn off silent mode.”
“Will do.”
He lingered for another beat, like he didn’t quite want to leave the room, then turned toward the door. “See you later, angel,” he called softly to Hannah, who was already drifting again.
“Bye, Daddy,” she mumbled, half-asleep.
He gave you one last look, longer than necessary, before slipping out into the hallway. You exhaled slowly, while Robby and Jack handled the last few details with the nurse, you gathered Hannah’s things.
Home sounded like the best idea you’d had in hours. If there was one thing you truly hated about this life, it was how little time work left you to be the kind of mom you desperately wished you could be. Residency had already demanded so much, and motherhood had taken the rest. Every free moment you managed to carve out, you longed to spend it with Hannah. You didn’t want her to grow up one day and feel like you had missed it, like you weren’t there for the special moments. You didn’t want her to remember a childhood where her mom was always rushing, always tired, always halfway out the door.
By the time you pulled into your driveway, Hannah was already dozing in her car seat again. You carried her inside and laid her gently on the couch. The house felt wonderfully quiet after the night chaos of the ED. You changed into new pajamas, made her a nest of pillows and her favorite fuzzy blanket, then crawled in beside her, pulling her body against your chest. She stirred just enough to wrap one arm around your waist and mumble, “Mommy, will you stay today?”
“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Today is just us.”
The rest of the day unfolded slowly. You started with her favorite movie, Encanto, because she never got tired of singing along to every song, no matter if she was just recovering. Hannah curled up with her head in your lap, as you gently played with her hair while she hummed to the songs.
When the movie ended, you made a simple lunch together, something easy on her stomach, a bowl of oatmeal with bananas and strawberries. She only ate half, but she kept it down, earning praises from you. After lunch, you moved on to Moana. She sat cross-legged on the couch, wrapped in her blanket like a burrito, occasionally lifting her head to point at the screen and say, “Look, Mommy, the ocean! Can we go to the beach too?” You laughed softly and pulled her closer, letting her rest her cheek against your shoulder.
Robby’s shift ended late, as usual, and by the time he signed out, he was bone-tired, but the pull to check on Hannah overrode everything else. He texted you: Just got off. Coming by to check on her. You home?
Your reply wasquick: Yeah. She’s asleep. Door’s unlocked.
He let himself in quietly, finding you on the couch where you were curled up with a blanket. “Hey,” you whispered. “She crashed about an hour ago. Fever stayed down all day, no more vomiting.”
Robby exhaled, shrugging out of his jacket and walking over. “Good. That’s good.”
You nodded toward the hallway. “You want to peek in on her?”
He did, already heading to Hannah’s room. She was sprawled on her stomach, with one arm flung out and her stuffed bunny tucked under her chin. Her breathing was deep and even, Robby stood in the doorway for a long minute, just watching her chest rise and fall.
When he came back to the living room, you’d poured two glasses of water and set them on the coffee table. He sank onto the couch beside you, close enough that your knees almost touched, far enough to keep the boundary.
“She looks so much better,” he said quietly. “Color’s back.”
“Yeah.” You tucked your legs under you, pulling the blanket tighter to your body. “I was terrified last night. Thought… I don’t know. Worst-case scenarios kept running through my head.”
He nodded. “Me too. When you called, my heart stopped for a second.”
You took a breath, then another. “You’re a great dad, Robby. You know that, right?”
He glanced at you, surprised by the sudden moment of honesty. “Trying to be.”
“No. You are.” You met his eyes so he could see how much you meant every word that left your lips. “I always knew you would be. Even back when… everything was a mess. When we were still figuring out how to be parents instead of just two people who accidentally made a kid. I saw it in the way you held her the first time. You stepped up. Every single time.”
He looked down at his hands, rubbing his thumb over a callus on his palm, like he didn’t know how to take the compliment.
“We might not have planned her. But Hannah got the best possible dad out of the deal.”
Robby swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement of his throat. His voice came out rough when he finally spoke. “I’ll always be grateful to you for that. For giving me her. For making me a dad when I didn’t even know I could be one. When I didn’t even know if I wanted to be alive.” He exhaled, sounding almost like a laugh without humor. “I look at her sometimes and think… how the hell did I get this lucky? She’s smart, she’s kind, she’s fearless. And half of that’s you. But the other half… I get to be part of it. Every day. Because of you.”
The air between you thickened, it was full of years of shared history, good, bad, messy, beautiful. “I still love you for that,” he said quietly. “Not like… not trying to cross lines. Just… I’ll always have love for you. Because you gave me the best thing in my life. And you trusted me with her. That means more than I could ever express.”
“I know. I feel the same way.” You rolled your head to the side, trying to loosen the knot that’d been building since last night. The motion made your neck crack loudly, and it pulled a wince out of you.
Robby lifted his brow. “You okay?”
“Just the couch napping. My neck’s killing me.”
He didn’t hesitate, standing up right away. “Come here.”
You did hesitate for half a heartbeat, long enough to consider the offer. You were too tired to argue, and you knew how good Robby’s hands were, so you stood up from the couch, then turned so your back was to him. He stepped in behind you, close enough that you felt the warmth of him before his hands even touched you.
He settled his fingers on your shoulders first, pressing his thumbs into the muscles along the tops of your traps, working in slow circles. You couldn’t help dropping your head forward on a soft exhale, closing your eyes as the pressure hit exactly where you needed it.
“God,” you murmured. “You’re still really good at that.”
He huffsed a quiet laugh against your hair. “Muscle memory.”
Robby moved his hands, working down the column of your neck, tracing the tense line on either side of your spine, then out across your shoulders again. You melt into it without meaning to, dropping your shoulders and slowing your breath as the ache unwound thread by thread.
For a minute, it was just that: his hands on your shoulders. Then he slid his palms lower, intentionally, until they settled at your waist. He pulled you back gently, just enough that he had your back pressed against his chest.
He brushed his lips along the side of your neck, teasingly soft at first. Then, firmer in a slow, open-mouthed kiss just below your ear.
Your pulse jumped immediately at the contact of his lips against your skin. “Robby.”
He didn’t stop. Another kiss, lower this time, along the curve where neck meets shoulder. He tightened his hands on your waist, slipping his thumbs under the hem of your top, grazing your bare skin.
“This is a bad idea,” you whispered but it came out unsteady.
Robby moved his mouth over your skin. “Then why does it feel so good?”
You didn’t have an answer, you couldn’t think of one that made sense. He kept going, trailing kisses along the side of your throat, sliding one hand up your side, splaying his fingers across your ribs, the other staying firm at your hip, holding you against him.
You tipped your head back against his shoulder in instinct, and he took the invitation, kissing the exposed line of your throat. Robby drifted his hand higher, brushing the underside of your breast through the fabric. Your hands came up in response, half to stop him, half to hold on, and they landed on his forearms, gripping them.
He murmured against your skin. “Tell me to stop.”
You didn’t stop it. Not one single part of you wanted to. Maybe if you weren’t so bone-deep tired, physically drained from years of resisting him, of constantly convincing yourself that you didn’t want this, that you weren’t aching for this every time he got too close, you might have found the strength to push him away again. To remind yourself of all the careful boundaries you’d built for Hannah’s sake. To remember why this was dangerous.
But right now, none of that mattered. Right now you needed Robby. You needed his warmth, you needed his touch, those large, capable hands that knew every inch of your body better than anyone else ever had, or ever would. You needed the intoxicating pleasure only he could ever give you, the rumble of his voice in your ear, and the way he could make you forget every careful reason you’d built to keep him at arm’s length.
The resistance you’d been carrying for years suddenly felt too heavy to hold anymore. In this quiet moment all you wanted was to let go. To stop fighting the pull that had never really gone away. To let Robby remind you, just for tonight, how good it felt to be wanted like this.
Under your shirt, one of Robby’s hands cupped the swell of your breast through the fabric of your bra. He traced slow circles over the peak, teasing the nipple into a tight point, making you arch without meaning to, and he rewarded you with a soft bite at the curve of your shoulder.
“Fuck,” you whispered, the curse slipping out before you could stop it.
Robby exhaled a rough laugh against your throat. “There she is.” He sounded proud of getting this reaction out of you, of remembering your body even if it’d been years since the last time he’d touched you.
He palmed your other breast now, both hands working in tandem to knead your flesh, brushing his fingers back and forth until the friction through your bra was almost too much. Your nipples ached, already feeling oversensitive, and every pass of his fingers sent heat straight between your legs. You could feel him behind you, his thick cock rigid, pressing against the small of your back through his jeans. The size of him, the heat of him, the way he rocked forward just enough to let you feel every inch, made your thighs clench.
You should stop this. You knew you should. But your hands were already reaching back, curling into the fabric of his shirt at his hips, holding him closer instead of pushing him away.
He growled with approval, leaving one of your breasts to slide his hand down the front of your body. He was slow, giving you every second to say no.
“When was the last time someone fucked you the way you deserve?” he murmured against your neck, slightly tightening his fingers once he reached your thigh, dangerously close to the waistband of your shorts.
You stayed silent, like part of you didn’t want to admit the truth. Robby didn’t pull back, he kissed your neck again. “Tell me, baby. When was the last time you were properly fucked? Deep and hard like I used to… Until you couldn’t think straight?”
You swallowed once, then answered honestly, barely above a whisper. “I haven’t slept with anyone since the last time we were together. About four years ago.”
Robby stilled completely. He lifted his mouth from your neck like he was waiting for the punchline. “You’re joking.”
You shook your head. “I’m not.”
He stared at you for a moment, processing the new information. Then he let out a slow, disbelieving breath. “What about those guys you’ve dated? The vet? That other guy a year ago, what was he? An engineer? What about him?”
“Two dates, maybe three at most with any of them,” you said quietly. “Never went further. Never slept with any of them. Being a mom and a resident… there’s no time. Between Hannah’s schedule, shifts, studying, and trying to keep everything together, sex just wasn’t a priority.”
Robby tightened his jaw, and a fix of emotions flashed through his face, surprise, heat, and a fierce kind of possessiveness. “Fuck,” he muttered. “You can’t just tell me you haven’t been fucked in four years and expect me to act like it’s nothing.”
Before you could respond, he dipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, then under the elastic of your panties. “Four years. Four fucking years without anyone touching you the way you need. Without anyone filling this perfect pussy. I’m gonna leave you so fucking wet and satisfied when I’m done with you tonight. You’re gonna be ruined for anyone else after this.”
There was no hesitation now. He parted your pussy with two fingers, finding you already slick with arousal, your lips swollen, and he dragged his digits up through your folds in one long stroke, making your knees nearly buckle.
“Jesus,” he whispered against your ear, already sounding wrecked. “So fucking wet for me.”
Robby circled your clit, it was light at first, his touch feather-soft, just enough to make your hips jerk. Then it turned firmer, pressing down in tight circles the way he always knew you liked. The exact pressure, the exact rhythm. Muscle memory for him too, apparently.
You tipped your head back against Robby’s broad shoulder, fluttering your eyes shut so you could focus entirely on the intense pleasure flooding through your body. A shaky breath escaped your lips as his fingers worked you open with precision.
He kept his other hand on your breast, tugging your bra down roughly so he could give your nipples the attention they craved. He rolled the sensitive peaks between his thumb and forefinger, pinching and tugging in perfect time with the slick strokes between your legs. The dual sensation was devastating in the best way, making your pussy clench and flutter around nothing.
He slid one thick finger inside you, stretching you carefully, opening you up with a patience that drove you insane. When you pushed your hips back greedily, silently begging for more, he added a second finger, sinking them deeper. You were so tight, clenching hard around the intrusion, and Robby let out a guttural groan against your ear, like the feel of you was almost painful for him too.
“Still so fucking perfect,” he rasped with want. “Fuck… the way you grip me. Like you never want to let go.”
He curled his fingers deliberately, hooking them forward until he found that spongy spot inside you that made your vision flash white for a second. A broken moan tore from your throat as he started stroking your g-spot with every thrust. The sound was loud enough that you both froze for half a heartbeat, listening for any noise from upstairs. The house stayed quiet. Hannah was still fast asleep. Robby didn’t waste another second, he resumed his movements, going deeper now, fucking you steadily with his fingers while his thumb kept the pressure on your clit.
Robby alternated the pace just to torment you, slow and deep, then faster and harder, then dragging it back to that torturous slow rhythm again. Teasing you right up to the edge without ever letting you fall over it.
You rocked back against his hand, chasing the pleasure, chasing him. Every curl of his fingers and every swipe of his thumb made your clit throb and your walls flutter around him. You were soaking his hand, the wet sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your dripping pussy filling the quiet room.
Your breathing turned ragged. Small and desperate sounds slipping out despite your best efforts, whimpers, half-moans, his name once or twice when he hit the spot just right.
He kissed your neck again, sucking lightly and then soothing with his tongue. Robby couldn’t stop his hips from rocking against your ass in shallow thrusts, matching the rhythm of his fingers, allowing you to feel how hard he was, painfully so.
Your thighs started to tremble. The coil in your belly wound tighter and tighter. You were close, so close, and he knew it, still remembered how your body shook, how your pussy pulsed and clenched when you were about to let go.
“Come on,” he murmured against your ear. “Let go for me. I’ve got you.” He pressed his thumb harder on your clit, and crooked his fingers again, stroking that spot in quick pulses. “Let me feel you cum. Please, baby, I want it so bad.”
It hit you like a wave. As you orgasmed around his fingers, your back arched, throwing your head back against his shoulder, opening your mouth on a silent cry that turned into a choked moan when the pleasure finally broke. You came hard, shuddering and clenching around his fingers. He had to tighten his arm around your waist to keep you upright when wave after wave of pleasure hit you, until your legs felt like liquid.
Robby’s arms stayed locked around you for a long moment after you came down. Slowly, he turned you in his arms until you were facing him. Your legs felt unsteady, so he steadied you with his hands on your waist.
When he lifted the hand that was inside you, the one still slick and shining with you, he brought it to his mouth without breaking eye contact with you.
Robby licked his fingers slowly, first one, then the other, dragging his tongue flat and thorough, tasting every bit of you.
“Fuck,” he murmured, humming as if the taste of your slickness pleasured him. “Still taste the same. Sweet. So goddamn good.”
Heat flooded your face, your chest, everywhere. You couldn’tlook away, the sight of him, with his lips wet and his eyes locked on yours, while he savored you like that, made your core clench again. It felt so aching and empty without him inside you, and you desperately needed to be filled again, to feel the stretch of his cock impaled inside you, to have his weight over you while he made you feel owned.
The words slipped out before you could think them through. “Fuck me, Robby.”
His mouth curved almost predatory. The words he’d longed to hear for so long. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, allowing you to feel his hot breath on your lips. “Ask nicely.”
You narrowed your eyes with defiance even through the haze of want. “Go to hell.”
He laughed, the same laugh he used to give you in stolen moments years ago, when you’d push back just to watch him unravel. “Still stubborn,” he said, almost fond. “Good to know some things don’t change.”
Robby didn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, his hands were under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as if you weighed nothing. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, nd your arms around his neck, as he carried you up the stairs. His mouth found your neck again on the way, kissing and nipping while he navigated the familiar hallway in the dark.
He pushed open the door to your bedroom with his shoulder, kicking it shut behind him, and turning the lock with a click. Robby set you down on the edge of the bed but didn’t step back. He stood between your spread thighs, looking down at you with an expression that made your stomach flip.
“Fuck… I feel like I’m dreaming,” he cupped your face, stroking his thumb over your cheeks. “You, here, letting me touch you again after all this time. After everything.”
Then he was on you, Robby climbed onto the bed, his knees bracketing your hips, and pressing you back into the mattress with his weight. He crashed his mouth down on yours in a desperate kiss while he ran his hands over your body.
He groaned like a man starved, staring at your chest. “These tits… God, I missed them.” His mouth descended immediately, devouring you with almost frantic need. He sucked one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue roughly around the peak before he sucked it hard, hollowing your cheeks. He kneaded the other breast, digging his fingers in, flicking and pinching the neglected nipple until you arched off the bed with a loud moan. He switched sides, licking and biting, sucking marks into the flesh like he wanted to claim every inch. His stubble was scraping deliciously against your skin, making you whimper and thread your fingers through his brown hair, holding him to you.
He was almost desperate in the way he worshiped your body, groaning against your skin, grinding his hips down against your thigh so you could feel how painfully hard he was. “So fucking perfect,” he mumbled between sucks and bites. “These tits were made for my mouth. Look at how pretty they look. I love sucking on them… fuck, baby.”
You were panting, pushing your chest further into his face as pleasure shot straight to your cunt. Robby spent long minutes there, alternating between teasing licks and rough hungry suction, until your nipples were swollen, sensitive, and glistening with his spit.
Then he started moving lower. His mouth trailed wet kisses down your sternum, over your stomach, pausing to nip at the soft curve just below your navel. He settled between your spread thighs, pushing your shorts the rest of the way down to bunch around your ankles. For a moment, he just stared at the damp spot on your panties with eyes full of lust.
“Look at you,” he rasped, his hot breath right against your dripping pussy. “You’re making such a big mess for me. You ruined your panties… so fucking soaked.”
He leaned in and mouthed at your pussy over the thin fabric, pressing kisses along your slit, dragging his tongue slowly from your entrance up to your clit through the soaked cotton. He sucked gently on your clit through the material, making your hips jerk. Then he pulled back just enough to blow cool air over the damp spot before diving in again, licking broad stripes, nipping at your folds, mouthing at you like he was trying to taste every drop of your arousal through the barrier.
You moaned louder, with your thighs trembling around his head and your hands fisting the sheets as he teased you mercilessly. Robby hooked his arms under your thighs, holding you open while he continued the torturous worship of his mouth. Every time you tried to grind harder against his mouth, he pulls back slightly, keeping you right on the edge, whimpering and desperate.
“Robby… please…” you gasped, but he only groaned against your pussy and keept teasing, determined to drive you insane before he finally gave you what you both needed.
He looked up at you from between your thighs, gleaming with satisfaction. Robby hooked two fingers into the thin cotton at your hip and ripped. The sound of fabric tearing filled the quiet room. You only had a second for the cool air to hit your bare, dripping pussy, because right away Robby’s mouth was on you, aggressive and devastatingly skilled.
He devoured you like a man who’d been starving for years. There’s no gentle buildup or teasing licks. He buried his face between your thighs with a hunger that bordered on feral. He drags his tongue broadly, giving you flat strokes from your entrance all the way up to your swollen clit, lapping up every drop of your arousal like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
He groaned deeply into your pussy, the sound was filthy. “Fuck, baby… you taste even better than I remembered,” he said against your folds before diving back in.
He ate you out with aggression, swallowing your clit into the heat of his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves before releasing it with a filthy pop. The sudden loss of suction made you whimper, only for him to immediately flick the tip of his tongue rapidly against your clit as his stubble scraped against your inner thighs with every movement of his head.
Robby alternated between deep licks that plunged his tongue inside you, fucking you with it in slow strokes that had you dripping down his chin, and tight suction on your clit that made you curl your toes hard.
Every time you tried to muffle your moans, he only doubled down, sucking harder, licking deeper, devouring you like he’d been dreaming about this exact taste for years. He gripped your ass, spreading you wider for his mouth, holding you firmly in place so you couldn’t escape the assault of his tongue.
“Oh my God… Robby—” Your voice cracked as he flicked his tongue rapidly over your clit. “Fuck, right there, don’t stop, please don’t stop…”
He ate it like he loved it. Like he needed it. His hands weren’t idle either. One arm banded across your lower stomach, holding you down when your hips started bucking too wildly. The other hand reached up to palm and squeeze your bare breasts, making you moan louder.
You pushed up onto your elbows, desperate to watch him. The sight was both obscene and intoxicating, Robby’s head buried between your thighs, his shoulders flexing as he worked, eyes closed in pure bliss while his mouth devoured your cunt. His jaw was moving with every lick and every suck, his lips and chin already shiny with your wetness. When he glanced up and caught you watching, his eyes darkened even more.
He pulled back just enough to spit directly onto your swollen pussy, a thick glob of saliva landing right on your clit. The warm sensation made you gasp, asd he watched it drip down your folds for half a second before he drove back in, spreading the spit with his tongue, mixing it with your own slick until everything was messy and glistening.
“God, look at this pretty pussy,” the words came out muffled against you. “So fucking wet for me. Been waiting four years to taste you again.”
He continued his relentless assault on your clit, and you couldn’t look away. The sight of this strong man, completely lost between your legs, eating your pussy like it was his favorite meal, was almost too much.
“You’re so fucking good at this… shit, your mouth—” A broken moan escaped you when he sucked hard on your clit again. “I’m gonna… I can’t! Robby, I’m close already…”
Your second orgasm built fast, and it crushed over you without mercy, making you bow your back off the bed, tearing a broken cry from your throat as the pleasure peaked. Robby didn’t let up for a second, he sucked your nub harder, drawing the orgasm out until it felt endless.
Your vision whited out, tears spilling down your cheeks as the pleasure rolled through you while he kept licking you through it greedily.
You sobbed his name, “Robby… fuck—oh god,” as your body shook uncontrollably, clamping his thighs around his head when the intensity bordered on too much.
He finally eased off only when your cries turned into overwhelmed whimpers, your body limp and trembling on the bed. But even then, he didn’t pull away completely. Robby continued placing soft kisses to your folds, licking up every drop of your release like he couldn’t bear to waste any of it. His hands soothed your thighs, rubbing circles while you came down.
Robby lifted his head, letting you admire his lips and chin glistening with your cum between your spread thighs. “Four years… and you still taste like heaven.”
When he finally started kissing his way up your body, his mouth was soft, reaching your mouth and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He pulled back, hovering his face above yours. “You okay, baby?” he asked with an edge of worry in his tone, cupping your cheek with one hand, brushing away a tear. “Talk to me. Was that too much?”
You managed a shaky nod, still catching your breath. “I’m… fine. Just… holy shit, Robby.”
He chuckled softly, pleased with himself after seeing the effect his mouth had on you. “You’ve got the most perfect pussy in the world, you know that? So fucking pretty when you cum. And look at the mess you made…” He glanced down between your bodies at the soaked sheets, a proud and filthy smirk tugging at his mouth. “You still soak everything when I eat you out. God, I love how wet you get for me.”
Your voice came out breathy, needy, honest in a way you haven’t been with him in years.You were finally embracing what you truly wanted. “I need you, Robby. All of you. Please.”
Something possessive flashed in his eyes. He didn’t make you ask twice this time, just sat back on his heels and stripped in a rush, yanking his shirt over his head, then shoving his pants and boxers down his thighs in one impatient motion. His cock sprang free, looking every bit as thick as you remembered it, with the head already flushed in a dark red, leaking precum.
He was rock-hard, with the veins standing out along the shaft, curving slightly upward the way you loved, because it hit your g-spot so easily. He knelt between your spread thighs, pressing his into the mattress, and looked down at you with hunger. “Stroke it a little,” he asked you. “Let me feel your hand on me first.”
You sat up just enough to reach him, wrapping your fingers around his impressive length. He felt hot in your palm as you gave him a firm stroke from the base to the tip, swirling your thumb over the leaking head to spread the precum. Your touch made Robby groan deeply, twitching his hips forward into your touch.
“Fuck… It’s so big,” you whispered, locking your eyes on the way your hand looked around him. “I need it so much, Robby. I’ve missed this cock. Missed how full you make me.”
He watched your hand move, his breathing growing increasingly ragged with every stroke. “Slow, baby. Just like that. Real slow.” His voice was strained, like he was already fighting not to cum from your touch alone. “Shit, I’m close already. It’s been so long since I’ve felt this… your hand feels too fucking good.”
You kept stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist on the upstroke, squeezing just the way he’d always liked. Robby's head fell back for a moment, a moan rumbling in his chest, before he looked down again, watching your tits move with each stroke, watching your slick pussy still glistening from his mouth, waiting for him.
He reached down and gently took your wrist, stilling your hand. Then he shifted forward, gripping the base of his cock and rubbing the thick head up and down your soaked slit, coating himself in your wetness. The pressure against your clit made you whimper.
Robby leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head, the other still holding his cock against your entrance. He locked his eyes onto yours. “Should we.. uh… grab a condom?”
You didn’t even hesitate, spreading your legs wider for him, sliding your hands up his arms to grip his shoulders. “I’m on the pill,” you whispered. “Go raw. I want to feel all of you.”
A deep groan escaped him as he notches the head of his cock right against your entrance, pressing just enough to tease the stretch without pushing inside yet. He cupped your face with his free hand, brushing your lower lip while he held himself right there, waiting for the moment he finally sank into you after four long years.
When he finally pushed forward, you felt the blunt pressure increasing, letting you feel every inch as he sank into you. You both moaned at the same time, he was thicker than you remembered in the haze of memory, and the stretch was intense, bordering on overwhelming after so long without anyone inside you. Your walls parted around him, fluttering and clenching as he slid deeper, inch by slow inch, until his hips were flush against yours and he was buried to the hilt inside you.
The fullness was perfect, almost too much, pressing against that deep spot that made you curl your toes instantly. “Fuck… baby,” Robby groaned, dropping his forehead to yours for a second. “You feel… Jesus Christ. So tight. So fucking wet and warm. I missed this pussy so much.”
He stayed still for a heartbeat, letting you adjust, both of you just breathing each other in after four long years. Then he started to move. The first thrust was slow and deep, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in with a wet sound. The second was a little harder. By the third, he’d found a steady rhythm, long and powerful strokes that dragged against every sensitive spot inside you. The drag and stretch were incredible, every time he bottomed out, the head of his cock kissed that deep place that made sparks explode behind your eyes.
“Oh my God… Robby,” you moaned, already trembling, and he’d just started. “You’re so fucking deep.”
It felt amazing for both of you. For you, it was like waking up after years of numbness, every nerve lighting up, pleasure flooding your body in waves with every thrust. For Robby, the groan that left him is guttural, almost pained with how good it felt to finally be inside the only place that’d ever made sense in his life.
His hips snapped forward harder, the slap of skin on skin filling the bedroom as he fucked you with measured strokes. You were trying so hard to stay quiet, bringing your hand to your mouth to bite down on the side of it, muffling the moans that kept trying to spill out. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, then fluttered them open again. Robby was watching you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, flicking his gaze between your face, your lips parted, eyes glassy with pleasure, to your tits bouncing with every thrust, and down to where your pussy was stretched wide around his cock.
He watched himself disappear inside you, the shiny wetness coating his shaft every time he pulled back, your folds clinging to him greedily. “Fuck, look at that. Your pretty pussy taking me so well after all this time. Stretched so tight around my cock… making such a mess on me.”
You bit harder into your hand as a particularly deep thrust made you whimper loudly. Robby’s rhythm started to pick up, snapping his hips with more force, the perfect angle to hit your spot inside you over and over, making you clench around his length.
“Shit… right there,” you whimpered. “That spot… fuck! I can feel every inch. God, I’m so full.”
“Stop squeezing like that,” he groaned, almost pleading, tightening his grip on your hips. “You’re gonna make me cum already if you keep clenching around me like that. This pussy is too perfect… so fucking good. Feels like heaven. I’ve dreamed about this for years… being buried inside you again.”
He leaned down and captured your mouth in a messy kiss, swallowing your muffled moans, before he suddenly gripped the backs of your thighs and lifted your legs, hooking them over his broad shoulders. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and the next thrust punched the air out of your lungs as he bottomed out completely, pressed his hips tightly against your ass, grinding his cock against that deepest spot.
“Oh my god—Robby!” You gasped against your hand, rolling your eyes back. “Like that! Like that… Please don’t stop.”
He fucked you harder now, making the bed creak softly beneath you. “So perfect,” he panted between thrusts. “You feel so fucking perfect. This body… these tits… this tight little pussy squeezing me. I missed you so much. Missed fucking you like this.”
He slid a hand between your bodies, finding your swollen clit with his thumb and rubbing firm circles in time with his thrusts. The added stimulation was pushing you toward the edge fast.
“Cum for me, baby,” he growled. “I want to feel you cum around my cock. Let me feel it.”
When the pleasure started cresting, your words turned into fragmented, needy whimpers.
The combination of his deep strokes, the pressure on your clit, and the overwhelming fullness after four years was too much. Your third orgasm of the night crashed over you even harder than the other two. Your back arched violently off the bed, a broken cry tearing from your throat despite your teeth sinking into your hand. Your pussy clamped down around him like a vice, pulsing and fluttering rhythmically as waves of intense pleasure ripped through you.
Robby groaned loudly, his hips stuttering as he felt his own impeding orgasm approaching. “That’s it—fuck, yes—milk me, baby. I’m cumming—”
He thrusted deep one last time, burying himself as far as he could go, and finally allowed himself to cum. You felt the thick pulses of his seed as he filled you up, rope after rope of cum flooding deep inside you, so much that you could feel it spilling out around his cock where you were stretched around him. Robby kept grinding his hips against you through his orgasm, drawing it out, making sure every drop stayed inside you as long as possible.
He stayed buried deep while you both came down, breathing hard, your bodies slick with sweat. Your legs were still over his shoulders, your pussy still gently fluttering around his softening cock.
“Four years,” he whispered hoarsely against your lips. “And you’re still mine.”
An incredulous chuckle rumbled out of his chest, utterly satisfied. His brown eyes were in disbelief, like he genuinely couldn’t believe he just got to be inside you again after all this time. The lines around his eyes crinkled deeply as he smiled. “Jesus Christ,” he murmured, sounding a little husky fro the exertion. “I can’t believe I just got to be inside you again. That was… fuck. That was the best fuck of my life. Better than I remembered. Better than anything.”
He stayed there a moment longer, savoring the connection, before he finally pulled out of you. You both groaned at the loss, a thick of his cum leaking out of you onto the already-soaked sheets. Robby rolled off you and onto his back beside you, reaching out with one arm to pull you against his side
He turned his head to look at you, brushing damp strands of hair off your forehead with gentle fingers. “How was that for you, baby?” he asked softly. “Tell me. Was it okay? Did I hurt you at all?”
You huffed a small, tired laugh against his collarbone. “You already know the answer.”
He hummed, but didn’t let it drop. “Say it anyway.”
“Robby.” You tilt your head back just enough to meet his eyes. “Stop fishing for compliments. You already know exactly how good it felt. It was amazing. More than amazing. I don’t even have words for it. I came so hard I— God, I needed that.”
He smiled again with a satisfied grin, and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good. That’s all I wanted, to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”
As the afterglow started to fade, and reality started to creep back in… the sleeping five-year-old down the hall, the careful co-parenting boundaries you’ve both worked so hard to maintain. You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow to look at him.
“You should get going now. It’s late. Hannah will be up early, and I don’t want her to wake up and find you here. It might make things weird or confusing for her.”
Robby let out a genuine laugh, rolling onto his side to face you fully. “Oh, so that’s how it is? You use me to break your four-year celibacy, three orgasms, mind you, and now you’re kicking me out?” His eyes sparkled with humor, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Cold, woman . Real cold. I give you the best, and only, dick you’ve had in years, and this is the thanks I get? Straight to the door?”
You couldn’t help but laugh with him, swatting lightly at his chest. “I’m serious. You know how she is. If she comes in here looking for me in the morning and sees you in my bed, she’ll have a million questions. Or she’ll think we’re back together and get her hopes up. We can’t do that to her.”
He propped himself up on one elbow, too, mirroring your position, still grinning that cocky grin that made him look ten years younger. “Three orgasms,” he repeate, holding up three fingers like he was making a point. “I ate that pussy until you were crying and shaking, then fucked you so deep you saw stars, and now I’m being evicted? Harsh, really harsh. I feel so used right now.”
“Robby,” you said, trying to sound stern but failing as another laugh bubbled up. “Come on. You know I’m right.”
He sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow but keeping one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer so your bare breasts pressed against his chest. “I don’t want to go. Not yet. I want to stay here and cuddle you. Just hold you for a while. I promise I’ll leave early tomorrow morning, before Hannah wakes up. I’ll set an alarm, sneak out. She’ll never know I was here. Please, baby. Let me stay. I missed this. Missed holding you after.”
You hesitated, chewing your lip. The warmth of his body against yours, the beat of his heart under your palm, the way he kept tracing circles with his fingers on your lower back… it all feels dangerously good.
He sensed your wavering and leaned in, pressing soft kisses along your jaw, then to your lips. “You’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses. “So fucking perfect. The way you took me tonight, the way you came for me… You made me feel whole again. Nothing in my life has ever compared to this. You and Hannah… you two are the best things that ever happened to me. Being inside you again, hearing you moan my name… it reminded me how much I still need you. How much I’ve always needed you.”
He tightened his arm around you, pulling you fully against his chest so you were tucked into his side, resting your head on his shoulder. Robby slid one of his legs between yours, tangling you together under the messy sheets. He kept kissing you, your forehead, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose, then back to your mouth in lingering presses.
“I mean it,” he whispered against your hair. “You made me the happiest man alive when you gave me Hannah, but nights like this… being with you like this… it completes something in me. I feel alive. Whole. Like the missing piece finally clicked back into place. No one else has ever made me feel this way. No one else ever could.”
You melted into him despite yourself, and the night passed in fragments of deep sleep, the kind you haven’t had in years. Robby’s arm stayed across your waist the whole time, with his fingers splayed over your stomach like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. His chest rose and fell against your back in an even rhythm, and the snoring… God, the stupid snoring you’d missed so much.
You woke slowly, first to the weight of him, then to the ache between your legs, the reminder of last night still dried on your inner thighs. You felt him stir behind you as consciousness returned. You could practically hear the smile before you even turned your head.
When you did roll over, he was already looking at you with his eyes half-lidded, sleepy, and crinkled at the corners. And yeah, there it was, that stupid and contented grin spreading across his face like he’d just won the lottery.
“Stop smiling,” you muttered. “You’re creeping me out.”
He huffed a quiet laugh through his nose, didn’t even try to dial it back. If anything, it got wider. “Can’t help it,” he said. “Woke up next to the most gorgeous woman in the world. Kinda hard not to smile about that.”
Heat climbed up your neck despite yourself. You rolled your eyes, trying to play it off. “Flattery at six a.m. is a cheap move, Robinavitch.”
“Fuck,” he breathed, roaming his eyes over your face like he was seeing it for the first time. “Look at you.”
He dropped his gaze appreciatively, taking in the messy hair spilling across the pillow, the sheet tangled around your bare hips, the faint marks his mouth left on your collarbone last night. He reached out, tracing one with his thumb, gently.
“Don’t even think about it, Michael,” you warned him. You’d had your fun last night. It had been amazing, even better than you remembered sex with Robby ever being. But it had been one time. One stupid lapse of judgment, one moment of weakness that couldn’t repeat itself again. You couldn’t let it. Not when the delicate balance you’d fought so hard to maintain for Hannah was so stable. You refused to risk your daughter’s sense of security just because your body still craved the man who used to know every inch of you better than anyone else.
Robby snapped his eyes back to yours, looking equal parts hungry and amused. “You know how I get when you call me Michael.”
“Last night was a relapse. I was tired, and… Emotional. Not happening again today. Not happening again ever, as a matter of fact.”
“Yeah?” He laughed before he shifted, rolling you onto your back in one smooth motion. His body came down over yours, caging you under his weight. Robby braced his forearms on either side of your head, his knees bracketing your hips. “You sure about that?”
You pushed at his shoulder. “Robby… get off.”
He stirred above you, lifting his head. For a moment, he didn’t move, but you kept pushing, gentle but insistent, until he finally rolled off you with a sigh and propped himself up on one elbow.
“All of this… It was a mistake,” you sat up and pulling the sheet up over your bare chest, suddenly too aware of your nakedness.
Robby reached for you instinctively, but you shifted away, scooting back against the headboard. “Why?” he asked. “It felt fucking amazing for both of us. You know it did. We’re good at this, we’ve always been good at this.”
You shook your head, the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way your bodies still fit together like they remembered every single time before… it made your resolve weaken. “You know why not. I can’t just think about ourselves anymore. We have to think about Hannah. We can’t hurt her. We already crashed once, and I’m not putting her through big changes, through the uncertainty, the chance that everything falls apart all over again.” You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “I know you, Michael. In a month you’re going to regret this. You’re going to need space, and your head won’t be in the right place for commitment. I won’t do that to her. I won’t do that to any of us.”
Robby sat up fully now, the playful morning haze completely gone from his face. “It’s different this time. The first time… everything was happening all at once. You know how fucked up I was… After Covid, after… everything that happened. Having to take care of the whole ED… I was drowning. I couldn’t be what you needed. But I’m not that man anymore. You know I’ve changed. You’ve seen how much being a father changed me.” He leaned forward slightly. “I want you. I want this. I want the family. I want the commitment.”
You swallowed hard, and for one dangerous moment, you let yourself imagine it, waking up like this every morning with his warmth beside you, the three of you as a real family, lazy weekends and shared dinners and Hannah running between you both. The picture was so beautiful it hurt, but reality settled back in fast.
“You should go,” you whispered, looking away toward the window so he wouldn’t see the tears gathering in your eyes. “We shouldn’t keep talking about this anymore.”
Robby exhaled, running a hand through his messy, sleep-tousled hair. “It’s not fair.”
You let out a bitter little laugh. “A lot in life isn’t fair, Robby. You know that better than anyone else.”
He watched you for a long moment. The silence stretched between you until he finally swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. You stayed under the sheet, trying not to watch the familiar way his muscles moved as he gathered his clothes from the floor and got dressed.
When he reached the bedroom door, he paused, turning back to you with that half-smirk that you knew meant trouble. “You can try, but I know you can’t stay away from all of this for too long. I’m a real catch.”
You couldn’t help the tired laugh that escaped you. “Goodbye, Michael.”
He gave you one last long look full of affection before he slipped out of the room and down the stairs. The sheets still smelled like him, your skin still remembered his hands, nd you were left alone with the echo of everything you wanted but couldn’t let yourself have.
PART TWO HERE
A/N: Oh my god, I finally wrote something!!!😭 I’d had this idea sitting in my brain for so long, and the other day I finally felt the urge to start it. After about a week, and using all the free time I have between work and college, I actually managed to finish it. Finally something with a bit of plot, lol.
I really hope you enjoyed this idea! I’d love to write a second part, but with my schedule… that could be anywhere from two weeks to a year from now. It’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, so it’d be really nice to hear your thoughts, if you liked it, your favorite parts, anything really🫶🏻
don’t think about his pretty face, that gorgeous smile.
don’t think about how good he looks with his shirt off.
don’t think about his hands, how big they are.
don’t think about him dwarfing your bed.
don’t think about his hands trailing up your thighs while he’s trying to charm you.
don’t think about those lips, plush and full, telling you all the right things, ghosting over your jaw, your neck, your collar.
don’t think about his big hands on your waist, teasing the waistline of your bottoms, while he’s telling you what a pretty girl you are.
don’t think about him getting you off once on his fingers, and again on his tongue, still in those stupid grey sweatpants.
don’t think about his shit-eating grin when he looks up and down your body, proud of all the bites and the way your thighs are trembling delicately.
don’t think about the cadence of his voice dropping when he tells you what a good girl you are, or when he tells you to beg when you start pawing at his sweatpants.
don’t think about his dick, or the face he makes when you tell him it looks like it’s just too big. you can’t possibly take it.
don’t think about the way it sets you off when he assures you that you can take it, but he’ll just give you the tip.
just the tip.
a false promise. one that you’re willing to believe in once he lines up with your aching, dripping hole. it feels right when he tuts, mocking your little whimpers and moans as he begins to push in.
don’t think about the way it stretches your entrance open. just the tip. the way he holds you there so that you can’t move. he coos at you—just the tip.
and maybe both of you can’t take it anymore. he’s the dominant one, but it’s making him sweat. it’s making you cry—you just want him so badly. poor thing. he knows it. he wants it too.
so maybe he inches in. ever so slightly. and you cry out his name. so he keeps going. sinking in, stretching you out, making you feel every. single. inch. and maybe once he bottoms out, he grunts out your name, and maybe you lean up to kiss him.
don’t think about it.
don’t think about it at all.
(heh)
(likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3)
He’s always been a little embarrassed by it, this constant, gnawing hunger that never seems to let up. He’s used to being horny all the time, but ever since he met you, it’s gotten so much worse. Every time you hang out, the second he gets home he’s rushing to his room, shoving his pants down and wrapping his hand around his aching cock, stroking himself furiously while your face is still fresh in his mind.
Just the sight of your lips or those pretty eyes is enough to melt him into pure ecstasy.
Hypersexual! Gojo, who’s desperately trying to be lowkey around you. He doesn’t want to scare you off. You’re so wonderful, kind, patient, smart, and genuinely good in every way. How could someone like him, twisted and starving with lust, possibly deserve someone as perfect as you?
He used to need multiple partners just to take the edge off, never satisfied with just one person. But the moment you came into his life, he stopped seeing anyone else. The mere idea of being with you is enough now. No one else even comes close.
Hypersexual! Gojo, who’s always been the one to make the first move, now holds back. He waits for you to start things because he’s terrified of coming on too strong and ruining this. He’s used to using his dazzling looks and effortless charm to get whatever he wants, but with you he refuses to. It’s driving him insane. He wants you so badly it hurts, but this is the first time in his life he’s ever wanted something so precious, so he’s careful.
Hypersexual! Gojo who at parties and hangouts, he has to sneak away every so often, slipping into a bathroom or a dark corner just to jerk off because your mere presence turns him on unbearably. He’ll lean against the wall, biting his lip to stay quiet, pumping his cock with quick, desperate strokes while thinking about you.
So when the two of you have been going out for two weeks and you finally confront him, telling him how needy you are for his touch and demanding to know why he hasn't made a move on you, Gojo gets all flustered. His cheeks flush, those bright blue eyes widening as he realizes just how badly you want him too. He’s still unsure how to behave around you, scared of letting the full weight of his desires show.
The first time you’re together, he’s surprisingly tender and caring, almost too gentle. But you’re already frustrated from all the waiting, so you start begging him, voice breathy and desperate: “Harder… faster, please—”
That’s when he falls apart.
He tries to stay careful at first, but the moment he sees you can take him, really take him, something inside him snaps. He fucks you with raw, overwhelming passion, hips slamming into you with a need he can’t hold back anymore. He cums faster than he expected, groaning your name as pleasure crashes through him.
He’s a little embarrassed afterward, but you honestly don’t care. You just pull him closer, smiling.
Hypersexual! Gojo, who’s an absolute mess for you.
∘ Synopsis: After helping you with your ASMR content, you help Toji with the content he creates too.
∘ Word count: 3.2k
∘ Content warnings: 18+ MDNI ⋆ modern AU ⋆ roommate! Toji whose hobby is making audio porn (sorry y'all his dub and sub voices are SCRUMPTIOUS to me) ⋆ smut with very little plot ⋆ AFAB! Reader ⋆ reader is an AMSRist ⋆ fingering ⋆ riding ⋆ unprotected p in v sex ⋆ slight dumbification ⋆ swearing ⋆ there's no established relationship (...yet) ⋆ praise ⋆ slight cock warming ⋆ size difference ⋆
☆ Author's note: As promised, a lil' something something. Again, I apologize for my absence 😔 and the terrible delay for this lowkey. Made the mistake of drinking coffee and got tired. I'll proofread tomorrow morning, I swear 😭
You’d only asked him for a small favour.
A favour that he, for some reason that had exceeded your comprehension at the time, didn’t have a problem with despite seeming like the type to be disinterested in the content that you make.
It had been one little favour that had somehow gained you a larger following and about triple the amount of views that you’d usually get on average.
You tell yourself it’s because the viewers enjoyed listening to you rake a brush through shaggy strands of hair. Perhaps they enjoyed the part of the video where you’d clipped your favourite collection of hair accessories in said hair or the part where you messed around and braided whatever strands of hair managed to behave.
You’d experimented with different brush types, the new ones that you’d gone out of your way to purchase for the sole purpose of making content. That has to be the part that they enjoyed.
You tell yourself that because you refuse to believe that your viewers had only been interested in the beefy man that sat silently while allowing you to do your thing. His face hadn’t been caught in the video, but the rest of his torso had been.
Surely that’s not the part that drew your viewers in. Right?
Wrong.
Amongst the comments that had praised you for your work, there’d been comments more feral than the others, undoubtedly the people interested in your roommate. You don’t blame them; he makes you feel more tingles than any ASMR audio or video ever could.
You’ve always been attracted to Toji, there’s no doubt about that. It started the moment you saw him for the first time and your attraction only seemed to deepen when he’d explained what type of content he makes in his free time. It had been more of a warning at the time, a heads up so that you don’t freak out when you hear him through his bedroom door.
He’d been open, honest and so were you. You had to be because there’s times where you require complete and total silence.
Toji’s hobby made and still makes sense to you. He sounds so good, with that voice that runs so perfectly deep that it feels like he’s impregnating you when you share a simple conversation.
He always, always speaks to you in a way that has heat pooling between your thighs. You know that he knows that you enjoy it when he speaks to you. That and the way he fills the space without having to do much, the way he allows his eyes to linger on you just a little too long, the way he moves through your shared space like he owns it. Everything about him makes you want to pounce.
Toji hasn’t featured in your videos before either, so of course, it’s only natural that people had been curious when they left comment after comment about who this bulky man in your video is.
There’d been some part of you that had gotten jealous when you read through the comments. The part of you that lied when you typed the fact that he’s your boyfriend in response to those comments.
A little lie wouldn’t hurt and there’s no way that Toji would know. You didn’t give him your username and he didn’t even bother asking.
That should mean that he’s not at all interested in the content you create.
Still, you’d wanted to believe that it had all been you, your aesthetic, your style of creating your content, but the truth had been and still is as clear as day. You don’t want to believe it, but it is the truth, reality.
Your video did well because of Toji.
You’re not mad, you were never mad to begin with. Simply grateful that his generosity had prompted an outcome that not even you had anticipated. You’d shared the news with him too, let him know that he helped you. A lot. You didn’t say anything about the video being your most popular one, but you’d managed to let him in on the success.
You didn’t want to feed his ego.
Maybe that’s why he’d asked you for a favour in return, same one as yours too. Help him with content and you’d be able to be on your way. He wasn’t asking because he wanted you to do something in return for his services, you didn’t think so.
It was simply because he felt that he genuinely needed assistance. Said that he was stuck with a script and could use some insight. He just needed help to lessen what he’s got on his to-do-list.
One little favour that had you under the impression that you’d be reviewing a script and helping Toji with content ideas.
Just a small favour that ultimately led you to where you are now; two orgasms in with your legs spread while Toji dips his fingers into your heat, rough, thick digits filling you in a way that your own fingers could never ever recreate.
“And if I continue to put my fingers here and just…” Toji’s voice trails off as his eyes fixate on where his fingers are plunged deep in your sopping heat.
He curls them just, juuust right and your eyes snap open, lips parting as a squeal rips from your throat when he presses up against your sweet spot. The sensation has your toes curling while the back of your head rests on Toji’s bulky shoulder, legs spread so that each ankle rests on either side of his thighs.
Your fingers grip at the material of his sweatpants that keeps his fully erect cock confined and the feeling alone only adds on to how good he’s making you feel.
You see your reflection in the darkened screen that stares back at you. The laptop hasn’t been switched on just yet, Toji had said that he wasn’t going to need it, but he’d still insisted on keeping the device propped open.
Like he wants you to watch as you lose yourself on his fingers.
Like he knows what he’s doing and just wants to torture you.
There’s a sheet of paper that sits in front of it, scribbled notes with illegible handwriting because you’d found a new way to help Toji with his content. Well, he helped you find this new method, and it didn’t take much.
All he had to do was murmur a couple of things here and there and you were squirming in your seat, incapable of ignoring the throb between your thighs. That’s when Toji proposed that you help him with something else.
Still for content, still helping him shorten the list of the things that he needs to have prepared.
“Toji—hmn… wait that’s good, oh god–”
Your pussy gushes all over his hand, your honeyed juices dripping down along your slit and drenching his sweats. You know that there’s a damp, sticky patch. You know because all your cunt has been doing ever since you’d been in Toji’s presence is drool.
Messy and wanton.
“—Then this greedy cunt will drool all over me, hmm?”
Toji finger-fucks you in a way that pulls the sloppiest sounds from your orifice. Had you not been so high on pleasure, then you’d be embarrassed about how impossibly drenched he's gotten you.
“Would you listen to that?” He muses, tongue grazing his teeth as he watches as your pussy swallows his fingers from over your shoulder. “Such a greedy pussy, yeah? So perfect, so loud.”
He plunges his fingers in and out, repeatedly, reaching that dulcet spot that has drool slipping from the corners of your mouth. Your cunt expresses its eagerness with a sloppy squelch when Toji’s fingers reach in deep and he relishes how tightly your walls are wrapped around his digits.
You only manage a mewl in response to what he says, a broken sound that pricks at your throat as Toji’s fingers bully their way inside you, stretching you still. Again and again.
You catch yourself in the reflection of the laptop again, this time through the bleariness of your gaze and although you can’t see clearly, you make out the way the expanse of Toji’s bare chest and shoulders almost seem to dwarf your form, the way his muscles ripple with every adjustment of his arm as he keeps up the rhythm of his fingers.
He’s so big, so bulky and that alone turns you on.
“Sounds so sweet that I think—hmn—my listeners will think that they’re getting access to the premium version of my audios, huh?” Toji’s other comes down to play with your clit and your hips buck as you push your hips up and the chair that braces both the weight of you and Toji pushes back.
Just the slightest.
“I’mngh—Toji I’m gonna… hah–”
“Gonna cum all over my fingers again? Give it to me, come on,” he pinches your clit and that has you falling apart for the third time now, teeth digging into your plump bottom lip while your nails dig into Toji’s thighs.
You come undone so beautifully for him and with the prettiest sounds too.
“This pussy must be built for the spotlight, don’t you think?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just pumps his fingers into you until your pleasure ebbs and once he helps guide you through your third high, he brings his fingers to his mouth, tongue dipping out before Toji laps at your sap that coats his fingers.
He slurps everything and you both know that he didn’t have to do that. He does it because he wants to, does it because tasting you sounds as enticing as it is erotic.
“Just needed to be a little vocal but I guess I lucked out, huh?” He thumbs your clit and you whine before Toji huffs out a chuckle and adjust you, turning you around so that you’re facing him.
You straddle him, thighs in either side of his even while you’re on the chair and despite your better judgement, you grind down on his erection, spreading your slick all over his front.
“Oh yeah, wanna see how beautifully your cunt sings while choking on my cock?”
You lick your lips, nodding your head while you tug at the waistband of his pants and Toji helps you, lifts his hips while you tug his pants down just enough so that his cock springs free.
It’s heavy, flushed a dark shade of crimson where a pretty globule of pre sits nestled on the very tip. There’s no time to admire him the way you want to, not when Toji’s lifting you enough so that he can line his cock with your entrance.
He hisses when his tip kisses your slit before probing you and before long, Toji lowers you onto his cock and your pussy swallows every single inch of his tumefied length. He sucks in a breath when your warm confines clamp around him, and it takes all your strength to keep from jerking away.
“Oh fuck, Toji—hmn–”
“Yeah, feels good, doesn’t it?” He licks his lips and you nod your head as you sink lower, taking him to the hilt and you both make pleasured sounds at the sensation.
Suddenly, Toji’s not sure whether his question had been for you or yourself. Still, he eyes the spot where the two of you are connected and his cock jerks.
Once. Only once and you yelp.
“Fuck yeah, sounds good, tastes like nirvana and feels like heaven?” Toji’s hands drift to your hips as he observes the way his cock spreads you. “This pussy is fucking perfect.”
He thrusts up then and you bounce, head lolling to the side while Toji keeps your form supported with his large hands, rough and warm as they help guide you up and down. Your sap drips down the fat length of him, collecting at the base of his cock where the coarse hairs graze your clit, shoving you further into the throes of ecstasy.
The sounds that reverberate in Toji’s room are beautiful in their obscenity. The air is hot and heavy, riddled with his scent, your scent. Everything combined.
“Toji, fuck pleasepleaseplease,” you roll your hips, eyes rolling back as the cusp of his cock presses and digs into that spot that has your body feeling like jelly, that has your muscles quivering with every movement that you make.
“So vocal, hmm?” Toji huffs out a chuckle, pearly whites glinting when he meets your fucked-out expression. “Making it—ah, fuck—gonna make it difficult for me to edit this out of the audio later.”
You make another desperate sound and Toji’s cock twitches, clearly optimistic about that sweet, sweet melody. He curses under his breath when you squeeze down on him, and he knows that he isn’t going to last much longer.
“Bet you’d want all my listeners to know that I fucked you good, huh?” Toji leans forward, nose finding your neck as he breathes you in. He catches the scent of your perfume, of your shower gel and it’s dizzying.
Intoxicatingly so.
His voice drops lower when he speaks up again. In that very way he knows drives you mad. He knows the effect it has on you.
“What do you think they’d think when they find out that they used the sounds of your pussy to get off, huh?”
You shudder and a desperate sound slips from your lips again. His voice goes straight to your core and you grind down on him harder. The sound punches deep into your gut.
Toji shifts his hips up and the thrust is so devastatingly good that your eyes bulge when your cunt swallows the full length of him again. Again and again your greedy orifice takes in every inch of his girth.
His words, his voice only drives you closer and closer to the edge of bliss, so close to an orgasm that threatens to drown you.
You like the thought of being the reason why his content blows up. Your pussy likes the idea too and Toji feels it in the way you grow wetter, tighter.
“Fuck fuck fuck. You like the thought of that, huh?” Toji lifts you before lowering you back down on his cock and you cry out as he splits you right in half.
You cry out. It’s all so good, the sensations, the way Toji’s speaking to you, the way his voice has heat coiling deep in your gut.
“Mmngh—it’s aah—I like it.”
Toji groans before a feral smirk morphs onto his features and you roll your hips, head lolling back while your lips part. You buck, leaning back while your hands grip on his knees while you fuck back down onto him.
“Yeah, yeeeaaah you do,” Toji reaches down to press his thumb down on your clit and that has your pussy squeezing down on his cock like it’s afraid to let go, like his dick is the last you’ll ever feel inside.
“Should probably do this more often, yeah? Have your—hah—cunt sing for me.” The apex of his globular tip smacks that sensitive spot of yours and your cunt expresses its gratitude with a crude SQUELCH!
You nod, “Yes yes—ahn—yes, feels so good!”
You see stars after that.
Toji pulls another mind-numbing orgasm from you, and he fucks you through it with sloppy thrusts that still has the fat head of his cock smacking against and grazing the deepest parts of you.
“Mmnn… Toji—Toji.”
Your thighs tremble and ache while Toji’s chair creaks and squeaks under your movements. He thrusts up and you grind down.
“Yeah, I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
And then he’s spilling into you with a feral groan, thick, creamy fluid decorating your velvety confines to the point you feel every ounce of Toji’s release.
It makes you feel fuller.
His thrusts ease once he’s emptied himself inside of you and when you come down from your high, you pant while Toji keeps you in place with his cock still buried deep, still keeping you stuffed full.
He murmurs under his breath, running his fingers through the shaggy strands of his hair with what you make out as a satisfied sigh before he reaches over to pull something out of the drawer of his desk.
You still don’t move, still make no move to relieve yourself of how full you feel. Everything is spinning and it feels good.
When Toji resumes the position he’d been in, your eyes fixate on the item in his hands. It takes you a long moment to register what you’re looking at. Your mind is still hazy, still brimming with the aftershocks of pleasure.
When your brain does finally catch up, your eyes go wide while heat rises from the nape of your neck.
He can’t be serious.
You’ve always known that he owns toys of this nature, it comes with understanding what he does to earn some extra cash but actually seeing Toji hold a dildo feels like you’re being let in on a dirty secret.
You are, in some way.
“What’s… what’s that for?”
Your eyes dart between Toji and the dildo. You can’t handle anymore—even if it’s a dildo that, admittedly, does not come close to even mimicking Toji’s rather larger size.
He notices your nerves and his lips twitch at the corners. He holds up the dildo, and your eyes follow its line of motion slowly as Toji moves to place the toy on his desk. He doesn’t make a move to use it on you, simply leaves it there while he adjusts again so that he’s reaching into another compartment of his desk.
He pulls out a bottle of lube and a fleshlight next and your brows twitch. Part of it is because you’re confused and the other part of it is because you wonder if he’s ever used the latter item on himself before.
Toji’s eyes dart to your face and he makes a sound before he gestures to where your pussy still envelopes his softening cock. Neither of you make a move to separate. Not yet.
“To recreate the sounds your pussy just made.”
Your breath catches.
What?
Your eyes meet Toji’s and he regards you with mirth. Quiet but his gaze burns intensely.
“What—but I thought that you wanted to use–”
“As much as I absolutely love how vocal your pussy is,” he smirks. “I don’t really want others to hear it.”
You don’t say anything. Not because you don’t want to, but because you can’t. You’re at a loss for words, truly.
Toji notices your stare and fights back the wide smirk that pulls at the corners of his lips. He taps on his desk, right where his equipment is and your eyes land on the setup. You stare at his recording equipment. Granted, the little light that’s supposed to be red is completely blank, devoid of any signs that show that the recording has actually started.
Right.
You didn’t really check.
“So we did all that for nothing?”
“Not for nothing.” Toji huffs, “Consider it a well done for twenty thousand likes on your latest video.”
Your eyes narrow.
“You follow my account?”
His lips twitch and you curse yourself internally.
Pairings. [SEPARATE] Higuruma x Reader, Gojo x Reader, Ino x Reader, Sukuna x Reader, Choso x Reader, Geto x Reader, Nanami x Reader, Toji x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, superhero!JJK men, Venom, slight tentacIes, sIight bréeding, aphrodísiacs, rough s, spítting, chokíng, p sIapping, p talking, manhandIing, HEADLOCKS, matíng presses, enemies-to-Iovers (Geto), handcuffs, pIot, REACTIONS, paparazzi, x-ray vision, super strength, heightened senses, true form!Sukuna, four arms, POWERS, ínappropriate use of powers, making superheroes BREAK, creampíes, cúmpIay, pet names, swéaring.
A/N. Mwahahaha…
♡ TOJI FUSHIGURO - Venom.
“So…let me get this straight-” Temples throbbing—you’re unsure whether that was from just how many times your boyfriend’s had to explain his particular…conundrum to you, or from the conundrum itself.
And Toji sits in front of you with his hands clutched on top of the table- almost in a pleading motion. He looks around warily at the other people in this bustling café - why on Earth he decided to choose such a public place for such a confession was inconceivable to you.
It was a wonder in and of itself when you don’t burst into hysterics, “You were in your lab working on some experiments you should definitely not have been working on-” Shooting him a look that receives you a sheepish grin. “-and ended up getting infected by some…parasite?”
“Symbiote.”
“Right. Symbiote.” You correct tightly, “And this symbiote can talk, think, and even make itself known through you?”
“Ah- pretty much.” Toji shrugs.
“And this symbiote wants to see me why-”
“You’re ovulating.”
The café seems to come to a standstill around you.
Servers, customers, even the new intern that’d been blatantly dozing off at the counter jerks his head up and throws a glance at your table—or more accurately to figure out the utterly inhuman voice that’d erupted from your table.
It was deep. It was gravelly.
It sounded like - in its alien desperation to assimilate to this society - it’d meshed together as many human voices as it could possibly make, and in the end had come up with something that sounded like everything but.
And, of course, that voice had come from your boyfriend of three years.
Toji Fushiguro.
Though he was either ignorant or uncaring - knowing Toji, it was likely both - to the stares that were being thrown his way. He was far too busy fussing around this…symbiote and its separate thoughts and voices, batting around his head as though shooing away a particularly annoying fly. But you’d seen it—fuck, for the briefest second, you’d seen it…the way that this black, murky substance not quite of Earth-like matter had flickered over Toji’s handsome face for a second.
Slime-like skin.
Haunting white eyes.
A long, loooooooong tongue.
You shudder just imagining it.
“Sorry ‘bout that, doll.” Toji grits out- “His name’s Venom and he’s a real pain in the ass.”
You’re barely thinking twice before you utter, “And…how can we fix this?”
Voice nothing more than a whisper. Though perhaps owing to those suddenly-honed senses of his, Toji can hear you perfectly. “According to my hypothesis, there should be one way in which once the symbiote is completely satiated of its more…base needs, then it parts peacefully with the host. But this is still unfounded- besides, I’d never fuckin’ ask you to-”
“I’ll do it.”
Toji pauses.
“Eh?”
And you’re meeting his shocked expression with one of pure steel, “I’ll do it.”
.
.
.
In almost no time, you’re back in Toji’s laboratory and bent over his desk—what had meant to be a trail run- what had meant to be a simple discussion with the symbiote to test Toji’s hypothesis had ended up with the most looooong, lecherous thrusts being pumped into the back of your cunt.
Your thighs clench together, moans echoing out and hitting the four corners of the walls.
Just the simplest plaps! of Toji’s ravenous hips comin’ down onto yours was enough to send your heels skittering- forced to stand up a little straighter. He’s cleanly lifting you off a few inches just with the probin’ thrusts of his cock—and as Toji bottoms out once more, he’s rushing you straight into your nth high of the night.
Peak after peak.
Thrust after thrust.
The seventh round that you were feeling his thick, throbbing cock piston you through—though according to Toji, they were called trials.
Trials during which those waves of bliss shred through your core n’ straight up to your muddled head- one that’s immediately getting bombarded by that same gravely tone from before.
“Mmm, you smell sweeter when you cum.”
You startle, “Wh-what was that?”
“Fucked so stupid you can’t hear? Humans are so interesting…” As you’re tentatively turning your head over your shoulder, you’re seeing that Toji’s figure was suddenly taller…towering…covered in that black, goo-like substance from earlier—his face splits from cheek to cheek with a sharp-toothed smile, and suddenly he’s letting escape the most bone-chilling laugh. “I wonder how much sweeter you shall smell when I plant you with my seed-”
“Okay, that’s enough-” Toji’s struggling to gain dominance of the symbiote- though you still weren’t sure how exactly the system worked. You’d determined that it was a dual rule, of sorts, in which one could ‘fight’ the other for control of the body.
And right now, your boyfriend was the clear winner.
Groaning as he’s winning back control—and with the regaining of his body, he’s bombarded with the sudden sensations of your hot cunt enclosing around his shaft. Sucking. Slurping. Just so thick and throbbing to be even deeper inside you- you’re unsure whether this was just your overstimulated brain talking, but you could’ve sworn that Toji felt even bigger than usual-
“You’re welcome for that, heh.”
You jump, “Wh-what was that?”
“You’re fuckin’ welcome.” The symbiote in Toji’s body utters, and you’re shivering at the sensation of Venom’s looooong lavish tongue dripping down the side of your throat. Licking. “Venom can change shape however we like, we can make ourselves bigger…”
And you can’t fucking give a response to that—you can’t. Because just then that mazin’ tip of Toji’s cock is expanding far beyond what you’re used to.
He’s shovelling in even more inches than you knew he possibly had- he’s thrashing against your cervix and digging in as though he’d probe even deeper if he could- he’s swelling up so much inside your tight walls that it honestly feels as though you’re about to be split down the middle—
“Mmmm, became even sweeter. Heh, you liked that.” Those honed teeth of his graze over your neck, easy enough for him to tear through. “How about curved?”
Immediately bendin’ in such a delicious curve- one that strikes the end of his shaft directly against your g-spot. He doesn’t even have to try.
Your thighs quake as you feel his flared mushroom tip swabbing n’ stirring and messing up your insides with such an extreme shape. Plunging. Prodding around. The degrees of his curvature bent juuuuuust the right amount that it’d hit most of your tender spots-
“Or what about tentacles-”
“Wait-”
“That fuckin’ jerk.” Soon enough, Toji’s interrupting whatever lecherous plan the alien had for you, and instead using his original cock to pinpoint your insides.
Though Venom might have had the ability to change his shape- absolutely nothing could match Toji. Nothing could match the way he’d already memorized the locations of your sweetest bundles of nerves n’ how exactly you liked them stimulated—whether it was the quick, rapid strokes of just his very flared tip, or the achingly long strokes that had your eyes rolling to the back of your head.
Your back arches, and your moans crescendo louder than ever as your boyfriend reaches down to twiddle with your sensitive nub. “Right?”
Attempting to look back at him through your sobs, “Wh-what was that, baby?”
“I said—” Toji seethes out between haaaard strokes of his rugged cock- absolutely vicious. He wasn’t taking his time with you today, he was poundin’ your poor cervix raw with his tunneling tip. “Wasn’t he a fuckin’ jerk? Thinking that he’d be able to fuck my girl…”
“Y-yeah…” You’re acutely aware of the fact that Venom was hearing every single word being said. Likely simmering beneath. Likely attempting to regain control and make you spill the truth-
“Uh-huh?” But Toji was on a roll now. As the words spat between his scarred mouth grow faster, so do the ministrations on your pulsing clit. “Wasn’t he just delusional? Thinking that you’d like that alien cock- heh.”
Pathetically nodding along—unsure whether that was for the question or for just how good it felt. “Yeah, mmmm- fuck.”
“Right? And wasn’t he wrong?”
“Yeah-”
“Wasn’t he useless?”
“Y-yeah…”
“Wasn’t this pussy missin’ me?”
“Fuck, yes.”
And what you’re faced with next wasn’t a question, an insult to Venom, or anything else that you might have expected- it was a sudden spank!
Right on top of your clit.
Right before Toji’s already-elongated cock swivels a few inches deeper than you remember him being able to before. Thicker. Meaner. The top of his shaft was swelling into a fatter circumference, and you swear you can hear the squelches of orifices you’ve never known being opened up—
His sharp canines gnaw down on the shell of your ear, and shivers run down your spine at the guttural tone of his voice. “Then why are you so fuckin’ wet, my little liar?”
“O-oh.”
Shit, he’d known.
He’d been able to hear you, too.
And now you were paying the price: you were feeling Toji’s relentless cadence but with Venom’s ability to bend and prolong his shaft as much as he wanted to. His tendrils of symbiote substance glissade down his cock and stretch out your walls just a bit more—wrapped just around where Toji’s already-massive length was.
And if you thought that that wasn’t enough- you’re damn near losing your mind at the feeling of those fingers twiddlin’ at your clit starting to tingle. Starting to transform.
Before you know it, they feel strangely…tentacle-like. They reminded you of Venom’s own tendrils, though with a sultry suctioning sensation to it that made your body wrack with pleasure- “Oh my god—fuck, Toji, how are you even-”
“You forget that Venom is a part of me now.” He murmurs through a grin, hips only accelerating. Cock only lengthening- fingers only suckling. “And you’re not getting out of this any time soon, doll. At least, not until we have our hypothesis.”
“Shit…”
“Hypothesis schmipothesis. I get to breed her after.”
♡ NANAMI KENTO - Superman.
“My love…” Just the way that Nanami uttered your sweet, sweet pet name…it was anything but. As though he was a man that’d worshipped every name, statue, and deity in the world—and the only one to answer his wretched prayers was you.
He whispers your name.
Lightning strikes.
Nanami was silhouetted against the tall floor-to-ceiling window of your apartment; his red-clad feet hovering just a few inches off the ground, chest emblazoning the famous ‘S’ of which you could only see the ghost-like outline. Like a faint memory. That long cape of his drapes behind his broad shoulders, flowing in a breezeless wind. His head was bowed. His face utterly expressionless.
Moonlight falls upon him like a knighthood, but something more untoward.
The night was dark and so had been the day of fighting crime—or so you’d assumed. Usually, when your boyfriend arrived home it was with kisses to your cheek and bouquets of flowers.
You had no idea what happened today, but…he doesn’t respond to a single one of your calls. Not a single one of your pleas.
The only thing you can do is take a step forward-
And he jerks as though he’d just been shot by several of the lightning flares outside. A thousand bolts of electricity and even more, more, and more. Even though he had his gaze turned downwards, Nanami doesn’t need to see to sense you-
He already knew.
“My love.” He repeats, as though a broken CD. There was a wisp of something so carnal in his tone, something dark and drenched in…a desire that you couldn’t put your finger on. It was something that made shivers cascade across your body, however. “My love, don’t-”
“Don’t what, Kento?” You’re insisting, even though you fight yourself not to take another step forward as per his wishes. “I need to know what happened, baby.”
“You need to know.” He repeats once more—was he even capable of anything else? You’re starting to grow even more concerned and reconsider your internal pledge when- “I was injured.”
Concern pours over you like a bucket of cold water, “Injured? Where-”
“Not physically.” Nanami spits out through clenched teeth, every syllable difficult for him to enunciate as though coated in glue n’ sticking to the roof of his tongue. In the pale moonlight you could see that his skin was covered in a sort of perspiration - something almost feverish and flushed. “It’s- fuck, I need you to know-”
“Kento, I’m scared for-”
“I need to fuck you.”
And as he finally rushes out the confession, large exhales seep out of him like every bit of his remaining sanity—a weight had been lifted off. But little did he seem to realize that that weight was a keystone for a dam.
And now he felt like he was about to fucking burst-
“Lex Luthor- latest invention—fuck.” Interrupting his own explanation with a rugged groan - not one that was quite pained, but not…not either. “None taken, no casualties.” Something crossed between rage and ecstasy. How very like Nanami to utter of other before himself- “But I was injected with- fuck—”
You take a step forward, “Kento-”
“-aphrodisiac.”
“Oh.” Heart stopping. Without even thinking, you’re taking a quick scan of his figure to make sure that he wasn’t bluffing about no physical wounds, and when all seems clear on his upper half, your eyes can’t help but drop to the area between Nanami’s chiselled legs - and your sweet boyfriend’s Superman outfit had always been particularly flattering on his body, but this—he looked about nine inches straight through his tight latex and throbbing. Aching.
You can speak no longer, and him barely enough- “Stay away.”
Another step. “Kento.”
“Darling, I’m going to ruin you.”
And another. “I don’t mind.”
There isn’t the burst and then the frenzy of lips on lips, skin on skin, as you might’ve expected at first. No, not at all. Your words linger in the bedroom for a few more seconds - tight and tempting, just when you think that the tension in the air is going to stretch so taut that it might never snap—Nanami moves.
Just the slightest action: he stops hovering. Setting his feet down on the windowsill for the first time - and it hits you just then why he hadn’t been touching any bit of your apartment for so long.
Because the moment that Nanami came in contact with any - any - part of you, he was going to go fucking insane. That is, if he didn’t have your pretty pussy to take it out on—in almost no time, you’re finding yourself pressed flat against your king-sized mattress and having your boyfriend’s thickened tip swirlin’ your insides.
He was just so hot and needy.
Perhaps even greater in girth than you remember him - there was a vein down the middle of his length that stood out n’ massaged every inch of your insides. Throb-throb-throbbing away inside of you as the crowned edge of his shaft bottomed out- fuck, he doesn’t even spend the long, sensual hours of foreplay as he usually would.
Nanami merely throws your legs over his half-uniformed shoulder, merely clasps onto one side of your hips, merely tunnels his angry cock in and out—
In and out. In and out. You’re feeling him glide his handsome nosebridge down the column of your throat- stopping just where you were most sensitive, he’s twitchin’ in-between your puffy folds as he takes in your pheromones. Groaning, you swear you feel him grow even bigger inside of you—“My love—”
It’s that absolutely broken tone of his that makes you jerk your head in response. Blinking up tearily at the blond man, “K-Kento?”
His shaggy, golden bangs were curtained over his eyes n’ covering most of his gaze now - and you’re unsure whether you should be thankful or concerned that you couldn’t measure the sheer primal desire in them anymore. It was obscured from you—and all you’re getting revealed of him are the constant grunts whenever his ruddied cockhead hits the back of your pussy, his shivering hips, his mantra of your name. “I need to know…my love, I need to- fuck, are you okay?”
“I am—” Strangely enough, it made your cunt grow even wetter to know that he’s caring so much about you even when he was in the depths of the effects of the aphrodisiac-
His mind was wiped clean of anything but his base needs- and yet, there was always a part of him that knew you were what’s most important. And the superhero reaches one roughened hand down to sweetly cup your face, dragging the tip of his thumb down to wipe away any beads of sweat- “Are you s-sure? I need you to be sure-”
“I am sure, Kento.” Insisting. And though you feel just a little awful for interrupting his well-meaning pleas—you also needed to feel his thick, textured cock hitting eeeeevery single inch of you. And though you’re at his complete and utter mercy, you can’t help but squirm your hips around to swivel more of his solid inches inside. “Please- fuck, I need more of you. Don’t hold back-”
“Fuh-fuuuuuuck—” A zig-zagging vein pops out on his forehead, freckled with sweat. “Don’t say that-”
“But I am saying that.” Wrangling your legs off of his sculptured shoulders- or at least, you’re attempting to. But Nanami only needs to drift a single hand up to keep you pliably in place—he’s locking both ankles behind his neck with one hand, long fingers holding them gently yet sternly. It’s all he needs to halt your restless hips as he hits a sensitive spot and ploughs iiiiiiin.
Thrust after thrust.
Again and again.
Every single one of them locates that cute target of your nerves- instantly, it was almost like magic. That deliciously curved end of his shaft manages to maze his way inside, spreadin’ apart your gluey walls and heading straight for that area—all he has to do is follow the channel of your cunt until he’s led straight to that spot he bashes nicely.
Sloppily.
“Darling, you’re close.”
“I-I am?” Eyes shooting wide open- fuck, he’s right. It takes only one more thrust of his vein-covered cock for you to register the thrills of adrenaline shooting up your spine. You’re arching straight into his chiselled chest, “Oh, shit…I am.”
“My love didn’t know?” Nanami nearly titters. “S’okay…your Kento’s going to fuh-fuck you through it. Your Kento’s going to make you feel so good—ngh.”
And as he utters this, his cadence only grows sloppier.
“May I…” Just so cautious of the way you’re being jostled to n’ fro - of the way you’re nearly hitting the headboard, and the roundness of his balls smack! against your cunt. Nanami has enough clarity to feel almost…sheepish about the way that you’re clearly dumbed down on his cock. His greedy, greedy cock. “May I make you cum- oh, may I go…just a little harder?”
“Kento—” You’re pouting, “I want you to go harder-”
“I-”
“I want you to go the hardest.” And as he’s still half-uniformed, you’re able to reach up and twist your fist in the smooth fabric. Tugging him down, you snarl- “If you want me to cum, Kento, then you better not hold back.”
And Nanami doesn’t answer. He doesn’t utter a single syllable.
He’s merely slowing his hips down and reeling his hips back, back, backwards—he lets the rounded tip of his cock circle your hole for a few seconds. Just the slightest few seconds, before that pulsing length of his shoves deep inside- not even stopping at your g-spot, he’s heading straight for your womb.
That soft, sopping womb of yours- “My love…” Just the last thing you’re hearing before you’re cumming, “My love, it’s going to take now.”
Blabbering, “Wh-what—”
“It’s going to take.”
And a thick, ropey warmth floods you deeeep from your core- spreadin’ into every nook, cranny, and crevice until you’re feeling a little lightheaded. “Did you really mean…” As your voice murmurs out in pure disbelief, those clingy wads of his cum get pinpointed into even the tiniest sweet spots inside of you—places that you weren’t even sure you had. He’s pressing his thickened tip against the sides of your walls and watching as your sweet, sweet juices get sprayed out. “You- you really didn’t mean…”
Nanami utters nothing but a few raspy groans, eyes locked on the forefront of your core as he shovels inside. Inside and inside. “I did.”
There was an intensity in his eyes that you swear you’re feeling against your skin- and you did. It burned. “Did it seriously—”
“It did.” And his round, reddened tip ends up sticking straight against your womb - fucking you through your own high, fucking you through his drivelling wads of seed. A final swat. “It did, my loves.”
And you’re noting the change of your pet name.
Because you already knew what he meant- it had taken. Nanami Kento was using his superhuman sight to peer through you, watching as his cum trickles into the deepest depths of your womb—and his mouth quirks up into a handsome grin as he notes that it’ll be…
A daughter.
.
.
.
“Congratulations”
You gape at the screen.
And a quick glance at Nanami reveals that he was doing the very same- though perhaps in not such an outward manner. As soon as possible, you’re staring right back at the screen that showed a little bean of something your doctor was pointing towards and explaining—something that flows in one ear and out the other.
You were still registering that there was a little bean of something.
You don’t know when - it might be second, it might be minutes, it might be days later - but Nanami speaks. Something silent and barely-there, a breathless whisper as though he was afraid that it’d shatter the mirage shown on screen, “A-and…the…?”
He can’t complete his sentence. Though Dr. Shoko Ieri is a professional, and she picks up on what your husband means quite quickly.
He clasps your hand - newly-minuted gold wedding ring cold against your skin - and waits as she peers at the screen once more. Because he knows this—he knows this. He’s seen this with his superhuman vision.
He’d told you a few months ago just then…
And yet, Nanami’s heart flips.
She smiles warmly at the two of you, “It’s a girl.”
♡ GETO SUGURU - Batman.
“It’s you.” Geto chuckles, “Why did I know that it would be you?”
The sound of his low, throaty laugh is enough to send shivers down your spine—-and…perhaps even lower. Though that’s not something you wanted to unpack right about now.
You had to remember where you were: the mansion of Geto Suguru, billionaire, playboy, mysterious down to the core. The mansion had been as expectedly gaudy and gilded as most rich people loved their homes, but what had drawn you to it the most had been the safe room, of course.
And so here you were standing with a couple gold bricks in your bag and a few more to be packed up- that shouldn’t take long, you assume. And with a careless sigh, you’re ignoring the man himself and getting back to loading them back in—“So? Happy to see me?”
“Oh, less than.” Geto replies.
“Don’t lie~” Purring, the skin-tight latex of your suit twinkles underneath the rich yellow lighting as you’re turning back to him. You shoot a flirtatious wink his way, “I know this is going to be the source of your wet dreams for years after.”
“Nightmares, more like.” He hobbles a step closer. It puts you on edge.
“Then how about we keep some distance from our nightmares, hm?” You’re gathering up your large loot—much heavier than an average person would be able to carry, though you’re holding it daintily between your fingers with ease. “I come to rob you, you catch me robbing you, you let me go—it’s a win-win for everybody. I really wouldn’t want to use force…”
“And I wouldn’t want to use force either.” Geto smiles so pleasantly, “I don’t really care about the gold- but there’s a pearl necklace in there that used to belong to my mother. How about you leave that and be on your merry way, hm?”
You pout, “But I liked the pearl necklace.”
And his gaze grows just a little sharper, “I’m afraid that can’t happen, kitty.”
“Oh, I loooove it when you call me that~” Fluttering your lashes at him.
He takes a step closer, “I know your games, Catwoman.”
“And yet you fall for them every time, Batman.”
Did you forget to mention that Geto Suguru - billionaire, playboy, mysterious and also perhaps the most attractive man you’ve ever set your eyes on - was also Batman? Despite that, you still had the most infamous crime-fighting vigilante wrapped around your finger as though he was nothing but a low-grade thief.
And he was trapped in your web now (what was the cat version of that, anyway?)
Leagues below you. He’s biting down on his plush, pretty lip to hold back a whimper as you’re reeling your hips aaaaaall the way back to squeeze his blushin’ tip—holding it there for a few seconds before you give the superhero a good bounce.
Making him throw his head back with a groan- Geto lets out a slew of swears once you’re starting up the sloppiest cadence. Back and forth. “D-don’t get ahead of yourself, kitty…”
“What was that—?” Pretending to gasp, you’re teasingly leaning your body forwards in a mocking attempt to hear him better. “What was that, Bat? I didn’t hear you- was that a stutter I heard?”
“Fuck off-” Spitting between clenched teeth. Geto’s clasping onto either side of your naked hips, using that strength of his you loooooved being manhandled by to roll your hips in figure-eight motions - just drag-drag-dragging the outline of his cock along your sweet insides. You could feel every ridge n’ crevice of his veins decorating your walls, massaging them into something even softer he loved to fuck up into.
The two of you were sitting - barely - on the luxurious armchair he had in his safe room. Creaking and ricketing with age every time that Geto arched his hips backwards and gave you a thorough probe—inside. And though you couldn’t say that you planned to end up here, you didn’t quite deny that you had plans to end up in his master bedroom - why else would you have gotten caught?
The both of you knew that if you’d actually wanted to steal something, then you would’ve been out of this damn mansion hours ago.
Gritting his pearly white canines, Geto crushes your hips further down into his and ruts up into you—“Sh-shit….”
“What was that about stuttering, gorgeous?”
“Fuck off—”
“I’m fucking you, actually.” He spits between clenched teeth, gyrating your hips around so that the cute nub of your clit rubs up against his fuzzy base. It’s such a carnal feeling to have those curls of jet-black massaging where you were most sensitive, getting more n’ more drenched by the second. By the motions of your dripping wet pussy. He’s snarling, “That’s fuckin’ right- wipe that smug look off of your face. I already know what you’re thinking.”
“Oh?” And you’re just barely managing to scrounge up whatever’s left of your sanity together to respond. “And what is that, Monsieur Bat?”
“C’est l’homme chauve-souris.” Geto rolls his amethyst eyes, “And it’s that you think you have me- fuck, underneath your kitty toes.”
“Kinky~”
However, he’s learned not to entertain you with yet another outburst—instead, Geto’s pulling all his energy into inching his hips backwards and planting another thorough thrust deep into the depths of your cunt. So hard that you think he might just have left a mark.
So accomplished in his grin that you think he might’ve been aiming for it
You wouldn’t have been surprised to know that billionaire playboy Geto Suguru liked to let everyone know that he was fucking you- especially you. The hottest cat burglar in all of Gotham.
The same one he’s been infatuated with since the first time he saw you.
But he was fucking you like he hated you.
The sweetest thing he’s doing yet is cascading a hand down your front- left fingertip teasingly pressing your pussylips apart. It doesn’t take him long - not long at all - to find your pretty clit and draw a few circular motions on top of it—watching as you buck and whine straight into his hands.
And the meanest thing he’s done yet is reach his other hand behind you.
Because suddenly you’re feeling something cold and metallic click! into place.
You gasp.
You should’ve known that crime-fighting vigilantes often worked from the shadows; from a darkness of which even your feline eyes cannot piece through. You didn’t have eyes in the back of your head, did you? Although perhaps Batman had a gadget for that, too…
And although you already know that you’re fucked- it’s not until the jingle of handcuffs emanates from behind you that you’re really letting the situation sink in. It’s not that you’re afraid of Geto or anything he could do to you, but…it’s just that you’re afraid of what you might do given this forced proximity.
Something stupid like- like admit your feelings to the ever-elusive hero or something. Disgusting.
On top of that, you’re unable to motion your hips as you were doing so previously. Stuck pathetically grinding back into thrusts that he was already planting onto your cunt, the fatness of his girth sending you to the edge-
You’re whimpering are you can’t do anything you’d usually do like clasp onto his pretty throat or shove your fingers down his mouth. “Sugu…aw, c’mon—”
“Now I’m Sugu?” Geto snickers, “What happened to Bat? Or loser? Or fuck off? Or I never-want-to-see-you-again?”
Fluttering your lashes innocently, “You know I jest.” To no avail, you’re attempting to slip out of those handcuffs as you’d have done with any other normal ones - but you knew better than to underestimate Batman. As you expected, no matter how much you’re squeezing and molding your hands against that metal, it keeps on adjusting to your shape and restraining you. Keeping you hostage. Only one look at him and you already know that Geto’d spent a fortune creating these…perhaps just for you. “C’mon, baby, let me out of these~”
“No can do, kitty.” He chuckles. And the audacity of this man- he’s straying his right hand down your spine and groping your ass—“Next time we’re keeping the suit on because I wanna pull your tail.”
You scoff.
And he raises one dark brow. Thumb pressing down even harder on your clit, “What was that?”
“N-nothing…” You whimper, entire body wracking with shivers. It’s a few more sloppy thrusts before you can thrust yourself to speak without your voice cracking again—you didn’t want to give more ammunition for his entertainment. “Oh, Geto Suguru, when I get out of these handcuffs I’m going to fucking-”
“Kill me?” He smirks, “We can see you try.”
“You think I can’t?”
Geto shakes his head. “No, I expect it. Just make sure you kiss me first.”
And you can’t deny - neither to yourself or him - that that’s leaving you even wetter than you’d anticipated. The sheen of your arousal dripping through his dark happy trail, leading down to that perfectly chiselled six-pack of his.
He merely cracks a grin and plants his right hand on one side of your waist—drilling into you even harder than before.
“You know I love you, Bat.” You’re grumbling out almost reluctantly past the clogged mess of whines and moans and tears in your throat.
“Mmm, love you, too, kitty.”
.
.
.
“Mister Geto, I have collected those crime reports that you requested me to-” Miguel’s deep tone halts immediately at the sight before him. He’s standing by the edge of Geto Suguru’s sprawling master bedroom - the subject of countless features in architectural magazines, and the dreams of high-society alike - eyes widening at the dual figures of you and his employer, bundled up and clearly unclothed beneath the covers.
Clinging onto one another.
The crime-fighting vigilante and his criminal lover.
Though it wasn’t necessarily a secret around these parts that no matter how many women and men Geto Suguru meets, there will always be a certain cat-eared crime-lover he goes back to…Geto himself wouldn’t appreciate it if such word spread now, would he? This wasn’t the first time he’d crawled right back to you and this won’t be the last- hold on.
Were his sunglasses deceiving him or was his cold, uptight employer actually smiling in his sleep? Heavens above, this might just be the last time.
This might just.
Miguel settles for the thought that he’d tease the billionaire about it over dinner—very, very late dinner by the looks of it.
He leaves the report on the nearest desk - of which there were many, because this is Geto Suguru that we’re speaking about - and heads towards the door.
Taking one last peak.
Yeah, this might just be the last time. He trusts his intuition, that he’ll be walking into this scene more often than not in the coming years.
Yeah, this might just be for good.
♡ CHOSO KAMO - Nightwing.
“Who knew that the Nightwing…” You’re purring—smiling like the cat that’s got the cream - or more like the hero that’s just caught her rival. “-sex symbol of Gotham, hottest man of the year, wanted by men and women and everyone in-between…”
And Choso merely bucks weakly beneath you - his hips stutterin’ with every single fucking milimeter that he’s shovelling inside of you.
Choso was red and furiously hot between your legs—thick. Throbbing even harder as he feels his ruddied, red tip scrape the bottom of your pussy; his fat cock twitches there a few times as he registers the soft, spongy platform he was feeling—this was…Those beautiful, brown eyes of his widen as it sinks in. Gasping. Shaking.
And it takes merely two - two - seconds of being stuffed inside you for the famed hero to throw his head back and cum.
And you’re finally finishing your sentence, “-a virgin.”
How had this all happened? How did you end up here?
You could blame it all on the spiked punch, you could blame it all on the lavish ceremony - the highs and lows of the red carpet, ah, they always did tend to make you feel a little more reckless than usual—what’s that saying about all publicity is good publicity? Or perhaps it was the fault of the Hero Awards altogether.
Gathered here with the most elite of the elite, the best heroes from around the world; where they patted one another on their backs and paraded in designer. Reporters starved for the attention of the saviours as much as any competent villain.
Though you couldn’t say too much about them - you yourself were here, too.
But you told yourself that you were here solely for one award—and one award only. All those about best costume, best comeback during a fight, best fancam, best fistfight didn’t matter (though that wasn’t to say that you weren’t grateful, it’d been sweeping wins for all of which you’d teared up).
You were here for Best Hero of the Year.
The best.
The strongest.
The most battle-savvy.
The most competent.
The best of the best.
Once that nomination letter had arrived, you’d held it to your chest - in pure disbelief - for a long hour afterwards. It was an honor to be nominated—the greatest honor.
To win this award a panel of seasoned heroes would tally up all of your fights for this year, then grade them based on a variety of aspects such as difficulty, saves, assists, honor; the total would contribute towards a count that determined the winner. And though you’d been cautious about not winning - there were many other wonderful, more experienced heroes nominated - you just didn’t expect for the announcer to open up the golden cue card and read…
Fucking Nightwing.
Which is why you’d cornered him at the after-party - for a congratulations between you two that’d turned into passive aggressiveness, and passive-aggressiveness that’d turned into a proper argument you’re sure the reporters caught wind of, and an argument that ended up with you and Choso tangled up in your hotel room.
Pressing him down with your hips- you’re trembling at the feeling of his warm sap gushing out of you. It’s creating an ivory sheen down the inner sides of your thighs, smearin’ down Choso’s chiselled hips in a way that was just so lewd—and you’re more than happy to make an even bigger mess.
To throw your head back and grind your hips down onto his.
Choso hiccups, his upper half attempting to surge upwards- only for you to press one pretty finger down on his shoulder. And just the softest push has him tumbling back into the plush pillows, “Shit- y-you can’t just…do that to me.”
“Do what, baby?” You smirk down at him.
And right as he opens those cute, trembling lips of his to answer—you’re tightenin’ your thighs around his waist and jerking your hips even harder against his. His prominent v-lines massage where you were situated, and Choso groans as his blushin’ cocktip manages to push and pinpoint even the tiniest orifices inside you.
He’s still drooling out beads of cum, pooling at the base of his cock. So much of it- shit, was he still cumming?
Or was he cumming…again?
Unsure of what you were feeling, you’re veering your gaze down and attempting to get a better look. And sure as day- not only was it your translucent slick n’ his precum that was flooding you from the inside, but Choso’s ivory cum sprays out and and mixes into something so lewd-
“Fuck- fuck…” Your mouth waters at the feeling of being stuffed to the brim - so much of it that you’re wondering just how overworked his hefty balls must be. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, “You’re cumming again, Cho—”
“Th-this is exactly what I mean.” Choso sobs out, eyes glittering with tears, “You can’t just do that to me- you can’t make me feel so…stupid when you fuck me.”
Amused, “Stupid, huh? I don’t know if I have to try-”
“See, m’so gone that I’d agree—” That soft whine of his makes you so much wetter. Peering up at you with his half-lidded gaze - boring his dilated pupils into yours, hanging his jaw maddeningly. He presses a simple jerk of his ruddied cockhead into the deepest depths of your cunt - dead fucking serious. “I’d agree that m’stupid. I’d agree that m’pathetic.”
“Awwww…” Arching your back, he’s attempting this cute attempt at ruttin’ into you that you’re indulging in. You let him thrash his needy cockhead again and again and again-
“I-I’m nothing but a fuckin’ ngh, virgin that doesn’t deserve to fuck a pussy like this.” His lips wobble out- and you might have said something about him being too hard on himself…you might.
But the dirtier that Choso was speaking - the harder he was on himself - the harder he was getting.
Longer. Girthier—and his thorough thrusts were spearheading even faster by his tip. Taking out the tension in everything he was saying by ramming straight into your cervix - hard and fast. It twitches right at the very back of your spongy womb…and you’re swearing that a grin grows across Choso’s face as he registers that displeased expression on your face- who did he think he was to try and gain control over you?
“Now now—” You’re pressing both palms on top of his sweaty chest, and you can’t deny that they felt so toned and muscular underneath your touch. “Trying to be a big boy, Nightwing?”
“Only for you.” He croons.
“Cute.” You wrinkle your nose, “But that’d be a lot more smooth if you weren’t cumming- again.”
“Fuh-fuck.”
When was this? The third time? The fourth? Either way, all Choso knows is that he can’t stop those furious zaps of pleasure from coursing through his entire body—every inch and vessel and atom. It’s collecting at the mushroomy tip of his cock, red and swollen, then dribbling out as cum.
Not even.
Choso barely manages a few pearly white droplets before he’s shooting fucking blanks-
Head throwing back. Gasps echoing out of him. Chest heaving and heaving as you’re riding his overstimulated cock craaaaaazy-
“What was that about Year’s Best Hero?” You’re tittering out, staring into Choso’s utterly pretty face as he’s cumming through tears. Spark upon spark. Strong enough to make his toes curl, and you’re ruthless in the way you’re wrapping your warm pussy around him and milking him dry-
His pinkish lips wobble, “Wh-what was that…”
“How’re you gonna fight crime if you can’t even- ngh, handle a pussy?”
“W-well, I didn’t expect to be facing such a…formidable foe.” Blabbing out - utter nonsense at this point. He was pussydrunk—if only those at the Hero Award could see him like this. “You could take on a second job as a villain…j-just with that pussy…and also just f’me…”
“I take that as a…compliment?”
“You’re welcome—ngh.” Choso whimpers out- before there’s a sudden twitch at the crown of his swollen shaft. And those brown brows of his furrow, “B-but don’t be nice to me, however, it’s gonna make me cum- again. Mmm.”
“Oh, Choso…”
.
.
.
The glitz. The glamour. The fans begging you to sign their tits.
At the very next Hero Awards, there’s a buzz like never before.
For several reasons, of course: first of all, the matching outfits between you and the famously handsome Nightwing (though you’d argue that yours is the one that looked better, secondly because some drama-lovers anticipated a rerun of the infamous fight between you and aforementioned handsome hero, and last but not least—because of the new category of awards you’d been nominated for.
Most Inspirational Hero Couple.
And it was no surprise that Choso had won this one, but at least this time—you’d won it, too.
♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - Hulk.
It happened not when he was angry, or excited, or panicked.
The results of a top-secret experiment funded by The University of Tokyo, intended to create human super-soldiers: it had been a failure. And Dr. Ryomen Sukuna had known better than to get his hopes up for such a volatile test subject—he was an expert in the field, 7 PhDs in a variety of sciences from biochemistry to radiophysics, he knew that it could take months, years, even decades before they observed even a mere anomaly similar to what they’d been hoping for.
But fuck- Sukuna had really thought he’d done it. He’d made humans immune to gamma radiation.
At least, he’d thought he did.
Ryomen Sukuna blinked his eyes open after the sudden explosion of radiation, and at most he’d expected to see his laboratory wrecked, his data completely wiped. At most.
He didn’t expect to be seeing it from eight feet high.
He didn’t expect to be seeing it with four eyes.
He didn’t expect to wield four massive arms in an attempt to find any shattered piece of glass from which he may see himself from-
Two mouths let out simultaneous gasps.
One of them slashed across his muscular stomach.
He was a monster.
It didn’t take a single one of his PhDs for Sukuna to know to flee the scene- not just the building, but Tokyo itself. Sirens loomed in the distance, and the acrid smell of radiation left him in waves- bystanders running to the rubble without realizing the danger. He knew you’d be alerted soon—you.
How could he ever face you like this?
Lo and behold he’d ended up at a squat village in Aogashima island; 358km away from Tokyo with only 160 residents. It was here, tucked behind sprawling mountainsides, that Sukuna had come to discover the little intricacies of his…condition. Through trial and error, through testing upon himself and attempting to control that four-armed version of him. Attempting.
And so the question: what made him transform?
He discovered that this monstrous state - which he dubbed to be a Curse state - was triggered by sudden increases of his heartbeat. Rarely anger, or excitement, or panic. What else might possibly raise the disgraced scientist’s heartrate well over 200 bpm?
Arousal.
Which is exactly what he’d been learning to control through his breathing techniques, his meditation, and his celibacy- not that he’d want anyone but you. But fuck…the dreams he’d have of you.
Nightmares, when he wakes up as the monstrous King of Curses.
Heaven, when the exact source of his nightmares - and wettest dreams - comes knocking at his shunted door one sunny summer day. A furrow between your brows. A furious word or two slipping out at the first sight of him.
Fuck.
.
.
.
One year, two months, and a few days since…the incident and you’d finally located where your ex-boyfriend (and former colleague) had disappeared.
And you’d expected him to have sunken into his work in one way or another.
You’d expected him to have holed himself away in some rural town—as he’d confessed to wanting to do on some nights, just with you. You’d even have expected him to have been working on some strange new project after the failure of his last one- he was the type to take it to heart. A little dramatic, but you expected this.
You just didn’t expect…his transformation.
Right before your very eyes.
Four arms. Four eyes. Two cocks that’d stayed twitchin’ in his baggy pants for a mere few minutes of your conversation- before you had your face pushed into pillows that smelled like him, legs struggling to keep you up, begging for more as Sukuna digs those two ruddied cockheads between your pussylips and sliiiiides in-
Just a few inches.
Just a few.
Before the resistance of your tight entrance gets too much- and Sukuna’s leaning back a bit to allow his cursed second mouth to spit down on your pussy. Hard.
The impact makes you shiver, sticky substance gluing your pussylips together. You swear you hear his second mouth snicker as he swabs that cloying texture with his cockheads, and uses his hands to manhandle you into pliable position - one hand cupping your abdomen and pulling you up- the other digging into the left side of your hips- the other reachin’ down to thumb apart your swollen folds and help him fuck his lengths inside. Thick and throbbing.
In short, slow semi-thrusts. He was just trying to fit inside. “Kuna—” Breathing out open-mouthed against the pillows. Needy.
“Needy brat.”
“Kuna.”
“Sh-shit.” And he wasn’t doing a single bit better than you. Sukuna was letting his head drop into the clammy crook of your neck, gnarled canines grazing on top of your skin- you feel the scowl across his face stretch even more as he pull-pull-puuuuuulls those hot erections backwards.
And then probes aaaaaaall the way back in - languidly.
“Fuck-” You’re gasping out—seeing pure white behind your eyelids. You almost couldn’t believe it. Sukuna was already sizable- but in this form?
He had his round, reddened tips just barely lodging between your swollen folds. Just so big. Pulsing. Pushing apart your slick walls with his circumferences, throbbing away inside you. Rubbing back and forth a few times to savor the squeeze of your hole - like heaven - before he’s stuffin’ every single nook, cranny, and crevice like never before.
And the carnal burn between your legs was only made sweeter by the way that Sukuna himself trembled on top of you. He’s letting out a coarse grunt-
Gasping.
“Fuck—fuck, is this okay?”
And a part of you melts at the utter tenderness in his tone - mixing with a hint of fear. Of disbelief. Ryomen Sukuna was never the type to be vulnerable, not even when the two of you had been dating—but as you look over your shoulder right now, you see that those devilish red eyes of his were observing every minute expression as though searching for a hint of rejection. Of disgust.
A hint that he’d been right about his changed form.
He was inhuman in his physique now, and…and he understands if you’d been scared away at any point-
But you’re only arching your spine and veering your hips back into him- cutting off whatever whirlwind of thoughts was bound to consume him. You’re picking up the pace that he’d been unsurely slowly down, bouncin’ down onto those slick-glossed shafts. They filled you up deliciously. “You don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily again, are you?”
“I-”
“I’m more than okay, Kuna.”
“And yet-”
“And yet, why won’t you fuck me even harder—” Huffing, you’re managing to get up onto your elbows and gain a bit more leverage. “Spent so long looking for you, y’know…”
“Tch.” The scientist grumbles, but you could feel the way those rotund tips of his twitch just a lil’ inside of you. “Should’ve known-” He’s matching your pace with his own, slamming the lines of his toned abs against the globes of your ass cheeks. “-that you’d be an utter slut for monster cock.”
“Cocks.” You correct.
Just then, the wetness of his second tongue trickles down your pussylips. Gathering up every wad of honeyed slick you were leaking out- he was glissading his tastebuds along every inch of you he could reach: your inner thighs, your cute ass, nearly reaching around to fuck your pretty pussy. “Don’t forget the tongue, too, girlie.”
“I c-could never…” You’re keening out.
“Oh?”
And with a grin, Sukuna second-guesses no longer—before he’s leaning his chiselled front over yours. The hard ridges and lines of his muscles massaging your back, he hooks his fourth muscular arm around your neck and pulls you into a damn headlock-
“Fuh-fuck-” Sukuna hisses through his canines - honed and longer and ready to bite. He ruts into you like a damn animal—“Shit, how I missed this…”
“Shouldn’t have run away then-”
“From the fuckin’ freak?”
Just the slightest press against your throbbing g-spot - it’s like a trigger for the sweet, sweet squeeze of your walls- so warm n’ hungry for his cocks. And Sukuna jerks into urgent attention,
And now he wasn’t fucking you slow- he wasn’t taking his time.
Ryomen Sukuna had his muscular hips arched n’ reluctant to part from yours. Probin’ those girthy inches of his inside—
You’re attempting to claw at the headboard for dear life- but his keen eyes immediately catch the sliver of action, and Sukuna wastes no time before tightening his headlock ‘round you until his biceps bulge against your throat, hauling you back into his vicious ploughs. “What?” He breathes, scalding hot against the side of your cheek. “Where are we going, girlie?”
“We?”
“We. I could never forget her.” He’s rasping out against your skin, sending vibrations across every axiom of you. “Always thought of her—”
“A-and what did you think about?” You’re whimpering.
He doesn’t answer for a few seconds. And you’re disappointed as you feel Sukuna take as much time as his heart desires, pulling out of your pussy with a cute pop! Before he swirls his ruddied tips to soften up your entrance once more, and gives you a thorough thrash- going even deeper than prior. He’s making the eyes roll to the back of your head- he’s finally bottoming out. “I thought about how she might take every inch of me…”
“Oh.”
The tip of his second tongue dips out as though to fuck your cunt simultaneously.
.
.
.
When you’re accompanying Sukuna back to Tokyo, it’s hand-in-hand.
Large and warm against yours. There were more callouses on his fingers than you remember there being - not those of laboratory test tubes, and flasks, and flipping on centrifuges; but the hardship from the year you didn’t have him—and he didn’t have himself, either.
But you’re tugging him into the airport, now.
Two tickets booked and a meeting at The University of Tokyo already planned - the two of you didn’t plan to let anyone know of his transformative abilities for now. Perhaps never.
There were things that the two of you hadn’t sorted out yet: like how would Sukuna explain away his disappearance to the science board? How would you both stay in your cramped Tokyo apartment when he turned into his Curse mode? How would you manage to work on controlling it when…
But you knew the two of you would find a way - you always do.
As you’re standing at the terminal to your flight, the ones at the farthest end of the line, you’re turning around to a lilting voice calling out both your names. Your full names. Who knew such a thing…Faced with a grinning woman in a jet-black suit, tinted sunglasses, and the most accomplished grin across her face. She introduces herself as Tony- or as you may know her: Iron Woman.
And would you and your hulking boyfriend perhaps be interested in a little something called—
Sukuna’s breath hitches.
—The Avengers?
♡ INO TAKUMA - Flash.
“Mr. Flash- Mr. Flash! Just one more question, please…”
“Mr. Flash?” Ino gets a sheepish expression across his face at the esteemed title- one that makes the rest of his team roll their eyes. And he’s turning to the reporter that wastes no time shoving his mic in his face; camera already rolling, news headlines running.
All part of the job—it’s already been an hour since they’ve saved the city (yet again) and they’re still being interviewed, with no sign of it stopping anytime soon.
And so Ino plasters his camera-ready smile on - the rest of the team might not be as savvy as he was with the media, but he was one of the most popular up-and-coming heroes for a reason. Hah. The people loved him, and he loved the people. He takes the mic from the reporter faster than he can blink, and the man startles out a laugh.
“Woah, did you get that?” He turns uncertainly to the cameraman, who nods though he himself wasn’t too sure. Turning back to the red-clad hero- “You sure are fast. Tell us, Mr. Flash, does this speed affect you in your normal life, too?”
Ino answers, “Well-”
“And what about in the more…intimate aspects?”
He’s somewhat taken aback, “What do you-”
“What about in bed?”
Ino’s jaw has never dropped faster—ironic, isn’t it?
And that reporter leans in with a smile that’s turned wicked - one that said he’s going to get paid a lot of money for this particular clip. “Tell us, Mr. Flash, do you last nothing but a flash in bed?” Those beady eyes then turn to you—not too far away and interviewing another one of his team - ever since the two of you started dating, you’d been careful to not let anything slip about it, going so far as to avoid interviewing him as you once did as a hero reporter.
Though you suppose that some whispers did let slip.
For the man was staring at you, though he asked the question from Ino. “Or perhaps there’s a certain…someone that might know the answer to this question?”
That clip of him open-mouthed and gaping takes over social media within a few minutes - it garnered some strange frenzy of amusement and morbid curiosity. Some defended him fervently against the intrusive reporter, some argued that if one was a hero then they should expect strange questions, others condemned such questions all together- where were the boundaries?
Everyone else argued back.
But most…oh, you could’ve already guessed that most couldn’t help but speculate the real answers for both questions: the bed situation and the ‘certain someone’.
Ino, of course, was bemoaning his haste.
Or at least he would-
But right now he had you splayed-out underneath him and letting him fuck you maddened—the slender length of his cock pistoning in and out of you at a frenzied pace.
“Fuh-fuck-” That pretty, pinkened mouth of his droops open with a wet gasp—and Ino shudders as the ruddied tip of his cock swerves around your insides. Stars burst behind his teary eyelids as he’s sprinklin’ out yet another few droplets of him, trickling it deeeep into the back of your womb as he’s fucking your wet channel through it.
He’s shuddering his hips forwards and locking his knots of seed against the softness of your womb- “Fuck, you’re making me c-cum again, pretty…” And it’s about the fifth time in the past hour that he’s repeating this, “B-but I’m really not a flash in bed, right…?”
Such doe-like eyes stare at you, those long lashes of his glittered in tears. And you can’t help but say, “Mhmmmm—you’re really not, Taku.”
“But then why do you sound like you’re making fun of me?” Those trembling fingertips of his take purchase upon either side of your hips, and Ino’s mahogany brows furrows as he concentrates. “This round- this round, m’gonna prove it to you.”
“Taku, baby, you’re pussydrunk-”
“Even better.”
It’s been hours.
Fucking hours.
And Ino hasn’t stopped ruttin’ himself into the warm wetness of your pussy- he can’t stop himself.
It’s been too long - at this point he wouldn’t even be able to give you a number - since you’d successfully steered him away from that reporter and accompanied him to his penthouse. Since you’d reassured him that he totally wasn’t too fast in bed and that you definitely did think the sex lasted long enough.
But still.
He didn’t last a flash in bed.
He really, really didn’t—which is why a young dawn was filtering through the curtains- but Ino Takuma still had his cock lodged thoroughly inside you and was showing no signs of stopping any time soon. He’s reaching down to wrap both your legs around his toned waist, folding you in half n’ kissing your sweaty forehead with his.
But his point was getting harder and harder to prove with every round that he’s fuckin’ you through - bottoming out deeply at the back of your womb, and letting out the prettiest shivers as he feels you clench. “Fuh…oh, fuck.” Uttering mere minutes after he’s started this round, “I-I think m’gonna…”
“What’s that, baby?” You’re reaching up to loop your arms around his neck, tugging the beautiful boy towards you.
“Nothing.”
Batting your lashes up at him, “Awwww, c’mon- you know you can tell me anything, Taku.”
“I-it’s really nothing.” He insists.
“Hmmm, alright then…” But you knew- oh, you already knew. The more rounds that Ino was plunging you through, the more n’ more pussydrunk that he was growing—the shorter he lasted. Which wasn’t entirely anything bad- you honestly found it cute how it’d only take a few sweet slides down your tight pussy’s channel for Ino to utterly fall apart.
But he’s soon feeling that prickly sensation of his high, and he only starts tunneling between your sopping pussylips even harder. Brows knitting. Fingers digging into your flesh. “M’not gonna cum, sweetness-” He hiccups, “I-I’m not gonna cum, promise-”
“Mhm, I trust you.” You’re coaxing him, “I know you’re gonna last, baby.”
There’s a breathless note in his voice. He looks up at you in surprise, “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, I know you can handle it- hah.”
Fervently nodding, “Yeah- yeah, and m’gonna make you cum—”
“Mhm—” Lewdly smiling up at him. He’s just so entranced by that sinful expression upon your face that he doesn’t notice the way you’ve planted your feet firmly on the damp mattress- suddenly rolling your hips up into his own. “So why don’t I…help you, my hero?”
“H-help—oh.” Stunned. Cutting himself off with a groan.
Ino’s eyes squeeze firmly shut, and he’s shaking viscerally at the sudden plap! of your skin hitting against his own. It’s a different kind of burn when it’s you who’s taking control - and even though he’s on top of you, it feels like he’s the one that should be squirmin’ and gasping.
It feels like he should be the one who’s cumming first-
“No—” Ino’s gritting out through clenched canines - there’s a low trundle of something in his tone that sounds like desperation. Before you know it, he’s increasing the speed of his hips—plap! plap! Plap!
That rounded, red tip of his finds the spot of your nerves just perfectly- and Ino doesn’t waste a single second before he’s starting to bludgeon it with his thrusts. So many times that it starts to feel a bit raw.
Pinning you down using the weight of his lower half, Ino digs his right hand instantly between your two trembly thighs. Brushin’ apart your pussylips with a singular swipe of his thumb- your head explodes in so many bursts of pleasure as he starts twiddlin’ with your pretty, plump clit. “No, no, no- don’t think that I don’t know what you’re hck! doing, sweetness.”
Fluttering your lashes innocently, “And what’s that, Taku?”
“D-don’t think that I don’t know you’re trying to make me—” Pausing to let his crowned shaft push into your womb with a resounding squelch! “-cum first.”
“So what if I am, hm?” You counter, “I just really, really love the way it feels when you’re filling me up-”
“I know what you’re doing there, too—” He’s snarling down at you- just so gone on your pussy by now that he likely doesn’t even realize he’s drooling. Those dilated pupils of his bore straight into your own as he angles his hips to constantly bash your poor g-spot, circlin’ every sensitive orifice. “I know what you’re doing- fuck, I know what you’re doing…”
And you can only squeal as the sheer pressure of his cadence increases-
“And I know what I’m doing, too.”
Because if you thought that was fast- then you weren’t ready for just how rapidly Ino’s fingers could make you fall apart. They were just so loooong and pretty, flexible enough to twist your nub in constant circular motions, flexible enough to make you sob.
It doesn’t matter how badly you’re attempting to buck away - Ino keeps his fingers firmly into the wettened crevice between your legs. Twisting his wrist into aaaall sorts of degrees just to see which one made you scream the most-
“Please—” You’re bawling out after only a few minutes of this, legs shaking. “P-please, that’s unfair-”
“How so?” One amused brow raises. Perspired.
“B-because you’re gonna make me cum-” And to anyone else that would’ve sounded like a petulant complaint, it would’ve even sounded like a sore loser that couldn’t take on the challenge—but Ino knew. And you knew, too. “-using your powers—”
And the superhero can only grin, “So?”
Thrust after thrust.
Roll after sloppy roll of his glued fingertips - they were running your body taut. Without much effort, Ino’s able to make his blushin’ divot massage against your pussy at a rate where his hips almost looked like a blur—not even half of the Flash’s top speed.
And the fact that he was going easy on you made you huff in complaint.
Without thinking much of it, you’re back to ruttin’ up into him - definitely unable to meet his cadence, but you knew you didn’t have to.
You already had him wrapped around your little finger.
It takes only a few needy slams of your treacly pussy against his cock - all the way down to his thickened bottom - for Ino to throw his head back and groan. “You’re gonna…fuck, you’re gonna kill me, girl.‘
“Huh? But I didn’t do anything?” In a mock-innocent tone, “I certainly don’t have any powers to use.”
“Did you forget p-pussy power?”
You smirk.
And as he’s increasing his pace, you only have to whimper out his name for Ino to falter- for him to shake his head and continue. And as you’re attempting to gain the upper hand, he only has to buzz your throbbing nub with his electric speed for you to lose your mind.
Eventually—you think you’re about to cum.
And before you can accept the thought of losing, you’re grabbin’ Ino by his pretty throat and dragging him down to kiss his lips. “C-cum inside me, Taku.”
It’s a tie.
You’re crashing into your high, and Ino’s crashing into his.
Both the steaming hot pleasure of your orgasm flooding your core- and the few droplets that his overworked cock manages out. Creamy white sap. Thinner than usual—he was fighting not to merely cum blanks. Whimpering. Bucking. Fucking you like a damn animal…You’ve both experienced so many throughout the night that your current waves of bliss rip through you hard and fast.
Though Ino himself wastes no time bumpin’ his crowned cock into every tiny ridge of your wet channel. Scrape-scrape-scraping down the spots where you were most sensitive, and dragging it out for as long as he can.
You’re gasping as it leaves you numb from your toes, pulling his sweat chest against yours. “F-fuck, that feels so good…”
“Yes—fuck, yes.” And as the shudders of your high pass, you feel Ino’s cock grow just a little more limp inside of you- well…for a mere few seconds, that is.
“T-tie-breaker?” He whines.
.
.
.
The next time the two of you are spotted out together, it’s for an interview. Of course.
In which you’d ‘cornered’ global superhero Flash after yet another one of his successful missions - before any of the other reporters could manage to get their claws on him - with the question they’ve all been asking—“Do you really last as quick as a flash in bed?”
You’re hearing the shocked gasps around you from the other reporters and bystanders. None had dared ask this question so directly since that clip had gone viral - and in the peripheries of your vision you could see that interviewer from before gnawing his teeth at the fact that you’d stolen his limelight. Surely thinking you’d have about as much luck as him, however…
But of course, Ino already knew you were about to ask this.
His grin stretches underneath his mask as he turns to you, cameras rolling. “I should be asking you that, pretty. Dinner at 7?”
“There you have it, folks.”
♡ GOJO SATORU - Spider-Man.
“S-so I guess what I’m trying to say is…” The masked intruder starts, his voice stuttering adorably through his lines. Though adorable as he may be, that doesn’t make you forget the fact that he was a man…tall…well-built…and clearly a crazed fanatic of the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man who’d broken into your dorm—“Uh…I come in peace?”
You’re raising the frying pan in your hands even higher, “I know how to hide a body-”
“O—okay, woah-” He’s immediately taking a few steps back, which you suppose you wouldn’t expect from a dangerous intruder. But then again, maybe he was just new to the job?
If so, he should probably have his pay docked - he was utterly failing at being intimidating. For he’s flattening himself against the window from which he’d entered just a few minutes ago, hands raised in surrender and the whites of his masked eyes widening. Damn, that costume was pretty good…
“I come in peace. I swear I come in peace- I’d just been running from a bad guy, and your dorm just happened to be…the first one I saw? Either way, I promise I’m no danger and I’ll just be on my way now so-” He immediately hastens, “Put…the frying pan…down.”
“Make me.” Raising it even higher, he flinches.
“Okay- oh my god, okay—” It really didn’t take much to make the man surrender at all, immediately giving up on any peace-keeping. He scrambles around the room and you’re worrying that he’s looking for something to challenge your frying pan with- but it seems that he’d just been brainstorming how best to go about with…whatever this is. Because in no time, you’re practically seeing a light bulb go off beside his head, and the man raises his palms as though to brace you.
And you can’t deny it, you found yourself a bit interested. “Um, yes?”
“Get ready- look—” He utters through the web-patterned mask covering his face. “Don’t faint but…”
“But?”
“I’m…Spider-Man.”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“…”
You’re assessing the man from head-to-toe—or at least what you could make out of him from the most elaborate cosplay of Spider-Man you’ve ever seen. It could honestly have been impressive if it wasn’t for the fact that he was in your fucking dorm.
But you digress.
“Okay, so do you want the frying pan- or I’ve also got a rolling pin-”
“What? No—no, listen.” The man insists, “I really am Spider-Man- it’s true! You’ve gotta believe me-” Though your deadpan expression gave away just about how much you believed the words that were falling from his masked mouth. And so he’s groaning in frustration, “Look- look, if I just showed you a few tricks would that work? Would that finally prove to you that I’m Spider-Man?”
Unimpressed, you cross your arms. “Go on, then.”
And then the first thing he does is shoot a clingy web from one hand, it launches at an incredible speed and sticks to your ceiling. That’s going to be hell to get out…
“Hm…” You narrow your eyes at him, “Impressive. But I’ve seen better at Party City.”
“That’s not fucking Party Cit- anyways.” He runs a hand down his weary face—or at least what you expect his face to look like beneath that mask. And as soon as you blink, you’re finding this…intruder(?) climbing up your walls. Literally.
All hands on there, glued to it with an invisible adhesive.
You gape, “That’s not…”
“And how about this? This is even better—” Before you can refute that previous trick, too, this man jerks his head up (or was it considered down? You weren’t quite sure given the way he’d crawled all the way to your ceiling by this point) and basks in the silence for a split-second.
You wondered whether he was actually sensing something or just pulling your leg-
“My spider senses say that your vibrator’s plugged in but it isn’t charging.”
You almost want to throw the frying pan at him. However, you’re managing to tamper down the urge long enough to walk silently to your room and back—fuck it, he’d been completely right. You still sort of want to throw the frying pan at him.
But as though he’d sensed that, too, Spider-Man raises his hands up to cover his head.
So you’re setting it down on your table with a defeated sigh, “Alright, I believe you…Spider-Man. What’re you doing here?”
“Like I said-” He finally lets go of the ceiling and stands in front of you normally now, “-bad guy had been chasing me. That one was just a little…above my paygrade so I had to stall until Iron Woman could get here- which was about five minutes ago. The fight’s still going on, however, and I should probably lay low for now.”
Awkwardly shuffling, “So then…”
“So then if I could just stay here until then, um…”
“Um, sure.”
“Sure.” He twiddles his thumbs, “So- is there anything you’ve wanted to know in particular about Spider-Man?”
You smirk.
.
.
.
“Always wanted to know how—hah, big it is.” Biting down on your lower lip, you’re managing to hold back a pitchy whine as his solid tip enters your hole.
Puckered and plump.
Just the cutest pink- he was the perfect girth and size.
Big enough to make your entrance quiver just feeling him kiss up against you, slender n’ smooth enough that he’s already starting to eagerly ease inside of you. And as you’re lowering yourself down on him, the superhero grabs onto either side of your ravenous hips like a lifeline—letting out a few ragged swears as he jerks his hips up and thrusts-
“Y-you should know…” He’s wincing at the feeling of your cunt - so hot and wet. Wasn’t this just heaven?
Turning around to look at him- he’s rather glad you’d chosen a reverse cowgirl position. Because at least then you wouldn’t have seen the way he wiped away fucking tears—sobbing at just the feeling of being inside your wet pussy. “Mhm, spidey?”
“You should know that this is my first time.”
“Oh.”
And with that being said, he’s thumpin’ out the most thorough hit at the very bottom of your pussy. He doesn’t have the experience of just eeeeasing in his incredible length- he’s chasing the back of your cunt like a man starved.
Like a man in unbearable pain every second he isn’t feeling the hotness of your cervix, the globes of your ass, the sensation of your walls squeezing around him like an embrace. So hot and wet. So sweet. So addictive-
“Addictive?” You’re giggling back at him, “Pussy talking already, huh?”
“I-I don’t even know what that is…” He’s babbling out, voice thicker than before.
And you can’t help but glide your palms down the smoothness of his exposed thighs, feeling every curve and divot of the corded muscle beneath. His body was just to die for - toned but not overly muscular. More like a sleeper build.
And you’re having soooo much fun moving your hips ‘round in all sorts of ways that made his muscles bulge—
“Fuck- fuck.” He’s stupid after just a few strokes. Bucking. Moaning. Hands tugging on the edge of the mask that found itself firmly upon his face, he’s attempting to loosen it and gasping for air-
“You should take that off, too.” You’re turning around and huffing at the sole scrap of fabric that kept you from seeing - what you assumed to be - Spider-Man’s pretty face. The only thing you could see of him were those stray curls of…white? Perhaps they were a super platinum blond? They wrapped around the nape of his neck and slightly leaned towards his jawline, drenched in sweat and flushed right down to his tone pecs.
The way that he’s squirmin’ and letting out the most unfairly erotic grunts every time you’re swallowing him up only left you so much more impatient. So much more impatient. “I s-swear I won’t tell anyone about who you are…fuck, and isn’t it getting super hot in there?”
“It is…” He murmurs, more to himself than anything. “But, what if—”
Peering back at him as he trails off, “What?”
“What if I don’t look how you expect?”
“It’s the personality that matters.” Nodding in conviction, and then a sly smile stretches across your face at the way that makes his cockhead throb-throb-throb harder inside you. You’re wasting no time before increasing the speed of your hips until your hamstrings scream—“And the cock…heh.”
“S-so filthy.” The hero mutters, “But what if I’m…not your type?”
“Ugh—” Almost rolling your eyes- it was cute just how shy he was, really. But the first thing you’d wanted to do upon finding out that he was the real Spider-Man was to fuck him - so how much of a hint could you really give? “Baby, my type is loser heroes, and I think you fit the bill.”
“Thank y- hey.”
Just a few more sloppy thrusts - just a few more - and the man beneath you finds himself completely n’ utterly gone from the force of your hips. The sweetness of your cunt.
The way you’d tighten your legs around him any time he swabbed near your sweetest spots. And he was chasing that particular bundle of nerves with such fervour- he was gasping as he feels himself veering even soooo much closer to the throbbing of your deepest walls- he was reddening the skin ‘round his pelvis through sheer impact.
And just as he thinks that he couldn’t get even more drunk on the texture of your pussy…
You’re whimpering out a sweet lil’ echo of his hero name—
And the superhero beneath you lets his head loll behind into the pillows with a groooooan- mouth falling open at the feeling of your cunt surrounding him. Clenching.
Clamping down, you’re holding him hostage better than any villain ever could.
His heavy balls were nearly full enough to burst- and he’s thinking that he’s gonna cum just as soon as he rams his blushin’ tip almost straight into the target of—
And then his spider senses tell him that your fingers are thinking of reaching for his mask.
But before you can even let the thought come into proper fruition in your mind, he’s taking nothing but a single split second to web your pretty wrists together and flip the two of you over. Just because he’s pussydrunk doesn’t mean he isn’t one of the world’s best superheroes, hm?
Now fucking you with your face smushed into the pillows, your knees bracing on the mattress. His cock pounding out a single thrust between those sweet, sap-covered pussylips of yours- the hero hits your g-spot instantly.
And that’s all it takes for you to topple right into your high.
Pleasure rushing through your body in waves. Fingertips clenching at the sheer force of it. You’re seeing stars behind your eyes at the sensation- “Sh-shiiiiit—” Perhaps one of the best orgasms you’ve ever had in your life- and not only was it wound up by a virgin, but the virgin was none other than Spider-Man?!
Jaw dropping open—though it was in slight shock, he’s taking the opportunity to lean and spit.
Making you moan as the gluey wad skids down your tastebuds, “Ohhh, you’re a secret freak, huh?” And though you’d meant it as a half-joke, the hero is leaning his chiselled body dooooown to whisper into the side of your ear.
“Maybe.”
Then there’s the rustling of fabric.
Of masks being removed, perhaps? It takes your mind a few more moments of him slammin’ his rugged cock inside you to realize…
And then the white-hot feeling of your orgasm coursing through your veins is suddenly overtaken by the realization that Spider-Man - maskless and exposed - was right behind you. Looming. Looking for your reaction, you suppose…you feel a jolt go through your body as you realize that he was waiting for you to turn—bearing all of this for you.
And you wondered what he would look like.
Pretty, sure.
Slightly nerdy—perhaps, he never struck you as the jock type.
Someone sweet. Someone kind.
Maybe that was just your wishful thinking.
You turn around and there he is - Gojo Satoru. You fucking knew him—he went to your university. The white-haired ace of the Physics Department; always roaming around campus with his textbooks or camera, always with his head buried and rarely meeting anyone’s eyes, always in the library to the extent that he might as well have been part of the furniture.
Always with his camera lens pointed at you, though he doesn’t think you saw him enough to notice.
But of course, you saw him.
Of course, you saw him.
He’s the boy you’ve had a crush on since freshman year.
Gojo doesn’t meet your eyes now, either. He’s without his thick-rimmed glasses and has to squint just a little bit, looking self-consciously down at himself and fuck- you have to resist the urge to beg for missionary then and there just so that you can stare into his deep, azure eyes as he fucks you.
Instead, you just say- “Did you know that nerds are also my type?”
He beams brighter than the sun.
.
.
.
The next time you’re beside Gojo Satoru, it’s hand-in-hand and entering your next lecture.
You could feel the stares, the gasps, the whispers.
The nerd of the physics department, and one of the most popular girls on campus- or at least, that’s what Gojo claimed. Professor Yaga himself lets his bushy brows raise just the slightest inch once he spots the two of you—and it makes your nerdy boyfriend blush right now to his ivory roots.
“Sweetheart—” He’s whispering to you, “How about we swing around the city today? Promise I’d never let you drop.”
You smile, “I’d love to, Toru.”
Oh, you can imagine that the Daily Bugle is going to go into haywire.
♡ HIGURUMA HIROMI - Daredevil.
“Do you trust me, angel?”
You can’t keep the smile off of your face, “Who would I trust if not the best lawyer in Tokyo? Maybe even the world?”
“Why only maybe?” Higuruma smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges—just barely visible past the frames of his sunglasses. Your boyfriend was just so handsome when he was in his work clothes: one amongst the many crisp suits he often wore to court, hair slicked back n’ not a single strand out of place, his cane by his side. But he continues, “You know how I’m a…lawyer of sorts?”
“Oh really? I had no idea.” You jest.
“How about we try something tonight, my angel…” And as you’re peering down at him in curiosity, Higuruma starts to loosen his tie just the slightest bit—and you’re suddenly understanding what he means. “How about a simulation of this aspect, though in a far lighter tone?”
Your jaw drops, “R-roleplay?”
.
.
.
“Denied.”
“Hiromi, baby—”
“The court finds you guilty on all counts of seduction.” Higuruma’s deep baritone rasps down at you, punctured only by the slamming of his gavel on his desk. Bang! Bang! Bang! Those pressurized vibrations send shockwaves down your own body, and the lawyer’s grin stretches as he watches you affected by such a thing.
How cute…he couldn’t stop but let your orgasm edge for the nth time tonight.
Edging you.
It’s later into the night, you’re spread out across Higuruma’s neat work desk- your back against the frigid texture of the mahogany, your front arching into his own. He presses his suit-clad front against your naked tits—the harsh texture of his heroic suit - as per your request - rubbin’ against your nipples n’ sending you into an absolute frenzy.
He was such a tease.
Grinning as though he knew exactly what he was doing- even though the tone of his voice speaks of nothing but faux innocent. The lawyer speaks, “You’re moving around so much- something wrong, sugar?”
“A-absolutely nothing.” You’re managing to echo out.
“Good.” Higuruma utters, pure devilish desire in his tone. And he doesn’t need to say his next words for you to already know where this was heading- after all, one of his hands reaches for where his gavel was upon the table - using his radar sense - and the other presses down on your hips.
Right above where his thickened length was pressed between your pussylips—Higuruma feels his hand down upon your stomach as he sinks himself inside. The throbbing, cylindrical intrusion of his cock glissading inside- “Because we’re having a retrail.”
And then the gavel comes down right on top of the wooden desk.
It creaks and nearly splinters—but all you can think of is the way that Higuruma was fuckin’ his rotund tip into you as though there was no tomorrow. He wasn’t wasting a single second.
Court time was precious, y’know?
So you best believe that Higuruma had your hips pinned down with his own powerful ones, the scritch-scratching of his tufted happy trail rendering you stupid. Fucking you in hard, purposeful thrusts - each one aimed precisely for where you were most sensitive.
His swabbin’ thrusts didn’t just hit deeeeep into the back of your pussy, but your boyfriend was ending up pressing against your sweetest orifices, your soft roof, the door to your womb—dragging his thumb down the knob of your clit.
With those honed senses of his, you’re lasting barely two pumps of his accurate cock before he’s locating your g-spot—fuck.
And giving it the most merciless strike ever.
He knew where it was from the slurping sounds of your cunt - the way they’d grow just a little damper as he headed for that one spot, he knew where it was from the counts of your breathing - how you’d let them grow a bit more ragged as he veered his cocktip even closer, he knew where it was from the smell of your cloying slick—growing even wetter n’ more drenched in honey as you’d find yourself spearheaded by him.
Rough.
“State your name.”
And so the trail commences.
You’re doing so as he says- a monumental task given the way that Higuruma’s greedy hips don’t stop taking you for a single second. In fact, he’s kissin’ your g-spot at a constant pace and seeming to only ask you questions when he knows you’ll be affected by the sudden bursts of pleasure.
“State your age.”
Your mouth opens. But instead of your age, comes out a jumbled mess of pleads and his name—because just then, Higuruma had reached his dominant hand down and pinched your pretty, puffy clit. So needy that you’re trickling out wads of slick from between your pussylips.
Your hole’s clenching so thoroughly around him that he almost has to falter, too. “Now, now…” Tutting - and you knew that that was never a good sign when it comes to lawyers, but especially Higuruma. “Is that a refusal to testify? I’m afraid this won’t help your case, my angel.”
“I-it’s not…” Hot tears run down your cheeks - and in response, he’s only squeezing your poor clit even harder. “Promise I’ll tell you.”
And it’s only after you’re finishing your response - syllable after syllable - that Higuruma finally lets go of your sensitive nub. That too with such a level of reluctance—if you hadn’t known any better, then you’d have said that that was a sullen pout slashed across his lips as Higuruma lets go of that sultry appendage.
His fingers instead slide uuuuuup and down your wettened crevice- the perfect feeling of where his throbbing cock kept on pumping in n’ out. Higuruma’s lips slightly part as he touches upon the sheer difference in girth, in the way that your cunt was struggling to keep all of him bulging inside of you and yet you were still yearning for more. “Hmmm, state your crimes now.”
“I-”
“Not you.” Higuruma interrupts, “I’m calling up another witness.”
And yet, there was no other witness - at least not that you could see. And surely you weren’t that dumbified yet that you couldn’t conjure up the vision of someone else here when—there was clearly no one else here.
None but you, your boyfriend, and…your pussy.
Higuruma Hiromi - the best lawyer in Tokyo - had his head leaned lovingly down and his brows furrowed as he listened to the precious sounds of your pussy. As if he was deeeeep in the middle of the conversation, understanding every single slurp, squelch, and the most sultry gulps as yet another inch of him is being swallowed.
All of it reaches his ears like music. And he hums as he feels the sound of it send shivers through his very being- “Ahhh, I see…” Straightening up, he leers down at you. “My witness states that your crime is seduction.”
“G-guilty…or wait- no.”
“Guilty?” Higuruma questions in faint amusement, “Do you admit to the charged and- hah, forfeit your right to an orgasm?”
“No—” Whining out needily, “No, please- I need to cu-”
“Objection, hearsay.” He cuts through you coolly - through his cock was rutting into you in a way that was anything but. “You do not need an orgasm, angel. But does the defendant believe that she deserves one?”
“Y-yes.” You shamefully admit.
“Does the defendant believe that she is guilty of the crimes of seduction?”
“Yes-”
“Does the defendant believe that she is worthy of a second chance, however?”
Arching your back into his. “Of course.”
“Hm…we might have to settle this with a jury.“ Those dark brows of his furrow, between them a perspired bead of sweat tracks down his forehead. And it doesn’t take long for your smart boyfriend to know just whom to ask—before you know it, he’s veering his head down and using his super-heightened senses to listen to every single sound of your pussy.
To listen to your arousal.
To smell it- just so sweet.
To let his brain come to a conclusion—“The jury has come to a unanimous decision.”
Your heart jumps to your throat.
“All counts- not guilty.” And then with a few more fervent rolls on top of your throbbing clit, Higuruma drags you all the way to the precipice of your high and—and this time - just this time - he actually lets you topple over the edge.
Straight over it.
White-hot flashes. Warmth filling you up like a flood.
It starts from the tips of your toes and then shoots all the way up to your poor, sparking brain. The superhero grins as tears track down your cheeks at the final release that you’re been waiting so long for, and he grins as you’re shaking through wave after wave of your high. “Good-” You’re gurgling out cutely, “S-so good-”
Head dropping back against the pillows.
The rounded edge of his cock shovels in as he’s bursting your high through you wildly—
“What can I say?” He hums, “I’m a really good lawyer.”
A/N. Confession time: Higu and Kuna’s ones were the hardest to do because I’ve never watched Hulk or Daredevil WHOOPS-
PAIRING: orc!bucky barnes x female human!reader
SUMMARY: unable to provide for another mouth at home, your brother trades you into an arranged marriage. alone in the forest, fear and uncertainty follow your every step as you wait for the man you are bound to. you never expected him to be quiet, unnervingly gentle… and far from human.
CHAPTER WARNINGS: european middle ages-inspired setting; strangers to lovers; slow burn; she/her pronouns for reader; use of orc-ish language; mentions of reader’s family; mention of violence and death; reader wears dresses; orc!bucky (he is huge & it is mentioned he has tusks & grey skin); size difference; soft!bucky; protective!bucky; heavy yearning; arranged marriage (reader is literally sold); societal pressure on women; traditional gender expectations; minor knee injury.
WORD COUNT: 7.7k
A/N: I just love orc!bucky so much ❤️🩹 the first chapter is a little slow and boring imo, but once they reach the village is going to be a yearning feast, don't worry. hope you'll enjoy!
next chapter
The cart stops in a small clearing where the road dissolves into little more than a strip of packed dirt swallowed by the forest. The trees here grow tall and close together, their dark trunks rising like silent pillars toward a sky you can barely see through the tangled branches above.
You remain seated, your fingers fidgeting nervously on your lap as you peer around. There is nothing here. No house, no smoke curling from a chimney, no narrow path leading to some distant cottage. Only dense trees, through which the late afternoon light filters in thin, pale streaks that never quite reach the ground, carrying the stale smell of moss and damp bark.
“Why are we stopping?”
Your brother climbs down from the cart, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud. He stretches his back and rolls his shoulders as if the journey has been a long and unpleasant chore.
“This is where you need to wait for him.” He says simply.
The words make your stomach churn with unease.
You slowly climb down after him, grimacing as your shoes sink slightly into the soft ground. Leaves crunch faintly beneath your feet and you look around again, trying to spot any sign of the man you are supposed to meet.
“But… What if he doesn’t see us?”
“He will.”
Your brother speaks as though the matter is already settled. He doesn’t even look at you while he checks the harness on the horse, adjusting a strap with rough, practiced movements.
“I thought…” Your voice falters. “I thought we would meet him in the village.”
“He doesn’t go to villages much.”
That answer does nothing to settle your nerves.
“Why?”
Your brother shrugs, pulling himself back onto the cart. “Does it matter?”
You stare at him in disbelief. “You’re not staying?”
He finally glances at you, brows drawing together in faint annoyance.
“For what? I’ve already wasted half a day to bring you here.”
Your blood runs cold at his harsh indifference. With a wary glance back at the forest, you notice how the silence presses in around you in a way that feels almost unnatural, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves somewhere high in the trees.
“But this place—” You murmur.
“You’ll be fine.” He waves a dismissive hand. “He’ll be here soon.”
“I just thought…” You trail off, suddenly unsure how to explain the tight knot of dread that has been sitting in your chest since the news of your marriage. “I thought you would at least stay until he arrived.”
Avoiding your eyes, he exhales heavily, the same way he did when he was fourteen, back when you would pester him to take you along to the market square. As a child, you never failed to test the last thread of his patience.
For a brief moment, his expression softens just a little.
“Look,” he starts, voice less sharp now. “The man paid fairly. People from his village said he’s decent. You could do worse.”
He clears his throat with an awkward, impatient sound at your lack of answer.
His words, meant to soothe, fall upon you like stones, pressing you down until you feel no taller than the dust at his feet
Finally, you whisper. “Then I… I suppose this is a goodbye.” Letting the words drift into the still air, your brother hesitates for the briefest moment, before clicking his tongue at the horse.
“Good luck.”
The horse turns back toward the narrow road you traveled together only minutes ago. You remain rooted in place, shoulders hunched against the chill, your eyes following it until the trees swallow the cart whole and its creaking melts into silence.
You draw your shawl tighter around your form, suddenly aware of how alone you are.
A husband.
You know almost nothing about the man you are supposed to marry, only that he lives somewhere beyond these woods and that he was willing to give your brother enough coin to make the journey worthwhile.
After your parents died, the responsibility of your life had fallen entirely on him. At first, things were manageable, but the years had not been kind. Poor harvests, mounting debts, and too many mouths to feed at the table. You had seen the strain long before he ever spoke of it. His wife counted sacks of grain with tight lips, quiet arguments carried through the thin wooden walls late at night, bitter glances were sent your way whenever food ran short.
You had become something disposable in their eyes.
So when a stranger passing through the village asked about you, offering enough coin to lift the debts that had hung over the household like a storm cloud, your brother accepted.
Not cruelly. Not happily. But so effortlessly that the ease of it stabbed at you, a sharp reminder of how little your own voice seemed to matter.
Girls get married every day. Only this time, the union came with payment instead of a dowry. With a contract instead of courtship.
With men shaping your fate while your own voice went unheard.
You sigh softly, allowing your gaze to wander back to the forest.
Perhaps he is simply shy. Perhaps he lives somewhere deeper in the forest and prefers not to travel far. Perhaps—
A dull thud echoes faintly from somewhere beyond the clearing.
Your body tenses.
You are quite certain you had imagined it. Then it comes again, and the ground beneath your feet trembles ever so slightly, low and heavy, the rhythm sinking into your bones.
Your breath catches in your throat.
That is not the sound of human footsteps. They are heavier. Slower. As if something... Beastly is moving through the forest.
A shiver runs down your spine. You fold your arms across your chest, palms feeling slick and useless as they twist and curl, clutching the fabric of your sleeves, seeking something solid to hold onto.
The branches sway with a force you cannot see, until a twig snaps abruptly to your right, and you whirl around.
Could it be a bear? A wolf?
You take a step back— no, two— your eyes darting wildly, straining to locate the source. The forest seems to close in: every shadow writhes in your vision, bursting into a thousand uncanny shapes; every rustle of leaves has you twisting in apprehension, forcing your body to shrink into itself.
Thud.
Closer.
Thud.
Perhaps it is only a deer.
But no deer would make the ground quake. No deer would carry weight like this.
Another step, another tremor shaking you. Your throat tightens, your mind screaming for some kind of explanation, some sign.
And then, a massive figure rises among the low-hanging branches. His broad shoulders stretch beneath dark clothing, his arms thick and knotted, capable of felling trees as easily as a child might snap a twig. His skin is the grey of stone, and from his jaw curve two tusks, pale and frightening.
An orc.
He stops when his gaze falls on you, his expression shifting into something that looks suspiciously like surprise.
But you do not linger long enough to process it.
Terror floods your body so swiftly it tears the air from your lungs.
Your shoes skid over loose dirt as you bolt toward the road your brother took, your heart hammering like a drum beneath your ribs.
Behind you, the forest falls unnervingly silent.
Then it comes. Heavy footsteps shattering the quiet.
Fast.
Too fast.
“Wait!”
The voice echoes behind you, low and rumbling, causing your limbs to momentarily freeze. Fear hits like a bucket of icy water, the world shrinking to nothing but the pounding of your heart and the tremor of the ground beneath him, as if the earth itself fears the beast. Branches claw at your arms, sleeves catch on rough bark, roots rise like hands to grab you. Every step is a plunge into a dark well, cold and endless, threatening to squeeze the air from your lungs.
Your legs wobble, muscles screaming, but they force themselves forward, straining against the terror, until you nearly collapse within a few trembling strides. A slip on damp leaves pitches your body forward. Your heart slams violently in your chest as you imagine for one terrifying moment that you are already on the ground, already caught, already feeling those enormous hands closing around you.
Somehow you manage to catch yourself, arms flailing wildly before forcing your legs to move again, faster. Behind you, the pounding reverberates, its ominous rhythm thrumming through the air like a herald of doom.
“Please, don’t run from me!”
His voice trails after you, strained with something that almost sounds like panic, but you cannot bring yourself to care. Your brother left you alone in the heart of this forest with nothing: no knife, no stick, not even the small blade you used to carry when gathering firewood. The bitter thought slams into you with painful clarity.
Why would he imagine you needed protection? Why would he think danger might touch you, when he had already decided that whatever became of you was no longer his concern?
The realization hits harder than the sting of branches scraping across your skin, and a desperate sob claws its way up your throat as your legs threaten to buckle.
You cannot fight a monster.
You cannot outrun something so imposing.
And yet you keep running, because the fear in your heart leaves no room for reason.
Your foot catches again, this time on a thick root hidden beneath the leaves. Your ankle twists, causing you to stumble forward with a startled cry, barely regaining your balance. Pain explodes up your leg, sharp enough to blur your vision, but the roaring of those massive footsteps behind you drives you onward, forcing your body to keep moving even as every muscle screams in protest.
“Stop— please!”
The voice is closer now.
You risk a glance over your shoulder, and the sight of him barreling through the trees— huge, relentless, impossibly agile— sends another surge of panic through your veins.
And this time, when your foot trips over another hidden root, your exhausted body simply cannot recover.
The world tilts and you fall forward with a cry. Your knee violently slams against the ground, hard enough to knock the air from your lungs. Dry leaves scatter beneath your palms at the impact, the taste of dirt bitter on your tongue.
For a moment you can do nothing but gasp, your chest heaving desperately as you struggle to regain your breath.
The footsteps behind you stop so abruptly that the silence afterward feels almost unnatural. Dread coils tight around your ribs, thick and suffocating: the creature no longer needs to chase you. By collapsing before him, you relinquished all hope of escape. Fingers dig weakly into the fallen leaves as you force your head up, though every instinct screams not to look at the thing that followed you like a nightmare made flesh.
He stands only a few paces away.
Up close, he is even larger than your panicked mind imagined while you ran, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the ground where you lie miserably. His shoulders calmly rise and fall beneath his shirt, untouched by exertion. The sheer size of him is overwhelming, hands large enough they could likely close around your wrist with humiliating ease.
Yet he does not move the way you expect.
Instead of advancing like a hunter closing in on a wounded prey, he stands strangely still. His expression shifts from alarm to something that looks disturbingly like distress, eyes sweeping over you and taking in the way you struggle to breathe, the twisted angle of your leg, the tremor that rakes your body with terror.
“Oh.” The sound escapes him like a startled breath rather than a proper word. When he finally moves, his hands do not reach toward you in violence but rise slowly into the air, palms open and empty. Your mind cannot reconcile it with the monstrous shape looming above you.
“I did not mean to scare you.” His voice softens, rough with worry as though the sight of your fear unsettles him as much as it horrifies you.
But the words barely reach you through the haze clouding your mind.
Your pulse thunders in your ears, loud enough to drown out everything, except for the memory of him crashing through the trees. It haunts your thoughts cruelly as your vision begins to blur at the edges, dizziness creeping in, your surroundings tilting strangely while the pain in your knee pulses without mercy.
You try to push yourself backward, crawl away even a few inches, but your shaky arms cannot hold your weight. The effort only sends another wave of darkness over your sight.
The last thing you manage to see before your strength finally abandons you is the alarm on the orc's face breaking the cautious distance he had kept until now. He reaches toward you with desperate urgency when the forest spins. Shadows deepen, and the world slips quietly out of your grasp.
At first, there is only a dull ache in your body, a deep soreness that settles sharply somewhere in your leg, followed by the feeling of a soft surface beneath you. This is not the hard, uneven ground you remember collapsing onto.
For several seconds, you lie perfectly still, your breathing slow and shallow, trying to piece together fragments of memory floating at the edges of your mind.
The forest. The running. The monstrous figure chasing you.
Your eyes snap open.
Panic claws at your chest before your mind has time to catch up. You push yourself up with a startled gasp, wincing as pain shoots through your injured knee. The abrupt movement makes the world tilt unpleasantly, a dull sting hitting your temple. Beneath you, a thick patch of moss and dry grass cushions your weak body, carefully cleared of stones and twigs. Draped over it is a broad piece of rough cloth— perhaps a cloak, or a traveling blanket— spread wide enough to keep the damp soil from touching your dress.
The realization that someone must have placed you there sends a fresh wave of fear crashing through you.
You look up frantically, eyes immediately landing on an imposing figure.
The orc sits several paces away. Even in the shifting shadows of the forest, his form is impossible to mistake: his back rests against the trunk of a tall pine, long legs stretched before him. Despite the distance he keeps, his presence dominates the clearing effortlessly.
When your sudden movement catches his attention, he straightens at once, shoulders tensing as if he had been waiting for this moment, and dreading it at the same time.
For a few heartbeats, neither of you speaks.
You stare, frozen, and though his hands rest quietly on his knees and his posture does not threaten you, the sight alone is enough for tears to gather at the corners of your eyes.
Why are you still alive? Why does the creature that chased you now sit there, watching you with what looks like anxiety instead of malice? Why move you to a softer patch of land instead of leaving you there?
The helpless uncertainty only causes your breathing to grow uneven.
He notices the tears almost immediately. Exhaustion on his face gives away to unmistakable concern. He does not move closer, but when he speaks, his voice is still careful.
“Please, don't be afraid.”
The tenderness in his tone lets the first sob slip free from your throat before you can stop it. You slap a hand to your mouth, horrified by the sound, but it does not halt the tears spilling down your cheeks.
The orc’s brow furrows deeply, his large hands curling slightly where they rest on his lap, as if restraining himself from stepping forward.
“I am sorry for scaring you earlier,” the words are gentle. He fears that even speaking too loudly might frighten you further. “I did not mean to chase you. I only wanted to introduce myself. I was coming to meet you.”
You inhale sharply.
“To… Meet me?” You manage weakly, voice trembling.
“Yes.” He nods once, though the movement seems hesitant now that he notices your growing bewilderment.
“I came to fetch you. Your brother told me he would bring you this far.”
You stare at him as though he has spoken another language.
“Why?” The question leaves your lips in a broken whisper.
The orc blinks, worry shifting into something uncertain as he studies your face.
“Oh,” he breathes after a long moment, the small sound carrying its own hint of confusion. “Did—Did your brother not tell you about me?”
Your heart stutters painfully.
Staring at the creature, the thought feels so absurd it steals your ability to respond.
Your brother arranged a marriage to a stranger, perhaps a secluded man who lived beyond the town, someone wealthy enough to offer money in exchange for a wife he barely knew.
But an orc?
You shake your head slowly, fingers trembling where they clutch the edge of the rough cloth.
“No,” you whisper hoarsely, disbelief shining in your glassy eyes. “He never mentioned…”
The rest of the sentence dies on your tongue as the horrifying truth hangs between you.
Why would your brother send you here if he knew this was the creature waiting for you? And why, of all things, would an orc want you at all?
The silence stretches like a thread pulled too tight, and the orc across the clearing seems as uncertain as you are. The confusion on his face lingers a moment longer, before his brow furrow, his gaze landing on your leg, genuine concern taking over his features.
“Your knee…”
The words are hesitant, chosen with great precision. And when his eyes lift again, they stop short of meeting yours, opting to watch the ground between you.
“You fell rather hard.”
Only then does the dull throbbing in your knee make itself known. Your skirt is torn where it scraped against the forest floor, a dark stain soiling the fabric where skin beneath has broken.
The orc shifts slightly.
“May I… Look at it?”
The question is gentle, yet your entire body goes rigid.
The unspoken meaning rings in your mind, loud and undeniable. He would be closer, looming over you as you lie on the ground, unable to run.
He notices instantly, reading the widening of your eyes as if you had spoken your fear aloud.
His movement dies at once, large frame settling back against the tree. “I apologize.” His gaze drops shamefully. “That was foolish of me to ask.”
He seems to consider something, fingers brushing absently against the small leather pouch tied to his belt. Then, very slowly— making sure you can see each motion— he unties it and places it carefully on the ground beside him. He does the same with the water flask hanging at his hip.
Without standing, he nudges both items forward across the ground, until they stop somewhere close to you.
“There are herbs in the pouch, and a clean strip of cloth. They should help… If you wish to tend to it yourself.” His voice softens further. Almost as an afterthought, he adds, “The water is fresh.”
Then he leans back again, hands lifted in a gesture that makes it painfully clear he has no intention of approaching.
You remain still for what feels like eternity, warily observing him, expecting that he might close the distance the moment your guard lowers.
But he does not move. Beneath the tall pine, shoulders hunched slightly as if to make himself smaller, he simply waits.
Cautiously, you finally reach forward.
Your fingers close around the pouch first, snatching it before retreating quickly to your spot. Your eyes flick immediately back to the orc. He has turned his head slightly, enough to keep you in view but no longer staring at your injured leg.
The unexpected kindness leaves you momentarily disoriented.
Trembling, you open the pouch. Inside are crushed herbs wrapped in a scrap of cloth, along with the promised strip of clean linen. The scent rises distinctly, earthy and familiar, stirring memories of scrapped knees and innocent laughter.
As you pour the water from the flask, you fight not to flinch at the sting on broken skin. You then press the herbs carefully, clumsily binding the cloth tightly around your knee as you glance toward the orc every few seconds, checking that he has not moved.
He keeps his unspoken promise, immense and patient.
The restraint unsettles you more than if he had simply stared.
Pieces of memory shift and rearrange themselves in your mind, small details you had dismissed earlier. Your brother said the town was too far, that your husband rarely visited villages. He told you he preferred to meet you here instead.
At the time it sounded odd, perhaps even rude, but nothing more.
Now the meaning feels like a knife in your chest.
He never goes to villages.
Of course he doesn’t. Why would an orc walk openly among humans?
Your brother never spoke of him beyond a few careless remarks; you knew he was a carpenter, for instance.
A carpenter.
Your gaze drifts hesitantly to the massive hands resting on his thighs. Hands that could snap a spine with a flick of the wrist, yet capable of carving wood with intricate precision.
If this creature truly is the man your brother intended you to marry… Why hasn’t he forced you to come with him? Why didn’t he seize you the moment you fell? Why hasn’t he dragged you deeper into the forest to have his way with you?
The stories you grew up hearing painted orcs as brutal, merciless creatures. Raiders who stormed villages at night, wielding massive axes and clubs, smashing through doors and snatching livestock— or worse, people— before vanishing into the wilderness. Mothers whispered warnings over supper about what would happen if you wandered too far from home, eyes nervously darting to the tree line. Travelers passing through told tales of children stolen from gardens, farmers dragged screaming into the woods, entire homesteads left burning by creatures that moved like shadows and hit like hammers. They were monsters with jagged teeth, gray skin, and tusks curving from the lower jaw. Tainted souls who carry death wherever they go.
Every whispered warning, every hushed tale from the corners of your village, had carved one truth into your mind: orcs are to be feared, avoided, and never trusted.
But the one sitting across from you has done nothing but keep his distance. He gave you water, herbs, time to catch your breath. And now he sits quietly, staring at the ground as if afraid of frightening a wounded animal.
At last he exhales, long and quiet.
“I think,” he says slowly, his voice carrying a strange heaviness. “That perhaps something has gone… Wrong.”
You find the courage to look at him, yet he still does not meet your gaze. Instead, his eyes linger somewhere near the ground between your feet, hands clasped loosely together as if to steady himself.
“I believed your brother had explained the arrangement to you.” He continues. “When we spoke, he seemed certain you understood.”
His voice is measured, but there is a thread of disappointment buried somewhere beneath, faint enough that you almost miss it.
“If that is not the case… Then I have no wish to force anything upon you.”
Slowly— almost reluctantly— he lifts his head. When his eyes finally meet your wide ones, there is no anger. No impatience. Only a quiet sadness that softens the sharp lines of his face.
“If you would prefer to return to your brother,” he swallows. “I will take you back to him.”
The words settle over the clearing heavy and strange in their gentleness.
This creature, this enormous being who could easily overpower in an instant, is offering to bring you home. Not demanding obedience, not claiming what he paid for. Simply… Giving you a choice.
You stare stunned, though the weight in your chest grows almost unbearable.
You cannot go back, not after everything.
Your brother had welcomed you into his home without hesitation, even though he already had family of his own to care for, even though another mouth at the table stretched their household thinner than either of them liked to admit. You cooked, cleaned, mended clothes, watched the children when they cried at night. Yet the guilt never left. Because no matter how much you tried to make yourself useful, the truth was undeniable: you were another burden.
And if this marriage would ease the strain on his family— even a little— then perhaps it was the least you could do in return for everything he had given you.
Now, the tears return before you can stop them. But this time you swallow them quickly.
You lift your head, finding the orc watching you, his expression unreadable as he waits for your answer.
Your voice wavers when your lips finally part.
“I cannot go back.”
A knot sit heavy in your throat, and you swallow around it, even if it hurts.
“My brother has done too much for me already.” Your fingers tighten slightly in the fabric of your skirt. “He has his own family to take care of.”
The admission comes quiet, almost ashamed.
“If he arranged this marriage…” You sniffle, lifting your chin. “Then I will honor it.”
Your voice trembles at the edges, but you refuse to divert your gaze.
“I will go with you.”
For a moment the clearing falls completely silent. He studies your face carefully, as if trying to discern whether these words are truly yours or spoken out of obligation alone.
At last he sighs softly, thoughtful, and after a moment, he nods.
“Very well.” He answers quietly, before his gaze drifts briefly toward your injured leg. “Do you feel well enough to walk?”
You glance down at the bandage around your knee. The pain has dulled somewhat, though the joint still throbs unpleasantly whenever you shift your weight.
“I think so.”
The orc hesitates. Then, a little awkwardly, he gestures toward you.
“I could carry you,” he offers carefully. “If walking becomes too painful.”
Your head snaps up instantly, eyes widening in alarm, and the refusal spills from your lips before you can even think about it.
“No!”
The word bursts out louder than you intended. You rush to soften it, your explanation tumbling over itself.
“I—I mean, I can walk,” you add quickly. “Truly. It will be fine.”
The panic in your expression is unmistakable. You are almost certain something akin to disappointment flicker in his eyes, but it vanishes at once.
“Of course.”
Clearing his throat, he rises to his feet. The movement is smooth and unhurried despite the sheer size of him.
Your knee protests sharply when you place weight on it, but it holds. The orc watches silently, making no attempt to approach, even when you sway slightly at first.
Only when you steady yourself does he incline his head toward the deeper stretch of forest behind him.
“The path is this way.”
You hesitate only a moment, taking a deep breath before following.
And so, beneath the quiet canopy of the trees, the long journey toward your new home finally begins.
You expect the orc to walk ahead, him striding forward with those powerful legs while you struggle to keep up behind him, forced to hurry despite the pain. It would make sense. He is the one who knows the path, the one leading you somewhere deep within this unfamiliar forest.
But that is not what happens.
Instead, he walks beside you. Not close enough for your arms to brush against, yet close enough that you feel his presence with every step. His pace is slow— so slow, in fact, that it takes you a moment to realize he has matched it deliberately to yours.
At first you assume it is a coincidence, then the truth becomes impossible to ignore.
His stride alone would easily cover twice the ground you manage with your limping steps, yet he never moves ahead, never urges you forward, never shows even the slightest sign of impatience.
You keep your gaze mostly on the ground, watching where you place your feet, though every so often curiosity gets the better of you and your eyes flick briefly to the towering figure at your side.
His shoulders are broad enough that low branches brush against them when he passes, and his arms swing slowly at his sides with the steady rhythm of someone accustomed to long journeys on foot.
Yet despite the size of him, his movements are careful, measured. As though he is constantly aware of the space you occupy beside him.
Another detail reaches you gradually.
At first you think it is simply your mind playing tricks, but the faint scent drifting through the forest air grows clearer whenever the wind shifts between the trees.
You glance at him again.
He smells… Good.
The realization surprises you so much that you nearly miss your footing.
No heavy musk, no sourness of sweat or damp fur like the animals kept in village barns.
Instead there is something clean about it. Fresh like the forest itself. Pine, perhaps, or the faint resinous scent of cut wood, mixed with the crisp sharpness of cold air and something earthy beneath it, like soil after rain. It reminds you strangely of the men who worked the lumber yards near the edge of your old village, returning home at dusk with the smell of sap and sawdust clinging to their clothes.
Except even they rarely smelled this clean.
You glance at him again, eyes lingering longer this time.
His clothes are simple but well-kept, sturdy fabric worn by someone who works with his hands. Faint marks dust the sleeves and shoulders where wood shavings must have settled earlier in the day, and the leather belt around his waist holds several small tools you do not recognize.
The silence stretches further, until eventually the question pressing at the edges of your mind grows too heavy to hold.
Your voice comes out small when you finally speak.
“Where do you live?”
The orc’s head turns toward you, surprised enough that he almost stumbles over his own feet.
“Ah—” He clears his throat quietly, caught off guard by your sudden composure.
“My village is called Oakshire.” Warmth seeps into his tone. “It lies not far beyond the edge of the forest. We should reach it before nightfall if your knee does not trouble you too much.”
Oakshire.
The name rolls gently through your mind.
You hesitate before asking the next question, unsure whether you truly want the answer.
“Is it… An orc village?”
The moment the words leave your mouth you brace yourself, expecting him to take offense.
Instead his face brightens.
“No, oh no.” He chuckles, a small note of enthusiasm slipping into his voice. “Not only orcs.”
He glances toward you again, clearly pleased to have something to talk to you about.
“Humans have lived there for a very long time. The town was built generations ago when traders from both sides began traveling through the valley, and over the years the settlements grew together.”
A faint smile touches his mouth as he continues. “Now the two communities are simply… One.”
You blink in surprise.
“Humans and orcs live together?” You ask quietly, eyebrows shooting up.
“For centuries,” he nods amused. “Some families have lived there so long no one remembers who came first.”
The image forms slowly in your mind: humans and orcs walking the same streets, sharing the same markets, living side by side without fear or violence.
It's preposterous, and yet the quiet pride in his voice makes it sound perfectly ordinary, as though it had always been his reality.
When your eyes land on him again, something other than fear flickers in your chest for the first time.
The change in your expression is small, barely visible, but his sharp eyes catch it without fail. The tension that had been sitting heavily in his shoulders loosens just slightly, relief softening his features. He looks almost hopeful. Seeing even the smallest spark of interest in your eyes means more to him than you can imagine.
You notice the way his gaze lingers, and that awareness diverts your attention back to the path.
Silence returns soon after, but this time it is not as grim.
The road leading toward Oakshire stretches quietly ahead, and you manage several careful steps before the pain in your knee flares again.
You stagger, clutching at a low branch as your foot catches on a hidden root tangled in fallen leaves. Your breath hitches as the wound pulses again, sharper this time, forcing you to slow even further. Every step becomes a careful negotiation: foot over root, heel pressing against moss, knee bending in protest.
You stumble once more, almost falling, causing your fingers to scrape against the rough bark of a nearby trunk as your legs shake beneath you.
“We can stop,” he says gently. “We walked a lot, and you could use some resting.”
You bite your bottom lip, stubborn despite the ache twisting through your leg.
“I can keep going.” Your voice comes out tight, refusing the admission even to yourself.
The forest seems to close in as you push forward, and then, inevitably, your foot catches again in another root, and this time a sharp cry tears from your throat as you lurch forward, clutching at the air. Before your mouth can taste the dirt, a hand promptly closes around your forearm, lifting you upright with surprising gentleness. The strength behind it is immense, yet the grip itself is careful, steadying rather than dragging.
You blink up at him, breath hitching and chest tight with a mixture of fear and helplessness, but he adjusts his hold at once, supporting your weight without crowding, or touching no more of you than necessary.
“Easy.” He murmurs, his voice a calm tether in the dizzying chaos in your head. “There’s a soft patch up ahead. Lean on me if you need.”
He does not urge, does not pull you forward. He simply waits, letting your body find its own balance, guiding rather than commanding.
You stumble the final few steps, leaning lightly against his strong arm, and when you finally reach a small patch of land where the moss grows thick beneath the trees, he reaches over his shoulder.
“Wait a moment.”
Before you can question him, his fingers nimbly unfasten the traveling blanket he carries rolled among his things. The familiar piece of rough cloth— the same one you vaguely remember waking upon earlier— unfurls in his large hands before he bends and spreads it carefully across the ground, smoothing the edges so no stones or damp earth press through.
“There,” he clears his throat, stepping back immediately to give you room. “It will be more comfortable.”
You hesitate only briefly before lowering yourself down, a shaky exhale escaping your parted lips. Your chest heaves as your hands press into the fabric of your dress, trying to stop the trembling that refuses to leave your limbs.
The orc kneels nearby, just far enough to give you space. Still aware, still watchful.
You know, in a way that both frightens and fascinates you, that he could easily do anything he wanted, yet every gesture, every pause, every soft word communicates respect. It is a patience so quiet, so deliberate, that your mind struggles to reconcile it with the monstrous shape beside you.
Because nothing in the stories you grew up hearing ever spoke of an orc choosing gentleness over dominance.
A small bundle is pulled from his pack and placed on the moss beside your hand, intentionally within reach.
“You should eat something.” His eyes flick briefly to yours with a weight you cannot name, so intense it feels almost tangible, as though he is memorizing you.
You hesitate, unsure whether to accept it. So he breaks off a small piece of bread and extends it toward you, the gesture so delicate it makes your chest tighten.
“You don’t have to force yourself, but you need the energy.”
The faint scent of pine and earth clinging to him seems to wrap around you, calming, grounding, and against your better judgment, you take a small bite. The warmth and simplicity of it almost makes you forget the exhaustion in your bones, though the reality of your situation constantly gnaws at the back of your mind.
He produces the same flask he gave you for your wound, and a folded leaf, tipping a small amount of water gently into it.
“Here.”
His eyes study your face as you drink, lingering on the way your lips curl around the edge of the leaf. They take in every detail without letting it disturb you, patient, almost reverent, before his thumb absently brushes the edge of the leather strap of his pack, adjusting it as though he suddenly remembered something needing attention.
You decide to ignore the faint pink on his cheeks.
He does not touch you once, yet in his small, careful movements— in the way he leans slightly forward to ensure you are comfortable— you sense the quiet undercurrent beneath it all.
When your stomach settles enough to ease the tightness within it, your gaze absently drifts to the carvings tucked inside his open pack— a tiny fox, and a bird mid-flight. Slowly, you reach out, lifting the fox in your hands.
His gaze follows the movement, softening as you turn the little figure over, tracing the smooth curves with a tentative finger.
“I make these.” He shrugs, almost shyly. “For children, sometimes for travelers. They are like… Little reminders.”
Unexpected tenderness is threaded through his words.
Your thumb follows the careful curve of its tail, the tiny ears, the delicate indent that marks the eyes. The work itself is simple, yet there is patience in it— patience and quiet attention, the kind that can only come from someone willing to sit for long hours shaping wood without tiring.
You glance up without meaning to.
The moment your eyes meet his, he looks away almost immediately, lowering his gaze toward the forest floor as though he has been caught doing something he should not. One of his large hands rubs absently at the back of his neck, a small, awkward gesture that feels strangely out of place on someone so imposing.
You look back down at the carving.
For a long moment, neither of you says anything. The forest hums quietly around you, leaves stirring overhead while somewhere deeper in the trees a bird chirps.
“There are always children running through the market.” He hums, almost thoughtfully. “They like to watch when I bring new carvings. One of them— little Tomas— tries to guess what animal each piece will become before I finish it.” A quiet huff of amusement escapes him. “He is wrong most of the time, but he insists he will learn.”
Despite yourself, the corner of your mouth twitches faintly.
The image forms in your mind without permission: a market square, smiling children weaving through the stalls, and this enormous orc sitting somewhere among them with a knife and a block of wood, patiently shaping animals while a little boy peers over his shoulder.
Monsters are not supposed to carve toys for children.
You shift uncomfortably at the thought, your knee protesting as you move, and his head lifts immediately, attention snapping back to you.
“Does it hurt?”
The concern in his voice makes your chest tighten.
“It’s… Manageable.” You cough, the words coming out weaker than you intend.
His gaze drops briefly toward your leg before returning to your face just as quickly, careful not to linger.
“There is a baker in the market,” he steers the conversation somewhere gentler. “An old woman. She pretends she does not like me very much.”
A small smile tugs faintly at one corner of his mouth.
“But every time I bring her a carving for her granddaughter, she gives me a warm loaf of bread.”
Your fingers continue to fidget gently with the little fox, feeling the faint ridges left by the carving knife.
“Do the children ever try to steal them?”
The soft breath that escapes his nose might almost be a laugh.
“Not steal,” he grins gently. “But they do try to claim them before they’re finished.”
Your head tilts curiously.
“Little Rose insists every carving I make is meant for her. She follows me around the market until I promise to bring her another the next week.”
“And do you?”
“Yes.”
You study him for a moment, unsure what to make of that simple answer.
“She names them.”
You blink. “The carvings?”
He nods once with a faint smile.
“She says they should have names once they’re finished, because that’s when they’re born.”
Your thumb brushes over the carving’s tiny ears again.
“You must spend a lot of time there.” You murmur.
“When I’m not working.”
“What do you build?”
“Furniture, mostly.” He straightens slightly without seeming aware of it. “Tables, cupboards, doors. Whatever people need.”
Your attention falls briefly on his hands.
The knuckles are broad and scarred in places, the fingers thick and calloused— hands that would be suited for lifting beams and splitting logs, not for carving animals small enough to fit in a pocket.
“You work alone?”
“Most days.”
“And the rest?”
“Sometimes people ask for help,” he shrugs. “Fixing a roof. Replacing a broken step... That sort of thing.”
The simplicity of it throws you off balance.
The things he describes sound… Ordinary. Peaceful.
You lower the figure into your lap, glancing around, and you notice that the forest has changed.
The golden light of afternoon has faded into something cooler. Shadows have lengthened across the ground, stretching thin and dark between the trunks, the canopy above slowly swallowing what remains of the sun.
You shift again, testing the leg without quite meaning to. The movement is small, but the orc notices it anyway. His head lifts, though he glances past you, focusing on the trees surrounding the clearing, and for a moment his eyes linger there.
Then, he rises to his feet.
The motion is decisive, his tall frame straightening as he firmly observes the perimeter, as though seizing something only he can see.
“It’s getting late.”
When he looks back down at you, his expression is pensive rather than concerned.
“We won’t reach Oakshire before nightfall, and traveling through the forest in the dark wouldn’t be wise. Not with your knee in this condition.”
The words are spoken calmly, without pressure, but there is certainty in them.
“We should stop here for the night.”
Your fingers twitch once around the wooden toy.
The thought of spending the night out here— alone in the forest, with him— sends a weak ripple of unease along your spine that he seems to notice right away.
“I’ll make a fire,” he adds gently. “There’s a stream not far from here as well. You’ll be safe with me.”
Then he turns, already stepping toward the trees in search of wood.
For a moment you simply watch him go. And then it strikes you, oddly and belatedly, that through all the confusion, the fear, the stumbling journey through the forest, there is something absurdly simple you have not asked.
“Wait!”
The word escapes you before you have fully decided to speak.
He stops at once, turning back so that his full attention returns to you. The fading light filters through the branches above him, catching briefly on the curve of his tusks and the dark strands of his long hair, leaving the rest of him in soft shadow.
Your fingers tighten once again around the little wooden fox resting in your lap.
“What—” You pause, unsure why the question feels so difficult. “What is your name?”
Something shifts in his expression, almost startled.
“My name?” His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.
You nod faintly. “Yes.”
As he observes you, his features soften in a way you cannot quite decipher, a surprised warmth touching his eyes before he seems to remember himself.
“Bucky.” He says at last.
The name is simple. Human, almost. Not what you expected. You repeat it silently in your mind, testing the unfamiliar shape of it, and when you lift your gaze again, he is still watching you.
That's when he clears his throat, the spell of the moment breaking.
“I won’t go far,” he gestures toward the trees with a small tilt of his head. “Just enough to find some dry branches.”
Then he turns again and disappears a few steps into the dimming woods, leaving you sitting on his blanket with the little carved fox to keep you company and the weight of his name lingering softly in the evening air.
summary: you have totally inappropriate feelings for your older coach, teasing him every practice brings some thrill in your dull college life. Riling him up is your favourite pastime now, you can't help it! Coach Barnes' reactions are just so fun... especially when he gets jealous. The best part though, is when he puts you in your place.
warning: 18+ nsfw mdni! smut, dubcon, slight jealousy, age gap, oral (m!receiving), raw sex wrap it before you tap it pls, creampie, slight nipple play, p in v, slight brat taming, pwp (well i guess slight plot), dirty talk, kind of public sex, nearly getting caught so exhibitionism kink sorta?, pet names : brat, sweetheart, baby, slut, whore
word count: 4.9k
a/n: i miss coach Barnes so much, due to @/superbassbuck's forty-love! I actually yearn for him. This is my first time writing smut so im sorry if it sucks! :) but i hope you enjoy this!
College has been boring for you lately, nothing exciting would ever happen. Parties were fun for a while until it felt repetitive, the boys weren’t really your type either. Surprise surprise college boys don’t know how to fuck a girl properly, disappointing sizes and they could barely last two minutes.
That is until you had the brilliant idea to try out for the cheerleading team. Being a cheerleader had its perks, immediate popularity, catching the attention of the football team.. oh and of course getting ruined by your hot older coach basically every other day.
You’re not quite sure how it first started. The first time you attended cheer practice your eyes immediately zeroed in on the much older man blowing a whistle. He was devilishly handsome and you were immediately hooked. That tight shirt was basically a second skin that hugged his broad shoulders and muscles, god those pecs were basically greeting you as he walked towards you with a polite smile
“Hello, you’re the new recruit right? I’m Coach Barnes.. nice to meet you sweetheart, go put your stuff by the bench and start warming up.” That deep voice caused a sliver of heat to crawl down your stomach. The two of you shook hands and you, his big ones engulfed yours. Your thoughts drifted to imagine how they would look all over your body, those thick fingers could do so much– no– stop– that’s literally your coach! You shouldn’t have these untamed fantasies... although, your thighs seem to betray you, rubbing against each other - which he noticed, of course.
There seemed to be a crackling tension every time during practice, the way coach Barnes would help you stretch. His hands hold your waist with a firm grip whenever you seem to be off balance; you could feel the warmth of his palms even through your uniform. The first few times you thought you were simply imagining it, how his fingers linger on your legs longer than necessary, how his hands trail up your thighs and even dip under the edge of your mini cheerleading skirt that was borderline inappropriate.
You were sure it was one-sided. There was no way in hell your cheerleading coach would reciprocate the same dirty desires whenever he was in the same room as you. That all changed one afternoon. During warm up, you were up and bending over to stretch your legs and back - what you didn’t expect was a hand giving your waist a small squeeze.
Tilting your head back, you found your coach standing right behind you, and before any words could escape your lips he pulled your body back. You felt it.
Everyone else was too distracted to notice; it seemed innocent enough for a coach to help someone stretch, if it wasn't for the thick bulge pressing against your ass. “Just keep stretching..” he murmured loud enough for the two of you to hear, maybe it was the way he said it, or because of how inappropriate this was with everyone around, but it had your pussy clenching around nothing as you stayed still.
Slowly he began rocking back and forth, causing very slight friction between the two of you. You could feel it throb even through the layers of fabric. You tried to push your hips back for more. He wasn’t letting you. Coach Barnes held onto your waist still, preventing you from moving an inch. This made you whine softly, careful not to attract unwanted attention - Your little fit made him preen to having this control over you.
Once it was time to actually start cheer practice, the both of you had to pull away. You immediately straightened up knowing your panties were soaked and clinging to your pussy lips. However, you were more focused on the string of precum that seemed to connect the wet spot coating coach Barnes’ shorts and your skirt, which settled right on top of his obvious erection.
Thankfully his shorts today were black, so no one would notice if they didn’t pay close attention. Watching him adjust his pants made you chuckle. He raised an eyebrow seeing your reaction. “You think it's funny? Fuckin’ brat,” he muttered out, his jaw clenched as he walked away to go rally up the other girls.
From that moment on, you decided to make it your personal mission to mess with your dear ol’ coach, walking into the practice room with your skirt pulled higher than usual. Everytime you bend down just a little it would expose your plump ass, paired with your lacy panties just to rile him up even more. At the corner of your eye you could catch his stare; hungry eyes that trace the curves of your body from bottom to top.
Teasing him did come with its consequences. Turns out it was fairly easy getting coach Barnes to snap. While everyone was practicing their flips and poses, you were on the side doing a scale pose. You effortlessly pulled your leg up, hitting that ‘High-V’ motion. Whilst balancing, you were counting every second until you hit your limit, legs trembling and breath laboured.
The countdown was interrupted when you felt a steady hand holding your thigh, pushing your legs further apart to form a straighter split.
Coach Barnes stood behind you, his wide solid chest pressed against your back as he leaned his head close to your neck. His salt and pepper beard scratched against your neck as he whispered into your ear. “Focus, look straight and hold the pose.” He knew what he was doing and he could see the effect it had on you, the stimulation from his hand sliding closer to your core, giving small squeezes, the overall warmth of his body pressed up behind you… god you were struggling to keep it together.
After a few moments he moved his hand up, hooking his finger under the waistband and gently stretching it, testing the elastic. He grinned, pulling on the band back far enough before letting go. The fabric snapped back, hit your skin with a smack. The sudden feeling made your knees buckle - thankfully your coach was there to keep your balance.
“Tsk tsk tsk.. seems like you’re not concentrating today… and why is that sweetheart?” he purrs, not letting you have a breather as his fingers glide against your clothed pussy.
“Already so wet, fuck- look at you… Better stay quiet, you hear me? Wouldn’t want any of the other girls to catch you like this, hm?” You let out a soft whimper before nodding, biting your bottom lip to keep the noises from escaping.
The pleasure you felt from the simple friction was enough to get you close. You let out a shaky breath, panting. “Coach.. I’m close– god– please don’t stop”. Here's where the consequences came.
“You think this is a game? All this time you’ve been giving me a show, prancing around basically half naked...I had to go home and fuck my fist everytime cause of you. I think you need a little punishment, brat,” he snarls. His finger pushed down, prodding at your entrance through your underwear before completely pulling away.
You were at the very edge and the sudden loss of contact had your pussy throbbing for more, letting out a small whine as you tried to look like you weren’t about to cum in front of everyone a few seconds ago. He grinned in satisfaction seeing how distraught you were before walking to the center to start the cheer session as usual.
In a hazy blur, practice was finally over. You were packing your things, already thinking about how you were going to go home and imagine your hands were his, gently sliding across the sensitive parts of your cunt.. Suddenly, coach Barnes blew his whistle, gaining everyone’s attention. The team gathered around him to listen to his announcements. “Good job everyone, I will see you for the game this Friday. But I do have to speak with you,” he points at you, before continuing. “Stay back, we have things to discuss.. everyone else is dismissed.”
Once everyone had left, coach Barnes gestured for you to follow him. You entered the room and closed the door behind you. Now it was just the two of you.. there was a heat that coiled below your stomach at the possible things that could happen right now. He beckoned you with his finger. You immediately obeyed, now standing right in front of him. He leaned down and hooked your chin up,your lips inches from touching.
“You seemed distracted today.. that won’t do. I think a little punishment is needed.” You tried to catch his lips for a kiss. He immediately pulled away, just for you to be out of reach. “Use your words, what does the little slut want?” His words had sent a jolt of pleasure straight down to your core. Your eyes flickered down to the massive bulge straining his shorts, and you salivated.
Your hand rested on the bulge, rubbing it slightly. “This.. I want this, coach please– I need it- I need it so bad- I need you.” Your words satisfied him. He placed a hand on the waistband of his shorts.
“On your knees.” The command immediately had you kneeling, positioning yourself face level with his throbbing erection.
He pulled down his shorts and boxers, his cock now resting on your face. God it was so heavy. You could smell the precum leaking from his tip– how was he this big… Your shaky breath fanned his cock, making it twitch. Instinctually you reach out, wanting to touch his girth- but he gently swatted your hand away. Wrapping his hand around his thick cock, he slapped it against your face a few times before rubbing it all over your face.
You began pleading “Please, please–”
He cuts you off by shoving his cock into your mouth. “There we go.. is that better? This is what you wanted, right?” He coos, holding your head still. Hearing your muffled replies he started to push it all the way in, until your lips were touching his base. Coach Barnes let out a groan, “Shit– you’re so warm..I knew this pretty little mouth would feel good” You gagged, his tip was hitting the very back of your throat.
One of his hands was on your face while the other fisted your hair, he roughly began rocking his cock into your mouth, using your mouth like a toy– not that you mind. You preferred being manhandled, having them do the work for you. Your whole body felt hot with need as he continued to use your mouth and all you could do was let out muffled moans. The vibrations sent pleasure down his length.
Drool and saliva was dripping down your chin, but you were too busy being dizzy from your coach’s cock to care. You could feel it twitching inside. He was close. Your tongue started lapping at the underside of him. His thrusts became sloppy as he mumbled curses. You could see coach Barnes’ face morphing into one of intense pleasure. With a final thrust he plunged his cock all the way in. His cock pulsed as hot spurts of cum filled your mouth which you happily swallowed.
Slowly he pulled out of your mouth, taking a moment to look at your tear-streaked, ruined makeup. He pulled you upright and cupped your face.
“You swallowed it all? Good girl,” he smiled. You nod, as his hand moved down to your waist, gently curled around it. Right as you were coming down from your high, leaning into his touch, his hand left you again to lay a firm smack against your ass.
“Seems like you’ve learned your lesson for today, better be in top shape for friday yeah? You’re dismissed.”
You’ve been distracted for the past few days, whenever you tried to focus on anything the scent, feel and taste of his cock would cloud your mind. The girls locker room was busy with everyone touching up their makeup and rehearsing the cheer routine that they were performing soon.
Maybe after tonight's game you could get rewarded by coach Barnes, the thought had you thrumming with excitement as you all got onto the field.
The cheer performance went just as planned, perfect flips and formation. You haven’t missed a beat– well until you caught a glance of him by the bleachers with a proud smile, your chest squeezed at the sight and maybe it made you a bit distracted because you stumbled the last turn. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you quickly recovered with the ending pose, fortunately it couldn’t have been that noticeable as the crowd cheered.
Soon all of you settled back to the bleachers to let the football teams continue their match. Coach Barnes praised the girls for their hard work tonight. He gave each of the girls either a high five or a ruffle on the head, however when it was your turn he instead patted your back before sliding his hand down and giving that ass a firm squeeze, which caused you to let out a soft gasp.
It seems like a bad night for the rival football team as they lost, the college students all cheered but the opposing players started to falter and never recovered. You were confident the reason was due to getting distracted by the cleavage shown from the low cut of your cheer tops, why else did they start staggering after half time which was coincidentally right after the routine.
Post-game celebrations were the best part of the night, the gymnasium was prepped with food and drinks. These were exclusive to the jocks and cheerleaders, hosted by both coaches.
While sipping on some drink, you saw Elliot who was the co captain talking with his friends. Without thinking much you walked up to him, “Hey Elliot! I haven’t seen you since that party, congrats on the win tonight!” you congratulated him.
Elliot was delighted to see you, he immediately grabbed you by the waist and picked you up; With ease, he spun you around while smiling, “Thank you.. I’m sure it's because of the killer routine you guys did today. It had them tripping over themselves on the field. Which I mean– c'mon who wouldn’t be?”
Elliot’s words were just harmless flirting in your head, you giggled as he finally set you back down. His hands lingered around your waist for a moment longer than needed before letting go, sometimes sneaking back as the two of you caught up.
You were oblivious to the specific someone that had eavesdropped and watched the whole interaction from the side. Coach Barnes was being chatted up by the other football coach about how well his boys played tonight or something– he wasn’t paying attention.
Seeing how the jock had his hands on your body, it made a surge of irritation go through coach Barnes’ chest, his grip tightening on the plastic cup in his hand. The nerve of Elliot to touch you so freely… Not that you seemed to mind. The conversation between the two coaches soon ended as he excused himself, discarding the half crushed cup before walking towards you.
“Sorry to cut in, Harding, but I need this little missy to help me with something.” Coach Barnes spoke, giving Elliot a firm look and interrupting the conversation between the two of you, placing a hand on your shoulder. Elliot was too much of a coward to say no, so begrudgingly all he could do was nod and walk away.
Your stomach did a small swirl as coach Barnes had dragged you out of the gymnasium, already imagining where things were leading to. He took a turn heading for the girls locker room, once inside he made sure that it was just the two of you, alone.
“You needed me for something, coach..? I’d love to help in any way I can..” you lowered your voice, hands trailing up his chest feeling his hard pecs. Instead of teasing back, he clicked his tongue and grabbed both your wrists before backing you up against the lockers, pinning your hands by the sides of your head.
“So.. Harding eh? You let anyone put their hands on you?” he growled, eyes narrowing at you in jealousy. You hadn't expected such a reaction from coach Barnes, you opened your mouth wanting to explain the misunderstanding that had formed however you paused… Why not have some fun?
You let out an amused huff and tilted your head to the side, “Is there a problem coach? Don’t tell me you’re jealous… aw.” a retort escaped your lips, the thrill of testing the older man’s limit sent a jolt of pleasure down to your cunt.
The way his face scrunched up in annoyance was satisfying, as expected, the result of poking the bear would be thrilling. Coach Barnes smashed his lips against yours, “He would never be able to satisfy this pretty little thing.” He murmured while his hands let go of yours, one of them trailing down and going under your skirt, a finger pressing against the clothed clit.
The little gasp you let out was practically a plea to keep going, “You need a more experienced man, not some flimsy college boy… or do I need to prove it to you?” pulling your underwear to the side he played with your bare pussy.
All you could do was whimper as your hips bucked to get his fingers closer to the heat that's building in you, “Oh? What’s this… dripping already? Tsk tsk tsk… Who’s this pussy wet for huh?” He chides, shaking his head in mock disappointment, your usual bratty self unraveled and what was left was a begging mess of nerves want and need.
“Y-you…” your voice was no louder than a breath, embarrassed to admit how wet you were for him. Coach Barnes heard your response and his lips curled into a wolfish grin, “I couldn’t catch that, one more time… you know the things I wanna hear.” His tease had your cheeks flushing as you bit your bottom lip.
“You made me wet, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear god!–” You cut yourself off with a moan as his fingers pinched your little button. He could feel your sweet juices soak his hand, slowly he slipped two fingers in breaching that tight dripping hole. Your walls immediately clenched around his thick digits making coach Barnes groan at the feeling, god you were so warm and wet… not to mention the loud squelching noises had unraveled something in him.
His thumb started to rub circles around your clit while the other two fingers kept pumping in and out. You let out little moans and whines, trying to swallow it down so no one passing by outside could hear how good your own coach was making you feel. He noticed and pushed the two fingers deeper inside before curling them, his fingers reaching that spongy area which made you cry out his name seeing stars.
“God!– Coach Barnes!–”
“So fucking needy, does my little slut want to come?” You nod desperately for him, his fingers began pumping faster helping you to chase that high. He could feel you trembling against him, drenching his whole hand. “Come for me, c’mon.” Those three words had pushed her over the edge, your eyes rolled back and your mouth formed an O shape. Your whole body was shaking, pussy clenching hard on his fingers as you came.
As he pulled out his slick covered fingers out of your pussy, some of your cum had leaked down and dripped onto the floor. He brought his fingers up to his lips, licking them clean. The sight was intoxicating, your coach who was knuckles deep inside you just moments ago, was now sucking his fingers while groaning. “Fuck, I knew this pussy would be sweet.”
There was no snapping back, no retorts or teasing, what was left of you now was a pliant and leaking mess who’s in need of a cock to fill that pussy up.
Impatiently, he started pulling his shorts down as if the fabric was burning him. His cock sprang free, the head red with how hard he had been precum leaking from his tip. Seeing his cock again after being deprived of it these few days was like a drug. You were ready to drop down and please him but he reached out and kept a firm grip on your waist while his other hand began stroking his hard length.
“No baby, my cock wants a taste of that little pussy too.” He turned you around, making you bend over with your cheek and hands pressing against the lockers for support. Coach Barnes’ rubbed his cock against your wet folds, it would have been embarrassing how fast your slick coated his cock if it wasn’t for the feverish feeling overtaking you.
“Fuck… look at you,” the way he said it, he wasn’t talking to you but your pussy. He pressed his swollen tip against your entrance, the feeling of just how thick his head was made you squirm with excitement. As his cock breached your tight heat, you could feel every ridge and vein stretching out your walls.
Holy shit, he was huge.
The burn from the stretch was both painful and delicious, you gasped as he kept thrusting deeper not letting you accommodate his long and girthy size. Coach Barnes stilled and groaned once his full length was inside of you, allowing you to finally breathe. You felt his balls slap against your already sensitive clit making you squirm and push back your hips needing to feel more.
“Oh God!– Coach Barnes, you're so big!”
Your desperate little act and whine turned him on even more, not wasting anymore time he started to rock his hips into you relentlessly. “No other college boy can fuck you this good huh? You’re such a fucking slut.” He slammed his hips harder making you whimper, “I know what this pussy needs, a thick experienced cock from a real man. How does it feel to actually be filled up hm?”
You couldn’t think straight, your body trembling from being pounded by coach Barnes however you knew better than to not respond when he was talking to you. “Good– feel good– oh!”, though it seemed like your words weren’t enough for him as his hand leaned down to pinch your hot and raw clit. “What? Didn’t catch that, use your words slut.” he snarled, pausing his thrusts to get your attention.
The sudden lack of pleasure made you whine, he squished both your cheeks with one hand tilting your head back to look at him. His eyes bored into yours waiting, “Please coach Barnes… your cock is my favourite!– I need it so bad fuck– it’s so good, so fucking big!” Satisfied he let go of your face and pulled his hips back until only the tip was inside before slamming the whole length inside in one rough thrust, burying himself to the hilt of your warmth.
“Thats right, I’m glad you know your place baby.”
The locker room was filled with sounds of skin slapping bouncing off the thin walls, your loud moans was a dead giveaway that someone's pussy was getting ruined inside there. Not to mention the room completely smelled like sex and sweat.
His thrusts were getting sloppy, your walls were clenching tighter, not wanting to let go as the two of you were chasing the high that was so close. At the very peak of ecstasy suddenly coach Barnes heard footsteps walking down the hallway, getting closer to the locker room. He covered your mouth with his hand, suddenly well aware the two of them would be the first thing anyone walking in sees.
Coach Barnes stilled and whispered into your ear in a hushed tone, "someone's coming, we have to move.” which made you huff and whine, not wanting to stop fucking. “Relax, I bet they’re just walking past… no one would come in here– just continue pleasee!” you arched your back to get some friction going. Not dealing with your whining he quickly pulled out and hauled you over his shoulder like a potato sack, the only available area to hide in is the showers.
The footsteps were getting louder, and so was your heartbeat as he made sure nothing was left behind and went into one of the shower cubicles locking the door once inside. You were squirming and throwing a fit while he did all this, ready to tell coach Barnes he was being paranoid but you went silent the moment you heard the doors open.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
You recognised this voice, it was the cheer captain Alice. Oh fuck. The panic was rising up but your coach knew how to handle it, he motioned for you to answer as he turned the shower head water on. Fortunately the cubicle was big enough that the water didn't hit either of you. Taking a deep breath you gulped, “Uh..– yes! It's me sorry I was just taking a shower you know how it is, I didn't wanna go back all sweaty.”
Alice calmed down hearing a familiar voice and chatted up a conversation with you, thinking you were taking a shower. For a while coach Barnes’ shoulders relaxed knowing they weren’t caught, but as you continued the conversation with the cheer captain he couldn’t help but admire you. Skirt hitched up showing that pretty ass, panties shoved down and slick leaking down your inner thighs.
God what a sight, his half hard cock began to throb and get rock hard for you once more. Deciding to have a little fun after the things you put him through, he positioned himself behind you again, hands on your waist and gave you a little heads up by nudging his aching tip against your hole.
Tilting your head back you looked terrified, wide eyed and shook your head no at him even if a tiny part loved the thrill and possibility of getting caught. Even if your face hid that fact, your body definitely didn’t because you were already gripping onto his tip. Seeing how your pussy practically was begging for his cock, coach Barnes’ lips curled up into a grin making you bend over properly before sliding his length inside with ease while you were in the middle of responding to Alice.
“Yeah I think we did great to– NIGHT!” You tried covering up the moan with clearing your throat after.
“Look at you… she could catch us any moment but that’s what fun isn’t it?– Oh you definitely like that, look at her sucking me in, god– you’re such a whore.” he whispered, leaning forward and sucking on your neck.
It was honestly a miracle for Alice to not notice the subtle sound of skin against skin, how you were failing to even pay attention and answer with how distracted coach Barnes had you. Thank god Alice was called by her friends, she got her bag and quickly ended the conversation leaving the locker room. The moment you heard the door open and shut, all the moans and whimpers that you pushed down escaped.
Your true self unraveled fully, some bratty cheerleader who turned into nothing but a filthy slut at the sight of your coach’s cock. As he rocked his hips into you at a merciless pace, the water couldn’t hide the sounds anymore. He used his free hand to pull your top up showing your tits at full display bouncing back and forth.
No bra, of course.
“You always walk around like this? They’re begging for attention.” He clicked his tongue in a mock scolding tone as his pointer finger began playing with your hardened nipples, flicking at them, pinching and twisting. The unexpected touches caused jolts of pleasure straight down to your throbbing core, at this point all you were babbling nonsense as the heat was getting closer to exploding.
“I’m gonna cum!– oh my god yes yes yes– please don’t stop!”
It seemed like you learned who you belonged to so he continued to drill into you giving you that release you longed for, as your body spasmed multiple times your thighs were trembling from the immense pleasure. He watched as you came for the second time today, your release making your walls grip around his cock even tighter. You were barely hanging on to sentience as coach Barnes continued to pump into you, after a few thrusts he grunted and buried himself to the brim.
“Take it all– gonna fill you up fuck!–” He cummed inside of you, hot and thick white spurts filling you up completely. Both of you were a panting mess, you could barely stand without his hands holding you upright. After catching his breath, coach Barnes slowly pulled out of you.
“My little slut made such a mess hm? Now what should you say?”
“Thank… thank you, coach.”
“I’m hoping to see you every week after practice?” He chuckled, pulling your panties up and fixing your top. You could only afford to nod dumbly, knowing your cheerleading coach had ruined your pussy and got you addicted to his cock. No other guy could ever compete, you’d forever come running back to coach Barnes to satisfy your needs and he was happy to do so.
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