academic rivals request - Viktor Arcane, NSFW, 3.5k words @ihopeinevergetsoberr
Secret Ingredient - TASM!Peter Parker, NSFW, 11.6k words @ficthots
Begin Again - TASM!Peter Parker, SFW, 24k words @webslingingslasher
(^ can be read as any of them tbh. i was reading it as TASM but after checking out their page it's definitely tom holland. oopsies, I just have heart eyes for garfield)
Unknown sender - Peter Parker (same case as one above), SFW, 5.6k words @webslingingslasher
a fever he can't sweat out - Steve Rogers, NSFW, 14.4k words @epiphanyrogers
summary: the HYDRA mission was successful. steve's a little off, sure, but medical cleared him forty minutes ago. it's just exhaustion. except his heart won't stop pounding, heat's crawling under his skin, and his jeans suddenly feel far too tight. and every cell in his body is screaming that the only cure is you.
warnings/tags: SMUT, sex pollen (dubcon-ish elements), masturbation (m), oral sex (f receiving), p in v, multiple orgasms, creampies, overstimulation, hyperspermia, mating press, standing sex, aftercare, manhandling, size kink/size difference (reader is smaller than steve, but it's steve he's massive), praise kink, dacryphilia if you squint, sweat kink if you squint, roommates to lovers, guilty!pervy!steve who apologizes but can't stop, PWP but lowkey with plot?, sprinkle of yearning, no use of y/n, 18+ MDNI
word count: 14.4k (wtf)
from maddie: official, diagnosed, terminal case of the yapperitis for this one. i got stressed writing pt. 2 of ocayf, and so decided to take a "little break" from it, and accidentally wrote this instead. it's sort of inspired by this post by @blobfishlol (hope you don't mind the tag!) and it was meant to be a quick, filthy little pwp but apparently my brain said no 🤍 it’s been a hot minute since i’ve posted anything this long and i feel like i forgot how to write halfway through, so pls be gentle with me!! (pls don’t be mad this isn’t ocayf pt2, it’s coming 🥹)
dt: my bb @love-stucky for letting me yap her ear off about this fic, and also for the edit of the steve pic <33
masterlist
Steve's still running through the debrief in his head when he pulls up outside his apartment block.
The bike's engine cuts out with a rumble, but Steve still feels a deep thrumming vibration in his chest that won't quit. His heart's pounding - has been pounding since he left the compound, he realises - and that doesn't make sense for someone whose resting heart rate is forty-five. Frowning, Steve rolls his shoulders like he can physically shake off whatever this is. Adrenaline, probably. Leftover cortisol.
Plus, the mission ran long, the debrief even longer, and he's been running on fumes for the better part of eighteen hours. Maybe this is his body reminding him that he's not actually invincible even if the serum makes it feel that way sometimes. He's tired. That's all this is.
Medical cleared him forty minutes ago. Routine checkup, vitals normal, no injuries to note. Mission success. Another HYDRA facility taken out, mostly inactive but still operational enough to need clearing. A handful of guards, computers full of encrypted files for Nat to sort through, and more dust than seemed reasonable for a place that was supposedly still in use.
It was a weird amount of dust, actually. Steve keeps snagging on that. Active facilities don't accumulate dust like that, yet the lab was covered with the thick powdery kind that coats every surface and blooms up in pale clouds when you move through it wrong.
And move through it wrong Steve had.
When he'd taken down three guards in the main lab, the force of the fight had sent up a particularly thick puff of it. Enough that his throat constricted and his chest went tight. A too familiar tightness, low and stubborn, like he was twelve again when every breath was a negotiation. The kind that used to plant itself behind his sternum on cold Brooklyn mornings and refuse to shift.
He'd actually coughed. Hard enough that he had to step out of the room, hand braced against the doorframe while he caught his breath like some rookie who couldn't handle a little particulate in the air. But medical had checked his oxygen levels, listened to his lungs, found nothing wrong. Probably just particulate irritation, they'd said. The serum would clear it. And they'd been right - his breathing's fine now. Everything's fine.
Steve shakes his head, swinging a leg over his bike, and heads into the building. He's overthinking. Natasha told him he looked like shit and should go home and sleep for once. He'd laughed, told her she was projecting.
But now Steve's starting to think she might've been onto something.
The building's stairwell is mercifully cool and quiet, and Steve takes the stairs two at a time like always. Five flights is nothing. He's done it a thousand times, usually without thinking, but tonight by the second floor he's warm - too warm for the mild evening. The leather jacket that felt fine on the ride home now feels stifling, clinging to his shoulders and back.
By the third floor, he starts pulling at his collar. By the fourth, he's unzipped the jacket entirely. And when he hits the fifth floor, there's a thin sheen of sweat on his neck and his breath is coming harder than it should.
Steve pauses, hand on the door to your shared apartment, and for a second he considers turning around. Going back to the compound, making medical run more comprehensive tests.
But the thought of another hour in that sterile medical bay instead of being home - instead of seeing you, sinking into that easy warmth you always seem to carry with you - stirs something wrong in his chest. Makes something tighten uncomfortably. He needs to be home. Needs the particular brand of domesticity that only exists in your shared space, where he gets to be Steve and not Captain America.
Yes. He just needs to get inside, see you, shower, and maybe eat something if you've made dinner. Then sleep for ten hours. Simple.
He pushes through the door before he can second-guess it, and the apartment wraps around him immediately - warmth, music drifting from the kitchen, the smell of garlic and pancetta that means you’re making his favorite pasta. Dropping his duffle by the door, Steve heads to the kitchen, drawn by the sounds of you humming off-key, moving around, the comfortable domestic soundtrack that usually settles something in his chest.
Some of the tension in his shoulders starts to ease. This is good. Normal. Exactly what he needs.
Until he rounds the corner and his brain stutters to a halt.
You're wearing his hoodie. Stood at the stove with your back to him, intently focused on cooking, and you're wearing his hoodie. It practically swamps your frame. The sleeves are pushed up past your elbows because otherwise they'd swallow your hands, shoulders so broad they slip off one of yours, exposing a lacy bralette strap and the curve of bare skin that Steve wants his mouth on.
And shorts. Tiny black shorts that barely qualify as clothing, just peeking out from under the hem of his hoodie, leaving your legs completely bare from where the hoodie ends.
You're swimming in the hoodie. In something of his. The size difference so obvious it makes his hands itch at this sudden, visceral urge to grab you and see how you’d disappear under him. To see how easy it would be to cage you in, crowd you back against the counter. To get his hands under his hoodie and find out if you're wearing his scent on your skin the way you're wearing his clothes, if you smell like him now, if you thought about him when you put it on, if—
"Oh my god, Steve, you startled me!"
The sound of your voice catches him mid thought, and his brain slams back to room. You've spun around, wooden spoon in hand, and despite the startled words your whole face lights up. There’s genuine relief there, happiness that seems disproportionate to him just walking through the door. "How was the mission? You look exhausted, are you—"
"Is that my hoodie?"
The words come out rough, almost accusatory, cutting across your concern. Steve doesn't even know why that's the first thing out of his mouth, why out of everything he could say - something normal like hello, mission was fine, dinner smells good - that's what his brain latched onto.
You blink, clearly surprised by the abruptness, then glance down at yourself like you'd forgotten.
"Oh. Yeah." When you look back up there's mischief in your eyes. "It's way comfier than all of mine. You don't mind, do you?"
Mind. Right.
Does he mind that you're standing in his kitchen wearing his clothes, drowning in fabric that smells like him, looking so at home and domestic and pretty that something in his chest is pulling tight enough to hurt? Does he mind that this is somehow more intimate than it has any right to be? That the sight of you in his hoodie is doing things to him that he absolutely cannot examine right now?
"No, it's fine." His mouth is dry. When did his mouth get dry? "Keep it."
"Good," you reply, grin widening. "'Cause I wasn't giving it back anyway."
There’s a teasing lilt to it that Steve feels low in his gut. Or lower than his gut. Somewhere he’s definitely not supposed to be feeling things about his roommate, his friend, the person who should feel safe and comfortable in her own home without him losing his mind over a fucking hoodie.
But God, you turn back to the stove and Steve can’t stop watching. Even as you start chattering to him about dinner, about your day, something that would normally have him leaning against the counter asking questions, he's not hearing your words anymore. Instead, Steve's gaze drops without permission, returning to the way the hoodie shifts when you move, how it rides up when you reach for the spice cabinet and shows more of how those shorts cling to your ass.
He takes a step closer without meaning to. Then another. Close enough now that your scent hits him properly and floods his senses - that particular sweetness he associates with you, but underneath it, woven through, is him. His scent.
You smell like you've wrapped yourself in him, like you're marked with it, and the possessive bolt of heat that shoots through Steve nearly buckles his knees. His fingers curl into fists at his sides, jaw clenching as his body responds with alarming intensity to something as simple as you wearing his clothes.
The kitchen feels too small suddenly - too hot, the air too thick, and Steve can't seem to get enough oxygen to his brain. No prizes for guessing where else it's heading.
And the heat under his skin, that constant low simmer since he left the compound, suddenly cranks up to something that makes him lightheaded. His jeans are getting tight, his cock beginning to harden. And there's this clawing need building in his chest that he doesn't know what to do with, doesn't know how to control.
Of course, it's not new, the attraction.
He's been attracted to you since you moved in six months ago. Since Sam had shoved your number at him and told him his apartment was depressing and lonely and that he needed a roommate. Since you'd shown up with boxes stacked in your arms and made some joke about not being a serial killer that surprised a laugh out of him.
Living with you has been comfortable in a way he hadn't expected, all casual dinners and movie nights and inside jokes. And yes, maybe he's spent more time than he'd like to admit thinking about what it might be like to close that distance, to make this more than friendly, to kiss you.
But Steve's not stupid. Asking you out could ruin everything. Could make you uncomfortable in your own home, make you feel like you had to say yes because of who he is, or worse, make you feel like you had to leave if you said no. The risk of destroying this easy, comfortable thing you've built together isn't worth it, no matter how many times Sam and Bucky tell him he's being an idiot and should just ask you to dinner already.
And yet, now his body doesn't seem to care. It's like every nerve ending in his body has suddenly rewired itself to point at you like a compass finding north. Something that's making his hands shake and his brain offer up increasingly detailed images of what he could do if he just closed the distance between you, if he just reached out and—
"Steve? Are you even listening to me?"
Your voice cuts through the spiral once again and he realizes you've been talking. You've turned back to look at him, and your eyebrows are doing that thing where they draw together with worry.
"You look really flushed." You're studying him now, concern sharpening in your eyes, and then you're moving toward him. "And you're kind of just... standing there like something's wrong."
Your hand comes up, and the second your fingers make contact with his forearm, Steve jerks back like you've burned him. Nearly trips over his own feet putting distance between you. The brief touch sends electricity straight through him, and his cock responds immediately, twitching and thickening in his jeans until they feel obscenely tight. He shifts his stance, angles his body slightly away, desperately trying to hide what's becoming impossible to conceal.
This is insane. He's going insane.
Your eyes are darting over his face now, head tilted in that way you do when you're trying to figure him out, and there's genuine worry written across your features. Everything about it - you being this close, smelling like him, looking up at him with those big, concerned eyes - is making everything exponentially worse. The ache low in his gut intensifies, spreading outward until his whole body feels like a live wire.
"Steve, are you okay?" you ask, and he makes the mistake of watching your lips form the words. "You're really worrying me."
"Yeah." His voice comes out wrecked, barely recognizable. He clears his throat, trying again. "Fine. Just tired."
"Are you sure?" You take another step closer and Steve's back hits the doorframe. "You're sweating. Like, a lot. And you're breathing hard."
He is. He can feel it now, a bead of it running down his temple. And his t-shirt is sticking to his spine despite the fact that the apartment isn't remotely warm. What the fuck was happening to him? His skin feels wrong. Too tight. Prickling with something that's not quite pain but certainly is more than uncomfortable. Every nerve ending feels raw and oversensitive.
His jacket is still on and it's unbearable, too tight across his shoulders and trapping heat against his skin. He needs it off.
"I'm fine," he lies, and even he can hear how strained it sounds. "Just—I need a shower."
"A shower?" Your frown deepens. "Steve, maybe we should call Bruce or someone, you're clearly not—"
"I'm fine." It comes out harsher than he meant it to, and he watches you flinch. Fuck. Fuck, he's making this so much worse. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I just—it's just muscle tension. From the mission. My muscles are sore and the serum makes me run hot sometimes, you know that, and I just need—a cold shower will help, it'll help cool me down and—"
He's babbling. He knows he's babbling, throwing out excuse after excuse while you stared at him like you'd never seen him before, like he's a stranger wearing Steve Rogers' face, but he can't seem to stop.
"The mission was intense," he continues frantically, needing you to believe him, needing you to stop looking so worried. "Lots of close combat and I'm just—I'm tense. All my muscles are tense. A shower will help. Just need to cool down and relax."
He turns and practically flees down the hallway, before he can say what he really needs - you, spread out beneath him, wrapped around him, making sounds he's only let himself imagine in his weakest, most shameful moments when his hand is on his cock in the dark and he pretends it's you touching him instead.
Steve stumbles into his bedroom and straight through to the en-suite, shutting the door and leaning against it like something's chasing him. His reflection in the mirror looks frantic. Face flushed dark, pupils blown so wide, chest heaving. His lips look fuller somehow, plumper and pinker, like he's been biting them without realizing.
Guilt churns in his gut alongside the relentless heat. He'd scared you. Snapped at you when all you'd done was try to help. Made you worry. Been completely fucking weird and now you probably think he's losing his mind.
Maybe he is.
Because he's so hard it actually hurts. His cock is straining against his jeans, thick and aching, pressing against the zipper unbearably. He can feel his pulse in it, each throb sending a jolt of sensation through him that was equal parts pleasure and agony. When he shifts his weight, the friction of denim against sensitive skin makes him bite back a groan.
He's never felt like this. This desperate, all-consuming need that won't quit no matter how much he tries to think it away, logic it away, force it down with sheer willpower.
Sweat runs down his temple, his neck. The leather jacket is still on and Steve tears it off with shaking hands, letting it drop to the floor. It doesn't help. Everything still feels too hot, too tight, like his skin has shrunk two sizes and doesn't fit his body anymore.
Steve's fingers fumble with his belt, clumsy in a way they never are. They're shaking now, struggling with the simple mechanics of a belt buckle while his cock throbs insistently behind the zipper.
He gets it open finally, pops the button on his jeans, and the relief of pressure is so immediate and intense that he has to brace one hand against the sink. But it's not enough. Not even close. He shoves the jeans down his hips and they catch on his thighs - still damp with sweat, fabric clinging - and Steve has to peel them off with more force than should be necessary.
His boxer briefs are tented obscenely, a wet patch of precum already visible at the tip, and Steve can't even meet his own reflection in the mirror.
The shirt comes off next, pulled over his head and discarded without ceremony. His dog tags clink against his chest, metal warm from his overheated skin. Every piece of clothing that comes off should make him feel better, cooler, but it doesn't. If anything, being bare makes him more aware of how wrong everything feels. The hypersensitivity of his skin, the way even air movement feels like too much stimulus.
Steve hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxer briefs, and just the brush of fabric as he moves pulls a sound from his throat he doesn't recognize. When he shoves them down, his cock springs free, completely erect and already leaking.
This isn't normal. Even for him, even with the serum's effect on his libido, this is excessive. Steve looks down at himself and feels something close to shame.
Turning away from the mirror, Steve reaches into the shower, cranking the cold tap as far as it will go. He steps in the moment the water starts flowing and the cold hits him like a physical shock. For a blessed moment, it cuts through everything else. His overheated skin welcomes the icy spray like a mercy, the temperature difference sharp enough to make him gasp in relief. Steve braces his hands against the tile, head hanging under the stream, and tries to breathe through it.
Tries to think about anything other than you. Anything other than your scent and your touch and the sight of you in those shorts and his hoodie.
The water runs over his shoulders, down his spine, plastering his hair to his forehead. It should help. But his cock is still hard. Still throbbing. And as the initial shock of cold fades, the heat comes creeping back. That insistent burning under his skin that the water isn't touching.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut and immediately regrets it.
Because his mind is flooded with images of you leaning over the counter in those tight little shorts, making dinner. And his traitorous brain doesn't stop there, it keeps going, imagining you in that same position but for different reasons, imagining him behind you, imagining his hands shoving that fabric out of the way to find you wet and needy for him.
"Fuck," he hisses through clenched teeth.
His cock throbs in response, another bead of precum forming at the tip despite the freezing water, despite the fact that he's actively trying not to think about you. He looks down at himself - still achingly hard, heavy between his legs - and feels another wave of confused arousal crash through him that makes his knees weak.
Maybe it's just because it's been so long?
Steve tries to think back to the last time he actually took care of himself. Weeks? No, longer than that. A month at least, maybe two. He's been so focused on missions, on taking down HYDRA bases, on being Captain America, that he hasn't exactly had time for anything "extracurricular."
This is probably the longest he's gone without any kind of release since waking up from the ice.
The serum amplified everything about him, including ramping up his sex drive to levels that had taken some getting used to. Back in the forties, right after the transformation, he'd been blindsided by it. Suddenly he'd gone from Steve Rogers who could barely keep a girl's attention to someone who had urges that were damn near overwhelming.
He'd had to learn to manage it, to deal with needs that were sharper and more insistent than anything a normal man experienced. So he'd figured out his body's rhythms, what it needed, how often. Learned to take care of himself efficiently and move on.
Except now he's apparently pushed too far, gone too long, and his enhanced biology is making its displeasure violently known.
That has to be it. Has to be why he's reacting like this. Not because something's wrong, but because he's pent up and his body is responding to deprivation the way the serum makes it respond to everything: excessively.
And you. God, you in those shorts, in his hoodie, being so sweet and domestic, had just been the trigger. The match to kindling that had been building for weeks.
It's not pervy. It's just biology. Enhanced biology, biology nonetheless. So if he just takes care of it, he'll be fine. The need will ease, his head will clear, and he can go back out there and have dinner like a normal person instead of someone who can barely look at his roommate without getting hard.
Steve's hand drifts down his stomach almost without conscious thought, and when his fingers wrap around his cock he can't stop the groan that rumbles from his chest. The touch sends electricity up his spine, pleasure so intense it's almost painful after being hard and neglected for so long.
He strokes slowly at first, testing, and his head falls back against the tile with a dull thunk. The cold water streams over his chest but he doesn't feel it anymore. All his focus narrows to the heat building in his core, the slick slide of his fist over sensitized skin, the way his cock throbs with every stroke like it's been waiting for this.
And in his thoughts, you're there.
Steve's grip tightens involuntarily and he strokes faster, chasing friction, telling himself to think about something else, anything else. But his mind won't cooperate. It just keeps offering up increasingly vivid fantasies: what you'd look like without his hoodie, whether you were wearing anything under those shorts, if you'd be wet if he checked, if you ever touched yourself in your room late at night thinking about—
"Shit—," he curses, the sound echoing off the shower tiles.
God, what would you sound like? The question burrows into his brain and won't let go. Would you whimper? Moan his name? Would you be loud or would you try to stay quiet, biting your lip the way you do when you're concentrating? Would you beg? He thinks you might. Thinks you might say his name all breathy and desperate while he slowly thrusts into you, feeling you stretch around his cock inch by inch.
A low groan builds in his chest and Steve has to bite down on his lip so hard that he tastes copper. You're just in the kitchen. The walls aren't that thick. And the thought of you hearing him like this should horrify him but instead it sends another bolt of heat straight through his gut.
Steve's free hand slaps against the tile, bracing himself as his knees threaten to give out.
His cock is leaking steadily now, precum making the slide slick and easy, as his hand speeds up, rhythm getting rougher, chasing the sensation. And Steve can't stop imagining it's your hand instead of his. Your smaller fingers wrapped around him, struggling to fit around his girth, looking up at him with those eyes while you learn exactly how he likes to be touched.
Or better yet, your mouth. Fuck, your mouth. Those pretty lips he'd caught himself staring at stretched around his cock, your tongue sliding along the underside, taking him deeper while he threads his fingers through your hair, guiding you, feeling your moans vibrate around him.
A strangled sound escapes his throat before he can stop it, and Steve has to sink his teeth into his shoulder to muffle it. He's so wound up, weeks of neglect and pent-up need making him hair-trigger sensitive. His hips thrust forward into his fist, searching for more friction, more pressure, chasing the orgasm building at the base of his spine with alarming speed.
This is wrong. This is so fucking wrong. You're his friend, his roommate, someone who trusts him enough to live with him and wear his clothes and worry when he seems off. And here he is jerking off to fantasies of fucking your face. While you wait for him to come back for dinner.
But he can't stop. Can't make his mind go blank or think of anything else.
"Fuck—" His forearm isn't enough to muffle it and Steve bites down on his own arm as his orgasm slams through him. "Oh god, fuck—"
His cock pulses in his grip, and your name tears from his throat. Thick ropes of cum paint the shower wall, more than seems possible. The serum already makes him produce more than normal, but this is excessive even for him. It's almost painful in its intensity, pleasure so sharp it makes his legs shake, and he has to brace both hands against the wall to stay upright while it works through him.
For a few blissful seconds, pleasure drowns out every other sensation in his body
Then reality crashes back in, and with it comes the guilt.
Steve stares at the evidence of his release being washed away by the spray, chest heaving, and feels the shame burn through him hotter than the need had been.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, scrubbing both hands over his face. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
But even as guilt churns heavy in his gut, even as he tells himself he's disgusting and inappropriate and a terrible friend, he looks down and his stomach drops. He's still hard. Not just half-hard, not softening. Fully, achingly erect like he hadn't just had one of the most intense orgasms of his life. The relief he'd expected, the clarity that should have come, was nowhere to be found.
Steve stares in disbelief. The serum gives him a faster refractory period than normal, sure, but this? This isn't normal. Even for him.
He wraps a hand around himself experimentally and has to bite back a groan. The touch sends sparks through his overloaded nerves, pleasure bordering on unbearable, but underneath it the need is still there. Still clawing at his insides, unsatisfied and demanding more.
If anything, the ache in his gut feels worse now. More insistent. Like his body is genuinely angry that he came and it wasn't inside you, that it was his hand and not your body taking it, not your pussy clenching around him and milking him dry.
"No," Steve says out loud, voice hard like he's ordering a subordinate. Like he can command his own body back into line through sheer force of will. "Stop it."
This can't be just pent-up sexual frustration. Something else is happening. Something must've happened at that Hydra base. It has to that - the dust. The way it had hung in the air, gotten in his lungs, made him cough like his body was rejecting it. What if it wasn't just particulate irritation? What if HYDRA had something in that lab, some kind of bioweapon that got into his system?
Steve's jaw clenches. He should call Bruce. Should've called him an hour ago instead of convincing himself this was normal. Bruce would run tests, figure out what he'd been exposed to, synthesize a counter-agent if needed. Or Tony. Tony has access to SHIELD's entire database on HYDRA weapons, might recognize the symptoms.
But the thought of making that call, of trying to explain, "Hey, I can't stop thinking about fucking my roommate, I'm hard enough to cut diamond, and I just jerked off in the shower while moaning her name," makes him want to die. Tony would never let him live it down, would make jokes about it for the rest of Steve's natural life.
He'd probably tell Natasha, who would tell Clint, and then the entire team would know that Captain America got dosed with some kind of HYDRA sex drug and spent the evening jerking off to thoughts of his roomate.
Maybe it'll pass on its own. The serum processes toxins faster than a normal metabolism; whatever this is might just need time to work through his system. He can get through dinner, make some excuse about not feeling well, go to bed early. Wake up tomorrow back to normal.
Turning off the water with more force than necessary, Steve reaches for a towel. Even the act of drying off feels like too much. The terry cloth dragging across his oversensitized skin makes him grit his teeth. He manages his chest and arms with rough, perfunctory swipes, but when the towel brushes his cock he actually hisses, the sensation sharp enough to make his vision blur.
He abandons the towel halfway through, still damp, and pulls his boxers back on, hissing at the friction of fabric against sensitive skin. The compression just makes him more aware of his situation. He's tenting the boxers obscenely, the outline of his erection impossible to miss, a damp spot already forming again where he's leaking. There's no hiding this. No way to pretend everything's fine when his body is advertising exactly how not-fine he is.
And the thought of putting anything else on makes his overheated skin crawl. Maybe he could manage sweatpants. Loose ones that won't cling. And then he'll return to the kitchen, try and act normal for dinner.
Steve takes a breath that doesn't quite fill his lungs, braces himself, and opens the bathroom door.
You're in his bedroom.
Standing there with frozen peas in one hand, and a pill bottle and bottle of water in the other. The shock of it - you, here, in his space when he's barely holding himself together, when he's standing here in nothing but his boxers with his cock still straining obscenely against the fabric - roots him to the spot. Your head snaps up at the sound of the door, eyes going wide.
"Oh! Sorry, you'd been a while and you were so weird earlier and I got worried..."
The words trail off. Steve watches it happen, the way your gaze catches on his bare, dripping chest. You're trying to be subtle, he thinks, trying to make it look clinical, concerned, but there's nothing clinical about the way your focus catches on the water beaded across his chest.
Your lips part slightly as you track a single droplet running down his sternum, over the defined ridges of his abs, following its path like you're memorizing it until it disappears into the waistband of his boxers.
And then your gaze drops lower.
Steve watches your pupils dilate the moment you see what’s impossible to miss, impossible to misinterpret. Time stretches. Your breath hitches just loud enough for him to hear, and neither of you moves.
"I thought—" Your voice comes out different. Breathier. You swallow so hard he can see your throat work. "I thought these might help. For your muscles."
You hold up the peas and pills like they explain why you're in his bedroom, but your gaze hasn't moved back to his face. It's still tracking over him - shoulders, chest, the V of muscle at his hips - and Steve can see the flush creeping up your neck in real time.
He should grab something to cover himself, should apologize, should do literally anything other than just stand there letting you look at him like that.
You start rambling now, that nervous spillover of words you do when you're flustered. "Frozen peas for the soreness, and Bruce made these painkillers specifically for your metabolism, remember? For when—"
"You didn't have to do that." His voice sounds like gravel.
"Sorry," you say quietly, and your eyes finally drag back up to his face. "I'm just… you really scared me earlier. I've never seen you like that."
The concern in your voice is palpable. But then you shift your weight and he catches the way your gaze dips again, just for a second. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips - unconscious, he's sure, but it doesn't matter because the sight of it sends heat straight through him so fast it makes his head spin.
Did you hear him? In the shower? Is that why you came to his room? Because you heard your name, heard what he was doing? The thought should mortify him. Should make him want to disappear through the floor. Instead, his cock gives an interested twitch that he knows you can see.
"Steve?"
Your voice pulls him back. You've moved closer. When did that happen? The peas and water are on his nightstand now and you're right there, close enough that when Steve pulls in his next breath, your scent floods his senses again. But there's something else now. Something sweeter, headier, that makes his enhanced senses lock onto you like a target.
Arousal.
You're aroused. The realization slams into him with physical force. He can smell it on you, subtle but unmistakable, and every instinct in his body that's been screaming at him all evening suddenly focuses with laser precision on that single fact.
"You're still really flushed," you say, and your voice has gone soft. Worried. "And you're breathing so hard. Are you sure nothing's wrong?"
Everything's wrong. You're too close and you smell too good and he can see your pulse fluttering in your throat and all he can think about is closing that last foot of distance and finding out if you taste as good as you smell.
"I'm fine," Steve lies, and it might be the most blatant one yet.
You turn to face him fully, and the genuine worry etched in your features makes his chest tight for different reasons.
"You do so much, Stevie," you probe, and the nickname lands like a caress. "You hold so much in. You've been working so hard lately, mission after mission." You step closer and Steve's breath catches, every muscle in his body going rigid with the effort of staying still. "I'm worried about you. If there's anything I can do to help, anything at all, please tell me. I'll do it."
Anything at all.
Steve's mind immediately offers up about a dozen graphic answers to that - vivid, explicit images of exactly what you could do to help, each one more detailed than the last. He has to close his eyes against the onslaught, has to physically fight back the thoughts of your mouth on him, your body under his, the sounds you'd make if he just gave in and took what his body is screaming for.
You don't mean it like that. You're just being kind, being a good friend, offering comfort the way you always do. You have no idea what's running through his head right now, how close he is to snapping.
"You don't—" His voice cracks and he has to clear his throat, has to force the words out. "You don't need to worry about me."
But you're not listening, or maybe you're just too concerned to care about his protests, because your hand comes up toward his face and Steve's reflexes take over before his brain can catch up. His hand shoots out and catches your wrist mid-air, and the second skin touches skin everything goes white-hot.
The touch sears through him like lightning. He can feel your pulse under his fingertips, quick and fluttering, can feel the softness of your skin, and it takes every ounce of willpower he possesses not to yank you against him right then and there.
"Let me see," you protest, and before Steve can process the words you're pulling your wrist free of his grip. A determined tug that his lust-addled brain doesn't think to resist. Both of your palms come up to cup his face, cool against his burning skin.
Steve's lungs stop working. Your hands on his jaw, your thumbs at his temples, the way you're studying him with those worried eyes while standing close enough that he can see the individual flecks of colour in your iris is obliterating what's left of his control. "Oh my god, you're burning up. Steve, you're literally…"
He can't hear the rest. Can't process words when your hands are on his face and your arousal is flooding his senses and the coil of need in his gut has pulled so tight he thinks it might actually snap him in half. All he can think about is grabbing your wrists, pulling you flush against him, finding out if your mouth tastes as good as he's imagined when he finally stops being careful and takes what he wants.
Your fingers move to his neck - checking his pulse - and Steve stops breathing entirely. His cock throbs so hard it's painful and he can feel his control dissolving like sugar in water, going from solid to nothing in seconds.
He needs. God, he needs. Needs to touch you, taste you, needs to rip those tiny shorts off and find out if you're as wet as you smell, needs to bury himself inside you until this relentless burning finally stops, needs to pin you to his bed and fuck you until you're screaming his name and all of a sudden he can't remember why he was fighting this in the first place.
"I'm calling Bruce—"
"No!"
The word comes out too loud, too violent, and Steve watches you jump. He's scaring you again and he hates it but he can't stop, can't make himself be gentle when his whole body is screaming.
"You need to leave." The words sound strangled, barely human. His control is hanging by a thread and that thread is unravelling fast. "Please. You need to go. Right now."
"What? No, Stevie, I'm not leaving when you're clearly—"
"Please." It comes out like a whine, and some distant part of Steve registers that he's begging but he's too far gone to care about pride or dignity anymore.
He takes a step back, needing distance before he does something unforgivable. "You don't—you don't understand. You need to go back to your room. Lock the door. Don't come near me."
Your expression shifts to hurt and confusion, brow furrowing in that way that makes his chest ache even through the haze of need. "Why? Steve, I just want to help!"
"You can't help with this!" Too sharp, too harsh, and he watches you flinch like he's struck you. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, just—please just go. Please."
"You're scaring me." Your voice comes out small and it kills him, absolutely kills him. "Just tell me what's wrong. Whatever it is, we can figure it out togeth—"
"I can't stop thinking about you." The confession tears out of him before he can stop it, raw and desperate and too honest. "I can't—fuck, I've been trying, I've been trying so hard to hold it together but I can't think straight and all I want—all I can think about is—"
He cuts himself off with a harsh breath but it's too late. The truth is out there now, hanging in the air between you like something physical.
You stare at him with your eyes wide, and Steve can see your chest rising and falling rapidly. Can see the exact moment his words register. The shock flickering across your face, then understanding, then something that looks dangerously close to want. Your scent spikes so sharply it makes his knees weak, that sweet arousal flooding his senses until he can barely think through it.
"Steve," you breathe, and there's something in your voice he's never heard before. Something breathless and urgent.
You take a step closer. Then another. Your hand comes up to rest against his chest, right over his hammering heart, and Steve's breath stops entirely. He can feel the tremble in your fingers, can see the way your eyes flick to his lips, and he knows with sudden, devastating certainty what you're about to do.
You push up on your toes, tilting your face toward his, close enough that he can feel your breath ghost across his lips, and Steve's last thread of control frays to nothing.
Lunging that last inch, he captures your mouth in a kiss that tries, briefly, to be gentle - some buried instinct trying for something tender, wanting to do this right. But the moment your lips part under his, a deep rumbling growl tears up from his throat and his hands are suddenly everywhere. One hand fists in your hair, gripping tight to angle your head exactly where he needs it, while the other clamps onto your waist. Tight enough that you know you'll feel the imprint of his fingers tomorrow.
God, you want to feel it tomorrow.
He yanks you flush to his body and you stumble into him with a gasp that's his undoing. Your mouth opens for him and Steve takes immediate advantage, greedy for it, greedy for every breath you'll give him, tilting his head to seal his mouth over yours properly.
His tongue sweeps past your lips to finally taste you properly, and you're even sweeter than every fantasy promised. Better than anything he imagined in that shower with his hand on his cock and your name in his throat.
When he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and releases it slowly, you make this small wounded sound that goes straight to his cock. You feel it twitch against your stomach through the thin cotton of his boxers, and he's so big, so overwhelming, radiating heat and the salt musk smell of his sweat that makes your head spin and your thighs clench.
Heat floods his system at the knowledge that you can feel how hard he is, how much he wants you. And he knows he can't satisfy the clawing need in his gut through your mouth alone.
Steve tears himself away from your mouth and every cell in his body revolts violently like he's ripping off his own skin. A needy little protest escapes you as you chase after him without thought, lips wet and swollen and so devastatingly pretty he almost stops caring.
"You don't," The words come out between ragged pants, his voice wrecked, barely recognizable as his own. "You don't understand." His chest heaves against yours, breath coming hard and fast as he presses his forehead to yours, hand still fisted tight in your hair because letting go simply isn't something his body knows how to do anymore. "I'm not in control right now. I don't know if I can be gentle. Don't know if I can stop once I start—"
"Then don't stop," you whisper against his lips, and your hand slides up his chest to curl around the back of his neck. "Take what you need, Steve."
And there’s no universe, no timeline where Steve Rogers could survive hearing that from your mouth, not even if he were perfectly himself.
His last thread of restraint frays to nothing.
Steve's mouth crashes back into yours with bruising intensity, all desperate hunger and zero control. You open for him instantly, no hesitation, just pure wanting, and the primal satisfaction that rolls through his chest is almost violent in its intensity.
Then his arms slide down to grip your thighs, fingers digging into soft flesh as he hauls you up against him like you weigh nothing. You're so light in his grip, so easy to position exactly where he wants you, and the rush of it - the physical proof of how easily he can manhandle you - sends a dark thrill surging through him. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively and your body moulds to his perfectly, soft curves yielding to hard muscle, and he can feel everything.
The frantic beat of your heart hammering against his chest. The clench of your thighs around his hips. The damp heat between your legs settling right against his cock through the layers separating you, and it makes him throb so hard he groans into your mouth.
But still, it's not enough. He needs you impossibly closer, needs to consume every inch of space between you. One hand shifts to palm your ass with a possessive squeeze that makes you whimper and roll your hips against him. It's an instinctive, needy grind that drags your core along the length of his still covered cock.
"Steve, please," you whine against his mouth. "I need—"
Your desperation makes Steve's pupils blow completely black, swallowing the blue entirely. He turns and presses you against the wall, pinning you there with the weight of his hips, using the solid surface to hold you exactly where he wants you.
"God, I know, sweetheart. I know you do," he rasps against your neck, teeth scraping your pulse point. "Tried to be good. Tried not to think about this. But so damn sweet I can’t think straight." His hands tighten on you possessively, fingers digging into flesh. "'m gonna take care of you now, I promise. Gonna make you feel perfect. Gonna stretch you open on my cock and fill you up until you can't take anymore. Fill you up so good you'll feel me for days."
Heat curls low and tight in your belly at his filthy promise, and your body reacts instinctively, clenching around nothing so sharply that a needy little moan slips out before you can stop it. Your fingers clutch at his bare shoulders, desperate for something to anchor yourself against the overwhelming reality of finally having him like this.
All that heated muscles under your palms, slick with sweat. He’s so much bigger like this, crowding every inch of space you have, caging you in, and your head swims with the sheer physicality of him.
But it’s the heavy, hard length of his cock grinding against you through thin cotton that nearly undoes you. Thick and insistent, pressed exactly where you’re throbbing for him, dragging against you with every subtle shift of his hips. The friction makes your breath stutter, your thighs tightening helplessly around him, trying to draw him even closer, to get more of that impossible, intoxicating pressure.
Steve moves with urgency that borders on frantic, carrying you the few steps to his bed and laying you down with slightly more care than the desperation vibrating through his body would suggest. But the second you're on the mattress, that restraint evaporates. He follows you down like he's magnetised, covering your body with his.
Heat radiates off him in waves, overwhelming, consuming. His breath fans over your cheek, uneven and ragged, and when his hips slot between yours, you feel just how hard he is. Thick, straining against the thin cotton of his boxers like he’s seconds from losing his mind entirely.
"Jesus," he groans, almost a choke, forehead dropping to your shoulder as if the contact alone might save him. "I need—sweetheart, I need you, I need you so bad."
He kisses you again, harder this time, nothing gentle left in him. His mouth is hot, frantic, stealing your breath as his hands slide over you in frantic sweeps, already pulling at your clothes. It's rougher than he intends - though he’s trying, god he’s trying - but whatever is burning through him is stronger than his control.
His hoodie is the first causality, tugged over your head and tossed aside without care for where it lands. Immediately his mouth is on your bare skin, lips and teeth working down your throat to your collarbone while his hands slide up to cup your breasts through the thin bralet.
The delicate fabric does nothing to hide your peaked nipples straining against it, and the sight combined with the feel of them hard beneath his palms makes him groan low and desperate against your skin. His fingers hook under the elastic, pulling it up with greedy, impatient hands before it can register that he should probably slow down, be more careful with you.
But he can't. His mouth trails lower, hot and demanding as he sucks one nipple between his lips, tongue circling the sensitive peak before his teeth graze it lightly, teasing. Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging. He groans at the sting of it and sucks harder, alternating between your breasts with ravenous attention. Licking, sucking, nipping until both nipples are peaked and glistening with his spit, until you're squirming beneath him and making those breathy little sounds that drive him insane.
His hand palms and kneads the soft flesh while his mouth works, and every arch of your back, every tug on his hair, every whining plea that falls from your lips just winds him tighter. Normally could spend hours here, mapping every response, learning exactly what makes you fall apart.
But it's not enough right now. None of it is enough.
The need burning through Steve's veins is almost painful now, an ache so deep and consuming he can barely think past it. He needs more. Needs all of you. Needs to be inside you with an urgency that's rapidly shredding what little control he has left.
His mouth trails down your stomach, open-mouthed kisses that quickly become bites, small sucks that leave wet heat on your skin. He’s losing the thread of gentleness entirely, hands already at your shorts, fumbling with the waistband for half a second before impatience overrides coordination entirely.
He doesn't mean to - or maybe he does, he can't think straight enough to know - but his enhanced strength rips through the fabric like tissue paper, taking your panties with it. The startled sound you make is half protest, half arousal, because the ease of it, the sheer strength, makes heat pulse between your legs.
"Steve—!"
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he rasps into your skin as he chucks the ruined scraps aside. "I'm sorry, I'll replace them, I promise, I just—" His hands grip your thighs, spreading them wider for him. "I need—I can't—"
But the words die in his throat completely because the sight of your pussy, slick and glistening for him, combined with your scent flooding his heightened senses, makes something in Steve's brain simply stop working. Every coherent thought evaporates, consumed by primal need. He's gone. Completely lost to whatever's burning through his veins.
All that exists is the need to taste you, claim you, bury himself so deep inside you that he forgets where he ends and you begin.
"Look at you," Steve breathes, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip absently, like he can already taste you. "So fucking pretty and wet for me."
His biceps flex as he drags you down the bed effortlessly, hauling you closer with enough strength that a startled gasp tears from your throat. Your thighs end up over those broad shoulders and he settles between your legs like he's exactly where he's meant to be. His breath ghosts hot over where you're aching for him and you arch involuntarily, seeking and retreating all at once.
He's staring at your exposed pussy with an intensity that borders on feral, like you're something he wants to devour. Like's he's been starving for you longer than he'll admit.
Your cheeks burn. Heat pools low in your stomach as you try to squirm away under the intensity of his gaze, suddenly hyperaware of how exposed you are despite how desperately you want this.
"Don't," he growls against your folds, the word a dark, commanding rasp in a tone you've never heard from him before but makes heat flash down your spine.
His arms clamp tighter around your thighs, spreading you wider, pinning you in place easily. Utterly at his mercy. The possessive dominance of his grip steals what little breath you have left.
Then his mouth seals over you and any coherent thought you have dissolves into nothing. There's no teasing; whatever's burning through Steve's veins has burned away every shred of patience. He buries his face between your thighs and devours you like a man who'll die without his mouth on every inch of you.
His tongue drags through your folds in one long, devastating stroke that punches a broken cry from your chest that you barely recognize as your own voice. Steve's answering moan is one of pure relief, rumbling from deep in his chest and vibrating against your cunt. Your hips buck helplessly in his arms as he licks and sucks with focused, consuming desperation, and within seconds you're gasping his name.
Broad strokes of his tongue work through your slick folds, greedy in his pursuit of your pleasure and you're writhing against him, biceps flexing to keep you where he wants you. He finds your clit and sucks it between his lips with perfect pressure, circling the swollen bud with his tongue, and you grind against him shamelessly, fingers twisted so tight in his hair it has to hurt.
But Steve just groans his encouragement and you feel it everywhere, feel the way he's grinding against the mattress below seeking his own friction, aching for a bit of relief from the pressure, while he loses himself completely in the taste of you.
God, the sight of him. All flushed skin and flexing muscle, sweat making his broad shoulders gleam, chin glistening obscenely with your arousal. And those perfect plush lips are pink and swollen now, parted around another appreciative moan that makes you clench around nothing. His eyes are closed like he's savouring you, and when they flutter open to meet yours they're so dark and blown wide with need it sends another pulse of heat straight through you.
The flat of his tongue drags up again, licking up through your folds before spearing inside, and the obscene wet sounds of it mix with your gasping moans and his rough growls. One of his hands shifts from your thigh to spread you wider with his thumb, opening you up so he can fuck you with his tongue properly while his nose grinds against your clit.
The combination makes your back arch violently, pleasure spiking so sharp and quickly it's overwhelming.
"Steve—fuck—Steve, oh my god—" The words tumble out incoherent, your brain shorting out under the onslaught.
But he doesn't slow down. If anything, your babbling spurs him on. Two thick fingers slide into you, curling immediately to stroke that devastating spot while his tongue works in tight, merciless circles.You're shaking now, thighs trembling uncontrollably in his bruising grip, that coil winding tighter and tighter until you think you'll actually break apart from it.
"Need you to come," he rasps against you, and there's desperation in his voice that matches the frantic grinding of his hips against the bed, like making you come is the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. "Please, sweet girl, need to have it."
The raw pleading in his voice is what does it. That broken desperation, the way he's begging you like he needs this more than air, sends you over the edge so hard and fast you don't even have time to warn him.
Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, violent and all-consuming. Your back arches clean off the bed, thighs clamping around Steve's head as you cry out his name - or try to, the sound coming out more like a broken sob. White-hot pleasure explodes through your nerve endings, radiating out from where his mouth is still working you relentlessly, and you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except shake apart in his grip.
But Steve doesn't let up. He keeps his mouth sealed over you, licking and sucking like he wants to devour every aftershock, like he's trying to pull more from you even as you're already flying apart. It's too much, bordering on overwhelming, but when you try to squirm away his arms lock you down harder.
"Stevie—'s too much—I can't—"
He finally pulls back just enough to press open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, your hipbones, working his way up your body as you try to remember how to breathe. His hands roam restlessly over your skin and when he reaches your face his lips are glistening, hair dishevelled from your grip, face flushed and chest heaving.
"Perfect, you're so fucking perfect," he rasps against your mouth, kissing you deeply enough that you taste yourself on his tongue. "But I need to be in you, need it more than I've ever needed anything." His hips grind against you unconsciously, the hard length of him pressing insistently through his boxers, now soaked through. "Need it so bad I can't think, can't breathe. Please, pretty girl, need you so bad I'm losing my mind—"
He's already moving, pushing himself up just enough to shove his boxers down with shaking hands. The elastic catches on his cock and he makes a frustrated sound, yanking the fabric down his thighs and kicking them off entirely. When he springs free, your breath catches.
He's big. Thick and flushed dark, curving up toward his stomach with prominent veins running along the length. The head is already leaking, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, and he's so hard it looks almost painful. Your eyes widen involuntarily as your brain tries to process how that's supposed to fit inside you.
Steve notices your stare, follows your gaze down, and a sound rumbles from his chest that's pure male satisfaction. The visual does something to him, you can see it in the way his pupils dilate even further, the way his jaw clenches, the way the muscle ticks. How much bigger he is than you, how easily he could manhandle you, how small and vulnerable you look pinned beneath all that muscle and raw strength.
"It'll fit," he promises, voice rough and absolutely certain despite the tremor in his hands. He settles between your thighs, caging you in completely with his body, surrounding you with heat and want. "I know I'm big, sweetheart, but you can take me, 'm gonna make sure you do."
One hand drops between your bodies and the thick head of his cock drags through your folds, gathering your slick, and the sensation punches a desperate sound from both of you. Each time he rocks forward your hips chase the friction instinctively.
His mouth finds your neck, lips and tongue working over your pulse before he sucks with an impatience that you know will bruise. You gasp and tilt your head without thinking, offering more, and Steve groans his approval against your skin. Teeth scrape over the sensitive tendon before biting down hard enough to make you whimper, and he soothes the sting with his tongue only to move lower and do it again. Marking you deliberately. Claiming you.
He keeps talking in between - words tumbling out of him like he’s not even talking to you anymore, just spilling whatever delirious need is consuming him.
“Fuck…'m gonna stretch this pretty little pussy open on my cock,” he babbles, almost dazed, eyes locked on where he’s lining himself up with you. “Fill you up so good… so fucking full. You'll feel me for days, sweetheart. Days. Gonna make sure you never forget what it feels like to have me inside you."
He's so hot and hard against you, and when he notches himself at your entrance - just the tip of him pressing in - and even that has you whimpering at the stretch. Your arms fly up to wrap around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as you try to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensation.
Oh god—Steve—" It comes out high and shaky, almost a whine. "Please—"
The plea tears from your throat but you don't even know what you're begging for. For him to go slower? For more? For relief from the burning stretch that's somehow perfect and too much all at once?
"I know, baby, I know," Steve coos against your throat, pressing kisses between words, and there's that desperation threading through his voice again. "Shh, I've got you, pretty girl. Just breathe for me."
But even as he's soothing you his hips press forward incrementally, working himself deeper, and you can feel every thick inch as he pushes in and your body struggles to accommodate him. The stretch burns and you bury your face against his neck with a sound that's embarrassingly close to a sob.
"Wait—Steve, you're too big, I can't—"
"You can," he pants, his voice is strained, shaking with the monumental effort of going slow when everything in him is screaming to just thrust home, to bury himself completely in your wet heat. "You're doing so good f'me. So fucking good. Just a little more—fuck—just need you to take a little more."
His hands grip your hips tight enough to bruise, holding you still while he rocks forward another inch. You're so full already and he's not even halfway in yet, your body struggling to accommodate the sheer size of him, and the whine that tears from your throat makes him groan and press his forehead to yours.
"That's it, that's it," Steve breathes, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your temple - anywhere he can reach. "I know it's a lot, baby. But you're taking me so perfect. Look how good you're opening up for me." Another shallow thrust and you whimper against his mouth, nails raking down his back. "You're doing so perfect. Gonna make you feel so good, I promise. Just let me in, baby. Let me fill this tight little pussy up like you need."
The combination of his words and the relentless stretch is overwhelming in a way that makes your head spin and your nerve endings spark. Your body reacts instinctively, walls clenching tight around the thick length of him already inside you.
Feeling your wet cunt constrict around hi breaks whatever fragile restraint Steve had left. With a low, guttural sound he slams the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust that punches the air from your lungs.
The cry that rips from you is sharp and broken - pain and pleasure so intense they're indistinguishable, blurring together into something that has you arching violently against him. You're so full you can barely breathe, stretched impossibly wide around him, and the sensation is so overwhelming you almost come from that alone.
Your walls flutter and clench around his length, desperately trying to adjust to the sheer size of him. Tears spring to your eyes, spilling over to track down your cheeks.
"Fuck—I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" Steve's voice cracks as he kisses frantically at your tears, lips pressing to your cheeks, your eyelids, the corner of your mouth. "I'm so sorry, pretty girl, I didn't mean to—you just felt so good, I couldn't—"
But even as he's apologizing his hips are already moving, pulling back and rocking into you with needy thrusts. He's not giving you time to adjust, can't seem to stop himself, his body operating on pure need now.
"So tight," he gasps against your skin. "So fucking perfect around me. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I just need—" Another thrust, deeper this time, and you sob against his shoulder. "Need you so bad. Can't stop. Please tell me you're okay, please."
You try to speak. Try to form words through the overwhelming sensation of being so impossibly full but your brain can't form coherent words. All that escapes is a pathetic, whimpering "Stevie."
It's all you can manage before he shifts his hips slightly, angling deeper, and on the very next thrust the blunt head of his cock grinds right against your g-spot.
Pleasure detonates through you so suddenly you can't even cry out, mouth falling open on a silent gasp as he thrusts into you again. Your eyes fly wide, a shocked gasp tearing from your throat as white-hot sensation explodes through every nerve ending.
You're coming before your brain can even register it's happening. Two thrusts, maybe three, and your orgasm rips through you like lightning.
Your whole body seizes, cunt clamping down violently around his cock as you gush around him, soaking his length and making the slide obscenely wet. The sounds falling from your lips are helpless and incoherent, your back arching clean off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure shorts out your brain completely.
"Fuck—oh fuck, that's it, that's it—" Steve's voice breaks on a groan as your walls spasm around him. "Good girl, such a good fucking girl, coming all over my cock—"
You can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except convulse in his arms while your pussy milks his cock with desperate, rhythmic pulses that has Steve following you over the edge. With a guttural snarl he buries himself as deep as he can go as his cock throbs inside you, pulsing violently as the first rope of cum floods your pussy. Then another. And another. And it doesn't stop.
"Fuck—oh fuck!" Steve's voice breaks on a groan, hips grinding into you as he empties himself, and there's so much. Too much. Your walls are coated, flooded, completely painted white with his release, and he just keeps coming. Spurt after thick spurt filling you beyond capacity until you can actually feel it. Hot and excessive and so overwhelming your body can't contain it all.
"Steve—Steve—oh god." You try to squirm away instinctively, whimpering at the overwhelming sensation of being pumped so full. "I can't—there's too much, I can't—"
But Steve's hands lock onto your hips like a vice, fingers digging in bruisingly as he holds you in place and grinds you down harder onto his cock, forcing you to take more.
"Shh, shh, you can," he hushes against your neck, pushes you down harder onto him, forcing himself impossibly deeper even as his cock continues pulsing, and more cum floods into you. "You can take it, sweetheart. Take all of it. Every fucking drop, just a little more."
Cum starts leaking out around the thick base of him, even though he's still buried deep, still pulsing, still pumping more into you. It spills out of you despite how tightly your pussy is stretched around his length, dripping down your ass and pooling on the sheets beneath you.
"Please," You're babbling now, tears flowing freely as you shake your head helplessly. "Steve, please, 's so much, I'm so full."
"Fuck, you're dripping with it," Steve pants against your neck, hips still rocking through the aftershocks, trying to fuck his cum further into your already overflowing pussy. "Taking all of it. Every drop. Knew you could. Knew this sweet pussy was made for me, pretty girl."
His cock gives another violent pulse and you whimper helplessly, completely stuffed, cum sloshing inside you with every tiny shift of his hips.
Your limbs feel boneless, trembling with aftershocks, and you expect him to soften now, to give you both a moment to recover. But Steve doesn't slow down. Doesn't even pause. His cock is still rock-hard inside you and his hips keep moving - pulling back and thrusting in with the same urgent intensity, maybe even more now that you're slick with both your release and his excessive cum.
A broken whimper falls from your lips as oversensitized nerves spark with each thrust. You're so full, so overwhelmed, you can barely process that he's still going, still hard, still needing.
"I know, baby, I know—I'm sorry," He sounds almost pained, teeth scraping over your pulse point before biting down. "I'm sorry, I can't—fuck, just need one more from you—just one more, yeah? Need to feel this perfect pussy clench around me again. Can you do that for me? Please, baby, just one more."
His rhythm picks up, hips snapping forward with primal desperation. You can barely nod, can barely do anything except take it as he pounds into you, the wet obscene sounds of his cum squelching with every thrust filling the room alongside your breathless whimpers and his desperate groans.
But it's still not enough for him. With a frustrated snarl Steve pulls back, and before you can even whine at the loss of him, he's grabbing your legs, pushing them up and back. Your knees press to your chest as he folds you completely in half, and when he sinks back in this new angle has you seeing stars.
"Oh god—" The broken cry tears from your throat as he sinks back in, and he's so much deeper like this. Impossibly deeper.
"That's it—yes," Steve's voice is guttural as he starts moving again. "Need to get deeper, need to—fuck, you feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
You're completely pinned beneath him, folded in half and utterly helpless, unable to do anything but take the brutal pace he sets. The new position has gravity working against you too, his weight pressing you into the mattress, and you're babbling - words tumbling out that don't even make sense.
"Can't—oh god, Stevie, you're—'s too deep, I can't—fuck—s'good—please."
Your hands scrabble frantically at his back, nails digging in and dragging down, leaving angry red crescents that make him hiss and thrust harder.
Sweat drips from his temples onto your chest, your neck, and he leans down to lick it off with a groan, tongue dragging over your heated skin. His hips never stop that relentless grinding, working himself as deep as physics will allow. Driven by something beyond his control to keep fucking into your used, dripping pussy like his life depends on it.
"Taking me so well," he pants into your neck between messy kisses. "Look at you, so good for me. Letting me use this perfect cunt."
One of Steve's hands snakes down between your bodies, finding your clit, and the second his thumb makes contact you cry out - sharp and broken - because you're so oversensitive, swollen and puffy from two orgasms already
"Steve—no, I can't—can't again, 's too much."
"You can," he insists, and his fingers start circling that abused bundle of nerves with just enough pressure. "Can feel you getting tighter already. You're gonna come for me again, pretty girl. Need to feel you squeeze my cock one more time, please."
The stimulation is so intense you need to escape it. Every muscle in your body wants to flee the overwhelming sensation, but pinned beneath him like this there's nowhere to go, no way to twist away. You're utterly trapped, unable to do anything but take it. Take his cock pounding into you and his thumb working mercilessly over your puffy clit until pleasure starts building again despite your body's protests.
"Oh god, oh my god—Steve please." You're sobbing now, tears streaming as sensation builds too fast, too intense.
But your body betrays you. The combination of his fingers and his cock and being trapped beneath him with nowhere to go builds faster than should be possible when you're this wrung out. Your pussy flutters around him, clenching weakly, and Steve groans like it's the best thing he's ever felt.
"That's it, come on, give it to me."
And you do. Your third orgasm rips through you with less intensity than the others but somehow more devastating because you're so oversensitive every nerve ending feels raw. You clench around him with a broken sob, thighs shaking violently where they're pressed to your chest.
But this time when you come down, gasping and trembling, Steve doesn't stop. Doesn't even slow down. If anything he gets more frantic, more desperate, like your orgasm just made the need worse instead of better.
His rhythm gets more erratic, more brutal, like he's chasing something just out of reach and it's driving him insane.
"Not deep enough," he mutters, almost to himself, and there's genuine frustration in his voice. "Still not—fuck—need more, need—"
Without warning he pulls out completely, ignoring your confused whimper, and his hands are on you - gripping, lifting. You barely process what's happening before you're airborne, completely off the bed, and Steve is standing with you in his arms like you weigh nothing.
"Wrap your legs around me," he orders, voice rough, and you obey on complete instinct, the words not even processing in your brain. The moment you do he's lining himself up and pulling back you down onto his cock with brutal force.
The angle is devastating. Gravity works against you, impaling you on his full length, and the depth has you choking on a scream. You can feel him everywhere, so deep and stretching you in ways that shouldn't be possible.
"There—fuck yes, there." Steve's head falls back on a guttural moan as he starts using you, biceps bulging as he fucks you on his cock like you're a toy made for his pleasure. Lifting you up and pulling you back down with ease that should be terrifying but instead has you clenching around him.
You're completely helpless, just a ragdoll as he manhandles you exactly how he needs. Your hands scrabble desperately at his shoulders for any kind of stability. Every time he pulls you down gravity does half the work, driving him impossibly deeper, and all you can do is take it. You can't form words anymore, just needy little sounds as he uses your body.
Your brain is completely gone, drunk on the feeling of him, on being so full, on the obscene wet sounds of his cum leaking out with every brutal thrust and dripping down both of you to splatter on the floor.
"Look at you," Steve rasps, eyes wild as they lock onto where you're joined, watching himself disappear into you over and over. "Fucking look at you taking my cock. So small I can just—" He emphasizes with a particularly brutal drop that has you wailing. "Use you however I want."
Your thighs are shaking violently, muscles screaming, but it doesn't matter because Steve's holding you up effortlessly. Using his strength to fuck you on him at whatever pace he wants, and right now he wants it hard and fast and deep.
"Shh, I know, I know," he coos even as he doesn't slow down at all. "But you're doing so good f'me. My perfect girl, letting me use this tight little cunt. Can feel myself in your stomach, can you feel it? Feel how deep I am?"
You can only whine in response, completely overwhelmed, pleasure bordering on too much but your body keeps responding, keeps clenching around him like it can't help itself.
The last of your strength gives out entirely. Your head lolls against his shoulder, too heavy to hold up anymore, and you're just gone. Completely boneless in his grip, every muscle turned to liquid, unable to do anything except let him use you exactly how he needs. Arms hanging limply around his neck, your legs barely maintain their grip around his waist; if it weren't for Steve's hands on you, you'd slide right off him.
"Can't—can't—Stevie I can't." The words slur together, muffled against the sweat-slick skin of his neck, your brain too fried to form anything coherent.
"I know, baby, I know, almost there." Steve assures, his rhythm getting choppier as he gets closer. "Just a little more, need—fuck—need to fill you up one more time."
His muscles flex and strain as he bounces you faster, using you like you're weightless, like you're nothing but a warm sleeve for his cock. The wet sounds are obscene - cum and slick squelching with every brutal thrust.
You're not even moaning anymore, just making these small broken sounds with every impact, completely and utterly spent. But your body still responds, still clenches weakly around him when he hits that spot deep inside.
"That's it, that's—fuck—" Steve's breath hitches and his grip on you turns almost painful. "Gonna—fuck, I'm gonna—"
His hips slam up one final time, burying himself as deep as gravity and anatomy allow, and then he's coming with a snarl, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. His cock pulses violently inside you and somehow - somehow - there's still more.
Hot thick ropes of cum flooding into your already overfull pussy, and you can actually feel this time, the way it has nowhere left to go, just gushing back out around his length to run down your thighs, down his, pooling on the floor. It's insane. He's already filled you once and yet he's still pumping more into you, his body shuddering with the force of it, and you can only mewl meakly against his throat as he empties himself completely.
His hips slow gradually, the frantic rhythm finally easing as his cock gives one last weak pulse inside you. Steve's breathing is ragged against your hair, chest heaving, but something shifts - you can feel it in the way his grip on you gentles, the way the manic edge bleeds out of his muscles.
The burning under his skin that's been driving him insane for hours finally starts to fade. His temperature drops, the desperate clawing need loosening its grip on his chest, and for the first time since he walked through that door he can actually think.
His cock softens inside you, and the relief that floods through him is so intense it's almost dizzying.
"Shit," he breathes, and his voice sounds like his own again. Clearer. "Oh god, sweetheart, I—"
You make a weak, mewling sound against his neck and Steve's heart clenches with immediate guilt. You're completely limp in his arms, trembling, and guilt crashes through him so hard it nearly takes him to his knees.
"Hey, hey, I've got you," he murmurs, voice going soft and gentle as he carefully lowers himself to sit on the edge of the bed with you still in his lap. His hands, which had been bruising just minutes ago, turn tender as they stroke up and down your back. "You're okay. I've got you now, baby."
He's still buried inside you and he knows pulling out is going to be uncomfortable, so he takes his time. One hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your sweat-damp hair, while the other supports your back.
"Gonna pull out now, okay?" He waits for some sign you've heard him - a tiny nod against his shoulder - before carefully lifting you just enough to slip free. You mewl at the loss, at the feeling of his cum immediately starting to leak out of you, and Steve makes a soothing sound. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, baby. Just let me take care of you now."
He shifts you in his arms, cradling you against his chest like you're something precious, and presses a kiss to your temple. His heart is still racing but it's slowing now, the frantic edge gone, replaced with bone-deep exhaustion and worry.
"You still with me?" he asks softly, pulling back just enough to look at your face.
With gentle fingers, Steve brushes the strands of hair plastered to your sweat-damp forehead, tucking them behind your ear with a tenderness that's almost painful after the brutality of moments before. Your head lolls without the support, too heavy for your exhausted muscles, so his hand slides down to cup your chin, thumb stroking your jaw as he carefully tilts your face up to meet his gaze.
"Look at me, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "Need to see those pretty eyes."
Your lashes flutter, and when you finally manage to focus on him, Steve's chest constricts painfully. Your eyes are glassy, still wet with tears that cling to your lashes, pupils blown wide and unfocused in a way that speaks to exactly how far gone you are. The cloudiness there, the fucked-out haze, it's beautiful and devastating all at once.
Another wave of guilt crashes through him so hard he has to close his eyes briefly against it.
Keeping one hand cupped under your jaw to support your head, he reaches blindly for the nightstand with the other, fingers finding the water bottle you'd brought for him earlier - back when you'd been worried about him, before he'd lost complete control. The thoughtfulness of that gesture, the care you'd shown him, makes his throat tight.
"Gonna get you some water, okay?" He uncaps the bottle one handed, bringing it carefully to your lips. "Small sips, sweetheart. Just a little."
You make a small sound of protest, like even that is too much effort, but he persists gently.
"I know you're tired. But you need it, pretty girl." He tips the bottle carefully, supporting your head with his other hand, and relief floods through him when you part your lips and take a small sip.
The cool water touches your lips and you drink instinctively, slow and uncoordinated, and Steve watches with laser focus to make sure you don't choke. Some of it spills down your chin and he wipes it away with his thumb, murmuring praise the entire time.
"That's it. Good girl. Just a little more."
He coaxes a few more sips into you, before setting the bottle aside. And then his hands start hovering over you like he's not quite sure where to touch, if he should touch. The contrast between how he'd been manhandling you minutes ago and this careful hesitation would be almost funny if the guilt wasn't eating him alive.
"What do you need?" he asks quietly, and there's an edge of desperation to it. "I can—do you want food? A bath? I should probably get you cleaned up." His thumb strokes almost absently along your jaw, the only point of contact he seems to allow himself. "Just tell me what you need, sweetheart. Anything. I'll give you anything."
There's an edge of desperation in the offer, like he's trying to make up for everything, trying to fix what he broke.
With what little strength you have left, you burrow closer into his chest, nose finding the warm curve of his neck, and the small movement seems to surprise him. Your breath ghosts over his skin as you mumble, words slurred with exhaustion but unmistakable.
"Jus' want you," you mumble against his throat, words slurring together. "Don' go."
Steve goes very still. Then something in him seems to unlock, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders, the frantic worry in his eyes softening into something almost reverent. His arms finally wrap around you properly. Securely. Like he's allowed to hold you now.
"Okay," he murmurs, voice rough with emotion. "Okay, baby, I've got you."
Carefully, like you're something infinitely precious, he shifts you both down onto the bed. He rolls onto his side and gathers you against him, pulling you flush to his chest with one arm wrapped securely around your waist and the other sliding up to cradle your head. You immediately melt into him with a soft, appreciative sound that's almost a purr, and Steve feels some of the horrible tension finally start to ease.
"That's it," Steve whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "I've got you, pretty girl. Not going anywhere."
His hand trails down from your hair to stroke along your thigh with soothing, repetitive motions. Soft and steady, like he's trying to ground you both. Another kiss to your forehead, then your closed eyelids, his lips lingering there as you start to drift.
"Sleep, sweetheart," he murmurs against your skin. "I'll be right here when you wake up. Promise."
You make another small sound, already halfway gone, and Steve tightens his arms around you. As your breathing evens out and your body goes completely slack against him, Steve presses his face into your hair and tries not to think too hard about what happens when you wake up. Tries not to wonder if you'll regret this, regret him.
He should probably be planning how to explain what happened. How to apologize for losing control. How to convince you this wasn't just whatever got into his system, that he's wanted you for months, that this meant something.
But exhaustion is pulling at him too, and you're so warm in his arms, and he's too tired to fight the way his body wants to curl around yours like he can keep the world out if he just holds on tight enough.
He'll figure it out in the morning.
For now, he just holds you closer and lets himself have this - your warmth, your weight, your trust - even if it's the only time he gets it.
more mads: thank you so much for reading this absolute filth fest (like… 7k of it is smut. i’m unwell.). i hope you loved it!! if you did, please hit like or, even better, please consider leaving a comment/reblog bc it would genuinely make me grin like an idiot. my leo moon means i will literally perish without external validation. i’m tinkerbell coded. love u <33 p.s. i hope someone got the panic! at the disco reference in the title 🙂↕️
taglist: @juniebjonesin @heldbybarnes @/love-stucky @badbitchsincebirth05 @phoenix-in-writing @tw1sters @blowingbarnes @sassandscribbles @alpinebarnesworld @sheriff-bodecker @buckybsdoll - if you’d like to be added to my taglist, please leave comment here!
CONTENT WARNING. MDNI, fem! reader, law student! reader, lawyer higuruma, 6.9k words, age gap (24&36), fluff & smut, slow burn? game of thrones references, porn with plot, unprotected sex, office sex, rough? sex, sloppy makeouts, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, higuruma is an EATER, spit, praise, choking, pussy spanking, dirty talk, belly bulge, big dick higuruma, he loves eye contact, dacryphilia? he’s mean & cocky if you squint. enjoy!
your pen sits between your teeth as your eyes switch from the thick textbook splayed open on your kitchen island and your laptop screen.
the cursor blinks for the millionth time in your setup word document. countless words plastered in that irritating format of times new roman size twelve that you’ve done a thousand times over.
words mutter under your breath as you multitask in reading, taking notes, and applying the newfound information to your assignment.
“hey, is your prof still asking you guys to take internships?”
your roommate comes from hibernating out of her room, eyes glued to her phone as she saunters over to the kitchen.
you barely catch the words that fly out her mouth, brows furrowing as you look up from your work for the first time in hours. the swivel stool you sat on creaks as you sit up straighter, cringing from how long you held that crouching position.
“uh…. no.” you shake your head, confused as to why she brought it up. she was never the type to dwell on your life as a law student unless overhearing about a case study that seemed ‘too juicy’ to skip out on. “deadline’s like, next week so they’re just talking about the paper due the week after to describe our experience so far.”
“oh.” she says, sounding surprised. “well, did you find anything?”
you hum. “i’ve got an interview tomorrow. it’s multi-hire so i’ve got a good chance. why?”
“nothing really.” she shrugs, taking a breath as she scavenges the freezer, grabbing the first pint of ice cream she sees. “a friend of my cousin works at this law firm and i think she said they’re looking for a temp since she’s going out of the country for a while.”
you nod, chewing on the end of your pen. “send me their info. i’ll check it out.”
so that’s exactly what you do. your roommate helps you exchange information with this friend who you’ve learned to be is a young woman named shimizu. she worked as a assistant for an independent defense attorney, higuruma hiromi.
you’ve heard his name a few times from news outlets, primarily known to take on difficult cases but nonetheless highly skilled and quite honestly a prime example of what you hoped to become as far as talent.
shimizu was going overseas for a little over half a year. that’s entirely way more than what your assignment calls for but you would be paid well plus it could serve as the perfect job to strengthen your experience in law.
it didn’t take much for shimizu to hire you, her eagerness to hurry up and leave was clear. she sent you an email describing her normal routine, things to keep an eye on that higuruma normally forgets and a warning to just be patient for any cases he picks up.
naturally, you were nervous. palms sweating as you clutched your purse and tucked the folder shimizu provided tightly between your arm.
your heels clack with each step you make up into the building then finally, in bold letters, ‘higuruma law office’. you knock, looking around as you wait for a response.
“come in.”
the voice is so deep it sends chills down your spine. anxiety pools your chest as you twist the handle, making slow hesitant steps into the office.
it’s small but not cramping and fairly neat. you continue forward, making your presence known. who you assume to be higuruma sits at a chair, pen scribbling against a paper at an incredible speed.
he doesn’t look up at first, deeply sighing and too focused on the work in front of him. that is until he takes notice of your silence following your entry. his eyes immediately lift, dragging over your attire for a momentary second. “i’m sorry.” he clears his throat, standing then approaching you with his hand out. “how can i help you?”
“i… uhm… i’m y/n.” you meet his hand with a nervous smile. “i’m filling in for shimizu?” it’s embarrassing how unsure you sound as if you hadn’t met shimizu yourself telling you detail for detail about the duties of the job.
his brows furrow slightly as he slowly slips his hand from your weak grip. he checks his watch then runs his fingers through his hair. “right, right. i forgot about that…” he sighs, moreso to himself and then nods, pointing to the empty cubicle beside his. “take a seat, did shimizu already inform you on what we’re currently working on?”
you nod, carefully setting your belongings down and making yourself comfortable on the chair.
“could i see? if you don’t mind.” he stands over you, watching as you turn the monitor on with quickness and log in to your email account, surfing through the important ones you had starred before finally landing on shimizu’s.
higuruma leans over, his presence immediately makes you feel small and you can slightly feel the weight of his chest as he gently grabs the mouse from your hand.
you keep your eyes on the screen, fiddling with your fingers while he looks at the lengthy details relayed. suddenly, he takes a breath then clicks forward and slides the keyboard over.
“looks good.” he finally stands, eyes dropping down to you. “we’ll just be working on that for today. if anything changes i’ll let you know.”
for the first three weeks of working for higuruma goes the same way. coming into the office, saying hello, and him sharing any updates on the current case. some days call for extremely long hours, others are your typical. then there were days like today where you’d be traveling together and have to stay overnight at hotels.
one room, separate beds.you and higuruma hadn’t crossed that bridge of being comfortable with one another just yet. it was still awkward smiles and brief exchanges of conversation only in relation to work.
with the work day being over, you showered and decided to walk around the hotel for a bit, maybe grab a bite to eat. you also brought your textbooks and laptop so you could use the time to study for the baby bar you have coming up.
you sat at a table, eating as you focus on your studies. no more than half an hour passes when a figure approaches your table.
“mind if i sit?”
your eyes lift at the deep voice, widening for a short second as you realize it to be higuruma’s. he stands there in a plain black t-shirt and same colored plaid pajama pants with a plate of food in his hand.
it was different to see him in a more cosy state rather than being suited up. when you focus on the fact he’s still there, tilting his head as he waits on your response you sit up and nod a bit frantically.
“yes—yes, of course. please sit.” you gesture to the seat ahead of you which he takes.
it’s silent for a moment as you’re more frigid now, eyes glued to your book without reading a damn thing. higuruma pops a fry into his mouth, looking around the semi-packed dining area before returning his attention to you. “you’re still in school?”
you nod, “in my first year.”
he raises a subtle brow at that which you don’t even notice considering you’ve found it difficult to always make eye contact with him.
“first year?” he hums, chewing down on another fry. “you’re young.”
“i guess…” you laugh shyly. “it’s not like you’re old.”
he smiles at that, leaning in with his elbows on the table as he continues to take singular bites of his food. “you don’t think so? how old do you think i am?”
you shrug, finally lifting your eyes to scan the features of his face.
he was obviously older than you but you only deduced that from the way he talks and conducts himself yet he didn’t share any facial features that gave away his age.
“thirty?” you squint, not wanting to guess too high and he gets offended.
he chuckles, shaking his head. “no, but i’m honored you thought that low. i’m thirty six.”
“still young.” you smile, dropping your eyes back down.
“so what’re you learning?” he sighs, leaning back again, spreading his long legs to be more comfortable and points at your books.
“nothing really.” you mumble. “just studying for the baby bar.”
“wow…” he nods partially in shock, suddenly thinking of the age gap between you. it’s been so long since his days of staying up all day and all night long when preparing for that exam. “you think you’ve got it? i could help you out.”
you definitely don’t got it. there were still at least another two months before you’d have to take the exam. all the current information you were learning was still processing and quite honestly you had a habit of doubting your skills and weren’t sure if you’d be able to get the score you’re aiming to achieve.
you shake your head at higuruma’s offer. “no, it’s okay. you already have so much going on. i rather not add to that.”
“i’m offering.” he smiles warmly, wanting to assure that it wasn’t a big deal as he crosses his arms lazily across his chest.
it’s only for second that you ogle the surprising size of his bicep when it’s contracted. you shake your head again. “i’ll be fine. thank you though. i appreciate it.”
higuruma hums not pushing any further on the subject. “do you drink?” he asks after swallowing down a bite of his burger.
“sometimes.” you shrug, clicking through your documents of notes that you were hardly paying attention to with higuruma making small conversation.
“would you like to drink now?”
the second time you look at him you see the teasing look in his own as if he’s urging you to loosen up for the night. he’s clearly in the mood to get to know you. perhaps one night of a few drinks wouldn’t be so bad.
“i suppose…” you sport a bashful smile, clicking out of your tabs and shutting down your laptop. you set it aside with your textbooks as higuruma orders your first round of drinks.
it starts off timid as if he’s testing the waters with some cocktails then began to try a little of everything. tropical drinks, shots, beer, and wine. of course you limited yourself to one of each— aside from the shots due to the fact you had a busy day tomorrow but it was surely enough to get you a bit passed tipsy.
higuruma proved to be holding his liquor better than you, smiling fondly as you babble on about the targaryen family line. at first he was curious about a video you were laughing at from tiktok and had to explain it was from game of thrones. you then learned he never watched the show and thought he’d find major interest in it.
you would yap about the politics, power, family, loyalty, and corruption. though once you got to the targaryens, higuruma had to pause at the mention of inbreeding.
“so what’s the difference between velaryons’s and targaryen’s?”
“velaryon and targaryen are house names.” you giggle, toying with your straw. “family lines. being valyrian is like, their racial background.”
“interesting…” he nods, sipping on his rum & coke. “and what’s the relationship between uh… daenerys? and jon?”
“i really shouldn’t be telling you this.” you laugh. “don’t you want to watch it now?”
“…i guess you’re right.” he grins, followed by a sigh as he stretches his arms over his head. “should we watch it tonight?”
you check the time on your phone, it was late. nearing midnight. it was tempting to indulge in a late night watch of one of your favorite shows but you’d probably regret it by the morning.
you bite down on your bottom lip, hiding the smile that wants to show. “it’s late…” you sigh out. “we probably shouldn’t.”
“then let’s start now.” he urges, opening his wallet and dropping a few dollars to cover the tab and allow the server to end their night with a more than generous tip. “c’mon.” he gestures his head, holding his hand out to you.
even with being a little drunk, you still felt shy coming in such close contact with higuruma. as you lifted your hand to connect with his, he guided you through the hotel and it grew quieter upon reaching the elevators.
he’s still holding your hand, waiting for them to open. you attempt to ignore the way his thumb gently brushes against your skin rhythmically and how this must look to bystanders. the thought is cut short when the doors finally split open and higuruma lets go of your hand to palm your lower back.
higuruma follows you in, pressing the floor number. you stand side by side, him humming a soft tune whilst you stare down at your feet to avoid meeting his stare that you could feel burning into you.
it was like a breath of fresh air upon reaching your floor and seeing the doors open. higuruma places his hand to your back again, guiding you down the quiet hall before reaching your room.
he presses the keycard to the sensor, following you in. you take slow steps inside, dropping your laptop and textbook onto your bed.
“what’s it on?” he huffs, turning on the tv.
you make yourself comfortable under the sheets, sighing in relief from the cold. “hbo.”
he surfs for a few seconds before shaking his head. “i don’t think this tv has that.”
“oh…” you frown then look at your laptop. “i mean, we could watch it on my laptop?”
he turns, thinking on what that means.
you both knew that meant laying down on the same bed, next to each other. he rubs his chin in thought. “only if you’re okay with it.”
your body grows hot but you nod slowly, scooting over to make space for him. he eyes the empty space for a few seconds, making hesitant steps forward. “are you sure? we could always watch it another time.”
“…it’s okay.” you spoke softly. “i want to watch it with you.”
he smiles at that, proceeding to lift up the covers and tuck himself under the covers beside you. the immediate warmth of his skin brushes yours and the two of you look at each other the moment he’s settled.
his eye contact is so intense and… unsettling almost that it has chills run down your spine. you want to look away but higuruma speaks up before you can.
“you’re really shy for a future lawyer.”
your brows furrow at his statement. “m’not.”
“you are.” he chuckles, eyes low as he can feel the crash from all the drinks overtake him.
“i think it’s just you.” you boldly argue.
he raises a brow. “yeah? what about me makes you so shy?”
you open your mouth but nothing can follow through especially with him so close you can feel your stomach churn when you catch yourself looking at his lips. “just… shut up.” you huff, grabbing for your laptop.
higuruma laughs, watching you log into hbo, searching for game of thrones. he steps out of the bed momentarily to turn off the lights before you can press start.
you settle the laptop atop both your legs, sighing as you press play on the first episode.
within the first thirty minutes, you fall asleep, your head rested against higuruma’s shoulder. he stayed up through three episodes, thoroughly enjoying the cause of events but forced himself to go to sleep or else he’d be having a rough day.
by the time the morning comes and your alarm goes off, you groan softly, eyes struggling to flutter open. you aimlessly search for your phone, shutting off the annoying sound before laying back down but then you feel a touch of skin.
you fully open your eyes, face twisting in fear at the sight of higuruma in your bed sound asleep. you weren’t that drunk where you didn’t remember wanting to watch game of thrones together but you weren’t sure why he stayed on your bed through the rest of the night.
you poked him, the action immediately waking him up. he breathes heavily, eyes fluttering open. he turns his head to face you. “good morning.”
“…morning.” you mumble, all the slight confidence you gained last night completely gone. though you did feel a certain comfortability now around him.
“sleep okay?” he husks out, lifting himself from the bed.
you nod, nervously twisting the sheets.
he checks the time. it was still early and you wouldn’t be meeting with your client until the afternoon. “do you want breakfast?”
“sure.”
“anything in particular?” he grabs his keys from the nightstand, swinging them around his pointer finger.
“your choice.” you shrug.
he hums. “go shower. get dressed. i’ll be back.”
you do as he says, showering, getting dressed, then eat breakfast with him once he gets back.
the day follows on as planned, you meet with the client, discuss the case, write down details, aim to search for more evidence and layout options.
for the next few weeks, you spent long hours traveling with higuruma to collect more evidence in support of your case. for a time you were able to juggle all the work but the stress of your bar exam coming up was starting to take a toll.
you wanted more time to study but you also had to sacrifice a lot of time to help higuruma. so you start to force yourself to stay up most nights, hardly getting any sleep, caffeine intake drastically rising.
it not only began to present itself through your physical presence but with the way you interacted with higuruma. at first he could understand having been in your position of working between school, studying, and work but as the weeks passed he noticed your decline was starting to affect your work performance.
he’d allow for a few things to slide but not at the risk of a client's future behind bars. so when he asks you a question and you remain too zoned out to answer, he’ll sigh.
“y/n.”
“hm?” you’ll hum, pen twisting between your teeth, completely focused on the textbook laid out.
“look at me.” he commands, tone still gentle as he waits for your eyes to meet his. higuruma was completely aware of your inability to do so but he couldn’t care at the moment. so when you only lift them for a second as if to show you were listening then drop them back to your computer screen he shakes his head with a sigh.
you don’t even notice him stand then come around to palm your chair until he shuts your laptop closed and snatches the pen from your hand. he ignores your surprised reaction. “is this becoming too much for you?”
you frown, opening your mouth to say something but you can’t follow through. instead you shake your head.
he spins you in your seat, forcing you to face him. “can you look at me when i’m speaking to you, please?”
“higuruma, i’m sorry—” you start with a small pout, not listening to what he asked.
“you don’t need to apologize. just look at me.”
it’s silent for a few seconds and you finally flicker your eyes up to look at him. a hand rests on the chair, the other on your desk completely caging you in. you can smell the strong but warm scent of his cologne that radiates off his skin and clothes.
“is this too much for you?” he asks again. “i can give you a break.”
“n-no.” you deny his inquisition. “the work is fine. it’s just… the studying. i’ve got my exam coming up really soon, i’m sorry.”
“it’s fine.” he assures, “look, on the weekends and on our breaks, i’ll help you study. it’s not nice seeing you like this, okay?”
you nod and he stands at his full height, comfortably squeezing your shoulder then patting your head. “take a nap. you look like you need it.”
there was about one more month left until you’d have to take the exam and higuruma keeps through on his promise and dedicates any moment of extra time he has to help you study.
his methods actually allowed you to gain more sleep, balance work more appropriately, and retain the information easier. you genuinely felt like you were learning. you even complimented higuruma on his skills of teaching, claiming that he’d make a great professor.
this continues throughout the month until it was time for the actual day. he helped you study in the morning for a bit, not too much as he didn’t want to override your brain. he got you breakfast and decided to drop you off at the testing site.
“i’ll be right here, okay?”
you nod, looking at him with a solemn smile. you hesitate at first but overwhelmed by your emotions you reach over the console to give him a hug. “thank you…”
he lets out a breath that sounds close to a laugh, hands coming around to circle your body. his palm rubs up and down your back in a comforting motion. “you’ve got this.” he whispers. “good luck.”
you head into the building, gone for a total of three and a half hours. he fell asleep in the car for about an hour until he hears three rampant knocks to the passenger window.
he sees your figure standing there with other individuals following out the building. immediately, he unlocks the door, watching you hop into the car without a word.
“how do you think you did?” he sighs, turning the ignition of the car.
you can only shrug, anxiety riddled through your body. passing was the only option for you. you opted out in taking it the first month the exam is taken so you’d have more time to study. this was your last chance or else you wouldn’t be able to advance in your studies.
higuruma takes in your worrisome expression, reaching his hand out to gently squeeze your shoulder. “should we go out for some drinks?”
you let out a small laugh, looking at him and nodding.
the two of you settle for some small bar, doing the same as before. indulging in every kind of drink but still keeping limitations. eventually, higuruma suggested to watching game of thrones and you in your slightly drunk state of mind couldn’t deny.
you end up at his home because you were too scared of what your roommate might say if you brought higuruma home. you step into the threshold, eyes wide as you stare around in awe.
“why is it so empty?” you giggle, noticing the lack of… anything.
it was as if he simply bought the house and disregarded buying any furniture, dishes, and utensils. does he even live here? was your initial thought as you scavenged through his pantry, cabinets, and refrigerator only to find nothing that could saturate your hunger.
“i spend most of my time at the office.” he huffs, tugging off his suit jacket and tossing it on his sofa. “i mainly come back here to shower and change clothes.”
you hum, clutching your purse as you continue to look around, dragging your fingers along surfaces.
that’s sort of become your lifestyle too now. you’ve no doubt seen higuruma more than your own roommate— which supported why you definitely couldn’t bring him over without warning.
he steps towards you, pointing to your purse and jacket. “would you like to shower?”
“that’d be nice…” you nod, handing him your belongings to toss with his jacket.
he grabs an extra towel he luckily had and his pajamas for you to wear since you didn’t have any clothes of your own. “i plan to order some food, do you want anything in particular?”
“dealer’s choice.” you smile at him. he nods, leaving you to shower as he picks on what to eat. you shower for about half an hour as you spent half of that time snooping around his restroom for any indication of a woman being here.
it was surely none of your business but you couldn’t help but find yourself intrigued by higuruma. naturally, amongst the things you wondered about was if he shared a life with someone. though it should’ve been obvious with the way he never spends his time at home and the simple fact of you being here.
you dried yourself off, putting on his clothes and unsure of where to put the used towel, you walk into his bedroom searching for a hamper. though you find yourself eager to just look around. there wasn’t much to find except for the basics.
you open his closet and find a wide range of suits all in black and white along with his pajamas that were the same color. he also had a distinct collection of watches and cologne.
you end up spraying the different fragrances into the air, adoring the mixture of them being woody, earthy, and citrusy. you take one, spraying it onto yourself.
“having fun?”
you turn fast on your feet, startled by his voice. he sports a teasing smile and you can’t help but feel your body grow hot in embarrassment. “um… sorry…” you laugh nervously, placing the cap back on to the cologne and settling it back in its original spot.
he shakes his head, fond of how you looked, “it’s alright. i ordered chinese.” he then hands you the remote to the tv and his phone for you to track the food. “log in to hbo. i’ll go take a quick shower.”
you nod, heading back out and taking a seat on his sofa. you log into hbo and as you waited, you ended up using his phone to scroll through tiktok. you definitely could’ve used your own but it felt more fun to use his considering the fact he didn’t even have the app in the first place.
the food arrived and within ten minutes after higuruma was done with his shower, fully dressed. he was wearing the same thing as you with the exception of his clothes looking larger on your frame.
he takes a seat beside you, spreading out the arrangement of food he bought on the mini table he had. you press play on the show and hour after hour you felt happier, completely forgetting that you even had an exam today. forgetting that you spent months worrying about this very day all thanks to higuruma.
you always grew a certain amount of courage after drinking so it went without a thought for you to sigh after feeling full then lean sideways to rest your head on his shoulder.
“thank you for today.” you mumble, eyes glued to the screen.
higuruma’s sprawled back, legs spread until you lean against him.
he doesn’t want to think too hard about the current proximity, simply enjoying the moment as he throws an arm around you so you’d feel more comfortable snuggling up to him.
“you deserved it.” he squeezes you gently and you don’t say anything in response, just cozying up to him some more.
from that day, you and higuruma grew closer than ever and you began to notice that you often thought about him, smiled at him more, opened up, and gained the courage to look at him longer.
with every compliment, touch, and night that you spent at his house watching game of thrones whilst eating food, there was no denying that you shared particular feelings for him.
and as the weeks past, you began to wonder what you should do with these feelings until the time came where the scores for the bar exam were out. the two of you were sat in the office per usual, and you received an email notification describing that the scores for the exam were out and where to check them.
you swallowed thickly, logging in to your admissions portal.
“did you ever get a copy of the prosecution's discovery?” higuruma asks, mindlessly flipping through a file.
his question is followed by silence and he’ll lift his head. “y/n?”
upon the continuous silence, higuruma rolls on his chair, peeking his head over to your cubicle to see you hiding your face and your shoulders shaking. concerned at the sight, he stands, and approaches you to palm your shoulder and that’s when he begins to understand that you’re crying when a fragile sob falls past your lips.
his heart burns at the broken sound. “what’s wrong?” his eyes lift to your monitor and see the familiar page of the exam results. he scrolls through the letter to see you’ve passed.
a laugh of relief spills from his throat, glad that your reaction isn’t due to any devastating news. his hand circles around your wrist and tugs at it. “come here.”
you slowly stand, allowing your emotions to flow upon feeling his arms encircle you tightly. you’ll cry into his chest, managing to thank him through your tears. he’ll shush you, rubbing at your back and cradling the back of your head.
“you did such a good job.” he murmurs into your hair.
he continues to mumble praises into your hair and ear, holding and consoling you until your crying has calmed down. once he hears you letting out small breaths to control your breathing, he pulls back, wiping at your tear stained cheeks. “i’m so proud of you.”
your body grows hot at the compliment paired with his stare as he gently cups your cheek, thumb swiping across the skin.
you let out a shaky breath, not sure if it was from your crying or that feeling pooling between your legs. your eyes drop down to his lips then back up to his eyes. higuruma does the same and you can’t help but curl your fingers around his dress shirt.
both of your breathing picks up and neither of you are sure of what to do in this moment. you can feel his free hand drop from your back then down to your waist as you each exchange flickering looks between your lips and eyes.
“higuruma…” you breathe out and he shakes his head, closing his eyes then pressing his forehead to yours.
“hiromi.” he corrects, switching his hand that cups your cheeks to palm the back of your neck. “my name… say it. that’s all i need.”
you fight the whine that bubbles in your throat, gripping tightly onto him as you open your mouth. “hiromi…”
he gives in at the immediate desperation his name holds, roughly pressing you against him so your lips could meet.
the two of you have your hands moving everywhere along your bodies and a gasp rushes from your lungs as he frantically lifts you onto the desk.
items clatter everywhere as he knocks them away whilst dipping his tongue into your mouth. it’s frantic and eager the way your mouths clash together. soft groans and moans spilling into the air as papers crumble beneath your figure.
you kick off your heels as hiromi hikes your skirt around your hips, pressing your back against the surface and knocking your legs open with his knees, revealing the lace panties hidden underneath them.
he presses himself against you with a rough groan, one hand hoisting your leg at his waist, whilst the other taps your cheek then grips your face to press into them. “open.”
your jaw widens, and hiromi hums before spitting in your mouth then leaning in to connect your lips again.
he’s hard and big.
it’s all you can think of as your tongues mesh together in perfect harmony.
weeks of built up feelings that you both tried so hard to fight all falling at the seams. you reach up to tug at his black roots as he unconsciously ruts himself against your clothed core.
you take advantage when he finally pulls away, a string of saliva following with him. his lips are swollen and covered in spit as he leans down to kiss along your jaw, then suck at the skin of your neck. you pant feverishly against his ear, gripping tighter onto him each time his bulge connects with your clit just right.
deep shaky breaths fly through his nose as rolls his hips, eyes squeezing tightly from the tightness building in his pants. it felt so fucking good to hear those soft whimpers and moans escape your lips. “feels so good.” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours. you two practically rubbing against each other like bunnies in heat without even starting the main course.
you whimper feeling yourself clench around nothing. your hands grasp for higuruma and he hums, kissing just below your ear. “gonna cum?”
you nod, mouth slacked open as he breathes harshly against your neck. “that’s okay, sweetheart.” he huffs, using his free hand to travel down between your bodies. fuck, he thinks the moment his fingers feel how drenched your panties are. your eyes blow wide as he pinches your clothed clit then rubs in tight circles. “you can cum, it’s okay.”
“oh my god.” you tremble and writhe against his lengthy figure, clawing at his back and arms as you feel lost on what to hold on with your orgasm building every second.
he stops the movement of his hips, grasping your neck so you’d be staring straight at him as he picks up the pace of his fingers. “come on.” he licks his lips, maintaining the eye contact he forces you to hold. “i wanna see you. you’re almost there.”
“hiromi—” you choke on the air, threatening to close your eyes but he shakes your head, warning you to keep them open as your body trembles from the euphoria that overcomes you.
“good job.” he wipes at your forehead and cheeks, standing to his full height. you use his tie to lift yourself up, meeting your lips again and immediately sloshing your tongue with his. while he fumbles to unbutton your shirt you do the same then aggressively toss off his tie. his large hands grope at your breast before unclipping your bra to flick and twist at your nipple. you moan into his mouth, fingertips caressing the light muscles of his abs.
he finds it quite amusing how you flinch with each twist and tug but nonetheless you let him continue his worship of your body. he leaves your skirt cinched around your waist, squeezing your hips then slowly tugs your panties down your legs.
you can’t imagine what he plans to do next until he drops both his hands behind your thighs, pressing them down as far as he can before bending down to dip his head between your legs.
his tongue flattens against your leaking hole, sucking up all slick your pussy produced. you reach straight for his hair, choking on a moan. “w-wait, i can’t.” you tell him, quivering at the sudden sensation. it certainly didn’t help with how big his nose is, he had the advantage to nudge it against your clit each lick and suck.
“i just want to taste you.” his voice vibrates against you, eliciting a strangled moan out of you. “is that okay, love?” he pulls back momentarily, mouth and nose coated in your juices as he presses a kiss to either side of your thighs.
what gets you is the fact he genuinely waits on your response. you nod feebly and he presses a kiss to your clit. “thank you.” is all he says before continuing his actions. your eyes immediately squeeze shut and you’re not sure if you’re trying to push his head or pull him closer. regardless, your back arches off the desk, pulling at his hair as he holds you down to prevent any more of your squirming.
a sound of absolute satisfaction rumbles in his chest and higuruma loses himself in your taste. he’s quite filthy really. you would’ve never expected him to be the type of man that relentlessly switches between licking, spitting, and sucking the way he does. a small pool of liquid has likely formed under you by now.
“r-romi, m’ gonna cum.” he hears, feeling the way you buck up against his mouth and quite literally has to force himself off you at the announcement. he seethes in a breath, huffing and puffing, licking around his mouth.
higuruma stands straight again, unbuckling his belt, letting out a soft breath as he no longer feels constricted. your eyes fall when he drops his pants and briefs. shit. i mean, you figured he was big but not that fucking big.
you yelp as he pulls you to the edge of the table, slapping his thick cock against your drooling hole that pulses around nothing.
“can i?” he collects your mess between his fingers, spreading your folds and gliding his shaft between them.
you nod but higuruma shakes his head then grips your neck to pull you up. “tell me, sweetheart. can i?”
“p-please.” you look up at him, all doe eyed and desperate. his hand squeezes your neck and keeps you looking at him as he uses his other hand to pull you closer, prodding in just the tip then slowly pushes himself into your warm, gushing cunt. your mouth slacks open at the stretch, gasping for air as higuruma squeezes tighter from the way you sporadically clench around his length.
he’s only halfway in and it’s taking all his energy to not cum. your pussy is torturously sucking him in, so much so a quivering grunt echoes from his chest. he pats your thigh in response. “ease up, it’s just me, darling.” he tells you, and you want to laugh at how serious he’s being. ease up? not fucking possible when at least eight inches length and formidable girth was pushing itself into you.
once he’s finally filled to the hilt. your legs cross around his hips, grasping his wrist, preventing him from squeezing too tight on your throat. “you’re always such a good girl… so smart and beautiful.” he praises, leaning in to peck your lips then follows with butterflies kisses along your jaw and neck then comes back up to meet your lips again. your mouths twist slower, fiery and brimmed with passion to distract you from the roll of his hips.
“so warm.” he moans against your lips, biting down and sucking on your bottom one. he finally lets go of your neck, pushing you on your back again then clasping both thighs as leverage to pummel himself deep into your pussy. he groans along to your whimpers and moans, dark eyes focused on the imprint that shows itself on your stomach with every thrust.
his light abs glisten with sweat, his brows furrowed as he zones into the way he disappears in and out of your pussy that sucks him in and coats his base white.
papers crumble beneath your fist as your moans are pulled closer together, the indication that your orgasm was fast approaching. the effect likely to be huge since you already had your first and was denied your second. hiromi grunts, fixing you into a mean semi-mating press, legs over his shoulders as his balls mercilessly slap against your skin to echo around the office space.
“gonna cum.” you quiver but higuruma smacks your clit as if that’s supposed to help.
“hold it.”
“i-i can’t.” you look at him, pouting.
his eyes snap up to meet yours and he smacks you again. “hold it.”
he somehow moves faster and harder, harshly breathing with sweat beading down his temple. after a minute, you’re completely spent, eyes watering as you shake your head. “romi, please. i can’t hold it.”
“shhh.” he huffs, pressing his palm over your mouth, viciously chasing the high of his orgasm. he rolls his eyes shut, sticking two fingers into your mouth. “go. hurry up and cum.”
it’s only a few seconds after his command that your waves come crashing down, body yearning to close upon itself due to the overstimulation but higuruma keeps you spread open, still thrusting for what feels like over a minute.
he pulls out, a hand immediately coming to pump at his length, the other angling your body just right so when he forces your mouth open, hot spurts of his cum land on your breasts, chin, and tongue.
hiromi takes a breath that sounds like he’s inhaling fresh air, squeezing at his tip to extract every ounce of his fill. he takes a good and long look at your weak body, collecting his remains that landed on you to push back into your mouth.
“so beautiful…” he cups your cheek, holding you upright since you clearly can’t. “you alright? did i hurt you?”
“no… i’m okay.” you mumble, staring up at him as if he held up the moon and stars. “was i?… okay?”
“absolutely, love.” his brows furrow, gently caressing your skin as he looks at you. “more than okay. perfect.”
you smile shyly at that and he has a similar question on his mind as he helps in cleaning you up. “are we okay?”
“am i okay for you?”
hiromi has begun to understand your naturally shy and timid nature but it also crossed his mind that your sense of overthinking would come into play with your age gap.
it wasn’t drastic of course but he would never want to put you in a position that made you seemingly uncomfortable.
you nod with a small smile, gripping his bicep and pulling him in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “more than okay… perfect.”
𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 𝑨𝑵𝑶𝑵𝒀𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑨𝑺𝑲𝑬𝑫: hi! can i please request a remus x reader in which the reader has always had a huge crush on him, but thought the feelings were unrequited? she lets the secret slip to lily & marlene and somehow it gets back to remus who finds it very endearing and teases her a bit?
𝑾𝑨𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺: shy!reader, playful teasing, the pet name mouse, some suggestive dialogue but nothing explicit.
𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀: the reader has always had a huge crush on remus. the girls find out and marlene accidentally lets it get back to remus.
𝑨/𝑵: thank you for your request, lovely anon! i’ve luckily got a few requests that i’m working on, so thank you all for being patient with me. i also want to say thank you for all of the love on my last post! i was very nervous about my first post and i received so much love and support! requests are still open, and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!
there’s a teasing touch to remus’s voice as he slides into the seat beside you. you glance at him out of the side of your eye as you take your potions textbook out of your bag, placing it gently on the table. a huff leaves your lips.
“are you lot ever gonna let that go?” you frown, crossing your arms as you turn to him.
there’s a soft smile playing on his lips, and a chuckle from sirius behind him as he joins the pair of you at the table.
“never gonna forget the look on mcgonagall’s face when she turned around,” says sirius brightly. you scowl at him, wanting to wipe the stupid amused grin right off of his face.
animagus reader finally letting James cuddle with her, I beg pls
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7
so like this was requested based on the animagus!reader x sirius series but sirius isn't even in this-? he's mentioned once but you can absolutely read this as a james x reader blurb so that's what I've tagged it as.
--
A rather hearty round of James's hacking cough is what finally persuades you, pity tugging at your heartstrings even as you'd tried ignoring the gentle thrums for the solace of your current read.
It's no use, and you suppose as James's Sirius-Black-Appointed ULN (un-licensed nurse), you owe him comfort if you can't find a cure.
Your transformation doesn't hurt, but it doesn't feel good, either. At best, it's weird, and you shudder slightly as your hands-turned-paws hit the wood floor of their dorm.
You're silent as you cross the floor to James's bed, stealth one of your strong suits even if height is no longer. Your agility helps balance that out, and you jump gracefully to land on the end of his bed, carefully avoiding his feet at the end.
He's sleeping, or, trying to, his face flushed in some places, and sickly with pallor in others. His breathing is shallow and weak, and you wish him a speedy recovery, because even if his illness isn't life-threatening, it's clearly miserable.
You alert him to your presence with a gentle knock of your head against his jaw, and his chest creaks with a raspy inhale as his tired eyes flutter open. He peers groggily at you, quite possibly believing you're a hallucination, but you meow softly, tucking yourself beneath his chin and pumping soothing purrs into his feverish skin.
You politely ignore the weak cough that smashes through his throat, clearing his mouth of words before he can say them, but when he recovers, you feel his hand come up to clutch your small head to his chest.
"Thanks, love." He croaks, body shifting to envelop your furry form, "Gotta- ugh," He sniffles, hard, dislodging something that must be blocking his airways, "Gotta get sick more often if this is the only way I'll get a cuddle from you."
Animagus reader and Sirius playing in their animal forms and Sirius accidentally being a little too rough since his form is obviously a lot bigger? He’s super apologetic and while the damage isn’t a big deal at all, reader is like “… I guess this means you owe me a lot of sweater cuddles and to carry me in your bag..” to milk it LOL
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8
--
Sirius curses the fact that he'd chosen to bound over the grounds with you instead of staying hidden in the shadows of the forest. It means that when his massive form crashes down on top of you after you nip at his front paw, that neither of you can immediately transform to assess the damage. You're in full view of the castle and the accompanying grounds, and he has to fight every urge in his body not to give himself away and shift back at your pained yelp.
He panics, cycles through fight and flight and decides neither will do, then ever-so-gently takes the scruff of your neck between his teeth. He's painstakingly careful, whining apologetically in his throat as he secures you in his maw and bolts for the forest. You haven't made any further outcries, not even when his grip on you had shifted your position, and Sirius takes it to mean that he hasn't maimed you too badly. He still doesn't feel good about it, though, and his paws beat roughly over the earthen forest as he searches for a place to hide.
When he's carried you well within the sprawling confines of the forest he lowers his head to the ground, setting you gently on the mossy dirt.
When you don't immediately transform back, your eyes scanning the trees for potential onlookers, he nudges you with his wet snout, snuffling softly against your fur. It's safe.
You let your transformation seize you, limbs cracking though there's no accompanying pain, and fur retracting and morphing into soft, smooth skin. You wind up splayed over the forest floor and quickly right yourself so that your back is against the tree, and Sirius completes his own transformation only seconds later.
His eyes are round and shining with worry, and you marvel at how he's able to pull such perfect puppy dog eyes even after shedding his canine form. He scans you for visible injuries, lips trembling slightly as he asks, "Darling, are you okay?"
"My wrist hurts," You observe, voice pinched in pain as you raise it. There's a slight ache there, nothing that a day of use won't shake away, but Sirius takes it between his fingers like it's shattered glass that he's afraid might cut him.
"I'm sorry!" He gushes, inspecting the skin there like it might just give up and split in two, "Darling, I'm sorry, I didn't- I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you- is it okay? Do we need to go to the hospital wing?"
You flex it in his grip, once, twice, and already the slight pain eases. You shake your head, but he perceives it as an answer for the wrong question, and his eyes light further with a flaming worry.
"No, I'm- it's okay, Sirius." You assure him, brows still furrowed together at the middle, "I don't need the hospital."
"Are you sure?" He verifies, a nervous glimmer still sullying his handsome features. You nod, twisting your wrist in his grip to take hold of one of his hands, squeezing it reassuringly.
"Yeah, I'm sure," You nod, shifting your legs to plant your heels against the ground, "Help me up?"
He scrambles to fulfil your request, hauling you to your feet and right into his arms. He holds you against his chest, touch excruciatingly gentle against your skin.
"You're sure you're okay?" He asks, and for a third time, you nod.
"Yes, Sirius," You laugh, planting your face into the seam of his button-up, "Yes, I'm okay. It only hurt for a second. I just twisted it or something. It's fine, I'm fine, we're fine."
"Okay." He smooths a hand up your back, nodding along to your repetitive reassurances, "Okay. I'm sorry."
"It's alright," You hum, wishing you were back in your feline form as you press your face into his chest. It's more soothing then, and you can hear the beat of his heart much clearer when you're a cat.
"You gotta make it up to me, though." You muse expectantly, and his arms stiffen around you, "Three whole days of carrying me in your bag without complaining."
"Three?" He asks incredulously, "One! Two, if you're lucky. Three is for hospital wing patients."
"Ah, my wrist," You feign injury, slumping against his chest as he fills the forest with the sound of his deep laughter, "Sirius, hospital wing, stat!"
Could i request another part to animagus cat reader where reader cuddles with Remus during winter instead of Sirius because its cold and he runs warmer?? Like he'll be in the common room reading in an arm chair while reader catnaps on his lap while being pet and Sirius tells him to stop stealing his gf and James is jealous/whiny that he doesnt get to have cat snuggles.
part 1 / part 2
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Despite the two blankets layered in an inviting nest on Sirius's lap, Remus is the warmest person in the room. The fire crackes on its logs, offering scorching heat, but what you seek is gentle warmth, and you've found it between Remus's sweater and his undershirt. You're splayed over his chest much like a baby would be, your paws stretched out against his shoulders and your head pressed face-first into his chest. His sweater is tight enough that it holds you in place, and you don't have to worry about falling. It means that you're able to fully relax, and Sirius can hear your rampant purring from where he sits on the couch with a sour scowl on his face.
"If you just wore warmer clothes, you wouldn't be pissy right now," Remus muses, not bothering to grace the man with a glance away from his novel, "She only likes me 'cause my sweater is warm."
That's not entirely true. While Remus does tend to dress for comfort, and Sirius for style, Remus runs naturally hotter than your boyfriend. You don't have the heart to tell him that, though, so you mewl in agreement to Remus's statement.
"Sweaters are dumb," Sirius spits, and no one bothers to mention that he has a small collection of them for the snowy days on the grounds, "I look better in leather."
"Your loss," Remus shrugs, and to add insult to injury, reaches up to scratch a spot behind your ears that only makes your purring louder.
"This is bullshit," Sirius finally huffs, breaking his facade of gloomy indifference, "Prongs, get over here."
James, all too eager to help out his friend and soak up affection to boot, has no problem tipping over sideways to lay in Sirius's lap.
But the man lifts James's head out of his lap by his curls, "No, no, no, not James. Prongs."
"You want me to-?" James asks, but doesn't dare finish, because the prospect of transforming right in the common room sends a shiver of mischief down his spine that he'd be a fool to question, "On it."
"Yeah. Yeah, yeah," Sirius nods, sneering haughtily at Remus, "You're not the only one that's good for a cuddle, Moony. Look at this," He gushes, as James begins his transformation, skin giving way to tight, short fur and enormous antlers that nearly grate against the stone walls around you.
"Oh, he's a perfect fit." Remus nods resignedly, content to continue rubbing at your ears rather than chastise his friends for trying to fit a stag on a loveseat, "Yeah, that'll work nicely- ooh, careful Sirius, almost got stabbed there."
Sirius dodges a prong off of James's antlers, taking them in his hands and holding James's head steady as the oversized buck folds his knobbly knees into Sirius's lap. The back two can't make it, but James fits them clumsily onto the cushion, maintaining his balance out of dramatic willpower rather than the laws of physics.
You decide once they settle that they're no longer in need of your attention, so you turn your head back towards Remus and burrow your face back into his warm chest. You feel it shake with mirth beneath you, presumably at an overdramatized reaction from the two boys opposite you, but you can't bring yourself to care; sleep is at the forefront of your brain in this form.
"Yeah, get real cozy!" Sirius insists, calling so that you can hear him through Remus's thick sweater and beneath the weight of his hand on your ears, "Whatever! We're cozy over here, too, 'never been more comfortable- ah! Prongs, watch the hooves!"
Omg could we get another part of animagus cat reader and Sirius? Maybe they’re napping together and the boys try to take cat reader as a joke/because they’re curious while she’s sleeping and she suddenly transforms back as they pick her up LOL. Sirius is grumpy to be woken up/have their special time now exposed hehe
part 1
--
Sirius's bedcurtains are drawn, a clear sign that James and Remus should grant him some privacy.
Unfortunately, James Potter has never been one to take hints, and Remus strictly stays out of their shenanigans. It's only when James gasps with the entire capacity of his lungs that Remus peers curiously over at the bed in the corner, intrigue piqued when he finds a newly familiar form curled up on Sirius's chest.
"That cat!" James hisses, and he's particularly lucky that Sirius is laying on his side with your chin nuzzled over his ear, or the boy would have heard him. Instead, it's you that wakes, eyes blinking open wide as you stare at the men staring back down at you.
"Hi, darling," Remus hums softly, reaching out a tentative, scarred hand to hover it near your nose. You don't need any time for inspection before butting your head up against the heel of his palm, and he grants you a warm chuckle and scratches behind your ears. When you're not transformed, the feeling of someone toying with your hair is entirely unwelcome. But now you lean into Remus's touch, slumping relaxed once more over Sirius's ear.
"Stop hogging her," James urges, sticking his own hand less ceremoniously beneath your nose, "I want a turn."
Remus concedes with an exasperated grimace, but lets James take over anyways. He's lucky that you're you and he doesn't even know it, because if he'd tried petting any other cat by jamming his fingers into their neck, he'd be walking away with several scratch marks on his arms. But you forgive him as he tries petting you too similarly to how he pets Sirius in the man's own animagus form, all riling strokes and heavy-handed pats. You let out a soft mewl of protest when he tries picking you up, and Remus mutters something about you being the most patient cat in the world.
"Just leave her alone, James," Remus warns his friend, "Her patience is gonna wear out."
He listens for only a second, then decides he knows best.
"S'alright, Moony," He promises his friend, over-confident and too eager for affection he hasn't earned yet, "She's layin' all over Sirius, clearly wants a cuddle. You snooze, you lose, now it's my turn."
James's hand slides to your underbelly, an area you're not fond of being handled at in this form. Annoyance surges through you, prickling at your fur and making you long for the smooth expanse of your human skin again, an urge that you give into without much thought when James tries prying you off of Sirius's face.
There's a lot of noises at once. A pained yelp from Sirius, when you form suddenly weighs a lot heavier on him than it was when you'd laid down. A 'woah!' from James as your fur gives way to soft skin beneath his hands which he quickly retracts. A soft gasp from Remus who hadn't been expecting the rather unpleasant sound of transforming between bodies.
Two sets of eyes regard you with incredulity, and one blinks slowly beneath you, laden with drowsiness.
"It's you," James breathes, an air of amazement in his voice that shouldn't be there; after all, he's an animagus as well. Surely he should have noticed shifty behavior or a change in mannerisms from you. All of a sudden your preference for Sirius's softer, fluffy sweaters makes sense.
"Yes, it's me." You huff exasperatedly, perched precariously on Sirius's once-sleeping form. He's not pushing you off but you're sure it's not comfortable, so you slide yourself in front of him instead, easing back against him and letting him spoon you.
"Cat's out of the bag," Sirius rasps sleepily beside your ear, and you don't have to look at him to know he's grinning at his rather pitiful joke, "Did he try to pick you up?"
"Right around the stomach," You gripe, glaring at James while Sirius wraps his arm around the very portion of your body you'd just forbidden James from touching, "Like a toddler."
"For the record," Remus calls, "I was nice to you."
"I was nice too!" James gawps, "I just wanted a cuddle."
"Get your own girlfriend," Sirius drawls lazily, his face buried against the back of your head, and maybe it's a biting statement considering one Lily Evans is still firmly opposed to the presence of James in her life. Sirius knows, and amends it, "Or crawl into Moony's bed. I don't care, "Jus' keep your hands off m'girl."
ohhh imagine the readers animagus is a cat but only sirius knows. so the others just keep seeing sirius with this cat and hes always playing with it, like the cats always purring on his lap and they're just so confused because he hates cats?? and its just yours and sirius' way of just being together without having them all make fun of you both. i just think that's so cute 🫠🫠
Neither James nor Remus are able to fathom why Sirius is dangling the sleeve of his sweater over a cat's face right now, and it's driving them mad. Sirius is a self-proclaimed hater of cats, something to do with his dog counterpart and its clash with felines. He's sneered at every pet cat within the walls of Hogwarts, so why he's scooping this one into his arms with a beaming smile on his face, they have no idea.
"Hi, darling." He croons, rubbing his nose against the cat's fur, "Oh, what a pretty thing you are. Gorgeous eyes, y'know? And a gorgeous face, too, no matter what."
James goes to say something' Remus can tell by the way he leans forwards. But he shoots out a hand to stop the boy, dragging his head closer to speak into his ear.
"Don't say a word. Don't interrupt him, it might break whatever trance he's in."
"This is absurd," James watches as Sirius smothers the cat's tiny face in kisses, "Is that really him? Did someone take Polyjuice Potion? God knows he sheds enough hair, wouldn't be too hard to brew."
"I can hear you," Sirius scoffs, and oh, they've forgotten about his spectacular canine hearing, "For your information, this is me. This cat's just different."
"Different." Remus echoes warily, "Alright. Any reason why?"
Sirius grins down his nose at you, keeping you trapped tightly to his chest as you purr alongside his beating heart. You blink slowly at him, and with all of the love in your little feline body, smear your face across his sweater.
"No reason," He doesn't spare his friends a glance when he answers them, instead watching as you begin drifting off against his chest, "Just special, that's all."
ok more animagus reader and sirius thoughts what if every morning reader wakes sirius up by sneaking into the boy’s room and meowing 😭💕as much as sirius and the boys say they hate it deep down they think it’s very cute
part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / part 6 / part 7 / part 8 / part 9 / part 10 / part 11 / part 12 / part 13 / part 14
--
Slipping into the boys' dorm is easy enough. The more difficult part is finding a suitable perch, but today Sirius is laying on his stomach with his face turned sideways towards the wall of his dorm, so you plant your paws firmly into his shoulder. It gives you a satisfying sense of superiority, standing tall over him.
With very little regard for the wellbeing of Sirius's eardrums, or his roommates', for that matter, you let out a sound that you'd classify as a meow, but that Sirius classifies as a shout.
Perhaps it is prolonged and forceful and more vowel than consonant. Perhaps it is reminiscent of an emergency siren, blaring inches from his ear and rousing him from what you're sure had been a very warm, pleasant sleep. Perhaps it is several decibels louder than it needs to be, especially considering Sirius is a light sleeper to begin with, and a cool breeze could successfully rouse him.
But perhaps it is fun, feeling Sirius's shoulders buck beneath you and digging your claws into his sleep shirt to stay on. He wakes with a strangled yell that blends terribly with your ongoing mewl, creating a symphony fit for only the deepest pits of hell. Remus and James aren't far behind him, waking in the commotion and swearing and groaning alike.
All three are more than used to your rather rude wake-up calls, and all three adamantly swear that they are going to start locking their door at night. But day after day you find it unlocked, and Sirius wraps an arm around your small, furry body, dragging you under the covers like he does every day, letting you soak up the heat lingering beneath the blankets.
"You're the devil," Sirius informs you, his voice thick with both sleep and irritation, "What do you have against sleeping in?"
"I'm gonna kill her." Remus vows, but you're more than used to the man's grouchiness, especially early in the mornings, "I mean it, Pads, you'd better keep her away from me. I'm a werewolf, y'know. Would be real easy to stage an accident."
"Hear that, darling?" Sirius asks, though his arm curls tighter around you, keeping you protectively tucked into his side, "If y'keep screamin' at me every morning, I'll let the big bad wolf after you."
If you haven't read the first part already, the link to part 1 is here
I'm so sorry this took so long, guys, I was struggling with ideas. Anyways, enjoy :)
Brief Description: Sirius begins to notice how suddenly you're around him a lot less than usual. What could he have done to make you want to avoid him at all costs? And why does your avoidance hurt him this much?
Point of View: 3rd Person
Word Count: 2181
Character: Sirius Black x Reader
House: Gryffindor
Year: Sixth Year
Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Sirius has talked to Y/n last, and it's driving him up the wall. The only other time where he doesn't talk to her for that long is during the summer, but at least they owl back and forth non-stop, and now suddenly he hasn't heard her sweet voice in two damn weeks.
And it's not as though he hasn't tried to talk to her. Hell, he's been going out of his way to run into her just to ask what was up with her, but every time she sees him, she runs away. And now she's changed the time of her daily activities (going to the library to read/study, walk in the courtyard, visit Hagrid, etc.) – not that he knew the times she was going by heart before she changed them – so now he can't even run into her then.
Two weeks. Two damn weeks. And he's not going any longer without her.
It was Saturday and the Marauders were all hanging out in their dormitory, and Sirius was itching to find Y/n and beg ask her to forgive him for whatever he must have done to have her ignore him like this.
"Remus," Sirius calls, breaking the silence.
"Hm?" Remus hums, not even bothering to look up from the book he was reading, which only caused Sirius to grow more frustrated.
He closes his eyes before he snaps at Remus, taking a deep breath to calm himself. The only thing that does is cause his eyes to well up with tears.
Godric, what was up with him? Was Y/n really causing him to get this upset?
When he speaks next, his voice breaks, which causes all the other Marauders to lift their heads and look at Sirius with concern.
"Why won't Y/n talk to me?"
The other three Marauders share a few glances at one another before looking back at Sirius. The pity in their eyes as they look at him causes Sirius to grow frustrated once again.
His eyes, which were previously filled with tears, harden as he wipes them away. His lips pull back into a thin line as he glares down at his own hands.
"She keeps avoiding me! I haven't said anything to her in weeks!" he cries angrily. "And even when I do say something to her, she just ignores me and runs off! Did I do something to make her mad at me?"
"I'm sure you didn't do anything, Padfoot," James tries to comfort him. "Maybe Y/n just needs space for a while."
"Space from what?" Sirius snaps. "What did I do that would've wanted her to space herself from me? And only me! I haven't seen her ignoring you three, or anyone else for that matter! What did I do!?"
“Pads –” Remus starts, but is quickly interrupted.
“Why do you care so much anyway?” James asks. “It’s just Y/n.”
Sirius, Remus, and Peter all shoot James a glare, all three of them knowing that was not the right thing to ask.
“Yeah, Y/n, my friend,” Sirius sneers. “I care because Y/n is one of my closest friends and now suddenly she’s ignoring me! Do you have any idea how much that hurts? Because it does, a lot.”
“We know, Padfoot,” Peter replies, trying to make his voice sound comforting, although to Sirius it sounded more like pity. “I think James was trying to ask why you’re so … no quiet over dramatic about it … but more upset than you normally would be about something like this.”
“Yeah,” James agrees. “That’s exactly what I was trying to ask, thank you, Pete.”
Sirius glares at the both of them, his teeth gritting together as he tries to hold back from snapping at the two of them.
Why was he upset? Really? One of his best friends just straight up ditched him! Of course he was fucking upset!
“How do you twats not understand that I am upset my friend has fucking abandoned me!” Sirius snarls, his voice wavering as he tries to control his anger.
The others share another, worried glance, which drives Sirius even more insane.
Of course, Remus, James, and Peter quickly caught on that Y/n was avoiding Sirius, and were even quicker to catch on why. It wasn’t that hard to see that Y/n had finally had enough of her silly little crush on Sirius and was trying to stomp it out by avoiding him. And of course, Moony, Prongs, and Wormtail knew that avoiding Sirius at all costs wasn’t going to get rid of Y/n’s feelings for Sirius. And of course, Lupin, Potter, and Pettigrew knew that Sirius’s own feelings towards Y/n were developing beyond friendship.
“I can talk to her if you want me to,” Remus offers.
The usual stormy grey of Sirius’s eyes had darkened considerably in anger, his eyes narrowing at Remus in a glare.
“You’ve done quite a lot of talking to her,” he hisses. “A lot more than I have in Merlin knows how long. Do you know how frustrating that is, Remus? To see that Y/n, who suddenly hates me, is still all buddy-buddy with the three of you? Do you know how shitty it makes me feel when I see her talking to you and then she immediately runs away whenever she sees me? Do you?”
“No,” Remus replies, his voice squeaky at the anger in Sirius’s tone.
"That's what I thought," Sirius snarls, standing up from his bed abruptly.
With quick strides Sirius finds himself at the dormitory door, the door opened an inch before Peter asks curiously, "Where are you going?"
"To fucking find her!" Sirius snaps, turning around and facing his friends. "I can't keep going like this, without her. I - I need her, okay? I need her because ... because I love her. I love her. Holy shit, I love Y/n. I'll be back guys, but I need to find Y/n, even if that means searching every nook and cranny of this godforsaken castle."
He's out the door in another split second, the door slamming closed behind him.
Silence settles over the other three as they share glances, confused evident on each of their faces.
"Well," Remus finally mutters, breaking the silence. "He handled that a lot better than Y/n did when she realized she was in love with Sirius."
–––––––––––
To Sirius's surprise it didn't take him that long to find her. She was sitting in the courtyard, leaning against the truck of a tree with a book on her lap.
Sirius was careful to approach her quietly, not wanting her to spot him and jump up and run away (like she had been doing for two weeks straight).
When Y/n finally looked up from her book, the first thing she saw was Sirius looming in front of her. Her eyes widened as they made eye contact, scrambling to pick up her book and getting to her feet.
"Y/n, wait," Sirius snaps, grabbing onto her wrist with a vice-like grip before she could run away. "Please, don't run again, please."
Y/n sighs, trying to tug her wrist out of Sirius’s grip before she turns and faces him for the first time since the Quidditch game. Her struggling ceases as she sees the pain behind Sirius’s eyes, the pain that she would’ve caused every single time she ignored him or ran away.
“Please, Y/n/n,” he begs in a whisper, pulling her closer to him. “Please, don’t leave me again. I miss you so much. And I am so, so sorry if I did something to hurt you, or did something that made you want to avoid me. I never meant to, I don’t think I have done anything, but if I did just say the word and I will hold myself responsible for it and I will do anything I can to get back in your good graces because I miss you. So, so much. I hate that I haven’t seen you in two weeks, I hate that I haven’t talked to you in two weeks, I hate that I haven’t heard your voice in two weeks, and I hate that you’ve been avoiding me. I’m not blaming you because obviously it must have been something I did, but please Y/n, please, please, please stop avoiding me. I miss you.”
A wave of guilt washes over Y/n as she listens to Sirius, watching tears well in his eyes as it gets increasingly harder for him to talk without choking on his words. However, she can't help the little flutter her heart gives at his words.
Sirius takes a breath, trying to collect himself as he finally says everything he was feeling.
"And-and I hate how much it hurts that you've been doing this. I shouldn't care, I really shouldn't, but I do. I care so goddamn much, Y/n. It's been two weeks, two fucking weeks! I shouldn't be this effected, but I am. I've missed you more in two weeks more than I've missed anything else in my life, more than I miss the Marauders during the holidays, more than I miss Hogwarts during the summer, more than I miss the heat of the summer during the winter, more than I miss the sun in a rainstorm. I missed you, Y/n, and it's only been two weeks. So please, please, please, please, tell me what I did wrong so I can right it and we can go back to how we were before whatever I did."
A pause, a heartbeat before Sirius adds in a trembling voice, "Please."
Y/n takes a shaky breath, trying to stop the heat from rising in her cheeks and giving her away.
"Sirius," she says slowly.
"Please," he interrupts her, his voice breaking. "Please, Y/n. I don't know what I did, but whatever it must have been, I am so sorry. Please, please, please forgive me."
"Sirius," Y/n repeats, "you didn't do anything. I just... I realized something and I shut myself away from you. If anything, I should be saying sorry to you. I never meant to hurt you like this."
Sirius stares at her, confusion bubbling up within him as he listens to her explain.
"I-I don't understand," he admits in a quiet voice. Her stares up at her helplessly. "Why would you avoid me like you have if I didn't do anything? You haven't avoided the others, just me."
Y/n sighs, her heart thudding in her chest as she looks away from Sirius and finally admits in a small voice, "I'm in love with you."
The world stops, for the both of them.
Y/n can't breathe, why would she admit that!? Everything, everything, has been ruined. She ruined their friendship! Why would she do that!?
Sirius can't breathe, did she mean it!? Everything, everything, is going to change, for the better. She felt the same! But why did she avoid him if she loved him?
After what felt like hours of silence, Sirius responds, "I love you, too."
Sirius's heart pounds against his ribcage. Even though she said it first, it's still so hard to admit it.
Y/n's heart pounds against her ribcage. There is no way in hell that he actually feels the same.
"I – w-what?” she stutters, mouth dry.
“I love you too,” Sirius repeats, dropping her wrist. His hands come up to cup her jaw, holding her face in his hands as he smiles down at her. “I-I was thinking about how much I missed you, everything about you – not just your presence – and I guess that led me to realize that I would never feel this way about someone I thought of as my friend. Y/n/n, I realized that I’m in love with you.”
Y/n mirrors Sirius’s smile, relief flooding through her body as her cheeks flush with pink.
“I-I’m glad,” she whispers. “I was scared that you didn’t feel the same; that’s why I started avoiding you. I thought that if I was around you less my feelings would go away, which obviously didn’t work. But I was scared to say something in case I made things awkward between us.”
Sirius chuckles, pressing his forehead against hers, asking in a soft voice, “How could I not be in love with you? You, Y/n L/n, are the most kind, thoughtful, caring, smart, funny, beautiful woman in the whole world; I don’t know how I didn’t realize my feelings for you sooner. I love you.”
“I love you too, Sirius,” Y/n murmurs back. She closes her eyes, relishing in the feeling of Sirius being this close to her.
A comfortable silence fell over the two as they soak in each other’s presence, two hearts beating as one.
Two minutes. It has been two minutes since Sirius has admitted his feelings for Y/n, and it’s making him feel like he’s on top of the world.
Taglist: @littleshadow17 (who asked for a part 2 a month ago. I hope it was up to your standards lol). And @rosieandthethorns (who didn't asked to be tagged but I figured I should let you know so you can stop foaming at the mouth and writhing on the floor lmao)
Brief Description: The pains of being in love with your friend are bad, but the pains of said friend not liking you back are worse.
Point of View: 1st person
Word Count: 2155
Character: Sirius Black x Reader
House: Gryffindor
Year: Sixth Year
Prompt:
Sitting in the surprisingly empty common room, I stared at the textbook sitting on my lap. At one point it felt like I was going cross eyed from how long I was staring at the properties of whatever kind of ingredients for whatever kind of potion we were going to be making in class next week.
At this point in my studying I didn't even know what I was reading, just hoping that someone would appear out of thin air and save me from this painful reading.
"That was so incredibly stupid of you lot," a familiar voice growls from the portrait hole.
My eyes finally leave the textbook on my lap for the first time in what felt like days to see what Remus was talking about.
Remus, who was the one snapping at the rest of the Marauders walks over to me and collapses on the floor right in front of my feet. I watch as the other Marauders climb through the portrait hole - my eyes lingering a bit too long on one of the boys - before I glance back down at Remus.
"Why are you on the floor, Moony?" I ask inquisitively, shoving my textbook into my bookbag as my prayers for a distraction have finally been answered.
Remus looks up at me, giving me a lazy grin before he rolls onto his stomach and rests his head on his arms.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Sirius saunters over, smirking over at me. "What's a beautiful lady such as yourself sitting along in the common room for, L/n?"
"Studying, Black," I answer, grinning up at him. "I don't suppose you know what that means."
Sirius tosses his head back and laughs, playfully kicking my shin as he sits down next to me and throws his arm over my shoulder, bringing me close to his body. My face heats up at the contact, I can see Remus, James, and Peter smirking at me. They all know about my feelings for Sirius, apparently my feelings for Sirius can be spotted from a mile away, according to the other three Marauders.
"This is why I like you, Y/n," he announces, his words causing my heart to do backflips. "You have a witty response for everything."
"Mhm," I hum in response, glaring at the rest of the Marauders as they smirk knowingly over at Sirius and I.
"So can I ask what you lot were doing that had Remus calling you stupid?" I question, wriggling myself out of Sirius's grasp, knowing that my face would only get redder if he held me like that longer.
"I didn't say they were stupid," Remus corrects me, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest, looking disapprovingly at the others. "I said what they did was stupid."
Around me, Peter, James, and Sirius snicker, clearly thinking about what they had done to get Remus so upset with them.
"Then what did they do?" I ask, exaggerating my annoyance with Remus correcting me.
Remus grins at your annoyance, pushing himself up from his position on the floor to sit up and say, "I think that's private information, Y/n. I'm afraid I'll have to keep that to myself."
I roll my eyes at Remus's secrecy, grumbling, "Dick," under my breath as I cross my arms and lean back against the couch.
In response to my obvious annoyance, Remus throws his head back and laughs; the others join in with their own chuckles. Sirius slings his arms over my shoulders again, pulling my body to press against his side.
"Ah, don't be like that, love," he mutters, her voice full of amusement. "Moony is just playing with you. No need to get all cranky."
Trying to stop the blush from rising to my cheeks and calling me out, I attempt to push myself out of Sirius's hold, mumbling, "Don't treat me like a child, Pads, I have a reputation to uphold."
Sirius just laughs at my resistance and words, his arms around me tightening and pulling me closer. "You're so cute, L/n, you know that?"
My resistance to Sirius's embrace falls as I hide my face against his chest so that none of the Marauders see just how red my cheeks are.
"Fuck you," I respond.
Sirius just laughs again, pressing a kiss to my hairline.
———————————
"L/n!" a voice calls my name as I study at one of the tables hidden in a corner in the library.
I lift my head, immediately rolling my eyes as I spot Sirius - and Madam Pince sending him a nasty glare.
"Keep quiet!" I demand with a hiss, moving over to make room from Sirius at the table. "Are you trying to get me kicked out of here or something?
Sirius plops down in the seat beside me, smirking over at me as I snap at him. He leans back in the chair, an arm thrown over the back of it as he gives me one of his sexy half-grins.
"I only came here for one thing, and one thing only, Y/n," he informs me.
Deciding to humour him (and set aside my book for the meantime) I ask, "And what's that, Black?"
Sirius throws a red piece of cloth on the table; I hadn't realized he was holding anything until now.
"What's that?" I ask, nodding my head towards the material.
"My jersey," Sirius answers, pride evident in his voice as he tilts his grin turns haughty.
One of my eyebrows raise in confusion, I look at Sirius in question. "Okay...?" I reply slowly, hoping he gives me more of an explanation for why he just tossed his Quidditch jersey onto the table in front of us.
"I need you to wear that on Saturday," Sirius informs me, pushing the jersey towards me.
My eyes widen at his request - or demand, however you take it - and an unwanted shade of red invades my cheeks.
"Wh-what? Why?" I ask, cursing myself internally as I stutter to ask him a simple question.
Whenever I have a girl wear my jersey to one of my Quidditch matches, I always play better," Sirius explains, nudging his jersey closer to me again. "I thought of you on the stands in every game I play - which I thank you for, love - and I thought 'Hey, why not get Y/n to wear your jersey?' ya know? I think it would be perfect." He pauses for a moment before adding with a cheeky wink, "And you'll look good while wearing it."
My cheeks heat up further to the point where I feel like I'm practically glowing red.
"Geez, Siri, I don't know," I mumble, looking down at the book I was reading to hide my red cheeks. "Don't you want one of your little girlfriends to wear it instead?" I retort, my voice showing just how obviously jealous I was of every girl that Sirius sleeps with.
If Sirius saw (or heard) my jealous, he didn't show that he did.
"Oh, come on, Y/n/n, I want you to wear it. Pleaseeeee?" he begs, giving me his best puppy dog eyes, which he knows I can't say no to.
I'm torn, genuinely torn. Do I wear Sirius's jersey, make him happy, and have my heart beat furiously against my chest for the whole match because I'm wearing Sirius's jersey? Or do I not wear it, disappoint Sirius, and watch him give it to some other girl and have jealousy pool in my stomach for the whole match?
I know that I'm leaning towards 'wear the jersey' but if I do I'm just feeding into my delusions that Sirius likes me back? Am I the first one he came to? Does he want me to wear it because he wants to see me wear his jersey? Or does he just want a girl to wear it and everyone else he asked said no?
Sighing, I finally answer him, "Okay. I'll wear it."
A large smile breaks across Sirius's face and he throws his arms around me, bringing me into an embrace.
Red blooms across my face, I'm thankful that my face is pressed against his shoulder so he can't see just how red I am just from him hugging me.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he chants, bubbling with joy.
"Yeah, yeah," I reply, trying to downplay it, because truthfully, I don't understand why he's so excited for me to wear his jersey. "It's nothing, Sirius. It's just a jersey."
"But it's my jersey," Sirius replies, releasing me from his grasp. "And you're wearing it."
I roll my eyes playfully at him, unable to hide my grin as I do so. I grab the jersey form the table in front of me, holding it close to my chest as I look over at Sirius and ask, "Anything else you need, Black?"
With a smirk, Sirius answers, "No, I think I got everything. Thank you, love."
"Mhm," I hum, looking back down at my book. My hair falls in front of my face, hiding my red cheeks from Sirius. "See you around then."
"See you around," Sirius echos, standing up from the chair. He playfully ruffles my hair before walking away.
When he disappears around the corner I straighten my hair before I look down at the jersey in my arms, those same mixed emotions swirling in my chest.
———————————
"I don't know why I agreed to do this," I grumble, watching the figures of red and blue fly across the Quittich pitch.
"What are you talking about?" Remus asks at my side, looking away from the players and over to me. "You love Quidditch; you literally watch every game, even in Gryffindor isn't one of the teams competing."
I sigh, looking down at Sirius's jersey that envelopes my body.
"I meant wearing Sirius's jersey," I mumble, glancing over at Remus before looking back to the players.
Remus's attention is still on me, his eyes burn a hole in the side of my head as he stares at me. It kinda feels like he's trying to read my mind, to understand why I was so upset about wearing someone's jersey, especially if it's someone I like.
"And that's a bad things because...?"
"Because, Remus, it-it just makes me feel like-like he likes me," I admit, cringing at my own words. "And I know he doesn't like me, so I'm just feeding my own delusions that he wanted me to wear his jersey because he likes me."
Remus doesn't say anything, which I thank him for because I'm currently so goddamn embarrassed by my own admittance.
I try to refocus back on the game, but everything on my mind weighs down the joy of our eventual win against Ravenclaw.
"I think I'm gonna go back to my dorm," I inform Remus as the crowd stands up to cheer for Gryffindor. "I'm tired."
"Aren't you going to come to the party?" Remus asks me, the victorious smile on his face disappearing as he hears my words. Concern takes over his face, his eyebrows knitted together as he tries to dig deeper and find out if there's something more going on. "We always have a party when we win. Don't you want to celebrate with the rest of us?"
"Not tonight, Rem," I mumble, taking a few steps towards the stairs to get me down the stands. "I'm tired. I just want to go to sleep. Besides, there's parties every damn week in Gryffindor tower, I'll go next time. Tell James and Sirius 'congrats' for me, alright?"
"Yeah," Remus replies, looking down at the huddle of red on the field as they celebrate their win. "I will."
"Thanks, Rem. Have fun at the party."
----------------------
Sirius's POV
Looking up at the crowd that herds towards the team and I to congratulate us on our win, I look around for Y/n. I spot Remus, expecting Y/n to be right behind him, but when I don't see her my eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"Where's Y/n?" I ask him, when he gets close enough that I don't have to shout for him to hear me.
"She went back to her dorm," Remus answers. "Some bullshit excuse about being tired."
James walks over to the two of us, his own confusion showing on his face as hears Remus.
"Do you have any idea why she actually went back?" James questions.
Remus stares at James for a long moment, looking like he was trying to explain with his eyes but after a long moment just shrugs.
"I'm sure she'll be fine tomorrow morning," he says. "Let's just go enjoy the party, yeah?"
"Yeah, okay," I mutters, looking down at my feet in disappointment.
Usually after every game, whether we won or lost, Y/n would greet me with a smile and hug, and everything felt wrong without it.
rocky may be the size of an earth dog but he is 168 kilos and strong as hell whereas grace is a wet paper bag. one of these two is being carried by the other and it is not the one you think
summary: sirius accidentally apparates into your bed instead of his.
w/c: 3.5k
notes: mutual pining, sirius is so jealous of jily, a few swears, suggestive moments, remus likes crosswords, soft! sirius
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
sirius felt pathetic.
“i feel pathetic,” sirius whined, throwing himself on one of the potters’ cushy sofas. he buried his face in a decorative pillow and kicked his feet against the couch cushions.
“quit your little temper tantrum,” lily said, rolling her eyes. “it makes you look more pathetic.”
“which is shocking, because i didn’t think it could even get worse,” remus piped from his seat at the kitchen island, where he was doing yesterday’s daily prophet crossword.
“what’s a six-letter word and starts with an ‘s’ that could be similar to cowardly?” remus tapped his quill against his chin.
“scared?” said sirius.
“sirius?” said lily.
“hey, i’ll have you know that i am in fact a gryffindor, despite what my parents have to say about it!” sirius retorted, throwing his pillow at lily’s head blindly and missing.
“what the-” you were hit in the chest by a flying pillow as you wandered into the sitting room, looking for your friends. you identified sirius as the culprit. “are you serious?”
“why yes, i am!”
you rolled your eyes but with no real malice; instead, discarding the pillow to the side and flung yourself on top of sirius’ back with full force. he oomph’d at the sudden weight.
you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and tucked your knees into his sides to pin him down. he protested meekly.
lily giggled as she watched sirius squirm under you as he pretended to be upset while you clung onto him triumphantly. sirius could’ve easily pushed you off, or even flipped you over, but he wasn’t going to complain about how close you were to him. no, sirius didn’t mind it one bit.
loud, thunderous footsteps could be heard bounding down the stairs as james made his presence known. euphemia trailed behind him, wary but amused.
“james, you can apparate now,” she chided. “why do you insist on causing such a ruckus every time you use the stairs?”
“but muuuuum, last time i crashed into the clock and you were all upset. i’m just being cautious.” james smiled guiltily.
euphemia waved him off. “your friends combined make less noise than you do, james.” she sighed happily as she watched her mosh of children settle soundly into her home. remus was sleepily humming a muggle song, james had taken a seat by lily and was resting his head on her lap, while you and sirius continued to smother each other.
“remus, feel free to head upstairs anytime,” euphemia said sweetly. she looked towards your crowd. “and you all as well. there’s no rush, but it’s getting late and fleamont and i will be heading to bed soon.”
there was a chorus of thank yous as euphemia left, leaving the lot of you alone on the lower level. lily looked at you and quirked her head.
you nodded. “i think lily and i will start washing up as well; goodnight everyone!”
lily kissed james’ forehead. james’ blush was apparent even in the dimness of the evening.
sirius perked up as you slid off from his back with a laugh, hoping for a kiss too. the two of you were normally affectionate anyway, so it didn’t seem so demanding.
when you made no indication of giving sirius a goodnight kiss, he sat up and pouted theatrically. “what about me? can i have a kiss too?” he whined, pointing his chin at james, who looked smug.
you appraised sirius for a minute “hmm, let’s see. have you been a good boy today?” you tapped your chin like you were deep in thought.
sirius’ heart raced.
“i think so, yes,” you decided, stepping closer to the anxious boy. you pressed three fingers to your lips—it was better than nothing, sirius decided—and slapped him (gently!) across the face.
“there’s your kiss!” you grinned mischievously.
james and lily laughed, even earning a snort from remus, who was half-asleep already.
“hey, that wasn’t- you slapped me!” sirius stammered, feeling cheated. “look how nicely lily gave prongs his kiss! you conniving little minx!” sirius crossed his arms.
“ah, well lily and james are dating and we are very much not. you’ve got to be promoted to the boyfriend level to earn that kind of salary.”
lily nodded solemnly. “that’s true. and your resume must be strong, too. job offers can be very competitive these days, y’know? and your girl has a lot of applicants.” lily winked at you.
your girl, sirius thought. he liked that. “well, how can i apply?” sirius joked, looking up at you with raised brows.
you pinched his cheek endearingly. “oh sirius, you flirt. now goodnight, all.” lily took your hand and pulled you up the stairs, hushed whispers trailing behind you and the occasional giggle from lily. sirius sat on the couch, dazed.
“what in merlin’s name happened?” james hissed loudly. “what do you call that, pads?”
remus rubbed his eyes blearily and sat beside james. the two boys stared down sirius from their couch like they were courtroom judges and sirius was being interrogated. in a sense, he was.
“i- i don’t know! she just slapped me and then ignored what i said!” sirius exclaimed.
james shushed him. “you’re going to wake up the entire house!”
remus sighed disappointedly. “are you two daft? she clearly thinks you’re flirting with her-”
“-i am!”
“-as a joke. you flirt with everyone, padfoot. coming from you, flirting is almost like… platonic behavior.”
“that literally makes no sense, you realize that, right?” sirius scoffed.
james hummed and shook his finger as he came to realization. “no, no. moony’s right-”
“-when am i ever not right?”
“-you flirt with all your friends. if you want to make it obvious you like her, you have to treat her differently. for you, that wouldn’t be flirting. it’d be more like…”
remus butted in. “domesticity, i think. little, genuine things that let her know you’ve been thinking of her. nothing too theatric; that’ll make her think you’re doing it jokingly too. you’ve got to be personal with her… vulnerable, even. yes, that’s it. you should be vulnerable. everybody knows loud, annoying padfoot-”
“-i am not annoying!”
“-but if you let her see you without all the exaggeration, she’ll know you really mean what you say.”
james and sirius looked at lupin, impressed. james shook his head like he was clearing his thoughts. “when did you become so wise, moony?”
remus smirked. “wouldn’t you like to know?”
--
sirius couldn’t sleep. well, he was restless most nights, often plagued with nightmares or a constant stream of thoughts, but tonight he was simultaneously battling james’ snoring and remus’ rolling and shuffling around.
sirius groaned quietly, draping an arm over his eyes. he needed a break. with a quick breath, he apparated himself into the potter’s kitchen and poured himself a cup of juice, sipping quietly as he leaned against the counter.
living at james’ house was like living on the moon. at home, sirius never got to decide when he wanted to sleep. he wasn’t allowed to brush his teeth with his friends and get foam all over the counter, or nibble on a secret stash of sweets at midnight, much less leave his room to raid the fridge.
when sirius finished his juice, he wrapped up his late night escapade with a quick scourgify and a quiet sigh. once again, he apparated upstairs to avoid the creaky staircase.
sirius had made a grave error.
“what the-” you sputtered for the second time that night. “sirius?”
sirius looked down at your sleeping figure. this time, he was the one sitting on top of your body, though he was considerably heavier than you were.
“lumos,” you whispered. “sirius, what the hell are you doing here?” you tried to sound scolding, but your voice came out slurred and bleary as you tried to blink yourself awake.
“i- i don’t know! i tried apparating back to-”
“shhh!” you furrowed your eyebrows, grabbing him by the neckline of his shirt and pulling him into bed beside you. “you’ll wake lily! thank godric she’s a deep sleeper.”
you huffed, pushing yourself upright. while the boys were crammed into james’ room, you and lily were sharing the guest bedroom which housed two larger twin sized beds. there was just enough space for sirius to move off your chest and to your side.
“i’m sorry, i went downstairs for a drink and i must’ve apparated to the wrong place or something-”
“clearly! how on earth did you manage that?”
“i don’t know! i’m tired, alright?” he punctuated his words with a big yawn.
“you know,” you began, a smug look growing on your face. “you have to envision where you want to go when you’re apparating. thinking of me in bed, are you now?”
sirius gulped, burning with nerves at your close proximity. “n-no! i mean, it’s not that i haven’t thought about- shit, i mean- uh, i can go now, if you want.”
you laughed breathily. “you’re good, siri.” you yawned. “maybe… maybe you should stay here for the night. i don’t want you to splinch yourself if you’re tired.”
sirius chewed his lower lip, admiring the side of your face as you fiddled with the edge of your blanket. he was wordless as he tried to steady his breathing.
you turned your head suddenly with wide eyes and met his. “you don’t have to, of course! i don’t want to make you uncomfortable, i just thought-”
“no- oh no, i mean, yes! yes, i’ll stay. i’d love- like to stay. i appreciate it,” he smiled, eyes flickering across your face. you hadn’t realized how close the two of you really were; you could easily kiss him bump heads if you leaned in. of he shuffled a bit closer to you and his thigh brushed yours. “sorry, the bed’s a little small.”
your mouth formed a little O as you scooted over as well, making more room for him. “i hadn’t realized—here, you can have some more space. you’re bigger anyway.”
the two of you awkwardly adjusted as sirius slipped under the covers. he punched the pillow a few times and cozied into a comfortable position. his body faced yours; his breath fanned over your skin.
“hey,” you whispered giddily.
“hi,” he echoed, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling too largely. sirius’ face seemed to melt into something soft—it was a vulnerability you’d never seen from him—as he gazed at you. he almost seemed to marvel at you.
“you’re so beautiful, y’know?” sirius murmured, brushing a few loose hair from your face. when he was finished, he didn’t pull his hand away. instead, he let it cup your cheek gently as he began to rub little semicircles into your skin with his thumbs.
“that means a lot, coming from the prettiest boy i know.” you placed your hand on top of his, hooking his thumb between yours to stop the movement. “my pretty boy, hm?”
your eyelids fluttered. sirius wasn’t sure if you were fully present; you looked half asleep. still, your words made his heart flutter, even though he knew he shouldn’t take them to heart.
“my best girl,” sirius cooed, slipping his hand out from under yours to wrap it around your shoulder instead. he pulled you closer to his chest and you eagerly obliged until the two of you were completely pressed together. you sighed in contentment.
sirius pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “g’night, lovely. i- i love you.”
you responded with a soft snore.
--
click! a bright flash and twinkling laughter made you open your eyes. you squinted at the harsh light—had somebody left the blinds open? you groaned, making a note for tonight.
you buried your head into your pillow, inhaling a deep breath of the potters’ laundry detergent. you knew the family was rich, but were they so rich that their detergent smelled this heavenly? they must’ve put some sort of spell on the bedding. it was rich; a little smokey, with notes of spice that reminded you of christmas cooking. you smiled to yourself, nuzzling closer. the potters were sweet to invest in something that’d make you feel welcome in their house. you’d never felt so at home.
click! another flash. a chuckle, but deeper and decidedly male. you hummed with annoyance at the interruptions.
your pillow was moving. did the potters enchant the pillows as well?
“dove?” sirius’ raspy morning voice mumbled into your ear. the vibrations tickled your skin and sent goosebumps running down your arms.
“sirius?” you exclaimed. the ‘enchanted pillow’ was not a pillow at all, it seemed. it was your best friend longtime crush, whose body you’d been cuddling up to all night. well, shit.
“did y’get a good one?” james’ voice floated through the room.
“oi, shut up, prongs. ‘m trying to sleep,” sirius grumbled. he didn’t seem to care about the intimacy of your position. instead, he only tightened his hold on your waist and even brought his other arm to rest at the name of your neck, which allowed him to settle his chin on the crown of your head. you could hear—and feel—the steady thumping of his heart.
as you awoke, you became more aware (and more horrified) at how you’d fallen asleep. one of your legs was bent over his, and his hands were carded through the hairs at the nape of your neck.
“holy shit,” you muttered, pulling sirius’ hands off of you. “sirius, wake up. i think they’re taking pictures of us.” you looked up at james, lily, and remus. “-those little shits.”
“huh?” sirius jolted awake, his arm never leaving your waist. “what in merlin’s name-”
james snickered. “you two seem to have had a good night, eh?” he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“shuddup, prongs,” sirius retorted. “get your head out of the gutter.”
“sirius…” lily ribbed, pursing her lips in amusement.
any annoyance on sirius’ face vanished and was quickly replaced by pure terror. “oh fuck,” he grimaced, before throwing the sheets off his body and running awkwardly to the bathroom while adjusting his pants.
your face heated. lily came by your side, practically in stitches, and you squeaked in shock. james went jogging after sirius, yelling suggestive comments unabashedly.
“so, what was that?” remus probed, sitting on the corner of your bed where sirius had just been laying.
“he was wearing clothes, alright? stop- don’t make this weird,” you pleaded.
“we didn’t say anything about states of undress,” lily chided, looking triumphantly at remus, who sighed.
“what’s it to you, anyway?” you pushed yourself out of bed, fussing with your hair momentarily as you tried to tame your bedhead. “‘s none of your business.”
“oh, but it is. james owes me three galleons,” lily announced. “and remus is coughing up eight sickles.”
“you bet on me?”
“well, not on you, perse,” lily backtracked. “on you and sirius’ relationship. so technically, that’s not either of you. it’s a relationship. aaaanyways, remus thought you were going to get together before summer break, i guessed during the second day of staying here, and james guessed at the end of our stay. and i was right! well, i was a couple hours off. but i still win.”
you closed your eyes, unable to process the audacity of your friends. “you lot are cheeky assholes, y’know that?”
“oh, we know. but these ‘cheeky assholes’ have blackmail now,” lily smirked.
“or, photos and a good story for your wedding,” remus piped in. lily nodded her head eagerly.
“i didn’t take you for a romantic, lupin,” you mumbled, beginning to dig through your clothes and change out of your pajamas. “what time is it, anyway?”
“nine-thirty!” lily chirped, placing emphasis on each number. “we let you two sleep in. it was cute.”
“we aren’t cute.”
“aha! so there’s a ‘we’ now!” james cheered from the doorway. sirius had returned in his normal clothes, still looking a little flustered. you averted your eyes.
“‘m gonna change. goodbye, twats.” you shuffled down the hallway. as much as you pretended to be annoyed by your meddling friends’ antics, you smiled uncontrollably as you heard them interrogate sirius next, who did a much worse job of hiding his feelings.
feelings. were there feelings? and james’ question still stood. was there a ‘we?’
“i’m starving,” james whined, clutching his stomach dramatically. “if we keep pushing off breakfast, i’m going to be too weak for quidditch season next year.”
lily rolled her eyes. “you big baby. c’mon remus, let’s leave the toddler here and make something for ourselves.” lily linked her arm through remus’ and made a big show of trotting away, with james scrambling after them desperately.
when you came to the kitchen, your friends were still fighting playfully over lily’s taunts. “i am not a big baby!” james complained.
“you’re literally throwing a fit right now!” lily laughed, shoving him with her shoulder. you laughed alongside her as you watched james stumble.
sirius, though he’d always found james’ embarrassment to be funny, didn’t laugh. he was watching you, smiling hopelessly at the way your laugh seemed to pierce his senses more sharply than the brightness of the sun, noticing the way your body shook a little from the enthusiasm of your happiness, and staring longingly at your parted lips.
remus thwaked sirius in the back of the head with the most updated copy of the daily prophet. “stop staring like a fucking idiot and do something,” he hissed. sirius found himself pushed off his chair as remus slipped in with a pencil in hand, already immersed in his crossword.
“siri, y’alright?” you giggled, noticing sirius’ unusual quietness and the odd, hazy look in his eyes.
“yeah! ‘m all good.” sirius startling slightly. “thanks, dove.”
sirius made his way beside you and again, wrapped his arm around your waist. you shivered. “are you cold?” sirius asked.
“ah- no. you’re just- you make me nervous,” you said hesitantly.
sirius’ words were slow, calculated. “in a good way or bad way?” he looked down at you and raised his eyebrows questioningly. he bent down and lowered his voice. “‘cos i’m really hoping it’s a ‘sirius black, you give me butterflies and i’m madly in love with your charisma, luscious hair, and gorgeous face,’ type’a way.”
“ugh,” you groaned, pushing against his chest playfully as your face burned. sirius only strengthened his hold on you. “you wish, black,” you sniffed, tipping your chin up at him haughtily. but then your teasing smile dropped into something intense and genuine. you opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.
so, sirius did the speaking for you. cupping your pointed chin in a delicate hand, sirius lowered his head until his lips brushed over yours—just barely. he smilled, his breath warming the planes of your face as he held himself still.
pulling sirius closer down to you by the fabric of his shirt, you dusted your lips across his for a fleeting moment. you pulled away almost immediately, panicking at what you’d just done. sirius shook his head, amused, and pulled you in once more, pressing his lips against yours firmly and holding you there, supported and assured, until you melted comfortably into his mouth.
“siri…” you gasped, pulling away. “oh my merlin, sirius?” you called, chewing your kiss-swollen lip as you watched sirius sway hazily in his spot. he was muttering silent words.
“pads!” james hollered. “way to go, padfoot!” he slammed his hand into the back of sirius’ head.
“ow, what the fuck, mate?” sirius rubbed the spot that james had attacked.
“you dog!” lily shrieked, running around the counter to throw herself at you and wrangle you around excitedly. it seemed that your friends were more passionate about the kiss than you two were.
well, that wasn’t true. the two of you were a bit too dizzy to appreciate the excitement of it all.
from remus’ position at the stove, two eggs came magically whizzing through the air and cracked themselves on top of james and lily’s heads.
“moony! what the hell was that for?” lily sputtered.
“i just did a hair mask last night!” james complained.
remus rolled his eyes, nonchalantly waving his wand over the pan of scrambled eggs he was cooking. “leave the two of ‘em be. i’m sure you’ll have plenty of moments to see them snogging in the future.” remus turned towards the two of you, looking bashful. sirius had given you his hand to hold and you were fiddling with his fingers. he looked very pleased.
remus sighed exasperatedly, before turning back to his eggs. “now you two get out! you’re killing my appetite.”
you and sirius looked at each other, and with bright, childish giggles, you ran out of the kitchen with sirius on your heels. remus huffed grumpily, waving his wand again to scramble the eggs, but unbeknownst to his friends, he cracked a satisfied smile.
𝑭𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑯𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 You keep bringing your pink Beetle to Steve Rogers’ auto shop, blushing at his easy smile and loaded comments. One night, you stop by after hours with treats to thank him for fixing your car but in the empty garage, he has a very different idea of how you can repay him.
car mechanic!steve rogers x fem!reader
word count : 5,6k
warnings 18+ : no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, semi-public sex, dubious consent (car sabotage), pervy behavior (panty theft/sniffing), oral sex (f & m receiving), vaginal sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, possessive Steve, risk of being caught, size kink, overstimulation, creampie, reader is portrayed as sweet & naïve
author’s note : the thought of pervy mechanic!steve has been bouncing around in my head for WAY too long and I fear I had no choice but to write it. also I would sell my soul for a pink beetle, I’m dead serious. hope you enjoy!!
The late-summer sun beats down on the cracked asphalt as you coax your pink Volkswagen Beetle into the last open spot in front of Rogers’ Auto Repair. She coughs, sputters and finally gives a pathetic little shudder before the engine dies completely. You sit there for a second, patting the dashboard like she’s a sick puppy. “I’m sorry, baby,” you murmur. “We’ll get you fixed up.”
You climb out, smoothing down your sundress, already feeling a little embarrassed. Cars have never been your thing; you just know this one is old, temperamental and lately impossible. The rattling noises and refusal to start have you completely out of your depth.
The garage doors are rolled up, classic rock drifting out on the warm air. A pair of boots sticks out from under a truck, and then the man himself slides out on a creeper, rising to his full, ridiculous height. Steve Rogers wipes his hands on a red rag, grease streaking across strong forearms and gives you the kind of easy, all-American smile that makes your stomach do a tiny flip.
“What seems to be the problem sweetheart?”
His voice is low and friendly, like he’s got all the time in the world. You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly aware of how the breeze is pressing your dress against your thighs.
“Um… she’s been struggling to start lately and there’s this awful rattling sound. I really don’t know anything about cars, I’m sorry. She’s just… acting up.”
Steve’s blue eyes flick to the pink Beetle, then back to you, something unreadable sparking in them. “Let’s take a look.”
He moves to the rear of the car, popping the engine cover with practiced ease. You trail after him, eager to understand at least a little of what’s wrong.
“Here, come around this side,” he says, gesturing you closer. “I’ll show you what I’m seeing.”
You step in beside him, leaning forward innocently to peer into the tight engine compartment. The sundress is light and floaty; as you bend at the waist to get a better look, the soft hem rides up just a few inches at the back of your thighs. You don’t notice, too focused on trying to follow his explanation but Steve does.
His gaze drops for a split second, catching the fleeting glimpse of your soft, cotton panties, delicate lace trim peeking out like an accidental secret. The sight hits him like a punch: sweet, innocent, completely unaware. He swallows hard, jaw tightening, before forcing his eyes back to the engine.
“Well, look at her,” he says, voice a touch rougher than before. “She’s a beauty, alright. But she’s gonna need some real good attention. Tight little spaces in here… gotta get in there deep and work her over properly.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks, though you’re not sure why.
He glances sideways at you, lips twitching into a faint smirk. “She’s purring a little now that I’m touching her but I bet she needs a firm hand to keep her running smooth.”
“Oh- thank you,” you manage, straightening up quickly and tugging the hem of your dress back into place without realizing why you suddenly feel so fluttery. “She’s my baby.”
Steve’s smile deepens, eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. “Yeah, I can tell. Don’t worry sweetheart. I’ll take real good care of her.”
The way he says it, gaze drifting briefly down your legs before returning to the engine, makes your heart skip. But he’s already back to work, poking and prodding.
“She’s thirsty,” he adds after a minute, voice low and rough. “Needs some fresh oil. I’ll fill her up good, get her nice and slick again.”
You nod quickly, swallowing. “That sounds… perfect.”
He finds a loose battery cable pretty fast, tightens it with a few twists of his wrench but then hums thoughtfully, running a hand along some hoses. “Couple other things I oughta check while she’s here. Belts look a little worn. Better to catch it now than leave her stranded.”
Your stomach sinks. “Oh no... is it serious?”
“Nah, just routine.” He wipes his hands again, smudging more grease across his fingers, and shuts the engine cover gently. “I’ll need to keep her overnight, run a proper diagnostic. You okay getting a ride home?”
You hesitate, then nod. “I can call a friend. Thank you, really. I feel so bad bothering you with this.”
Steve chuckles, stepping closer to hand you a business card with pickup time scribbled on it. His fingers brush yours, warm and rough.
“No bother at all,” he says softly, voice almost a murmur. “I like working on pretty things that need a little extra care.”
You smile gratefully, completely missing the way his eyes linger as you walk away, hips swaying gently in that sundress.
He watches until you’re out of sight, then glances back at the pink Beetle with a slow, wicked grin, replaying that soft flash of lace in his mind.
The sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the concrete floor of Steve’s shop. Your Beetle sits patiently in the bay, engine cover still propped open, tools scattered around like Steve’s in no rush to finish.
Bucky Barnes, Steve’s oldest friend and occasional helper, strolls in from the office with a couple of wrapped sandwiches and beers, kicking the door shut behind him. He tosses one to Steve, who catches it without looking up from under the hood.
“Time for a break, punk,” Bucky says, leaning against the workbench and unwrapping his own. “You’ve been poking at that little pink thing for an hour. Thought you fixed it already.”
Steve straightens, wiping his forehead with the back of his wrist, leaving a fresh smear of grease. He smirks, taking a bite of the sandwich before answering.
“I did fix the battery cable,” he says, voice low and amused. “But these old Bugs… they’re delicate. One loose spark plug wire and she’ll be coughing again in no time.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow, chewing slowly. “You didn’t.”
Steve’s grin turns wicked as he glances toward the street you disappeared down earlier. He reaches back into the engine, fingers nudging one of the plug wires just enough to work it loose, nothing dangerous, just enough to guarantee another breakdown in a day or two.
“Oh, I did,” he murmurs. “That sweet little thing in the sundress? She’ll be back real soon. And next time, I won’t be in such a hurry to send her on her way.”
Bucky snorts, shaking his head. “You’re a real bastard Rogers.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees, eyes glinting as he shuts the engine cover with a soft thud. “But she’s too damn cute to let walk away that easy.”
They eat in companionable silence for a minute, the only sound the distant hum of traffic and the faint tick of cooling metal.
Bucky finishes his sandwich, crumples the wrapper, and tosses it into the trash. “Just don’t get us sued when she figures out you’re sabotaging her car to get another look at her legs.”
Steve chuckles, low and dirty. “She won’t figure it out. Too sweet for that. And when she does come back…” He trails off, gaze fixed on the pink Beetle like it’s already you bent over the fender.
Bucky just rolls his eyes and heads for the door. “I’m out. Try not to jerk off in the shop again pal.”
Steve’s laugh follows him out, deep and unrepentant.
He lingers a moment longer, running a hand along the curve of the Beetle’s rear fender.
“See you soon pretty,” he says softly, to the car, to the promise of you walking back through his door.
Exactly two days later, your Beetle gives a dramatic cough and rattle just as you're pulling out of the grocery store parking lot. Your heart sinks, you swear she was running like a dream when you picked her up from Steve's shop.
“Not again,” you whisper, turning the key futilely until she finally sputters to life long enough to limp back to Steve’s shop. Embarrassment burns hot in your cheeks as you park her in the familiar bay, the engine wheezing its last.
You step out in a soft skirt and white blouse, clutching your keys like a lifeline and there he is, Steve leaning against the workbench with that same easy smile, like he was expecting you. A fresh streak of grease mars his jaw and his faded jeans sit low on his hips, white tank top clinging to his broad chest from the midday heat.
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt, face flaming as you hurry into the garage. “She’s doing it again… I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
Steve pushes off the bench with an easy grin, eyes lighting up the moment he spots you. He saunters over, wiping his hands on a rag that does nothing to hide the grease already streaked across his knuckles. “Back so soon, sweetheart? Told you she needs regular maintenance. Can’t just neglect a pretty thing like her, she’ll start misbehaving every damn time.”
You duck your head, fingers twisting nervously at the hem of your skirt. “I try to take good care of her, I swear.”
“I know you do,” he murmurs, voice low and warm, like he’s soothing you instead of the car. He leans in a little closer, that crooked smirk tugging at his lips as his gaze drifts over you, slow, unapologetic. “Jesus darlin’… you cleaned up real nice today.”
The words roll out gravel-rough and you feel them land right in your stomach. One of his hands slides into his pocket while the other reaches out, knuckles barely brushing the edge of your skirt. “Makes a guy forget he’s supposed to be a gentleman.”
Your cheeks burn hotter; you can’t quite meet his eyes. He exhales, gaze dropping to where your blouse clings just a little too perfectly, and then he straightens, tilting his head toward the Beetle. “Let’s get her up on the lift. This won’t take long.”
He maneuvers the car onto the hydraulic lift with effortless strength, the pink frame rising smoothly until the undercarriage is fully exposed. You linger nearby, arms crossed loosely, trying not to stare as he grabs a creeper and slides underneath. The tank top pulls tight across his back and shoulders, outlining every ridge of muscle; his jeans strain over his thighs and you swallow hard, forcing your eyes to the concrete floor.
“God, she’s so tight back here,” he grunts from below, voice echoing slightly. The wrench clinks against metal. “Gotta loosen her up slow… nice and easy or she’ll fight me the whole way.”
Your breath catches sharply. Thighs press together without permission. It’s just the car. Mechanics talk like this. Totally normal. You fidget with your bracelet, shifting your weight, the garage suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.
After a couple of minutes, he pauses, sliding out just far enough to look up at you from the floor, one thick arm propped behind his head, grease-streaked and relaxed. “So, baby, what are you up to later? Got plans or you free for me?”
You blink, startled he’s asking something so personal. “Oh- um, nothing exciting. I was thinking of staying in, maybe trying to bake something. Brownies or cookies. I’ve been wanting to practice.”
His eyes darken instantly. That polite smile turns slow and filthy, like a switch flipped. He lets out a low, appreciative hum, gaze dragging over you again as if he’s picturing it in vivid detail.
“Baking, huh? All alone in that little kitchen… getting nice and messy. Hands covered in something thick and sticky.” He licks his bottom lip, voice dropping to a rumble. “Bet you’d look real sweet licking it off your fingers, wouldn’t you?”
Your mouth falls open. Heat floods every inch of your skin, pooling low in your belly. You’re frozen, brain short-circuited between mortified and desperately confused because he can’t possibly mean… but the look on his face says he absolutely does.
Steve’s grin widens, wicked and knowing, like he’s savoring your reaction. He doesn’t give you time to recover, just slides back under the car with a soft chuckle that echoes in your ears.
A minute later he rolls out again, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. He flexes his hands, wiping them slowly on the rag. “There we go. Spark plug wire was a little loose, nothing major. She’s purring again.” He steps closer, close enough that his knuckles brush your arm as he reaches past you. “All slick and happy now.”
The touch lingers, his thumb grazing your skin, leaving a faint black smudge on the sleeve of your blouse. Your pulse is hammering so loud you’re sure he can hear it.
“T-thank you,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper. “How much do I owe you this time?”
He waves it off, tossing the rag aside and crowding just a fraction closer while he lowers the lift. His shoulder bumps yours, another press of warm, solid muscle. “First one was free. This one? My treat.” His voice dips, eyes locked on yours, blue and intent. “But don’t stay away too long, yeah? I’m startin’ to miss the view.”
You nod, too flustered for words and climb into the Beetle with shaky hands. The engine turns over perfectly, humming sweetly as you pull away.
In the rearview mirror, you catch him watching, arms crossed, that filthy smirk still in place, one grease-stained hand trailing possessively along the fender as if saying goodbye to both you and the car.
“Drive safe, baby,” he calls after you, voice carrying on the warm air. “Wouldn’t want that sweet little thing breakin’ down without me there to handle her right.”
A couple of days later, the garage is quiet for once, no radios blaring, no customers waiting. The afternoon sun slants through the open back door, turning the alley behind Rogers’ Auto Repair into a patch of warm gold. Steve and Bucky sit on overturned crates, paper-wrapped sandwiches balanced on their knees, cold beers sweating in their hands.
Bucky takes a bite of his roast beef, eyeing Steve over the top of the can. Steve’s gaze keeps drifting toward the front bay, like he’s waiting for something, or someone to roll in.
“Jesus, Rogers,” Bucky finally drawls, smirking. “You’re starin’ at that door like you’re waitin’ for that pink Bug girl again. You’re lookin’ at her like she’s a goddamn meal.”
Steve doesn’t even flinch. He just chuckles, low and rough, leaning back against the cinder-block wall. “Goddamn right she is.” His voice drops, eyes going half-lidded with memory.
“That sweet little thing, comin’ in here all innocent in those sundresses… bendin’ over to look at the engine, ass up, not havin’ a clue what she’s doin’ to me. Completely oblivious. Makes me wanna ruin her right on the hood of that car.”
Bucky nearly chokes on his sandwich, laughing. “You’re a perv, you know that?”
Steve shrugs, unbothered, taking a slow swig of beer. “Takes one to know one.”
“Yeah, but I don’t sabotage innocent girls’ cars to keep ’em comin’ back.” Bucky wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning. “Just don’t scare her off, man. Town’s too damn small for that kinda drama.”
Steve’s smile turns sharp, predatory. “Nah. I’m playin’ the long game.” He crushes the empty beer can in one fist, gaze flicking back toward the front again. “But fuck… next time she shows up with those treats she kept talkin’ about bakin’? I’m done waitin’.”
Still amused, Bucky shakes his head, rises, and tosses his trash into the bin. “That one’s on you, pal.”
Steve stays seated a moment longer, staring at the empty doorway, that hungry look settling deeper.
He’s not worried.
He knows you’ll be back.
The rich scent of warm chocolate chip cookies and brownies still clings to your skin when you guide your pink Beetle back into the empty lot. The air has cooled with the setting sun, carrying the faint metallic tang of the garage and the distant hum of crickets. You duck under the half-lowered bay door, the tin balanced carefully in your hands, the brownies inside still soft and gooey, the cookies crisp at the edges.
Inside, the garage is dim and quiet, lit only by slanted golden light and the harsh glow of a single bulb over the workbench. The concrete floor feels cool through your sandals and the lingering smell of motor oil, rubber and hot metal wraps around you like a blanket.
Steve’s locking the office door, broad back to you, the thin cotton of his T-shirt damp with the day’s sweat and clinging to every line of muscle. He turns at the soft scuff of your steps and the polite smile he’s worn for days slips away, replaced by something raw and ravenous.
“Oh!” you say, voice bright and a little breathless as you hold out the tin. “I hope I’m not too late. I made these for you- brownies and cookies, still warm. For fixing her so many times.”
Steve steps forward slowly, the faint creak of his boots loud in the stillness. He takes the tin, fingers brushing yours, rough, warm, streaked with faint traces of grease and sets it aside on the workbench. The metal lid clinks softly against the wood.
Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a harsh glow on the scattered tools and the glossy pink hood of your Beetle, which gleams like candy under the bulbs. The evening chill seeps through the half-open bay door but it’s nothing compared to the heat building in your core as Steve steps closer, his boots scuffing softly on the oil-stained concrete.
“That’s real sweet of you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and gravel-rough, vibrating straight through your chest. “But I’ve been dyin’ for a taste of somethin’ far sweeter than brownies.”
Your breath hitches, a soft, needy sound slipping out before you can stop it. “Sweeter…?” You tilt your head, cheeks already blooming pink. “Like… extra frosting? I can make another batch tomorrow if you want, I don’t mind-”
Steve’s low, dark laugh cuts you off. “Oh baby, no. Not brownies.” He crowds closer, pinning you gently against the workbench. “I’m talkin’ about this sweet little cunt between your legs. The one that’s already soakin’ through your pretty panties just from me talkin’ to you.”
Your eyes go wide, cheeks flaming. “My… what?” you whisper, voice tiny. “Steve, that’s not polite to say. And I don’t- I mean, I feel kinda warm down there... Like I need something, but I don’t know what.”
He grins, slow and filthy. “That’s your body beggin’ for a real man to take care of it, sweetheart.” His grease-streaked hands slide to your hips, thumbs stroking the soft fabric.
“That time you leaned over your Beetle, skirt ridin’ up, ass out… I’ve been rock fuckin’ hard ever since, jerkin’ off in the back room thinkin’ about bendin’ you over that hood and fuckin’ you till you scream.”
You swallow hard, pulse racing. “Jerking off… like touching yourself?” Your voice is small, curious, a little shy. “I’ve… tried that a couple times. It felt nice but nothing really happened. I thought maybe I was doing it wrong.”
Steve’s eyes flash with dark, thrilled hunger. “Oh we’re gonna fix that now baby. You’ve been with boys who didn’t know shit about makin’ a woman come.” He cups your jaw, thumb dragging across your lower lip, pressing just enough to part it. “First though- Christ, I need to breathe you in. Been dreamin’ about how this sweet cunt smells when you’re this worked up.”
Before you can answer, he drops to one knee, shoving your sundress up to your waist. Cool air kisses your soaked panties and you squeak, hands fluttering uselessly.
“Steve- wait, that’s-” You glance toward the half-open bay door, voice tiny. “Anyone could walk by and see…”
“Let ‘em watch,” he growls. “Might teach ‘em how a real man eats pussy.” He hooks his fingers in the waistband and peels your panties down slowly, the wet cotton clinging before slipping free. He balls them up, presses them to his face and inhales deeply with a guttural moan. “Fuck. You smell like sex and sugar. These are mine now-gonna wrap ‘em around my cock later and come so hard thinkin’ about you.”
Your knees wobble. “You’re… keeping them?” You bite your lip, embarrassed but oddly flattered. “That’s… kind of dirty, isn’t it?”
“Real dirty,” he agrees, smirking up at you. “And you love it, don’t you?” Strong hands grip your thighs, spreading you wide. “Hold the hood, sweetheart. I’m gonna eat this pussy till you understand why every other fuck you’ve had was a waste of time.”
He dives in, hot mouth sealing over your clit, sucking hard. You cry out, hands scrambling on the warm metal.
“Steve- oh my god-” Your voice cracks. “No one’s ever… put their mouth there before. It feels… so much better than anything I’ve tried myself.”
He hums against you, tongue dragging slow and filthy. “That’s ‘cause you’ve been with selfish little boys who didn’t know how to treat this pretty cunt right.”
He spears his tongue inside you, curling it, then pulls back to flick your clit fast and merciless. “This little button right here? That’s your clit. Suckin’ on it makes you shake like this. You like it, baby?”
You nod frantically, thighs trembling. “Yes- please don’t stop- it’s so intense, I didn’t know it could feel like this… I’ve never… never came from this before.”
“Good girl,” he growls, sliding two thick fingers inside you, stretching. “Feel how wet you are? That’s your pussy tellin’ me it’s finally gettin’ what it needs. Been cravin’ a man who knows how to fill it up and make it come, hasn’t it?”
You whimper, rocking into his hand without thinking. “I… I think so. The couple times I had sex it was just… quick. He finished fast and I didn’t feel much. I thought that was normal.”
Steve groans, curling his fingers to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back. “Fuck, baby. No more of that. I’m gonna make you come so hard you forget every half-assed dick you’ve ever taken.”
He adds a third finger, scissoring slow while his lips seal around your clit again, sucking in pulsing pulls.
The pressure builds fast and overwhelming. “Steve- I’m- something’s happening- I feel like I’m gonna burst-”
“Come for me,” he orders, voice muffled and rough. “Let it go. Squeeze my fingers and scream my name. Show me how sweet and slutty you can be when a man finally does it right.”
You shatter with a high, broken cry, back arching off the hood, thighs clamping around his head as pleasure crashes through you in waves you’ve never felt before. He licks you through every pulse, greedy and unrelenting, until you’re whimpering, oversensitive and boneless.
When he rises, he’s painfully hard, the thick outline straining his jeans so obviously you can’t help but stare, eyes wide and curious. He guides your shaking hand to the bulge, pressing your palm flat so you feel the scorching heat and the insistent, heavy throb.
“Feel that?” he rasps, voice gravel-rough and cracking at the edges. “That’s my cock baby, thick and leakin’ just from watchin’ you come on my tongue. Been like this every goddamn time you walked in here in those cute outfits, hips swayin’, not even knowin’ what you were doin’ to me. Now get on your knees and learn how to suck cock like a good girl.”
You sink down slowly onto the gritty concrete, the faint bite of it sharp through your dress but drowned out by the heavy throb between your legs and the excited flutter in your chest. You look up at him with wide, cheeks still flushed from your climax.
“Suck…? Like a lollipop?”
Steve’s grin is pure sin, eyes dark with lust and a flicker of something almost tender at your sweetness.
“Fuck, baby,” he groans, dragging a hand over his face like he’s trying to hold himself together. “You’re gonna kill me sayin’ shit like that. Yeah, exactly like that. Open wide, sweetheart. Let me teach you. Go on, don’t be shy.”
He undoes his belt with a metallic clink, zipper rasping down, then frees himself. His cock springs out, thick, flushed, heavy, veined, curving slightly upward, the fat tip already glistening with pre-cum. It’s bigger than anything you’ve seen before, and your breath catches audibly.
You blink up at him, cheeks flaming. “It’s… really big. And it’s leaking. Is that… normal?”
“Normal as hell when a man’s this hard for you,” he growls, wrapping your small hand around the base, your fingers can’t even meet. “See how it jumps when you touch it? That’s it beggin’ for your mouth. Go on, lick the tip. Taste me. I want you to know exactly what you do to me.”
You lean forward hesitantly, tongue darting out to lap at the bead of pre-cum. It’s salty, warm, a little bitter, and you hum softly in surprise. “It tastes… kind of good. Like… salty skin and something else.”
Steve groans low, fingers threading gently but firmly into your hair.
“Fuck yeah, that’s it. Now swirl your tongue around the head, slow circles, like you’re lickin’ an ice cream cone you don’t wanna finish too fast. Yeaaah, just like that. Look at you, so sweet and curious, tongue flickin’ over my cock like it’s candy. You have no idea how fuckin’ hot that is.”
You obey, tongue tracing slow, tentative circles around the swollen head, eyes flicking up to watch his face. His jaw is clenched, nostrils flaring, breathing ragged.
“Good girl,” he praises roughly, voice cracking. “Now open wider. Take me in slow. Just the tip first. Let your lips seal around it and suck gently. Like you’re kissin’ it. Yeah… fuck, baby, just like that.”
You part your lips, sliding the head into your warm mouth. It’s hot, velvety, heavy on your tongue. You suck softly, unsure, and he hisses through his teeth.
“Christ- yeah, perfect. Now use your tongue underneath, flick it along the slit. Feel how it throbs? That’s me leakin’ more for you. You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart- messy little mouth already droolin’ all over me. You like havin’ my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”
You hum around him in response, the vibration making his hips jerk slightly. You pull back just enough to speak, cheeks flushed, eyes shining. “Am I… doing it right? It’s so big, I don’t know if I can take more.”
“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he growls, guiding your head gently. “Now, you can take more, slide down slow. Breathe through your nose. Relax your throat. I’ll go easy. You’re safe, baby look at me. You trust me?”
You nod trustingly, sliding further down, inch by inch, until he bumps the back of your throat. Your eyes water but you don’t pull away. You hollow your cheeks and suck, clumsy but earnest.
“Fuck- look at you,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Takin’ my cock like you were made for it. Messy little mouth, droolin’ down your chin. You like havin’ me in your throat, don’t you? Nod if you do, baby let me see those pretty eyes waterin’ for me.”
You nod as best you can, eyes glassy and eager, and he curses under his breath.
“Goddamn. Now bob your head, slow up and down. Use your hand on the base, twist it a little while you suck. Yeah- fuck, just like that. You’re a natural sweetheart. Gonna make me come down your throat if you keep goin’ like this.”
You moan softly around him, the sound vibrating straight through his length. Your free hand rests on his thigh for balance, fingers digging in as you find a rhythm, awkward at first, then smoother, more confident with every ragged praise he growls.
“Such a good girl,” he rasps, hips rocking shallowly. “Look at me while you suck. Let me see those big eyes. Fuck, you’re killin’ me. Never had anyone this sweet and eager. You’re learnin’ fast, aren’t you? My perfect little cocksucker already.”
You keep your gaze locked on his, tears pricking from the stretch but refusing to stop. Saliva drips down your chin, slick and messy but you don’t care, you just want to please him.
He’s close, you can feel it in the way his thighs tense, the way his cock pulses harder on your tongue. “Gonna come soon, baby,” he warns, voice strained. “You want it in your mouth? Or you want me to pull out and paint that pretty face? Tell me- use your words.”
You pull off just enough to speak, voice hoarse and breathy. “In my mouth… please. I want to taste you. I want to be good for you.”
Steve’s control snaps. “Fuck- open wide then. Take every drop like a good girl.”
He guides your head back down, thrusts shallow and careful, then groans deep as he comes, hot thick pulses flooding your mouth. You swallow instinctively, some spilling past your lips but you try so hard to take it all, eyes watering but shining with pride.
He pulls out slowly, thumb swiping the mess from your chin, then pushes it back between your lips. “Swallow it all sweetheart. Good girl. You did so fuckin’ good- look at you, lips all swollen and shiny with my cum. You liked it didn’t you?”
You lick his thumb clean, dazed and flushed, then smile up at him shyly. “I… I did. It was strong, but… nice. I liked making you feel good.”
Steve hauls you up, kissing you hard, tasting himself on your tongue, groaning into your mouth. “You were perfect. Now it’s my turn to fuck you properly. Bend over the hood baby. Spread those legs wide. I’m gonna show you what a real cock feels like, gonna stretch this tight pussy till you’re cryin’ my name.”
You scramble to obey, bending over the warm pink hood, dress rucked up, thighs trembling. He kicks your feet wider, notches the thick head at your entrance, dragging it through your slick.
“Look at this greedy little cunt,” he growls, voice raw. “Still drippin’ from comin’ on my tongue. You ready for me, sweetheart? Gonna fill you so full you’ll feel me every time you walk tomorrow.”
You nod frantically, pushing back. “Yes- please, Steve. I want it. I’ve never felt this… needy before. I need you inside me.”
He sinks in slow, one relentless inch after another, until he’s buried to the hilt. You gasp, nails scraping the paint.
“It’s… so big,” you whimper. “Bigger than anyone else. I feel so full- oh god, I can feel every vein.”
“That’s ‘cause you’ve been takin’ inadequate dick,” he grunts, starting to move, long, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot.
“This is what you’ve been missin’. Feel how deep I am? That’s me hittin’ places no one else ever reached. This pussy was made for me baby, tight and wet and suckin’ me in like it never wants to let go.”
You moan, high and sweet. “Yes! Oh god- right there. It’s so much better. Don’t stop- please don’t stop.”
“Never,” he promises, snapping his hips harder, balls slapping your clit with every thrust. “Gonna ruin you for every other man. Every time you sit in this car, you’re gonna remember how I fucked you on the hood, how I made you come again and again on my cock. You feel that? That’s me ownin’ this pussy now.”
He reaches around, rough fingers finding your clit, rubbing fast circles. “Come on my cock, baby. Milk me. Show me how much you love bein’ filled up. Squeeze me- yeah, just like that. Fuck, you’re so tight when you come.”
You shatter again, crying his name, walls clamping down hard, fluttering around him. He follows with a guttural roar, slamming deep and spilling inside you, thick pulses that leave you trembling and dripping.
He stays buried a long moment, both of you panting, the garage thick with sex, sweat, chocolate, and gasoline. Then he pulls out slowly, watching his cum trickle down your thighs with a satisfied growl.
He helps you stand, legs shaky, smoothing your dress down even though it’s ruined, grease-smeared, wrinkled, damp. He presses the brownie tin back into your hands, thumb brushing your swollen lip.
“Best treats I’ve ever had, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice rough and fond. “Come back anytime. You and this pretty little car will always need my kind of maintenance.”
You nod, dazed and glowing, leaning up to press a shy kiss to his cheek. “Thank you Stevie,” you whisper sweetly. “For… everything. I feel so good. I didn’t know it could be like this.”
He catches your chin, stealing one more slow kiss. “Anytime, baby. Drive safe. I’ll be waitin’ for you to break down again.”
You slip out into the night, thighs slick, heart fluttering, the taste of him still on your tongue and the sweetest ache blooming between your legs.
