twenty-eight club✨• Female (she/they) bi🩷• Portgas D. Ace my beloved ❤️🔥 • Committed to the bit 🙂↕️• Clown most of the time🎪 • Currently in Wano-Kuni🌸 • Bucky Barnes, the man that you are🤍 •
screaming crying and throwing up at this commission that Sandra C. (@vita_sxmnium on insta) did of me and Ace😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
i am down so exponentially bad for this man and this picture… I can’t, I literally can’t😭😭😭 I wanna kiss all over his cute little face and love him forever and ever ‼️‼️‼️🤍🤍🤍🤍
Please, let her make a piece for you! Her pricing is wonderful (25 eur so about 28 usd) and she communicates so well, she let me know that it was going to be a bit longer because she were on a trip which I so appreciate🤍 I am so so in love with this piece I want everyone to contact them on Insta‼️‼️‼️ (@vita_sxmnium) or Kofi (vita_sxmnium) to snag a piece whenever their commissions are open or if you have extra money, it’s so worth it🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺
➴ summary: a drunken bet by sukuna left toji chasing the only thing he thought he'd never have: love. but playing with fire tends to mean you'll end up burning.
➴ pairing: frat!toji x fem!reader
➴ warnings: alcohol, drugs (weed and some pills), virginity, virginity loss, heavy language, men, sex, nasty positions, men, bet trope, actual human feelings (scary). not proofread (never will be).
➴ wordcount: 1.4k
➴ author note: happy holidays. this was rushed as fuck and is shorter than my will to get up in the morning. thankfully i have two weeks off so i'm gonna write like my life depends on it. also writing another frat!toji x oc fic, plus a frat!jjkmen series.
Morning crept in through the half-closed curtains, bathing the room in a soft, quiet gold. The light brushing over his skin and the sheets tangled around your legs.
Toji woke up before you did. He didn’t mean to, his body just snapped awake the moment it felt warmth against him that didn’t come from a nightmare.
You looked peaceful, lips morphed into a sweet pout. Your arm draped over his stomach like claiming him was the most natural thing in the world. Your face pressed against his chest, letting him feel every breath. Your body molded into his like you belonged there.
It should’ve been enough to make him move. He didn’t.
Instead, the arm around you tightened its hold unconsciously, and his gaze moved up to the ceiling, looking at it like it was personally offending him.
You shifted then. Soft, sleepy, unaware of the way his entire body went taut with the smallest brush of your lips at his skin. Your eyes blinked open, lashes dragging lazily, and you looked up at him like waking up to him wasn’t something that should terrify the both of you.
“Morning,” you whispered, voice soft.
He made a low sound in his throat. Not a word, hardly anything. You smiled at it either way.
Slowly, you untangled yourself from his grasp, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Your feet touched the cold hardwood floor, and you leaned down to pick up your clothes.
Toji watched you from the corner of his eye while he pretended not to. Every movement you made sent something sharp through him. The marks he’d left on your body. The faint tremble in your thighs as you pulled your shorts on. The soft, shy blush rising on your cheeks every time you caught him looking.
“Getting shy on me, ma?”
You slapped his arm with a laugh. “Shut up, idiot. Not everyone’s a hoe like you.”
Toji smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned back, arms behind his head. His mind replaying every curve of your body, every sound from the night before. He didn’t know how he got here. Didn’t want to admit how much he liked it– how much he liked you.
“Breakfast?” You asked, tilting your head.
He glanced at you through half-lidded eyes that were no longer dull, nodding. “Let’s go.”
You stood, stretching. He followed, getting dressed in the process. You turned around and he caught your hand. He froze for a second, unsure of what had gotten into him, then sat back down and tugged you to him.
You laughed as you landed on his lap.
“Toji–”
“What? Don’t want a morning kiss?”
You laughed again. “Do you?”
He nodded.
Your arms found themselves wrapping around his neck as you adjusted yourself on his lap. Still trembling thighs caging him in. He circled your waist with his and leaned in, your lips connecting in a kind of kiss he never thought he’d give.
He did not take it further.
Yet the kiss broke due to lack of air.
The campus was louder than it needed to be. Too much movement, too much noise. People were laughing like the world wasn’t about to chew them up and spit them out.
Toji hated that kind of ease. It was fake. Something he couldn’t trust.
You walked beside him. Not pressed up against him, not clinging. Just close enough to brush against him from time to time, making the hairs in the back of his neck spike up.
“You sure you wanna hold my hand?”
He kept his gaze forward when he said it, jaw set, like he was asking about the weather. His fingers brushed yours but he didn’t hold your hand. A test. An escape route.
You looked at him like he had asked the dumbest question to mankind.
“Pretty sure,” you replied. Before he could pull back, your fingers closed around his. Firm, certain, and he didn’t know what to do with it. “Or you think somebody gonna beat me up?”
He snorted, finally looking at you through amused eyes. “What?”
“A jealous ex?”
“I don’t have exes,” he said. Too fast, too defensive.
You laughed. “Sneaky link?”
“Hm,” he tugged you closer with your joined hands. He lowered his head until his lips were hot against your ear and you could hear the smirk dancing around his lips before he even spoke: “better to leave campus, mama.”
You both knew it wasn’t a joke, but laughed regardless. Your hand squeezed his a little harder as if grounding yourself, but then he let go of it so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders and brought you even closer, bodies almost flushed together as you walked.
The rest of the walk was silent. Your arm wrapped around his waist.
You both ignored the stares and gasps, though he squeezed your shoulder from time to time.
It was reassuring.
It was also driving him insane.
Toji didn’t know what to do. He had never acted like this. And as much as he told himself he was pretending, he knew something.
If someone dared to take this from him, he’d kill them.
And that thought alone was scarier than life itself.
Toji Zenin walked into the frat house with his mask on. It was pathetic how good he was at it.
Satoru was sprawled on the couch, eating cereal straight from the box. Suguru leaned against the counter scrolling through his phone. Choso had the fridge’s door open as if looking inside would make his problems disappear. Nanami sat with his laptop open as he nursed a cup of coffee, looking like he regretted every decision that led him here. Sukuna nursed a hangover like the word was to blame instead of himself.
Satoru spotted him first. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Loverboy himself.”
Toji snorted, dropping his keys on the coffee table. “Shut it.”
“So,” Sukuna smirked lazily. “How’s the little bet going? Clock’s ticking, bro.”
“Hm,” Toji pretended to think as he lit a cigarette. As if he didn’t feel your lips against his still, your nails scratching his back or the way you moaned his name every time you came. As if the mere memory of you sleeping against him didn’t give him goosebumps. “Think you’ll survive that month of abstinence?”
Sukuna shrugged, smirking. “I think you haven’t won yet. Didn’t give you an easy target.”
“You didn’t,” Toji looked back at his friend. “You gave me a virgin, though.”
Six eyes widened as they looked at Toji.
Suguru whistled low. “No way in hell.”
“So? You haven’t fucked her yet?” Choso asked.
Toji chuckled. “Last night. She didn’t hesitate to open her legs. Cherry popped and bet won,” he flipped Sukuna off without looking. She’s probably already coming up with baby names.”
Nanami’s voice cut the air clean in half. “You don’t believe a single word you’re saying.”
All heads turned.
Nanami closed his laptop, tucked it inside his bag. Coffee mug in hand and gaze sharp. “You’re lying to us, to her, and worst of all, you’re lying to yourself. You’ll regret speaking about her like that.”
“And why’s that?” Toji’s voice was sharper than he intended. “You think she gonna be the first bitch crying at my door?”
Nanami didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t have to. His words were sharp enough to cut clean. “I think you’re in love with her and you don’t know what to do with it. I think you’re hiding behind the bet because it’s easier if she leaves you for it rather than for yourself. I think you believe so low in yourself that you’d rather destroy any attempt at happiness than risk pain.”
Something twisted inside Toji’s chest. Old, ugly and wounded. Telling him to punch, or run, or deny. His fists curled at his side, his jaw closed, his pulse picked up like it was trying to escape out of his body.
He scoffed. “Y’r outta mind, bro.”
“And you’re not gonna survive the aftermath of this little game.”
They kept talking, but Toji didn’t listen. He turned around and disappeared upstairs. Climbed two at a time like it’d take him further than his room. The door locked behind him. He sat at the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees and head in his hands.
Nothing helped.
Not the silence.
Not the dark.
Not the lies he’d told in under three minutes.
Nanami’s voice was still ringing in his head, laughing and cursing as his words danced around. Toji shouldn’t have bragged. In fact, he shouldn’t have said a damn thing.
You don’t believe a single thing you’re saying.
I think you’re in love with her and you don’t know what to do with it.
You’re not gonna survive it.
Every word formed a crack somewhere Toji couldn’t reach.
And he knew exactly why.
please do not translate, repost or claim as your own.
── synopsis .✦ You and Toji Fushiguro start as nothing more than a reckless agreement - friends with benefits: no feelings, no attachment, no complications. At least, that’s the rule he insists on. But every late-night visit, every half-asleep morning touch, and every quiet moment he doesn’t pull away only drags you deeper into something he refuses to name. Toji hides behind arrogance and silence, convinced he’s too damaged for anything real, while you try to accept the scraps of tenderness he gives you, even as they hurt.
When your feelings finally spill over, Toji panics, convinced love is a luxury a man like him doesn’t deserve. He leaves you shattered - but the distance tears him apart, too. Forced to face what life without you looks like, Toji crashes back into your world determined to fix what he broke, even if he barely knows how. Now, the two of you must navigate the fragile, unfamiliar territory between addiction and affection, trying to build something real from the wreckage of what you used to be.
── contains .✦ toxic relationship, LOTS of angst, hurt/comfort, dubcon, VERY unhealthy, toji is bad at feelings (he secretly loves reader he's just very scared), desperate!reader, toji uses reader a bit, mutual pining, p in v, praise kink, soft sex, morning sex, rough sex, oral (f!recieving), breath play, multiple orgasms, creampie, aftercare, happy ending
── word count .✦ 12.2k!
From the twelfth-floor balcony, the sunset feels less like a view and more like an event slowly unfolding just for you. The city below is still humming - cars threading between buildings, people moving like small, determined silhouettes - but up here, everything softens.
The sun lowers itself toward the horizon with unhurried grace, slipping behind a row of high-rises that cut a jagged pattern into the sky. A few clouds drift lazily across the expanse, thin enough for the light to bleed through them, staining their edges in a warm blush.
You heard the knock before you fully expected it: two sharp taps, no hesitation. Toji never lingered in hallways like normal people. When he came to your place, he came like a man who had already decided the outcome.
You opened the door, and he stepped in immediately.
Toji didn’t wait for invitations, and he didn’t say hello. He simply brushed past you, the scent of cold air and steel clinging to him. His shoulders were tense, his hair slightly damp like he’d run a hand through it on the walk here.
He didn’t ask why you called. He just stood there in your living room, arms crossed, eyes lowered - not because he was shy, but because he was already calculating the exit.
Your throat tightened.
“Thanks for coming.” You offered softly.
Toji grunted, nothing more. He tossed his jacket on the couch and leaned against the wall, the muscles in his jaw moving as if he were chewing on thoughts he had no intention of sharing.
You twisted your fingers together - a stupid habit you couldn’t break.
Toji’s eyes flicked to your hands. A small, barely audible scoff came from his throat. “Spit it out.”
He said it like you were wasting his time, and it made you doubt yourself just a little bit more.
You swallowed, hard. “I just… wanted to talk.”
His head tipped back against the wall. Another grunt: this one lower, almost annoyed. “Figures.”
That stung oddly, and it was a lot more than it should have.
You forced yourself to take a few steps toward him, even though your legs felt unsteady. “Toji. What… what are we doing?”
His eyes slid open at that. A sharp exhale through his nose. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting anything.” You whispered. “I’m just asking.”
“You’re asking the kind of shit I don’t deal with.” He muttered, uncrossing his arms only to shove his hands into his pockets. He didn’t dare look at you. He looked at the floor, the window, the ceiling - anywhere but your face. “So quit it.”
Your heart sank. You tried to find something in his expression - a crack, a softness, anything - but he kept that same indifferent glare, like you were being unreasonable.
“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” You asked.
“Because there’s nothing to talk about.” His voice sharpened. “We hang out. That’s it.”
“That’s not what it feels like,” you said before you could stop yourself.
His eyes snapped to you then: sharp in warning. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make this into something it’s not.”
Your chest tightened strangely. “I’m not.”
“You are.” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, looming over you with the kind of presence that made the room shrink. “You think because I show up when you call, it means something.”
You flinched at how blunt he was. Toji noticed, and his eyes flickered, barely, but he didn’t soften.
“It doesn’t.” He stated.
A small crack formed in your chest - slow and aching. “Then why do you come?”
He shrugged, jaw clenching. “Convenience.”
The word hit you like a slap.
Toji’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t apologise, nor did he take it back. He just waited for your reaction, face unreadable except for the slight downturn of his mouth, like he hated the conversation more than he hated himself.
You forced your voice to stay steady. “Is that really all I am to you?”
His tongue pressed against his cheek. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Don’t make me say it.”
The hurt spread instantly. “Toji—”
He cut you off with a low, irritated sound. “I don’t do ‘feelings’. I don’t do… whatever you’re trying to pull here.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“You leaned in.” He snapped.
Your breath caught. “I—”
He stepped even closer, close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him, close enough that you could see the tension humming under his skin.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t.” He growled. “You tried to kiss me.”
Your cheeks heated with embarrassment, humiliation prickling along your skin. “I just… I thought…”
“Yeah. That’s your problem.”
The words were a knife: cold, precise, too deep.
You looked down, blinking hard against the sting behind your eyes. You hated how easily he could hurt you, and how much this had mattered to you. After all, everything had been going so well: frequent visits, lazy evenings with Toji, watching some stupid movie on the couch that you don’t even remember. For a bit, he almost seemed domesticated.
“Toji…” You whispered, “I wasn’t trying to trap you into anything.”
He scoffed, looking away again. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Something inside you wilted - soft and small and stupidly hopeful before now, but crushed easily beneath his heel.
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, annoyed. “Look. You want honesty? Fine.”
You lifted your head, heart pounding painfully.
“I come here because you’re easy.” The words were clipped, cruel in their simplicity. “You don’t nag. You don’t expect shit. You’re quiet. You’re… simple.”
You felt your heart split cleanly down the middle.
He saw it - your breath trembling, your shoulders tensing - and for a second his expression faltered. But Toji shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, as if burying the guilt with them.
“I’m not good for… anything else,” he muttered, voice lower but no kinder. “You kiss me, it turns into something messy. And I’m not doing that.”
You stared at him, vision blurring for a second. “So what do you want from me?”
“A simple arrangement.”
He shrugged again, but it looked forced now, too stiff. “Friends with benefits. No dates, no kissing, ‘nd no expectations.”
Your throat felt tight. “And if I can’t do that?”
Finally, his deep, verdant eyes met yours, and the look he gave you wasn’t cruel. It was worse; final.
“Then I walk.” He insisted quietly.
Your chest caved a little. “Just like that?”
“Yeah.” A pause. “Just like that.” Because he’d already convinced himself you deserved better than him, that leaving was easier than being wanted, and he didn’t believe he was allowed anything real.
You let out a shaky breath, the silence stretching between you until you felt like you might drown in it. And then - against every sensible part of you - you nodded.
“Fine,” you whispered. “Friends with benefits.”
Toji didn’t exhale, but something in his shoulders loosened. He nodded once, curt, like a transaction concluded.
“Good.”
But he didn’t move away.
He stood there for another heartbeat — two, three — staring at you with an expression you couldn’t name. Something restrained. Something aching. Something he’d never let reach his mouth.
Then he stepped back, distancing himself.
“Keep it simple,” he repeated. “Or I’m gone.”
Your voice cracked. “Okay.”
Toji grunted, acknowledgment, nothing more, and turned his head so he wouldn’t have to look at the heartbreak he caused.
But you saw the flicker in his eyes before he hid it. He wanted you, he just didn’t think he was allowed to.
From there, the arrangement began quietly.
At first, you were the one who reached out: hesitantly and awkwardly, unsure if you were “allowed” to after how brutally he’d shut you down that first night. But Toji always came. Always. It didn’t matter if it was late, if you sounded unsure, if your voice cracked when you asked.
He’d show up like a storm at your door, eyes hooded, shoulders tense, gaze flicking over you in a way that made your breath catch. And you’d let him in. You always did.
Those early nights felt like sharing a secret.
He touched you like he was afraid of hurting you, even if his words never matched the gentleness in his hands. He never kissed you - he’d turn his face away if your lips got too close - but sometimes his forehead would brush yours during the comedown, breath shaky, body heavy against you. Those tiny moments felt like warmth sneaking past his defenses.
You tried not to read into it, but you failed.
A week passed, then two. You started asking more boldly - not with your voice, but with your actions. You’d text him late, you’d linger close, you’d open the door before he even knocked.
And he’d come, always. He’d push past you, his presence filling the room. Sometimes he’d grunt a “hey.”, sometimes he didn’t bother with even that. But he came.
It made you feel wanted. Not cherished, not chosen. Just… wanted enough, and it was pathetic how deeply that mattered.
Then things began to shift. Slowly and quietly - so quietly you almost didn’t notice at first.
You stopped asking.
Not because you didn’t want him. God, you wanted him more than ever. But every time you reached for your phone, your fingers froze over the screen. That night he’d called you “convenient” kept replaying in your mind.
You didn’t want to be a burden and you didn’t want him to think you were catching feelings, even though feelings were the only thing you had left.
So you waited, and you waited, and he stopped coming as often.
Days stretched longer now, while nights felt emptier. You’d stare at your ceiling, the room too quiet without him in it. You hated how your body remembered him: how easily he pinned you to your bed, his weight, and how he took.
Then, one night, long after you’d convinced yourself you’d never hear from him again -
“You home?”
Just two words; no punctuation, no explanation.
Your hands shook, and you answered too quickly.
“Yeah.”
He arrived fifteen minutes later with no greeting and no hesitation. Stepping inside, he let the door shut behind him, letting you smell the sweat that came off of him, as if he’d just come off of a job. When you looked closer, you noticed his knuckles were scraped, and his jaw was tight.
He didn’t wait for you to ask.
He didn’t need to.
He moved toward you, eyes dark, expression unreadable, and you let him. You let him take what he wanted because part of you was terrified he’d disappear again if you didn’t.
The clock on your nightstand glowed 2:17 AM as Toji rolled off you, his sweat-slicked body heaving with a satisfied grunt. He'd just fucked you hard against the mattress, his thick cock pounding into your pussy until you came twice, clenching around him like a vice.
But now, as you reached for him, hoping for a moment of closeness, he sat up abruptly, grabbing his pants from the floor.
“Don't get all clingy now.” He muttered, voice rough and edged with irritation. "This is just stress relief, nothing more. I'm not your boyfriend, so quit acting like it."
His words stung sharper than the fading ache between your legs, leaving you curled under the sheets while he dressed and headed for the door without a backward glance, the slam echoing like a finality.
You pretended you didn’t notice he wasn’t being gentle anymore, or that he avoided looking at you afterward, and that he left faster than he used to.
Over the next month, the pattern settled into something colder.
You never initiated again, yet he always did.
Sometimes he’d show up at midnight, sometimes at three in the morning, sometimes not for five days, and sometimes for two nights in a row. The inconsistency dug into your ribs like a splinter you couldn’t pull out, and you couldn’t help but point it out, followed by a small suggestion.
The argument had started over nothing - your casual mention of meeting his friends - but Toji's temper flared, his green eyes narrowing as he backed you into the bedroom wall.
“You think you can push for more? I'm not committing to shit.” He snarled, yanking your top over your head and palming your breasts roughly, pinching your nipples until you gasped. He dropped to his knees then, burying his face between your legs, tongue lashing your pussy with aggressive strokes that made your knees buckle.
“This is all you're good for.” He growled against your folds, sucking your clit hard enough to border on pain.
When he stood and bent you over the bed, fucking you deep and fast, his hand fisted in your hair, it felt like punishment, his cum flooding you as he pulled out with a scoff, leaving you spent and sore on the sheets.
Toji seemed to prefer it this way: you silent, him in control, the arrangement strictly physical. He barely spoke when he arrived now: a grunt, a nod, or maybe your name, said rough and low when he needed you.
Afterward, he’d sit at the edge of your bed or couch, elbows on his knees, breathing hard. He wouldn’t look at you- not even accidentally. He’d run a hand through his hair, sigh like everything weighed too much, then stand.
And leave. Always.
Your door would close behind him with a soft click that felt louder than any slam.
Once, after he left at dawn, you sat on the floor for a long time, staring at your hands. You couldn’t tell when you stopped being a person in this arrangement. You weren’t the girl he teased anymore, weren’t the one he smirked at. You weren’t the one he accidentally brushed his forehead against in soft, unguarded moments.
Now you were a place he visited; a convenience.
You hated that it still wasn’t enough to make you stop, because every time your phone buzzed with his name, your pulse jumped like you’d been waiting your whole life for it.
Every time you opened the door, Toji would glance at you - quick, unreadable - and for half a second you thought maybe something in him cracked. Maybe he missed the closeness, too. Maybe he felt guilty.
But then he’d look away, and the moment would vanish.
The shift became undeniable the night he showed up already irritated.
Toji barged into your place after a grueling job, reeking of sweat and frustration, not even bothering with a hello before he grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you to the bedroom.
You asked, quietly, “Rough day?”
“Shut up and spread your legs.” He commanded, ignoring your protest about being tired, shoving you onto the bed and yanking your leggings down.
His fingers plunged into your pussy without warning, rough and demanding, curling until you were wet against your will, then he replaced them with his thick cock, slamming in deep with a groan.
He fucked you like you were just a hole to vent into, hips pistoning relentlessly, one hand muffling your cries while he muttered: “This is what you signed up for, baby. Takin’ it so good, too.”
You came clenching around him despite the ache, but he pulled out to spill on your stomach, wiping himself on your thigh before collapsing beside you, snoring as if your discomfort didn't exist.
And when he left only ten minutes later, not even glancing back, something inside you finally cracked.
This wasn’t mutual anymore. It wasn’t even fair. It wasn’t soft or careful or warm. It was lopsided, uneven, and toxic.
But God help you - you still wanted him.
A few weeks of building up the courage passed, and you ask him to come over.
You don’t text anything elaborate - just “are you free tonight?” - and you expect the usual three-hour delay, the blunt “busy”, or radio silence, but he shows up.
Thirty-seven minutes later, he’s leaning against your doorframe like he always does, shoulders filling the space, hoodie half unzipped, a bored flick of his eyes telling you he doesn’t plan to stay long.
You step aside, let him in, and the familiar weight drops straight into your chest. Because he walks in the same way he always has: like your place is a pit stop, like you’re a convenience he’ll take advantage of while it lasts.
He doesn’t say anything beyond a low grunt: acknowledgment, impatience, whatever. You can’t tell anymore. The silence stretches, thick enough to make your throat tight. You try for a smile, weak, hopeful.
“Toji.”
He looks up from the counter where he set his keys. “Hm?”
And that’s all he gives you: a sound; a little rumble that could mean anything and nothing.
You swallow, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. You thought you could do this, told yourself all day you wouldn’t fold. But the second he’s here - big, warm, familiar - you feel everything inside you start to shake loose.
He steps closer because he thinks he knows what you want. It’s routine by now. He reaches for your waist, casual, claiming, ready to pull you in for the usual night you’ve trained him to expect.
The second his hand touches you, you crack.
Your breath stutters, and before you can stop yourself, you rise on your toes and press your mouth to his. Not the usual hungry kiss he’s used to, this one trembles; breaks; falls apart the moment it begins.
He stills,and you feel the confusion ripple through him, a small tension in his shoulders, but he doesn’t pull away. Not yet. His hands hover at your hips, not gripping like they usually do, just resting, uncertain.
And then you make the mistake of letting the tear slip.
He jerks back, eyes narrowing - not angry, but startled, almost alarmed. “What—hey. What’s wrong?” His tone is rough, but his brows draw together, the closest thing he has to worry.
You can’t answer. Another tear tracks down, and another.
“Toji,” you choke out. “Please.”
He stiffens. “Did someone hurt you?” His jaw tightens. “You call me here for that?”
“No.” You shake your head, wiping your face with the back of your hand, but the tears don’t stop. Humiliation burns through you. “No, it’s not—no one hurt me, I just… I can’t—”
Your voice breaks completely. When you look up at him, his expression shutters instantly. He recognizes that look. He knows exactly where this is going. And fear - real fear - flickers behind his eyes.
Not for you, but rather for himself.
“Toji?” You whisper, voice trembling, “I want more.”
His nostrils flare. “More?”
“I—” You try to steady your breath. It comes out in gasps. “I want more than this. I want more than… than waiting around for you to remember I exist. More than you only showing up when it’s easy for you, than pretending I’m not—”
You bite down hard, like it’ll stop the words, but they spill anyway.
“Look, I’m in love with you.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. His jaw ticks, a vein jumps in his temple, and he steps back like your confession physically pushed him.
You swear you see something flicker in his eyes - panic, guilt, longing - before he slams the door on it.
“…No,” he mutters, running a hand over his face. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that.”
Your heart collapses.
“Toji—”
“You know what this is.” His voice sharpens, turns cold, sharp-edged. “You knew from the start.”
“I know,” you whisper, “and I tried, I really did, but I can’t help it—”
“You’re not in love with me.” It’s cruel and unnecessary, and he knows it, but Toji Fushiguro has never been good at gentle.
“You’re just attached.” He continues, voice flat. “Happens. You’ll get over it.”
Your breath shatters in your chest. “You don’t mean that.” You whisper.
He scoffs: a low, bitter sound. “Yeah, I do.”
You’re crying harder now, shoulders shaking, hands trembling. You try to reach for him, desperate, pathetic - anything to make him stay long enough to understand. “I’m not asking you to love me back. I just—I needed you to know. I can’t keep pretending.”
His gaze drops to your hand reaching toward him. He looks at it like it’s something dangerous - something that could ruin him.
He steps away, and mutters lowly: “No.”
With another deep breath, he manages to look into your red eyes. The pain speaks volumes, and he quickly tears his gaze away from yours. “You shouldn’t’ve told me.”
“Toji—please—”
“Stop.” The word cracks out of him, sharp enough to make you flinch. His expression twists like he’s irritated, but you know irritation isn’t what’s really there. He’s scared; cornered, and he chooses the only thing he’s ever known how to do.
Grabbing his keys, he doesn’t look at you again.
“This isn’t what I signed up for.” He says tightly. “I’m not—” He cuts himself off like the admission tastes wrong. “I’m not doing this.”
Then he’s at the door, and you choke on a sob. “Don’t go.”
For a moment, his hand stills on the handle. Then he exhales, low and bitter, and walks out without a single glance back. The door closes, and you crumble.
The first day, Toji tells himself he’s right.
He wakes up the morning after he walked out of your place and feels… fine. Maybe a little tired, a little wired, but it’s nothing he can’t shake off.
He goes about his day the way he always does: training, jobs, eating whatever he finds in the fridge. He doesn’t think about you.
Not really.
Only once, when he tosses something into the sink and catches himself imagining what you’d say about the mess. And again when he checks his phone out of habit, expecting a message you don’t send.
He grunts to himself and tosses the phone on the counter.
It’s good; better this way. Eventually, you’d learn to get over it.
Atleast, that’s what he tells himself.
By day two, he’s annoyed.
He keeps telling himself he didn’t do anything wrong. You were the one who crossed the line, the one who ruined something simple and clean.
He didn’t ask for this emotional bullshit.
He’s scowling at his own ceiling at two in the morning, arms behind his head, replaying the moment you said I love you with your face all soft and ruined. Like you expected him to—
He stops the thought, jaw clenching.
You cornered him. What was he supposed to do? Lie? Pretend like he could give you something he didn’t have?
He turns over, grumbling to himself. To him, this is your fault, and he tells himself that again and again, but it doesn’t stick.
Day three is quieter. Too quiet.
He doesn’t want to admit it, but he notices your absence. The stillness where your messages used to be. The way his evenings stretch empty without the possibility of you calling, asking if he’s busy, laughing when he lies and when he tells you he isn’t.
He goes to the gym and puts in twice the work he usually does, pushing until his muscles burn. It doesn’t help, and his chest still feels too tight.
When he finally stops, breath heaving, he realizes something that annoys him more than anything else:
He misses you, but he still tells himself you overreacted, and that this is on you.
Day four hits him like a brick.
He doesn’t mean to think of you. He doesn’t want to. But he sees someone walking down the street with your hairstyle, and something ugly twists in his stomach. Sharply and immediately.
He slows and stares, but it’s not you. Of course it’s not. However, it leaves him restless for the rest of the night, pacing his kitchen, opening the fridge and closing it again, unable to sit still.
He pulls out his phone, almost texting you. His thumb hovers over your name for a long, long minute, then he locks the screen and throws himself on the couch with a grunt.
He won’t be the one to cave. After all, he didn’t do anything wrong. Although, that doesn’t feel true anymore.
On day five, the guilt starts.
Toji doesn’t recognize it at first. He just feels irritated; off. Something stuck under his skin that he can’t get rid of.
But eventually he stops, stands still in the middle of his living room, and realizes his chest aches.
Because every time he blinks, he sees you crying. Every time he tries to focus on something else, his mind drags him back to the moment he told you you’re not in love with me.
He can hear how cruel he sounded. How dismissive and scared he had been. He scrubs a hand down his face, muttering curses under his breath. He didn’t have to say it like that, nor did he have to look at you like you were a problem he needed to get rid of.
He didn’t have to leave, but he did. It’s become something he always does.
His stomach drops unpleasantly, and he tries not to think about why that bothers him so much.
By day six, he can’t pretend anymore.
It hits late - around midnight - when he’s lying alone in his bed, staring at the dark. The thought slides in quietly, like it’s been waiting for him to stop running long enough to catch up.
You weren’t wrong.
His heartbeat stutters, and he swallows hard.
Because now that he’s not angry, he remembers everything clearly: the way you always looked at him, soft even when he didn’t deserve it. The way you’d tried to kiss him like he mattered, and how you whispered his name.
The way you cried - not because he hurt you physically, not because he scared you, but because he mattered enough to break your heart.
Something cold twists in his gut.
And for the second time all week, he feels fear: not the kind that makes him lash out, but the kind that hollows out his ribs and leaves him breathless.
Because if he admits he likes you, and that he wants you, and he feels more than what he’d let on, then everything changes, and Toji doesn’t know how to handle that. He sits up, dragging both hands through his hair, breathing hard like he’s been punched.
“Shit.” He mutters into the dark. “Shit, fuck.”
He wants you, misses you, and he cares.
Day seven is when it finally hits him: real and sharp.
He’s washing his hands, staring at his reflection without thinking, and suddenly the truth slams into him with no warning, no mercy:
He should’ve stayed and comforted you. He’d liked you deeply, but pushed you away all because he was a little scared of commitment; of not deserving.
His breath catches, gripping the sink edge hard enough it creaks.
He’d wanted you. Matter of fact, he still does. Closing his eyes, his shoulders tense, chest tight with something that feels like regret; like longing; like panic. He left you crying, having told you your feelings weren’t real, and he can still remember telling you that you’d get over him, and that nothing between you mattered.
And now - now he feels like his ribcage is too small to hold everything he refused to feel before.
He mutters a curse that shakes out of him like something breaking. “…fuck.” Although he knows he needs to fix this, he doesn’t know how. He’s never apologized for anything real in his life.
But he knows one thing clearer than anything else: he wants you back.
The realisation doesn’t come gently.
It hits him like a truck - fast and brutal - and the second it lands fully in his chest, Toji is moving. He’s out of bed before he even knows he’s on his feet, heart pounding hard enough to shake through his ribs.
The apartment is dark, the air cold, but he doesn’t feel any of it. He grabs the first black shirt he sees: inside-out, wrinkled, smelling vaguely like laundry he should’ve done two weeks ago. Doesn’t matter. He drags it over the grey sweatpants he fell asleep in, feet already carrying him across the room.
He shoves them into whatever shoes are closest to the door: one is tied, the other’s laces are dragging; he doesn’t care. His pulse is loud in his ears, drowning out everything but the memory of your voice cracking when you said you loved him, followed by the way you shook when he stepped back, and the sound you made when the door closed between you.
He curses under his breath, slams the door behind him, and heads straight for the truck.
The streets are mostly empty - past midnight, quiet, still - but Toji drives like he’s chasing something he can’t afford to lose. He doesn’t think, he just acts. And for once, acting doesn’t mean running away.
He grits his teeth when he pulls into the parking lot of the 24-hour convenience store, tires screeching louder than necessary. The fluorescent lights inside sting his eyes the second he walks in, but he keeps moving, shoulders tense, jaw locked.
Flowers. You like flowers. You mentioned that once, offhand, like you didn’t expect anyone to remember. And chocolate, but the specific kind you buy when you’re sad. The one he made fun of the first time he saw it, only for you to laugh and shove a piece into his mouth.
He remembers.
He hates that he remembers. What he hates even more is that he didn’t act on it sooner.
The flower section is pathetic: only three sad bouquets wrapped in plastic, but he grabs the one with the colors you once said were pretty. He holds it awkwardly, like it might disintegrate if he grips too hard. The chocolate aisle is worse. There’s too many choices, none of them labeled clearly, and Toji’s patience is thin enough to snap. He crouches low, scanning the lower shelf where you usually grab yours.
There, in a purple wrapper. The exact brand you once shoved into his hand and said, “Just try it, you grump.” He grabs three, just in case.
The cashier raises an eyebrow at the giant man standing there at 2 in the morning, holding flowers like they’re a weapon he doesn’t know how to use, but Toji just grunts, tossing money on the counter without waiting for change.
Back in the truck, he throws everything into the passenger seat and slams the door shut. His hands tighten on the steering wheel, knuckles going white. He hesitates for half a breath, just one, fighting the deep instinct to turn back, to pretend this doesn’t matter, to pretend you don’t matter.
But then he sees it again: your face from that night, red-eyed and broken, and his chest twists painfully.
He exhales, low and rough. “Shit… okay. Okay.” And he floors it.
The drive to your apartment is a blur, with streetlights smearing across his windshield, the engine growling under his grip, his heart beating too fast, too loud. Even though he knows he's speeding, he doesn’t care. If a cop pulls him over, he’ll deal with it. He has to get to you first.
He parks crookedly, halfway over the line, grabs the flowers and chocolate, and takes the stairs two at a time. His breath is uneven, not from the climb, but from everything twisting inside him.
In front of him, your door looks the same as always.
Toji stands there for a moment, chest rising and falling hard, his fingers tightening around the flowers until the plastic crackles. He runs his tongue over his teeth, trying to steady himself, but nothing helps. This is the first time he’s ever shown up for someone like this, the first time he’s ever tried to fix something instead of letting it rot.
His throat works. His breathing shakes. He mutters something under his breath - too soft to hear, too pained to repeat.
Then he knocks; hard. Once, twice, then softer, as if he’s afraid of the answer.
Before he can doubt himself, the lock clicks. Toji freezes.
The door opens just a few inches at first, cautious, like you’re not sure if you should even look at him. Then you see him, standing there at two-something in the morning, hair messy, shirt inside-out, flowers bent from how tightly he’s holding them.
Your breath catches, and you open the door wider.
“Toji?” Your voice is soft, tired, raw around the edges.
He swallows loudly. Something flickers behind his eyes: panic, regret, something warmer he’s not ready to name. He tries to say something immediately, but the words jam up in his throat.
So he thrusts the flowers out first, awkwardly, like he’s offering you a weapon. The bouquet is a little crushed at the top, and the chocolate bars slip against the plastic wrapping. You stare at them, then at him.
He huffs out something like a frustrated exhale. “They’re—just take ’em. Before I drop the damn things.”
You blink, startled, and your hands come up slowly. When you touch the flowers, his fingers brush yours for a split second. He jerks back like it burned, and once more, the silence hangs heavy.
Toji hates it, and breaks first.
“I…” He looks away, jaw tightening. “I shouldn’t’ve… said what I said.”
Your chest tightens painfully.
“Toji—”
“No.” He cuts you off sharply, then curses under his breath like he didn’t mean to snap. “Just—lemme talk.”
You nod, clutching the flowers to your chest.
He looks everywhere but at you: the hallway; the floor; the wall next to your head. His fingers twitch at his sides, curling and uncurling like he’s preparing for a fight he doesn’t know how to win.
“I fuckin’—” He stops, drags a hand down his face, and tries again. “I left when I shouldn’t have. You were- you were crying, and I just…” His throat moves with a swallow. “I didn’t handle it right.”
Your eyes prick with tears again, and you fight to blink them away.
He finally meets your gaze, just for a second; just long enough for you to see the crack in his armor.
“I didn’t wanna hear it,” he begins quietly and too honestly. “Not ’cause I didn’t… care.” The word is stiff in his mouth, like he’s not used to saying it. “But ’cause I—shit, I don’t know how to deal with that. With you. With…” He gestures vaguely toward your chest, like your feelings are a tangible thing he can point at but not name. “All that.”
The breath you’ve been holding spills out shaky, and it rattles him. He shifts, weight moving from one foot to the other, shoulders dropping just an inch. “You weren’t wrong. I was.”
Your grip on the flowers tightens, the plastic crinkling.
“And I…” He stops again, jaw flexing. “I don’t wanna lose you over me bein’ a coward.”
Your lips part.
He looks like he’s fighting himself every step of the way, but he pushes on.
“I like you,” he says, voice low, rough, uneven. “More than I should. More than I let myself think about.” His eyes flick away, then back to you, sharper, almost vulnerable. “And I should’ve said that instead of—what I said.”
A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it.
Toji’s eyes widen, barely, but enough, and his expression twists, something like guilt tightening his features. He steps forward half a step, stopping himself just before he gets too close.
“Hey- hey, don’t cry. I’m not—” He exhales shakily. “I’m not makin’ you cry again. That’s not—shit.” He rubs the back of his neck, frustrated with himself. “I came here to fix it. Or try to.”
You swipe your cheek, laughing weakly, breath trembling. “I’m just- relieved.”
His shoulders drop. A breath leaves him, rough around the edges. However, he knows it wasn’t enough. He knows he barely scratched the surface of what you deserved, and that he should’ve said more - could’ve said more - if he weren’t so damn scared of saying it wrong.
But when he sees the way your eyes soften, the way your chest loosens, the way you look at him like the ground under you finally stopped shaking, he lets himself hope it’s a start.
“…Can I come in?” He asks quietly.
Your lips tremble into a tiny, heartbroken, hopeful smile. “Yeah.” You beam, stepping aside. “Come in.”
Toji exhales, steps over the threshold, and thinks: Don’t screw this up again.
When he steps inside, it’s like he’s afraid he’ll break the place just by being in it. He stands near the doorway at first, shoulders tense, hands awkwardly empty now that you’ve taken the flowers and chocolate. He looks out of place in a way he never has before: big, uncertain, stripped of that careless confidence he usually wears like armor.
You set the flowers on the counter with trembling hands. You don’t move far, as you don’t trust your legs to carry you.
He notices.
His eyes flick to your hands, then your face. You see the way he swallows, throat working unevenly. He’s scared. Not of you - never of you - but of messing up again; of saying the wrong thing.
“Hey.” He murmurs, almost too quiet for someone his size. “C’mere.”
It’s not a command. Instead, it’s gentle - gentle in a way you didn’t know he had in him. Your breath stutters, but you walk toward him, featherlight, as if sudden movements might make him bolt. When you stop in front of him, he looks down at you like he’s memorizing something, checking to make sure you’re real.
His hand lifts halfway, hesitates, then settles lightly on your arm. His touch is warm, and it makes you inhale sharply.
“I’m not… good at this,” he says, voice low, rough at the edges. “But I meant what I said. ’Bout not wantin’ to lose you.”
Your chest squeezes so tight it almost hurts.
“Toji…” Your voice breaks. Not with sadness—something else. Something fragile and hopeful.
His fingers curl a little at your arm, like he’s anchoring himself. His breath brushes your forehead. You hadn’t realized he leaned in that close.
“Look at me,” he murmurs.
You do.
And the moment your eyes meet his, everything slows. The tension in his jaw fades, and his shoulders drop just a fraction. His gaze flicks down - once, quick - to your lips.
Your heart stops.
He realizes you caught it, and he mumbles a curse under his breath, soft and frustrated, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he edges closer, like he’s fighting something stronger than pride, stronger than fear.
“Hn.” He hums, half to himself. “I’ve been wantin’ to do this for way too long.”
Your breath leaves your body in a shaky rush.
“Toji—”
He doesn’t let you finish.
His hand slides up from your arm to your jaw: soft, calloused thumb brushing your cheek like he’s afraid you’ll break if he touches too hard. The contact steals the air from your lungs, your fingers curling into his shirt without you meaning to. He notices that, too, and his breath hitches. Something hungry flickers across his face, but he keeps it held back, controlled, careful.
“You okay?” He asks, voice so quiet it almost doesn’t sound like him.
You nod, barely. “Y-yeah. I just… I didn’t think you’d ever—”
“I know.” He sighs, almost apologetic. “I know.”
He leans in agonisingly slowly, and gives you time to pull back, even though he clearly doesn’t want you to. His nose brushes yours, then his forehead touches yours, and his breath ghosts over your lips, warm and unsteady.
You’re practically shaking from how much you truly love him, and because of how long you’ve wanted this to happen. “Toji,” you whisper, voice trembling, “please…”
That breaks what little restraint he has left.
He cups the back of your head with his other hand, pulls you in the last inch, and kisses you. It’s not desperate, and nor is it greedy. This one is soft. Painfully soft. Slow, unsure, almost reverent, like he’s learning you all over again, and he’s afraid to lose you, even now.
Your breath catches and you melt into him, fingers fisting the fabric of his shirt as if you’re terrified he’ll disappear. The relief is overwhelming, so sharp it almost topples you, because this is real. This is him choosing you. This is something he doesn’t give lightly to anyone.
He feels you shake and pulls back just enough to breathe against your lips. He wasn't the cocky, detached man you'd grown used to in your friends-with-benefits arrangement. No, this Toji looked vulnerable, his usual smirk replaced by a furrowed brow and a tightness in his jaw.
You move deeper into the apartment together, but instead of heading toward the bedroom - the place where everything between you always gets muddled - you veer toward the living room.
The couch looks safer. Neutral, with no weight of any old mistakes. Toji makes note of your choice, but follows nonetheless. You sit first, curling onto one end of the couch. Your knees come up instinctively, like you’re trying to take up less space, or bracing for something.
Toji stands there for a moment, hands in his pockets, staring at you like he’s not sure where he’s allowed to be anymore.
“Can I…?” He gestures at the empty space beside you.
You nod. “Yeah.”
He sits too carefully, like he’s scared the couch will reject him if he sinks down too fast. His shoulder brushes yours, and you flinch - not away, but in surprise.
“Tch.” He exhales, gaze sharp and apologetic at the same time. “I ain’t gonna mess this up. Sit still.”
You don’t respond, but you ease your grip on the throw pillow in your lap.
For a minute, you just sit in silence. The TV glows with whatever you forgot to turn off earlier, and his knee bounces once: nerves. His hand hovers near your thigh, but he pulls it back like touching you without permission would be too much.
You feel him trying, and it scares you how badly you also want to lean into him. When you finally risk leaning your shoulder against his, Toji stops breathing for a second, then his gaze drops to your hand resting beside him.
He stares at it like he’s debating something; fighting himself. Eventually, with a low grunt, he reaches over - slowly - and covers it with his own. You stiffen, and his grip loosens immediately. “If you don’t want—”
“No.” You cut in, squeezing his hand once. “It’s okay.”
His shoulders visibly drop, tension easing. One minute passes like this, then two. Toji - being notorious for the fact he can’t sit still when he’s nervous - shifts. Not far, just enough so his thigh presses against yours more fully. Enough that his arm slides behind you on the couch, fingers brushing your shoulder casually, but not at the same time.
You hold your breath, seeing if he’ll pull away. He doesn’t. Instead, he leans in slightly, voice rough. “Come closer.”
Your heart stutters. “I’m not in the mood for—”
“Not for that.” His tone is firm but quiet, almost frustrated in its gentleness. “Just- just come here.”
You hesitate.
You’re scared: not of him, but of how easily you could fall into him again. But he sits there, patient in a way you’re not used to, so you move closer, slowly, and Toji lets out a slow exhale like it physically hurts him how hesitant you are. Before your nerves can take over again, his hand comes to your waist, guiding you - tentative, asking for permission instead of taking - until you’re straddling one of his thighs, knees framing him.
You blink, startled.
He meets your gaze, jaw tight. “I told you. Not for that.” Pulling you closer, he settles you against his chest. “Just… stay here.”
Your palms rest awkwardly on his shoulders, causing his arms wrap around your waist too slowly, like he’s scared to spook you. His face presses into the side of your neck, breath warm against your skin.
But then, something changes.
His hold tightens, thighs relaxing under you. His forehead drops against your collarbone like he’s exhausted from the week of pretending he didn’t care.
His voice is muffled when it comes. “Missed you. More than I wanted to.”
You swallow hard, fingers threading carefully into his raven hair, and he leans into the touch like he’s starving for it.
“Don’t- don’t think I’m here just to get somethin’ outta you.” He mutters, arms caging your waist. “I just… needed you close. Needed this with you.”
Your breath trembles. You want to believe him, you really do.
“You’re still on thin ice.” You remind him in a whisper.
His arms pull you tighter into his lap, chest pressed to yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “Yeah,” he breathes, voice rumbling low against you, “I know.”
Toji settles against the back cushions once you’re tucked into his lap, his arms firm around your waist, but not possessive. They’re steady, like he’s anchoring both of you. It’s awkward at first, the kind of closeness you aren’t used to sharing without heat rushing in to complicate things. You sit stiffly, unsure where to rest your hands, your cheek hovering near his shoulder but not quite touching..
His palm drifts up and down your spine in slow, unfamiliar strokes - not sensual, just grounding. You feel him shift beneath you, adjusting, making room for you to lean if you want to. For the first time since he walked in, he isn’t tense. His breathing evens out, low and heavy, the kind that makes his chest rise against your ribs.
A tiny part of you dares to relax.
You uncurl slightly, letting your back settle against his chest. His breath catches - a soft, almost startled sound - and then his chin drops onto your shoulder with a weight that feels more like trust than anything else. His hands slide lower to circle your waist fully, fingers splayed like he’s making sure you don’t drift too far.
“Better?” He rumbles against your ear, voice gravelly from exhaustion and something deeper.
“Mhm.” You hum, letting your eyelids droop.
After a few minutes of quiet, you shift, slipping sideways so your shoulder rests against his chest and your legs stretch out along the couch. Toji follows, guiding you gently, letting you find whatever position feels safest. When you sigh, sinking into him fully, he exhales too: a slow, relieved sound, almost like a confession in itself.
Your blanket lays crumpled over the arm of the couch. You reach for it, but your fingers barely graze the edge. Toji huffs, annoyed at your struggle, and catches it with one long reach. He drapes it over both of you without ceremony, tugging it up to your shoulders and tucking the corner behind your back.
You can’t help but feel absurdly taken care of.
Your eyes fully shut before you mean for them to. The warmth of him behind you, the steady thrum of his heartbeat under your cheek, the weight of his arm slung over your waist - it all lulls you under too quickly. You try to stay awake, try not to let yourself trust this too easily, but it’s late and you’re tired and he’s warm in a way you haven’t let yourself feel in so long.
You breathe out, long and slow, causing Toji’s hand to minutely tighten on your hip.
“…You fallin’ asleep?” He mumbles, voice rough with something like fondness he’d never admit to.
You don’t answer; not with words. Rather, your body curls closer, softening entirely against his chest.
Toji stays still for a long moment, as if testing whether you really did drift off. When your breathing evens out, he shifts carefully - sliding one arm beneath your knees and the other behind your back. The blanket stays wrapped around you as he gathers you up, lifting you with no effort at all.
You mumble something half-conscious, your face pressing into the fabric of his shirt.
He pauses, staring down at you with a look you’re too asleep to see. Something tender. Something worried. Something guilty and grateful all at once.
“Relax,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. “I got you.”
He carries you down the hallway, his steps slow and quiet. The bedroom door is nudged open with his foot, and he moves to lower you onto the mattress with surprising gentleness, adjusting the blanket so it still wraps around you.
For a second, he just stands there in the dim light, watching the way you burrow instinctively into the pillow, how your breathing stays calm even when you’re no longer in his arms.
He exhales - a soft, almost shaky sound. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he reaches out and smooths a piece of hair away from your face. His fingers linger for half a second before he steps back.
He lifts the blanket, slides in beside you, and the mattress dips under his weight. Before you can even fully register it, his arm snakes around your waist and he pulls you flush against him with a low grunt like he’s been waiting all night to do exactly this.
You make a small, half-awake sound of confusion. “Mnh.. ‘Ji?”
“Hush.” He breathes it against your hair, warm and unbothered, like your question was adorable but unnecessary. His hand slides up your spine, firm and slow. “S’late. Go to sleep.”
You try again, softer this time. “But I—” Another tug, which causes your back to meet his chest. His leg hooks around yours, claiming without even trying.
“Didn’t I say hush?” There’s no bite to it, just tired affection and that quiet, confident gravity he never loses. His thumb strokes the side of your waist - grounding. “M’here. Gonna stay. Go to sleep.”
Your face heats, and you settle - maybe because he asked, maybe because you want to.
Toji exhales, long and relieved, like your body relaxing gives him permission to do the same. He shifts just enough to get comfortable, pressing his forehead to the back of your neck. His breath fans against your skin, warm and steady.
“Good girl.” He praises, voice low and almost sleepy already. “Knew you’d stop fussin’.”
You’re quiet for a moment, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat stutters. “You… really meant it? You’re staying?”
His arm tightens instantly, pulling you closer until your hips fit against his. He sighs into your hair again - a soft, unguarded sound.
“‘Course I meant it.” He rasps. “Could barely think straight all week without you. Like hell I’m leavin’ now.”
Your eyes flutter shut at the reassurance. Something in him loosens at that - you can feel it, the tension melting out of his chest and into the pillow.
He presses a slow kiss to your shoulder. Then another, lazy and absentminded, like he’s already halfway asleep and just wants you warm and close.
“You smell nice.” He admits, roughened by exhaustion. “Missed this.”
You swallow a smile. “We… haven’t really done this before.”
“Yeah?” His nose nudges your neck, his fingers spreading across your stomach, big and steady and sure. “Then we’re makin’ up for lost time.”
Your breath catches. “Toji…”
“Mm?” He’s drowsy, soft around the edges.
“…You’re being really clingy.”
He chuckles: low and rumbling; shameless. “Yeah. Deal with it.” Another kiss, this one near your jaw. “Got you right here. Not lettin’ go.”
You shift back against him, giving him more of your weight, and his whole body reacts — arms tightening, chest warming, breath slowing until it syncs with yours.
His voice drops to a whisper, almost tender. “Sleep. M’not going anywhere.”
You believe him, and with his arms wrapped around you, his heartbeat steady against your back, sleep comes easier than you expect..
Toji doesn’t wake up the next morning as a brand-new man who suddenly knows how to talk about his feelings. Instead, it’s small changes: quiet, clumsy, and unmistakably him. The first of which happens in your kitchen.
He’s leaning against the counter while you make coffee, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. When you hand him his mug, he stares at it for a beat too long.
“…Thanks,” he mutters, almost confused by his own manners.
You blink. “You’re welcome?”
He grunts, looks away, and takes a sip like he needs the mug to hide his face. But the next morning, he takes his coffee and adds a soft, almost reluctant, “’S good.”
And that becomes routine - the way he acknowledges little things you do for him, awkward at first, then steadier. It’s not poetic, nor is it emotional. It’s the easy, simple honesty that makes your pulse flutter.
Then, there’s the talking. Not about feelings - not yet.
When you’re cooking dinner, he mentions his shoulder’s been bugging him. When you’re scrolling on your phone, he mumbles something about a job running later than planned. When you’re sitting together on the couch, he complains about some guy being annoying at the gym.
He never used to offer pieces of his day unless you dragged them out of him, but now he hands them over without being asked, like he’s slowly realizing that letting you in doesn’t mean losing anything.
You notice the physical changes next. He touches you more, and it’s not sexual - not only, at least.
There’s a hand on your lower back when you walk in front of him, a thumb brushing your cheek when you’re tired, and there’s a quiet tug of your hoodie strings when he’s waiting for you to get your shoes on. His knee presses against yours under the dinner table like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.
Once, when you’re sprawled on the couch together, he rests his hand on your thigh and keeps it there, warm and solid, even when you shift to get comfortable. He doesn’t move it away. If anything, his fingers tighten, like he’s anchoring himself.
Communication, however, comes slowly and painfully. One night, after you space out during a movie, he pauses the screen.
“You mad at me?” He says it like he’s bracing for a punch.
“What? No, I’m just tired.”
Toji grunts, frowning at the blanket instead of you. “Tell me next time.”
You beam at him. “You want me to tell you when I’m tired?”
He scowls. “You know what I mean.”
But he doesn’t look away this time. He’s trying, and you see it.
The bigger changes sneak up on both of you.
He starts leaving things at your place on purpose. Not just a shirt or two - whole stacks of clothing, a second toothbrush, his favorite knife in your kitchen drawer.
He cooks with you. Not well - he still burns something every other day - but he stands behind you, chin on your shoulder, arms caging you in as you stir something in a pan he probably shouldn’t be trusted with.
He kisses you more, too. Not heated and rushed like before, but soft ones. Forehead kisses when he leaves for work, a kiss to your jaw when he passes behind you, and a quiet kiss to your temple when you’re curled into him in bed.
You don’t have to initiate anymore. Sometimes, he just pulls you in like it’s second nature; like it’s where you belong.
Eventually, Toji learns to say real things: small truths that would’ve terrified him before.
One afternoon, you tell him you’ll be visiting a friend and might be home late. He tries to play it casual, but he fails miserably.
“…Text me, okay?” He mutters.
You smile. “Okay.”
“Like—” he scratches the back of his neck, eyes darting away, “—when you get there. And when you leave. And when you’re on your way back.”
You raise a brow. “That’s… a lot of updates.”
“Yeah, well.” He rolls his eyes, but his jaw twitches. “I worry. Just… do it.”
Your heart flips, but you nod. He relaxes, and you see it in the way his shoulders drop.
It becomes a relationship before either of you says the word. He sleeps over more often than not, and you wake up with his arm draped heavy across your waist, his breath warm behind your ear.
He brings you snacks without comment, you buy him a new set of towels for your bathroom. He fixes your broken shelf without being asked, and you wash his hoodie and fold it neatly on your bed. He kisses you when he comes through the door at night like it’s a greeting he’s always used, and neither of you has to say it to know:
You’re his, and he’s yours. You’ve become a real couple in all the ways that actually matter.
Morning light filtered through the half-drawn curtains, painting the room in soft golds and pinks. You stirred first, blinking awake to the warmth of Toji’s body spooned behind yours. His arm was still around you, hand splayed possessively over your stomach, his steady breaths tickling your neck.
The events of last night flooded back, and a smile tugged at your lips. He looked so peaceful in sleep, the hard lines of his face softened, dark lashes fanned against his cheeks.
You shifted slightly, and he woke with a low grunt, eyes fluttering open. For a moment, he just stared at you, as if confirming you were real, then pulled you closer, lips brushing your shoulder.
“Mornin’.” He rasped, voice thick with sleep. His hand slid up under your shirt, palm flat against your bare skin, tracing idle circles. “Sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.” You replied, turning in his arms to face him. His eyes searched yours, still holding a trace of last night’s vulnerability, but now mixed with something warmer, more certain. “You?”
He nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Woke up a few times, thinkin’ you’d be gone.” A faint flush colored his neck, and he ducked his head, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.
“Glad you’re here.” His fingers dipped lower, hooking into your panties’ waistband, tugging gently. “Want you. If... that's alright.”
The request was tentative, so unlike his usual demanding nature, and it melted you.
“More than alright.” You whispered, leaning in to capture his lips. The kiss started slow, exploratory - lips parting, tongues touching lightly, tasting the remnants of sleep and sincerity. Toji's hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking your jaw as he deepened it, a soft hum vibrating in his chest.
He rolled you onto your back gently, settling between your legs, his weight a comforting press. Breaking the kiss, he trailed his mouth down your neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point, teeth grazing without bite.
“Gonna make you feel good.” He murmured against your skin, voice husky.
His hands pushed your shirt up, exposing your breasts, and he paused to admire them, eyes darkening with hunger. “Fuck, these... perfect.” The praise sent a shiver through you, warming your core as his large hands cupped your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they hardened under his touch.
He was so much bigger than you - his palms nearly spanning your entire chest - and the size difference made every caress feel amplified, like he could envelop you completely.
Toji's mouth followed his hands, latching onto one nipple and sucking softly, his tongue flicking over the peak. You moaned, threading your fingers through his dark hair, holding him close. “Nnh, Toji…”
“That’s it, baby.” He praised, switching to the other side. “You sound so pretty f’me. My good girl, yeah?” His words were like velvet, wrapping around you, making you feel cherished and desired in a way your casual hookups never had.
You arched into him, fingers threading through his messy hair, holding him there. He lavished attention on the sensitive bud, alternating licks and gentle tugs with his teeth, while his hand kneaded the other breast, pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger.
“So responsive…” He mumbled, lifting his head to blow a cool breath over the wet skin, making you shiver. “Love how you react to me.”
He kissed his way down your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your pants and sliding them off along with your underwear. You were bare before him now, and he paused, his gaze raking over you with open admiration.
Toji settled between your legs, his broad shoulders forcing them wider. He was huge everywhere, and the sight of him there, so close to your core, made your pulse race. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another higher up, until his mouth hovered over your pussy.
“Gonna make you feel good.” He promised, his breath teasing your folds. "You deserve this. Deserve me taking care of you."
“S-Stop teasing, ‘Ji..” You mumbled, shying away the longer he stared at your cunt. However, he was too distracted by your glistening folds to pay attention.
“Fuck, look at you.” He breathed, his voice husky. “So small and perfect, spread out for me. I could just eat you up.” There was that teasing edge again, but it was soft, affectionate, as he parted your thighs with gentle hands.
Spreading your legs wider, he settled in, inhaling deeply. “Smell so sweet.” He said, voice reverent. His tongue flicked out, tracing your outer lips before parting them to lap at your entrance, tasting the fresh arousal gathering there. You gasped at the sensation.
He hummed in approval, the vibration sending sparks through you, before delving deeper. He licked at your clit with flat, broad strokes, his large hands gripping your hips to hold you steady.
“Taste so good.” He murmured between laps. "My pretty little pussy, all wet for me. You're amazing, you know that?"
The praise made you clench, pleasure building as he sucked your clit into his mouth, his tongue circling it relentlessly. One of his thick fingers pressed at your entrance, sliding in easily with how aroused you were. He was so big that even one finger stretched you, filling you in a way that made you whimper.
“Haah, Toji..!” You cried out weakly, thighs beginning to tremble from the anticipation.
“That's my girl…” He cooed, pumping it slowly. “Takin’ my finger so well. Imagine how good you'll feel around my cock.”
He added a second finger, curling them to hit that spot inside you, and you cried out, your hips lifting. Toji's free hand pressed down on your lower belly, pinning you in place with his size and strength.
“Easy, baby.” he teased softly, the endearment slipping out naturally. “Gonna take my time.”
He sealed his lips around your clit, sucking softly at first, then with more pressure, his tongue circling the nub in tight loops.
Two fingers eased into your pussy, thick and calloused, curling upward to stroke that spongy spot inside. He pumped them slowly, scissoring to open you up, his mouth never leaving your clit—licking, sucking, humming vibrations through you.
“Fuck—wait, ah!—gonna cum!” You warn shakily, The coil in your belly tightened, pleasure crashing over you as your first orgasm hit. You came with a shuddering moan, walls fluttering around his fingers, and Toji didn't stop, lapping at you through it, drawing out every wave.
“Good girl.” He cooed, kissing your thigh as you came down. “So pretty… Feel good?”
“Y-Yeah,” you nodded, breathless, pulling him up for a kiss. You could taste yourself on his lips, and it only made you want more. Your hands fumbled with his belt, eager to feel him. Toji helped, shoving his pants down to free his cock.
It sprang out, thick and long, veins prominent along the shaft, the head already leaking pre-cum. He was massive - easily over eight inches, girthy enough that your hand couldn't wrap fully around it - and a fresh wave of arousal flooded you.
“Look at that.” Toji said with a teasing grin, stroking himself once. “Think you can take all of me, sweetheart? You’re so tiny compared to me.” His tone was light, playful, but his eyes were full of love as he positioned himself between your legs again.
“I want it.” You admitted, reaching for him.
He guided the tip to your entrance, rubbing it through your slick folds, teasing you with the stretch before pushing in slowly. The burn was exquisite, his thickness parting you inch by inch, filling you so completely that you felt every ridge and vein.
“Oh god, Toji!” You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Shh, I’ve—fuck, sweetheart. Gotta loosen up—got you.” He soothed, pausing to let you adjust, his forehead resting against yours. “You're doing so fucking good, taking me like this.” He reassured you through gritted teeth, his control evident in the way he held still, letting you acclimate to his size.
When you nodded, he sank deeper, bottoming out with a groan. “Shit, you're tight. Feel that? All mine.”
He started moving then, slow thrusts that had you moaning with each slide. His hips rolled gently, the head of his cock dragging against your walls, hitting deep. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, and he kissed you softly, swallowing your whimpers. "You feel incredible," he murmured. "My sweet girl, clenching around me so nicely. Gonna make you come again."
You clung to his shoulders, nails digging into the muscled expanse, urging him on. Toji's arms caged you in, one hand sliding under your back to lift you slightly, changing the angle so he hit that spot inside with pinpoint accuracy.
“T-Tojiii… You’re so—Oh, oh!” You mewled, eyes rolling into the back of your head when his tip kissed your cervix deliciously.
“Right there, huh?” He asked, thrusting deeper, the head of his cock nudging that spot on every inward stroke. You whimpered, nodding frantically, and he grinned faintly, the expression tender. “Yeah, knew it. Gonna—hnn!—gonna make you come like this. On my cock, just from me fillin' you up.”
His movements grew a touch firmer, hips snapping with controlled power, the bed creaking rhythmically beneath you. Sweat beaded on his brow, dripping down to mingle with yours, and he kissed you again: messy, open-mouthed, swallowing your moans.
“So good for me, sweetheart.” He praised between thrusts, voice rough with need. The size of him amplified everything - the stretch bordering on too much, yet perfect, your pussy clenching around him involuntarily.
He shifted his weight, hooking one of your legs over his elbow, opening you wider. The new position allowed him to plunge even deeper, his cock reaching places that made stars burst behind your eyelids.
“Fuck, yes.” He groaned, pace quickening just enough to chase the building tension. “C-Clench like that. Milk my dick.” His free hand found your clit, thumb circling it in firm, steady strokes, syncing with his thrusts.
“Come for me, baby. Let go—mnh, so tight—I want to feel you milking my cock." His words tipped you over, your second orgasm ripping through you, stronger than the first.
You cried out, walls spasming around him, and Toji groaned, his rhythm faltering but not stopping. He fucked you through it, drawing it out until you were trembling.
“That's it.” He grinned lazily, kissing your temple. “So good for me, aren’t you?”
He pulled out slowly, and you whined at the loss, but he flipped you gently onto your stomach, lifting your hips. “One more position, yeah? Want to see this pretty ass while I fill you up.”
He entered you from behind, the new angle letting him go even deeper, his cock stretching you anew. His hands gripped your hips - not bruising, just firm - pulling you back onto him as he thrust steadily.
“A-Ah! Shooo full…” You whined. The size of him felt even more pronounced like this, his pelvis slapping against your ass with each push.
“Fuck, you take me so well.” He rasped. "Tiny little thing, ain’tcha, pretty?"
You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, the pleasure building again impossibly fast. Toji leaned over you, one hand sliding up to cup your breast, pinching your nipple lightly.
Slowly, his rhythm steadied, powerful but controlled, his cock pistoning in and out with increasing force, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing softly. He straightened up for better leverage, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep your chest low, ass high, deepening the angle so his dick dragged along your walls relentlessly.
“Come on, baby.” He teased softly, barely audible over the wet sounds and slaps of skin against skin. “Give me one more. I know you can—shit, you’re so wet.”
You whimpered at the overstimulation, but the ache was delicious, blending with renewed arousal as he teased you back to the edge. Toji's hand slid from your hip to between your legs, fingers petting your slick folds around where he was joined to you, gathering the mix of your release before circling your clit lightly.
“Not stoppin' yet.” He promised, voice husky with need, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your spine.
Once his hand found your clit again, and began rubbing firm circles, it was too much. Your third orgasm crashed over you, vision blurring as you sobbed his name, body shaking.
Sweat slicked your bodies, the room filling with pants and moans. Toji's breaths grew ragged, his control fraying.
“Gonna come, pretty.” He warned, hips stuttering. “Inside you okay? Wanna fill this pretty pussy.”
“Uh-huh… Wan’ it, ‘Ji!” You cried, speech slurred from the combination of overstimulation, as well as being drunk on his cock.
With a guttural moan, he buried himself deep, cock pulsing as ropes of cum shot out, coating your insides. He held you there, grinding to push it deeper, a soft sob escaping him - not from pain, but overwhelming emotion.
“Fuck... love this. Love you.” The last words slipped out, quiet but profound, as he collapsed over you, careful not to crush.
He collapsed gently beside you on the bed, pulling you into his arms so you were draped over his chest. His cock slipped out with a wet sound, his release trickling down your thigh, but he didn't care. Instead, he tightened his hold on you, even if you were boiling hot.
“You okay?” He inquired softly, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face. His voice was tender, full of concern.
“More than okay.” You murmured, nuzzling into his neck. He smelled like sex and safety, and you felt utterly content.
Toji kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips - a chaste, loving peck. “Let me clean you up.” He insisted, standing with you in his arms like you weighed nothing.
In the bathroom, he ran a warm cloth under the faucet, gently wiping between your legs, careful around your sensitive skin.
“There we go.” He murmured. “All taken care of.”
Back in the bedroom, he settled you on the bed with more blankets, fetching water from the kitchen and a snack - some fruit he’d spotted earlier.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs against your skin. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You whisper it into his chest, and his arm tightens reflexively.
He shifts again, lying fully on his side, wrapping himself around you from behind this time. His chest fits to your back, his palm spreads over your stomach, thumb stroking gently. Your legs tangle together naturally.
“Lemme hold you.” He mumbles into your neck. “Need it.”
You relax completely, and he does too - you feel it in the slow drop of his shoulders, the long breath he releases against your skin. Then, he presses a gentle kiss to your nape.
“You tell me if anything hurts later.” He adds, voice quiet. “Don’t try to be tough.”
You smile despite yourself. “You’re one to talk.”
He huffs a laugh: a warm, sleepy puff against your shoulder.
“Yeah, well,” he rolls his eyes, pulling the blanket higher around both of you, “I can be tough later. Right now I’m busy takin’ care of my girl.”
The words slip out before he can stop them, and you can feel the moment he realises what he said.
His body goes still, causing your heart to stutter. He’s silent; waiting. Eventually, he sighs low and defeated.
“Shit.” His forehead drops lightly against your shoulder. “You always gotta make things complicated, huh?”
“You said it.” You remind him softly.
He grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like yeah, because it’s true, but he doesn’t say it loud enough for you to claim.
After a moment, he moves again - not to pull away, but to pull you back against him more fully. His arm locks around your waist, solid and possessive, like if he holds you tight enough, he won’t have to explain himself.
“Just… let it be what it is,” he mutters finally, quieter than before. “We’re good right now. Don’t ruin it.”
It’s the closest thing to a plea he’s ever given you.
You rest your hand on his forearm, thumb brushing over a scar he never talks about. “I’m not trying to ruin anything,” you whisper.
He swallows, voice dropping even lower. “Then don’t ask me for… definitions. Labels. Whatever.”
You think he’s shutting down again, but then he adds, barely audible: “I’m here. Ain’t I? That’s gotta say enough about what I want.” And your breath catches.
You settle against him again, relaxing slowly, giving him room to breathe. Toji’s grip tightens once more, like he’s relieved you’re not pulling away.
His chin finds your shoulder, nose brushing your neck, and this time, when he exhales, it’s softer; easier.
a/n: with how much work i put into this i expect greatness. im sorry i got a little carried awat, but this was VERY fun to write
please dont expect this standard of work from me for all of my requests. this was meant to be 5k words but nearly tripled...
most importantly, thank you to my best friend, @bedsheeteater , who motivated and helped me put together this fic whenever i struggled. i love you bro 🩷
in all seriousness though a fandom doesn't die when there's no new episodes or games or "content" to play with and it doesn't die because people aren't as loud as the day it first came out either. if you're still creating then the fandom is alive. if your mutual who has since moved on still reblogs a post about it every four months then the fandom is alive. if there is even one person out there still engaging in, creating for, or just enjoying that show or that game or those characters, then the fandom is alive.
"fresh content" isn't the soul of a fandom. you are.
track twenty-four: i want you | prev track< | setlist
three rockstars! one you!
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna (+ rockstar!gojo!!)
content: mdni, angst and fluff, rockstar au!, complicated relationships and messy emotions, avoidant attachment, HEAVY PINING AND YEARNING, denying feelings, reader is a mess, sukuna is desperately trying to win her back lmfao, protective men, emotional hurt, not much comfort to be found in this one, therapy
a/n: art by @winterrbluess !! div by @/anitalenia
"It's always good to see you, Sukuna."
Yeah, you were pretty sure his therapist was the first person to ever say that to him.
But you kept your mouth shut, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg folded on top of the other as your stare shifted from your best friend to the man he'd brought you to see.
"How's Muffin doing?" He followed it up, leaning forward with a notepad in his lap, as if he wasn't being paid to inquire about his life.
"She's fine," Sukuna gruffly responded, pulling out his phone - and opening up his photos, proudly pulling up a photo of a fluffy gray cat mid-yawn.
Sukuna. The cat dad.
It didn't make any sense.
Nothing did.
"What are you going to do with Muffin when you're on tour?" You spoke up, fiddling with your painted nails as you looked down at your lap.
It came out kind of snappy. More than you meant it to.
"I'm not going on tour."
Your head snapped up. The shield you shined just for today cracking not even two minutes in as your throat threatened to shut.
"You're going on tour," you said, clinging to it like an idiot. Because deep down, despite how much he was trying to change, it was hard not to see Sukuna as a rockstar first. Everything else second.
He went on tour after every album.
Once this one was out, he'd be gone again.
"I'm telling the label no next week," he shrugged. "I don't give a shit if they don't sign us again."
Us.
Of course he was only acknowledging the band as more than just him when he was being what? Stupidly stubborn? Selfish?
“Why the fuck would you do that?” You blanched.
“I’m not leaving you,” the stubborn asshole insisted.
No.
This wasn’t what you wanted at all. It never was.
You felt like you were going to puke, a lump forming in your throat as you blinked at him in disbelief.
"Do not put this on me," you shook your head, ignoring the way his therapist tried to speak up, to prevent your bickering before it really got started. “What about Choso? Yuki and Uruame? They’ll be-”
“You can’t seriously think I care more about them than I do about you,” Sukuna scoffed, his jaw set in a tight line as his dark stare seared into your side.
“Like you were even willing to admit you cared about me at all six months ago,” you muttered under your breath, that bitter pill still lodged in your airway no matter how many times you tried to swallow it.
“Okay, I think we should take a step back here,” the therapist managed to interrupt, loudly clearing his throat as you turned your attention out the window. Rain was falling, droplets racing down the pane as you picked at a stray thread of the couch someone else’s anxious hands had already worked undone.
You knew you should be trying harder for this.
That therapy only worked if you were willing to try.
But you’d been so stuck in all this muck, sucked down deeper the more you tried to squirm your way out of it, you couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore. Searching for any sign of familiarity when everything had already changed without you.
What if all there was for you to figure out here was that they’d left you behind?
Suguru would learn his lesson and treat his next girl better. Satoru would find someone who could return all his love.
And Sukuna would fix himself just to find out he never needed you at all.
“Do you want Sukuna to go on tour?” His therapist softly prodded you, snapping you out of your spiraling.
“I don’t know,” you defensively answered, too on edge to match his polite tone.
“How does him staying make you feel?” He questioned, and you could only shrug your shoulders.
“Don’t be like that,” Sukuna grumbled, and you shot him an annoyed glare.
You were only here because of him.
Was that not enough to see you were at least trying?
“It makes me feel irritated, I guess,” you begrudgingly admitted. “Like he’s throwing away everything he's ever given a shit about when I never asked him to.”
You wanted to be included. To be a part of his life and not a piece of furniture in it. To be there by his side when he succeeded.
Not have him give it all up just so the two of you could make each other miserable just for the slim chance you managed to work out.
"I'm not-"
"He always makes these dumbass decisions without me and just expects me to go along with whatever it is," you added, ignoring him next to you as you finally met his therapist's gaze.
He had introduced himself when you first walked in and you hadn't really paid any attention to it, a twinge of guilt seeping through at the amount of understanding behind his eyes.
"So you feel left out," he concluded, and you immediately revoked your remorse.
"No," you lied, a traitorous little huff escaping your lips.
"That's not what I'm trying to do," Sukuna argued, seeing through your shit. "I, fuck, I just want to be here for you, okay?"
You wanted to accept that.
So so so badly.
That piece of your heart that had belonged to him from the start was already trying to tug you towards him, begging you to just stop being a brat and go back to being his.
But you weren't the girl you'd been before.
Not the one who warmed his bed or waited for him after his shows or wished for a happy ending.
And you no longer knew if you'd ever be able to be the partner he needed.
Shouldn't he be with someone he wouldn't have to cancel tours for? Someone it didn't hurt him to want? Someone who wouldn't wreck the world he worked for?
"What happens when you wake up a few years from now and realize that you shouldn't have stayed? Or when we break up?" You argued, getting the awful sense it would be the last time you'd be asking either question. "You're going to resent me."
"For fucks sake, I'm not," he flat-out denied it, annoyance creeping into his harsh features at the fact he had to say it.
But it didn't make you feel better.
What were you supposed to say to make him see what you meant?
"All we've done lately is make each other's lives worse," you muttered.
Your sex tape was leaked. He assaulted your ex-boyfriend. You slept with your ex's best friend. He was cancelling his tour.
This wasn't sustainable.
God, he'd even gone and bought you a fucking apartment like the guilt of fucking Satoru was still burned into your skin.
"You have been the only light in my entire life," Sukuna half-growled, reaching across the couch to grab your hand, his calloused fingers gripping you like he needed you to believe him too.
You hated yourself for not being able to.
For thinking of all the times you'd seen him smile at someone else, or smirk up on an illuminated stage, hearing his voice calling out to an adoring crowd. Knowing that you only got the pieces of him he chose to gave you and being okay with it for so fucking long.
And because you had a habit of making every situation infinitely more terrible, you directed your attention back to the therapist who felt a lot more like a referee as you stiffly rolled your shoulders back.
"Did he tell you about my sex tape?"
The next four seconds could probably get an award for the most awkward silence imaginable, you staring at the therapist, who was looking over at Sukuna, who was surely scowling at you.
"Do you think that's seriously relevant right-
"I mean, I just wanted to know how much he already knew," you bickered back, trying to sneak your hand away from his only for him to hold on tighter.
"I would prefer if we stopped interrupting each other so we can have a more, ah, productive conversation," his therapist piped up.
Your skin was itchy.
Invisible bugs crawling over it that you were desperate to scratch and peel off, every word exchanged and sentence that sunk in just making all of it more unbearable.
Familiar indecision crippling you, twisted and contorted as you tried to resist falling into the trap of falling for Sukuna again and refusing to let yourself get hurt by him.
Were you just going to lose in the end either way?
"Do you think this, uh, sex tape is going to be an issue if you resume a relationship with Sukuna?" The therapist continued, and you at least knew the answer to that one.
"Yeah," you muttered, loathing the defeat in your voice.
"Why is that?"
Because it'll be over the day he watches what's on it?
That was it, wasn't it? What everything boiled down to?
Your own fear that if you accepted his love, he'd take it back the second he saw another side of you.
"Are you scared to say it?" His therapist unhelpfully prodded, and you had the distinct feeling of your heart being dissected. Layers of you peeled back and pried open until they were watching it beat and bleed.
"Whatever's on it, I-"
"You'll hate me," you murmured.
Oops. You guessed you interrupted him again.
"I'm not going to hate you," he insisted, and without even looking to your right, you could picture his expression. The gritted teeth, the grim stare. Eye twitching as he restrained himself from rolling them.
"I told Suguru I loved him in it," you confessed, as if that was the worst of your crimes.
Sucking on the inside of your cheek as you stared down at your bare wrist. Aware of the bracelet that had been stolen from you.
Torn away like your chance of a happily ever after.
"Sukuna," the man across from you evenly spoke, maybe sensing the tension crackling between you as your words sank in for him as he scribbled something down on the paper in his lap. "Does that change how you feel? Or-"
"It just makes me hate him more," he grumbled, and you shrunk closer to the edge of the couch. But what he said next just left you wishing you'd never shown up at all, "Makes me hate myself more too."
"Why do you think that is?"
You shouldn't be here.
You shouldn't hear this.
"Because she never would've fallen in love with him for the first place if I hadn't been such a dickhead in denial when I had her," Sukuna snapped, his raw voice threatening to crack. "It's my fault she even met him."
"You can't blame yourself for everything," his therapist tried to reassure him, but you were casting a cautious glance over to see Sukuna scratching the back of his hair with an emotion that looked a lot like shame on his face.
So distracted by how foreign it felt to see him like this, your brain didn't even realize the man across from you was speaking to you until he repeated his question.
"Is there anything you feel that you might be culpable for here too?"
A lot?
It would be a pretty long list if you started just naming off every messy thing you'd done since you decided you were done sleeping with Sukuna.
"This is a safe place where you can be honest and we'll work through it," he added, offering you a smile that actually seemed sincere.
Your lips slowly began to part, ready to just ruin it all. Put it all on the table and lose if you had to.
At least you wouldn't be in this limbo anymore.
"I had sex with Satoru," you admitted, hot tears you hadn't been expecting starting to well up before you blinked them back. "He was there in the tape too, but uh, we didn't really do anything until he showed up on vacation."
"You slept with Gojo?"
And there it was.
The rage.
You'd spent years trying to tame him, dousing him in water before his flames could turn into wildfires.
But maybe you were just fueling it.
"We were both drunk and just having fun, and I don't know, I asked him to come inside my room," you offered an explanation, not sure if it was even owed or if you were throwing gasoline on him once again.
"What the fuck?" He hissed.
You waited for him to say he was going to murder or maim Satoru, to make threats or ask what the hell were you thinking.
To ask why.
"I'm sorry," you swallowed your pride, offering a pitiful bob of your shoulders. "I know we're not together but it was still shitty of me to do."
Sukuna wasn't your boyfriend.
He'd never been your boyfriend.
But you weren't stupid enough to think that it made what happened totally fine.
Completely forgivable.
And maybe, some part of you didn't want him to forgive you.
Craved to not have to make the hard choice at all and force him to do it for you. To abandon you the way you had always suspected he would.
"Why would you-"
"It seems to me that you're trying to sabotage your relationship with Sukuna by sleeping with someone you know would upset him," the therapist hummed, and you faltered.
Physically flinched as you reflexively itched to reject it.
Yet you couldn't.
Just sitting there like an idiot and blinking back.
"You're scared of being with him."
You were.
But did he have to actually say it out loud?
You were bending over to snatch your bag from the floor rather than deal with it, ignoring both of them saying your name as you started towards the door, shoving it open and leaving rather than hear them break down all your inner thoughts.
If your head was clearer, not so clouded and stuffed full with him, you might've figured you wouldn't have made it out of the building without Sukuna catching up to you.
He grabbed your hand right as you reached the door, trying to stop you from going, but you just shook him off, stepping out into the rain as he followed suit.
“Can you please stop for a second?” Sukuna groaned, and you were once again reminded of another night you’d been shoving down.
One where you asked him if he loved you and he couldn’t answer.
“I don’t want to talk right now,” you childishly mumbled, convinced that if you do, you’d start crying, and if you crumbled, you’d let him console you.
“Then I will,” he stubbornly insisted.
The immature urge to cover your ears and pretend you couldn’t hear him was incredibly tempting, but you just paused in place, limbs threatening to tremble as the rain soaked through both of you.
"Just forget about the fucking past," he scoffed, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around practically straight into his chest. “Can't this be enough? Can't I be enough?"
"How am I supposed to forget?" You retorted, poking a finger against his annoyingly firm muscles as you tried to pull back. "You don't get it. I literally lost everything, I-"
"I lost you," he snarled. "The albums, the money, the fame, they’re nothing to me.”
Now.
Why couldn’t he have realized that a year ago and saved you both the heartbreak?
“You’re my everything, okay? What the hell do I have to do? Get on my knees for you? Carve out my fucking heart and hand it over on a silver platter?” He was rambling, raindrops clinging to his lashes as he grabbed your finger and pulled it down.
“You’re supposed to be mad at me. I fucked Satoru while you were out buying me a beautiful apartment. Shouldn’t you be like, shouting or screaming, or something?” You argued, a fresh stab of hurt joining the rest seeing the way he recoiled from you when you pointed it out.
“So what?” He tried to sound tough.
Like he didn’t care when he so clearly did.
“Maybe you should watch the sex tape,” you shrugged, struggling not to shake, to be strong enough to say everything you needed to say. “See if you still think you love me then.”
“Stop saying shit like that,” he snapped, and it just made you more sure of your suspicions. “You are sabotaging us.”
“I think I need some more space,” you mumbled, knowing he was right and still refusing to admit it.
“You’re just running away from me. And I’ll be back at home tonight wondering whose fucking arms you’re in and why they’re so much better than mine,” he accused, finally letting a hint of that anger out. You felt a tiny hint of pride, knowing that he was finally getting the full experience of what he put you through for years.
But the truth was you were running away.
Avoiding him to avoid hurting yourself any more.
You only seemed to hurt him more when you were with him anyway.
Without you, Sukuna was doing great. He’d always been perfectly fine to fend for himself.
You didn’t want to stick around for when the sentiment wore off and it struck him you were the source of all his woes.
“Don’t be an idiot. Go on tour. Be there for the band,” you added, resignation replacing your regret as you sold yourself another half-truth that you were doing what was the best for both of you.
“Come back inside so we can actually talk about it,” he said, teeth gritted.
“I can’t,” you swallowed, shaking your head.
The idea of turning around and walking back into the building was too much. Sniffling as you wiped a wet streak from your face.
“I miss being your friend, but I really don’t know how to be anything with you right now,” you confessed, pulling yourself away from him even if it felt like you were cutting some heavy invisible cord connecting your soul to his.
It was selfish.
Impulsive.
Acting like a scared child ducking under a table just from a thunderstorm, before any lightning had even struck.
But it was the truth.
You loved Sukuna.
You just didn’t want him to destroy himself by trying to love you back.
He had been enough for you.
But now you weren’t good for each other.
He didn’t follow you this time.
Didn’t trail after you when you stormed off.
Sukuna let you go.
You didn’t stop until you were several blocks away, the drizzle from earlier turned into a torrential downpour, hair soaked and sticking to your face as you struggled to contain your tears.
How the fuck were you supposed to go back to the apartment he bought you?
Go sleep in that bed or curl up under the covers when you’d be seeing that haunted hurt look on his face every time you closed your eyes?
They were right about you.
You wished you were different.
Wished you could just be okay with all of it and pretend to be totally fine moving forward instead of standing on the sidewalk completely soaked as you stifled sobs.
Someone passed by under an umbrella, their shoulder nearly knocking into you as you looked up just in time to see them snickering and snapping a photo.
Disgust coiling bright and hot and unbearable at the realization this stranger had seen you naked - and now had the audacity to laugh at you for it.
Rather than panic, you reacted on impulse, taking the phone out of the dickhead’s hand and throwing it onto the concrete before stomping on it for good measure. Glaring right back at him as you dug the base of your foot into the shattered glass as you forced the lump back down your throat.
“I think you dropped that.”
“You fucking whore-”
Yeah, you were sure people were saying worse online.
But nothing could really compare to leaving someone you loved behind because you were too fucking terrified to let them love you too.
You shut him out the way you just shut Sukuna out.
Walking without really thinking until your teeth were chattering and it hit you that you weren’t sure where you were anymore.
Déjà vu washing over you as you looked up at the stormy sky, bottom lip quivering as you pulled out your phone to call the same person you had last time.
Suguru.
a/n: not gonna be online much in the next couple days but hope you guys enjoyed this
cw: MDNI, dark fic but its crack treated seriously, yandere sukuna, non-con/dub-con, references to some mario games, smut, kidnapping, captivity, cunnilingus, anal play, anal sex, aphrodisiacs(mushrooms from the games), obsession, vaginal and anal fingering, light bondage, spanking
wc: 6.3k (wtf happened)
a/n: Since this is kinda dark, for those of you in my perma taglist, please let me know if you’d like to be removed from this story.
dividers: @/dollywons @/cafekitsune @/honeyluvsw
You really can’t catch a break can you?
But honestly, it was kind of your own fault for being a little too careless. How could you not see that things were a little too peaceful for the past few months or so? Maybe the whispers of you being too kind for your own good were true, especially when it comes to your enemies.
Even so, you always tried to give people a benefit of the doubt and see the good in them, even someone like Sukuna. While you did find his obsession with you a bit unnerving at times, you thought maybe by trying to bring out more of that softer side might convince him to end this exhausting feud between your kingdoms.
And look where that got you.
While you were no stranger to bearing the brunt of his schemes, having Satoru around made you hardly imagine a scenario where he’d actually win. Not that you underestimated Sukuna that much, but it surprised and saddened you how easily you played right into his hands. You seriously regret not sending more of an entourage with Satoru when he got that letter about winning some free mansion, but at the time you felt like you both needed a break away from your everyday lives.
Not too long after he left, you decided to do a little traveling yourself, just to see what some of the vacation spots in your brochures had in store. Next thing you know, you’re ambushed while sightseeing and now you’re stuck in his castle—in this room with no clue of Satoru’s whereabouts. Usually he’d have been here within a few hours, but as the days went on in this gloomy place, you lost track of time and started to worry. Still, you tried not to lose hope, taking matters into your own hands and plotting your escape.
Although, that’s easier said than done. Sukuna had left you confined in this gilded cage of a room for the duration of your captivity, only letting you out to join him for meals, the occasional walk or ceremonies celebrating his latest conquest so the best course of action would be to lay low. Slowly gaining his trust and being sweet enough to convince him to let you roam around a bit more, which seemed to work pretty well surprisingly. At times you could almost forget how dangerous he really was when he tried to charm you with gifts, or ignore how creepy it was that he tailored this room to almost resemble yours back home.
Either way, this place was really getting to you, but now was your chance.
It was late, and currently Sukuna was probably resting from what you know, and hopefully it’d stay that way while you finish picking this lock.
The sound of lock clicking made you pause briefly.
It actually worked.
Tentatively, you slowly pulled the door open enough just to peak through the crack. Silence. Opening it a bit wider, you stuck your head out—looking both ways down the hall.
Empty.
You should really be offended. No one around takes you seriously enough to keep a look out? Or maybe they slack off when their boss isn’t around.
Quietly closing the door behind you, you started to make your way out, making sure your footsteps were quiet as you took in your surroundings. Even when you were let out, the places you were allowed to go were limited, so you still didn’t have much of an idea of the layout of this place. It made you wonder if anyone else got lost here sometimes.
As you expected, the escape was not going as smoothly as you planned. You ended up having to hide or take a bunch of weird routes, to avoid being seen, sometimes wandering into areas that seemed like trap rooms. Was this what Satoru went through every other week? If you had known you’d get this far, you probably would’ve waited a bit longer to plan things out. Maybe if you’re lucky, you could find a map room or something and try to search for a warp pipe that leads somewhere far away from this place. Then from there you could find a way back home, and start a search for Satoru.
Eventually things started to clear up a bit as you reached what looked like the kitchen area. If you remembered correctly, you could have sworn there—
“Taking a little night stroll?” a voice from behind cut through the silence of the corridor.
You froze in your tracks, unsure how you could even face him right now. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. You should’ve given yourself more time to plan this out. Or found a power up lying around somewhere? Why? Why now, when you were so close? Taking a few deep breaths, you calmed yourself down.
It’ll be okay. There’s still hope. You can get outta this.
Turning around to meet Sukuna’s intimidating glare, you gave your best charmingly apologetic smile you could muster, which was pretty easy with how fucking scared you were right now.
“Oh…you’re still up too,” you spoke softly, fiddling with your hands, noticing that he was in his usual spiked cape that did little to cover his muscular physique. Does he ever wear a shirt?
“I am,”
“I-I know it’s late but…” your eyes darted away briefly as you bit your lip. “I haven’t been feeling too well lately…m-maybe a little restless…and umm…I guess someone left my door unlocked, so I’d thought I’d come down and make some tea…and uh…”
His expression remained unreadable behind his cold gaze as he watched you stammer and stutter like a moron. God, you probably looked so pathetic right now. Get it together already! You deal with him on a regular basis!
Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, as you mentally shook yourself. “D-do you think…you have the ingredients around here somewhere? It’s a special kind of tea that’s my comfort drink. Oh! And I’ll make you some too! It’s a pretty popular recipe back in my kingdom and I’m sure you’ll love it. Maybe we can even take a st—
“Enough with your lies, brat,” he cut you off, making you flinch.
Oh he’s pissed.
“You really are a sneaky little thing,” his figure towered over you as he approached. “Batting your pretty lashes thinking you can fool me.”
You tried to make a break for it but he was quicker, grabbing you roughly and forcing you to face him as he pulled you close. “Ungrateful too.” One hand gripped your chin, tilting your head up as his crimson eyes bore into yours. “I really don’t get it. Why are you so desperate to go back to that sorry excuse of a kingdom? To that…plumber.” His nails dug harshly into your cheeks as he emphasized that last word.
“I—I’m so—“ you squeaked
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” his voice giddy and high pitched as he mocked you. “It’s always lies with you, you little shit! You really don’t know what’s for your own good. When you’re being done a favor.” His hold on you had become so tight, you thought he was going to crush you—hyper aware of how your breasts were practically squished against his bare chest. The tears you tried to hold back, started to blur your vision. You’ve never seen him this mad with you before.
He sighed, his grip loosened slightly before he continued. “You know you won’t stand a chance right? Against me or some other major threat that comes along.” The hand that held your chin left to stroke your hair. “Some defense to have. Look how easy it is to subdue you.”
“And you think keeping me locked in here like some caged animal is an ideal solution?” you hissed bitterly.
“I did allow you freedom, but obviously that was a mistake. I just might have to keep you chained up from now on.”
“And what about my friends?! You and your minions are always attacking and trying to kill my people and you expect me to just be okay with that? You say you care about me giving me all these frivolous gifts, but have you even considered how I feel?!”
You continued to prattle on, but it might as well be white noise to him. As frustrating as your defiance was, he knew it wouldn’t be easy keeping you here. Things like this take time, and you’ll learn to love him soon enough.
But that doesn’t mean he’s letting you off the hook.
So he held you there as you eventually stopped trying to reason with him and cried your heart out, gently rubbing soothing circles along your back. “Hey.” he murmured, resting his head against the crook of your neck. “Quit getting yourself so worked up. You’re gonna make your headache worse.”
“Huh? But I—“
“I know, but you’re not feeling well, right?”
He lifts his head from your shoulder and your teary, blurry vision, you see him pull out something small and pink from his pocket. Some sort of pastry…no, a mushroom? But before you can question it, he’s bringing your chin up to face him again—
“Open,” his voice stern as he grips your jaw.
“Wh—“ then he stuffs the little thing in your mouth with both fingers. Confused and muffling you try to resist
“Quit be so fucking difficult. I’m trying to help you.” he grunts, forcing your mouth open just a bit wider, as he slides the shroom in and holds it in place until you give in. “Good girl.” With a satisfied smirk, he slowly retracts fingers, a string saliva trailing behind as they pull out with a satisfying pop. “Now chew.” Using that same hand, he moved your jaw up and down, before tilting your head up further until you swallowed, your grimaces and glares only furthering his amusement.
Whatever he just fed you was very sweet on your tongue—way too sickeningly sweet like the first time you ever baked—and you’re sure it’ll leave the worst aftertaste imaginable after a while.
“The fuck was that?!” you shoved away from him, or rather he pretty much let you, as you sputtered and gagged, wondering how many times you’ll have to brush your teeth to make the sweetness go away.
“Stop your whining, I didn’t poison you.” he simply rolled his eyes at your displeasure.
You might as well have!, you wanted to respond, if you weren’t so preoccupied with getting rid of this revolting taste. Fuck. You needed some water. Some ice cold water, to wash it down, and maybe some to pour over the rest of you, with how increasingly warm it was getting. Seriously, why was it getting hotter?
“Something the matter, princess?” you could practically hear the smugness in tone as he approached you again.
“Just…leave me alone! What did you even do to me?” you rasped, wiping the sweat from your brow. The stupid dress you were wearing suddenly felt like it had too many layers, and you desperately wanted out. Your vision seemed blurrier as you stumbled—trying to get anywhere away from him, but he caught you in his arms before you could make another move.
“Giving you a little push,” he chuckled, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as he started to pepper little kisses along your cheek and jawline, stunning you for a second. The other hand around your waist toyed with the lace of your corset—loosening it slightly. Every bone and nerve in your body was practically screaming for you to flee, and you desperately did—hating how the softness of his lips raised goosebumps along your neck, or how this unbearable warmth was starting to build up and replace your fear with…desire?
That wasn’t a power-up.
One moment you’re trying to get him off and the next, you’re being hauled over his shoulder like a sack of bread as he carries you back upstairs—with you cursing and screaming the entire way, probably loud enough to wake the entire castle. It seemed like it was starting to kick in, seeing how you’re being brattier than usual.
By the time he reaches his room, your hits against his back have become sloppy—panting heavily as you take in the surroundings.
“Let me go you asshole!” you shout and continue to struggle, as he presses you up against the wall. “Take me back to my r—,” he soft lips pressing against your shuts you up except for a confused moan that muffles as is tongue swishes with yours. Your breath hitches when he starts to hike up your dress, his hands uncharacteristically warm against your skin as they trail up your thighs.
“I really don’t know what to do with you anymore, princess,” he pulls away from your warm mouth, sighing. His words were soft in contrast to the cruel way he kneaded and teased your curves “Would’ve waited for our wedding night like you wanted, but you just had to up and—Oh, what’s this?” His smirk widened when his fingers brushed along the slickness you leaked, as he got closer to your most sensitive area.
You couldn’t do more than let out short gasps and whimpers as continued to do what he pleased—his finger lightly tapping the now soaked material that barely covered your throbbing cunt and goading sparks of unwanted pleasure out of you from your increased sensitivity. A single touch and you were already losing your mind, from the likes of him—craving him.
“Oh, you really like that huh?” His voice sends vibrations throughout your body as he leans into your neck to leave more kisses. “Didn’t know my little princess was such a slut,” He pressed his finger a bit harder before rubbing little circles along the fabric where he could feel the outline of your slit, his other hand settling on the crest of your ass, his prodding and kneading of the plushness of it making your highly stimulated state worse.
Feeling overwhelmed you try to shove him off again, only for him to laugh giddily as he presses himself tighter against you, muttering about how fun it’ll be to tame you and other heinous things—gasping when you felt the hardness of him through his pants pressing against your thigh, much to your disgust. With every new sensation, it was as if your cognitive process was slowly deteriorating and giving in to his whims. The shroom—his hands like fire against your skin was all too much.
Would he have you feeling this good if he hadn’t drugged you? Have you grinding against him like some animal in heat? No
“S’ fucking wet... Want me to fuck you with my fingers, yeah?” he rasps, cupping your soaked mound with palm and giving it a little squeeze.
“N-no!” you said abruptly, not caring how your body wanted nothing more for him to slide your panties to the side and fix what he started.
“No?” he raises from your shoulder to look at you, tilting his head to the side pouting. “Scared I’ll make you come? Knowing you can’t do anything about it?” You could feel the ball of his palm massaging over your clothed clit, pussy twitching in anticipation.
“P-Please d-,”
“Don’t stop”? his hand gives your cunt a light smack, eliciting a cute little yelp “Or maybe you still think your little knight is gonna barge in, watching his precious princess begging for her new ki—“
The mention of Satoru has you slapping him hard across the face before you can even think. His ministrations coming to an abrupt pause, as blood trickles down his lip from where he bit his tongue. Flinching, you expect him to retaliate.
“Guess you’re not ready for your reward yet,” he huffs, then retracts his hands, leaving you feeling cold.
It was like your emotions were at war between relief and regret. Instinctively, you grabbed his hand that felt oh so good against you, trying to make him keep going, but he was having none of it. You’ve never felt so pathetic needing his finger inside you—needing to clench them.
“Oh no, it’s too late for that,” he chuckles, hauling you up again and ignoring your pleads.
What is he going to do now? Is he taking you back to your room? Hopefully not like this and leaving you at the mercy of your own fingers. There’s no way you could satisfy yourself as much.
He stops to get something, and then you’re plopped down face first onto his bed. As you tried to gather your bearings, he was already on top of you with a firm grip of your wrists, forcing them up and beginning to tie them to the pole of the headboard with a thick rope. “Such an ungrateful brat. I provide you anything you could possibly want, lovely dresses, your own goddamn room” he grunts, tightening the rope as if to emphasize his point. “Don’t even have to lift around here, and this is how you behave.”
He lightly tugs up your skirt again, his hand sliding along the curve of your hip making you stiffen and cunt throb with excitement. Please please please. Just a little higher. “This power up is supposed to last a few hours or so. Really a shame, but I think leaving you here would be a fitting punishment.” Giving your hip a little pat, he gets up.
No, no no no. You shake your head, whimpering and struggling with your bindings.“Wait! No please! You can’t—don’t leave me here!” But your pleas may as well have fallen on deaf ears as you watched him retreat to a little armchair across from you, sitting lazily with one leg crossed over his knee, chin resting on his fist like it was his own throne.
Thanks to your little stunt earlier, Sukuna was wide awake and could probably do this all night if he wanted. Hell, he actually might, just to see how much of your resolve he could break. His beautiful face carved with an evil as he observed every whine and jerk, with glee. Maybe, he’ll leave for a bit to go torture prisoners down in the dungeon and come back to see to you as nothing than a sobbing, writhing mess. It was pitiful, but it was your own fault after all.
You were in a state of delirium, stuck in this desperate endless cycle of needing to cum and not cumming. At times you growled in frustration when you tried to quell your arousal with your hands, only to forget they were bound. Then you tried rubbing your thighs together but it wasn’t a good substitute for the need to be filled, so you were left rutting against the mattress like some depraved beast.
“Fucking fuck! Fuck you Sukuna! I swear I’m gonna fucking kill you!” you spat, words full of venom as saliva dripping down your chin, staining the pillowcase. You’ve never been so humiliated in your life. Satoru would never do this to you. You wished he were here right now—imagining him taking care of you, which only made you hornier.
He simply quirked an eyebrow. “You will?”
“J-just shut th— come fix this already!”, the words died in your throat, as you squeezed your eyes shut on the brink of tears again. “Please…” you cried softly. The ecstasy was becoming so much to handle that you felt like you’d die if you didn’t get your release soon. You fucking hated him s—
“My my you’re seeming a little desperate,” your eyes flew open when you felt his warm breath brushing your ear. Your head immediately turned to see him at your level with arms propped up on the bedside. “Is that begging I hear?”
Nails digging into your palm and lip trembling, you were torn between your pride and dignity and giving in. There’s no way you can do it. You just can’t succumb to this monster. No amount of shrooms can or If you try hard enough, you can let yourself be lulled to sleep into some faraway dream that’ll take care of the rest.
How hard can it be?
“Well? Speak up, brat.” he suddenly frowned, with an impatient edge to his tone.
How long was a few hours?
“Tch, maybe I’m hearing things.”
And these bindings are awfully tight.
“As much as I love the sound of your voice, your little tantrum is starting to bore me.” Leaving your field of view, panic starts to settle in when hear his retreating footsteps.
“No no no! I-I’m sorry! Don’t leave! I really am this time!” your breaths heavy as you wriggle and squirm, somehow thinking you can go after him if you need to. “Please… Sukuna! Need…to cum! P-please make me cum. Make me cum…”
Silence. Coming to the conclusion he left the room, your heart sank. Who the fuck were you kidding? There’s no way you’ll get a wink of sleep in this posi—
“And why should I do that?” his large hand snakes between your legs, briefly brushing against the area you want it most before settling on the curve of your ass. There it was again. That rush of sudden contact that has you jolting and sucking in a sharp breath. You didn’t even bother to resist arching into it.
“Still thinking you have the right to make demands?” his fingers slide between hems of your pretty laced panties. You tense a even more as he pulls them down,
“I-I—,”
His hand suddenly comes down hard on your ass followed by a loud smack. The stinging impact making you let out an embarrassing yelp as you scrambled your body further up the bed to get away.
“You really think you deserve to be rewarded?” he asks calmly, gently rubbing and massaging your stinging flesh soothingly before slapping it harder this time.
“N-no!”
“Mmhmm, and why is that?”
The painful sensation made it difficult to string your words together, which didn’t satisfy him in the least. He brought his hand down again and again, only managing to hear the sounds of your shrieks in return. It hurt like hell, but you couldn’t deny that it felt so painfully good. Burying your face in the pillow, your nails dug into your palm almost hard enough to draw blood as your pussy clenched with need.
“I’ll keep going until I get an answer.” he said bluntly, this time striking your naked cunt.
“B-because I t-tried to run!”
“And…?”
Another smack.
“I-I hit you—,” you blubbered through choked sobs. “and d-disrespected…you!”
“Correct. And that’s worthy of a punishment is it not?”
“Y-yes.”
“Very good,” he gave your ass a light squeeze. “Now I want you to count, just to be sure you’re really sorry.”
So you tried to oblige his command to the best of ability, but the tremors along with the intensity of strikes increasing with each count made you lose your train of thought. You were glad you weren’t able to see his face in this position, your shame and humiliation at full display.
“Start over. You’re too sloppy.” his voice low and dangerous as he tugged your head up by the hair from the pillow to hear you more clearly. Then he began again, his grin full of mania while he watched you slowly break down from the rough treatment. His other hand reached down his pants to stroke his swollen cock to how nice your cheeks jiggled.
You don’t know how long you’ve been stuck in this state of pleasured agony, but it seemed like he was dragging it on as long as possible this time, with the knot in stomach growing tighter and cunt pulsating. But he was right, this was your fault. You deserved this.
Why were you even fighting this?
“Good girl,” you heard him say over your sobs and racing thoughts, caressing and soothing over your abused skin lovingly. No doubt you’ll have quite a few bruises blooming there for a while. He leans down to gently brush away some tears running down your face sideways with a soft expression. “You’re so much fun when you misbehave.”
Whatever dignity you had left was gone at this point.
Sighing, he starts to shimmy off his cloak, bringing more of your attention to the taut muscles of his abs and the sharp, angular tattoos. You were ashamed to admit that even without the shroom, you couldn't deny you found him attractive when he wasn’t absolutely deplorable.
“Like what you see?” he gave a sharp-toothed grin, that predatory glint in his eyes returning. He tossed the cape somewhere off to the far corner of the room before sliding down his pants. Your eyes followed every detail from his muscular thighs and the tattoos trailing down his v-line, to his half-hard cock springing free, eyes widening at the size of it.
There’s absolutely no possible way you can take that. That thing will rip you apart, but the excitement and lust made it too hard for you to care all that much.
Your breaths came out short and fast when you could feel Sukuna climbing onto the bed over you, the mattress dipping under his weight. His hands wrapped around your midsection as he arches your ass up higher, causing your head to press down further into the pillow.
“What a mess you're making,” he tuts, bringing your embarrassingly wet mound closer to his view. He tilted his head as if he was studying a piece of art on a canvas, tracing a calloused finger down your entrance and prodding at the lips. Hearing you a squeak from the touch, he chuckled. “Relax princess, I’ll take good care of you,” he coaxes, licking the sample taste of your wetness from his finger before bringing his face closer to breathe in your scent.
His hands sensually running along the smooth skin of your thighs does little to ease your shakiness, nor is there any time to mentally prepare yourself when the slick warmth of his tongue makes contact with your throbbing slit, savoring the taste as he moves more further to lather your sensitive clit. The pressure applied to your bud has scrambling and squirming in your bindings, wishing for anything to grab onto. It was agonizingly delightful. The coaxing pattern of his tongue moving back and forth has you nearly losing yourself and mewling in pure ecstasy.
“Ah—f-fucking, stop it,” you rasp, despite the way your body grinding against his face wants otherwise.
“Stop your whining,” he mutters, and you can feel him grinning against your skin. “I meant what I said about helping.”
He gives your heated sex another ravenous lick before slithering his way up to the tight rim of your asshole, turning your little huffs into a confused yelp.
“H-hey what the fuck?! Ew!”
But he simply laughs and pays your complaint no mind, and lets your body speak for itself. Spreading your cheeks further apart, his grip on your ass was firm as he continued to swirl around the tight ring of muscle, until the ache of his own arousal became too much to bear and let his hands wander. Trailing up the curves of your hips and his claws to tear through more of your corset. Your nerves felt as if they were set ablaze as his hands reached further up your ruined dress, tenderly brushing along your stomach as they reached to cup your breasts.
“You taste so sweet,” his low groan against you sends vibrations throughout your nerves. One of his hands reaching down to jerk his swollen cock ease the ache.
“S-shit— ah! quit it!” your shrill voice cut through when the sinful touch of the palm tugging and massaging your pebbled nipple went back down to rub little circles along your clit.
In response, he hummed mischievously and gave it a little spank as he rubbed it harder while simultaneously slipping two fingers in and out between your folds.
Panting heavily, a small smile formed on your face as the pressure in your core kept building like a dam about to burst.
“Fuck—… gonna cum,” you breathe, but he hears yours plea just fine, pulling out his fingers and burrowing his face in your cunt again to fuck you out with his tongue.
“Let it out….that it’s…there you go,” his voice sultry as he coaxes you through the creamy flood that gushes from you, his mouth open wide licking and taking in all of your sweet arousal, feeling like he was about to nearly come himself.
From your point it was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist, losing yourself in his whispered praises and the still ever burning lust coursing through your veins. This was nice. You were so silly for even trying to run from this.
You’re hardly given a moment to catch your breath, when his fingers start running up your thighs gathering up more of your slick as they move to tease your entrance again, making you jerk as you try to look back at him.
“You don’t seriously think I’m done with you yet, do you?” he jeers, planting a wet, sloppy kiss along it. Without thinking, you’re already pressing more of yourself onto him, which he indulges by playing with the sensitive bud of your clit.
“My sweet princess,” he sighs in mocking disappointment, a thick finger circling the rim of your other entrance. “What would your poor citizen think if they’d known you liked to be bent over like some common whore?” The rest of his sentence could barely reach your ears over the sharp cry that you let out when he breached the tiny hole that fluttered your insides. His other hand continues his assault on your clit, applying more pressure and circling it more quickly.
Not trying to boost his ego any further, you planted your face back into the pillow to stifle any more embarrassing sounds you were making. You shuddered in disgusted pleasure from the amount of cum you felt leaking down your thighs to your lower legs.
“I see that plumber hasn’t managed to stretch you out properly,” he rasps, the sound of his tone could be misconstrued for frustration. “The one time he does something that’s not a pain in my ass.” He has you both moaning in unison from the stretch, as his finger curls deeply in and out.
“P-please,” you muffled, not having the energy to raise up and look back to challenge his words. All you could think about was your satisfaction. For him to keep going, arching up higher as he enters a second digit, his other finger along your pussy ramping up its ministrations your clit faster and harder.
“More…need…” your nails dig so deep into your palm they break a layer of skin.
Then it all stops, his hands retracting and making you lift your head in confusion. Somewhere from behind you can hear him rummaging through one of the nightstand drawers and the sound of a cap popping.
Oh no.
He’s not actually going to do it?
And then the feeling of a cold blob circling around your tight hole confirms your worst fears. You writhe and squirm as a wave of panic starts to cut through your lustful haze, his cruel laugh serving as a reminder of your situation and that no one was coming to save you.This fucking psycho. He’s out of his goddamn mind.
He’s actually going to fuck you there.
“W-wait!” you try to move, wincing as his claws dig into your skin to keep you still. “Will it even f—,”
“It will,” he says dismissively. You don’t even need to look to know he was grinning like a maniac. Shutting your eyes you plant your face back down with shuddering breaths as his hot and and heavy member drags along your thigh—precum smearing your already glistening skin.
“And stop clenching so damn much,” he lightly pats your thigh, like that’ll fucking help. “It’ll hurt less if you relax.” Smoothly massaging your skin, he prods at your hole.
You made it this far, right?
You know it’s coming, but that doesn’t stop the high pitched mewl that escapes from you when the fat tip of his cock stretches you as it slowly breeches through. Your face burns as more tears trickle down your cheeks from the sensation of being slowly filled.
“Theeerre we g—fuck…Doin’ real good, princess.” his voice shaky and breathy, his composure already slipping as he steadies your hips to keep you spread out with a bruising force. “Just stay like that for me.”
You’re rewarded with a hand reaching to stroke more coaxing circles along your clit, which mixed with the effect of the drug soothes you through the pain enough to distract you from the thickest part of him nestling his away inside, whimpering as he sinks deeper in by inch. Briefly, you’re able to relax slightly once you’ve taken in the hardest part, before your breaths shorten when he bottoms out around you snugly.
“Wasnt so bad now was it?,” he leans to kiss along the shell of your ear, pushing his hips tightly against your ass. “Told you it’d fit.”
One of his tattooed hands splayed beside your head as he began to move, his grunts mixing with your whimpers as you struggled to take his achingly slow thrusts. Unsurprisingly it hurt like hell, but at the same time you needed it, gasping through the pain eventually dulled into pure blissful pleasure.
“All that crying only for you to like it, huh?” he says hoarsely, the slow stretch with each push of hips knocking the air from his lungs, one arm snug around your waist keeping your ass arched up high.
“Fucking you so silly, you can’t even run your mouth,” then his pace starts to pick up, groaning and grunting as his cock twitches dragging along your fleshy walls, your vision getting blurrier as the hand behside you leaves to entangle through your locks of hair. “Should be lucky I didn’t make you wait longer.”
Drool starts to spill from your mouth as you’re nearly left speechless save for your moaning, as he continues having his way with you—claiming ownership over your mind and soul. Over the sounds of his balls slapping against your ass, bouncing off the walls, you listen to him prattle on and on about how long he’s waited to have you all to himself, but that stupid plumber was always getting in his way. Taking you from him. When you’d be much better off by his side, a whole empire to worship the ground you walk on. Make sure no one dares lay a hand on you.
It was disgusting really, yet your cunt throbbed and dripped with every filthy image he planted in your mind as he went into detail on how hard it was to hold back from dragging you on his throne to bounce you his, forcing Satoru to watch while he gave you orgasm after orgasm.
“Hm, actually maybe I’ll bring him here for a while. I’m sure you’d like that too, peaches?” his tone taking on mock innocence. Just another excuse to further your humiliation and shame, reveling how much you pulsate around his cock as he fucks into you deeper.
“Oh, you’re crying again.” Hang on, I wanna get a good look. His claws swipe through the ropes ensnaring your wrists with only a moment to process the relief of relaxing your arms before he’s flipping you over, giving you a nice full view of his flushed face and sweat running down his chest and abs.
“Fuck…you’re so pretty,” he gently cups your face with one palm. Your tearful, defeated fucked out expression and body were like a work of art. He might even consider painting this exact moment later on. Another swipe and rip and your gown is fully torn, letting your tits bounce freely bobbing up and down.
Pulling you closer, he threw your legs around him only making you feel more vulnerable and exposed letting him see every reaction, he garnered from you being stretched and filled.
S’ too much,” covering your face when one of his large hands trails over your delicate collarbone before trailing to grab one of your breasts, gasping and whining with each tug and pull.
“Don’t hide from me” he growled, a sharp pinch to your abused clit has you crying out. “I want you to watch. I need to see all of you.”
You were getting that feeling again, sensing it clawing its way to the surface to be set free.
“Can’t wait to make you my pretty little wife,” sweat dripping down his face as his thrust become more erratic, his fingers rubbing your pussy lips harshly. You’re seeing stars dotting your vision as you watch him move back and forth, sure that he’s reaching your stomach at this point.Not that you cared much, too focused on how you could feel every ridge and vein sliding against your walls, grasping the sheets so harshly they might tear.
“Gonna make sure to fuck all your holes every night. Treat you like a queen.” his words slur as he laughs looking so unhinged it’d terrify you more if your mind weren’t turned to mush.
“P-please,” was all you could manage with a hoarse voice. Everything around you was getting so spiny and dizzy that you’re starting to laugh too. Your body feeling like it was being boiled from inside out as more stars flash your vision white.
“Cum for me, peaches,” you hear him say, hardly registering his arms wrapping around your shaking form, screaming a broken moan against his chest, nails digging into skin as you convulsed and squirted with him continuing to rut you through it.
You didn’t mind one bit as he kept you there, bringing you into another sloppy kiss until he came hard in and out of you. Face all scrunched up as he filled you to the brim and jerking the rest of his arousal up your chest and stomach with a low groan until it reached your lips. Pressing his mouth to yours, he swirled his tongue around as he forced you to taste him.
Then with a satisfied ruffle to your head he pulls away to get you cleaned up.
But the drug was still running hot in your veins, you’re grasping out to pull him back. He did this to you, and you’re sure as hell gonna make him own up until you passed out
“Still eager, huh?” he chuckles settling back down to bring your hand over his still swollen erection. “Maybe if you put that mouth of your to good, use I may consider fucking your other hole next.”
a/n: oof, that was a lot. I’m planning on doing another fic with bowser!kuna as a threesome with Gojo some time in the future. Anyways I’m going to sleep now. K, byeeee!
[𝜗℘] :: older bf!toji is a sucker for you, especially when you wake up the morning after :: cw. smut, pwp.
toji’s eyes aren’t even open yet, his mind barely conscious, but his body can easily sense yours on top of him.
you’re half-asleep yourself and yet your hips are moving on their own—grinding against his pelvis with slowed movements. his half-hard dick is still buried inside your warm cunt, having cockwarmed him to sleep.
“. . . mmh, shit,” toji groans in that sexy morning voice of his. he doesn’t bother opening his eyes, his hands instinctively coming to rest on the curves of your ass to guide your shallow thrusts.
his eyelashes flutter, his biceps flexing as he squeezes your plump cheeks lazily. “nasty little girl. can’t even wait ‘til i wake up properly,” the older man delivers a soft smack to your ass before soothing the sting with a rub.
he opens his eyes barely halfway, yet enough to look down at you snuggled against his bare chest. he huffs—almost condescendingly but with a subtle hint of affection.
you’re seemingly more unconscious than conscious, still lost in deep slumber. despite that, your hips don’t stop their hypnotic up and down rhythm.
“so addicted to my dick got ‘er ridin’ me in her sleep,” toji mumbles to himself before closing his eyes once more. his hands never stop massaging your hips and rear, silently encouraging you to continue.
there’s nothing better than getting his dick wet by his gorgeous young girlfriend first thing in the morning.
5 times sukuna was heavily yearning + 1 time you finally noticed.
oblivious, lonely reader who’s used to doing things alone x downbad!sukuna. jealous!sukuna. gn!reader. reader wears glasses. uncle!sukuna. sukuna calls reader angel. he’s so down bad bro. ooc sukuna as usual. mentions of nsfw contents.
— ☆ —
1. movie nights.
you had a specific, detailed, high maintenance routine for watching movies. you had slowly perfected the process— a mental to do list popping up every time a new movie dropped that you needed to watch.
first, you needed to be in your designated ‘movie night pajamas’, the most comfortable you owned. your favorite blanket had to be there, along with your favorite pillow for support. you liked watching in your home more than cinemas, because you disliked the idea of not being able to pause the movie for whatever reason. who decided to make bathroom breaks that short, anyways?
for snacks, chips poured into your favorite bowl, your favorite niche flavor. a chocolate bar sat beside it just incase the movie got intense enough for you to crave it. your favorite drink was set beside them in a thermal cup, allowing you to drink it as slow as possible without it melting too quickly.
your phone had to be on dnd, blocking out every notification. the room had to be cold, and you avoided any distractions because pausing the movie on piracy websites meant three minutes of closing ads to turn it back on.
tonight, everything was perfect.
you were perfectly wrapped in your blanket, eyes wide as it watched the screen perfectly, chips tasting perfect, drink perfected, everything absolutely perfect—
bzzz.
you immediately groaned. who could possibly be showing up? you hadn’t ordered food. no one was invited over. it was late. what could possibly be urgent enough to prompt someone to ruin your little routine?
you paused the movie (which took three minutes of pressing ‘x’ on ads urging you to ‘text hot, single ladies in your area’, and ‘ai bots who can make you cum in three minutes!’), pushed the blanket off, and pulled the door open with a soft pout you didn’t even register, just to pause when you saw sukuna standing there, eyebrows furrowed, frowning.
you and sukuna weren’t that close, really. you were in the same friend group, but you always felt nervous around him. he was intimidating, scary, too cool for you. he always stared at you blankly, and you decided he was judging you for… everything. you were awkward, nervous, a little odd.
so, him showing up to your home at midnight was a little… nerve-wracking. his red eyes slowly scanned your comfortable, worn out pajamas, messy hair, tiny pout that faded as your eyes widened, before he blinked blankly. “sorry for showing up unannounced.”
he didn’t sound apologetic. at all. his tone was monotonous, almost unamused.
“can i come in?”
you slowly blinked, before realizing how dumb you must look. you grimaced internally, stepping aside, letting him in. immediately, his eyes landed on your little set up, and he arched an eyebrow. “movie night, huh? watching part two of your little movie series?”
“how did you know?” you mumbled, genuinely confused. much to your surprise, his lips twitched up in something that looked like admiration, amused, and it was the closest you ever got to see him smile.
holy fuck, he was so gorgeous it felt unfair. now that you were actually focusing on the man towering over you, dressed in a black shirt and gray sweatpants, tanned skin peaking from under his clothes, muscles on view—
“it’s your favorite series, and it just dropped. i can recognize the sketchy ass website because you hate netflix. you have your little movie night routine, pajamas, chips, and drink.” he murmured casually, nonchalantly, as if it was normal that the guy you thought disliked you knew this much about you. “i listen, you know.”
your jaw was slack, eyes wide. he only snorted, arching an eyebrow. “don’t tell me fucking gojo was right and you really think i hate you.”
you paused. “well…”
“are you serious?” sukuna scoffed. “you’re my fucking favorite in the group, dumbass.”
“what?” you mumbled back, more confused. “you always glare at me. you never talk to me. i was starting to think you didn’t even know my last name.”
he stared at you, almost as if you were insane, then sighed. “you really are oblivious, huh?”
“hey—“
he shook his head, still looking mildly amused. “here’s the notes suguru said he would drop by to give you and forgot. i know you like studying early.”
“oh. you didn’t have to—“
“i wanted to.” he immediately stated, face serious. “‘ll leave you to it, can’t have someone ruining your perfect night. goodnight.”
with that, he was out, leaving you even more flabbergasted.
what. the. fuck.
2. hangouts.
you were still getting used to the idea that sukuna told you that not only did he not hate you, but that you were his favorite in the group. to you, the idea was unbelievable. flabbergasting. maybe even a little more scarier than being hated by him for some reason, but you managed pretty well.
at least you were more comfortable hanging out with your group now.
however, you had a tiny little habit. you hated the coffee at the place your friends loved, so often, you just walked away to the place next to it to buy your own coffee. it provided you a break, making the little pit of your stomach that grows when having to be around people, even your best friends, for too long reset, and you just get a chance to catch your breath.
today wasn’t different. in the middle of the hangout, you grabbed your wallet and slipped out, enjoying the tiny walk in fresh air before you stepped into your favorite cafe.
the familiar barista immediately lit up at the sight of you, boredom fading from his face. he was your age, friendly with a cute grin that grew whenever you two chatted— something that made you feel at ease when ordering.
“my favorite customer,” he immediately greeted, grinning. the bell at the door chimed, and you both didn’t pay any mind to it. “i wonder what you will order this time.”
you snorted. you both knew you ordered the exact same thing every single time. “yeah, i wonder too.”
he chuckled, eyes flickering to the screen. you could feel a figure stopping behind you. “well, you know your total.”
you hummed, about to pay, when the familiar scent of sukuna’s signature perfume finally registered in your mind as he moved to step beside you, eyes narrowed, jaw slowly twitching. “make it two.”
you slowly glanced up. the barista looked up in surprise, before he nodded calmly. “of course.”
before you could register it, sukuna’s card was pressing against the machine, paying for you both. your jaw went slack for the second time this week, flabbergasted once more, but sukuna was already pulling you out of line so that the people behind you could pay.
and, more unfazed that he should be by his own actions, he casually held out the receipt. “here. you take the code and collect points on their app, right?”
“…how the fuck do you even know that?” you mumbled, utterly confused. “why are you here? how did you find me— did you even know what you ordered—“
“easy there, angel.” he murmured, calm. “you always carry the receipt and i see you type something from it on your phone often. ‘m here because the coffee in the other shop is ass. you always come here, so i figured i would try my coffee with you. i know what i ordered because i know your order.”
you openly gaped at him. he only reached over, grabbing both drinks, arching an eyebrow. “are you gonna gape at me forever or drink this sweet shit?”
“…did you just call me angel?”
his amusement immediately faded, ears turning red as he shoved your drink your way, looking away. “absolutely not. hallucinations. let’s go.”
that was what he chooses to deny? not that he knew your movie night in details? that he knew your exact drink? that he knew you secretly collected points from your favorite coffee shop?
you let out a tiny chuckle, amused, following behind him. that somehow managed to make his ears even more red, a scowl pulling on his pretty lips.
fuck. he was gorgeous, and adorable.
how horrible for you.
3. aquarium.
you laid face-down on shoko’s bed, face showed between the pillows, eyes shut in pure horror. “‘m so screwed.”
she sighed for the nth time from where she sat on the ground, studying. “you quite literally could not be more not screwed.”
“i have a crush on him, shoko. i never have crushes. and now i have one, on fucking sukuna. the guy once punched a guy for breathing ‘his’ air. he fucking hates people. i am so utterly fucked. he will kill me.”
she glanced up, as if she knew something you didn’t. “he won’t kill you. kiss you? maybe.”
“stop being delusional.” you mumbled, voice muffled as you buried your face into the sand further. “‘m so fucked.”
she sighed. “you’re delusional too if you don’t realize what’s happening. anyways, isn’t it the twenty seventh? your monthly aquarium night?”
you jumped up, gasping. “it is! fuck!” you quickly grabbed your phone to check the time, before opening the aquarium’s instagram page just in case there were any updates.
and, unfortunately, right there on their instagram story, posted twelve hours ago, was a simple statement.
‘couples only day!’
“oh, fuck my fucking life.” you mumbled, eyes on the story, shoulders drooping. “shoko, be my aquarium date.”
“couples only, huh? if only these weren’t the conditions,” she mused, almost flirty, before tilting her head.
“yes.”
“ask sukuna to go with you.”
you blinked once, twice, before pulling up your phone, nodding, serious. “good idea. ‘m asking gojo or geto.”
“that is quite literally not what i said.”
“you’re a genius.”
you sent off a quick text to geto and gojo, jumping off her bed to head to your own apartment to get ready. after dressing up all cute for the sake of your loved marine animals, you glanced down at your phone, where a vague text from gojo said he couldn’t, followed by maybe three million crying emojis (which was maybe because he had begged before to accompany you said no. aquariums were a single, you-only trip), and geto sent back a simple ‘he’s almost there’, and a thumbs up.
what kind of reply was that? you frowned, sending five questions marks, about to ask who the fuck ‘he’ was, when your doorbell rings.
you pulled the door open, and freeze when your eyes landed on the one and only sukuna. he glanced at you, eyes blank, and nodded once. “let’s go.”
“…where?”
he raised an eyebrow. “the aquarium. date night. let’s go.”
“…are you sure?” you immediately mumbled, voice uncharacteristically low. “‘m, uh, kind of enthusiastic about this. nerdy. geeky. um, annoying.”
his lips twitched up into an endeared smile that he immediately pushed back. “i know what ‘m getting into. let’s go.”
you grabbed your jacket, eyebrows furrowing. “suguru could have just said he couldn’t come. i’m sorry he sent you instead.”
“oh, he could come.” sukuna stated blankly, stepping into the elevator behind you. you glanced up at him, confused, and he stared back blankly, as if waiting for you to collect dots you didn’t even see. he only sighed after a few minutes, shaking his head. “this is both cute and infuriating. so, which stupid creature is your favorite?”
you expected a night with sukuna to be awkward. tense. uncomfortable. a night where you had to hold back so you don’t become labeled as talkative, or annoying, or too much.
you didn’t expect for him to be a good listener. nodding at whatever you said, asking questions at first to keep you talking until you were comfortable rambling. you didn’t expect him to hold your things so you could comfortably get closer to the glass, or stay longer at your favorite animals, or ask you about ones that seemed interesting, his eyes soft and lips twitching upwards just the slightest. you didn’t expect him to disappear at one point and come back with a few limited-edition items from the small gift shop either, dumping them in your arms wordlessly as you two were walking out.
“thank you for being my fake date for the night, kuna.” you mumbled as he was dropping you off, sleepy, eyes soft and voice slurred. he paused at your words, lips twitching into a frown before he eyed how sleepy you were and only sighed.
“of course, angel.” he muttered, reaching over and nonchalantly pressing a kiss to your forehead before he turned around, walking away. “…sleep well, goodnight.”
gaping at him seeming like a new routine, except this time, your sleepy eyes were set on his back as he left, almost getting distracted by his muscles showing through the fabric. oh, you were so, utterly fucked.
4. the beach.
you sat quietly on the sand, wrapped tightly in a towel, eyes ahead as you watched gojo, geto and shoko shoving each other in the water. choso was on a towel beside you, deeply asleep and snoring. toji was playing around with megumi and nobara and yuji, who was yapping about how his uncle dropped him off and disappeared. everyone was enjoying themselves.
you were freezing.
you had gotten there earlier, having known they would all show up too late. you liked swimming alone with no eyes on you, so with too much sunscreen, you stayed in the water under the sun in what you knew was the perfect time for you. by the time everyone else arrived, you were already drying in the shade.
oh, how you wished you had a dry towel—
a dry towel dropped into your lap before the thought even finished. you froze, glancing up at the sky, before immediately closing your eyes again and wishing for a million dollars just in case.
“don’t stare at the fucking sun.”
ah. your genie.
you peaked through your lashes at sukuna, who glared at you, a hand going to shade your eyes from the sun. he was dry, holding a small bag which you assumed was for his wallet and phone and car keys and towel, the sun kissing every spot on his perfect body, as if purposely teasing you.
fuck. how could someone be so pretty?
he sighed, pulling a cap out of the bag. he pushed it on top of your damp hair, shading your face, and slumped beside you. “switch towels. mine is dry.”
“hi.” you mumbled dumbly, blinking a few times to snap yourself from the daze seeing his beautiful red eyes in the sun put you through. his lips twitched, face softening, and he only pulled the cap down further. you finally remembered how to think. “don’t you need your towel dry?”
“‘m not going into the water this late.” he stated. his eyes flickered to choso asleep, and he rolled his eyes, standing back up. you watched shamelessly as he effortlessly pulled the heavy umbrella so it was covering the sun kissed stoner, sighing, voice lower. “that dumbass.”
“i spray him with sunscreen every two hours. flipped him once.” you mused, taking the chance of sukuna being distracted to switch towels, sighing in relief once the warm, dry, soft towel wrapped around you. “thank you, kuna.”
“don’t mention it.” he grunted, then frowned once he registered your words, “you rub sunscreen on him?”
“oh, no, it’s a spray.” you hummed, pulling it out. “isn’t it cool?”
he glanced at the spray bottle, shoulders slowly relaxing. “mhm. it is. can you spray me?”
you nodded, moving to stand up, immediately stumbling in the towel. firm fingers immediately steadied you, and you deeply hoped he couldn’t feel the warmth radiating off you from being flustered as he slowly let go.
you slowly sprayed him, the sunscreen leaving a shiny coat that made him look even more beautiful. after making sure every part of him was covered, you slowly sat back down. “try to rub it to make sure it’s even.”
he hummed, eyes shut, slowly spreading it out, spreading it out on his tan skin.
what a fucking sight, really. he was so, unbelievably gorgeous. you were so fucked.
“…you went early, huh?”
“…yeah.” you mumbled, eyes still on him, hoping he keeps his eyes closed.
“tell me next time. ‘ll go with you.” he sighed. “these idiots always come when it’s already too cold.”
you nodded slowly as he finally finished, slumping next to you on the little beach mat gojo had gotten, so close that his thigh was pretty to your covered figure. he frowned. “your lips are pale. still cold?”
you grimaced. “‘ll be okay. thank you for the towel—“
he sighed, an arm wrapping around your shoulder before he was pulling you towards him. you missed the way his body relaxed, lips twitching into a repressed grin, the face of a man finally achieving one of his long lost goals.
holy fuck. you were pressed to his side, his body oozing warmth. he smelled great, and you could feel his muscles every time he shifted. as you stared ahead, trying to pretend like you weren’t malfunctioning, your eyes landed on shoko, gojo and geto staring back at you guys from the water, jaws slack.
well. at least it wasn’t you this time.
5. studying.
as much as it seemed otherwise, studying with gojo actually helped you. you both kept each other in check— you stopped him whenever he started yapping, and he distracted you whenever you were spiraling. you both were a team when studying— having been one since the first semester, when you both met.
during breaks, however, was when you really liked studying with gojo. you both sat with thirteen expensive pastries in front of you, gojo’s treat, and he grinned excitedly. “oh, this will be so good. you go first.”
“you don’t have to tell me twice.” you mumbled, picking one up. you immediately moaned in delight, holding the rest to gojo, who reached over and took the rest from between your fingers. “fuck. this is so good.”
gojo let out an even louder moan. you both ignored the disgusted glares from the people around you, happily chewing. “oh, these are fucking godsent. thank you for being my taste buddy.”
“thank you,” you mumbled, grabbing another one. “you’re the one spoiling me with these. you’re, like, my dream man right now.”
gojo let out a loud laugh, before pausing, shivering in horror at whatever he imagined. “do not let sukuna hear you saying that. he’ll have my head.”
“why would he have your head for that?” you mumbled, mouthful, and distracted by the heavenly taste of these. you weren’t even a fan of pasteries, but these were on another level. you tried another, and immediately groaned. “fuck. try this one.”
you immediately extended your hand out to gojo. he, as usual, ate half of it off your fingers instead, and dramatically melted in his seat. “ten out of ten. perfect. stunning. i will marry whoever made these.” he swallowed, and quickly ate the rest off your fingers to. “and he will because he’s, like, in love with you.”
“you flipping liar.” you mumbled, unamused with the obvious fake news. “he doesn’t. he’s just a good friend.”
“he’s not a good friend,” gojo snorted. “he almost shoved my head into the toilet bowl yesterday because he was bored. he likes you.”
you did not believe him the slightest. “uh-huh. wanna try the red one?”
“yes, please.”
later that night, you were curled up in bed— going over everything you had studied earlier to lock the information into your mind. the groupchat was blowing up after choso was caught kissing someone (you already knew the news. choso blurted about his ‘secret’ crush to you before when he was high, and forgot.) and you just shot back a sticker laughing, said you were studying and you needed more caffeine to deal with this, and shut your phone off completely.
you really needed caffeine.
everytime you shut your eyes, all you can see is a cold, cup of your favorite coffee from your favorite shop. the condensation running down, the inviting taste, everything—
fuck. you needed one so bad. you frowned, turning your phone on to glance at the time, and paused when a notification stood out from between the ones on the groupchat.
sukuna: pick u up for coffee in five?
you stared at the message, then slowly glanced down at the sweatpants and oversized hoodie you were in, your hair messy, broken glasses on because you were too lazy to get these specific ones fixed and you lost the other, before sighing. you needed caffeine too bad to worry about how you looked in front of him right now.
you: please :c
a car honked downstairs a few minutes. you quickly grabbed your wallet and your half-dead phone, rushing downstairs, grabbing an oversized jacket on the way so you could tug it on top of your thick hoodie, grimacing at how much of a mess you looked. you slid into the passenger seat, and sukuna only stared at you, eyes slowly taking in your appearance, lips softly pulling up.
“don’t say anything.” you immediately mumbled. his smirk widened, but he didn’t speak, immediately resuming to drive, eyes ahead. “‘m so sleepy.”
“uh-huh. let’s get some caffeine in you.” he murmured, turning more serious. “don’t overwork yourself tonight. did you have dinner?”
you nodded, ignoring how your heart felt like it was twirling in your chest. “i did. ate and drank and slept well.”
he hummed. “good.”
in the coffee shop, he got the same as you, paying despite your complaints. once the drinks were out, he grabbed both, wrapping yours in tissues to keep your fingers from being cold before handing it over, humming.
you were looking over notes in your phone, too tired to register his actions. you only quietly took the cup, immediately sipping, shoulders slowly rolling down, tense muscles relaxing. “thank you, kuna.”
he clicked his tongue. “don’t mention it.”
in the car, you focused on sipping the coffee, and he cleared his throat. “gojo said you two were on a study date this morning. pastries and shit. said you called him your dream man.”
you snorted. sukuna glanced over, utterly unamused, almost pouting. “i love gojo.”
his lips immediately formed a scowl. “you love him?”
“not like that,” you snorted. “he’s just… he was the first person who was nice to me in university, you know. the first person who made sure i never felt like a burden. he means a lot to me, platonically.”
he was silent for a while, then nodded, pulling up in front of your building. “good. you deserve to never feel like a burden. you… mean a lot to me.”
was he trying to kill you? you immediately shuffled out, heart beating like it was trying to escape your chest, cheeks burning. “you mean a lot to me too, kuna. um, goodnight. thank you for picking me up.”
“don’t mention it, angel.”
+1.
against your will, you were dragged to a party.
you would have been enthusiastic, really, if finals hadn’t just ended— leaving you too sleep deprived that you couldn’t even walk straight. gojo had came over to force you out and picked your outfit out for you, keeping in mind your pleads for it to be something warm, and you ended up in the passenger seat of his car, asleep soundly, vaguely aware of his whining about you needing to be awake as he drove you there.
you could only remember little snippets between your tiny naps, really.
gojo having his arm around you as he dragged you in.
you slumping down beside choso, immediately falling asleep on his shoulder.
sukuna crouching down in front of you, concerned, eyes worried.
sukuna covering you with a blanket.
sukuna sitting beside you, pulling your head into his shoulder instead.
geto replacing choso. you shifting, head falling into his shoulder because he was warmer.
sukuna immediately pulling you back towards him, an arm falling around your waist to keep you close, bickering with geto.
after that, you drifted into deep sleep— the kind that only came after a week straight of pulling all nighters. and, when you woke up again, you were wrapped in a blanket, on the roof, on a tiny couch with your head on sukuna’s lap and a cigarette between his lips.
the second he registered you awake, he pushed the cigarette into the ashtray, eyes soft, fingers on your shoulders to help you sit up. “you okay, angel?”
“mhm. sleepy.” you mumbled, blinking slowly, still half asleep. you yawned, rubbing your eyes. “thank you for watching over me, kuna. you’re, like, my angel.”
“…don’t mention it.” he whispered— although, it sounded more like a pained whimper. “i… yeah. don’t mention it.”
it was silent for a few minutes. you both stared up at the sky, lost in thought, before sukuna cleared his throat.
“…the stars are pretty.”
“mhm.”
he paused, before speaking again. his voice was low, soft, but it was laced with quiet frustration that you could tell wasn’t pointed at you. “we’re, uh, done with the semester.”
“…mhm.”
he clicked his tongue, and sat up, like he’s restarting. “…we’re good friends.”
“we are.” you mumbled, still dazed from your delicious, needed nap. he let out a small groan, face buried into his palm.
“fuck.”
“…kuna?” you murmured, voice soft, sleepy. his eyes finally flickered up, frustrated and almost disappointed in himself, and you only gave him a small, sleepy smile. “i like you too.”
and finally, it was his turn for his jaw to go slack, eyes widening, before he turned to you quickly. “you’re not fucking with me, right? you like me?”
you nodded, sleepy, but focused. “i like you.”
he didn’t hesitate before dropping to his knees in front of you, eyes soft and almost pathetic. “say that again. please.”
“i like you, kuna.” you repeated, quieter, softer, more serious.
he let his head drop, face pressed against the blanket covering your thighs briefly, voice muffled when he spoke. “…you have no idea how many years i have been dying to hear this, angel. fuck.” when he lifted his head back up, his red eyes were almost glossy. “‘m marrying the fuck out of you one day.”
that managed a sleepy laugh out of you. “take me on a date first, at least. we haven’t even kissed yet.”
his eyes lit up at the mere thought— before you watched him visibly holding himself back, trying to appear more relaxed, probably to not scare you off, despite his reddening ears at the idea. “right. dates. i will date you so fucking good, i promise, you will never think of anyone but me again. not even that stupid barista who clearly wants you so bad. only me.” he nodded, serious, scowling, before his eyes softened again. “best dates of your life. where do you want to go? dinner? coffee? aquarium? your little movie night routine at my place? do you want me to make it a surprise? i will be the best boyfriend— wait, fuck, not that yet—“
you reached over, softly pressing your lips to his,
he froze, eyes probably wide, then immediately melted the second your fingers gently cupped his face to pull him closer, letting out a soft, little sound into the kiss that had his face flushing further.
once you pulled away, your eyes met his dazed ones, and he slowly sucked in a deep breath. “….fuck.”
“dinner sounds good.” you whispered back, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, and he shut his eyes, as if it took visible effort not to groan. “next week?”
“you think ‘ll make it to next week?” he let out a sharp laugh. “you have me fucking kneeling for you, angel. tomorrow. 8. please.”
“okay.” you murmured, voice soft. “now, come back up, i will want to continue napping on you.”
word count | 12.3k words
summary | you suggest taking a break from your deeply attached boyfriend. he reacts poorly and things somehow get worse from there.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), Explicit Sexual Content, age gap relationship, clingy!bucky barnes, loser!bucky barnes, crack fic, major co-dependency, dark humour, SATIRE, oral sex (f!recieving), fingering, unprotected piv, pussy pronouns, tiny bit of noncon unprotected sex, noncon kiss, they’re both very physical, bucky is very touchy and grabby, lots of toxic behaviour, suicide threats, gun violence, manipulative bucky, toxic bucky, reader lowkey likes it, reader is toxic as well, mj, darcy and yelena cameo
a/n | yall this is a completely satirical and unserious fic, pls do not take anything that happens in here seriously. anyway i want to thank @superbassbuck @iamthatonefangirl @pinksplace and @houseofhyde for all being present and encouraging when i came up and spiraled with the concept of loser bucky threatening to kill himself to keep you. yall real asf for that, and especially paul for harassing me and lowkey motivating me to finish it. finally i am free from the shackles that bind me (this fuckass fic)
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
MASTERLIST
Dating an older man really did sound good in theory.
Everyone always said girls matured faster than boys, so you figured the math would math. Older boyfriend meant stable. A little boring, maybe. A little steadier. Someone who had already done the whole fuckboy lap around the block and come out the other side with a job, a routine, and the ability to go a few hours without needing proof you still liked him.
James Buchanan Barnes should have fit the brief.
He was older by ten years, and you’d been seeing him for seven months now. You were twenty-five. Your frontal lobe was fully developed. You liked to remind yourself of that whenever you did something questionable and then tried to justify it later, like, technically you were a grown woman with your own apartment and a 401(k). Technically you were not being preyed upon. Technically you made this choice with my eyes open.
Because you had.
You matched with him on Tinder on a bored Tuesday night, half in the mood to flirt, half in the mood to just entertain yourself with strangers, and there he was. Pretty eyes. Broad shoulders. Hot as hell, in this quiet, earnest way like he didn’t realise he was hot, which unfortunately made him hotter.
Even with his corny ass mustache.
It should have been a dealbreaker. It was not.
It was actually… kind of doing it for you, which was embarrassing, because you had a preference to maintain. You liked men clean-cut and put together. You liked men who looked like they knew how to order a drink without stuttering. You did not, in theory, like a man who looked like he’d tip his hat at you and call you “doll.”
Except Bucky did that sometimes, in this soft, old-fashioned way that made you feel simultaneously adored and slightly like you were being courted in 1945. He held doors. He walked on the outside of the sidewalk. He paid for dinners and surprised you with expensive gifts.
And you were pleasantly surprised by his big heart.
Even more so, his big dick.
If you were being honest, that was where half your patience came from. That and the way he acted like touching you was this privilege he didn’t want to take for granted. Like he could get needy and clingy, and still somehow turn around and treat you like you were precious. He overdid it, yes. He went too hard, yes. But he was sweet in a way that didn’t feel fake.
And, yes, there were red flags.
The texts, for one.
In the beginning you told yourself it was just excitement. He was older, he was awkward, he probably hadn’t dated much, and he definitely hadn’t dated someone like you. You were fun. You were pretty. You were not afraid to tell him “no” and then kiss him anyway. You made him feel brave.
He texted good morning. Then another good morning in case you missed the first. Then a third message that was just, “Hope your day is going okay.” Then, “No pressure to respond, I just like talking to you.” Then, “Sorry, that sounded weird. I’m not weird.” Then, somehow, you’d look down and realise he’d sent you five messages in a row and you’d been at work the whole time.
It was… a lot. But it was also weirdly flattering.
It wasn’t even love bombing in the normal slick, manipulative way. It was messy and unintentional. Like he didn’t understand the difference between affection and intensity yet, so he just threw it all at you and hoped you caught it. You could tell he wasn’t trying to impress you. He was trying to keep you.
And the clinginess didn’t exactly get better with time. It just got more comfortable. More familiar. Like a habit. Like you belonged to him now in the way he looked at you, in the way he reached for you in his sleep, in the way he convinced you to sleep over at his house numerous times a week.
You probably should have dumped him. You friends had already told you it wasn’t your job to manage a thirty-five-year-old man’s feelings.
Unfortunately, you didn’t give a fuck. And you told yourself you could handle the rest. That you could rein him in when you needed to. That you could keep the good parts, and teach him how to calm down.
You really, truly believed that.
And you tried to hold onto it while you were out with the girls at some new club opening up on the Lower East Side. Packed shoulder to shoulder, lights low and red, bass thumping through the floor like a second heartbeat.
You felt good. You looked good. You were supposed to be having a good time.
And like clockwork, every fifteen minutes, you felt your purse buzz.
You couldn’t even stay on the dance floor long without circling back to this little quiet corner by the bar or the wall, checking your phone like it was a habit you did not want your friends to notice. At first, it was manageable. Sweet. A check-in. The first hour was almost normal.
james barnes (bucky)
Are you having fun, beautiful? | 10:22pm
You
lots. music is peak. we got free drinks too | 10:37pm
james barnes (bucky)
Oh, really? From who? | 10:37pm
Was it the bartender or some random men? | 10:38pm
Doll? | 10:39pm
You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, letting the music wash over you while your brain did that stupid thing where it tried to decide the exact right balance of response. Too short and he’d spiral. Too detailed and you’d be feeding it.
You locked your phone, tossed it back into your purse, and went back to the girls like you didn’t just feel your mood get tugged sideways.
But it didn’t stop.
By the time you were heading to the bathroom, you were already sighing before you even unzipped your purse. You could see the stack of notifications lighting up the screen through the little transparent window of your purse, like your phone was trying to pre-warn you.
You slid into the closest open spot at the counter and swiped up.
More messages had piled in.
james barnes (bucky)
Where did you get the free drinks from? | 10:44pm
Who are you with right now? | 10:45pm
Just text me back for two seconds, doll. | 10:46pm
“Isn’t it past your grandpa’s bedtime?” Nicole said from your left, reapplying her cheap lip liner.
You didn’t look up right away. You kept your eyes on the screen, jaw tight, like you could will the irritation away by ignoring it.
“Don’t call him that,” you muttered. “And he’s not that old.”
“Yeah, and the sky isn’t blue, and my boobs are real.” Nicole snorted, still looking at herself. “Being paroled by an old ass man is crazy work. Could never be me.”
You knew she was being shady as fuck. And you knew your man was being annoying as hell. But you weren’t about to let this bitch act like she had moral high ground when her life was a revolving door of men who didn’t even like her.
“Come talk to me when you find a man who’ll eat your ass without having to ask,” you said lifting your eyes. “And not a baby daddy who thinks child support is optional.”
Nicole’s mouth snapped shut.
MJ and Darcy were behind you in the mirror, MJ adjusting her earrings, Darcy washing her hands, both of them watching you. They exchanged a quick look like they were sharing a thought without saying it out loud.
Nicole held your gaze for a second longer, nostrils flaring, then rolled her eyes like she hadn’t just gotten read.
“Whatever,” she muttered, tossing her lip liner back into her bag, and she pushed out of the bathroom without waiting for anyone.
You barely acknowledged it. You just looked back down at your phone, thumb resting over the keyboard again.
You
just the bartender. relax | 10:56pm
he was flirting w Darcy half the time anyway | 10:57pm
and you know im w MJ nd Darcy | 10:58pm
james barnes (bucky)
Right. I’m sorry, honey. | 10:59pm
I just don’t like the idea of anyone bothering you. | 11:00pm
You stared at that for a second, jaw working. It was always like this…. he’d pull, you’d give him an inch, and then he’d act grateful like you’d done him a favour by letting him breathe.
“Girl.” MJ’s voice cut through it.
You looked up and caught her in the mirror. She was standing a little behind you, brows raised, mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh but couldn’t fully hide the exasperation either.
“Michelle,” you said back, tilting your head.
She shook her head, amused but pointed, and slid her hand over your shoulder as she brushed past you to the door.
“Just remember this is a girls’ night,” she said. “No hate. Just… saying.”
“Two minutes,” you muttered, eyes back on the screen.
Darcy, already halfway to the door, turned her head. “I’m timing it,” she announced. “Like, actually. One-twenty seconds. And if you’re still in here, I’m coming back and I’m flushing your fucking phone.”
MJ grabbed Darcy by the wrist and tugged her out, laughing under her breath as they disappeared back into the noise.
You exhaled, it came from deep down within your chest, and your screen lit again before you could even lock it.
james barnes (bucky)
When are you heading home? | 11:02pm
Do you want me to pick you up? You can stay at my place. | 11:03pm
It was honestly impressive how fast he typed. For a man who acted like technology was out to get him, he was weirdly efficient when it came to blowing up your phone. Full sentences, no typos, like he was sitting upright at his kitchen table drafting these messages like professional emails.
You
im sleeping over at MJs. girls night remember | 11:05pm
and i literally slept over the other day 😭 pls stop | 11:05pm
You knew exactly why you’d put that emoji. Not because it was funny, because it softened your words. Because it made it sound playful instead of like you were getting irritated.
You rolled your eyes and shoved your phone back in your purse before you could get sucked into another back-and-forth. You stepped out into the hallway, bass immediately swallowing you again, lights flashing harsh and bright as the crowd pressed past.
Your purse buzzed, faint against your hip. Again. You didn’t even look.
james barnes (bucky)
I will, sorry. | 11:06pm
Tomorrow night then? I miss you. | 11:06pm
Message me when you’re safe at Michelle’s please. | 11:07pm
You found MJ and Darcy posted at the bar the second you stepped out of the bathroom . Darcy was half-turned in her seat, pointing into the crowd and laughing so hard her shoulders were shaking. MJ was rolling her eyes at whatever Darcy was saying, but there was an unwilling little smile on her mouth like she didn’t even want to fight it.
The second you got close, MJ’s eyes slid right to you.
Darcy followed her gaze and started clapping softly. “Shame. Shame. Shame.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you saw your own brain for a second, but that just made them both worse. MJ started up too, syncing up with Darcy. “Shame, shame, shame.”
They were both snickering by the time you slid onto the barstool between them. Darcy didn’t even ask what you wanted, just shoved a cold glass of something colourful into your hand.
“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, taking a sip. The drink was too sweet, too strong, exactly what you needed. “Laugh while you bitches can.”
You tried to get your head back into the night. The bass was steady, the lights were doing that neon blur thing, bodies moving around you like one big wave. For a couple seconds it worked. You let yourself sink into it, let the noise swallow your thoughts.
Then MJ, from your left, “You know I love you, right?”
You groaned into your drink on instinct. “MJ. Not right now.”
Darcy laughed beside you.
“I do,” MJ said anyway, undeterred. “I love you.”
“—Michelle, please.”
“Hey, I’m not trying to jump you. I’m just asking… what are we doing right now?”
You let out a slow breath and looked down at your glass. “We’re drinking right now.”
“Mm-hm.”
Darcy jumped in before MJ could keep going, because Darcy physically could not let a serious moment live longer than ten seconds.
“Sweetie, we’re not judging you,” Darcy said, talking with her hands. “But your man is on some serious Joe Goldberg crap.”
You couldn’t help the snort that came out of you.
Darcy took that as encouragement and leaned forward, eyes wide under her glasses like she was swearing on a Bible. “No, I’m serious. Like I would not be shocked in the slightest if he’s here right now. Somewhere we can’t see. Just… posted up in a corner and watching you.”
“Darcy,” MJ said, exasperated.
“What?” Darcy swung on her stool and started scanning the room, craning dramatically like she was about to catch him hiding behind a speaker. “Men do weird shit like that all the time.”
You laughed despite yourself, watching her spin like a damn security camera.
MJ pinched the bridge of her nose. “Darcy, please.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you took another sip. The alcohol was settling warm in your chest now, smoothing everything out around the edges. Megan was blasting through the speakers, bass vibrating up through the metal footrest of the stool, and for a minute the three of you just sat there listening to the music and watching people move around the packed dance floor.
Then your shoulders dropped a little.
You looked down at your glass, turning it slowly between your hands before speaking. “So what should I do?”
“Dump him.”
“Dump his old creepy ass.”
MJ and Darcy answered at the exact same time.
“Wow,” you said dryly. “Thank you two so much for helping me find a mature, adult solution for my boyfriend who I actually care about.”
Darcy, completely unfazed, took your empty glass out of your hand and replaced it with a fresh drink. “You asked,” she said.
MJ leaned against the bar, eyes still on you. “Then take a break.”
You turned your head slowly. “A break?”
“A break,” she repeated with a nod. Then she lifted a hand before you could interrupt. “Now hold on now. Not a breakup. I’m not saying dump him, block him and start the healing process. I’m saying… maybe spend some time apart so he can calm the hell down.”
You frowned faintly, listening.
“Because right now?” MJ continued, voice even, “that man wakes up, thinks about you. Goes to work, thinks about you. Eats, sleeps, breathes you. And I know you think it’s cute—”
You tilted your head. “It’s a little cute.”
“—but it’s not healthy,” she finished. “He needs to remember there’s a world around him that doesn’t revolve around you.”
Something in your expression shifted at that. You looked down at your drink again, thumb tracing the condensation on the glass. The idea rubbed you the wrong way immediately—the thought of him not orbiting you quite so hard. Which probably said something bad about you too.
Still… the rest of it sounded reasonable.
A break wasn’t a breakup. Just some distance. Some breathing room. Time for him to remember he was a grown man with a grown life and grown responsibilities outside of you.
“A break,” you repeated slowly, more thoughtful this time.
The conversation about a “break” had been looping in your head for some time, a persistent mental itch you couldn’t quite scratch.
You knew you had to do it—sooner or later—but as you let out a low, guttural moan, your back arching and sliding against the cool, expensive glide of Bucky’s Egyptian cotton sheets, the idea felt so far away.
It was hard to maintain a level head when your body was being systematically wrecked by the man beneath you.
The room was filled with the heavy, wet sound of unapologetic squelching that echoed in the quiet of his massive bedroom. You let out a sudden, sharp squeal, your hips jerking upward as you spared a glance down.
There he was.
Still in his slacks and that crisp button-down, his tie loosened and hanging haphazardly around his neck, looking every bit the stable, put-together man the world saw. But here, with your legs draped heavily over his broad shoulders and his face buried deep in your cunt, he was nothing but a starving man.
He had been at it for five minutes, meticulously edging you, driving you toward a peak he refused to let you hit.
He shifted, sucking your outer lips into his mouth one by one with this concentrated pressure, before sliding his tongue up your slit. He licked you from bottom to top, over and over, his tongue flat and insistent.
When he finally suctioned his lips over your clit, the vacuum was intense, pulling a loud, broken moan from your throat. You could feel the faint, rough scratch of his mustache against your mound, as he pushed his tongue inside you, humming low in his throat.
The vibration of that traveled straight through your nerves, making your walls clench tight around him. You collapsed back into the pillows, breathless and frustrated, your voice sounding strained.
“Bucky—please... just give it to me,” you whimpered.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a muffled, groan against your skin, his voice vibrating against your folds. He paused for just a second, glancing up at you with dark, blown-out pupils.
“I know, baby,” he rasped, his voice gravelly and thick that made you clench again. “But I’m just taking my time with her. Spent the whole damn day at the office thinkin’ about her...”
He leaned back in, his tongue swirling around your clit . “She’s so happy to see me, isn’t she? Look at her... just soaking wet for me.”
A broken, whiny sound escaped your throat as you felt the blunt pressure of one of Bucky’s thick fingers probing your entrance.
He didn’t rush; he sank in slowly, stretching you open, and the relief was so instantaneous that you instinctively arched your hips, pushing yourself hard against his hand to swallow him whole. Your fingers dove blindly into his hair, gripping the thick strands and scratching at his scalp.
Bucky let out a low hum, his body reacting to the touch like a devoted dog getting a scratch behind the ears.
“Another one,” you sighed, your voice breathless and strained, your head tossing back against the pillows. “Baby, please... another one.”
He paused, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His mouth was a glistening, wet mess, coated in your slick, his lips swollen from the suction. Bucky didn’t pull his finger out; instead, he kept it thrusting in a slow, rhythmic pace that made your toes curl.
“Another one?” he murmured.
He looked down at where he was joined with you, a smile playing on his lips. “Look at her... she’s greedy, isn’t she? Just begging for more.”
“Bucky, stop talking to my pussy and just do it,“ you whined.
He let out an amused, condescending huff, “I know, honey. I know you’re desperate.”
Without another word, he slid a second finger inside. The fullness made you gasp, your internal muscles clenching tight around him as he began to drive both fingers deep into you. His pace quickening as he found the exact spot that made your vision blur.
He shifted his weight, sliding upward until his heavy, broad frame blanketed your body.
He leaned down, pressing his chest against yours, until your noses were touching. His lips parted, hovering just a fraction of an inch from yours.
You clenched your eyes shut, your breath coming in shallow hitches. You were practically just moaning and breathing directly into his open mouth.
“Tell me how it feels,” he whispered, his breath hot against your lips. “Tell me how much you need me to fill you up.”
“I need... I need you,” you whimpered, your hips stuttering against his hand. “Please, Bucky, I can’t—I’m going to—”
“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” he said hoarsely.
He didn’t give you a moment to breathe, his fingers curling deep inside you, hooking upward to snag that hypersensitive sweet spot that made your brain short-circuit.
He trailed a line of searing kisses from your flushed cheek down to the sensitive curve of your neck.
“Uh-huh... okay,” you nodded insistently into the crook of his neck, your breath coming in jagged gasps. You could feel the heavy, rigid bulge of him through his slacks, grinding firmly into your stomach with every thrust of his fingers.
“Cum for me, baby. I wanna feel it,” he breathed against your lips. He nibbled at your bottom lip, teasing the skin before pulling it into his mouth, sucking on it. While his mouth claimed yours, his thumb found your clit, rubbing in fast, heavy circles.
“Bucky, please—”
“Look at me,” he insisted, his eyes locking onto yours. “Just let go for me.”
As he curled his fingers one last time, digging deep and applying a sudden, sharp pressure, you let out a loud, guttural moan. “Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk!”
An overwhelming volcano of pleasure surged through you, your pussy spasming violently around his fingers in tight contractions. Your back arched off the bed, your body straining upward, trying to push yourself even deeper into his touch as your orgasm rolled over you in waves.
As your peak subsided, you slumped back into this sheets, your chest heaving and your limbs feeling like lead.
Slowly, he slid his fingers out of you with a wet, suctioning sound. Without breaking eye contact, you watched through an amused, exhausted daze as he brought his hand up to his face, sliding his fingers into his mouth to taste the remnants of your orgasm.
He closed his eyes for a second, savouring the taste of you.
“God, you taste so good,” he hummed, his eyes snapping open to look at you.
You let out a weak, breathless laugh, reaching up to shove at his chest. “You are so weird.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. “You love it,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip your ass with a firm, possessive squeeze. “Now, tell me how much you missed me today.”
“Ha ha,” you mumbled sarcastically, rolling your eyes. You tried to maintain a shred of your composure as the heavy weight of him shifted off you.
Bucky loomed over your naked body, while he began to unbutton his shirt, the fabric straining against the breadth of his shoulders.
“How was your day, doll?” he asked casually.
Your mind was the furthest thing from a professional debrief. As the buttons gave way, revealing the expanse of his broad, muscular chest and the dusting of hair that trailed down toward his waistband, you felt a familiar, insistent tingle returning to your core.
“I really do not wanna talk about my day right now, Bucky. Thanks,” you breathed, your eyes locked on him.
You watched him like it was your own private strip show, your gaze tracing the line of his abs as his hands finally reached for his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle echoed in the quiet room.
Almost as a reflex, your thighs squeezed together, a subconscious attempt to soothe the ache building between them.
Bucky didn’t miss a thing. He let out an endearing, husky chuckle, “Still need me, huh? Good girl.”
With one fluid motion, he shoved his pants and boxers down to his ankles. His cock sprang free with a heavy thud, slapping against his stomach, bobbing up and down. It was thick, veiny, and the head was a deep, angry red, looking almost painfully engorged after how long he’d been eating you out.
“You ready for me?” he murmured.
You didn’t even use words. You nodded enthusiastically, your attitude completely gone. You swiftly turned away from him, shifting to your knees and arching your back in a deep curve as you wiggled your ass at him.
Behind you, he let out a jagged exhale, and before you could even blink, you felt one of his massive hands clamp onto your hip, his fingers digging into your skin, before both hands moved to spread your cheeks wide, exposing your still soaking pussy to the cool air.
You let out a small, pleased sigh, as you felt the scorching tip of him slide against your slit, teasing the entrance.
He didn’t go in yet; instead, he dragged the length of his cock slowly across your cheeks and through your slick, painting you in his pre-cum.
“So wet for me,” he murmured, almost fixated on the sight of his cock sliding between your cheeks. “Been thinkin’ about this all day. Just imagining me filling you up, stretching you out.”
“Just—fuck, put it in,” you whimpered impatiently, glancing back at him over your shoulder.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he whispered, his grip tightening on your hips. He pulled you back toward him until there was no space left between your skin and his, and then, without warning, your world shifted. With a sudden movement, he flipped you onto your back.
You let out a small, surprised squeak as he gripped your ankles, dragging you by your legs to the very edge of the bed. He hoisted your legs up, draping your feet over his broad shoulders, leaving you completely open for him.
“Need to see my baby’s face while I fuck her,” he rasped.
As you shifted your hips impatiently, trying to bridge the gap, he dragged the head of his cock over your slit one more time. The blunt tip caught your clit perfectly, sending a jolt of electricity through your spine that made you gasp.
He didn’t let the moment sit for too long; he nudged his tip against your entrance, popping the head in with a firm thrust that forced a loud, guttural moan from your throat.
Bucky’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he felt the friction of your walls clamping down on him. He groaned, a sound of pure, agonized pleasure. “God, stretched you out so many times, but you’re still so tight for me... s’like you’re tryin’ to squeeze the life outta me.”
He paused for a second, buried just an inch deep, letting the pressure build. “You like feeling me in there, yeah? Like knowing I’m the only one who gets to do this to you.”
“Yes... please, baby, all the way,” you begged, your hands reaching up to clutch at his forearms.
“I got you, doll,” he whispered.
And just like that he drove the rest of his cock home, bottoming out with a heavy slap against your thighs that knocked the breath from your lungs.
You cried out, your eyes fluttering shut as he filled every available space inside you, the sensation of being completely stuffed making your mind go blank.
He stayed there for a moment, his chest heaving, a low groan rumbling from deep in his throat as he savoured the feeling of being completely encased in your pussy, your walls fluttering around him like they were trying to pull him deeper.
“Feel that, baby?” he rasped, his voice ragged and strained. “Feel how much I need to be inside you? You’re fuckin’ perfect... made for me.”
He began to move, starting with slow, agonizingly deep strokes that made you whimper with every pull. Each time he withdrew, he dragged the thick ridge of his crown against your inner walls, coaxing out a wet, obscene sound before he slammed back in.
Standing at the edge of the bed, he began to drive into you like a man possessed. The slaps of skin against skin was the only thing you could hear right now, alongside the wet squelch of your slick coating every inch of him.
His balls repeatedly slapped against your ass, and you could do nothing but dig your nails into the sheets, your body bouncing helplessly with every thrust.
Bucky’s eyes were locked on where your bodies met, his jaw slack, his lips parted as he watched his cock disappear into you over and over.
“Look at that,” he breathed, almost to himself. “Look how pretty she looks taking my cock, sweetheart. She’s so happy... she’s gripping me so fuckin’ tight, like she never wants me to leave.”
You tried to form a response, but all that came out was a broken moan as he angled his hips, finding that deep, sensitive spot that made your vision blur.
“You like being fucked like this?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “You like knowing I can’t get enough of you? That I wake up every morning thinkin’ about burying myself inside you?”
“Yes... yes, Bucky...” you gasped, your voice barely audible over the sounds of your bodies colliding.
The frustration that had been simmering in Bucky’s chest finally boiled over—the desperate, gnawing need to be as close to you as humanly possible. His hips were already hammering into yours with a punishing rhythm, but it wasn’t enough.
He needed more.
Without breaking his pace, he hooked his hands under your knees and slid your legs from his shoulders, guiding them to wrap around his waist.
The shift in angle made him sink even deeper, and you let out a choked sob as he adjusted.
Then he leaned forward, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his hips continued their brutal assault, the force of his thrusts actually pushing your body up the bed. He crawled over you, his chest hovering just above yours, his breath ghosting hot and ragged across your face.
For a moment, his eyes dropped; fixated on the way your breasts bounced. His mouth twitched, the urge to lean down and suck one of those hard nipples between his lips almost overwhelming.
But he forced his gaze back up, traveling the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck, until he found your face. Your eyes were closed, your lips parted, your expression slack and utterly lost in the sensation of being fucked senseless.
He didn’t like that. He needed you with him.
He released your hips and reached for your hands, prying your fingers from the crumpled sheets you were gripping. He laced his fingers through yours, pressing your palms flat against the mattress on either side of your head.
Your eyes fluttered open meeting his. Those barely-blue irises were blown wide, dark with something raw and animalistic.
“This house is always so big and quiet, baby,” he breathed against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear before he nipped at your earlobe.
You could feel the thick ridge of him dragging against your inner walls, the friction building a pressure so intense it made your toes curl.
“I miss you when you’re not here,” he continued, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his words muffled against your skin. “I hate it. Hate coming home and not seeing you. Hate sleeping alone.”
You were barely coherent, lost in the haze of being absolutely pounded into the mattress. The world had narrowed to the sound of his grunts, the wet slap of skin against skin. You couldn’t form words, only broken moans and gasps.
Then his next sentence caught your attention.
“Think you should move in with me.”
He punctuated the words with little nibbles along your jaw, his teeth scraping against the tender skin before his tongue soothed the sting.
You were so dazed, your brain so thoroughly scrambled by the relentless fucking, that you didn’t even have the strength to turn your head and glare at him through half-lidded eyes.
He kept thrusting, kept spewing his nonsense into your ear like a prayer.
“I’ll fuck you every morning when we wake up—” He felt your walls flutter around him at the words, and mistook it for encouragement, his pace quickening. “—and every night before we go to sleep. You like that, huh? Wake up to me buried inside you, feel me stretching you out before you even open your eyes.”
He shifted his weight, pressing his chest flush against yours so that every inch of his sweat-slicked skin was molded to your own.
“And you can change anything in the house you want, doll. Paint the walls. Buy new furniture. I don’t care.” His voice dropped to a fevered whisper, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “Just come home to me. Let me take care of you.”
You finally managed to pry one eye open, staring at him through your lashes, your voice a breathless, broken mess. “Bucky, what the fuck are you talking abo—Oh fuck!”
He pulled back nearly all the way out, the thick, glistening head of his cock catching on your rim, and then drove back in with one devastating, deep thrust that hit the spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
The sudden, blinding orgasm tore through you without warning, ripping a cry from your throat as your body arched beneath him, your inner walls clamping down on him in a vise-like grip that made him groan like a man possessed.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, his hips stuttering as he tried to keep thrusting through your climax, each movement sending fresh waves of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves. “That’s it, baby. Squeeze me just like that. Cum for me.”
The aftershocks of your orgasm were still rippling through you in waves, each clench of your inner walls drawing a deep grunt from deep in Bucky’s chest.
His hips never faltered driving into you, the loud, wet squelch of his cock pistoning in and out of your soaked pussy sounding obscene in the quiet room.
“Almost there, doll,” he rasped against your throat, the words barely intelligible through his heavy breathing. “So close. Fuck, you feel so good.”
You were still floating in the hazy aftermath of your orgasm, your limbs heavy and useless, but something nagged at the back of your hazy mind.
Something important.
It took you a second to remember it—the empty pack of birth control pills sitting on your nightstand. The new pack you hadn’t started yet. The four-day gap you were in the middle of… which Bucky knew.
Your eyes snapped open, clarity cutting through the fog like a blade.
“Baby,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse and breathless. “Remember to pull out.”
He didn’t seem to hear you. His hips kept hammering, his rhythm growing sloppier, more desperate. You could see the strain in his face, the pinch of his brows, the way his mouth hung open with broken, breathy groans.
He was seconds away, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you with every thrust.
“Bucky.” You managed to untangle one of your hands from his, slapping weakly at his shoulder. “Don’t cum in me.”
It barely fazed him. He caught your wrist and pressed it back into the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours again as he smashed his lips against yours in a bruising, desperate kiss.
His tongue thrust into your mouth in rhythm with his hips, and he spoke against your lips, his voice a low, pleading groan.
“She’s gripping me so tight, honey,” he breathed, his lips brushing yours with every word. “I don’t think I can pull out.”
Your eyes flew open, your words muffled against his mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I can’t help it, doll.” His voice cracked. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes blown wide and his face flushed red. “I’ll die if I don’t cum in her. Do you want me to die, doll? Do you?”
You could barely make sense of his absurd words, your brain still scrambled from the relentless fucking.
You tried to push at his shoulder again, but he was solid as a mountain. He captured your mouth in another searing kiss, swallowing your protests as his hips slammed forward one last time.
He stilled with a long, agonized groan that seemed to tear from the very depths of his chest. You gasped against his lips as you felt it—hot, thick jets of his cum flooding your insides, painting your walls with his release.
He pulsed inside you, his hips twitching through the aftershocks, holding himself buried so deep you could feel every spasm.
When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged, uneven pants. A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest as he slowly, almost lazily, rocked his hips, milking every last drop of his release into you.
“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice thick with post-orgasmic bliss. He pressed a soft, apologetic kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Couldn’t help it, sweetheart. She was begging for it.”
His hand slid down your sweat-slicked stomach, coming to rest on the soft swell just above where you were still joined. His palm pressed down, and you felt a fresh trickle of warmth as his cum began to leak around him.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your skin, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across his lips. “But what a way to g— ow!”
The smack echoed louder than it should have in the quiet room, connecting with the back of his skull with a satisfying crack that made him yelp.
His head snapped to the side, the lazy smile wiped clean off his face, replaced by a wide-eyed, dazed confusion that would’ve been almost endearing if you weren’t so overly irritated.
“Clean. Me.” Your glare could’ve curdled milk.
It took a full three seconds for the words to penetrate his post-coital fog. You watched the realization dawn slow, then all at once.
Bucky’s mouth opened and closed, a fish gasping for air, and you watched the guilt wash over his features; the sheepish crinkle of his brow, the way his gaze dropped to where you were still joined, a sticky mess of his cum leaking out around him.
He swallowed hard, and you felt the bastard twitch inside you at your smack, his half-hard cock giving an involuntary pulse that made your eye twitch.
“Right. ’Course. Yeah, I got it, doll.” He pulled out slowly, a wince crossing his face as he watched his release leak down your thigh. “Shit. Let me just—”
You said nothing.
Just stared at him until he scrambled off the bed, his softening cock bobbing between his thighs as his pale ass disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.
You heard water running, the rustle of a cloth, and then he was back, kneeling between your legs with the careful, contrite air of a man who knew he’d pissed you off.
You lay there stiff as a board, staring at the ceiling, refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. He worked in silence, dabbing at the mess he’d made, pressing kisses to your inner thighs when he was done.
You yanked the sheet up over yourself and turned onto your side, your back firmly to him as you reached for the remote on the nightstand.
And so began the silent treatment.
Bucky, to his credit, seemed to understand the gravity of his transgression. He shuffled around the room, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, he reappeared with a plate bearing a warm brownie, a generous dollop of whipped cream melting on top, and a glass of ice water.
He set it on the nightstand beside you, then climbed onto the bed, his weight dipping the mattress as he slid up behind you. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, and he pressed his lips to the curve of your shoulder.
You ignored him, reaching for the brownie.
He kissed your shoulder again. Then your neck. Then the shell of your ear. You ignored him like a persistent mosquito, taking a bite, letting the silence stretch.
“You know I love you, yeah?”
You paused mid-chew, turning your head just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. You hummed, a noncommittal and flat sound, and went back to your brownie.
His arm tightened around your midsection, pulling you closer, his lips finding the curve of your neck in a series of featherlight kisses. “But you know, sweetheart... if you hadn’t been squeezing me so tight, I might’ve had a fighting chance. How’s a guy supposed to think straight when you’re milking him like that?
You set your fork down, turned your head just enough to fix him with a deadpan stare. “Are you seriously trying to blame your cumming inside me on my pussy?”
He had the decency to look caught, his blue eyes wide and innocent in a way that was utterly unconvincing. “No, no—I’m just saying—”
“Uh-huh.” You hummed, turning back to the TV.
He sighed against your neck, his arm tightening around your waist. “I love you,” he murmured, trying a different angle. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
You took another bite, pointedly ignoring him.
At least the fool had enough sense not to bring up that moving in, living with him bullshit he’d been spewing while he was balls-deep inside you.
You had no idea where that came from.
His hand slid up to rest over your heart, his thumb tracing a soft circle over your collarbone. “And you know you love me too. Even when you’re mad. Even when you’re giving me the silent treatment like a brat.”
Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t rise to the bait.
You felt his lips press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. His hand moving down to rub slow circles on your stomach, the gesture soothing, possessive.
Yeah, you thought, staring at the flickering TV screen, a break is definitely needed.
But even as you thought it, you leaned back into his chest, just a fraction, and felt him exhale against your neck. The idiot thought he was winning you over.
Let him think that.
“A break?”
The word hung in the air like a bad smell neither of you wanted to acknowledge. You stood awkwardly in his living room, your jacket still on, keys clutched in your hand, a clear signal that you weren’t staying, despite the way he’d lit up when you walked through the door.
Bucky was frozen across the room, a bowl of popcorn balanced in his hands. He’d made it fresh, the buttery smell still wafting through the air, probably with that hopeful little grin on his face when he’d heard your knock.
Perfect timing, doll, I just—
Except you’d cut him off before he could finish. Told him you couldn’t stay long. Watched his face cycle through confusion, hurt, and now this—a weird, controlled stillness that felt more unsettling than if he’d just thrown the bowl at the wall.
He set the popcorn down on the coffee table with exaggerated care as he rubbed his forehead.
“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and carefully measured. “What—what does that mean?”
You let out a long exhale, shifting your weight from one heel to the other. “Time to spend away from each other while we—”
“—so you’re breaking up with me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, flat and accusing, like you’d already handed him the pink slip.
“No, I’m not breaking up with you, I’m—”
“—then what are you saying?” His voice became rougher. He gestured vaguely, a jerky motion that nearly sent a lamp flying off the end table.
He caught it at the last second, fumbling it back into place, and the near-miss only seemed to rattle him more, “Because it sounds like you’re saying you wanna leave me. Like you’re done. Like I’m—”
“If you let me speak, then maybe I can fucking explain!”
You snapped it before you could stop yourself, the words sharp and loud enough to make him blink. His mouth snapped shut. His eyes went wide, completely startled.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy, and incredibly awkward.
You squeezed your eyes shut, took a long breath, and counted to four in your head. One. Two. Three. Four.
When you opened your eyes, you plastered on your sunniest customer-service smile, the one you reserved for difficult clients and, apparently, emotionally unstable boyfriends.
“A break,” you repeated, infusing the word with forced cheerfulness, “means we take some time apart. Space from one another. Time for ourselves. To breathe.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. He was trying to stay calm, you could see it in the way his hands curled and uncurled at his sides, in the way he kept swallowing like he was forcing down words he wanted to say.
His eyes stayed fixed on you, searching, and the longer you stared back, the more he started shaking his head.
“Why?” His voice cracked on the single syllable. “Why do we need that?”
You opened your mouth, then paused. The truth was, you’d rehearsed this conversation about six different ways and still hadn’t landed on a script that didn’t make you sound like an asshole. So you winged it.
“To... grow as separate people. Become less... dependent on each other.” The words tasted like bullshit coming out.
He stared at you like you’d just started speaking in tongues. His brows furrowed, that deep V forming between them. “But we’re not dependent on each other.”
You bit the inside of your cheek.
No, you thought. I’m not. But you sure as hell are.
You let out a small, exasperated sigh. The popcorn on the coffee table was definitely cold now. The lamp he’d nearly knocked over had stopped swaying. And you were this close to just walking out the door.
“I mean, sweetie, c’mon. Let’s be honest with ourselves right now.”
You were dumb enough to take your eyes off him for just a second, glancing toward the hallway, mentally calculating the escape route, and that’s when you heard the shift of his weight, the quick, determined stride of his boots on the hardwood.
“Bucky, what are—hmph—”
Before you could finish, his hands were on your face. Not gently. Gripping. His palms cupped your cheeks like you were a football he was about to punt, and then his mouth was on yours.
His tongue pushed past your lips before you could even register what was happening, and for a solid three seconds, you just stood there, frozen, letting him practically molest your mouth with the enthusiasm of a man trying to kiss the words right out of your brain.
What the fuck.
He broke the kiss with a wet smack, but before you could say anything—before you could even catch your breath—his fingers squeezed your cheeks together, forcing your mouth into a fish-like pout. Your lips puckered involuntarily. Your words came out garbled.
“Mmph—Bucky—”
“I love you,” he emphasised.
Kiss. Another one, quick and frantic, against your squished lips.
“And you love me.”
Kiss. This one lingered half a second longer, like he was trying to imprint the words onto your mouth.
“I need you, doll.”
And then he went in for a fourth kiss; longer, deeper, his tongue sliding back into your mouth while his fingers still kept your face hostage. You couldn’t breathe. Could only make muffled, indignant noises against his lips and slap at his chest with increasing urgency.
Slap. Slap. SLAP.
Finally, he pulled back, breathing hard, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips before it snapped. His pupils were blown wide. His cheeks were flushed.
You gasped for air, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and stared at him in disbelief.
“What is wrong with you!” you said incredulously, shoving him back with both hands against his chest.
It was like pushing against a brick wall wrapped in an old knitted sweater. He barely budged, then tried to grab your wrists, those big, warm hands reaching for you like magnetic force,but you were faster. You dodged left, put the coffee table between you, and held up a warning finger.
“Don’t.”
The look on his face shifted from desperate to wounded to frustrated in about 0.3 seconds. He rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. That was his tell. The impending headache was already setting up camp behind his temples. His mouth set into a firm line, barely visible under that stupidly attractive mustache.
Then he started pacing. Back and forth across the living room rug.
“I don’t understand where this is coming from,” he said, and the laugh that followed wasn’t a laugh at all, more a cynical huff of air. “I’ve done everything for you. Everything.”
You froze. There was an edge to his voice now, a sharpness you hadn’t heard before. He wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was staring at the wall, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but your face.
“I buy you clothes.” Thud. Thud. “I pay for dinners.” Thud. “For hair appointments. For nails—”
Nails. Shit. You had an appointment with Yelena in thirty minutes.
“—I’ve been attentive. And supportive. And loyal.” His voice was rising, cracking with disbelief. “I don’t look at other women. I don’t think about other women. I don’t even notice other women exist unless they’re blocking my view of you. So what the fuck did I do wrong for you to break up with me?”
His eyes snapped back to yours, wounded and accusatory.
You opened your mouth to correct him—it’s a break, Bucky, a break, not a breakup—but he bulldozed right over you.
“Tell me.” He stepped closer. “What did I do?”
You scoffed.
Because suddenly every legitimate reason you had poofed right out of your head like smoke.
And still, despite the fact that he was standing there yelling at you like a madman, you had the decency to not want to hurt his feelings by calling him a clingy, obsessed loser.
You lifted a hand like it was obvious. “The texts,” you said, flat.
His eyes narrowed. Genuinely confused. Confused, like you’d just accused him of a crime he had no memory of committing. “What texts?”
You waved your hands around like you were crazy… because you felt it, the absurdity of having to explain this.
“The gazillion texts I get throughout the day from you. On the hour. Every hour. ‘Good morning, doll.’ ‘What are you eating for lunch, doll?’ ‘Did you see the sunset, doll?’ ‘Thinking about you, doll.’” You dropped your hands. “It’s a lot.”
He let out a disbelieving scoff, his head tilting back like he was seeking divine intervention. “You’re breaking up with me because I text too much?”
Your jaw dropped. There was no way this bastard was making you seem like the irrational one here.
“Okay, then how about asking me to move in with you during sex?” You crossed your arms, lifting your chin. “When I’m—when I’m literally so distracted and can’t form a coherent sentence?”
“Sue me for getting lost in the moment,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement pulled his sweater tight across his shoulders, and you hated that you noticed. “I don’t hear you ever complain when I say I’m gonna breed you. Or fuck you through the mattress. You seem pretty into it then.”
“Oh my God.” You covered your face with both hands, pressing your palms into your eye sockets like you could physically block out the absurdity of this conversation. The pressure made little pinpricks of light dance behind your lids.
Bucky sighed, as if he genuinely believed he was the victim here. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, then dragged it up through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me.”
And then he turned and walked away, heading toward the foyer.
Your heart did that stupid thing it always did, lurched and twisted. Because the sadness in his voice was real. And you, absolute fool that you were, hurried after him, your heels clicking sharp and fast against the hardwood.
“For the last time, it’s a break, Bucky,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “It’s not forever. Just a few weeks… maybe a month or two… I don’t know, we’ll see.”
He was already at the entryway cabinet, the antique one with the brass handles that you’d helped him refinish last spring. He yanked open the drawers, rummaging through it with this kind of frantic energy that you did not notice at all.
“It doesn’t have to be this big dramatic thing. I just need—I dunno, space. To breathe without your texts vibrating in my pocket every forty-five minutes. To go a full day without you asking if I’ve eaten or if I’m still mad or what I’m wearing.” You waved a hand at his back. “Lots of couples do breaks, it strengthens the relationship.”
He shook his head, and you heard the soft click of his tongue against his teeth. “Can’t do a break, doll.”
You scoffed, irritation flaring hot again. “Well, that’s not really your choice to—”
He turned around.
And you stopped mid-sentence because he was holding a whole-ass gun in his hand.
You didn’t even register it at first, just a blur of metal and movement, but then he swung it, sweeping it in an arc like he was gesturing with it, and you ducked out of pure instinct, your shoulders hunching, your hands flying up.
“What the fuck!”
But Bucky didn’t look at you. He looked at the gun, turning it over in his hand like he was examining it for the first time. And then, without hesitation, he pressed the muzzle against his own temple.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Your hand clamped over your mouth, fingers pressing into your lips, “Why do you have that right by the door?”
He ignored you.
“You can’t leave me if I’m dead.” He said it like it was the most logical thing in the world.
You just stared at him, mouth hanging open. The seconds stretched, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized you should probably be scared. Worried. Calling 911. But instead, all that came out was a long, exhausted sigh.
“Bucky. Oh my God.” You rubbed your forehead. “Put that down!”
“No.” His voice was firm. Petulant. The no of a toddler who’d decided he was done with vegetables.
And because you had apparently lost every shred of self-preservation instinct you’d ever possessed, you took a step forward, hand reaching out like you were just going to snatch the loaded revolver from this six-foot man.
He backed up immediately, the muzzle digging deeper into his temple, the skin whitening around the metal. “I swear I’ll kill myself. I will. Don’t test me, doll.”
“Oh my God.”
“I love you so much. I can’t live without you.” He shifted the gun down, pressing it under his chin, tilting his head back so he was looking down the barrel of his own mortality. “I can’t live without you. You know that. You’ve always known that.”
You stood there, frozen, arms hanging limp at your sides. And because your mouth had no filter, you heard yourself murmur, “We’ve only been dating for seven months.”
Bucky’s eyes widened, just a fraction. The gun wavered. And for a split second, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of embarrassment cross his face.
But then he recovered, pressing the barrel harder against the soft flesh beneath his jaw. “Seven months and twenty-five days.”
“You counted?”
“I know what I’ve got, sweetheart. And I’m not letting it go.” His voice dropped, low and serious, “Not even if it kills me.”
You could only stare at this fool for so long before your head dropped to your chest, a small, disbelieving chuckle slipping past your lips.
His brow furrowed. The gun stayed pressed under his chin, but his eyes narrowed, “I’m about to put a bullet through my skull and you’re laughing?”
You pursed your lips, trying to smother your smile, and let out a long exhale, tilting your head as you looked up at him, “I wanna say I’m too old for this shit,” you said dryly, “but you’re a hell of a lot older than me, so… what do we do now?”
“I—” He faltered. Adjusted his grip on the revolver. “That’s not how you’re supposed to talk to me.”
Your brows knit together. “How am I supposed to talk to you, then?”
The more unaffected you seemed, the more his frustration bled through. The barrel shifted slightly, a tiny wobble, and he reset it against the soft skin under his chin. His jaw tightened. He looked at you like you were the unreasonable one.
“You’re supposed to be begging me to stop. Crying. Telling me you love me.” He gestured with his free hand, the motion jerky, like he was trying to reassert control over the situation. “That’s how this works.”
You stared at him for a long moment after that, not really knowing what else to say anymore.
Instead you clapped your hands together, and sighed, “Well. I gotta go.”
“Wait—what?”
You started edging toward the door, slow and casual, like you were just stretching your legs. Your eyes never left his face, but your hand was already reaching behind you, fingers searching for the doorknob. “I’ve got a nail appointment in, like, ten minutes that I’m probably gonna be late for.”
His eye twitched. A micro-spasm of disbelief. The gun rotated in his grip, not raising, just… shifting.
“I’m about to kill myself,” he said, each word enunciated like he was speaking to a child, “and you’re leaving for a nail appointment.”
“Yeah,” you said flatly, your fingers brushing the brass knob. “And you know how expensive Yelena’s late fee is.”
“You can’t be serious.” His voice dropped, softer now, almost reasonable. “I’m standing here with a gun to my head, begging you not to leave me, and you’re worried about a late fee? Is that really what our relationship means to you?”
“I am completely serious,” you said, ignoring the barb.
Before he could retort, your hand finally found the doorknob. You turned it, yanked the door open.
Late afternoon air hit your face, and then you were moving, sliding through the gap, your heels clicking on the hardwood of the foyer onto the worn birch of his porch.
“For fuck’s sake—”
He yelled your name, the sound bouncing off the walls and chasing you down the steps. Behind you, you heard the heavy thunk of the gun hitting the floor and then the heavy thud of his shoes on the porch, scrambling after you.
You had a head start. By the time you reached your car, you could hear him gaining, swearing under his breath, probably calculating how much force it would take to haul you back inside.
Your key found the lock on the first try. You slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and had the engine roaring to life before he reached the bumper.
He stopped at the end of the driveway, hands on his hips, chest heaving.
You rolled down the window. just an inch, just enough for your voice to carry.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Your tone was calm, almost kind. “We’ll try and have this conversation again. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone. And please, for the love of god Bucky, throw that thing away.”
His jaw tightened. His mouth opened, a cutting retort forming, something designed to burrow under your skin and make you feel guilty for walking out on a man who’d just threatened to blow his brains out—
But you were already pulling away from the curb, your taillights the only answer he got.
In your rearview mirror, you watched him stand there, frozen at the edge of the driveway, watching you disappear around the corner.
Let him stew, you thought, gunning the engine toward the salon. He’ll be fine. He always is.
“He pulled out a gun?”
Yelena didn’t look up from your hand, her focus razor-sharp as she filed the edge of your nail into a perfect almond shape.
The salon smelled like acetone and rose-scented hand cream, a combination that had become oddly comforting over the months you’d been coming here. Rows of pink-lit mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the quiet hum of drill bits and the occasional burst of Russian pop music from the speakers.
Yelena’s station was in the back corner, the one with the good lighting and the jar of complimentary vodka shots she kept under the counter for “loyal customers only.”
“Yeah,” you muttered dryly, adjusting your lashes as she moved to your left hand. “I won’t lie—for a moment there, I thought it was about to become a murder-suicide type of situation.”
Yelena pointed the file at you, nodding. “I see a lot of white American men do that on the news.” She tapped the file against her chin, thoughtful. “Where do they get such easy access to guns?”
You could only shrug, the movement pulling at the foil wraps on your other hand. “When you figure that out, please let me know.”
She made a noncommittal hum and returned to work, picking up a tube of gel glue and a single extension.
“So,” she said, not looking up, “you are done with this mad man, da?”
You opened your mouth to answer. Then you closed it. Then you opened it again, but nothing came out. Your face must have done something odd, because Yelena’s eyes snapped to yours.
“Girl.”
“What?” you said defensively.
“You have that look,” she said, pressing the extension into place with practiced care. “That look where normal, beautiful women stay with ugly loser men.”
You pointed a finger at her. “He’s not ugly.”
Yelena just stared at you. Three full seconds of that unblinking Russian gaze. Then she shook her head slowly, “Da. Is confirmed. You are hopeless.”
“It is not that simple,” you said a bit hopelessly.
“Then make it simple so I understand,” she said bluntly. She picked up the UV lamp and slid your hand under it, the blue light casting a sterile glow across your fingers. “Explain to me like I am child.”
You let out a long exhale, slumping back into the chair. The cushion squeaked beneath you. Where to even start? How to explain the gravitational pull of a man who was equal parts sweet and suffocating?
“See, being with a man—it’s like... taking the time to invest in him so it can benefit you a lot. And with James, I’ve invested a lot.” You gestured vaguely. “Time. Energy. Emotional labour. I know his routines, his moods, the way he takes his coffee. I’ve memorised which arguments get him to back down and which ones make him double down. That’s work, Yelena. That’s equity. And as a result I’ve grown very comfortable with him.”
She pulled your hand out of the lamp, inspected the nail, and grunted. “And you are still comfortable with the man even after he kept you hostage, threatening you with a gun?”
“But he wasn’t threatening me,” you emphasised, straightening up. “He threatened himself to keep me. There’s a difference.”
Yelena stopped. Set down the glue. Turned to face you fully, both hands flat on the table in front of her.
“There is no difference,” she said flatly. “Gun is gun. Threat is threat. Man who points gun at himself to make you stay is still pointing gun at you. You are just standing behind bullet path.”
“I probably sounds insane.”
“It is insane,” she corrected, picking up the glue again. “But I am not your mother. I am your friend, more importantly, nail technician. So I will make your nails beautiful, and you will go home to your crazy gun man, and maybe one day you will learn.”
She pressed another extension into place with a decisive click. “Or maybe you will be on news. I will watch and say, ‘I told her.’”
You stared at her.
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” you finally said, your voice dry as the cotton balls in the jar beside you.
Yelena just lifted one sleek blonde brow, her expression flat as a frozen lake. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she picked up your right hand, examined your natural nails, and then looked you dead in the eye.
“He must have a big dick, huh?”
The question came out flat, like she was asking about the weather or the price of gel. No judgment. Just pure, clinical curiosity.
You felt your cheeks warm despite yourself. “Yes he does.”
“Of course. Is always the way. Beautiful women stay with crazy men for one of two reasons; money or dick.” She picked up a file, examining the edge of your nail with a critical eye. “Big dick explains many things. The gun. The madness. The way you keep going back like a moth to flame. Is biological. Men with big dicks and small brains create chemical dependency in women. Very common in America.”
“But he’s kind,” you said, holding up your hand to count on your fingers. “And thoughtful. And attentive—”
“And crazy, and pathetic, and clingy,” she interrupted, picking up a new extension, examined it against your nail.
You rolled your eyes, actually rolled them, like a teenager being lectured.
She lifted her green eyes to yours, and there was something almost fond in them. “You are just as crazy as him.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are,” she repeated, “You like his craziness. And his clingyness. And even when you complain about it, it makes you feel special.” She paused, her gaze flicking to yours. “And horny.”
You opened your mouth to protest. Closed it.
You thought about the way Bucky’s texts made your stomach flip; equal parts annoyance and that warm, someone wants me satisfaction. The way his desperation and dominance in bed made you feel like the center of his entire universe.
“Oh fuck,” you said, the realization settling over you, “I’m a cliché.”
Yelena shrugged, reaching for the topcoat. “Da. But you are cliché with very nice nails. So at least you look good while being pathetic.”
“… Thanks,” you muttered dryly.
Then your phone rang.
You reached for it automatically, half expecting Bucky’s name to light up the screen with another round of I miss you texts. But instead, an unknown number stared back at you,a New York area code you didn’t recognize.
You frowned, swiped to answer, and pressed the phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
Yelena pretended not to watch. She busied herself with oiling your cuticles, her blonde head bowed, her movements steady. But her eyes kept flicking up to you.
“He what?!”
The shriek tore out of you before you could stop it. The sound bounced off the salon’s white walls, and every head in the place swiveled toward you. You felt the weight of fifteen pairs of eyes on your back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
You listened. Nodded. Your eyes stayed fixed on a spot on the wall where a poster advertised acrylics with a woman’s perfectly manicured hand draped across her face.
“Uh huh. Mhm-mhm.”
Your face scrunched. Then, slowly, your shoulders relaxed, the tension bleeding out of them as you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.
“Seriously? Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, thank you.”
You hung up and turned to Yelena, who had stopped pretending to be disinterested. Her eyebrows were raised, as she tilted her head. “What was that?”
You let out a long, slow sigh and held up your freshly done nails, admiring the pink gloss under the neon light.
“Fool shot himself in the foot. Literally. And guess who was listed as his emergency contact?”
Yelena let out a low whistle and shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line of amused disbelief. She took the cash you dug out of your purse, counted it without looking, and tucked it into the pocket of her apron.
“That is a level of pathetic that has never been reached before,” she said. “Not even in my country.”
“Tell me about it.”
Your shoes clicked against the polished linoleum as you followed the signs to the orthopedics wing.
You still didn’t know what you were going to say to him. Every option cycled through your head—swearing him out, dumping him right there in the hospital bed, maybe throwing your heel at his head for good measure.
The words break up had been sitting on your tongue since you left the salon, a clean cut to end this unnecessary nonsense for good.
But then you rounded the corner to his floor, and your feet slowed without permission.
The door to his room was partially visible through the slatted blinds, and you slowed as you approached, your heels clicking to a stop on the linoleum. Through the narrow gaps, you could see him.
Bucky sat propped against the pillows, his right foot elevated in a crisp white cast that ran from mid-calf to his toes, the edges already starting to scuff from the hospital sheets.
He was still wearing that blue knitted sweater from earlier. It pulled tight across his chest as he sat up straight, hands resting on his thighs, nodding slowly at something the doctor was saying.
His jaw was set, brows furrowed in that serious, focused expression he used whenever he wasn’t speaking to someone other than you, the one that made him look very stoic and grouchy. A stark contrast to the disheveled, manic mess he’d been a few hours ago.
Bucky listened, his eyes fixed on her, the picture of a composed, well-adjusted adult. He didn’t look like a man who had accidentally shot himself in the foot.
And as you stood there, in the harsh fluorescent light of a hospital corridor, realized that you really did love him.
There was no way you were breaking up with him. Unfortunately, you were stuck with this idiot. This beautiful, emotionally unstable, big-hearted fool who couldn’t even orchestrate a proper suicide threat without maiming himself in the process.
The doctor finished her spiel, gave a polite nod, and turned to leave. You stepped back, plastering a courteous smile on your face as she passed, her heels clicking in a rhythm that matched your own. Then you pushed the door open.
Bucky’s head snapped up, and his blue eyes found you instantly.
The guarded, stoic mask crumbled replaced by something embarrassed, a flush creeping up his neck, his lips parting as if to speak but hesitating.
“Now before you say anything,” he started. “I really was planning on getting rid of it. And I did not plan on shooting myself in the foot. It was an accident. I was moving it, and I—”
You didn’t let him finish. You crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the collar of the blue sweater, and pressed your lips to his.
He made a surprised sound—a muffled mmph—but it melted into something softer, his hands finding your waist almost instinctively, pulling you closer until your knees bumped the edge of the bed.
The kiss was warm, tasting faintly of hospital coffee and mint. His fingers curled into the fabric of your jacket, and you felt the tension drain out of his shoulders, his whole body sagging into you.
When you finally broke away, you were both breathing a little heavier. You stayed close, your forehead resting against his, your lips brushing his as you murmured, “No break.”
His eyes fluttered open, and the look on his face was something else entirely. You’d never seen a man who accidentally shot himself in the foot look so happy. The corners of his mouth twitched, then spread into a slow, boyish grin that softened all the hard edges of his face.
And that’s how you ended up sprawled sideways across the narrow hospital bed, one leg dangling off the edge, clipboard balanced on your knee as you scribbled through the stack of discharge paperwork.
Bucky was propped beside you, his shoulder pressed into your side, his arm looping around your waist. Every few minutes, he’d shift, his lips brushing against your shoulder through the thin cotton of your top.
You were halfway through entering his insurance information when he lifted your free hand, and brought it to his mouth. His lips pressed against your knuckles, before he turned your hand over and examined the nails.
“Pretty,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the glossy edge.
You hummed, not looking up from the paperwork. “Yelena had a lot to say about us.”
“Yeah?” He shifted slightly, his interest piqued. “Like what?”
You shrugged, the motion jostling his head gently. “Just very true things.”
“Such as?” he pressed, his lips brushing your jaw, a gentle nudge.
You turned your face toward him, and he met you halfway. The kiss was brief and soft, your lips lingered just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath, the slight curve of a smile forming against yours.
“That we’re both crazy,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, “And i agree.”
A beat of silence.
Then he let out a low chuckle, before settling his head back against your shoulder. “Whatever you say, doll.”
I locked tf in reading this. chat you have no idea how long I've been feening for this fic (I only waited a month but still.)
Even with his corny ass mustache.
girl get up I can't keep defending you 😭
You did not, in theory, like a man who looked like he’d tip his hat at you and call you “doll.”
IM CRYING NOT THE TIPS HAT GUY. "hey there pwincess" 😉
the multiple text messages in a day. I think I've seen this film before.
the "😭 pls stop" text oh girl you're so relatable. my sister just another me
“I buy you clothes.” Thud. Thud. “I pay for dinners.” Thud. “For hair appointments. For nails—”
Nails. Shit. You had an appointment with Yelena in thirty minutes.
IM CRYINGFS FSF
dany, this fic was everything and more. i dipped my toes in expecting to feel bad for bucky and the reader for being in such a toxic relationship, but your comedic timing actually had me laughing and grinning ear to ear. bruh you're so fucking funny 😭😭this fic was surprisingly endearing in a romcom type of way despite having dark and sensitive themes and i loved that so much moreuhhhh
the way she was interacting with her friends was so realistic!!! her reactions to the texts and the text message exchanges themselves were spot on!!!! dany's self inserting because this fic feels so real
and don't even get me started on the smut. don't even joke lad.
calling my lover "mine" but not in the way that my toothbrush or notebook are mine, mine in the way my neighborhood is mine, and also everybody else's, "mine" like mine to tend to, mine to care for, mine to love. "mine" not like possession but devotion.
word count | 12.3k words
summary | you suggest taking a break from your deeply attached boyfriend. he reacts poorly and things somehow get worse from there.
tags | 18+ (MDNI), Explicit Sexual Content, age gap relationship, clingy!bucky barnes, loser!bucky barnes, crack fic, major co-dependency, dark humour, SATIRE, oral sex (f!recieving), fingering, unprotected piv, pussy pronouns, tiny bit of noncon unprotected sex, noncon kiss, they’re both very physical, bucky is very touchy and grabby, lots of toxic behaviour, suicide threats, gun violence, manipulative bucky, toxic bucky, reader lowkey likes it, reader is toxic as well, mj, darcy and yelena cameo
a/n | yall this is a completely satirical and unserious fic, pls do not take anything that happens in here seriously. anyway i want to thank @superbassbuck @iamthatonefangirl @pinksplace and @houseofhyde for all being present and encouraging when i came up and spiraled with the concept of loser bucky threatening to kill himself to keep you. yall real asf for that, and especially paul for harassing me and lowkey motivating me to finish it. finally i am free from the shackles that bind me (this fuckass fic)
likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨
MASTERLIST
Dating an older man really did sound good in theory.
Everyone always said girls matured faster than boys, so you figured the math would math. Older boyfriend meant stable. A little boring, maybe. A little steadier. Someone who had already done the whole fuckboy lap around the block and come out the other side with a job, a routine, and the ability to go a few hours without needing proof you still liked him.
James Buchanan Barnes should have fit the brief.
He was older by ten years, and you’d been seeing him for seven months now. You were twenty-five. Your frontal lobe was fully developed. You liked to remind yourself of that whenever you did something questionable and then tried to justify it later, like, technically you were a grown woman with your own apartment and a 401(k). Technically you were not being preyed upon. Technically you made this choice with my eyes open.
Because you had.
You matched with him on Tinder on a bored Tuesday night, half in the mood to flirt, half in the mood to just entertain yourself with strangers, and there he was. Pretty eyes. Broad shoulders. Hot as hell, in this quiet, earnest way like he didn’t realise he was hot, which unfortunately made him hotter.
Even with his corny ass mustache.
It should have been a dealbreaker. It was not.
It was actually… kind of doing it for you, which was embarrassing, because you had a preference to maintain. You liked men clean-cut and put together. You liked men who looked like they knew how to order a drink without stuttering. You did not, in theory, like a man who looked like he’d tip his hat at you and call you “doll.”
Except Bucky did that sometimes, in this soft, old-fashioned way that made you feel simultaneously adored and slightly like you were being courted in 1945. He held doors. He walked on the outside of the sidewalk. He paid for dinners and surprised you with expensive gifts.
And you were pleasantly surprised by his big heart.
Even more so, his big dick.
If you were being honest, that was where half your patience came from. That and the way he acted like touching you was this privilege he didn’t want to take for granted. Like he could get needy and clingy, and still somehow turn around and treat you like you were precious. He overdid it, yes. He went too hard, yes. But he was sweet in a way that didn’t feel fake.
And, yes, there were red flags.
The texts, for one.
In the beginning you told yourself it was just excitement. He was older, he was awkward, he probably hadn’t dated much, and he definitely hadn’t dated someone like you. You were fun. You were pretty. You were not afraid to tell him “no” and then kiss him anyway. You made him feel brave.
He texted good morning. Then another good morning in case you missed the first. Then a third message that was just, “Hope your day is going okay.” Then, “No pressure to respond, I just like talking to you.” Then, “Sorry, that sounded weird. I’m not weird.” Then, somehow, you’d look down and realise he’d sent you five messages in a row and you’d been at work the whole time.
It was… a lot. But it was also weirdly flattering.
It wasn’t even love bombing in the normal slick, manipulative way. It was messy and unintentional. Like he didn’t understand the difference between affection and intensity yet, so he just threw it all at you and hoped you caught it. You could tell he wasn’t trying to impress you. He was trying to keep you.
And the clinginess didn’t exactly get better with time. It just got more comfortable. More familiar. Like a habit. Like you belonged to him now in the way he looked at you, in the way he reached for you in his sleep, in the way he convinced you to sleep over at his house numerous times a week.
You probably should have dumped him. You friends had already told you it wasn’t your job to manage a thirty-five-year-old man’s feelings.
Unfortunately, you didn’t give a fuck. And you told yourself you could handle the rest. That you could rein him in when you needed to. That you could keep the good parts, and teach him how to calm down.
You really, truly believed that.
And you tried to hold onto it while you were out with the girls at some new club opening up on the Lower East Side. Packed shoulder to shoulder, lights low and red, bass thumping through the floor like a second heartbeat.
You felt good. You looked good. You were supposed to be having a good time.
And like clockwork, every fifteen minutes, you felt your purse buzz.
You couldn’t even stay on the dance floor long without circling back to this little quiet corner by the bar or the wall, checking your phone like it was a habit you did not want your friends to notice. At first, it was manageable. Sweet. A check-in. The first hour was almost normal.
james barnes (bucky)
Are you having fun, beautiful? | 10:22pm
You
lots. music is peak. we got free drinks too | 10:37pm
james barnes (bucky)
Oh, really? From who? | 10:37pm
Was it the bartender or some random men? | 10:38pm
Doll? | 10:39pm
You stared at the screen, thumb hovering, letting the music wash over you while your brain did that stupid thing where it tried to decide the exact right balance of response. Too short and he’d spiral. Too detailed and you’d be feeding it.
You locked your phone, tossed it back into your purse, and went back to the girls like you didn’t just feel your mood get tugged sideways.
But it didn’t stop.
By the time you were heading to the bathroom, you were already sighing before you even unzipped your purse. You could see the stack of notifications lighting up the screen through the little transparent window of your purse, like your phone was trying to pre-warn you.
You slid into the closest open spot at the counter and swiped up.
More messages had piled in.
james barnes (bucky)
Where did you get the free drinks from? | 10:44pm
Who are you with right now? | 10:45pm
Just text me back for two seconds, doll. | 10:46pm
“Isn’t it past your grandpa’s bedtime?” Nicole said from your left, reapplying her cheap lip liner.
You didn’t look up right away. You kept your eyes on the screen, jaw tight, like you could will the irritation away by ignoring it.
“Don’t call him that,” you muttered. “And he’s not that old.”
“Yeah, and the sky isn’t blue, and my boobs are real.” Nicole snorted, still looking at herself. “Being paroled by an old ass man is crazy work. Could never be me.”
You knew she was being shady as fuck. And you knew your man was being annoying as hell. But you weren’t about to let this bitch act like she had moral high ground when her life was a revolving door of men who didn’t even like her.
“Come talk to me when you find a man who’ll eat your ass without having to ask,” you said lifting your eyes. “And not a baby daddy who thinks child support is optional.”
Nicole’s mouth snapped shut.
MJ and Darcy were behind you in the mirror, MJ adjusting her earrings, Darcy washing her hands, both of them watching you. They exchanged a quick look like they were sharing a thought without saying it out loud.
Nicole held your gaze for a second longer, nostrils flaring, then rolled her eyes like she hadn’t just gotten read.
“Whatever,” she muttered, tossing her lip liner back into her bag, and she pushed out of the bathroom without waiting for anyone.
You barely acknowledged it. You just looked back down at your phone, thumb resting over the keyboard again.
You
just the bartender. relax | 10:56pm
he was flirting w Darcy half the time anyway | 10:57pm
and you know im w MJ nd Darcy | 10:58pm
james barnes (bucky)
Right. I’m sorry, honey. | 10:59pm
I just don’t like the idea of anyone bothering you. | 11:00pm
You stared at that for a second, jaw working. It was always like this…. he’d pull, you’d give him an inch, and then he’d act grateful like you’d done him a favour by letting him breathe.
“Girl.” MJ’s voice cut through it.
You looked up and caught her in the mirror. She was standing a little behind you, brows raised, mouth twitching like she was trying not to laugh but couldn’t fully hide the exasperation either.
“Michelle,” you said back, tilting your head.
She shook her head, amused but pointed, and slid her hand over your shoulder as she brushed past you to the door.
“Just remember this is a girls’ night,” she said. “No hate. Just… saying.”
“Two minutes,” you muttered, eyes back on the screen.
Darcy, already halfway to the door, turned her head. “I’m timing it,” she announced. “Like, actually. One-twenty seconds. And if you’re still in here, I’m coming back and I’m flushing your fucking phone.”
MJ grabbed Darcy by the wrist and tugged her out, laughing under her breath as they disappeared back into the noise.
You exhaled, it came from deep down within your chest, and your screen lit again before you could even lock it.
james barnes (bucky)
When are you heading home? | 11:02pm
Do you want me to pick you up? You can stay at my place. | 11:03pm
It was honestly impressive how fast he typed. For a man who acted like technology was out to get him, he was weirdly efficient when it came to blowing up your phone. Full sentences, no typos, like he was sitting upright at his kitchen table drafting these messages like professional emails.
You
im sleeping over at MJs. girls night remember | 11:05pm
and i literally slept over the other day 😭 pls stop | 11:05pm
You knew exactly why you’d put that emoji. Not because it was funny, because it softened your words. Because it made it sound playful instead of like you were getting irritated.
You rolled your eyes and shoved your phone back in your purse before you could get sucked into another back-and-forth. You stepped out into the hallway, bass immediately swallowing you again, lights flashing harsh and bright as the crowd pressed past.
Your purse buzzed, faint against your hip. Again. You didn’t even look.
james barnes (bucky)
I will, sorry. | 11:06pm
Tomorrow night then? I miss you. | 11:06pm
Message me when you’re safe at Michelle’s please. | 11:07pm
You found MJ and Darcy posted at the bar the second you stepped out of the bathroom . Darcy was half-turned in her seat, pointing into the crowd and laughing so hard her shoulders were shaking. MJ was rolling her eyes at whatever Darcy was saying, but there was an unwilling little smile on her mouth like she didn’t even want to fight it.
The second you got close, MJ’s eyes slid right to you.
Darcy followed her gaze and started clapping softly. “Shame. Shame. Shame.”
You rolled your eyes so hard you saw your own brain for a second, but that just made them both worse. MJ started up too, syncing up with Darcy. “Shame, shame, shame.”
They were both snickering by the time you slid onto the barstool between them. Darcy didn’t even ask what you wanted, just shoved a cold glass of something colourful into your hand.
“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, taking a sip. The drink was too sweet, too strong, exactly what you needed. “Laugh while you bitches can.”
You tried to get your head back into the night. The bass was steady, the lights were doing that neon blur thing, bodies moving around you like one big wave. For a couple seconds it worked. You let yourself sink into it, let the noise swallow your thoughts.
Then MJ, from your left, “You know I love you, right?”
You groaned into your drink on instinct. “MJ. Not right now.”
Darcy laughed beside you.
“I do,” MJ said anyway, undeterred. “I love you.”
“—Michelle, please.”
“Hey, I’m not trying to jump you. I’m just asking… what are we doing right now?”
You let out a slow breath and looked down at your glass. “We’re drinking right now.”
“Mm-hm.”
Darcy jumped in before MJ could keep going, because Darcy physically could not let a serious moment live longer than ten seconds.
“Sweetie, we’re not judging you,” Darcy said, talking with her hands. “But your man is on some serious Joe Goldberg crap.”
You couldn’t help the snort that came out of you.
Darcy took that as encouragement and leaned forward, eyes wide under her glasses like she was swearing on a Bible. “No, I’m serious. Like I would not be shocked in the slightest if he’s here right now. Somewhere we can’t see. Just… posted up in a corner and watching you.”
“Darcy,” MJ said, exasperated.
“What?” Darcy swung on her stool and started scanning the room, craning dramatically like she was about to catch him hiding behind a speaker. “Men do weird shit like that all the time.”
You laughed despite yourself, watching her spin like a damn security camera.
MJ pinched the bridge of her nose. “Darcy, please.”
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you took another sip. The alcohol was settling warm in your chest now, smoothing everything out around the edges. Megan was blasting through the speakers, bass vibrating up through the metal footrest of the stool, and for a minute the three of you just sat there listening to the music and watching people move around the packed dance floor.
Then your shoulders dropped a little.
You looked down at your glass, turning it slowly between your hands before speaking. “So what should I do?”
“Dump him.”
“Dump his old creepy ass.”
MJ and Darcy answered at the exact same time.
“Wow,” you said dryly. “Thank you two so much for helping me find a mature, adult solution for my boyfriend who I actually care about.”
Darcy, completely unfazed, took your empty glass out of your hand and replaced it with a fresh drink. “You asked,” she said.
MJ leaned against the bar, eyes still on you. “Then take a break.”
You turned your head slowly. “A break?”
“A break,” she repeated with a nod. Then she lifted a hand before you could interrupt. “Now hold on now. Not a breakup. I’m not saying dump him, block him and start the healing process. I’m saying… maybe spend some time apart so he can calm the hell down.”
You frowned faintly, listening.
“Because right now?” MJ continued, voice even, “that man wakes up, thinks about you. Goes to work, thinks about you. Eats, sleeps, breathes you. And I know you think it’s cute—”
You tilted your head. “It’s a little cute.”
“—but it’s not healthy,” she finished. “He needs to remember there’s a world around him that doesn’t revolve around you.”
Something in your expression shifted at that. You looked down at your drink again, thumb tracing the condensation on the glass. The idea rubbed you the wrong way immediately—the thought of him not orbiting you quite so hard. Which probably said something bad about you too.
Still… the rest of it sounded reasonable.
A break wasn’t a breakup. Just some distance. Some breathing room. Time for him to remember he was a grown man with a grown life and grown responsibilities outside of you.
“A break,” you repeated slowly, more thoughtful this time.
The conversation about a “break” had been looping in your head for some time, a persistent mental itch you couldn’t quite scratch.
You knew you had to do it—sooner or later—but as you let out a low, guttural moan, your back arching and sliding against the cool, expensive glide of Bucky’s Egyptian cotton sheets, the idea felt so far away.
It was hard to maintain a level head when your body was being systematically wrecked by the man beneath you.
The room was filled with the heavy, wet sound of unapologetic squelching that echoed in the quiet of his massive bedroom. You let out a sudden, sharp squeal, your hips jerking upward as you spared a glance down.
There he was.
Still in his slacks and that crisp button-down, his tie loosened and hanging haphazardly around his neck, looking every bit the stable, put-together man the world saw. But here, with your legs draped heavily over his broad shoulders and his face buried deep in your cunt, he was nothing but a starving man.
He had been at it for five minutes, meticulously edging you, driving you toward a peak he refused to let you hit.
He shifted, sucking your outer lips into his mouth one by one with this concentrated pressure, before sliding his tongue up your slit. He licked you from bottom to top, over and over, his tongue flat and insistent.
When he finally suctioned his lips over your clit, the vacuum was intense, pulling a loud, broken moan from your throat. You could feel the faint, rough scratch of his mustache against your mound, as he pushed his tongue inside you, humming low in his throat.
The vibration of that traveled straight through your nerves, making your walls clench tight around him. You collapsed back into the pillows, breathless and frustrated, your voice sounding strained.
“Bucky—please... just give it to me,” you whimpered.
He didn’t pull away. Instead, he let out a muffled, groan against your skin, his voice vibrating against your folds. He paused for just a second, glancing up at you with dark, blown-out pupils.
“I know, baby,” he rasped, his voice gravelly and thick that made you clench again. “But I’m just taking my time with her. Spent the whole damn day at the office thinkin’ about her...”
He leaned back in, his tongue swirling around your clit . “She’s so happy to see me, isn’t she? Look at her... just soaking wet for me.”
A broken, whiny sound escaped your throat as you felt the blunt pressure of one of Bucky’s thick fingers probing your entrance.
He didn’t rush; he sank in slowly, stretching you open, and the relief was so instantaneous that you instinctively arched your hips, pushing yourself hard against his hand to swallow him whole. Your fingers dove blindly into his hair, gripping the thick strands and scratching at his scalp.
Bucky let out a low hum, his body reacting to the touch like a devoted dog getting a scratch behind the ears.
“Another one,” you sighed, your voice breathless and strained, your head tossing back against the pillows. “Baby, please... another one.”
He paused, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His mouth was a glistening, wet mess, coated in your slick, his lips swollen from the suction. Bucky didn’t pull his finger out; instead, he kept it thrusting in a slow, rhythmic pace that made your toes curl.
“Another one?” he murmured.
He looked down at where he was joined with you, a smile playing on his lips. “Look at her... she’s greedy, isn’t she? Just begging for more.”
“Bucky, stop talking to my pussy and just do it,“ you whined.
He let out an amused, condescending huff, “I know, honey. I know you’re desperate.”
Without another word, he slid a second finger inside. The fullness made you gasp, your internal muscles clenching tight around him as he began to drive both fingers deep into you. His pace quickening as he found the exact spot that made your vision blur.
He shifted his weight, sliding upward until his heavy, broad frame blanketed your body.
He leaned down, pressing his chest against yours, until your noses were touching. His lips parted, hovering just a fraction of an inch from yours.
You clenched your eyes shut, your breath coming in shallow hitches. You were practically just moaning and breathing directly into his open mouth.
“Tell me how it feels,” he whispered, his breath hot against your lips. “Tell me how much you need me to fill you up.”
“I need... I need you,” you whimpered, your hips stuttering against his hand. “Please, Bucky, I can’t—I’m going to—”
“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” he said hoarsely.
He didn’t give you a moment to breathe, his fingers curling deep inside you, hooking upward to snag that hypersensitive sweet spot that made your brain short-circuit.
He trailed a line of searing kisses from your flushed cheek down to the sensitive curve of your neck.
“Uh-huh... okay,” you nodded insistently into the crook of his neck, your breath coming in jagged gasps. You could feel the heavy, rigid bulge of him through his slacks, grinding firmly into your stomach with every thrust of his fingers.
“Cum for me, baby. I wanna feel it,” he breathed against your lips. He nibbled at your bottom lip, teasing the skin before pulling it into his mouth, sucking on it. While his mouth claimed yours, his thumb found your clit, rubbing in fast, heavy circles.
“Bucky, please—”
“Look at me,” he insisted, his eyes locking onto yours. “Just let go for me.”
As he curled his fingers one last time, digging deep and applying a sudden, sharp pressure, you let out a loud, guttural moan. “Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk!”
An overwhelming volcano of pleasure surged through you, your pussy spasming violently around his fingers in tight contractions. Your back arched off the bed, your body straining upward, trying to push yourself even deeper into his touch as your orgasm rolled over you in waves.
As your peak subsided, you slumped back into this sheets, your chest heaving and your limbs feeling like lead.
Slowly, he slid his fingers out of you with a wet, suctioning sound. Without breaking eye contact, you watched through an amused, exhausted daze as he brought his hand up to his face, sliding his fingers into his mouth to taste the remnants of your orgasm.
He closed his eyes for a second, savouring the taste of you.
“God, you taste so good,” he hummed, his eyes snapping open to look at you.
You let out a weak, breathless laugh, reaching up to shove at his chest. “You are so weird.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. “You love it,” he murmured, his hand sliding down to grip your ass with a firm, possessive squeeze. “Now, tell me how much you missed me today.”
“Ha ha,” you mumbled sarcastically, rolling your eyes. You tried to maintain a shred of your composure as the heavy weight of him shifted off you.
Bucky loomed over your naked body, while he began to unbutton his shirt, the fabric straining against the breadth of his shoulders.
“How was your day, doll?” he asked casually.
Your mind was the furthest thing from a professional debrief. As the buttons gave way, revealing the expanse of his broad, muscular chest and the dusting of hair that trailed down toward his waistband, you felt a familiar, insistent tingle returning to your core.
“I really do not wanna talk about my day right now, Bucky. Thanks,” you breathed, your eyes locked on him.
You watched him like it was your own private strip show, your gaze tracing the line of his abs as his hands finally reached for his belt. The metallic clink of the buckle echoed in the quiet room.
Almost as a reflex, your thighs squeezed together, a subconscious attempt to soothe the ache building between them.
Bucky didn’t miss a thing. He let out an endearing, husky chuckle, “Still need me, huh? Good girl.”
With one fluid motion, he shoved his pants and boxers down to his ankles. His cock sprang free with a heavy thud, slapping against his stomach, bobbing up and down. It was thick, veiny, and the head was a deep, angry red, looking almost painfully engorged after how long he’d been eating you out.
“You ready for me?” he murmured.
You didn’t even use words. You nodded enthusiastically, your attitude completely gone. You swiftly turned away from him, shifting to your knees and arching your back in a deep curve as you wiggled your ass at him.
Behind you, he let out a jagged exhale, and before you could even blink, you felt one of his massive hands clamp onto your hip, his fingers digging into your skin, before both hands moved to spread your cheeks wide, exposing your still soaking pussy to the cool air.
You let out a small, pleased sigh, as you felt the scorching tip of him slide against your slit, teasing the entrance.
He didn’t go in yet; instead, he dragged the length of his cock slowly across your cheeks and through your slick, painting you in his pre-cum.
“So wet for me,” he murmured, almost fixated on the sight of his cock sliding between your cheeks. “Been thinkin’ about this all day. Just imagining me filling you up, stretching you out.”
“Just—fuck, put it in,” you whimpered impatiently, glancing back at him over your shoulder.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he whispered, his grip tightening on your hips. He pulled you back toward him until there was no space left between your skin and his, and then, without warning, your world shifted. With a sudden movement, he flipped you onto your back.
You let out a small, surprised squeak as he gripped your ankles, dragging you by your legs to the very edge of the bed. He hoisted your legs up, draping your feet over his broad shoulders, leaving you completely open for him.
“Need to see my baby’s face while I fuck her,” he rasped.
As you shifted your hips impatiently, trying to bridge the gap, he dragged the head of his cock over your slit one more time. The blunt tip caught your clit perfectly, sending a jolt of electricity through your spine that made you gasp.
He didn’t let the moment sit for too long; he nudged his tip against your entrance, popping the head in with a firm thrust that forced a loud, guttural moan from your throat.
Bucky’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he felt the friction of your walls clamping down on him. He groaned, a sound of pure, agonized pleasure. “God, stretched you out so many times, but you’re still so tight for me... s’like you’re tryin’ to squeeze the life outta me.”
He paused for a second, buried just an inch deep, letting the pressure build. “You like feeling me in there, yeah? Like knowing I’m the only one who gets to do this to you.”
“Yes... please, baby, all the way,” you begged, your hands reaching up to clutch at his forearms.
“I got you, doll,” he whispered.
And just like that he drove the rest of his cock home, bottoming out with a heavy slap against your thighs that knocked the breath from your lungs.
You cried out, your eyes fluttering shut as he filled every available space inside you, the sensation of being completely stuffed making your mind go blank.
He stayed there for a moment, his chest heaving, a low groan rumbling from deep in his throat as he savoured the feeling of being completely encased in your pussy, your walls fluttering around him like they were trying to pull him deeper.
“Feel that, baby?” he rasped, his voice ragged and strained. “Feel how much I need to be inside you? You’re fuckin’ perfect... made for me.”
He began to move, starting with slow, agonizingly deep strokes that made you whimper with every pull. Each time he withdrew, he dragged the thick ridge of his crown against your inner walls, coaxing out a wet, obscene sound before he slammed back in.
Standing at the edge of the bed, he began to drive into you like a man possessed. The slaps of skin against skin was the only thing you could hear right now, alongside the wet squelch of your slick coating every inch of him.
His balls repeatedly slapped against your ass, and you could do nothing but dig your nails into the sheets, your body bouncing helplessly with every thrust.
Bucky’s eyes were locked on where your bodies met, his jaw slack, his lips parted as he watched his cock disappear into you over and over.
“Look at that,” he breathed, almost to himself. “Look how pretty she looks taking my cock, sweetheart. She’s so happy... she’s gripping me so fuckin’ tight, like she never wants me to leave.”
You tried to form a response, but all that came out was a broken moan as he angled his hips, finding that deep, sensitive spot that made your vision blur.
“You like being fucked like this?” he demanded, his voice dropping to a rough whisper. “You like knowing I can’t get enough of you? That I wake up every morning thinkin’ about burying myself inside you?”
“Yes... yes, Bucky...” you gasped, your voice barely audible over the sounds of your bodies colliding.
The frustration that had been simmering in Bucky’s chest finally boiled over—the desperate, gnawing need to be as close to you as humanly possible. His hips were already hammering into yours with a punishing rhythm, but it wasn’t enough.
He needed more.
Without breaking his pace, he hooked his hands under your knees and slid your legs from his shoulders, guiding them to wrap around his waist.
The shift in angle made him sink even deeper, and you let out a choked sob as he adjusted.
Then he leaned forward, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his hips continued their brutal assault, the force of his thrusts actually pushing your body up the bed. He crawled over you, his chest hovering just above yours, his breath ghosting hot and ragged across your face.
For a moment, his eyes dropped; fixated on the way your breasts bounced. His mouth twitched, the urge to lean down and suck one of those hard nipples between his lips almost overwhelming.
But he forced his gaze back up, traveling the line of your jaw, the curve of your neck, until he found your face. Your eyes were closed, your lips parted, your expression slack and utterly lost in the sensation of being fucked senseless.
He didn’t like that. He needed you with him.
He released your hips and reached for your hands, prying your fingers from the crumpled sheets you were gripping. He laced his fingers through yours, pressing your palms flat against the mattress on either side of your head.
Your eyes fluttered open meeting his. Those barely-blue irises were blown wide, dark with something raw and animalistic.
“This house is always so big and quiet, baby,” he breathed against your neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin just below your ear before he nipped at your earlobe.
You could feel the thick ridge of him dragging against your inner walls, the friction building a pressure so intense it made your toes curl.
“I miss you when you’re not here,” he continued, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his words muffled against your skin. “I hate it. Hate coming home and not seeing you. Hate sleeping alone.”
You were barely coherent, lost in the haze of being absolutely pounded into the mattress. The world had narrowed to the sound of his grunts, the wet slap of skin against skin. You couldn’t form words, only broken moans and gasps.
Then his next sentence caught your attention.
“Think you should move in with me.”
He punctuated the words with little nibbles along your jaw, his teeth scraping against the tender skin before his tongue soothed the sting.
You were so dazed, your brain so thoroughly scrambled by the relentless fucking, that you didn’t even have the strength to turn your head and glare at him through half-lidded eyes.
He kept thrusting, kept spewing his nonsense into your ear like a prayer.
“I’ll fuck you every morning when we wake up—” He felt your walls flutter around him at the words, and mistook it for encouragement, his pace quickening. “—and every night before we go to sleep. You like that, huh? Wake up to me buried inside you, feel me stretching you out before you even open your eyes.”
He shifted his weight, pressing his chest flush against yours so that every inch of his sweat-slicked skin was molded to your own.
“And you can change anything in the house you want, doll. Paint the walls. Buy new furniture. I don’t care.” His voice dropped to a fevered whisper, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. “Just come home to me. Let me take care of you.”
You finally managed to pry one eye open, staring at him through your lashes, your voice a breathless, broken mess. “Bucky, what the fuck are you talking abo—Oh fuck!”
He pulled back nearly all the way out, the thick, glistening head of his cock catching on your rim, and then drove back in with one devastating, deep thrust that hit the spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.
The sudden, blinding orgasm tore through you without warning, ripping a cry from your throat as your body arched beneath him, your inner walls clamping down on him in a vise-like grip that made him groan like a man possessed.
“Fuck, yes,” he hissed, his hips stuttering as he tried to keep thrusting through your climax, each movement sending fresh waves of pleasure through your oversensitive nerves. “That’s it, baby. Squeeze me just like that. Cum for me.”
The aftershocks of your orgasm were still rippling through you in waves, each clench of your inner walls drawing a deep grunt from deep in Bucky’s chest.
His hips never faltered driving into you, the loud, wet squelch of his cock pistoning in and out of your soaked pussy sounding obscene in the quiet room.
“Almost there, doll,” he rasped against your throat, the words barely intelligible through his heavy breathing. “So close. Fuck, you feel so good.”
You were still floating in the hazy aftermath of your orgasm, your limbs heavy and useless, but something nagged at the back of your hazy mind.
Something important.
It took you a second to remember it—the empty pack of birth control pills sitting on your nightstand. The new pack you hadn’t started yet. The four-day gap you were in the middle of… which Bucky knew.
Your eyes snapped open, clarity cutting through the fog like a blade.
“Baby,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse and breathless. “Remember to pull out.”
He didn’t seem to hear you. His hips kept hammering, his rhythm growing sloppier, more desperate. You could see the strain in his face, the pinch of his brows, the way his mouth hung open with broken, breathy groans.
He was seconds away, his cock twitching and throbbing inside you with every thrust.
“Bucky.” You managed to untangle one of your hands from his, slapping weakly at his shoulder. “Don’t cum in me.”
It barely fazed him. He caught your wrist and pressed it back into the mattress, his fingers lacing through yours again as he smashed his lips against yours in a bruising, desperate kiss.
His tongue thrust into your mouth in rhythm with his hips, and he spoke against your lips, his voice a low, pleading groan.
“She’s gripping me so tight, honey,” he breathed, his lips brushing yours with every word. “I don’t think I can pull out.”
Your eyes flew open, your words muffled against his mouth. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I can’t help it, doll.” His voice cracked. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his blue eyes blown wide and his face flushed red. “I’ll die if I don’t cum in her. Do you want me to die, doll? Do you?”
You could barely make sense of his absurd words, your brain still scrambled from the relentless fucking.
You tried to push at his shoulder again, but he was solid as a mountain. He captured your mouth in another searing kiss, swallowing your protests as his hips slammed forward one last time.
He stilled with a long, agonized groan that seemed to tear from the very depths of his chest. You gasped against his lips as you felt it—hot, thick jets of his cum flooding your insides, painting your walls with his release.
He pulsed inside you, his hips twitching through the aftershocks, holding himself buried so deep you could feel every spasm.
When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath coming in ragged, uneven pants. A low, satisfied hum rumbled in his chest as he slowly, almost lazily, rocked his hips, milking every last drop of his release into you.
“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice thick with post-orgasmic bliss. He pressed a soft, apologetic kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Couldn’t help it, sweetheart. She was begging for it.”
His hand slid down your sweat-slicked stomach, coming to rest on the soft swell just above where you were still joined. His palm pressed down, and you felt a fresh trickle of warmth as his cum began to leak around him.
“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmured against your skin, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across his lips. “But what a way to g— ow!”
The smack echoed louder than it should have in the quiet room, connecting with the back of his skull with a satisfying crack that made him yelp.
His head snapped to the side, the lazy smile wiped clean off his face, replaced by a wide-eyed, dazed confusion that would’ve been almost endearing if you weren’t so overly irritated.
“Clean. Me.” Your glare could’ve curdled milk.
It took a full three seconds for the words to penetrate his post-coital fog. You watched the realization dawn slow, then all at once.
Bucky’s mouth opened and closed, a fish gasping for air, and you watched the guilt wash over his features; the sheepish crinkle of his brow, the way his gaze dropped to where you were still joined, a sticky mess of his cum leaking out around him.
He swallowed hard, and you felt the bastard twitch inside you at your smack, his half-hard cock giving an involuntary pulse that made your eye twitch.
“Right. ’Course. Yeah, I got it, doll.” He pulled out slowly, a wince crossing his face as he watched his release leak down your thigh. “Shit. Let me just—”
You said nothing.
Just stared at him until he scrambled off the bed, his softening cock bobbing between his thighs as his pale ass disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.
You heard water running, the rustle of a cloth, and then he was back, kneeling between your legs with the careful, contrite air of a man who knew he’d pissed you off.
You lay there stiff as a board, staring at the ceiling, refusing to give him the satisfaction of meeting his eyes. He worked in silence, dabbing at the mess he’d made, pressing kisses to your inner thighs when he was done.
You yanked the sheet up over yourself and turned onto your side, your back firmly to him as you reached for the remote on the nightstand.
And so began the silent treatment.
Bucky, to his credit, seemed to understand the gravity of his transgression. He shuffled around the room, pulling on a pair of sweatpants, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Ten minutes later, he reappeared with a plate bearing a warm brownie, a generous dollop of whipped cream melting on top, and a glass of ice water.
He set it on the nightstand beside you, then climbed onto the bed, his weight dipping the mattress as he slid up behind you. His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, and he pressed his lips to the curve of your shoulder.
You ignored him, reaching for the brownie.
He kissed your shoulder again. Then your neck. Then the shell of your ear. You ignored him like a persistent mosquito, taking a bite, letting the silence stretch.
“You know I love you, yeah?”
You paused mid-chew, turning your head just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. You hummed, a noncommittal and flat sound, and went back to your brownie.
His arm tightened around your midsection, pulling you closer, his lips finding the curve of your neck in a series of featherlight kisses. “But you know, sweetheart... if you hadn’t been squeezing me so tight, I might’ve had a fighting chance. How’s a guy supposed to think straight when you’re milking him like that?
You set your fork down, turned your head just enough to fix him with a deadpan stare. “Are you seriously trying to blame your cumming inside me on my pussy?”
He had the decency to look caught, his blue eyes wide and innocent in a way that was utterly unconvincing. “No, no—I’m just saying—”
“Uh-huh.” You hummed, turning back to the TV.
He sighed against your neck, his arm tightening around your waist. “I love you,” he murmured, trying a different angle. “You know I’d do anything for you.”
You took another bite, pointedly ignoring him.
At least the fool had enough sense not to bring up that moving in, living with him bullshit he’d been spewing while he was balls-deep inside you.
You had no idea where that came from.
His hand slid up to rest over your heart, his thumb tracing a soft circle over your collarbone. “And you know you love me too. Even when you’re mad. Even when you’re giving me the silent treatment like a brat.”
Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t rise to the bait.
You felt his lips press a lingering kiss to the crown of your head. His hand moving down to rub slow circles on your stomach, the gesture soothing, possessive.
Yeah, you thought, staring at the flickering TV screen, a break is definitely needed.
But even as you thought it, you leaned back into his chest, just a fraction, and felt him exhale against your neck. The idiot thought he was winning you over.
Let him think that.
“A break?”
The word hung in the air like a bad smell neither of you wanted to acknowledge. You stood awkwardly in his living room, your jacket still on, keys clutched in your hand, a clear signal that you weren’t staying, despite the way he’d lit up when you walked through the door.
Bucky was frozen across the room, a bowl of popcorn balanced in his hands. He’d made it fresh, the buttery smell still wafting through the air, probably with that hopeful little grin on his face when he’d heard your knock.
Perfect timing, doll, I just—
Except you’d cut him off before he could finish. Told him you couldn’t stay long. Watched his face cycle through confusion, hurt, and now this—a weird, controlled stillness that felt more unsettling than if he’d just thrown the bowl at the wall.
He set the popcorn down on the coffee table with exaggerated care as he rubbed his forehead.
“I don’t understand,” he said, his voice low and carefully measured. “What—what does that mean?”
You let out a long exhale, shifting your weight from one heel to the other. “Time to spend away from each other while we—”
“—so you’re breaking up with me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, flat and accusing, like you’d already handed him the pink slip.
“No, I’m not breaking up with you, I’m—”
“—then what are you saying?” His voice became rougher. He gestured vaguely, a jerky motion that nearly sent a lamp flying off the end table.
He caught it at the last second, fumbling it back into place, and the near-miss only seemed to rattle him more, “Because it sounds like you’re saying you wanna leave me. Like you’re done. Like I’m—”
“If you let me speak, then maybe I can fucking explain!”
You snapped it before you could stop yourself, the words sharp and loud enough to make him blink. His mouth snapped shut. His eyes went wide, completely startled.
The silence that followed was thick, heavy, and incredibly awkward.
You squeezed your eyes shut, took a long breath, and counted to four in your head. One. Two. Three. Four.
When you opened your eyes, you plastered on your sunniest customer-service smile, the one you reserved for difficult clients and, apparently, emotionally unstable boyfriends.
“A break,” you repeated, infusing the word with forced cheerfulness, “means we take some time apart. Space from one another. Time for ourselves. To breathe.”
Bucky’s jaw tightened. He was trying to stay calm, you could see it in the way his hands curled and uncurled at his sides, in the way he kept swallowing like he was forcing down words he wanted to say.
His eyes stayed fixed on you, searching, and the longer you stared back, the more he started shaking his head.
“Why?” His voice cracked on the single syllable. “Why do we need that?”
You opened your mouth, then paused. The truth was, you’d rehearsed this conversation about six different ways and still hadn’t landed on a script that didn’t make you sound like an asshole. So you winged it.
“To... grow as separate people. Become less... dependent on each other.” The words tasted like bullshit coming out.
He stared at you like you’d just started speaking in tongues. His brows furrowed, that deep V forming between them. “But we’re not dependent on each other.”
You bit the inside of your cheek.
No, you thought. I’m not. But you sure as hell are.
You let out a small, exasperated sigh. The popcorn on the coffee table was definitely cold now. The lamp he’d nearly knocked over had stopped swaying. And you were this close to just walking out the door.
“I mean, sweetie, c’mon. Let’s be honest with ourselves right now.”
You were dumb enough to take your eyes off him for just a second, glancing toward the hallway, mentally calculating the escape route, and that’s when you heard the shift of his weight, the quick, determined stride of his boots on the hardwood.
“Bucky, what are—hmph—”
Before you could finish, his hands were on your face. Not gently. Gripping. His palms cupped your cheeks like you were a football he was about to punt, and then his mouth was on yours.
His tongue pushed past your lips before you could even register what was happening, and for a solid three seconds, you just stood there, frozen, letting him practically molest your mouth with the enthusiasm of a man trying to kiss the words right out of your brain.
What the fuck.
He broke the kiss with a wet smack, but before you could say anything—before you could even catch your breath—his fingers squeezed your cheeks together, forcing your mouth into a fish-like pout. Your lips puckered involuntarily. Your words came out garbled.
“Mmph—Bucky—”
“I love you,” he emphasised.
Kiss. Another one, quick and frantic, against your squished lips.
“And you love me.”
Kiss. This one lingered half a second longer, like he was trying to imprint the words onto your mouth.
“I need you, doll.”
And then he went in for a fourth kiss; longer, deeper, his tongue sliding back into your mouth while his fingers still kept your face hostage. You couldn’t breathe. Could only make muffled, indignant noises against his lips and slap at his chest with increasing urgency.
Slap. Slap. SLAP.
Finally, he pulled back, breathing hard, a thin string of saliva connecting your lips before it snapped. His pupils were blown wide. His cheeks were flushed.
You gasped for air, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, and stared at him in disbelief.
“What is wrong with you!” you said incredulously, shoving him back with both hands against his chest.
It was like pushing against a brick wall wrapped in an old knitted sweater. He barely budged, then tried to grab your wrists, those big, warm hands reaching for you like magnetic force,but you were faster. You dodged left, put the coffee table between you, and held up a warning finger.
“Don’t.”
The look on his face shifted from desperate to wounded to frustrated in about 0.3 seconds. He rubbed his eye with the heel of his palm. That was his tell. The impending headache was already setting up camp behind his temples. His mouth set into a firm line, barely visible under that stupidly attractive mustache.
Then he started pacing. Back and forth across the living room rug.
“I don’t understand where this is coming from,” he said, and the laugh that followed wasn’t a laugh at all, more a cynical huff of air. “I’ve done everything for you. Everything.”
You froze. There was an edge to his voice now, a sharpness you hadn’t heard before. He wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was staring at the wall, at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but your face.
“I buy you clothes.” Thud. Thud. “I pay for dinners.” Thud. “For hair appointments. For nails—”
Nails. Shit. You had an appointment with Yelena in thirty minutes.
“—I’ve been attentive. And supportive. And loyal.” His voice was rising, cracking with disbelief. “I don’t look at other women. I don’t think about other women. I don’t even notice other women exist unless they’re blocking my view of you. So what the fuck did I do wrong for you to break up with me?”
His eyes snapped back to yours, wounded and accusatory.
You opened your mouth to correct him—it’s a break, Bucky, a break, not a breakup—but he bulldozed right over you.
“Tell me.” He stepped closer. “What did I do?”
You scoffed.
Because suddenly every legitimate reason you had poofed right out of your head like smoke.
And still, despite the fact that he was standing there yelling at you like a madman, you had the decency to not want to hurt his feelings by calling him a clingy, obsessed loser.
You lifted a hand like it was obvious. “The texts,” you said, flat.
His eyes narrowed. Genuinely confused. Confused, like you’d just accused him of a crime he had no memory of committing. “What texts?”
You waved your hands around like you were crazy… because you felt it, the absurdity of having to explain this.
“The gazillion texts I get throughout the day from you. On the hour. Every hour. ‘Good morning, doll.’ ‘What are you eating for lunch, doll?’ ‘Did you see the sunset, doll?’ ‘Thinking about you, doll.’” You dropped your hands. “It’s a lot.”
He let out a disbelieving scoff, his head tilting back like he was seeking divine intervention. “You’re breaking up with me because I text too much?”
Your jaw dropped. There was no way this bastard was making you seem like the irrational one here.
“Okay, then how about asking me to move in with you during sex?” You crossed your arms, lifting your chin. “When I’m—when I’m literally so distracted and can’t form a coherent sentence?”
“Sue me for getting lost in the moment,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. The movement pulled his sweater tight across his shoulders, and you hated that you noticed. “I don’t hear you ever complain when I say I’m gonna breed you. Or fuck you through the mattress. You seem pretty into it then.”
“Oh my God.” You covered your face with both hands, pressing your palms into your eye sockets like you could physically block out the absurdity of this conversation. The pressure made little pinpricks of light dance behind your lids.
Bucky sighed, as if he genuinely believed he was the victim here. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, then dragged it up through his hair. “I can’t believe you’re breaking up with me.”
And then he turned and walked away, heading toward the foyer.
Your heart did that stupid thing it always did, lurched and twisted. Because the sadness in his voice was real. And you, absolute fool that you were, hurried after him, your heels clicking sharp and fast against the hardwood.
“For the last time, it’s a break, Bucky,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time that day. “It’s not forever. Just a few weeks… maybe a month or two… I don’t know, we’ll see.”
He was already at the entryway cabinet, the antique one with the brass handles that you’d helped him refinish last spring. He yanked open the drawers, rummaging through it with this kind of frantic energy that you did not notice at all.
“It doesn’t have to be this big dramatic thing. I just need—I dunno, space. To breathe without your texts vibrating in my pocket every forty-five minutes. To go a full day without you asking if I’ve eaten or if I’m still mad or what I’m wearing.” You waved a hand at his back. “Lots of couples do breaks, it strengthens the relationship.”
He shook his head, and you heard the soft click of his tongue against his teeth. “Can’t do a break, doll.”
You scoffed, irritation flaring hot again. “Well, that’s not really your choice to—”
He turned around.
And you stopped mid-sentence because he was holding a whole-ass gun in his hand.
You didn’t even register it at first, just a blur of metal and movement, but then he swung it, sweeping it in an arc like he was gesturing with it, and you ducked out of pure instinct, your shoulders hunching, your hands flying up.
“What the fuck!”
But Bucky didn’t look at you. He looked at the gun, turning it over in his hand like he was examining it for the first time. And then, without hesitation, he pressed the muzzle against his own temple.
“Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.” Your hand clamped over your mouth, fingers pressing into your lips, “Why do you have that right by the door?”
He ignored you.
“You can’t leave me if I’m dead.” He said it like it was the most logical thing in the world.
You just stared at him, mouth hanging open. The seconds stretched, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized you should probably be scared. Worried. Calling 911. But instead, all that came out was a long, exhausted sigh.
“Bucky. Oh my God.” You rubbed your forehead. “Put that down!”
“No.” His voice was firm. Petulant. The no of a toddler who’d decided he was done with vegetables.
And because you had apparently lost every shred of self-preservation instinct you’d ever possessed, you took a step forward, hand reaching out like you were just going to snatch the loaded revolver from this six-foot man.
He backed up immediately, the muzzle digging deeper into his temple, the skin whitening around the metal. “I swear I’ll kill myself. I will. Don’t test me, doll.”
“Oh my God.”
“I love you so much. I can’t live without you.” He shifted the gun down, pressing it under his chin, tilting his head back so he was looking down the barrel of his own mortality. “I can’t live without you. You know that. You’ve always known that.”
You stood there, frozen, arms hanging limp at your sides. And because your mouth had no filter, you heard yourself murmur, “We’ve only been dating for seven months.”
Bucky’s eyes widened, just a fraction. The gun wavered. And for a split second, you could have sworn you saw a flicker of embarrassment cross his face.
But then he recovered, pressing the barrel harder against the soft flesh beneath his jaw. “Seven months and twenty-five days.”
“You counted?”
“I know what I’ve got, sweetheart. And I’m not letting it go.” His voice dropped, low and serious, “Not even if it kills me.”
You could only stare at this fool for so long before your head dropped to your chest, a small, disbelieving chuckle slipping past your lips.
His brow furrowed. The gun stayed pressed under his chin, but his eyes narrowed, “I’m about to put a bullet through my skull and you’re laughing?”
You pursed your lips, trying to smother your smile, and let out a long exhale, tilting your head as you looked up at him, “I wanna say I’m too old for this shit,” you said dryly, “but you’re a hell of a lot older than me, so… what do we do now?”
“I—” He faltered. Adjusted his grip on the revolver. “That’s not how you’re supposed to talk to me.”
Your brows knit together. “How am I supposed to talk to you, then?”
The more unaffected you seemed, the more his frustration bled through. The barrel shifted slightly, a tiny wobble, and he reset it against the soft skin under his chin. His jaw tightened. He looked at you like you were the unreasonable one.
“You’re supposed to be begging me to stop. Crying. Telling me you love me.” He gestured with his free hand, the motion jerky, like he was trying to reassert control over the situation. “That’s how this works.”
You stared at him for a long moment after that, not really knowing what else to say anymore.
Instead you clapped your hands together, and sighed, “Well. I gotta go.”
“Wait—what?”
You started edging toward the door, slow and casual, like you were just stretching your legs. Your eyes never left his face, but your hand was already reaching behind you, fingers searching for the doorknob. “I’ve got a nail appointment in, like, ten minutes that I’m probably gonna be late for.”
His eye twitched. A micro-spasm of disbelief. The gun rotated in his grip, not raising, just… shifting.
“I’m about to kill myself,” he said, each word enunciated like he was speaking to a child, “and you’re leaving for a nail appointment.”
“Yeah,” you said flatly, your fingers brushing the brass knob. “And you know how expensive Yelena’s late fee is.”
“You can’t be serious.” His voice dropped, softer now, almost reasonable. “I’m standing here with a gun to my head, begging you not to leave me, and you’re worried about a late fee? Is that really what our relationship means to you?”
“I am completely serious,” you said, ignoring the barb.
Before he could retort, your hand finally found the doorknob. You turned it, yanked the door open.
Late afternoon air hit your face, and then you were moving, sliding through the gap, your heels clicking on the hardwood of the foyer onto the worn birch of his porch.
“For fuck’s sake—”
He yelled your name, the sound bouncing off the walls and chasing you down the steps. Behind you, you heard the heavy thunk of the gun hitting the floor and then the heavy thud of his shoes on the porch, scrambling after you.
You had a head start. By the time you reached your car, you could hear him gaining, swearing under his breath, probably calculating how much force it would take to haul you back inside.
Your key found the lock on the first try. You slid into the driver’s seat, slammed the door, and had the engine roaring to life before he reached the bumper.
He stopped at the end of the driveway, hands on his hips, chest heaving.
You rolled down the window. just an inch, just enough for your voice to carry.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Your tone was calm, almost kind. “We’ll try and have this conversation again. Try not to do anything stupid while I’m gone. And please, for the love of god Bucky, throw that thing away.”
His jaw tightened. His mouth opened, a cutting retort forming, something designed to burrow under your skin and make you feel guilty for walking out on a man who’d just threatened to blow his brains out—
But you were already pulling away from the curb, your taillights the only answer he got.
In your rearview mirror, you watched him stand there, frozen at the edge of the driveway, watching you disappear around the corner.
Let him stew, you thought, gunning the engine toward the salon. He’ll be fine. He always is.
“He pulled out a gun?”
Yelena didn’t look up from your hand, her focus razor-sharp as she filed the edge of your nail into a perfect almond shape.
The salon smelled like acetone and rose-scented hand cream, a combination that had become oddly comforting over the months you’d been coming here. Rows of pink-lit mirrors lined the walls, reflecting the quiet hum of drill bits and the occasional burst of Russian pop music from the speakers.
Yelena’s station was in the back corner, the one with the good lighting and the jar of complimentary vodka shots she kept under the counter for “loyal customers only.”
“Yeah,” you muttered dryly, adjusting your lashes as she moved to your left hand. “I won’t lie—for a moment there, I thought it was about to become a murder-suicide type of situation.”
Yelena pointed the file at you, nodding. “I see a lot of white American men do that on the news.” She tapped the file against her chin, thoughtful. “Where do they get such easy access to guns?”
You could only shrug, the movement pulling at the foil wraps on your other hand. “When you figure that out, please let me know.”
She made a noncommittal hum and returned to work, picking up a tube of gel glue and a single extension.
“So,” she said, not looking up, “you are done with this mad man, da?”
You opened your mouth to answer. Then you closed it. Then you opened it again, but nothing came out. Your face must have done something odd, because Yelena’s eyes snapped to yours.
“Girl.”
“What?” you said defensively.
“You have that look,” she said, pressing the extension into place with practiced care. “That look where normal, beautiful women stay with ugly loser men.”
You pointed a finger at her. “He’s not ugly.”
Yelena just stared at you. Three full seconds of that unblinking Russian gaze. Then she shook her head slowly, “Da. Is confirmed. You are hopeless.”
“It is not that simple,” you said a bit hopelessly.
“Then make it simple so I understand,” she said bluntly. She picked up the UV lamp and slid your hand under it, the blue light casting a sterile glow across your fingers. “Explain to me like I am child.”
You let out a long exhale, slumping back into the chair. The cushion squeaked beneath you. Where to even start? How to explain the gravitational pull of a man who was equal parts sweet and suffocating?
“See, being with a man—it’s like... taking the time to invest in him so it can benefit you a lot. And with James, I’ve invested a lot.” You gestured vaguely. “Time. Energy. Emotional labour. I know his routines, his moods, the way he takes his coffee. I’ve memorised which arguments get him to back down and which ones make him double down. That’s work, Yelena. That’s equity. And as a result I’ve grown very comfortable with him.”
She pulled your hand out of the lamp, inspected the nail, and grunted. “And you are still comfortable with the man even after he kept you hostage, threatening you with a gun?”
“But he wasn’t threatening me,” you emphasised, straightening up. “He threatened himself to keep me. There’s a difference.”
Yelena stopped. Set down the glue. Turned to face you fully, both hands flat on the table in front of her.
“There is no difference,” she said flatly. “Gun is gun. Threat is threat. Man who points gun at himself to make you stay is still pointing gun at you. You are just standing behind bullet path.”
“I probably sounds insane.”
“It is insane,” she corrected, picking up the glue again. “But I am not your mother. I am your friend, more importantly, nail technician. So I will make your nails beautiful, and you will go home to your crazy gun man, and maybe one day you will learn.”
She pressed another extension into place with a decisive click. “Or maybe you will be on news. I will watch and say, ‘I told her.’”
You stared at her.
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” you finally said, your voice dry as the cotton balls in the jar beside you.
Yelena just lifted one sleek blonde brow, her expression flat as a frozen lake. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she picked up your right hand, examined your natural nails, and then looked you dead in the eye.
“He must have a big dick, huh?”
The question came out flat, like she was asking about the weather or the price of gel. No judgment. Just pure, clinical curiosity.
You felt your cheeks warm despite yourself. “Yes he does.”
“Of course. Is always the way. Beautiful women stay with crazy men for one of two reasons; money or dick.” She picked up a file, examining the edge of your nail with a critical eye. “Big dick explains many things. The gun. The madness. The way you keep going back like a moth to flame. Is biological. Men with big dicks and small brains create chemical dependency in women. Very common in America.”
“But he’s kind,” you said, holding up your hand to count on your fingers. “And thoughtful. And attentive—”
“And crazy, and pathetic, and clingy,” she interrupted, picking up a new extension, examined it against your nail.
You rolled your eyes, actually rolled them, like a teenager being lectured.
She lifted her green eyes to yours, and there was something almost fond in them. “You are just as crazy as him.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are,” she repeated, “You like his craziness. And his clingyness. And even when you complain about it, it makes you feel special.” She paused, her gaze flicking to yours. “And horny.”
You opened your mouth to protest. Closed it.
You thought about the way Bucky’s texts made your stomach flip; equal parts annoyance and that warm, someone wants me satisfaction. The way his desperation and dominance in bed made you feel like the center of his entire universe.
“Oh fuck,” you said, the realization settling over you, “I’m a cliché.”
Yelena shrugged, reaching for the topcoat. “Da. But you are cliché with very nice nails. So at least you look good while being pathetic.”
“… Thanks,” you muttered dryly.
Then your phone rang.
You reached for it automatically, half expecting Bucky’s name to light up the screen with another round of I miss you texts. But instead, an unknown number stared back at you,a New York area code you didn’t recognize.
You frowned, swiped to answer, and pressed the phone to your ear.
“Hello?”
Yelena pretended not to watch. She busied herself with oiling your cuticles, her blonde head bowed, her movements steady. But her eyes kept flicking up to you.
“He what?!”
The shriek tore out of you before you could stop it. The sound bounced off the salon’s white walls, and every head in the place swiveled toward you. You felt the weight of fifteen pairs of eyes on your back, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.
You listened. Nodded. Your eyes stayed fixed on a spot on the wall where a poster advertised acrylics with a woman’s perfectly manicured hand draped across her face.
“Uh huh. Mhm-mhm.”
Your face scrunched. Then, slowly, your shoulders relaxed, the tension bleeding out of them as you let out a breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.
“Seriously? Okay. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, thank you.”
You hung up and turned to Yelena, who had stopped pretending to be disinterested. Her eyebrows were raised, as she tilted her head. “What was that?”
You let out a long, slow sigh and held up your freshly done nails, admiring the pink gloss under the neon light.
“Fool shot himself in the foot. Literally. And guess who was listed as his emergency contact?”
Yelena let out a low whistle and shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line of amused disbelief. She took the cash you dug out of your purse, counted it without looking, and tucked it into the pocket of her apron.
“That is a level of pathetic that has never been reached before,” she said. “Not even in my country.”
“Tell me about it.”
Your shoes clicked against the polished linoleum as you followed the signs to the orthopedics wing.
You still didn’t know what you were going to say to him. Every option cycled through your head—swearing him out, dumping him right there in the hospital bed, maybe throwing your heel at his head for good measure.
The words break up had been sitting on your tongue since you left the salon, a clean cut to end this unnecessary nonsense for good.
But then you rounded the corner to his floor, and your feet slowed without permission.
The door to his room was partially visible through the slatted blinds, and you slowed as you approached, your heels clicking to a stop on the linoleum. Through the narrow gaps, you could see him.
Bucky sat propped against the pillows, his right foot elevated in a crisp white cast that ran from mid-calf to his toes, the edges already starting to scuff from the hospital sheets.
He was still wearing that blue knitted sweater from earlier. It pulled tight across his chest as he sat up straight, hands resting on his thighs, nodding slowly at something the doctor was saying.
His jaw was set, brows furrowed in that serious, focused expression he used whenever he wasn’t speaking to someone other than you, the one that made him look very stoic and grouchy. A stark contrast to the disheveled, manic mess he’d been a few hours ago.
Bucky listened, his eyes fixed on her, the picture of a composed, well-adjusted adult. He didn’t look like a man who had accidentally shot himself in the foot.
And as you stood there, in the harsh fluorescent light of a hospital corridor, realized that you really did love him.
There was no way you were breaking up with him. Unfortunately, you were stuck with this idiot. This beautiful, emotionally unstable, big-hearted fool who couldn’t even orchestrate a proper suicide threat without maiming himself in the process.
The doctor finished her spiel, gave a polite nod, and turned to leave. You stepped back, plastering a courteous smile on your face as she passed, her heels clicking in a rhythm that matched your own. Then you pushed the door open.
Bucky’s head snapped up, and his blue eyes found you instantly.
The guarded, stoic mask crumbled replaced by something embarrassed, a flush creeping up his neck, his lips parting as if to speak but hesitating.
“Now before you say anything,” he started. “I really was planning on getting rid of it. And I did not plan on shooting myself in the foot. It was an accident. I was moving it, and I—”
You didn’t let him finish. You crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the collar of the blue sweater, and pressed your lips to his.
He made a surprised sound—a muffled mmph—but it melted into something softer, his hands finding your waist almost instinctively, pulling you closer until your knees bumped the edge of the bed.
The kiss was warm, tasting faintly of hospital coffee and mint. His fingers curled into the fabric of your jacket, and you felt the tension drain out of his shoulders, his whole body sagging into you.
When you finally broke away, you were both breathing a little heavier. You stayed close, your forehead resting against his, your lips brushing his as you murmured, “No break.”
His eyes fluttered open, and the look on his face was something else entirely. You’d never seen a man who accidentally shot himself in the foot look so happy. The corners of his mouth twitched, then spread into a slow, boyish grin that softened all the hard edges of his face.
And that’s how you ended up sprawled sideways across the narrow hospital bed, one leg dangling off the edge, clipboard balanced on your knee as you scribbled through the stack of discharge paperwork.
Bucky was propped beside you, his shoulder pressed into your side, his arm looping around your waist. Every few minutes, he’d shift, his lips brushing against your shoulder through the thin cotton of your top.
You were halfway through entering his insurance information when he lifted your free hand, and brought it to his mouth. His lips pressed against your knuckles, before he turned your hand over and examined the nails.
“Pretty,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the glossy edge.
You hummed, not looking up from the paperwork. “Yelena had a lot to say about us.”
“Yeah?” He shifted slightly, his interest piqued. “Like what?”
You shrugged, the motion jostling his head gently. “Just very true things.”
“Such as?” he pressed, his lips brushing your jaw, a gentle nudge.
You turned your face toward him, and he met you halfway. The kiss was brief and soft, your lips lingered just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath, the slight curve of a smile forming against yours.
“That we’re both crazy,” you said, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, “And i agree.”
A beat of silence.
Then he let out a low chuckle, before settling his head back against your shoulder. “Whatever you say, doll.”
I locked tf in reading this. chat you have no idea how long I've been feening for this fic (I only waited a month but still.)
Even with his corny ass mustache.
girl get up I can't keep defending you 😭
You did not, in theory, like a man who looked like he’d tip his hat at you and call you “doll.”
IM CRYING NOT THE TIPS HAT GUY. "hey there pwincess" 😉
the multiple text messages in a day. I think I've seen this film before.
the "😭 pls stop" text oh girl you're so relatable. my sister just another me
“I buy you clothes.” Thud. Thud. “I pay for dinners.” Thud. “For hair appointments. For nails—”
Nails. Shit. You had an appointment with Yelena in thirty minutes.
IM CRYINGFS FSF
dany, this fic was everything and more. i dipped my toes in expecting to feel bad for bucky and the reader for being in such a toxic relationship, but your comedic timing actually had me laughing and grinning ear to ear. bruh you're so fucking funny 😭😭this fic was surprisingly endearing in a romcom type of way despite having dark and sensitive themes and i loved that so much moreuhhhh
the way she was interacting with her friends was so realistic!!! her reactions to the texts and the text message exchanges themselves were spot on!!!! dany's self inserting because this fic feels so real
and don't even get me started on the smut. don't even joke lad.
10/10 would fuck mustache again
🤍 Angie 🤍 @throwmethroughawindow - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
