He has a cabin in the woods where he stock the food for winter and one day he comes home, finding some of his stash has been raided, and the one who is responsible (bunny reader) is sleeping by the fireplace in his old flannel, surrounded by his vegetable stash😌❤️
it's just a background and I really want the smut😩❤️ size kink with bunny reader with cute ears and cute tail🤤🤤🤤
hey baby! I'm so sorry for taking so long to complete this! I hope you like it!
summary - you enter a bear's cabin, and he decides to have a snack.
18+ only please, the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips
Henry walks into his cabin, and his nose flares as he smells an unfamiliar scent. He carefully places down his items and feels his claws descend, heading through his house and spying on his fresh vegetable stash raided before making his way to the loungeroom where a fire burns. Knowing that he hadn’t lit one when he had left and when he rounded the corner, Henry’s eyes widened as they landed on your tiny form.
A bunny hybrid was very rare to come by. You were tucked into an old flannel of his, curled into a tiny ball as your ears flop in front of your face, your little fluffy white tail sticking out. Henry looks around and notices most of the vegetables lying around you, nibbled on, and he wonders how hard it has been out there for you to break into his cabin. You were tiny, tinier than the giant bear that stood tall in the doorway.
Henry made his way over to your sleeping body, watching your tiny self shiver even with the fire burning. Your pink little nose twitches, a pout forms on your plump lips, and you whimper. He kneels and shakes you, and you wake startled. Your eyes are wide as you look around before landing on Henry, a squeal escapes you, and you begin to back up, crawling backwards until your back hits the oversized couch. “I–I’m sorry! I–I didn’t mean to! I was just hungry!” Fat tears fill your eyes as you ramble on, trying to stand on your wobbly legs.
Henry looks down at you, frowning. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” You stare at him with wide eyes, watching as he steps closer. You are so tiny, Henry had never met someone so small before, and it was doing something to the bear inside him. “Why don’t you get yourself comfortable on the couch, and I’ll make you a proper meal?” He nods, reassuring you that it is okay, and he smiles when you slowly move onto the couch, snuggling into the soft material. Henry grabs a blanket and covers you with it before heading into the kitchen and preparing dinner. You were the cutest little thing he had ever seen. He’d look over and see your large eyes watching him, following his every movement, taking in how giant he was.
Henry places the stew into two bowls and walks over to you, giving you a soft smile as you reach up and take it from him gently. “T–thank you, Mr…” You blink up at him, and the sight of your wide eyes nearly makes Henry throw the bowls away and take you apart, but he breathes deeply, calming himself a bit.
“Henry, little bunny. You can call me Henry.” He chuckles when you squirm at the nickname and sits next to your tiny body, noticing how you move closer, seeking his warmth. Henry watches you as he eats, following how your plump lips wrap around the spoon. “How are you liking the food, little bunny?” You nod, and Henry chuckles as he looks over and watches you stuff the food into your mouth, your eyes wide as you are caught.
“It’s… Good, thank you.” Your cheeks heat up as the huge man stares down at you, and you slowly place your bowl onto your lap when you finish. Your tongue flicks out, licking your lips as you stare at Henry, feeling bashful under his gaze. He smirks as he watches you squirm, and Henry reaches over, wrapping his large hands around the bowl before standing and heading into the kitchen to place them into the sink. You bounce in your spot, watching him as he walks back, feeling slick gather between your legs as you take in how large he is. Your mouth opens as you go to speak, trying to find something to say before a squeak escapes you, and Henry pulls you onto his lap.
“You shouldn’t have to worry, little bunny. You should have someone to take care of you, make sure you're all warm and well fed.” You squirm against his growing bulge, whimpering. Henry grips your hips, holding you closer to him. “You’re so tiny, little bunny. You need a big bear to take care of you, don’t you?” You nod rapidly, grinding against him as your eyes glaze over. He growls, his hand moving to undo his zipper, pulling out his hardened cock while you are distracted. Henry grins, placing himself between your legs and staring at your shocked face. “A little bunny like you needs to be cared for, pumped full and round.” Without warning, Henry slides into your tight cunt, grunting as he squeezes through. You lean forward, clinging onto him. A moan rips through the air as you feel his massive member splitting you open. “You should’ve known this would happen, little bunny. What did you expect when you put my flannel on?”
Your eyes roll back, gripping his bulging arms as his hands grip your hips and bounce you onto his cock. Your head falls back, and a whine falls from your lips as Henry’s hand grabs your little bunny tail, pulling it and squeezing it, sending intense pleasure through your tiny body, causing your walls to go crazy and begin to squeeze his throbbing cock. “O–oh!” Your hips wiggle, ears flopping around from his rough thrusts. “M–mr… bear! Mr…” A loud slapping sound fills the room as his large hand comes down on your plump cheeks.
Henry growls as he grabs you and flips you around, pounding into you hard and fast, barely having any control left. His hand comes up and wraps around your throat, gripping tightly. “My name is Henry, little bunny, or have you already become so dumb?” You can barely process anything he says, feeling so numb and fuzzy as his cock slides deeper inside of you, filling you over and over again. Henry strokes your cheek before gripping your face tightly, your mouth opens automatically, and he spits, feeling your walls clench around him by the action. “You’re my little bunny now.” His hips snap, feeling his balls tighten and his cock twitch before he buries himself deep inside of you and releases thick amounts of cum, filling you until it’s leaking from your tight hole. Your juices flow out of you, and you begin to twitch underneath him, your eyes rolling to the back of your head before they start to close slowly. Henry groans, staying buried inside of you as he places a kiss on your forehead. “My little bunny.”
The soft but rough werebear Henry😩"what did you expect when you put my flannel on"😩😩😩this is way too hot it should be illegal for this kind of hot😩😩😩😩😩😩🤤
"Or have you already become so dumb"😩please yes (s)creams
It is absolutely worth the wait🤤🤤🤤 this drabble is amazing 😌😌❤️❤️
✦summary: You know Steve doesn't see you like that. You know because you asked him, and he said no. So it's not really fair, that he'd reject you and keep making you love him after, is it. ✦
✦warnings/tags: steve rogers x female!reader, modern!au, no use of y/n, pining, rejection (at the start, off page, and steve's a liar about it), no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, some plot to get to all that porn, feral level smut, (dry humping, teasing, making steve lose control, fingering, light spanking, praise kink, manhandling, big dick steve, squriting, p in v sex, creampie, breeding kink, soft!dom steve), soft!steveoutside of smut✦
✦wc: 10.9k✦
✦Author's Note: this one hit ME too hard bc i based it on real life too much. oops. all the better for the horny ig. Enjoy!✦
You’re not looking for him in the crowd. And if anyone says you are, they’re a big, fat liar.
Active scanning is not looking. It’s a part of the job, to see who’s here. What kind of interviews you’re going to be able to get, who’s already closing in on who, who’s snuggled up and gossiping and might not notice you eavesdropping. If you’re smart about this—and you always are—you’re going to walk away from tonight with a comment from Secretary Ross, Pepper Potts, or even an Avenger themselves.
But not him.
You have no interest in walking away with a comment from him.
“They’re here.” Your coworker Stacy bumps your shoulders, her eyes wide and fixed across the room. “Holy shit, they’re actually here-“
“It’s their fundraiser.” You mutter, keeping your attention on a senator bumbling about near the drinks. “It would be crazy if they weren’t here.”
“Yeah, but- It’s all of them. I’ve never seen all of them-“
“Yes, you have.”
Stacy glares at you. “Well, not so close.”
You glance over, pointedly only looking at their feet. “They’re not that close.”
“I could touch one.” Stacy breathes, and you snort.
“You should go try that.”
That earns you another glare, and a smack on the arm. And you deserve it, but you just laugh and look back to your target. The tipsy, red-eyed senator who’s going to have a few more drinks, and tells you all about that bill congress is trying to pass about the Enhanced. You’ve read it three times, and it’s a disgusting invasion of privacy, but those documents were off the record. If you can get a Senator, talking about how he wants to force all superheroes to either be sterilized or record their sex lives-
Stacy pinches your arm, and you squeak so loudly it echoes off the domed, ballroom ceiling. Some attention darts in your direction, but everyone quickly loses interest when they realize it’s nothing all that interesting. Your face is burning as you smooth your dress, and it doesn’t stop burning. It feels like someone is tending to the hot embarrassment, fluttering in your tummy and restless in your fingers. Like someone is looking right through you, monitoring you, watching you-
“He’s looking at you.” Stacy hisses in your ear, buzzing with so much excitement you’re sure she’s about to turn into glitter and explode like fireworks, and you’re going to throttle her.
“He is now, because you,” you shove her shoulder. It doesn’t do anything to stamp out her thrill at your worst nightmare. “Fucking made him notice-“
“No, he was looking before-“
“No, he wasn’t-“
“Yes, he was-“
“No, he wasn’t-“
“Who wasn’t what.”
You freeze, and Stacy looks over your head with a fawning, dazed expression. You’re going to kill her. You’re going to cut her up into tiny pieces and burn them all in separate furnaces, and then you’re going to steal her dog and make it forget all about her, and marry her husband and make her cute little kid your Cinderella as bloodline punishment-
“Hi, Mr. Captain Sir.” She giggles, looking back down to you with a wide-eyed it’s him expression.
I’m going to kill you. You mouth. She doesn’t seem all that bothered by the threat.
“Uh- Hi. You don’t have to-“ You hear him shift on his feet behind you. “Steve is alright.”
You can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, trying to look smaller. More humble and approachable, when he’s a modern walking Hercules. A better version, who doesn’t kill his wife and kids. Who gets you drinks and tries to be your friend and is so stupidly polite and kind and you hate him, you hate him so much-
He says your name. You plaster on the widest, most plastic and sickly sweet smile you can manage. You want him to feel like you’re a bit of plastic that’s stuck between his teeth. To give up talking to you, because it’s not fair.
Steve’s just as handsome as the last time you saw him. And the time before that. And the time before that. If anything, he’s more handsome. You don’t know how he does it, changing absolutely nothing about his appearance and looking hotter every time you get eyes on him. His hair is styled the same as always, but it looks so soft. You could run your fingers through it and it would probably feel like a cloud. His stupid, sharp jawline is slack as you glare up at him, and he’s so tall it makes you dizzy, and he’s fixing you with that puppy look that makes you feel like you’re important to him.
And you’re not. You know you’re not.
You went down that road once. You tried to be important to him, and he said no. And he’s Steve, so he was sweet and perfectly kind about it, and still wanted to be your friend, and you’d thought you were already over it so you’d said yes.
You thought you could just be his friend. He hadn’t made anything weird. Neither of you had ever even brought up your failed attempt to ask him out again. And at the time, you’d thought you were over it.
But Steve is Steve. And he’s got some titanic hold over your heart that’s left finger marks dug in through the landscape. There’s a depression over the cavity of your chest, and your ribs have molded to fit it, and now it’s far too late to go back. You only know how to have feelings for him. You’ve tried to get over it. To ignore it. To forcibly re-mold your love into something platonic, or clawed your way through some relationships in the hope they’d help you move on.
They don’t. They won’t. Nothing can.
The big stupid boy-scout standing over you owns you completely, and you can’t even tell him without making it a problem.
Your new strategy had been to ignore him. Stacy ruined that.
She thinks he secretly has feelings for you. You tune her out every time she starts to crow and preach about it, because you know your heart is going to take it as gospel and not parody, and you can’t afford false faith. All you have is what’s grounded between your fingers.
Steve’s right here. He’s smiling at you, all pretty and nice, and you have to smile back or else it will make him feel bad. He’s got a drink in his massive hand for you. You’ve had a million wet dreams about that hand around your throat or cupping your pussy.
You’re aching thinking about it. In an ideal world, this would be the part where you ran without looking back.
In an ideal world, you’d be standing on his arm right now, instead of all stiff and weird in front of him.
You need to get a fucking grip.
“Hi.” You say, and it’s sounds lame and idiotic and pathetic-
Steve’s face splits into a big, happy smile. “Hi. How’s the night going for you, do you have your victim picked out?”
You scowl. “It’s not- They’re not victims-“
“You treat them like they’re victims.” His grin widens. “Sometimes I feel like I should be saving them.”
“They’re all fine. It’s not like I’m drugging them or something.”
Steve’s brows raise. “That makes me think you are drugging them.”
“Nuh uh.” You stick out your tongue, and he laughs under his breath.
“One day you’re gonna say something that actually gets you in trouble, you know.” He holds out the drink he brought you.
It’s your favorite. It’s always your favorite.
You told him what your favorite drink was, the very first time you attended one of these parties. He’s never forgotten since, and it makes you love and hate him all the more.
“I don’t think I will.” You mumble, both trying and desperately failing not to brush his fingers. His skin is warm. He’s warm. He’s like a walking furnace, and you’d like to just bury your face in his pecs and breathe him in and-
“Kid, you already have.”
Steve looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. His eyes are sparkling, and in the background you think Natasha Romanoff is circling like a shark, trying to get his attention, but if he notices he pretends he doesn’t. He just looks at you and calls you kid, and the word plummets like a cold stone into your gut.
Kid. That’s all you are to him. Kid.
“But if I got in trouble, you’d save me.” You take a long sip of your drink, and you like to torture yourself.
With his presence. His closeness.
How fast he nods. How certainly he answers.
“’Course I would. Already saving you by pretending I don’t see you getting all those Senators drunk.”
You laugh softly, but the sound hurts. When you look over your shoulder, Stacy’s abandoned you for the food table. You catch her eye, and she shoots you an excited thumbs up. She probably thinks this is going great.
“Are you feeling alright?” Steve says suddenly, and he sounds like he really, really cares. “You been looking kind of sick- Not that you look bad- You look good, uh- Really good, but-“
“I’m fine.” You turn back to Steve, and you wonder if he can see it.
The pain, leaking down like a toxin from your eyes. Everything kind of blurry. You’d throw up, if you didn’t think he’d take care of you after.
“Everything’s fine.”
Steve’s lips twitch. You’re not sure he believes you.
But it doesn’t really matter anyway. You’re not his to get an answer out of. He decided that.
And you’re just doing exactly what Steve wants, all the time.
“You do look nice.” He mumbles, taking a sip of his own drink, as if it could even do anything to him.
You smile, and there it is again. The shameful, unrelenting heat in your stomach. “Thanks.”
I dressed up for you.
“I think he’s in looove with you.” Stacy says, spinning around in her chair. You flip her off, not looking up from your computer.
“Is the printer out of paper still?”
“I don’t know, you print everything for me.” She pokes your chair with her foot. “Pay attention to me, I said Steve’s in love with you-“
“No, he’s not.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No, he’s not-“
“Yes, he is-“
“Is this the same thing you were fighting about last time?” Steve’s voice comes from over your shoulder, and you freeze. “Or is that just… How you two talk.”
Stacy looks awfully fucking pleased with herself for a dead woman. “It’s the same fight as last time.”
“Oh.” He pauses. You can hear his concern, and it makes you want to vomit. “Is everything okay?”
“Mhm.” Stacy beams. “Hi, Steve.”
You glance up, and Steve looks properly bemused and adorable about her whole demeanor. It makes you want to hold his face and kiss the tiny, pouting frown off his lips. You smack yourself internally. Get it together.
“Hi, Stacy.”
She almost glows. “You remember my name?”
“Yeah.” He glances down at you. “I try to remember most people’s names.”
Stacy swoons. “Of course you do.”
Steve blinks, and you clear your throat.
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh-“ He rubs the back of his neck, giving you a small smile. “Lunch, remember? We planned it last week.”
Oh. You did do that. “I told you to wait outside, my boss is going to try to interview you-“
“Oh, she already did.” He laughs. “But I’m here for you, not a front page.”
You flush, and Stacy giggles like she’s watching TV.
“So…” Steve shrugs. “Lunch?”
Right. Lunch.
“How’d you even get in the building.” You grumble, grabbing your jacket as you stand. He shrugs sheepishly.
“I took a photo with the guards.”
“Steve, I told you to stop doing that-“
“It made them really happy, okay? And I went through all the metal detectors, same as everyone else-“
“I know, but you hate taking the photos, you can tell them no.”
Steve frowns. “It’s not that big an inconvenience for me-“
“But you hate it.”
“I don’t hate it-“
“Steven Rogers.”
You glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. Steve sighs, slumping like a scolded child.
“I don’t love them.” He mumbles, and you nod.
“Next time, tell them no.”
“But then I can’t come upstairs.”
You shrug, starting at the door, your shoulder bumping against his. “You can text me. Like you’re supposed to-“
“Or I can just do the photos-“
“No-“
“Bye, guys.” Stacy calls from behind you, and you look her with wide eyes. You’d forgotten she was there.
“Um… Bye.” You wave awkwardly, and she grins.
He’s here for you. She mouths, and you roll your eyes.
No hope. It just makes everything else harder.
If Steve wanted you, he’d say something. And you’re a big girl. You can handle just being his friend, because he won’t leave you alone long enough for you to properly avoid him. You can handle it.
His hand finds your lower back, when he opens the door for you. You almost trip over your feet from the dizzying touch.
You can’t handle this at all.
The most annoying part about having undying feelings for Steve Rogers is that it’s Steve Rogers. Captain America. Golden Boy Number One. Mr. Perfect Specimen.
You’re in love with the little blond boy with abs and a dopey smile and sweet blue eyes. You’re obsessed with Mr. Muscles. You lose sleep over the guy who looks like he could crush you in a headlock then kiss you to sleep after.
Incredibly original. Groundbreaking, even. The love of your life is the masculine celebrity who’s respectful and kind. Never before heard of stuff. You’re really shattering glass ceilings with that one.
You want to shoot yourself in the face.
It’s impossible to avoid even thinking about him, when he’s everywhere. You go out to the corner store, and he’s on the little TV mounted in the corner. Avengers brand yogurts line the grocery store, and you glare at Strawberries and Cream and Justice until your head hurts. He told you about that. He was pretty proud of how all the proceeds were going to charities.
“It’s a stupid name, though.” You’d said, and he’d shrugged.
“Tony says the name doesn’t matter, as long as it’s got our faces on it. Apparently that’s what people are buying for.”
He’d frowned at that, and you’d given him an affectionate smile. He hates the glory of all of this. You know he does, and you’d told him gently you’re sure people will also buy for charity.
You’d been lying through your teeth, though. When you grab the yogurt and shamefully shove it into your basket, it’s not for cancer research or orphans or to save the bees. It’s because Steve’s face is smiling at you from the plastic, and you’re no better than the fangirls who get all doe-eyed over his every breath.
Not that you’re much better about that, either.
“I could give you an interview.” Steve offers on day, when you’d been complaining to him about slow news. “It can be about whatever you want-“
“I don’t want your pity journalism, Steven.”
He frowns. “It’s not pity. I’m trying to help you.”
You shrug, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “Well, I can’t accept your help.”
“Why not-“
“It’s unethical.”
“I… don’t think that’s true-“
“Well, I didn’t earn it.”
“You don’t have to earn it.” He says, all earnest and sweet and kind, and you want to die. “You work hard, I know you work hard, and if this can help you- Here, we can do it right now-“
“I don’t have questions ready.” You cut in quickly. Flatly.
Steve just shrugs. “Make some up. I know you can.”
You wish he’d stop believing in you. It makes your heart flutter.
“I have nothing I want to ask you.” You mumble hopelessly, and he frowns.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you always have something to ask me. To ask anyone.”
You flush, turning to the side to avoid his gaze. “Maybe I just know everything about you,” you mutter, and he snorts.
“No. You don’t.”
That gets your attention. You snap your head in his direction, and he smiles at you. Like he already knows he won.
“There she is-“
“Shut up.” You lean across the table, and his smile widens. “What don’t I know about you.”
“A lot.”
“Like what-“
“You have to ask me to find out.”
You narrow your eyes. He keeps fucking smiling.
“You suck.” You grumble.
He shrugs. “I know you think that.”
You’re both leaning across the table. If you reached up, just an inch, you’d be able to trace the line of his nose. He’s so handsome. It’s unfair, and you can feel a smile tugging at your lips in response to his.
“I’m going to punch you in the face-“
“I’d like to see you try, kid.”
Kid.
You lean back, ice water feeling like it was poured through your veins. Steve notices the shift. He frowns, but you don’t give him the chance to question it. You just push on.
“I need a napkin.” You mutter., leaning back into your seat. “To write questions.”
“Yeah. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. Opens his mouth, then closes it again, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll go get that for you.”
Of course he will.
And when he’s talking to the waitress—paper and a pen in his hand—she twirls her hair and giggles. Same as you would, if you got to know him where he didn’t know you. Where he might just find you pretty, and give you a chance, because you were friends first and you think that’s where you all went wrong.
This all might’ve been easier, if he really was just a celebrity crush. If you loved him because he was Captain America and not Steve. Your Steve. Who brings you back two pens in case you don’t like the first, and shares his food with you while you gloss through the interview—feeling little detached from your own body, like he’s a million miles away—and touches your lower back again when you finally leave lunch.
You might’ve gotten to touch him more, if he didn’t mean something to you.
But you wouldn’t trade knowing him for the world.
And that just makes it all hurt even more.
Steve’s been trying to get you out with his team for years. You’ve said no, over and over and over. You don’t need to feel even more mortal than you already are. Don’t need the reminder that he probably rejected you because you’re not even a quarter of what he and his friends are.
Not that you think Steve would think you’re any less because you’re not enhanced. You know he wouldn’t.
Consciously.
But that doesn’t change the reality of it. He wouldn’t want you, when he’s surrounded by other Gods, like he himself, far more worthy of his attention. You can be mean and sharp, but you don’t have the cool, collected, deadly beauty of Black Window. And you’ve heard the rumors about them.
You’ve heard all the rumors. About Steve with everyone, because people like to talk. There isn’t a pair of people on the Avengers that the public hasn’t theorized about secretly dating.
And you know none of it’s true. Steve’s told you himself.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, when you think about him with someone else more worthy. Someone he wants.
Which is why you didn’t want to do this. And Steve had always respected that—because he’s perfect, and he respects everything—so you’d thought you’d never have to. He asks. You say no. He doesn’t push it, or demand to know why. He waits months before asking again, and you know he only does that because he thinks you’re just too busy to go out the other times. That you’re saying no because you simply don’t have the energy, and not because the idea makes you feel itchy. And you don’t want to tell him. You like that he asks you. It makes you feel important.
But you still kept saying no.
Until Stacy overheard him ask you, and said yes for you. And Steve beamed, and you couldn’t stand to burst the delicate little bubble of his joy, and now you’re here.
Huddled in the corner of a bar with the fucking Avengers all around you. Hawkeye and Thor are throwing darts in the corner. Hulk, Black Widow, and Falcon are playing pool. The Vision is eating onion rings, and everything feels like a very, very bizarre dream.
Steve hasn’t left your side since you got here. It’s been the only anchor you have. You’d been able to hide in his shadow and duck under his arm, avoiding pressing questions and conversations you don’t really want to have. It’s not too weird for him to bring a civilian friend, at least. None of them have commented on it, besides throwing you passing looks. Steve mentioned that they all do it, from time to time.
But you’re the only one here right now. And if you could, you’d sew your hand into Steve’s so he couldn’t leave you alone.
And that’s always a little true. You want that all the time.
More than usual right now. But all the time.
“I’m going to get drinks.” He mutters, and you grab his bicep like a scared child.
“Wait- I’ll come with you-“
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He grins down at you, patting your head like you’re a dog or something. “You don’t have to stand up.”
You want to shout at him that this isn’t about him being a gentleman, it’s about him not leaving your sight. But you’re weak. And pathetic. So you just nod, and Steve smiles at you before walking away.
You try to hide in the shadows, avoiding any attention. It doesn’t work.
“You’re the journalist.” A cool, lazy voice cuts through the air, and you look up to find Tony Stark standing over your table.
“I’m a journalist-“
“No. You’re Roger’s journalist.” Stark drawls, sliding into the booth. You stiffen, but don’t dare to move away.
That’ll make it seem even more obvious, when Steve comes back and you don’t inch away from him.
“I understand what he’s been going on about.” Stark continues, looking you up and down slowly. “Didn’t know they made them like you anymore.”
Your eyes narrow. “Like me?”
“Mhm.” Stark smirks, and you raise your chin.
“What am I like, Mr. Stark?”
He chuckles, leaning back. “Little spitfire, aren’t you-“
“Only to people who deserve it.”
That makes him laugh louder. Everything feels more and more like a fever dream by the second.
You look out to the bar, trying to find Steve. Internally begging him to come back. He’s by the bar, your drink already in his hand. It’s the same one you always get. He’s holding it close to his chest, like it’s something priceless.
There’s a woman standing next to him. Just another random girl, in a tiny dress with some pretty good makeup, giggling and batting her lashes at him.
And Steve’s entertaining her. smiling at her.
The same way he smiles at you.
You don’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be here. You don’t want to see how it’s not even the Avengers that he’d want more than you, it’s everyone else. She’s getting the same attention you try to drown yourself in, but you’re not the one who might go home with him. His grin is a little tighter with her, because he’s probably restrained and trying to play his cards right. She looks like she’s talking sweet, and he’d probably want that more than you, poking and mocking him all the time. He’s a God. He’ll say he’s not but he is, and what kind of god would want to be worshipped by someone who shows love with insults and eye rolls.
There’s a tight feeling, around your throat like rope. Your eyes are burning, and the world is blurring, and you don’t want to see this. You can’t see this.
You tried to be his friend. You really tried.
But you can’t.
“What’s wrong with you?” Stark asks, and you look over to find him watching with a strange expression.
“Nothing.” You clear your throat, fumbling for your bag. “I just- Remembered something. That I have to go do.”
You glance over to Steve again. He’s laughing at something she’s saying without shaking his head and tipping his head back, without looking away from her. Like he does with you.
“Right now.” You mumble. “I have to go do it right now.”
Stark hums, tapping his fingers on the table. “Right now, huh.”
“Yep.” You stand up, and he gives you an almost amused look.
“What is it? If it’s so urgent.”
“Stuff.” You snip.
Stark chuckles, shaking his head. “Jesus, he’s batting in a whole other sport with you.”
“What the fuck does that mean-“
“Nothing.” Stark smirks again. Like he knows something. “Go on. I’ll tell Cap you had stuff.”
You scan over his relaxed features, and he just keeps grinning, lazy and unworried. You could get an answer out of him, if you tried.
But you look up, back to Steve. And he’s grabbing his own drink from the bar. Still chatting with the girl. If he brings her back to the table, you’re going to vomit.
You have to go now.
“Thanks.” You mutter, giving Stark a tight grin. “Have a good night.”
And Stark laughs, as you turn away.
“Oh. I’m sure I will.”
You avoid Steve for a week.
Properly avoid him.
He calls ten times, just the night you leave the bar. He texts almost every hour for the days after that, and you mute him. If you look at the messages, you’re going to respond to them. If you respond to them, he’ll convincing you to talk to him. If you talk to him, or see him, or even stand near him, you’re never going to get over him.
You’re going cold turkey on him, like he’s a drug.
To you, he is. And you need to get clean. You need to move on.
Steve doesn’t come into the building to steal you for lunch, but he calls you every day. Your fingers fidget, still trying to pick up the phone.
You don’t know how you manage not to, but you do. When you ask the guards downstairs, they say he’s walked through the door and walked back out five times. You force yourself not to think about it, and somehow manage to do that too. And you’re going to be able to do this. You’re finally going to move on.
Moving on means moving. Not staying in the same little pit, waiting for his sun to change its path and shine on you. You have to climb out, and find a new place to be. Someone new to want.
You’ve done this part before. The whole dance of downloading the apps and going on the dates and telling yourself you want them, even though they aren’t Steve. But this time is going to be different. If you tell yourself that enough, it will feel more and more true.
There’s a guy you’ve been chatting with all week, and he seems sweet. He compliments you, and he was polite when you met for coffee, and he’s far from bad to look at. And it’s not like you’re going to marry him. You just need someone to be close to you that isn’t Steve.
And maybe this guy—you can’t really remember his name, but you’ll learn it—is blond haired and blue eyes and broadly built. Maybe you swiped through photo after photo, looking for a phantom of him, but that’s nobody business expect yours, and your pillow’s. It knows better than anyone that there’s only one way you can fake it.
Which is exactly what this game is. Faking it until you make it. Until you’re over Steve, and there’s never any temptation to look back.
You dress up, telling your brain you’re going on a date with Steve himself so you put in all the effort. Another thing that’s nobody’s business. You’re doing what you need to, and it’s going to get you over him. You’ve got lashes and glossy lips and heels that are going to hurt in the morning, and this guy doesn’t seem strong enough to carry you like Steve would, but that’s where you need to shut your brain up. There’s not going to be anyone who’s like Steve. This guy looks like him enough to get you out the door, but it’s not him, and that’s okay. That’s good. It’s going to help you move on. You’ve got your jacket, and your purse, and you’re going to do this and move on-
You yank the door open, and freeze.
Steve stares at you, hands his pockets, mouth hanging open.
This is usually the part where one of you says hi, but you can’t remember how to speak. He’s here. Why is he here. He’s been giving you space, because he’s amazing and polite, and it had been so much easier to pretend it was just because he didn’t care when he wasn’t right in front of you. Looking like you’d just punched him in the face, all pale with sagging shoulders and sad, dull eyes. As if he’s lost sleep.
He scans over you. Over your revealing outfit and makeover. His throat bobs, and you could swear he slouches further. When he meets your gaze, he doesn’t smile. It makes you want to cry.
“Steve-“
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He mutters, the words thick and low. “And- I’m not here to fight about it. I didn’t think you were going to open the door, I didn’t- I wasn’t going to bother you. Just- Never mind.”
You blink. “I- What are you-“
“You got a date?” He nods to your outfit, and something in his pockets shift. He’s fisting his hands.
“Um-“ You glance to his pockets again, then back to his weighted gaze. “Yeah. I do.”
“With whom.”
Shit. You still can’t remember. “Someone I met on an app. Steve, what are you-“
“On an app.” He echoes, the words sounding hollow. He chuckles under his breath. “You know, Stark made me try those once.”
You swallow. You don’t want to hear about his dating life. “How did that go.”
“Bad. And I tried, I just…” He trails off, shaking his head, and you think you can feel his stare burrowing into your heart, shaping it even further in his name.
This is exactly what you were trying to avoid. Seeing him makes you love him more, think about him more, need him more. He’s got a gravity over you, and he doesn’t know it, and why is he here.
“Is he nice.”
Steve’s voice is low. Pained. You don’t understand the question.
“Who?”
“Your date.” He grunts. “Is he nice to you.”
“Oh.” You forgot about that part. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
Neither of you speak for a second. Steve stares at you so hard our head spins, and you can’t look him in the eyes.
“What did I do?”
His voice breaks suddenly, and you feel the crack in your ribs. It yanks your gaze up, and you’ve never seen him so sad. Frustrated and annoyed, sure. Tense, all the time. But never just… Sad. Defeated. Like even he isn’t sure what to do. It feels wrong. Like the world is bleeding together and caving over itself.
“You didn’t do anything-“
“I must have.” He scans over your features, his own so openly aching. “You’ve never been mad at me before, and- Now you’re-“
He waves to your outfit, and you frown.
“It’s just a date-“
“Just a date.” He mutters under his breath, and your mouth falls open.
“I’m allowed to date, Steven-“
“I know you are!” His voice raises for a second, but he quickly pushes it back down. “I- I know, but that’s not- Why are you avoiding me?”
He’s pleading. It’s almost bleeding out of his voice, staining all over you, and you wrap an arm around your stomach like you can stop yourself from bleeding back. This isn’t fair. Steve’s not stupid. He can’t have just forgotten your mistake of expressing your feelings, he’s not nearly oblivious to be unable to put two and two together, and he certainly can’t be dense enough to not tie together that you’re avoiding him, and going on a date. You don’t go on dates. You’re usually too busy trying to steal some love from his shadow.
Yet here he is. Looking at you like he really doesn’t understand. Being so nice about it, when it’s clearly been bothering him. No demanding to understand. No shouting about how hurt he was. Just pleading.
Because he’s golden and perfect. All respectful, like you’re just another lady to him.
Like you’re not worth enough for him to fight a little dirtier for.
A lump is pressing up your throat. It’s a battle to hold his gaze.
“Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you.” You mutter, and he shakes his head.
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” Steve rubs his face, working his jaw. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what I did-“
“Steve-“
“And I’ll fix it, whatever I did, I’ll fix it-“
“You can’t fix it!” You shout.
He stumbles back like you slapped him, and tears burn at your eyes.
“You- You can’t fix it, Steve.” You whisper, staring down at his shoes. “Just- Stop.”
“Stop what?” He rasps. “I- I know I messed something up, but-“
“Stop being so nice to me.”
He’s silent for a moment. You don’t even know how to justify that one. It sounds pathetic to your ears.
“I... I’d rather not.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“Then please leave me alone.” The words hurt, but you push them out like an apple lodged in your throat. “I- I tried, okay? I really tried, but I can’t.”
“Can’t-“
“Can’t be your friend.” You whisper. The tears burn on your cheeks. “I can’t be your friend, Steve, it’s too hard. I- I-“
You sniff, and Steve rasps your name. You have to shake your head. He can’t talk right now. It’s already too hard.
“I love you.” You say, barely a breath. It doesn’t matter. He’ll hear anyway. “I love you too much, and- It’s not your fault that you don’t- That it’s not the same. But please.” You shift on your feet, hugging yourself tight. “I- I need space.”
Steve doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything he could say to make it better, not anymore. But something in you still fractures, when he just steps to the side. Giving you a path out.
Letting you go.
You think it’s hope. The hope that one day he might feel the same, the dream that you’d tried so hard not to feed, but tended to bloom on its own. That one day he’d look at you and realize he made a mistake.
But he steps to the side. And that’s all it’s ever going to be.
A dream.
You bow your head and shuffle past him, face burning and skin crawling with shame. You’re going to go on this date and pretend like everything is fine, if you can even make it out of the hallway without breaking down. Your knees are wobbly and tears are coming faster than you can wipe away, but you just need to get out. Out of this hallway with its suffocating air.
Away from Steve, and your heart, broken at his feet.
You’ll get over it. You’ll get over it. It’s hard to breathe right now but you’ll get over it-
“God- Screw it.”
A strong hand wraps around your wrist. It takes you by such surprise you don’t even think to fight.
Steve spins your around, grabbing your jaw and picking you up in a single movement. You gasp as his lips slam over yours, sudden and demanding. He kisses you like he doesn’t know he’s already got a claim on you. Like he’s trying to brand your lips with a bruising, hungry desire. All you can do is breathlessly kiss him back, scraping at his shoulders and trying to keep up with what’s happening. Steve tastes a little like honey and salt, and you’re sure he ate something earlier but you don’t really care what. His hair is just as soft as you thought, and you’re being crushed under the force of him but it’s intoxicating and exhilarating and you feel like you’re being remade-
It’s over. Just as fast as it started. Steve stumbles back, fumbling with his hands like they’re still trying to reach you against his will. He braces them on his hips, staring at you with wide eyes.
You gape at him, trying to catch your breath. You reach up to brush your own lips, trying to make sure the tingly feeling there is real. Maybe press it deeper in, until you can feel it forever.
Steve clears his throat. You blink at him through the slowly drying tears, not really sure what’s happening.
Neither of you dare to speak. Or move. You’re breathing shallowly, like anything too big is going to tip the whole world over, and it will all slip through your fingers.
He takes an uncertain step forward, and you should take one back.
But you’ve never been all that good at moving away from him before. You have no interest in learning that skill now.
This time, you grab him at the same time he grabs you. You stumble into each other, uncoordinated and desperate, unbothered by bumping noses and smushed limbs. You just need to be close to him. To feel him as much as possible, as fast as possible.
He’s never been a drug. You’d been getting a secondary high, but this-
This is a hit.
And you need to have more.
You grab at his collar, pressing up to meet his every kiss, and you’re quickly making out with teeth and tongue in the middle of the hallway. Steve’s arm wraps around your ass, lifting you effortlessly off your feet, and you moan into his mouth.
He trips as he walks back into the apartment, and you end up pressed against the wall at least three more times before you make it through the door. Every time Steve slams you back, devoting all his attention to kissing you until you’re drooling and sloppy and just trying to push further into his open mouth. At one point he slots his knee between your thighs, and you start to shamelessly grind down as he sucks your lower lip between his teeth.
You giggle, dazed and sore with overflowing need for him. He kicks the door closed behind you, and you think you’re going to end up riding his thigh against the wall, but he starts down the hall. To your bedroom.
He makes it about five steps before you rake your nail through his hair and start kissing over his jaw. Steve moans into your ear, lagging a little sideways, and you shriek as you both topple down onto the couch.
It takes you a second to catch your breath, and that’s all Steve needs to get the upper hand. He grabs your jaw, tipping your head back as he starts to suck and nip at your neck. You squeak, grabbing his head, and he moans against your skin. His knee pushes back between your thighs, and this angle is even better than before. You can’t help the roll of your hips, down onto the muscle of his thick leg.
“St- Steve-“ You voice is high, and he hums, licking up your throat before making out with a soft spot under your jaw. “Jesus fucking- God-“
“I know.” He mutters, dragging his hand down your thigh and grabbing under your knee. He squeezes gently, hiking it up to your chest, pushing his knee down even harder than before.
“Fuck- You-“ You gasp, your pussy clenching around nothing as your clit gets rubbed through his jeans, through your panties.
At this angle, you’re almost exposed to him. Your dress pooling around your tummy, the wet spot on your underwear growing bigger and bigger. You grasp at the skirt, trying to tug it down a little. It’s one thing to be riding his knee, another for him to see you.
Steve grabs your wrist, pushing the fabric further down than it had been before. Your eyes almost cross when he starts to rub his knee back and forth, the pressure overwhelming and perfect. You didn’t think you could cum like this, but there’s a familiar pressure building up in your stomach, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a wanton moan from escaping your lips.
He sits up to look at you, and you’re sure it’s a shameful, lewd sight. Your makeup smudged, your hair ruined, a picture of depravity and sin as you chase pleasure on his leg. This isn’t the kind of thing you thought he’d be into. He’s too perfect, too good, and maybe you’ve wanted to be put in a headlock and manhandled and used, but Steve’s all about honor. You’d been so sure that, even if you got to have him, it would be lovely, vanilla sex that was filled with such emotion it would make up for the simpleness.
But that’s not what you see in Steve’s eyes. They’re hooded and black with lust. His jaw is clenched as he watches you, and he pushes your leg further up with a gentle squeeze.
“Oh-“ You gasp, trying to reach up to grab him.
Steve grabs your second wrist without letting go of the first. Holds him in one hand, and leans over you as he pins them both over your head. Your mouth falls open, breathing fast and needy.
His own chest is heaving. He looks down to his knee against your core, and a deep sound rumbles from his chest. You’re wound so tight you’re certain you could snap, sudden and fast like a rubber band. You strain against Steve’s hold, and his attention snaps back up.
“You’re good, doll.” He coos. “Relax for me.”
You blink at him, shaking your head. You can’t stop grinding against him, but you need him close. Need to be under the pressure of his body, to feel like there’s nothing else in the world.
Steve picks up the speed of his knee, almost drilling it down into your cunt without touching you at all. You gape, head lolling to the side, and he grunts.
“Look at me.”
His voice is deep. Not a suggestion. An order.
You blink up at him, almost drooling, and he leans down until his lips are ghosting over yours.
“I don’t want space.” He mutters. “I want you.”
You swallow, still rubbing your pussy up into his knee. “You- You can’t just-“
“Shh.” He pushes further down, until it feels like he’s almost inside of you. You snap your mouth shut. “Is that all I did?”
“Wha- Oh-“
He drags his knee in slow circles, and you make an incoherent, starved sound. Steve doesn’t even break a sweat.
“You and me.” He mutters, studying your every expression. “That’s it. That’s what was gonna make me lose you.”
“You- You didn’t lose me-“
“Almost did.” He squeezes your knee. “You walked.”
You glare up at him. “You let me-“
“No, I didn’t.”
Steve’s lips slam back over yours, and you can’t really argue with that. Your eyes flutter as you give into the kiss, your body sparking with a million, delighted nerves. Steve groans against your lips, fucking his knee against your core, and he’s hitting your clit just right, the fabric soaked and filled with rough friction.
Your back arches off the couch as you cum, and Steve lets go of your wrists. You grab his face, trying to pull his lips closer, and he wraps around your back, holding you up. Your toes curl, body shaking as the pressure becomes sensitive, your pussy gushing and clenching around nothing.
Steve rubs your spine, kissing along your shoulder, up your neck, over your cheeks. You hum softly, floating down and tucked into his arms. He leans back against the couch, taking you with him. You slump over his chest, burying your face in his neck as his hand slips under your dress. Thick, calloused finger pads gently graze your hips and waist, and you squirm.
“I- I didn’t want to ruin something.” He murmurs in your ear, and you pause.
“Ruin…”
“Us.” Steve’s face presses into the curve of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. “You were my friend, we work in a lotta the same places, and I just- I didn’t want to risk that.”
You swallow, leaning back and waiting until he meets your glossy, sad gaze. You take his face between your hands, and he covers them with his own.
“I was willing to risk it.” You whisper, and he sighs.
“I know. But-“ He looks away, words choked and low. “I thought it was a crush. That you’d get over.”
You laugh weakly. “Well, it wasn’t.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Mine wasn’t either.”
You lips part with a sharp breath, and Steve looks back to you with nervous, hopeful eyes.
“I love you.” He squeezes both your hands, guiding them to his lips. “It is the same. So- Tell me that fixes it. Please.”
It does.
Just as fast as they’d shattered, your dreams weave themselves back together. They’re clearer than before. More colorful. It’s no longer like looking through a mist, or watching a reflection in the water. When you touch Steve, he doesn’t ripple away. And that’s more than enough.
You lean down and kiss him. It’s slower than the other kisses. Steve grabs your hips, but lets you press his head down. You wrap your arms around his neck, tracing his lips with your tongue, and he hums in content. Drags you further forward in his lap.
Something thick and hard presses right against you, and you almost go limp. Like your body is already trying to get ready to take it. To take Steve’s cock that can’t be as large as it feels, straining against his jeans and twitching when you drag yourself slowly back and forth.
“Hey.” Steve grunts, grabbing your hips firmly. You hope he’s holding tight enough to leave a bruise. “Easy.”
You snort, leaning back to give him a pointed look. “Easy?”
“Yeah, that’s what I-“
“I just came on your knee.”
His ears turn a little pink, and he coughs. “I, uh- Fair.”
“Mhm.” You hum, smiling smugly, and you take all the strength in your jelly legs and grind right now onto his clothed cock.
Steve hisses, his fingers digging into your soft skin. “Jesus- Baby-“
You brace your arms on either side of his head, dragging back and forth as slow as you can. Steve’s eyes flutter, his tongue darting over his lips as he watches you move on him. His muscles flex with the effort not to grab you.
You’d very much like to see him give up.
“Does that feel good?” You whisper, making your voice sweet and innocent.
Steve grunts. You’re going to have handprints on your body in the morning. The thought just makes you move faster.
“I don’t want to go slow, Stevie.” You purr, and his chest heaves under you. “I want you to fuck me. Pleeease.”
You whine dramatically, thrusting forward, and Steve’s face drops against your chest.
“Jesus, woman.” He lips graze over your breast, and you moan. “Come on, ‘s not playing fair-“
“Don’t wanna play fair.” You hum, slowly reaching between your bodies. “Wasn’t fair how you turned me down.”
“’M sorry about that-“
“You should be.” You kiss under his ear. “Hurt my feelings.”
“Thought-“ He grunts as you palm his balls through his jeans. “Thought I was helping-“
“You weren’t.”
“I got that now-“
“But you know what would make it better?” You lean back up, holding Steve’s gaze with a lazy smile.
He nods quickly, and you giggle, wiggling down onto his bulge.
“Fucking me.”
Steve looks down, and a rumble echoes through his chest when he sees it.
You’d peeled off your ruined underwear without him noticing. Leaving your bare, sweet and soaked pussy pressed against him. You moan, watching him as you grind down, and he’s so close to snapping. You can see it in the tension of his jaw, feel how his fingers keep twitching on your hips. You smile at him, licking your lips, and that dark look flashes over his features. The same one from earlier, that had him overtaking you like a storm.
Steve’s a good boy. A sweet boy.
He also doesn’t like things that he can’t account for. Used to pick fights in alleys as a kid, always wanted to be the person everyone looked to for help.
You’re sure that, between the two of you, you can let him have a little fun without compromising his moral compass.
He has to, if you’re begging him for it. Not very chivalrous, to ignore a lady in need.
“Pleaseee.” You whine again, ghosting your lips over his. “Fuck me, Stevie, fuck me until I can’t walk-“
He mutters your name under his breath, and you just pout at him.
“Make me yours, make me cry, fuck-“ You throw your head back, the teasing him going straight to your own core. “God, fucking- Please, Steve-“
That does it. The explicit, wet cry of his name seems to snap something in Steve’s resolve, and he’s on you in a blur of hands and lips. Grabbing a fistful of your ass before hauling you up his chest, kissing you breathless as he stands. He keeps carrying like you weigh nothing, and you want to be trapped in his arms forever.
“Steve- Shit-“ Your jaw drops he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Fuck, slow down-“
“You said you didn’t want to slow down.” He reminds you in a deceptively soothing voice, big hands rubbing on the back of your thighs. “Said you didn’t wanna play fair.”
“I- Um- Ooooh-“
You drop your head against Steve’s shoulder, biting at his shirt as thick, strong fingers tease the lips of your pussy.
“Wet fuckin’ pussy.” He muses, spreading you open so the cold air hits your cunt. “Knew you got soaked for me, princess. Didn’t know it was this bad.”
“You- You-“ He needs to stop humiliating you and touching you at the same time. It makes you feel like you’re burning alive in the best way possible. “You knew?” You squeak, and Steve chuckles.
“Always knew. Told you, thought it was a crush.”
You try to twist and glare at him. “And you didn’t tell me-“
“Like you would’ve wanted me to tell you I could smell how badly you wanted my cock.” Steve smacks your ass with a scoff, and you flop right back over his shoulder.
“Fuck-“ You whimper. He’s right. You can barely even stand that right now. “Steve, please- Please-“
You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. Mercy, maybe. More mocking attention. Anything he can fucking give you, because you feel like you’re about to explode.
Steve spanks you again, this time on the other cheek, and you moan.
“’Course you like that.” He mutters. “Dirty girl, testing me every fucking day.”
He drags his thumb through the mess between your legs, and your pussy clenches, trying to drag him in. He laughs, pushing down for half a second before dragging down to your clit and rubbing in quick, tight circle. You gasp, pushing uselessly at his back, already overstimulated and still needing more.
“Felt that.” Steve flicks your clit, and your whole body shakes. “Greedy, princess. You’ve been waitin’ this long, you can hold it a little longer.”
“Ca- Can’t-“ You gasp, pressing your cheek against the broad muscle of his back. “Can’t, Steve- Can’t wait-“
“Yeah, you can.” He grunts. “Christ, you’re dripping all over my hand. Going to take me no problem, aren’t you, baby.”
He’s playing with your clit like it’s just a little button for his whims, and you have to bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from falling apart all over his hand.
“Steve- I- I’m going to- Oh my god-“
Steve slaps right over your pussy, the wet sound echoing in your ears as he shoves those two fingers right into your pussy. He finds your G-spot in a second, crooking his fingers and dragging them over your sensitive walls. You cum with a cry of his name, sudden and harsh. White dancing at your vision, your body seizing up as Steve dumps you down onto the soft mattress.
He presses his wrist further, folding your body up. You grab his neck for an anchor, and he kisses your wrist as he slides a third finger into your dripping mess of a pussy.
“Getting you ready.” He mutters, wiping some hair from your face. “It’s okay, babydoll, you’re doin’ real good.”
You whimper, the orgasm still shaking through you. You’re struggling to breathe when Steve finally pulls his hand away, and the loss makes you whimper.
Steve laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you all sweet and loving, like you haven’t been turned to a puddle under his hands.
“Breathe.” He murmurs, squeezing your breast gently, and you take a loud, stuttering gasp. Steve kisses your nose, smiling like he’s being offered ice cream, and you watch him in a starry-eyed daze.
You hear the click of his belt, and as much as you’d like to reach down and feel him, you can barely manage to hold onto his shoulders right now. Steve pulls slowly up with one last chaste kiss on your lips, and your breath hitches in your throat.
He’s massive. That’s the kind of dick you’ve only seen in cartoons, because even the porn industry can’t replicate it. You’re not sure how he gets around so easily in his tight suit, with that fucking horse cock acting like a third leg. Thick and veined, already beading with pre-cum as he strokes it slowly in his hand, a sheepish expression on his face.
“I was… Endowed.” He mumbles, ears red. “Before the serum. Then…”
He nods to his cock, and you laugh breathlessly.
“Jesus, Steve-“
“It won’t hurt you.” He says quickly. “I know there are those rumors ‘bout be being a virgin, but-“ He sighs, pouting slightly. “God forbid a man tell Tony Stark he doesn’t want to talk about his sex life, suddenly he’s never even touched a boob-“
“Dude.” You smile up at him, and he cuts himself off. “Look me in the eyes and tell me if I still think you’re a virgin after that.”
You tilt your head to the hallway, but Steve just frowns.
“Dude?”
“Um-“
“Don’t call me dude when I’m about to fuck you.” He grumbles, and you’d laugh at him if that didn’t make your heart skip. e
“Sorry, sir.”
You say it half to mock him, half to test something.
Steve’s jaw ticks, and his already rock-hard cock twitches in his hands. You giggle as his eyes narrow, and you’re still laughing as he prowls over you, that dark, hungry look back on his face.
“You think something’s funny?” He grunts, and you shake your head.
“No, sir.”
Steve groans, dropping his face between your breasts.
“Gonna be the death of me.” He mutters under his breath, and you’re still laughing softly.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
You laugh again, because you’re really not. It’s hilarious, and he’s adorable, and this is going to yield some fantastic results.
Steve assesses you like you’re a mission to be accomplished. And you know him.
He never does anything halfway.
“Alright, princess.” He mutters, tapping the head of his cock on your clit. “Open.”
You squeak, still giggling, and spread your legs slowly.
The last laugh is pushed from your chest as Steve slowly starts to sink himself into your heat. Your mouth falls uselessly open as you bow off the bed, your body almost unable to rationalize how full you are.
Steve splits you open, his cock slowly driving through you and hitting spots you didn’t even know you had. He grinds slowly down into your pussy, bullying you further open, and you think he’s found a button inside you that just makes you a limp, sensitive fuck-doll, because you whine out his name but it takes everything you have.
“I know.” He grunts, the tip of his cock pressing into your cervix. “You’re taking it, baby, there you go.”
“Steveee-“
“Feels good, doesn’t it.” He presses at sweet kiss to your lips as he bottoms out. His fingers lace slowly through yours, and you nod.
You’ve never had so many pleasure points being hit at once. Steve’s still got a hand on your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as you try to breath around him. He’s patient. You don’t want him to be.
“More.” You push out, and he raises his brows.
“Sweetheart-“
“More.” You roll up into him, moaning loudly as he hits even deeper. “Fuck me, Steve- Mmm-“
He kisses you, passionate and messy, and you almost scream in satisfaction as he starts to move.
He’s unrushed. Completely in control of you, and aware of it. His dick pulls almost all the way out before slowly pushing back in, the torturous pace making you feel like a live wire.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He coos, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “Pretty girl, you like being stuffed up with my cock, don’t you.”
“Ye- Yes-“ You tip your head back into the pillows, your free hand grasping at the sheets. “Yes- Oh my god, yes-“
Steve’s started to grind against your g-spot whenever he hits it, letting his thickness press and drag over the sensitive, gooey spot until you’re moaning and writhing around him.
“Feel that, don’t you.” He mutters, pushing in a little harder than last time. “Feel my dick inside you, baby, feels so good, doesn’t-“
“So good.” You babble, but who can blame you. “So good, Steve, you’re so-“
Your words turn into a broken moan as Steve drives back into you, and he’s going harder and harder every time. Still pulling almost fully out slowly, letting your arousal gather and drip down your thighs and ass, but then slamming back into you so hard it makes you think the world is shaking.
A breathy sound escapes your lips, maybe a plea, and Steve moves your tangled hands between your bodies, pressing you down into the mattress as he rises up for a better angle.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He growls, pounding into your cunt like he owns it. “If I’d know you wanted me this bad I woulda had you all over this city.”
You whine, squeezing around him. Steve chuckles.
“Oh, you like that. Like the idea of being my good little cockslut, letting me play with you wherever I want.”
Big, steady hands press your knees up, letting Steve hit even deeper than before. A strange, tight feeling is building in your gut, but it feels good. All of this feels so good. You’re spent and cockdrunk, but you feel used in the best possible way. The filth Steve is drawling in your ears makes your brain go all quiet. You’re just a happy, humming bundle of pleasure, Steve’s massive body draped over yours, and you’d probably do anything he wanted, if he just fucked you like this after.
“You were made for me.” He groans, lips wandering all over your face as his cock drills into you. “I’m gonna take such good care of you, baby, swear it, just sing for me, come on-“
You moan, long and loud. Steve grins, kissing under your ear.
“Good girl.” He coos. “There you go, just like that. Come on, doll, I know you’re getting close.”
You are. You’ve been close the whole time, but this feels more and more different by the second. There are wet, sinful sounds filling the room as your skin slaps together, and Steve’s breath is hot in your ear as he starts to lose a little control of himself.
He moans when you start mindlessly humping up to meet him, forcing his cock into the tightest spot into you that makes everything all colorful and hazy. You gasp softly, chasing up from a little more, and Steve wraps and arm around your back.
“Fuck- Fuck- You feel so good,” he groans your name in your ear. “So good, it’s- Christ-“
That strange pressure in your tummy is going to burst. It feels like Steve is driving right against it, daring it come undone.
“Steve.” You breathe out. “Steve- I- I’m gonna-“
He growls, deep in his chest and rolling through you. Steve grabs you and wrestles you down into the mattress, pushing your legs up to your chest and fucking you fast and brutal.
It’s a sight above you. Steve, panting and moaning as your pussy sucks him in, glistening arousal shining all over his cock when he pulls out and smearing on your tummy. Your tight walls are starting to contract, and he doubles over, groaning your name as his thrust become shallow and unmeasured.
Tears start to stream down your face. Steve looks at you like you’re an angel, fucking you like you’re just a toy, and you can’t even remember how to tell him how good it feels.
“Steve…” You wiggle below him, crying out as he just fucks you hard. “Steve- Ooooooh-“
Your eyes roll back, the tears burning on your cheeks from the impossible to handle pleasure. Steve leans down and kisses them off your cheeks, the softness in such contrast with how he’s turning you into a bundle of nerves and tears.
“My pretty girl.” He mutters, kissing your lips sweetly. “Close. We’re so close. You can make it. Make it for me.”
You nod, almost hypnotized into agreeing. And Steve’s abusing that spot inside of you. Sensitive and overwhelming, making your toes curl and eyes cross.
“Steve- I- I can’t-“
“Yes, you can.” Not a suggestion. Steve’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing it back and forth as he ruts into you. “Come for me, now.”
The command rolls through you, and that pressure bursts. Heat washes over you, making you bow off the bed as a funny, wet feeling gushes out between your thighs. Steve groans, slamming his mouth back over yours, groaning your name as you start to milk his cock.
“Fuck,” he groans, and you wrap your arms tight around his neck. Tight enough to strangle him, if he was a normal man. But Steve just splays his hand possessively over your back and moans against your lips, driving home into your cunt as his release rippling through him.
It’s almost as good as your own orgasm. You’re tucked into a shaking, flexing heat of muscle, his deep voice moaning your name in your ear, his cock still thrusting and twitching inside you. Over, and over, and over-
You can barely breathe in the best way. You’ve never had a man cum so much. It starts just hot and sticky, then it’s drooling out, down your ass and onto the sheets. You can feel it in your throat, almost taste it, and even after Steve pulls out it’s everywhere. Painting your pussy creamy and white, branding your abdomen, your tits, your thighs.
Steve stares down at you with a gaping mouth as you both come down from the high. You laugh, hoarse and breathy.
“Woah.”
“Shit.” Steve mutters, grabbing at the remainder of the clean sheets and wiping them over your body. “I- I didn’t- I usually pull out, you just-“
“Steve-“
“We need to get you in the shower, it’s everywhere-“
“Steve-“
“I’m so sorry-“
“Steven.” You smack his shoulder, and he stops dead.
You’re already bridal style in his arms, naked and covered in his cum, some of it dripping all over the floor. You’re going to need to hire a cleaner. Or invest in really, really big buckets that you’ll keep next to the bed.
“Does that happen every time?”
He swallows, and nods.
“Uh- Not that much.” He mumbles. “But yeah.”
Pride glows in your chest. You get the most of him. “Okay.”
Steve blinks. “Okay?”
You nod, and he shakes his head.
“I ruined your room-“
“I liked it.”
He stares. You smile.
Steve rolls his eyes, and presses a kiss to your brow.
“You’re impossible.” He mutters, and you giggle.
“Yeah, but you love me. And you can’t take it back now, you already said it-“
He grabs your chin, turning it so he can fully capture your lips.
“I do love you.” He mutters against your lips. “And no one could make me take it back if they tried.”
You smile. You have no plans to do that.
Steve is somehow more than you ever dreamed. And there’s no way you’re letting him go now.
✦End note: this was so fun for me to write i love a puppy dog man. i hope you enjoyed it!✦
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That moment where Nikki tells Bear that she's writing a love story that isn't a romance, and he doesn't get it. Can't recognize the difference between the two things, and the way it dooms them all. ugh. UGH. NOBODY TOUCH ME
Sarah being tied up and naked, legs tied open, and a shell of herself, is what Freaky Nikki believes what Bear likes because he is using Nikki without her consent/ she isn’t there.
Nikki threatens to shoot herself in the vagina and actually pulls it out of there and limps. Because he cares about having sex with her, not her as a human being. It also emphasizes that the demon associates her vagina with violence bc of Bear’s SA on nikki
I'm SICK and TIRED of the Kento Nanami mischaracterization.
(Now playing, "Sweet" - Cigarettes After Sex)
(MDNI! Lots of nsfw/sex talk, Husband!Nanami, fluff, comfort(?), smut, short drabble, Reader is heavily implied fem, pregnancy talk, I suppose? Just soft sex with Nanami.)
Kento Nanami does not fuck.
This man is not coming home after a hard day at work and "fucking the shit out of you." Half the time, he can barely get the dinner you made him in his stomach before he's crashing.
This man is not getting off on being called daddy. Or spanking you while calling you his "good little girl."
Nanami views the idea of coming home to you as the only good thing about leaving in the first place. So when he does come back home to you, he expects softness. Comfort. Not lust.
Nanami isn't a lustful man. This isn't to say he doesn't like sex. He adores it. With the right person, of course. But it's not something he does for his own greed. Kento does not fuck. He makes love.
As cheesy as he knows he'd sound if he ever said it out loud, it's the only descriptive that's ever felt right to him. Nanami doesn't want to grab you by your legs and pin you to the wall and "fuck" you. That sounds aggressive, degrading. As if his spouse, his love, his reason for coming home at all, was something to be used.
Nanami pours all of his love into having sex with you. (Literally and figuratively)
He's not grabbing your chin and spitting into your mouth. He's interlocking your fingers, his lips ghosting over yours as his forehead rests against your own.
He's not saying "look at this pretty fuckin' thing..." while admiring the way your cunt clenches around him. He's saying, "You're so pretty... my angel.." while looking into your teary eyes.
Yes, Nanami is Cumming inside of you. But it's not because he wants to "claim" you or prove he "owns" you. But because he wishes to one day start a family with you. A real family. With the love of his life.
This man isn't rolling over and falling asleep on the opposite side of the bed after sex. Nanami cleans you up as if the touch of water on its own will make you disintegrate like cotton candy. He wraps you up in his big arms, knowing there's not a single place on earth you could be safer. He's kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back as you both fall asleep.
《A/N: stop headcannoning Nanami as some weird lowk abusive freaky BDSM husband 🙏 SUKUNA IS RIGHT THERE.》
siobhan dropping in with I’m coming to thanksgiving as their third was the type of truly brilliant strategic battle tactic that would make a warlord of a less ambitious woman
tenya iida, after you took the first step and asked him out, made it his absolute mission to be the one to initiate your first kiss.
you, being you, had taken the majority of the “firsts” in your relationship—first flirt, first date, first hand-holding, first sleepover, first cheek kiss—and it’s not like iida didn’t enjoy you taking initiative! he enjoys everything you do and have done! but. . he’d like to do at least one thing since you’re, from what he has heard from mina, “not gonna give up on proposing first! like, at all, yn’s, like, dead-set on it!”.
the thing is, though, iida doesn’t. . well, he, uhm. . he just, you know. .—okay, okay, fine! fine. it’s just that iida can’t–doesn’t know how to. . to kiss! he’s kissed you on the cheek, of course, and–and, sometimes, when he’s feeling a bit bold, on your knuckles where your version of the promise rings the two of your wear rested! but he doesn’t know how to kiss. how to. . makeout, you know?
so. . youtube becomes his ally, and he gets really, really intimate with his pillow. it’s embarrassing, sure, and he knows he can ask you! but then, he’s not doing it himself. and iida wants to do one thing himself, you know? however, it’s not like he can practice on someone real if that someone isn’t you, so his, uhm, training, of sorts, comes up short. nevertheless, he trusts himself to not mess this up! he’s learned twice as hard as he does when he’s in sensei aizawa’s class, so he’s going to do his absolute best! aka: perfection.
on the night that iida wants to intiate the very first kiss of your relationship, he makes sure his dormroom is absolutely perfect (like the first kiss will be!). candles—electric ones! he’s not going to break more rules than he already has just to be perceived as romantic—are placed strategically around his dormroom, rose petals are in the shape of a heart on his bed (many google searches gave him that idea), and a heart-shaped box of chocolates with a large, oversized, bow-tie wearing teddy-bear are resting against the foot of his bed (the chocolate is being held by the bear! cleanliness is key when it comes to romance). iida surveys his room, nods in confirmation and reassurance of the ill words plaguing his mind, flips his arm over and look down to check the time: 8:35pm. you’ll be here in, approximately, five minutes! iida is, once again, growing butterflies in his stomach. different forms of the same feeling arise, and the all pinpoint to one thing: iida’s unsure.
he’s never been unsure of something before! not when he wanted to become a hero, not on any test or pop quiz, not when he accepted you asking him out on your very first date nor when you asked him to be your boyfriend officially, not on anything before this, his first kiss with you. should he intiate? should he let you take the lead like always? should he—oh god, what should he do! his internal freak-out is cut short by the sound of your knuckles rapping against his door. deep breath in, deep breath out, deep breath in, deep breath out, deep breath in—iida opens the door with a smile, and moves aside for you to come in after you kiss him on the cheek.
stick to the plan, tenya, he told himself, trying to make sure he didn’t implode before your lips were firmly, or what is softly?, pressed against his.
you looked around the room in awe, giggling at the electric candles and teasing him for always playing it safe. little did you know, he’s not tonight! he’s going out of his zone, out of his metaphorical shell, and is venturing into the unknown zone of your relationship. iida shyly shows every tiny aspect to you, flushing more and more each time you complimented him and his ideas or called him cute or smart, before leading you to your designated seat: the edge of his bed. you, as instructed by the video, sit on the left and he sits on the right—so he could lean in whilst the notebook, voted no. 1 most romantic movie on reddit!, played in the background. his plan, so far, has been going swimmingly and will end on the absolute highlight of the night when he kisses you.
after the movie begins, iida does one of the, as the internet said, best romance movies of all time. he yawns, stretches, and places his left arm over your shoulders. you turn to him, smiling with narrowed eyes, and ask: “are you flirting with me, mr. class president?”
his face bloomed a shade of red that was nothing but him becoming flustered from your words. the thing is, he wasn’t prepared for this. you weren’t supposed to say anything—oh god. does he stick to the ‘book’? does he quote-unquote ‘wing-it’?
iida looks at you, his glasses reflecting what the characters were doing on his tv, and he leans in. he leans in, tilts his head so his nose does not press-up against yours, and his lips softly peck yours. soft, gentle, unsuspecting. you did not kiss back—he should’ve asked. oh, fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—“iida. . was all this just so you could. . so you could kiss me?” you let out a laugh that has him retracting his arm from around your shoulders and his face turning to face away. embarrassing. he feels embarrassed. you’re laughing at him, obviously, for how inexperienced he is and how–how horrible this whole thing was!
you move closer to him, place your right hand on his solid, thick left thigh and your left on the right side of his face in order to gently turn his face towards you. you’ve never seen iida this flushed, fucking adorable.
“don’t laugh,” he says.
you grin, “i’m not.” then, you see his eyes move from yours and down to your lips. yours, as they’ve always done, do the same. his are a soft-pink, dusted with the gloss that’d transferred from your lips to his own. he’s pretty, impossibly so, and you smile. “do you want to try that again? promise, i will not laugh.” iida holds out his pinky, you mimick zipping your mouth shut and handing him the key, and you intertwine your pinkies. he takes a deep breath in, he’s very cute when he’s very nervous, and he slowly but surely leans in. he obviously wants to have control of the first kiss in your relationship since it must be an astronomical milestone to him, so you lean in miles slower than him.
somehow, you two old, ancient, aged snails kiss. the two of you kiss, and he fucking melts against you. he hands move upwards from being positioned at his sides like boulders. one cradles your face, the other holds onto your waist. his lips mold against yours, and everything sounds like heaven. the angels are singing, the suns shining out god’s majestical ass, and you’re kissing your hunk of a boyfriend. not just one kiss, not just two kisses, and not even just three! five consecutive kisses. FIVE consecutive kisses! five sweet, soft, kind, gentle, hot, heart-pounding, romantic consecutive kisses.
when iida pulled away, glasses pushed upwards in order for you to not lose an eye, he, nervously, asked: “. . was that okay?”
you responded with a kiss. and then another kiss. and more and more and more and many, many more kisses. your boyfriend is the cutest human known to man—you love him. . you’ll let him have the first ‘i love you’, though. he’s obviously aching to win this little competition.
Summary: In a world still flickering after near-collapse, Nanami returns home to find his wife unraveling under years of masked behavior she can’t hold together anymore. What begins as another quiet evening turns into a fracture point: her first admission that something in her mind has never worked the way others assumed. Nanami listens, not with comfort but with precision, piecing together what everyone else ignored. A study of long-term partnership, misread patterns, and the slow, deliberate work of understanding someone who has survived by hiding in plain sight. WC: 2.6K Oneshot Megumi's TBA.
A/N: For folks who reached out to me for this. This piece was drafted from an interest in masked behavior and how characters like Nanami & Megumi would respond when someone finally stops performing competence for them. The symptoms are intentionally broad so readers can map their own experiences without the fic prescribing a diagnosis. Megumi’s section expanded as I wrote, so expect a longer arc than planned. If there’s interest, I can explore other character angles later. Enjoy the chapter. Megumi's will be next & final. Feel free to substitute the mentioned illness for your own.
Playlist: https://youtu.be/oAjjtUpxwJ4 Dividers by @saradika-graphics. Edit by @/blondeeguywithgoggles on Insta.
The world outside their apartment looked like someone had taken a blowtorch to society and left it half-melted. Cities had survived post the almost-apocalyptic events of petrification, barely, but the infrastructure still flickered the way old fluorescent tubes did, humming with the sound of a power grid held together by optimism and duct tape. People lived, worked, and crumbled inside that unstable glow.
Nanami adapted. Because there was no other choice.
And he’d survived far worse.
Yet there were still evenings when he came home, crossed the threshold, and felt his pulse stutter. Not from fear, but from an old, quiet ache that had begun forming the day he first realized his wife was unraveling silently in front of everyone, including him, and no one had noticed, not even her.
Not until this moment.
Her silhouette sat curled near the balcony door, back to the room, cheek pressed against her knees, hands dug into the sleeves of her oversized shirt. The city’s failing neon lights flickered across her hair in slow, uneven rhythms. She looked like someone waiting for a disaster she’d already lived through twenty times over.
Nanami loosened his tie. He’d learned long ago to be quieter, because anything louder made her flinch.
He slipped off his glasses and stepped closer, each movement measured and predictable, a choreography he had perfected not because he was a romantic but because he genuinely saw her with the kind of patience born out of loving someone who didn’t know how to be safe around anyone. Even him on rare occasions.
Today, she didn’t look up when he entered the room.
Her breathing was shallow and far too controlled, the way people breathed when they were holding back the edges of panic. Or when they were trying to look “normal” for someone else’s peace of mind. Her shoulders were stiff and rigid, masking, he realized, not for him specifically, but out of habit, as if she didn't know there was another option.
He sat on the floor beside her, not touching.
Because touch, he’d learned, could feel like a hurricane to a nervous system already fighting the world.
So he waited.
It took her a full minute before she whispered, “I think something’s wrong with me.”
Nanami closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment, because the sound of her voice like that, raw and cracking, sliced him in a way curses never could.
When he opened them again, his face was steady. “What happened?”
She shrugged, small and tired. “Everything. My entire life. Every relationship. Every job. Every… meltdown. I thought it was my upbringing or my trauma. Maybe it’s still trauma. But maybe it’s,”
She stopped. Words tangled. The way they did when emotions became heavier than language.
Nanami didn’t finish her sentence for her. She hated that, people assuming her thoughts. People summarizing her feelings like she hadn’t spent years struggling to articulate them in the first place.
She took a breath so sharp it sounded like pain. “I think I might be neurodivergent. Like… autistic.” She laughed once, brittle. “At this age. Suddenly the universe pulls a plot twist, and I’m the joke.”
He watched the tremor moving through her shoulders. “You’re not a joke.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Nanami said simply. But there was conviction in his tone, as if the idea was as absurd to him as pigs flying.
She looked away, embarrassed. He could see it, that instinctive recoil, the reflex to shrink, the regret of speaking at all, the fear that she’d overshared, said something stupid, or opened a vulnerability she couldn’t close, and the bracing for judgment that never came. Years of being punished for emotions had carved those reflexes deep into her. Even crying in front of others was treated like an offense. So she learned to save it for the nights when she could bury her face in a pillow and choke down the sound before the misery swallowed her whole.
Nanami knew. Of course he knew. The first time he tried to comfort her, she reacted like she’d been struck, stunned and defensive, then vanished from his orbit for three weeks. He realized then that she might never feel safe enough to hand him all the sharp, broken pieces of herself; too many people had taught her that trust was a trap.
So he didn’t push. He just stayed close enough for her to reach if she ever decided to.
She pulled inward, shoulders tight. “Only predators ever noticed something was off. No one else.”
Nanami’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need details. He carried enough fury in his ribs to destroy the world twice over if it meant she never had to say anything aloud that she didn’t want to.
Instead, he asked, vulnerable only with her, voice lowered like he was setting down a weapon, “When did it start feeling like this?”
She paused, then exhaled like the answer had been waiting behind her teeth for years. “Always? I think? I never liked when people stood too close to me. I stopped speaking when someone interrupted me. I walked in empty places for hours, alone. Pattern recognition and being alone were the only things that calmed me. Well, water calmed me the most, but I didn’t grow up near anything big enough to drown my thoughts.”
He listened without blinking, shoulders tightening the longer she went on. Not uncomfortable. Protective.
She continued, voice wandering because it needed to. “My family took me on a trip once, and I saw the ocean for the first time. It scared me and calmed me in a way my brain wasn’t designed for. Ten-year-old me just stood there staring at the waves for hours. And for the first time in my life, everything went quiet.” She gave a small, self-deprecating snort, shaking herself back to the present. “Sorry, I’m getting off topic. My point is… people never felt safe or calming until I met you. You made me realize men could be predictable. And safe. Too safe, sometimes.”
Nanami’s jaw flexed, barely, but it was the kind of movement that came from someone swallowing something sharp. Her words hit him like impact, not flattery.
She sank further into herself. “I thought I was dramatic. Or broken. Or stupid. Like I was faking my emotions even when I was crying. Faking my intelligence. Faking my love for superheroes because the girls where I grew up weren’t like me. They didn’t like games. They didn’t like me, no matter how polite or kind I was.”
He didn’t interrupt. He looked like he wanted to, but he didn’t. His hand curled once against his knee before he forced it still; restraint felt too hard for him. Overrated, in fact. But he held on to it anyway because she needed him to.
“You are none of those things,” he said, quiet but unwavering.
Her breath trembled again. “I don’t get jokes half the time. I say weird stuff. People leave. Or they take advantage. And I never know why.”
Nanami finally shifted, just enough to tilt his body toward her in a way that wasn’t aggressive, just deliberate. The kind of move meant to counter the weight she was carrying without touching it yet. “You survived by studying people instead of trusting them. You learned to mask everything because you had no other choice. Anyone would misinterpret you when you’re only showing the version that keeps you safe.”
Her eyes flickered, hope, doubt, fear crowding each other. “So you think I’m right?”
He hesitated for the first time, not because he disagreed, but because he hated that she had to ask.
“I think,” he said slowly, “you’ve been fighting battles alone that you never should’ve been left to face. And now you’re finally finding language for the way your mind works.”
He exhaled, a quiet, controlled thing that still betrayed him. “That isn’t being dramatic. That’s clarity. And you deserved it years ago.”
She swallowed, throat tight, and whispered, “Why didn’t anyone else notice?”
Nanami breathed out slowly.
He wanted to tell her the truth:
People rarely notice what isn’t convenient for them.
They only notice things that benefit them: the girls who comply, the girls who over-give, the girls who hurt quietly, the girls who never protest until it’s too late. People who are hyper-literal, hyper-empathic, and exhausted from performing “normal” are the easiest to ignore.
But Nanami Kento wasn’t a man cruel enough to give her the world’s cruelty.
Instead, he gave her what she needed:
“Because no one ever looked closely enough,” he said. “Except the ones who wanted to use you.”
He watched her face crumple, not fully or even dramatically, but in the small, sharp way people break when they hear a truth they already suspected.
Then he added something else, not just because he loved her and that made him biased but because she didn’t deserve the things that weren’t her fault.
“You’re not difficult. People just weren’t gentle.”
Her breath caught.
He let the silence stretch; she was finally letting him witness her edges when tears came faster than she could wipe them.
“You always notice,” she murmured finally, voice small. “Why?”
Nanami glanced at her hands, clenched, nails digging in, then back to her face, where she was avoiding his eyes out of habit. Not fear. Just… overwhelmed.
“Because I pay attention,” he said. “To you. To the way your eyes get glossy when you’re overstimulated. To how you study social cues before responding. To how you regret past conversations in your head without realizing it. To how you tuck yourself into silent smiles when you’re afraid you’ll say something strange.”
Her breath trembled. “That’s embarrassing.”
“It’s human,” he corrected. “And it’s you.”
She hugged her knees tighter. “I hate being me sometimes.”
Nanami leaned back against the wall, gazing at her with the kind of tenderness that didn’t soften him but deepened him, like gravity, quiet and relentless.
“You lived through decades of misunderstanding yourself,” he said, softer still. “Of course you’re tired.”
Her lips pressed together. “Do you think I’m too much?”
“No.”
“Too broken?”
“No.”
She looked at him then, eyes wet but focused, trying to read him, trying to understand why he wasn’t pulling away the way people always did when the mask slipped.
“Then what am I?” she whispered.
Nanami didn’t move closer, didn’t touch her, and didn’t make any sudden gesture that could overload her system. He just spoke with the calm certainty she loved him all the more for.
“You’re someone whose brain was built for depth, not speed. For intensity, not superficiality. For survival, not performance.”
Her face wavered. “Sounds like a curse.”
“It’s a strength.” His voice was steady as water flowing over small stones. “But you were never taught how to use it without bleeding yourself dry.”
She let out a breath that sounded like an entire childhood unraveling.
Nanami continued, more quietly this time. “You make sense to me.”
Her throat worked. “Even when I don’t make sense to myself?”
“Especially then.”
She stared, not scared. Never that with him, but startled, as if the idea of being understood without performing was foreign.
“Why do you… stay?”
Nanami almost smiled, not a soft smile, but a tired one, the kind that came when someone finally admitted to a wound they’d been hiding too long.
“I didn’t marry a performance. I married a person.”
Her breath hitched; her tears were flowing freely now. “But what if I get worse? What if I shut down again? What if you get tired of handling me?”
Nanami looked at her the way a lighthouse might look at a ship returning in a storm: slow, deliberate, and immovable.
“You are not something to be “handled,” and I won’t get tired,” he smiled a little more. “I get frustrated at the world, not at you.”
“But I’m messy,” she whispered. “And inconsistent. And intense. And sometimes even a little hypocrite. I get overwhelmed. I panic. I…”
“You’re human,” he interrupted gently. “And you’re learning who you are as an adult. That takes courage most people will never have.”
Her shoulders loosened enough that he could see the armor cracking.
Nanami waited a few beats, then held out his hand, not touching her, just offering.
She stared at it like it was a foreign object.
Touch wasn’t something she handled on command.
But after a long second, she slowly placed her fingers into his palm, light, trembling, and hesitant.
Nanami held her hand with the gentleness of someone who knew that too much kindness could feel like violence to a raw nervous system.
“You’re safe,” he said eventually.
She exhaled long and shakily, as if the safety was something her body didn’t know how to hold yet.
He shifted closer, just an inch, until their shoulders nearly brushed.
“This isn’t a flaw,” he said. “It’s a framework. And once you understand it, you’ll stop blaming yourself for surviving.”
She stared at their hands, fingers already intertwined like muscle memory, voice breaking. “It feels like I wasted so many years.”
Nanami’s tone softened in a way only she ever heard. “You didn’t waste anything. You endured things most people can’t comprehend. That’s not waste; that’s your resilience.”
Her eyes filled again, but this time the tears didn’t fall. They hung there, shimmering.
Nanami leaned his head back against the wall, voice lower now. “You’re not alone in this.”
“Even if it takes years to fix myself?” She whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.
His fingertips brushed her knuckles, barely there, like he was afraid of startling her. “You’re not something to fix.”
She swallowed. “Then?”
He turned toward her, meeting her gaze without a flicker of doubt.
“You're mine. And worth putting in the effort to understand.”
Something in her chest cracked, not beautifully or even neatly like the movies talked about. Just the brittle edge of someone realizing she didn’t have to hold the entire world by herself.
She exhaled, slow and uneven.
Nanami didn’t rush to fill the silence. That wasn’t him.
He just stayed beside her like a quiet pillar planted in the middle of a chaotic city, and his presence alone was enough to pull the air back into her lungs.
And for the first time in longer than she cared to admit, she breathed like someone who wasn’t in the middle of drowning.
Not healed or whole or even something to fix… just understood.
And for Nanami, that was the start of something real.
He let the moment settle, then exhaled through his nose, practicality returning like muscle memory. “You haven’t eaten.”
She made a face, burrowing deeper in his chest. “I forgot.”
“I noticed.” His voice stayed soft, but a faint dry edge slipped in as his arm slid around her back, rubbing slow circles. “Do you want something delivered? Preferably before Gojo realizes I’m off-duty and attempts to involve me in whatever disaster he’s cultivating.”
She huffed into his shoulder. “He’s definitely blowing something up.”
“Or Yuji is,” he sighed. “Gojo is only supervising the explosion.”
She shifted then, slowly, exhausted, and instinctively climbed into his lap, arms looping around his shoulders as she tucked her face against his neck. “Can we get fries? Like… irresponsible amounts.”
Nanami let out one low chuckle, already reaching for his phone with his free hand. “Of course. Enough for you, and enough for me to pretend I didn’t also want fries.”
A laugh slipped out of her, thin and uneven, tangled with the remnants of crying, but undeniably real.
He didn’t mention it. He simply placed the order one-handed, the other moving in quiet, rhythmic circles along her back, more grounding than comforting.
When he finally set his phone down, he rested his head against hers, the contact light but intentional. Close enough for her to reach for him again if she chose.
She did when he asked if she wanted to move to a city near the sea.
A/N: You'd make sense to Nanami.
Hygiene: Don’t repost without permission, lift, or 'AI remix' my works.
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