Just Me

“So nice to me, sweetheart.” He mocks, leaning a little further down. “Bet you dream about me, don’t you. Up all night with that rabbit Nat got you-“

You shove your foot up, slamming it square on his chest. He’d been getting too close. You’d been able to smell his cologne, and it made your head spin like opium. Bucky laughs again, walking away like you’re not even worth the argument. Your heart stings, but you ignore it. It’s an old bruise. You’re usually good at not pressing it, at pretending it doesn’t exist.

But Bucky exists only to torture you. So it never fully heals.

He’d been teasing about the rabbit thing. It had been a gag gift for secret Santa, and after Nat had even gotten you a very nice pair of shoes when you were in private. But Bucky’s clung onto it, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever thought of. You, with a vibrator. You possibly being able to get off, when you’re the uptight little prude. The one who never brings back hookups, never dates, just sits in corners like an ivy, clinging to the shadows and watching everything else live around her.

You’ve never been fun. Never been someone Bucky would’ve chosen to know. He didn’t choose to know you. You knew a girl who worked with another girl, and that girl had a boyfriend who knew a girl who needed a roommate. You needed a roommate. You had good credit—because you’re boring—and the girl interviewing you had taken a liking to you.

Natasha rode a motorcycle. She worked in a job she was allowed to tell you about—something in black ops, that explained all the wigs in her closet—and spoke five languages. She baked calm down, and went to shooting ranges to calm down, and insisted on getting you a gun license so she’d feel more comfortable with all the hidden guns in the house.

“Hidden guns?” You’d asked, feeling your face blanch. She’d just smiled.

“You’ll never find them all. Let’s go, it’ll be easy.”

It had not been easy. But you understood how—to someone like Nat—it might be. She’d never lost patience with you, but she’d still made it look easy. When you’d gotten home and mumbled that you needed to go shower for an hour, she’d just patted your head like you were a bunny and smiled.

She might’ve been your first real friend in a while. Because it’s not that you’re not… personable. You’re just a little mean tongued. And nervous. And boring, and blunt, and you don’t like leaving the house unless someone grabs the scruff of your neck and drags you. You go to work, and you go home, and that’s mostly it. Your closest friends before Natasha had been co-workers. And you’d been really, truly happy with that.

But interesting people have interesting friends.

Natasha had a lot of friends. And they moved in and out of your apartment like they lived there. 

Tony was a tech titan who you used to watch on the news, and now he left crumbs all over your couch. Wanda was a refugee and artist, and Clint worked in that same black ops thing Nat did. Steve had worked in it, but left to start his own non-profit with Sam. They all went far back, to elementary schools and playgrounds and clubs. They had history, but they were kind to you. Treated you like your little bachelor’s degree and normal person job fit in with their grand showmanship and large personalities that had been sucked right off the movie screen.

Most of them treated you like that.

Bucky didn’t.

Before you’d been introduced to him, Nat had described his as basically Steve’s brother, and it had been a striking endorsement. Steve had been kind to you. He brought you to a movie you’d really wanted to see, and never made fun of your stuffed animal collection. No brother of his could be all that bad, certainly not one even Nat described as charming and kind and not bad on the eyes.

Only one of those things was true.

Bucky Barnes is not bad on the eyes. You’d classify as maybe a medicine for the eyes, a miracle for the eyes, a blessing on a weary and tired viewer. He works in security or something, and it shows in his body. Sometimes he lets his hair grow out, and it’s frames his strong jaw and nose perfectly, all while making you want to run your fingers through each lock. You’re sure it would be like petting a very well-kept dog. He cares for it better than you care for yourself.

He’s got those eyes that knocked all the thoughts out of you, the moment you saw him. They’d sparkled and shone with his polite, white smile, and you’d just been swaying there like a lost scarecrow in a tornado. Your brain had been reduced to a fuzzy TV static and loud blaring noise, like you’d lost your own connection. Bucky had flexed his hand, a silent reminder you were supposed to shake it, and you hadn’t been able to get enough control over your body to even smile back.

His hand had been big. Calloused, with thick fingers and a lot of tiny scars. You’d shivered just at the idea of his touch. It might’ve been warm.

Might’ve been.

If Bucky had ever bothered to touch you at all.

By the time you’d dragged control back into your body, Bucky had given up and moved on. His ears had been a little red, in the moments after. You’d opened your mouth to apologize, make any excuse that would get him to offer a hand again.

He’d turned and walked away. Hadn’t looked at you for the rest of the night.

And when he looks at you now, it’s with something sharp behind his gaze. He never looks at anyone else like that. Never teases or mocks them, either. Acting like their mere presence in the room is a plague on his refined, perfect existence. He certainly never suggests they won’t be able to make it up five flights of stairs or asks if they’re sure they want to go out for the night.

You hate stairs. And you don’t want to go out for the night.

There’s only one thing more powerful than your picky little aversions, though.

The petty, blistering feeling at the top of your chest, that refuses to let Bucky win.

“You’re really coming with us?” Bucky calls your name from the kitchen, and you lift your chin, trying to look down your nose at the massive man.

“I was invited.”

“You’re always invited, you never actually get off the damn couch-“

“Barnes.” Nat walks past him, whacking his arm. “Don’t question miracles.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a miracle-“

“Yes it is.” She grabs your arm, hauling you off the couch like you weigh nothing. “I’ve been asking you to do this for years, I’m not letting Bucky frighten you off with his Buckying.”

That makes you giggle, and Bucky frowns. You catch him shooting Steve a look you can’t really read, and Steve just shrugs in return.

“I’m not trying to ruin it.” Bucky says, lofty and bored. “I’m just sayin’ she never comes out with us, and it might be a lot for the little doe to be shoved into the jungle or whatever-“

“You’re a poet.” Natasha says, giving him a flat glare. “Go wait in the car.”

Bucky scowls. “The car-“

“If you act like a dog, you wait in the car.”

“I am not acting like a dog-“

Sam raises his hand. “I caught him humping the furniture this mornin’ when he heard about it-“

“Sam.” Bucky hisses. “Shut the hell up before I knock your teeth out-“

“Steven.” Nat gives him a firm nod, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I got it.”

Bucky and Sam aren’t small men, but Steve grabs them by the collar and drags them out of the room without breaking a sweat. Leaving you and Nat in a suddenly very quiet apartment, a lingering smell of spice and pine still clouding the air.

Another reason you hate Bucky coming over. He’s mean to you, and he’s nice to everyone else, and he questions you then leaves the whole room stained in his presence.

“Ignore Barnes.” Natasha says it like an order, and it probably is.

You smile at her. “I always do.”

You think it comes off airy and convincing. Nat looks at you like she’s trying not to either scoff, or laugh. Before you can insist on anything, she’s grabbing your hand and dragging you into the bathroom. You did promise you’d let her get you ready. When you’d told her you could do makeup and prep yourself, she’d snorted and said maybe, but I’ll do it better.

One of the first lessons you learned was not to argue with Natasha when she’s sure of something. You let her sit you on the counter and sort through your makeup bag, finding everything she deems worthy of being on your face tonight. Your outfit hangs on the door, and you did choose that, but after Nat vetoed three others.

It’s nothing special. A short dress and heels that will blend right in a club. It hadn’t been that different from your other suggestions. But it had gotten a curt nod of approval and smirk from Nat, so it had something. You’re smarter than to question what.

“You should talk to Bucky tonight.” Nat says suddenly, and you blink at her in surprise.

“I- What?”

“Make him apologize. For being an ass to you.”

“That’s- It’s fine-“

“No, it’s not.” Nat gives you a firm look, and you sigh.

“I know, but- I don’t really care, okay? That’s just- It’s Bucky, right?”

You give her a weak smile, and this one doesn’t even convince you.

It is just Bucky. He’s charming and sweet and handsome, and he hates just you. So you hate him in return, just for being so perfect and deciding you’re the only person in the world not worthy of his attention. It would be easier if he really was a bad man. If you didn’t know he volunteered with kids and Steve’s foundation, if he didn’t advocate for his fellow veterans, if he hadn’t made his ma’s chicken soup when you and Nat had both caught something last winter, and taken the time to drop it off in person.

For Nat.

Because you’re just… Not worth it for him. Not worth his time, not worth his smiling, barely worth anything more than glowering stares and taunting words. And you’re not weak. You fight back every day, and keep all of your desires and affection buried deep in the pit of your stomach and swollen like an infection around your heart.

He never has to know that you think about him all the time. That you feel yourself bloom whenever your eyes meet, then wither when his gaze snaps away. Whenever he presses his body over yours just to tease you, the heat of his body makes your breath hitch. You spend long days daydreaming about how good a boyfriend he’d be, if he didn’t hate you. Attentive and caring and giving.

Every night you think about how giving he’d be. Flowers and coffee like he brings Wanda for galleries, or for Nat or Clint when they’ve been working late night shifts. He likes watching TV, you know, because he spends a lot of time sitting next to you on the couch and loudly making comments until you threaten to force-feed him bleach. But if that wasn’t the blunt and unforgiving knife of reality, you could just lay in his arms forever.

He could pick you up and carry you to bed. The same bed that you put that accursed vibrated between your legs, close your eyes, and dream of him railing you into the mattress. Fucking you until you can’t stand, until you can’t speak or thing, until your eyes are rolling back and your mouth can’t even figure out how to close, so he kisses you possessively or gives you some of those thick fingers to suck on-

“You should still talk to him.” Natasha’s words are blunt. If she’s noticed how you’ve been working yourself up, she doesn’t say a single word. “Before he does something stupid.”

You snort. “Bucky always does something dumb-“

“No. He does a lot of dumb things. Close your eyes.” Nat picks up an eyeliner, and you obey. “But there’s a difference between dumb and stupid. Stupid is harder to take back.”

You grunt, and you don’t think anything stupid Bucky does is going to have anything to do with you. But something scratches at your brain, and it’s green and bitter. Your fingers fidget in your lap, and you shouldn’t ask, but-

“Is he bringing someone?” You blurt, and just the idea makes you sick. Bucky with some model-type, holding her hips while she grinds onto him, all the honey he’d pour into her ears and down her throat while you just hugged yourself in the corner of the room. Her sitting on his lap in your apartment, you trying to hide the ugliness of jealousy but never being able to spare her more than a crude sneer. It’s the only reason Nat would possibly want you to talk to him. You and Bucky’s childish game of pulling each other’s hair and biting without teeth and seeing who breaks first, it ruins his picture of the perfect suitor. If you keep it up, you’ll ruin this for him, and he deserves to be happy but the thought of him being happy while you just sink into yourself like quicksand makes you want to die-

“Jesus, no.” Nat laughs. “That’s- Never mind.” She shakes her head, still chuckling about some secret you apparently don’t get to be a part of.

“What?” You try to push. “I’ve heard about his- You know. Promiscuity.”

Nat snorts. “From who?”

“Sam.”

“Sam’s an idiot.” She dismisses plainly, and you frown.

“Tony’s mentioned it too-“

“They’re both idiots.”

“Bucky’s told me, he said he leaves all his girls satisfied-“

“Bucky is the biggest idiot of all of them. Open.”

You listen again, and find Nat smiling at you with a strangely soft affection. Like you’re some wet kitten she rescued off the street.

“Put on your dress.” She says, wiping the corners of your slightly pouting lips. “Talk to Barnes.”

At the very least, you manage to follow one of those orders.

The dress is a little shorter than you thought it would be. It rides up your thighs, forcing you to pull it down with every step. In the car you cross your legs and stare at the floor, grounding yourself in the bass of Nat’s loud music as your heartbeat starts to pick up. You’re going out. You’re going out. Spiting Bucky was not a good enough reason to do this, it’s going to be loud and you can dance but not in front of strangers, and you’re going to be even more boring than usual and you feel like a fraud.

“Nice dress.”

Bucky’s voice is a low behind you, his breath fanning on your neck. You almost scream.

“Christ, calm down.” He’s grinning when you whip around, leaning forward in his seat to whisper. Sam and Steve are next to him, one very pointedly staring out the window, the other looking at something on his phone and humming like he’s already trying to drown out you and Bucky’s fighting.

“You scared me-“

“You saw me get in the car, sweetheart. Not my fault you’re jumpy-“

“I am not jumpy-“

“You are. Like a bunny.” His grin widens, and you scowl.

The shifting streetlamps make him look like an angel. Golden halo rays behind his head, long shadows that make him look even more rugged than usual. His lips look fuller, softer, eyes glimmering like a floodlight through the dark, and-

“Shut up.” You snap, turning back around. You can’t keep looking at him. It’s dangerous.

“I was just saying your dress was nice.” Bucky’s breath tickles your neck. You wrap your arms tight around your stomach.

“You also called me a rabbit.”

“Called you a bunny-“

“That’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s-“ He sighs, shaking his head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

You flip him off over your shoulder, glaring firmly out the windshield. You can feel him retreat, but the closeness had lit up your nerves, and now they’re buzzing with hope that he’ll return.

Stupid fucking body. Stupid fucking Bucky.

You refuse to look at him when you arrive. You stumble a little bit in your heels—Natsha insisted on six inch, which is far too tall for anyone—and Bucky catches your arm, holding you upright. You brush his hand off like a fly and march on, refusing to give him the satisfaction of some other comment about how you’re like a baby deer.

When you get inside, you can smell it. The stench of sweat and alcohol and something fruity they probably use to cover the first smells. You cling to Natasha, letting her guide you through the crowd to the bar. She orders you two shots because you need them, and you don’t argue. Between Bucky and the club, you do. 

You down them both without flinching, and Sam whistles from behind you.

“Damn, you took those like a champ.”

You shrug, and Sam elbows Bucky.

“You see that, Buck-“

“Yeah. I saw it.”

Bucky’s voice is lower than usual. Almost sullen. You’d examine him, try to figure out what’s wrong with him, but you’re not supposed to be letting yourself care. He’s not your problem tonight. You’re here to indulge in fun.

You’re already not very good at that as is. Bucky’s consuming presence isn’t going to help.

Another drink might.

You’re three shots in when Nat brings you out to the dance floor. The liquor is pulling you lose, the frayed knot that’s always in your chest going slack enough to allow you to dance. You’re smiling and laughing like a normal person, almost completely able to forget to check where Bucky is in the room.

Near the edge of the crowd, drinking and talking to Steve.

A fourth shot might be needed.

You’re smiling like a fool now. The room is tilted a little, all the colors neon, but they blind out your usual worried and the tilt helps your worries slide off your body. You’re able to forget about Bucky until you notice a girl talking to him, and you take a fifth shot. A sixth, when he vanishes for nine and a half minutes, and your brain starts to map everything he might be doing to that girl.

Seven, when the first stranger asks you to dance and you’re not drunk enough to forget about Bucky and say yes.

Eight, when he tries to kiss you and you shove him away, because his lips aren’t pink enough and he’s not broad enough for you to every pretend.

Nat tries to cut you off there. You slip past her, and take a ninth. The room is just a blur now. You can’t fully remember who Nat is, and why you’re trying to avoid her. There’s a man with his hands on your hips, and he’s got dark hair that looks too greasy for you to touch. Another man calls you sweetheart, but he says it a little wrong and it makes you want to cry. None of them have the right eyes, and the ones that are closer don’t have the right smile.

You feel like you’re going to cry, by the time you’ve rejected the eleventh man. Or only fourth. Numbers don’t feel real right now. Most everything doesn’t feel real.

Everything except Bucky.

Because your own name is just a sound in your head that sounds foreign, but Bucky says it and you know to turn around.

It’s less because it’s your name. More because Bucky called you.

You smile, swaying on your feet, and you’re not even sure where you are anymore. It’s somewhere with a lot of people. Loud music. It’s dark, but bright at the same time, and Bucky looks like a walking dream as he moves towards you. Your vision swims, but he’s made of clear lines and a stern expression.

He’s mad at you. Your face falls, lip wobbling, and you take a step back. You don’t want him to be mad at you. Your heart is already beating in your ears, Bucky’s anger or distain might make it burst.

“Where the hell did you go?” He snaps, and you bow your head.

“I- I dunno-“ You hiccup, hugging yourself tight.

“Nat’s been looking for you, Steve barely stopped her from trying to make the building go into lockdown, and I-“ He cuts himself off, running a hand over his face, and you blink the tears away.

You’re looking up at him under your lashes, and he’s still angry. Some distant voice in your head tells you it’s your fault entirely. That he must’ve been about to go home with someone when they lost you, and now he’s pissed he had to pause his night to find you. You sniff, wiping your nose with your arm.

Bucky’s frown deepens. He takes a step forward, and you try to step back but balance feels like an Olympic feat right now.

His arm loops around your waist, pulling you right against his chest. You stare up at him, tears streaming down your cheeks from feelings you can’t even name anymore. They’re hollow and big and full and made of a million little cuts. They burn in your heart and through your blood, but also freeze in your throat and muscles. You can’t move. You don’t want to move.

Bucky’s big hand is splayed on your back, and you don’t want to go anywhere you can’t feel him.

That voice from before reminds you that’s not allowed, so you wiggle a little.

Bucky holds you tighter, and you surrender in a split second. His frown deepens, and you think you’re still crying. Your cheeks are certainly burning, and your throat feels oddly tight.

Gentle fingers brush under your eyes, and you hum softly. Bucky’s nostrils flare, those fingers brushing hair from your face before cupping the back of your head, forcing your gaze onto his.

“Jesus, woman.” He mutters, those beautiful eyes scanning over your slack face. “How much did you have to drink.”

“I dunno.” You breathe. His brow furrows.

“Best guess.”

You shrug, shaking your head, and Bucky sighs. You want to shrink and hide from him, from his obvious annoyance and disappointment. It’s nothing new, but it’s raw like this. You can’t figure out anything, let alone how to pretend like his hatred doesn’t bother you. You try to turn and hide your face, but Bucky just pulls it right back.

“Over five?” He prompts, and his voice is so soft. Like he’s trying to coax the answer out of you.

“I- I don’t know.” You whine slightly, and he sighs.

“Yeah. Alright.” Bucky’s throat bobs, and he looks up. Glances around you, his hands never leaving your body.

You stare up at him in the dark. You’re not supposed to be looking at him, but it’s impossible. He’s magnetic, and beautiful, and you’ve never been this close to him without one of you trying to claw at the other.

But your fingers cling to the fabric of his shirt, and it’s not to draw blood. You just don’t think that if he walks away you’re going to be able to stand up.

Bucky looks back down at you, and his tongue flicks over his lips. His thumb drags slowly over your cheekbone, leaving a little trail of fire in its wake. Your breathing gets shallow, your eyes fluttering. Everything feels like a lot. Like you’re so high in the atmosphere the air is starting to get thin. Bucky’s brow furrows, and he works his jaw like he does when he’s thinking.

You’ve always wanted to reach up and touch the lines that form on his face, when he worries. They’re deep, and still handsome, but they only ever mark that he’s stressed. He shouldn’t be. It’s only you, and you’re nothing to him.

He lets out a heavy breath through his nose, his hand dragging down to cup the back of your neck. You tip your head back, waiting for him to do something. Kiss you. Bite you. Slam you back against the wall and relieve the ache, building up between your thighs. Maybe just smell you and let his lips brush over a sensitive spot on your neck, teasing you like always until you’re crying and begging for him. 

Instead, Bucky just sighs. He pulls you forward, twisting you until you’re in front of him. His arms cage you to his chest, and he’s almost herding you down the hall.

“Where’re we going?” You tip your head back, and find him glowering at everyone around you.

They’re all moving so fast, stumbling in your path then scrambling away under Bucky’s glower. His eyes flick down to yours for a second, and maybe it’s the delusions of grandeur and liquor, but you could swear they soften slightly.

“We’re gettin’ you home.” He mutters, shouldering the door open. “You need to sleep this off.”

You wrinkle your nose as the chill of night air hits you. “But it’s cold-“

“Car will be warm.”

“But we don’t have a car-“

“We’re taking Nat’s.”

You scoff. “Nat would never give you her car-“

“Well, she did.” He grunts, voice dropping under his breath. “You’d never give me your car.”

“I don’t have a car.” You snap, and Bucky chuckles dryly.

“Yeah, I know.” He opens the door, giving you an amused look. “Up and in, baby.”

Your whole world stops for a second. You feel like you’re floating, a ditzy smile crossing your face, and you start to giggle because he called you baby. Bucky called you baby, like you matter to him, and he’s touching you.

Bucky sighs when you don’t move, and bends down. He scoops you up and drops you in the car like you weigh nothing. You’re still giggling when he closes the door and walks around the hood, sliding into the driver’s seat. For a second you stop, looking out the club with a frown. The world is still hazy, but you can see the neon sign, and it feels like you’re forgetting things that are very important-

“They’re all goin’ back to our place.” Bucky grunts, and you look over to find him staring at you with one of those stone-faced, unreadable expressions that he only uses around you. “It’s closer, cab will be cheaper.”

You frown. “Why aren’t they riding with us?”

“’Cause we’re going back to yours.”

“Why?”

“’Cause.” Is all Bucky offers. He starts the car before you can ask another question, and puts his arm around your seat to back out of the spot.

Nat has a back cam. He just always does it like this, and you’ve always chalked it up to his big, responsible man thing. Usually when the arm is around you, you glare out the window and pretend you can’t feel how close he is. How his fingers brush your upper arm, or how his smell gets stronger.

Tonight you can’t really remember why you do that. And Bucky does really smell good.

You turn your cheek, pressing it into his bicep. Bucky freezes, the car jerking to a stop, and you can feel his attention. It sparks a tiny fire in your core, and seeps down between your thighs. Your lips graze his skin, and he coughs.

His fingers dip down, brushing near your collarbone. You hum happily, and the car starts moving again.

When you’re out of the parking lot, Bucky doesn’t remove his arm like usual. You’re grateful. If he did, you might have chased it right into his lap.

“You have fun?” Bucky breaks the silence, voice gruff.

You nod, turning to watch him drive. He always does it in a way that’s almost unfairly attractive. He holds the wheel lazily, like he knows it’s under his control. You want him to hold you like that.

Bucky clears his throat. “You, uh- You did good.”

“Good?” You murmur, not fully understanding the praise.

You know it makes you throb, and press your thighs together. Bucky’s eyes flick to the motion, and his throat bobs.

“Yeah.” His grip on the wheel is white knuckled. “Good.”

Silence settles again, and you let yourself stare at him. He’s beautiful. So beautiful it makes you unsure that he’s real. You’d like to trace the line of his jaw, hear his smooth, deep voice again. Hear it say your name, because it’s the only thing that reminds you that you’re real. You can’t remember why you ever deprived yourself of this. Of him, and all his quiet glory. He’s a loud man, but never boastful.

He’s only really boastful to you. When he fixes the shower for Nat or someone brings up his army service, he waves them off and laughs, and you’ve always loved that about him. You love most things about him, even when he’s being insufferable. You sort of love that he’s insufferable, too. You’re not that easy either. And if you wrapped around him, you’re hoping he’d be too chivalrous to cut you off. He could mock you all he wants, you’d just hide your face in his neck and breathe him in. Grounding. Handsome. Impossible to resist.

Your fingers are itching, to touch that sad little furrow. There’s nothing for him to worry about. The world revolves around him.

“Saw you got some numbers.” He grunts suddenly, and you pause.

“Numbers?”

“Phone numbers.”

“Oh.” You reach for you bag, checking that the hard line of your phone is still there. It is. You don’t know what he’s talking about.

“You gonna call any of them?”

“Any of who?”

Bucky gives you an exasperated look, then double takes slightly. His worry lines deepen. It makes you pout, grabbing at your own hands to stop them from reaching for him.

“The guys.” He says slowly, frowning at the road. “That you were talkin’ to.”

Oh. Phone numbers. “No.”

His brows raise. “No?”

You shake your head, and Bucky prompts you with an oddly tight voice.

“Why?”

They’re not you. Even your drunk brain seems to know it’s bad idea to say that. “I didn’t want them.”

“Hm.” Bucky taps his hand on the wheel, shooting you a strange look. “Why?”

You can’t tell him that, but you also can’t think of a good excuse this time. You make a lame, half-hearted sigh, and turn your face back into his arm.

He doesn’t push it. He doesn’t talk for the rest of the drive. His thumb drags little circles on your upper arm, lulling you into a half-sleep only interrupted by the bump of the road. You’re not sure how much longer you’re in the car, and when it stops you can’t really remember what you’re supposed to do now.

Bucky helps. He slides away from you, squeezing your thigh in a silent reassurance before he steps out of the car. Your hand traces over where he’d touched you. Bare skin on skin, hands still light and gentle. He seems to have burned his handprint into you, and it spreads until you’re tingly and weak-kneed.

The door on your side opens, and his voice is low in your ears.

“C’mon, pretty girl.” A strong arm loops around your stomach, pulling you back. “Let’s get you in bed.”

You hum, and let Bucky guide you. You trust him completely, with all your heart and not a single question.

He handles you carefully. Guides you inside, holds you steady in the elevator, takes your keys  from your shaking fingers and opens the door. You’re sent to take a shower, but start to trip over nothing the moment Bucky lets go of you, so he sighs and draws you a bath.

“How am I gonna stand?” You mumble, sitting on the toilet while he runs the water. “Or rinse.”

Bucky grunts. “I’ll help.”

You hum in approval, and start to pull off your dress. Bucky makes a strangled sound, eyes flying up to the ceiling, and you’ve never seen his face so red.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Getting ready for a bath?” You frown at him, and he groans.

“You- Fuck.” He takes a heavy breath through his nose, closing his eyes. “Just- Keep your underwear on, alright?”

You nod, trying to ignore the heavy sting that he doesn’t want to see you naked. Bucky won’t even fully look at you as he helps you into the tub. He leaves the room while you sit helplessly in the water, barely moving until he returns. You wrap your arms over your chest, suddenly consciously that maybe you’re not pretty enough for him to look at you. You pull your knees to your chest and sniffle, just waiting for him. You don’t even know why he left in the first place. You wanted him here.

Bucky sighs, when he opens the door to find you crying.  

“Christ, I leave you alone for five seconds- Hey, woah-“ He kneels on the bathmat, hand flexing before he reaches out and wipes away your tears. “It’s alright, you’re alright. Don’t cry, sweetheart, you’re okay-“

You bite down a sob and turn your face, pressing it right into his shoulder. Again, Bucky stiffens. His arms hover for a second, breathing shallow, and you think he’s going to shove you away.

But he doesn’t. After that single, million year heartbeat of a moment, he grabs you. Holds you tight into his body, cradling your head and rocking you back and forth. The water flows under you, pushing up on the lip of the tub. A little bit flows over, splashing his pants.

He doesn’t seem to mind.

“C’mon, baby.” He murmurs, slowly starting to rise. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You nod, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. When he gets you on your feet, he stops for a second. His lips brush near your ear, and an electric rush dart through you. Then, fast but certain, he kisses the side of your head.

It’s so quick you’d think you imagined it, if you couldn’t feel the burn of his lips long after he pulls away. You reach up to brush it, when Bucky deposits you on your bed. You watch him move around the room like he belongs there.

He does.

He’d belong with you, if he wasn’t such a massive butt about your existence.

“It’s your fault, you know.”

Bucky glances up from your dresser, fisting a shirt in his hands. “What?”

“You.” You say, because it’s that simple.

He’s the reason you’re drunk. That you didn’t score tonight, that you’d been crying, that you have to be coddled like a baby.

Not that you mind that last one. It’s wonderful, having him touch and speak to you like he cares.

It’s still all his fault.

“What’s me?” He says, and you roll your eyes at the ceiling.

“All of it.”

Bucky says your name, and you wave him off with a dramatic sigh. You can hear him pad slowly across the room, and when he pulls you up gently you flop over his body. A useless ragdoll he’s trying to get a shirt onto.

But the harder you make it, the longer he’ll stay. The longer he’ll be nice, and touch you, and-

“I love you.”

Bucky stills. Your words hang in the air, but you don’t understand why. You’ve said far worse things to him, and he must have known. You know. You’re pretty sure Nat does too, with all the looks she’s always giving you after Bucky teases you and you flush, or you bicker and he marches away with a scowl.

It’s not some grand confession. You love him like the seasons turn and the sun always rises. It’s a deep, mechanical part of you that can’t be rewired, and you know because you’ve tried. But Bucky’s leans back and stares at you like the sky is falling.

“What?”

His voice is a croak, and you frown at him.

“I love you.” You say it slower this time. Maybe you’d slurred the words, and he hadn’t understood. “It’s your fault, because I love you and you’re just… There.”

He blinks at you slowly, obviously still not understanding. You roll your eyes, and flop back down.

Bucky coughs, grabbing your knee as if to steady himself. He’s sitting down, and it’s not like he’s in love. The world is perfectly under his feet. You’re the one suffering.

“I’m here?”

“All the time.” You whine, and his grip on your knee tightens.

“But you love me.”

“Mhm.”

“So why’s it problem that I’m here-“

“Because you never do anything.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “I do things. I do lots of things-“

“You never touch me.” You prop yourself on your elbows, glaring down at him. “You just- You’re there, and you don’t like me and it- It makes me-“

“Makes you what.” Bucky’s voice is deep, his eyes dark on yours, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“You don’t get to know.”

“I don’t get to know?” He snorts. “No, you can’t just- You can’t say that kinda stuff then-“

“I wish you’d touch me.” You tell the ceiling.

Bucky grunts. “Yeah, I’ve heard. But-“

“Think I could cum just from listening to you talk.” You hum, your voice sounding like a faraway dream.

Your eyes are getting heavy, and Bucky’s gone completely silent. The words start to float out of you, like steam escaping through windows, into the warm, open sky.

“I’d like to touch you, too. Put you in my mouth, or just- ride you.” You sigh. “I want everything. I’d do- Do anything you told me too if you asked. Anything.” You look back up at him, your lip wobbling again. “But you never ask me. Why don’t you ever ask me?”

Bucky’s gaping at you, and he shakes his head, his voice a low croak. “I, uh- You’ve never-“

He swallows, glancing down, and you follow his gaze.

He’s straining through his jeans, shifting uncomfortably. You giggle, flopping back down. Your eyes start to droop, the room fading in and out. Bucky rises over you with a sigh, pulling the blankets up.

“’S nice.” You murmur. “You. Bein’ here.”

You yawn, and Bucky’s laughs. Under his breath, like an inside joke he won’t bring you into.

“Yeah. I know.” His hand grazes over your cheek, and you hum sleepily, eyes closing.

His lips press to your forehead, and it’s like a spell. The world, slowly and easily, starts to slip away.

“Sleep well, baby.” He mutters, and under that command, you do.

He’s not there when you wake up, and you have to be okay with that.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to face him again anyway. There’s a fog hanging over your brain, but it’s not thick enough that you can’t remember last night.

Bucky saw you naked. He was in your room, and put you to bed, and you-

You told him you loved him.

That you wanted him. That you could cum just from him talking to you.

You have to move. You have to change your name and move as far away as possible. Maybe Siberia, or Russia, or Romania, or somewhere he’ll never find you again. Because you told him you loved him, and now he’s gone.

He left a water on your bedside table. Mocking you with the fact that last night was real.

You force yourself to sit up, rubbing your temples, and take the glass. If you’re never going to see Bucky again, and you don’t plan to, there’s no need to spite him with ignoring it.

When you stand up, it takes a few deep breaths to start moving. Nat isn’t home yet, and she probably won’t be for a while. That gives you plenty of time to wallow before you vanish forever. You can spend the morning moping and cursing yourself, then worry about consequences.

You make cereal and put on coffee. Stare at the little bits floating through the milk, and try not to think about Bucky. If he’s thinking about you.

If he is, you don’t want to imagine what. That you’re a whore for throwing yourself at him, a fool for think he’d be open to such a confession—from you of all people—or maybe just the same as he always did. Maybe he’d known the whole time, and he just thinks you were gutsy to say it aloud when he so clearly wants nothing to do with you.

Nothing at all, but taking care of you while you’re drunk. Giving you a bath and putting you to bed, handling you like something precious and kissing the side of your head.

That could have been just more mocking. The same game he’s always played, accusing you of wanting him then laughing. Like he’d already known.  

But playing that game while you’re out of it isn’t Bucky’s style. He likes you biting back, sometimes he dangles comments over your head and grins when you snap at them. So there’d be no reason for him to play when you weren’t even able to a join him. But then there’s no reason for  him to act like that at all.

It’s too early to be thinking this much. You put all your hopeful bets on Bucky having somehow forgotten everything, so you don’t have to move.

The door opens down the hallway, and you glance up. It’s early for Nat to be back.

But it’s not Nat that calls your name through the house.

“Where’d you- Hi.”

Bucky walks into the kitchen, and you stare at each other. He’s wearing his clothing from last night, his hair mussed, two paper coffee cups in his hands. You swallow, and he coughs, glancing around the kitchen.

“I got you coffee.” He mutters a little bitterly, and you follow his gaze to the rumbling coffee machine.

“Oh.”

“You don’t have to- It’s here.” He puts it on the counter, and you nod, focusing back on your cereal.

You’re both silent for another long moment. There air is thick, like a swamp at the height of summer. You’re not sure how you remember to speak.

“How’d you know I was up?”

“Your door was open.” He mutters. “Made sure it was closed before I went out.”

“Did you-“

“On the couch. Just, uh-“ He rubs the back of his neck, eyes locked onto yours. “I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone, and- I think we, uh- You said some things. That we should talk about.”

You rip your gaze away as you flush, but if you’d had any hope of pretending you’d been too drunk to retain the night and just hoping he’d leave you be, that ruins it.

Bucky’s eyes narrow. He walks forward, until he’s right at your side. You can feel his presence buzzing through you, and swallow.

“You remember.” His voice is low, and he leans further down before you can protest. “Don’t lie to me. We’ve both been lyin’ way too much.”

You don’t dignify him with an answer. With even a glance.

Bucky leans closer.

“You said you wanted to touch me.” He’s almost growling in your ear. “You said you wanted me in your mouth, that you wanted me to ride you, that you’d do anything I told you-“

“James.” You hiss, twisting to glower at him.

Mistake.

He looks hungry. His eyes are blown out, only inches from yours, his tongue darts over his lips when you look down at them. He’s watching you like a dog that’s finally been told it can have its bone. Your grip on the counter tightens. It’s hard to stay upright.

“Full name.” He hums, the corners of his lips tugging up. “I’m in trouble.”

“You’re being a dick-“

“Yeah, but you like it.”

“I- You-“

“You love it.”

You freeze at that word. The air feels thin now. Your face is burning, and Bucky’s as collected as ever. Like this is all still just a game to him.

“Fuck you.” You spit. It takes everything you have.

Bucky doesn’t even flinches. “Yeah, you want to.”

Your mouth falls open, and he leans in closer.

“You meant it, right? Everything you said?”

Denying seems pointless. You try to anyway, but your lips barely prepare for the word no before Bucky’s giving you a stern look—don’t lie to me—and your voice dies.

He says your name, and it’s the same voice he used last night. Lighter, gentler, man trying to tend instead of force. You weren’t any match for it last night, but that doesn’t seem to be the drink’s fault. You give in just as easily right now.

“Yes.” You breathe.

Bucky’s eyes flash. “All of it?”

“Bucky…”

“Do you want me.” His voice is demanding now, and you try to look away.

He catches your chin, pulling you back. Forcing your gaze onto his, onto those beautiful, enchanting eyes.

You nod, and he hums in approval. The sound settles, molten and warm in your tummy.

“Do you love me?”

His words sound so sincere and taunting at the same time. You can’t look away, so you glare, and he chuckles.

“Come on, baby.” He brushes his lips over yours, his voice becoming something low. Something dangerous.

You don’t even bother to move away this time. You’re breathing in your chest, your stomach filled with too much desire to do much else. The brush of his lips let you taste coffee and mint, and his grip on your chin is commanding. You’re only putty in his hands. A lost cause that doesn’t really want to be found.

“Don’t make me fuck it out of you.”

Bucky’s eyes gleam, and he’s playing again. He knows he has you, that you want to be had.

His hand drags slowly, gently, on your waist. His fingers dip under your shirt, the soft touch making you gasp. You lean forward, and Bucky leans back. He tilts his head slightly, something stern still in his gaze. You blink hopelessly, trying to figure out what, and he squeezes your hips. It’s grounding and electric, and he presses back forward as you go still below him.

“Do you want me to fuck it out of you.” He growls, and your mouth falls open with a whimper.

Permission. He was holding himself on a leash for your permission.

Doubt drains from your head, far down south where a warm, summer storm is brewing between your thighs.

You spread your legs slowly, and grab his hand on your hips. Push it slightly down, until his attention follows.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, and his hand on your chin drops. You watch as he moves so tantalizingly slow, brushing the band of your panties before dragging down the seam at the apex of your thighs. He rubs you over the fabric, and your hips buck into the touch.

“Fuck.” Bucky hooks two of his fingers, tearing your underwear in one rip. “You’re so wet. Soaked through the panties, soaking my fucking fingers.”

You moan, pressing your face into his shoulder. Bucky dips his fingers into your heat, smearing the arousal all over your pussy, and you shake.

“Bucky-“

“You got this,” he spanks your pussy, then drags the mess down your inner thighs. “’Cause I’m here? Or just from thinking about me?”

“B- Both.” You mumble, trying to keep still as the broad pads of his fingers find your clit, rubbing in slow, tantalizing circles.

He hums. “You think about me a lot?”

Pressing hard on the sensitive button. Your knees give out, and you’re only caught by his arm around you’re lower back.

“Careful, baby-“

“All the time.” You whimper the confession, looking up at him with big, teary eyes. “Think about you all the time, Bucky, you’re- You’re so- Oh my god-“

Bucky yanks his hand from your pussy, grabbing your jaw and angling it back for a kiss.

It’s slower than you thought it would be, with how he crashed over you. You’d been expecting rough and harsh, all spit and ownership. Instead there’s a certainly behind it—a rough passion that’s demanding and hot—but it’s slow. Bucky doesn’t use his tongue until you open your mouth, and he hums in satisfaction when you grab at his hair, tugging slightly.

He grabs your ass, hauling you up on the kitchen counter. His hands wander your body lazily, tracing the softness of your hips and curve of your spine. He chuckles when you arch into the touch, deepening the kiss. Stars swim behind your eyes, and you realize you’re still grinding up into his torso.

“Bucky.” You plead, and he presses another tiny kiss to your lips, taking his sweet damn time.

“Off.” He tugs at the hem of your shirt, and you lift your arms to help him.

He leans back when you’re uncovered, and this time he isn’t trying to cover anything else. He palms one of your breasts, licking his lips before he takes the nipple between his fingers and rolls it. You squeak and his eyes dart up, almost studying how you shiver and blink at him.

“So reactive.” He switches to the other breast, and your fingers dig into the nape of his neck. “Almost came before I even really touched you, sweetheart. If you can’t hold it, you’re gonna be a fuckin’ wreck before I’m even done with you.”

You shake your head, face heating further. “It- It’s been a long time-“

“Yeah, but that’s not it.” He drags his hand down, over your abdomen. Back between your thighs. “You got that little toy keepin’ you satisfied-“

“Not satisfied.” You breathe, head lolling to the side as Bucky resumes his tight circles on your clit. “Not you, Bucky, fuck-“

He groans, dragging you back into a deep kiss. You give him everything you have in return, nipping at his lips and yanking his hair. Bucky groans and picks you fully off the counter, walking you both to your room and kicking the door shut.

“You drive me fuckin’ crazy.” He grunts between kisses, his own steps getting a little uneven. “The stuff I wanna do to you, no way we’re covering it in one night. Years to make up for, gotta ration it.”

“Years?” You pull back, and Bucky grins.

“Oh yeah. You’re not the only one who’s not satisfied, babydoll.”

“But-“

“Ah.” He kisses you, lowering you onto the bed. “Nope. Not now.”

You frown up at him. “Bucky, you said we needed to talk-“

“And now I’m sayin’ not now. And if my memory’s right,” he grins down at you. “You’re the one who said she’d do whatever I want.”

You flush, crossing your arms over your chest, and Bucky laughs. He pulls his shirt off, and you almost fall backwards on the sheets like it’s an atomic blow.

There have been glimpses. Moments. You’ve been to the pool with him before, and he’d been shirtless there too.

But he hadn’t been standing over you, massive and radiating power. You hadn’t been close enough to trace your fingers over the scars littering his muscle, remnants from his time in the army. You reach up in a trace, tracing one closer to his pant line, and he flexes under your touch. A low sound rumbles through him, and he catches your wrist with a warning look.

You giggle. “You’re not the only one who’s sensitive.”

Bucky’s eyes flash, his voice dropping impossibly low. “I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak.”

Your shift in the sheets, more desire building in your already aching pussy. Bucky’s attention darts to the movement, and his throat bobs. Every muscle in his body strains, and you give him a sweet smile.

“Prove it.”

Bucky makes that deep, growling sound again and grabs your face between his hands. He presses over you, shoving his tongue down your throat, and this is the kiss you’d been expecting from before. Rough and starved, almost marking you as much as kissing you. He bullies you down into the mattress with his weight, and you spread your legs wide to accommodate him.

“You’re so soft.” He mutters, kneading your thighs as his mouth starts to trail hot kisses down your neck. “Thought about touchin’ you like this forever, about how beautiful you’d be under me. And let me tell you, baby,” he nips under your jaw. “Better than I managed to dream.”

You grind up below him, trying to chase a little more friction. You keep meeting the rough fabric of his jeans, and the drag is beautiful, but it’s still not enough.

“Needy girl.” Bucky drags your legs apart, pressing his hips firmly over your core. The sudden pressure does the trick, and you moan, tipping your head back in brief relief. “Yeah, you like that. Feels so good and I’m not even doin’ anything.”

“Bucky, don’t- Don’t tease-“

“But it’s so fun.” He coos, kissing the corner of your mouth. “You get all nervous, makes me want to stuff you up with cock and see how you squirm-“

You make a loud, wanting sound, trying to fuck your hips up into the air. But Bucky’s heavy. You can only claw at his shoulders, and it just makes him tease more.

His rolls his hips, dragging the bulge in his jeans over your burning core. Your mouth falls open, and he kisses you, sneaking and arm tight around your back.

The forced arch of your back makes your legs open widen, giving him further access. He starts to rut against your bare pussy, and it’s perfect torture. Your arms are tight enough around him to choke, but it doesn’t slow him down. Bucky dry fucks you, your pussy throbbing desperately for release, arousal trickling down your ass and every thrust filling you with a burning pleasure.

You hadn’t been lying. It’s been a long time. But that’s not the only reason why you’re already so close to the edge again. Bucky’s body is everywhere around you, his thick arms holding you tight, his lips wandering over your neck and cheeks, leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. The friction is everything, he’s everything, and you don’t have enough restraint to fight it.

The orgasm is sudden and harsh, shaking your whole body. You claw at his back, twitching and whining in his ear. You didn’t know you could cum that hard, hard enough to make eyes close from the overwhelming sensation, and it’s just from dry humping.

Bucky groans in your ear and pulls back suddenly. His eyes are lidded, expression lustful, and his palm flexes near his bulge like he’s forcing himself not to rub it. Your breathing is uneven, your pussy still aching, and you reach down to try and rub your clit until he collects himself.

He catches your wrist and pins it to the mattress, shaking his head. “You just fuckin’ came, baby.”

“I- I know- I just-“ You try to turn, and Bucky slaps your cheek lightly. Forces your attention back to him.

“You’re a big girl. Use words.”

You want to glare at him, but something about the slightly mocking order makes your pussy throb. Bucky raises his brows, and you barely manage not to drool.

“Want more.” You mumble, and he grins.

“And?”

“And?”

“You what?”

You stare for a second, then roll your eyes. “Oh, fuck off.”

Bucky smirks, squeezing his hold on your wrist. “’S alright. We’ll get there.”

You stick out your tongue, and he hums.

“That’s not very nice, baby. Think we need to work on your manners.”

“My manners are fine-“

“You’re a brat.” He teases, and you flush.

“I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. You’re a wet, needy little fuckin’ brat.” Bucky starts to move your hand between your legs, and you pretend to try and pull away.

He sees the challenge, and yanks it down. Presses it against your core, making you shake. Your eyes flutter, and Bucky laughs.

“Look at you.

“You really still got that vibrator?”

You nod, and he pulls your hand up. kisses your knuckles, eyes sparkling. 

“Grab it.”

You scramble up the moment he lets go of you, yanking open your bedside drawer and pulling out the pink rabbit. Bucky grabs your hips before you can roll back over, pulling you backward with your ass in the air. You twist to look at him and find his attention entirely fixed on your core. On the mess between your legs.

He’s almost in a trance, as he drags two fingers through your pussy lips. You flutter, overly sensitive from before, and Bucky shoves his fingers right into your pussy.

You go limp, at the sudden stretch. Bucky’s fingers are everything you’d imagined they’d be, and more. Rough in all the right place, deft and thick, crooking right at the edges as he finds your g-spot faster than even you can sometimes. He hums like he’s figured out something interesting and kisses the curve of your ass. He starts to rub the tips of his fingers, massaging that happy, spongey place inside you, and you moan into the sheets.

“Bu- Bucky-“

“You’re tight.” He mutters, kissing between your ass and pussy, the tiny patch of skin that sends a shiver up your spine. “And wet. Gonna feel real good around my cock, babydoll. Got a perfect pussy for me to fill up.”

You make another desperate sound, and Bucky presses further in.

“Oh, that sounds good to you, doesn’t it. Getting stuffed full of my cum, being my pretty cockslut. I’d make you walk around with it after, wear a skirt so I can fuck you again whenever you run out. Fuck you until it’s stained on your legs, until everyone can fuckin’ smell it. ‘Till they know you’re mine.”

Your pussy clenches at the possessive promise, and Bucky groans.

“You wanna be mine, don’t you sweet girl.”

“Ye- Yes-“

Bucky yanks his fingers out of you unexpectedly, and you almost scream in frustration. You try to twist around again to chew him out, but he grabs the back of your neck and shoves you into the sheets. You go limp, trembling as tears prick at your eyes. Bucky arms snakes around your stomach, his thumb resting under your clit. Never touch it, or where your pussy is fluttering, desperate to be filled.

“Say it.” He grunts, and you shake your head. You’re not that easy.

Bucky doesn’t seem in any rush to give up though. He spanks your pussy, and you cry out in a mix of pain and delight.

“Say it.” He orders, and your hands fist in the sheets as he spanks your pussy again. You grind against him, chasing more, and he pinches your clit hard.

You almost fly out of your skin, a lewd, garbled plea escaping your lips as another orgasms rushes through you. This one is shorter, but no less consuming. You clench around nothing, mouth hanging stupidly open, and Bucky sucks near your throat, his teeth brushing and making the pleasure all the more intense.

“Fuckin’ brat.” He mutters, awe almost coating his voice. “I’m a damn saint, making you cum again when you’re so greedy. When you got this hungry little pussy, begging to be stuffed with cock, and I’m letting you go first.”

“Please,” you try to flip over, but Bucky’s hold on you is too strong. “Bucky, please- Please just fuck me.”

“Oh, I will.” He kisses under your ear, voice silken and taunting. “But not now, babydoll. Then we would’ve brought this out for nothing.”

“What’s-“

A buzzing sound fills the air, and your eyes widen.

“Bucky, wait-“

“You know, you get more sensitive after you cum.” Bucky drawls, dragging the thick tip of the rabbit up and down your pussy. You try to focus on your breathing, squeezing your eyes shut as your body starts to get swept away in a wildfire.

“God, fuck-“

“Quiet.” He grunts. “I’m trying to talk, sweetheart. Be good.”

You nod, biting on your lower lip, desperate to listen well. To be good.”

“Like I was saying.” Bucky drawls, shoving the vibrating dildo up against your clit, then yanking it away. “You get more sensitive. And I was thinking all night about your little confession. That you can cum just from listening to me talk.” Bucky hums, dragging the head down to rest right over your entrance. “I like a challenge, but I’m got enough on my hands with you today. And since I’m so nice.” He pushes the thick length a little inside you, and your pussy clenches around it. “I’m gonna give you some extra hands. Extra sensitive,” he gives your clit a series of tiny hits, shoving the rabbit in deeper. “Some fake fuckin’ cock to get you ready for the real thing, and me.”

Bucky drags you back into his lap, right as he shoves the dildo home. You almost scream as the smaller bit presses over your clit, the thicker part driven right against where Bucky already knew your g-spot was.

“Bucky- Holy shit-“

He pulls your face to the side, silencing you with a deep kiss as you shake. You’ve already cum twice. That’s more than usual, and you’re not sure if you’ve got another.

You don’t get to tell him that, though. You don’t think he’d care to hear it right now, and fuck, do you want to see him try.

“I said quiet.” He growls when he pulls away, and before you know what’s happening he’s shoving the same fingers that had been in your pussy into your mouth.

You melt immediately, sucking on them as your eyes flutter. Bucky groans in your ear, moving his free hand to hold the rabbit inside your gushing, oversensitive pussy.

“Good girl.” He drawls in your ear. “Didn’t even have to ask, you just knew didn’t you. Fuck, you suck my cock half this good I’m not gonna be able to last ten minutes.”

You moan, and Bucky kisses the corner of your jaw before continuing.

“I know you’d like that. What was it you said? That you wanted to touch me? When this is done we can get you on your knees. If you behave.” He nips at your sweaty skin. “I’ll let you suck my dick. I’ll even fuck your face if you ask real nice. I hope you’re nice, baby, cause I can imagine it. You crying, lips around me, fucking your fingers while you choke on my cock. My pretty baby, my sweet fuckin’ doll loving me so much.”

You slump back against him fully, hips rolling uselessly, and it’s more subtle this time. The heat building at the bottom of your tummy, winding tight and made of a strange pressure.

“You’re gonna say it.” He coos in your ear, and your pussy starts to fight against the rabbit. Like it knows you can barely take it.

But you can’t lend it much energy. You like this position well enough.

“After you cum for me again, I’ll fuck you. Fuck you properly like the brat that you are.” Bucky groans, pressing his nose into your hair. “Walking around, making me feel like I’m the asshole for wanting you, for loving you when you’re snapping off at me,you’re a mouthy fuckin’ thing, aren’t you babydoll. Lotta bark but,” he pushes his fingers further into your mouth. “Not even a little bit of bite.”

Your eyes roll back, head pressing into his shoulder, and you give him a silent look of pleading that’s only met with a mocking grin.

“So pretty like this, sweetheart. Stupid and quiet, I ain’t even fucked you yet. Won’t clean you up after you’re done, just let you walk around with it dripping. Maybe I’ll fuck you until it sticks. Until you’re mine.”

Your back arches, and you’re so close. You can feel Bucky’s dick twitch against your ass, and somewhere in the distance your thoughts manage to collect enough to tell you that he removed his bottoms at some point.

“Fuck, ‘course you’re into that. Shouldn’t have expected more from you, with how much you love this. You’re close, baby.” His lips tease the shell of your ear. “So close.”

You whimper, grinding down onto him as the dildo vibrates, and Bucky groans. He pins you down to his lap with a hiss, fingers flexing on your stomach.

“Shit- You can’t just-“

He presses his mouth where your neck meets your shoulder, kissing and sucking as his dick throbs against you, and his dirty talk becomes mumbled and deep. 

“My pretty fuckin’ girl, can’t even wait for it, cum for me, babydoll, come on, fuckin’  show me how much your greedy pussy wants my dick-“

The pressure breaks like a flood. Your pussy gushes so hard it pushes out the rabbit, and your head flies back as you grind into the air. Bucky moans, fully moans, and starts to rub your clit back and forth with the palm of his hand. You grab his wrist, spasming and trying to chase it and escape all at once. You whine as it becomes all too much, batting at Bucky’s hand.

He stops, collecting your release on his fingers.

When he presses them against your lips, you open. Hum as he feeds your own juices to you. All you can do is lap at his fingers and look at him under fluttering lashes, and he smiles.

“Good girl.” He coos, and your body seizes up again. You moan around his fingers, and Bucky laughs.

He pulls them out, turning your head for a gentle, deep kiss. You’re boneless and cockdrunk, only able to let him give and give whatever he’s willing. You can’t even try to drag him close.

Bucky rolls you over, making sure your back is pressed into the mattress as he kisses you lazily. He rises up after a few moments, his gaze raking down your body, and you flush. If you had more strength, you’d cover yourself. You’ve never been good at being looked at.

But there’s nothing expect awe and affection in Bucky’s eyes. He traces a hand over your every curve and softer spot, rising slowly on his knees to part your legs.

“You’re a miracle, baby.” He murmurs, pumping his cock in his hands and for once, you feel like one. “Look at what you do to me.”

You do, and you might be about to burst into flames.

Bucky’s thick. Long, but not enough to worry you, and thick. He’s going to drag, be able to get balls deep and make you feel him everywhere.

You’re drooling, and he sees it. He smirks knowingly, and you wrinkle your nose.

“Come on.” He teases. “Say it, and it’s all yours.”

You shake your head, and Bucky hums. Crawls back over your body, notching his cock right at your entrance. His hovers his lips over yours, not quite fully kissing.

“Say it.”

When you find your voice, it’s raspy and broken.

“No.”

“But you know you want to.” He presses the first inch inside, and if you’d had any worries about not being able to take more, they’re knocked away with how good he feels.

You were right. He’s an even bigger stretch than his two fingers, and it perfect. There’s a slight ache, but it’s overwhelmed by the closeness. By how well he fits, how much you need more of this brimming, explosive pleasure already threating to take you over.

“Just say it, pretty girl. Say it for me.”

You shake your head, and Bucky pushes further in, and your hands fly into his hair like they were pulled there.

He groans, rutting into you, and bottoms out. You didn’t know you could feel this good. Be this full. Bucky moans in your ear, and you breath slowly, trying to adjust.

“You feel so good.” He smashes his lips over yours, the kiss demanding and long. “Knew you’d feel this good, always knew you’d feel this good, Christ-“

You roll your hips up, and it makes Bucky jerk. He slams into you, knocking the air from your lungs, and your toes curl in delight.

He barks your name, grabbing your jaw, and you beam at him.

“More.” You breathe, and Bucky’s eyes widen in slight surprise.

He recovers fast.

“Yeah?” He pulls out slowly, then slams back in, his tip kissing your cervix. “You like that? Like being fucked like a toy?”

You moan happily, and Bucky laughs.

“Thought you might surprise me, babydoll, but no.” He taps your cheek, and you open without a thought. “You’re just the pretty cockslut I thought you were.”

He drags all the way out again, but this time pushes in slower. You whine, but he doesn’t even acknowledge you, setting a slow pace that feels good, but is far too much. The roughness made you numb with a good, fuzzy sensation, but this makes you feel it. Bucky’s cock dragging against your gummy walls, the press of him over your g-spot and heat of him, right over your clit.

You can barely take it. You’re already so fucked out from the other orgasms, you’re barely able to hold onto Bucky properly. You think you might be about to black out from pleasure, but no part of you wants him to stop altogether, and how you’re trapped somewhere between paradise and hell.

“Look at you.” He grabs one of your breasts, palming it as he thrusts smooth and deep. “Nobody else does this to you, do they. Makes you feel so good, gets you so stupid on their cock.”

You shake your head, and Bucky taps your mouth again.

“Words.”

“Bucky…”

“Want to hear you, sweet girl.” He kisses your cheek, words pure filth in your ears. “Here you scream for me while I fuck you, hear how much you love it.”

“Can’t-“

“Yes, you can.” He slams a little firmer, giving you a pointed look. “Good girls listen. And when they listen,” he repeats the motion, holding your gaze. “They get filled up.”

You whimper, but nod. Bucky smiles in satisfaction, returning to his torturous speed from before.

“Anyone else do this to you?” He grunts, and you shake your head.

“No- No. Never, Bucky, only you-“

He groans, picking up his pace. “That’s fuckin’ right. No one fucks you like this, I’m gonna ruin you. If you wanna cum you’ll have to find me, I’m the only one who plays this perfect fuckin’ pussy- Shit-“ He groans, jaw clenching as he hits a little deeper than before. “Nobody takes care of you like me-“

“No one.” You echo, and you’re rewarded with another rough slam. “No one, Bucky, only- Only wanted you, needed you- Fuck-“ You cry out, pressing your cheek into his jaw. “You and your thick cock, needed you so bad-“

“I know. I know, babydoll, but I’m here now.” He kisses you quickly, speeding up again.

It’s enough to make you start to feel it again. Not slowly building, but being dragged out. The tip of Bucky’s cock drags through you, and that hot feeling in your core starts to fill up again. 

“Wanted to do this for so long.” He groans in your ear, and a loud moan escapes your lips. “You really got no idea, I thought I was gonna lose it every time I saw you, thought you’d never let me- God-“

You clench around him, and Bucky angles your hips up, allowing him to hit deeper. You moan, and he kisses the back of your neck, sucking a dark mark.

“My girl.” He mutters possessive, and you babble an agreement. “My smart, mean fucking baby, drunk on my cock. Prettiest girl in the world, mine-“

You moan, and Bucky cuts himself off with a groan. He kisses you again, then rises over you. Bracing his arms on either side of your head as he looks to where he’s fucking into you. Your gaze follows, and the warmth in your gut flares at the sight.

It’s the most vulgar, pornographic thing you’ve ever seen. Bucky’s thick cock, sliding in and out of you with ease. Precum and your own need for him shining on the thickness of him, his chest flexing with restraint as he forces himself to keep the same pace. You watch his cock vanish into your body, and feel him deep inside you, and God-

You look up, checking if Bucky’s as strangely moved by that as you are, and find him staring at you. The moment your eyes meet, he grabs your jaw, pressing you back down into the pillows with a rough kiss. You’re unable to do anything but take it all. Bucky’s tongue pressing down your throat, his lips moving expertly over yours, his cock fucking every word but his name out of your head.

“Look at me.” He rasps when he pulls away, and you nod.

His eyes are almost wholly black, and shining. Tears prick at yours, but Bucky leans down, kissing them away before going faster again.

His balls start to slap on your ass, his cock pumping in and out of you until it’s all you can think about. Bucky deep inside you, lighting you up, how you can feel a rush up your spine with his every thrust. A lewd, wet sound is filling the room as he pounds into you. Your pussy burns and spasms every time, but it’s too good to fight.

Bucky’s too good to fight. You don’t know why you tried for so long.

“Bucky-“ You breathe, and he grunts.

“You’re close, sweetheart.” He mutters, and you don’t know how he knows, but he’s right.

You’re about to snap again. To lose it from how he’s fucking you like you’re a doll and the love of his life, all at once. You grab his wrist, squeezing tight.

“Pretty girl,” he teases. “Gonna soak this cock like a good girl, aren’t you. Give it to me, baby, show me how much you love it-“

“Love you.” You breathe out, and Bucky freezes.

Balls deep, he stills. His cock throbs in protest, but he doesn’t seem to care. 

You blink at him, praying you didn’t ruin it. Bucky swallows, and rasps out your name.

“What?”

“I- I love you- Oh.”

He jerks into you when you say it, and you almost fly out of your skin.

“Fuck, Bucky- I- I love you-“

It happens again, but you don’t think he’s doing it to mess with you. He can barely seem to control himself, his attention almost feral as his cock jumps inside you.

“I- I love you- Oh my god-“

Bucky dives over you, kissing you like he’s trying to steal the words from your mouth. Like he can taste them.

“Damn right you do.” He grunts, cock dragging inside you as he starts to fuck you, shallow and brutal. “Love you, love you so much, you’re-“

He kisses you, and somewhere through the floating, hazy dreamworld his cock is fucking you into, you think he’s run out of words.

Bucky’s fucking you like an animal, because there’s nothing left for either of you to say. He pulls your hips back up to that angle from before, returning to that pace from before that pulled the confession out of you. You’re in incoherent, babbling mess, tugging at the sheets and watching Bucky above you like he’s God.

“Good girl.” Is all he’s grunting out, but it’s deep and every word of a noise than anything else. “Mine, my good fucking girl, gonna fill you up, you’re-“ He moans, doubling over your body as his thrusts become short and harsh. “You’re perfect-“

From nowhere, you find the strength to reach up and grab Bucky’s face. You pull it down, kissing him with every word you’re too ruined to say, and he moans.

Bucky slams home, muttering your name against your lips like a prayer. You can feel him everywhere. Hot and sticky, pumping deep into your own heat, coating your walls, dripping out and running down your ass. When Bucky starts to move again, slow and lazy, he presses it deeper, spreads it everywhere.

It’s hot on your clit, and Bucky’s still jerking and spraying inside of you. You’ve never been this full, it’s addicting. Your brain is empty, body alight with the feeling, Bucky’s cum so thick and demanding that you could swear you feel it washing through your whole body.

He reaches between your legs to rub your clit.

You get there all on your own.  

Your vision goes white, as you cum. You’re so out of it you feel it the same way you feel a cool breeze. Light and relieving, washing over the heat inside you and pulling a happy sigh from your lips.

Bucky kisses you, and this time it’s only sweet. All his mean words and taunts so easily dissolve as you reach up, running your fingers through his hair. He smiles against your lips, and you smile back.

“Told you I’d do it.” He mutters, and you shove his chest with a weak laugh.

“Shut up.”

He grins, moving up to kiss your brow, then the side of your face. He’s still buried inside you. Neither of you are in a rush to move any time soon.

“You mean it, though.” He pauses, moving back over your body.

There are those worry lines again. You reach up with a tiny smile, and soothe your fingers over them. Bucky hums, leaning into your touch, and you smile.

“Yeah.” You whisper, and his shoulders sag.

“Thank god.” He presses his face between your breasts. “That would’ve been bad.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his hair, and he wraps his arms around your body. He’s slid out a little, but you’re still connected to him, and you never want to move again.

“How long?” He mutters against you, tilting his head to meet your gaze. “Cause mine was when I saw you.”

You flush stupidly—he’s inside you—and mumble, “Me too.”

Bucky frowns. “But you were always- “

“And were you any better?”

He snorts, leaning up to peck your cheek. “Fair shot.”

“I know.” You snip, then, “You- You meant yours, right? I mean- What you said while…”

You trail off, because you didn’t imagine it. I love you and mine, too sincere to just be dirty talk.

Bucky rises back over you, gently guiding your gaze back to his. He smiles when your eyes meet, and kisses the tip of your nose.

“With everything I fuckin’ got.” He mutters, and you smile.

“Good.”

“I know. I mean, I did really well for myself- I’m complimenting you, woman!”

You’d shoved him, and Bucky grabs your wrists, wrestling them down into the mattress. He looks at you with a rough, fond exasperation.

“You’re a gremlin.”

“You like it.” You beam up at him, and he lower back down, kissing you lightly.

“Tough curse.” He mutters. “But I’m enjoying it.”

You roll your eyes at him, and he grins. Beautiful and all yours.

“Can we stay here for a while?” You ask, just because you want to have this, and sit in it. “Please.”

Bucky nods, and you feel your heart shine like it’s been given new batteries. Beating out of your chest and comfortably all at once, as Bucky rolls you both onto your sides, wrapping tight around you.

“We can do whatever you want.” He mutters, rubbing your hips and kissing the marks on your neck.

You relax, because you believe him. About all of it.

And now, you have him with you for all the time in the world.

.

.

.

the thing about you, nanami came to realize, was that you had no idea how endearing you were.

you didn’t notice the way your tongue poked out when you were concentrating or the way you hummed while you worked, tuneless and soft, like a radio playing in another room. you didn’t notice the way you said his name— nanamiii— like it was something precious, tasting each syllable.

“nanami?”

“yes?”

“where do we keep the pastry brush? i forgot.”

“top drawer, under the bench.”

“nanami?”

“yes?”

“the oven is making a funny noise.”

“that’s the timer, sweetheart.”

“oh. right. nanami?”

“yes?”

“i just wanted to say your name again.”

he looked up from the cookies. you were already turned away, reaching for the pastry brush, completely oblivious to the effect you had on him.

he was doomed. completely, utterly, helplessly doomed throughout the months turned into a rhythm.

you learned, slowly. you still burned things, but less often. you still forgot where things were, but you started remembering faster. you still walked into doorframes and tripped over your own feet and once somehow managed to spill an entire bag of flour directly into the industrial mixer while it was running, which sent a cloud of white powder exploding across the entire kitchen.

(“i’m so sorry,” you coughed, white from head to toe. “i’m so sorry, i’ll clean it up, i’m sorry—”

“don’t apologize,” nanami said, already reaching for the broom. “just… don’t do it again.”

“i won’t.”

(you did it again. three weeks later. he pretended not to notice.))

but there were victories too. the first time you pulled a perfect batch of croissants from the oven, golden and flaky and beautiful, you turned to him with such pure, unfiltered joy that he felt his knees go weak.

“look!” you held up the tray like it was a trophy. “i did it! i actually did it!”

“you did,” he agreed. his voice came out softer than he intended. “they’re perfect.”

you beamed at him. there was flour in your hair and butter under your fingernails and a smear of chocolate on your chin from sampling the filling.

nanami wanted to kiss you so badly it was physically painful. he did not. he was a professional. he was your boss. he was reasonable.

instead, he said, “clean up. we open in twenty minutes.”

and you nodded and turned away, still smiling, and nanami stood there for a long moment, staring at the space where you’d been, wondering how he was supposed to keep doing this.

by month four, nanami had started doing things he would never have admitted to. he woke up earlier so he could have coffee ready for you when you arrived, because you always stumbled in looking half-asleep and he had discovered that a warm cup in your hands made you smile before you even fully opened your eyes. he started making extra of your favorite pastries— the ones with the raspberry filling, the ones you made a soft happy noise about every single time—and pretending they were mistakes, “extras” that would go to waste if you didn’t eat them.

he watched you, noticed more things, like how you danced slightly when you thought no one was looking, swaying to music only you could hear.

he noticed the way your hand felt when it brushed against his reaching for the same whisk. the way your laugh sounded when you finally got something right after ten failed attempts. the way you looked first thing in the morning, hair a mess, face bare, still soft with sleep, before you remembered to put on your cheerful customer-service mask.

he noticed all of it. he noticed all of you. the customers noticed too, of course.

“your apprentice is adorable,” said mrs. hayashi, who came in every morning for her black coffee and her almond croissant. “does she have a boyfriend?”

“i don’t know,” nanami said, which was a lie. he knew. you didn’t. you’d mentioned it once, offhand, while you were scrubbing a baking sheet.

“you should ask her out,” mrs. hayashi continued, unbothered by his obvious discomfort. “life’s too short, young man. i almost married a baker once. very strong hands. i liked that.”

“mrs. hayashi—”

“i’m just saying.” she winked at him, grabbed her coffee, and left.

nanami stood there, very strong hands gripping the edge of the counter, and tried not to think about what you would say if he asked you out.

you’d probably be surprised. you’d probably laugh, nervously, because that’s what you did when you were caught off guard. you’d probably say something like oh, you don’t mean that or but i’m your apprentice or i burned a brioche yesterday, nanami, i burned a brioche.

and maybe you’d say yes anyway. maybe you’d look at him with those wide, earnest eyes and say yes, and then what? what then?

he was overthinking. he was always overthinking. it was his greatest flaw and his greatest strength, this tendency to turn every possibility over in his mind until it was smooth as river stone.

across the room, you dropped a measuring cup. it clattered against the floor, bounced twice, and rolled behind the mixer.

“i’ll get it!” you called out, already on your hands and knees.

nanami watched you crawl halfway under the appliance, flour-dusted, determined and utterly ridiculous.

he loved you. god help him, he loved you.

but nanami didn’t tell you, couldn’t tell you. because telling you meant risking everything— the easy mornings, the shared silence, the way you looked at him like he was something good. he had spent too many years in a life that demanded he be someone else, someone harder, someone who didn’t feel things so deeply. you made him feel seen in a way that was terrifying and wonderful and too much.

so he kept baking, watching, making you pastries and calling you sweetheart and pretending his heart didn’t stutter every time you smiled.

and you, oblivious as ever, kept being you.

“nanami! nanami, the croissants are turning… too golden. or bronze, i think.”

he looked up from the sourdough he was scoring, flour dusted across his forearms, glasses slightly askew. you stood in the doorway of the walk-in freezer, hair escaping your ponytail in fifteen different directions, holding a sheet pan of what were supposed to be chocolate croissants but looked more like... abstract expressionism.

“they’re burning, sweetheart,” he said, tilting his head to the side. you blinked and looked down at the croissants. then back at him with eyes so wide and guileless that he felt something in his chest physically clench.

“oh,” you said softly. “that’s... that’s not good, is it?”

nanami set down his lame and walked around the marble counter. he took the smoking sheet pan from your hands with the gentle resignation of someone who had long since accepted his fate.

“no,” he agreed. “but we’ll make more.”

you perked up immediately, bouncing on your heels. “i can help!”

he closed his eyes for exactly one second. breathed. opened them.

“you can sit on the stool and look pretty while i do the laminating.”

“that’s not helping!”

“it’s helping me.”

you went pink. nanami pretended not to notice, turning to salvage what he could from the wreckage, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him completely.

“can i ask you something?” you said later, after the new batch of croissants was safely in the oven and the morning rush had faded to a gentle trickle.

nanami was rolling out dough for danishes, movements precise and economical. “you can ask me anything. you know that.”

“why do you let me stay?”

he looked up. you were sitting on the stool he’d dragged over for you— he’d given up on making you actually sit and just positioned it somewhere out of the way— fiddling with the strings of your apron.

“stay where?” he asked.

“here. at the bakery. with...” you gestured vaguely at him. “you.”

nanami’s hands stilled on the rolling pin. he looked at you and saw something he hadn't noticed before. something anxious beneath your usual brightness. something uncertain.

“you think i want you to leave?” he asked carefully.

“no! i mean, i don’t know. maybe. i’m not...” you huffed, frustrated with yourself. “i’m not good at this, nanami. i burn things and i forget things and you have to redo half of what i do. you could hire someone who actually knows what they’re doing. someone who doesn’t have to ask to show ‘folding’ every single time.”

“you asked once.”

“i asked four times.”

nanami set down the rolling pin, wiped his hands on his apron as walked over to where you sat and crouched down so he was at eye level with you.

“listen to me,” he said quietly. “i don’t care if you ask four hundred times. i don’t care if you burn every croissant between now and the end of time. i don’t care if you never learn the difference between baking soda and baking powder—”

“there’s a difference?”

“—there is, but that’s not the point.” he took a breath. “the point is, i don’t want you to be good at baking. i want you. here. in my kitchen. making a mess and asking questions and being exactly who you are.”

your eyes were very wide and very shiny. “you really want me here?”

“i want you everywhere,” he said, the words coming out before he could stop them. somewhere in the back of his mind he scolded himself for losing his filter.

you stared at him. he stared back.

“nanami,” you whispered.

he stood up abruptly, suddenly aware of how close he was, how easy it would be to close the distance, how he had just said something he could never take back. “i should check the oven.”

“nanami—”

“the tarts.”

“they’re fine, i literally just put it in—”

but he was already moving, putting space between you, because if he stayed there one more second he was going to do something irreversibly stupid like kiss the flour off your soft cheek.

.

.

.

the thing was, nanami kento was not a man who did things halfway.

when he committed to something, he committed completely. the bakery, his suits, his coffee brewing method— everything was done with intention, with care, with a quiet attention to detail that most people didn’t notice but that mattered.

loving you, he realized, was no different.

it wasn’t a lightning strike. it wasn’t a sudden realization. it was slower than that, quieter. it was the accumulation of a thousand small moments— the way you said his name, the way you looked, the notes you left (nanami, i used the last of the vanilla, sorry! xoxo), the way you never gave up, even when you were frustrated, even when you burned something for the fifth time, even when you mixed up the salt and the sugar and ruined an entire batch of dough.

“i’m sorry,” you said, every time. “i’m trying.”

“i know,” he said, every time. “try again.”

at some point, he started keeping track, somewhere around month five. not on paper— never on paper, that would be incriminating— but in his head. a catalog of things you did that made his chest feel tight.

1. the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were reading a recipe from his book.

2. the way you said “good morning” at 4:30 AM through a long yawn.

3. the way you danced, just a little, when you thought no one was watching.

4. the way you laughed the kind of laugh that made other people want to laugh too.

5. the way you looked at him sometimes, like you were trying to figure out a puzzle and you couldn’t quite understand why he was being so patient with you.

(he was patient because he loved you. he was patient because watching you learn, watching you grow, watching you try was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. he was patient because you were worth it.)

with you, the rest of the days that used to be long and lonely passed in a blur of customers and pastries and you sneaking glances at him when you thought he wasn’t looking. nanami pretended not to notice. he was very good at pretending.

one day, by the time the sun began to set, painting the bakery in shades of gold and pink, he knew he couldn’t pretend like he used to anymore.

you were wiping down the display case, humming something off-key, when he set a plate in front of you.

on it sat a single pastry — golden, flaky, perfectly swirled, with a dusting of pearl sugar that caught the light like tiny stars.

“what’s this?” you asked, tilting your head.

“breakfast and lunch,” he said. “since you forgot to eat yours again.”

you opened your mouth to argue, then closed it because he was right. you had forgotten. you always forgot when you were focused, and you were always focused because you wanted so badly to be good at this, to be good for him.

“nanami...”

“eat.” he nudged the plate closer. “that’s an order.”

you took a bite. your eyes went wide and shiny, making his heart do strange, arrhythmic things.

“this is the best thing i’ve ever tasted,” you said around a mouthful of pastry. “what is it?”

“kouign-amann. breton. lots of butter.” he paused. “i made it for you.”

you stopped chewing, stared at him and swallowed.

“you... you made it for me?”

nanami looked away, reaching for a rag to wipe down a counter that was already spotless. “you said you liked caramelized sugar. i just remembered.”

and he had remembered. remembered the way you’d said it weeks ago, offhand, while licking caramel off your thumb. remembered the way your eyes had lit up. remembered everything about you, always, because his brain had apparently decided that you were the most important thing in the world and every detail about you was worth preserving.

the silence stretched. when he finally looked back, you were crying— silent tears tracking through the flour on your cheeks, your mouth wobbling into something that was trying very hard to be a smile.

“oh, no,” he said, immediately moving toward you. “no, no crying in the bakery, that’s unacceptable—”

his hands moved on their own, lifting up to brush away the tears that just kept flowing down your face. your head bobbled with shaky nods as you looked up at him with teary eyes. he was so close, he realised, close enough to see the faint remains of pastry crumbles on the corners of your mouth and caramel on your lips.

you put down the plate and wrapped your arms around him abruptly, shoving your fave into his chest, which he could only accept with his own pathetic attempts at steadying his breath.

“you’re the best.”

“mm, am i?” he murmured as he smoothed down your hair and resisted the urge to kiss the top of your head. “only because i give you free pastry?”

your head shifted, chin resting on his sternum, as you blinked up at him with a beam.

“no one’s ever been this good to me.”

he gulped, looking behind you momentarily, before settling on a small smile and a pat on your head, because he wanted to kiss you so much it seemed like the most challenging thing in the world — not to kiss you breathless.

“it’s the easiest thing in the world, sweetheart.”

this ordinary, extraordinary miracle of being in the same room as you while you ate his pastry was becoming a thing he wanted very much forever.

he wanted to wake up next to you. he wanted to make you breakfast (real breakfast, not just pastries). he wanted to see you in the afternoon light, in the evening dark, in every possible version of every possible day.

he wanted you. why couldn’t he tell you?

every time he worked up the courage, something happened— you burned your hand, or the oven broke, or you looked at him with those big eyes and said something so effortlessly sweet that he forgot how to form words.

(“nanami, you work too hard. you should take a break.”

“i’m fine.”

“you’re not fine. sit down. i’ll make you tea.”

you made him tea. it was terrible— too much sugar, not enough steeping— but he drank every drop because you made it for him.)

he thought of the champagne he bought and hid it in the back fridge. he practiced what he would say, over and over, in the mirror, in the shower, while he walked home at night.

you’re important to me. no, too vague.

i’ve developed feelings for you. no, too clinical.

i love you. yes. simple. true.

as he cleaned up he decided he would tell you on friday. after closing. when the bakery was quiet and the lights were low and he could look you in the eye and finally, finally say what he’d been holding in his chest for months.

he heard shuffling from behind and when he turned back, you were there.

“i love you,” you blurted, standing in the middle of his bakery, face tear-streaked and flour-dusted, holding a half-eaten kouign-amann.

and nanami, who had planned speeches and practiced lines and worried himself sick over the right words, found that he didn’t need any of them.

he crossed the kitchen in three steps. he pulled you into his arms. he held you so tightly that you squeaked.

“i love you too,” he said, and his voice cracked because he was feeling things completely beyond his control. “i love you.”

you were crying again. he was crying a little too, though he would deny it later if asked.

“a few months ago, i thought you were going to fire me,” you mumbled into his chest. “i thought—”

“fire you?” he pulled back just enough to look at you, incredulous. “sweetheart, i would never. i couldn’t. i—” he laughed, breathless and disbelieving. “i have been trying to figure out how to tell you i love you for months. i have champagne in the fridge. i have a whole speech memorized.”

you blinked. “you have champagne?”

“that’s what you’re focusing on?”

“i’ve never had champagne before.”

nanami stared at you. you stared back, eyes red, nose running, looking like the most beautiful disaster he had ever seen.

“okay,” he said. “okay. champagne first. then we figure out the rest.”

he kept one arm around you as he walked to the fridge. you stayed pressed against his side, small and real. he pulled out the bottle, popped the cork (it hit the ceiling, left a small dent, he didn’t care), and poured two glasses.

you took yours with both hands, like a child being offered something new to drink. you sniffed it. you took a tiny sip. your eyes went wide.

“it’s sweet. i like it.”

nanami chuckled. he couldn’t help it. he was laughing and pouring champagne and standing in his bakery with the woman he loved, and everything felt impossibly, absurdly right.

“we’re going to do this properly,” he said, setting down his glass. he took yours too, set it next to his, and cupped your face in his hands. “i’m going to kiss you now. is that okay?”

you nodded, so fast he was surprised you didn’t get whiplash.

he kissed you; it was soft at first— gentle, questioning, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones. his hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through the messy tangles of your hair, and he kissed you like he was making up for lost time, as if he had been starving and you were the first meal he’d had in months.

you made a small, surprised sound against his mouth— something between a gasp and a laugh— and then you melted into him, your fingers curling into the front of his apron, pulling him closer.

“nanami,” you breathed out and he swallowed the word right then.

“kento,” he said against your lips. “call me kento.”

your eyes fluttered open. you were so close he could count your lashes, could see the tiny flecks of gold in your irises, could feel the warmth of your breath on his skin.

“kento,” you whispered softly, like a secret you were giving him and him alone. it sounded even sweeter than his last name from your lips.

he kissed you again.

and again.

and again.

“i just want you to know—mmph—”

“later.”

“but i was going to say—”

“later, sweetheart.”

you laughed against his mouth, which he felt it everywhere— in his chest, in his hands, in the way his knees suddenly felt less reliable than they had five minutes ago. you were laughing while he was trying to kiss you senseless, and somehow that made it better.

“you’re very bossy,” you said, pulling back just far enough to look at him. your lips were pink and slightly swollen. you looked thoroughly, beautifully kissed.

“i’m your boss,” he said. “it’s in the job description.”

“the job description didn’t say anything about the boss kissing his apprentice on the bakery floor after hours, kento!”

“consider it an addendum.”

you giggled, the sound lovely against his eardrums. all he wanted to do was make you do it again.

so he kissed the corner of your mouth. then your cheek. then the tip of your nose, which made you scrunch up your face in a way that was almost unbearably cute.

outside, the rain had stopped. the sun was setting, painting the bakery in shades of orange and gold. a customer knocked on the locked door, then gave up and walked away.

nanami didn’t notice. he was too busy kissing you, his airheaded apprentice, his beautiful disaster, his home.

.

.

.

later— much later, after the champagne was gone and the pastries were eaten and the two of you had migrated to the floor behind the counter because your legs gave out and he wasn’t much better— you looked up at him from where your head rested on his chest.

“kento?”

“yes, sweetheart?”

“i’m still going to burn things.”

he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “i know.”

“and forget where the vanilla is.”

“i know.”

“and walk into doorframes.”

“i’m counting on it.”

you smiled, sleepy and satisfied, and curled closer to him. his arm tightened around your shoulders.

“i love you,” you murmured, already half-asleep.

“i love you too,” he said, to your hair, to the quiet bakery, to the life he hadn’t known he was waiting for.

outside, the streetlights flickered on. the last of the day’s warmth faded from the windows. and nanami kento, practical man that he was, decided that this— right here, right now— was the only thing that had ever truly mattered.

he closed his eyes. held you close. and let himself be happy.

[ an. fluff because im very depressed ]

sitting in class, you sigh beside shoko with your face leaning against your palm. you're both early, courtesy of your professor wanting to have a talk with you. your grades dropped from an a to a c-, and not for no reason at all.

your relationship of three years came to a tumble a month ago now, and you've been trying so hard to finally move past it. but then a certain song comes on. or a movie plays.

that's when the tears start.

your friends had tried everything - movie nights, girls nights, forced study sessions that turned into vent sessions. somehow, every conversation circled back to him. to the cheating. to the humiliation. to the quiet resentment you hadn't realized you'd been carrying.

but you remind yourself of how shoko asked if you wanted to go out to the club this friday and you decided that yes, it really is time to move past this. your professor doesn't know about your breakup, so it's no fault to them that it reminded you of your loneliness.

your eyes stare out the window, looking at the hues of fall that cascade off of the trees and into the browning grass below. it's almost painfully similar to how you've felt lately, but you don't want to be stuck in this depression anymore.

your professor stands front and center in the room, standing in front of the large screen that's not going yet. to the left, you notice a figure come up beside them. your eyes widen at the sight of the man, a familiar person you recall seeing in previous courses in other semesters.

not once, but across semesters. passing through hallways. standing in the back of lecture halls. quiet, composed, always dressed a little sharper than everyone else. a student teacher, who's unfairly handsome.

you remember the first time you saw him and how despite admiring him for a second, you quickly looked away out of guilt. you were in a relationship back then. at least one of you stayed loyal, you guessed.

now you don't have to look away and even though it's a weird feeling, it's not one you'll be pushing away anymore. 

you watch as he adjusts his tie, eyes looking over the room of students. they stop at you and shoko for a split second before continuing their path, a strange feeling tugging at your gut.

shoko leans towards you, "he's kinda hot." she mumbles absentmindedly, the cap of a pen tucked between her teeth. you nod slowly before looking back as your professor begins speaking.

"alright, i wanted to introduce our ta for the remainder of the semester. this is kento nanami, and he'll be here to help all of you out as needed."

you look at him again, his broad shoulders, perfect posture, the way he seems almost too composed compared to any ta's you've interacted with before. he radiates control, as if he's the one running the room rather than the other way around. 

and for some reason, that makes your chest tighten.

class ends, and most of the students rush out, bags slung over shoulders, phones already in hand. you linger a little, pretending to gather your things, but really just hoping he won't leave too quickly.

he's already there, standing near the front, tie perfectly straight, posture sharp. he looks at you, and for a moment it's like the room has quieted, even though the hallway outside is already buzzing.

"i noticed your grades have slipped," he says, voice calm but not cold. "if you want, we can go over the material after class. just a few sessions could help you catch up."

your chest tightens, heat rising to your cheeks. you open your mouth, and nothing comes out. your brain feels like it's short circuiting. you nod too quickly, and somehow manage a soft, "o-oh, yeah… that'd be… helpful."

he gives a small nod, like he's noting your response but doesn't push. "okay. we can start tomorrow afternoon, if that works."

you just nod again, watching the way his eyes linger on you for a second longer before he turns away. you hear shoko snicker beside you, "you look like a schoolgirl."

you pinch the bridge of your nose, muttering a soft curse under your breath, but the warmth in your chest won't go away. as the two of you leave the lecture hall and begin your trek down the hallways, you think that the club might be what you need.

~

days pass, and it's finally friday. you've spent every evening after class talking with kento, taking your time to go over the things from the course you seemed to struggle with the most.

once he found out about your breakup, he seemed a lot more empathetic towards you. your grades were way better before the whole thing happened, and he can see that you're a good student.

shoko shows up at your dorm, practically bouncing with excitement. "ready to get out of the library bubble and have some fun?" she says, nudging you toward the door. you nod, trying to ignore the flutter in your stomach.

once the two of you arrive to the club, there's a long line of people that goes around the corner. the girl beside you shakes her head at the cluster of people before pulling out her cell.

"hey, satoru. we're here, wanna come let us ahead of the line?" you glance over at her at the mention of her friend satoru, eyebrows furrowing.

"are we hanging out with him tonight or something?" you ask, suddenly growing a bit nervous. the frat president is a nice guy, but his way of trying to help you through a breakup is throwing his frat buddies at you.

she shakes her head for a second before sucking a breath in through her teeth, glancing at you apologetically. "i… was going to say no, but you know how he can get. i promise i'll tell him to leave you be tonight. this isn't a frat party, we just want to get some drinks and dance."

her hand reaches out for yours, and she brings you towards the front of the line. the people in line give you both dirty looks, and the bouncer stares. once satoru comes out, though, you're ushered in by him too quickly for anyone to really interject.

inside, the bass hits your chest, the lights flash over the crowd, and the room feels impossibly alive. shoko grabs your hand and drags you straight to the bar, weaving past the crowd. 

"shots?" she asks, grinning, and you nod, letting her order for both of you. the sharp burn of the liquor hits your throat, making your cheeks warm. you settle into a booth a little ways from the main crowd, shoko chattering beside you, trying to distract you.

as you both talk a bit, your eyes wander around the club. your eyes stop when they see satoru with his signature smirk, and a man behind him. the two separate a bit and your eyes widen immediately.

kento nanami?

shoko gasps next to you, shaking your arm a bit dramatically. "what the fuck?"

you can't speak. you just stare, your mind racing, heart thudding, trying to process the impossible: why is that man standing next to satoru? you can only hope that satoru isn't trying to set you up, anxiety creeping in.

the two sit in the side of the booth across from you and shoko, an awkward quiet forming. "so, you guys know each other? how?" shoko breaks the silence, her eyes glancing between the two.

"oh, we met at one of my parties actually. a few years ago." satoru says, leaning back in the booth, smirk still in place. "he ended up joining the frat for a little while, but as you can see, he's onto bigger things."

shoko nods, "yeah, i definitely wouldn't have placed him as someone to even interact with a frat. especially yours."

you glance over at him again, noticing that he isn't dressed quite as formally as he is when he's in class. his forearms are revealed, thick with muscle that has you wondering what other parts of him are too.

satoru says something again, but you're not paying attention. you don't know if it's the alcohol that's fogged your mind or your feelings, but you're having trouble with not looking at your ta.

you tear your eyes away from him, glancing down to where your hands sit limply on your lap. without meaning to make anyone worry, you do. satoru actually speaks up, this time focused on you.

"you good over there?" he asks, and your head shoots up at him, as you nod quickly.

shoko nudges your shoulder with her own, "don't let that loser ass ex ruin your night again. there's better guys out there."

satoru makes a noise of agreement, "for real! probably better in more than just the romance department too, if you catch my drift."

your eyebrows furrow as you look up at him, shrugging your shoulders. "i doubt it. i'm just not a sexual person."

satoru leans back, smirking even wider. "not a sexual person, huh? that sounds like something your ex told you, probably to justify being an idiot."

you blink, cheeks heating immediately, fumbling for a response but pulling a blank. shoko snickers, elbowing you. "oh my god, he's not wrong."

nanami, still sitting there, watches quietly, his posture composed, fingers lightly tapping the edge of the table. he doesn't speak, but the way his gaze lingers on you makes your chest tighten.

satoru continues, completely unbothered by your embarrassment. "i'm just saying… he probably never even knew what he was doing. didn't make you feel good, didn't pay attention, probably didn't even ask."

you're still frozen in the same positon, and at this point the warmth coating your cheeks doesn't seem to be from the alcohol anymore. you know he's right, but you haven't had any experience past your ex.

satoru prepares to make another comment, but kento stops him in his tracks. "enough. embarrassing her isn't going to prove your point."

you look to him, a fond gratefulness spreading in your chest. his eyes are narrowed in on satoru, who's looking at him with a sheepish grin. he backs down, going to respond, but shoko interjects first.

"okay, yeah, that's fair. we're not here to bully her tonight."

her hips nudge yours, motioning in the direction of the dancefloor. "come on," shoko says as you slip out of the seat, following your movement. "we didn't skip the line just to sit around and get roasted."

"just remember, miss 'not sexual', denying every guy who's attracted to you is only proving him right." satoru's voice dips into a half joking tone, and you glare at him hard.

shoko pulls you into the crowd on the floorand the music is louder here, bass vibrating through your ribs, lights flashing across skin and sweat and bodies moving too close together.

her hands grip your hips, swaying you and herself to the beat of the song. “stop thinking,” she mouths over the music.

you let as loose as you can, the alcohol helping more than you want to admit. after a few songs play and one comes on that you and her both know the words to, suddenly your problems fade into nothing.

you're both sweating quite a bit, dramatically grinding on each other and taking turns spinning the other around. soon enough, you're both just standing in the crowd out of breath.

"see? you're alive again." her grin shines bright under the lights.

you smile back, choosing to get back into the dancing. the song shifts into a dirtier, more sensual song. you feel hands brush your waist from behind and immediately stiffen, turning sharply.

you're genuinely shocked when the man behind you isn't some random guy, but instead kento. his hands aren't gripping you. just resting lightly at your hips, giving you space to step away if you want. 

his expression is calm, unreadable in the flashing lights. "may i?" he asks, overly formal in the sweaty environment.

you nod your head slowly, eyes turning back to shoko's who's grinning at you like a fool. she doesn't say a word, just saunters off into the crowd until it's just you and him.

he doesn't pull you flush against him like the other men on the floor might. instead, his touch is a question, a steady pressure that guides you into a slow, deliberate sway that has nothing to do with the frantic beat of the song and everything to do with the current arcing between you.

you turn in his arms, your chest brushing his. he's taller than you realized, and you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. in the chaotic strobe of the club lights, his eyes look dark, serious. he's not smiling. he's just… watching you.

"you don't move like someone who isn't a sexual person," he says quietly, voice low enough that you feel it more than hear it.

your eyes widen, face flushing. "i- that's not-"

his hand shifts slightly higher on your waist. not grabbing. just firmer. "you're aware of every place i'm touching you," he continues evenly. "you react to it."

"look," you breathe in deeply, "i know satoru makes me seem like a charity case, but i'm not. he was being stupid."

"he wasn't wrong, though." the words are quiet, but they land with the force of a shout. your head snaps up, your eyes wide. "he was crude, but he wasn't incorrect, was he?"

you still for a second, before shaking your head. "no. he wasn't wrong."

he nods, "any man who makes you feel like you're incapable of feeling pleasure is only trying to make himself feel better."

the weight of his words hangs in the air, and you have nothing to say in response. you only keep your eyes on his, focused on the feel of his hands on you. "it was his job to learn your body, not to be selfish." he continues, eyes flickering down to your lips for a split second.

you swallow thickly, hands gripping onto his perfectly ironed shirt and pulling the fabric until it wrinkles. you fight against yourself for a moment, before your inhibitions give out.

you pull him close and press your lips into his, tired of this back and forth. he deepens the kiss immediately, a hand coming to the back of your head to press you in closer. 

his tongue flattens against your own, the taste of whiskey and cinnamon on his mouth. he doesn't let the kiss go too far, though, before he pulls away breathlessly. 

"i can make you cum."

he says it not as a question, but as a statement of fact. it's so direct, so blunt, that it shocks a laugh out of you. but there's no humor in it, just a dizzying wave of arousal.

you can't even find the breath to answer. your hands are still bunched in his shirt, the expensive fabric ruined under your white knuckled grip, but he doesn't seem to care. 

he steps into you, forcing you to take a staggered step back until the edge of the booth or a nearby pillar catches you. he's towering over you now, a wall of tailored wool and raw, focused intent.

"satoru thinks you're a project. your ex thought you were a chore," he says, his eyes searching yours with a piercing, academic intensity that makes you feel utterly exposed. "i see a woman who has been starved of the basic courtesy of pleasure. and i find that to be a gross oversight."

he leans in again, but he doesn't kiss you this time. instead, he brushes his nose against yours, his breath hot and smelling of that sharp cinnamon.

"i'm going to take you home," he murmurs, a dominant tone of voice that has you weak in the knees. "and i'm going to show you that the only reason you think you aren't a 'sexual person' is because you’ve never had anyone worth screaming for."

your breath hitches in your throat, the music and sounds of people around you feeling distant. "kento…" you breathe, and it comes out shakier than you intend.

his thumb drags slowly along your lower lip, not pressing. just feeling. "if you don't want to, just tell me."

you shake your head too quickly, "i want to."

he steps back just enough to give you space, but his hand stays firm at your lower back as he guides you through the crowd. it's protective more than possessive - his body angling slightly so no one bumps into you too hard.

you feel hyperaware walking beside him. the warmth of his palm. the way his fingers flex every time someone brushes too close. as you get closer to the doors to leave, spotting satoru in your peripheral has you groaning internally.

his grin is immediate, sharp and knowing. shoko stands beside him, eyes wide, then narrowing in impressed approval when she sees your flushed face and kento's rumpled shirt.

"oh?" satoru calls over the music. "leaving already?"

"yes." is all the man beside you says, pulling you past the two.

you see shoko mouth the words 'text me' as you're pushing past the doorway, nodding at her before you're finally outside. the cold night air hits your overheated skin and you suck in a sharp breath. the world feels quieter out here.

the walk to your apartment is silent, but it's not uncomfortable. it's charged. every time your arms brush, a jolt goes through you. when you reach your building, you fumble with your keys, your hands shaking slightly.

he covers your hand with his, steadying you. "allow me." he takes the keys, unlocks the door with a quiet click, and holds it open for you. you step inside, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

he follows you in, closing the door softly behind him. the click of the lock sounds deafening in the quiet of your small apartment. you turn to face him now, nerves hitting you.

"c'mere." is all he says, large hands pulling you into him. you look up at him and he leans down into you, your lips connecting again. his hands frame your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. you melt into him, your hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt.

he breaks the kiss, resting his forehead against yours. "your bedroom," he says, his voice thick with desire.

you lead him down the short hall, your hand in his. your room is messy, a dark reminder of how you've felt mentally recently, but he doesn't seem to notice. his eyes are only on you as he slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing the broad, muscular chest you'd only dared to fantasize about. he lets it fall to the floor.

your eyes flake over to his biceps, licking your lips when you finally see just how big they really are beneath the fabric. he's on you again, his lips finding yours as he walks you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed and you fall back onto the mattress. 

he follows you down, bracing his weight on his arms, caging you in. the air in the room is thick, the only sound the frantic hitch of your breath against the steady, heavy cadence of his.

as you reach up, your fingers skimming the hard lines of his shoulders, he suddenly shifts. one hand leaves the mattress, his large palm sliding up the column of your throat before his fingers dive deep into the hair at the base of your skull.

and he pulls.

you moan out at the feeling, eyes clamping shut. you don't mean to become so deeply aroused at the feeling, but your body betrays you wholly. "look at me," he commands, his voice dropping into that gravelly, authoritative tone that makes your toes curl into the sheets.

you obey, your eyes blown wide and glassy as you meet his gaze. his face is inches from yours, his expression a mask of strained composure. the sight of the same man who directs your classes looking at you with such raw, dark hunger is almost too much to bear.

"i'm going to break you." his words leave you biting down on your bottom lip, a small nod of your head.

he takes his time removing your clothes. he starts with your shirt, lips pressing kisses into the freshly exposed skin as you make small noises. once your bra is removed, his lips wrap around your nipples and grant them attention you've never felt before.

the electricity that swarms from each nerve of your body has you reeling, hands gripping onto his hair as his sloppy kisses move down between the valley of your breasts to your stomach, then to the waistline of your pants.

"lift your hips." he says, and you obey his words immediately, shaky hips lifting off of the bed as he pulls the fabric down. he takes your panties off too, eyes swiping from the wet fabric onto your glistening pussy.

he continues kissing your skin, your hip bones and thighs getting extra attention. by the time you feel his breath hit your cunt, you're dripping into the sheets and soaking them completely.

he doesn't dive in. he takes his time, kissing at your folds before pushing his lips in further. his lips press sloppy kisses into you before his tongue drags down to your entrance before capturing your clit.

you gasp out at the feeling, fingers gripping into the sheets as he starts lapping away at the sensitive little bead. "oh my god." you whimper out, pressure building up between your hips.

his hands grasp onto your hips, lifting your pussy to his lips as his movements become more hungry and rushed. you're crying out into the open air, the only noises being his face buried between your thighs and the fan running on your desk.

your eyes roll back when he sucks on your clit, head falling back into the pillow as your peak comes closer and closer. he hums into your clit for a moment, and that's what has you teeter past the edge with a loud moan.

you gasp, convulsions attacking your body with movement, his lips not moving away from you even after your eyes become filled with tears and you're staring at him like he's crazy.

"p-please! it's too much." you moan out, feeling another wave coming in. his hands leave your hips, two fingers entering you and curling in at a spot that has you crying out harder.

you feel a rush of something else hit, goosebumps forming along your body as you cry out. your whole body shakes with pleasure, grinding your hips into his face as you cum again against his mouth.

only after you come down the second time does he back away, a wet sheen covering him and coating the sheets. he licks at his lips before wiping at them with his hand, crawling up to you.

"did i-"

"squirt? yeah." he says it like it's nothing, taking a moment to finally take his pants off.

when his boxers are removed his cock swings out, thick and heavy, leaking at the tip. his lips meet yours and you can taste yourself on him, legs wrapping around his waist as your kisses grow more heated. 

his length grinds into you as you kiss, the tip kissing against your entrance a few times before it ends up pressing in just the slightest bit. you gasp against his lips, but pull him in closer with your legs.

inch by inch, you're gasping into his mouth, the length more than anything you've ever felt before. it burns just the slightest bit as he bottoms out, lips leaving yours to trail down your neck.

he slowly pulls his hips back, before thrusting forward. you whimper out at the feeling, nails curling into his skin as he starts moving. each thrust hits places that have you reeling, shaking as he begins fucking into you at a quicker pace.

when he adjusts, just a little bit, the tip brushes against a spot in you that has you screaming out. "oh my fuck." your voice comes out in a high-pitched tone, teeth gnawing down on your bottom lip as your pussy throbs against him.

his eyes lock onto your own with a hunger you've never seen him have before, his thrusts start going harder and more urgently in a manner that has clapping echo against the walls.

"yeah? you like that?" 

you nod, but his hand grasps onto your throat with a tight squeeze that has you gasping out. "use. your. words."

"yes." you moan out quietly, his grip on your throat loosening as he starts a brutal pace. you can feel him grow closer and closer to his own peak, sloppy movements overtaking as small grunts escape his lips.

eventually, they still, and you feel his cum fill you up completely. you're so overwhelmed, you're practically buzzing now. his lips come down and kiss you hard as he pulls out, cum leaking out of you and onto your thighs and the sheets.

he cleans you up gently after you tell him where your washcloths are, then pulls you into his arms underneath the blankets.

"better than your ex, i assume?"

you look at him and let out a quiet laugh, "i almost forgot i had an ex at all."

a small smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth as he pulls the duvet higher around you both. "good. that was the goal."

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be watching this. This is Nanami-san and his wife, this is-

But his feet wouldn't move. His body betrayed every ounce of respect he held for his senior as his cock fucking throbbed painfully against his zipper.

Nanami thrust up into you, and your head fell forward with a sweet moan, “You say that,” he ground out through his teeth, “but you keep clenching. You keep-“ He pulled you down onto him hard, bottoming out till you wailed, “gripping me like you want another child.”

“‘Cause do,” you sobbed, your nails raking down his forearms. “I want another one so badly Kento, please-“

This is wrong. This is so wrong.

Ino's palm pressed against the front of his pants before he could stop himself.

Through the gap, he watched Nanami's composure crack further. The usually unflappable sorcerer had his head tipped back against the chair, golden hair mussed and damp with sweat… his chest heaved with each controlled breath- but that control was slipping. Ino could see it in the way his hips snapped up harder, faster, in the low, guttural sounds escaping his throat.

“The door,” Nanami managed, voice rough, “I didn't -shit- didn't lock-“

“Don't care.” You rolled your hips in a filthy slow circle, and Nanami's hands flew to the armrests, knuckles whiting, “Want them to see. Want them to see how good your wife takes your cock-“

“Filthy girl.” The tone tore out of him- raw, low, needy, and so unlike anything Ino had ever heard from the man. Nanami surged forward, burying his face against your throat, teeth scraping the column of your neck, “my beautiful- filthy wife. You make me lose myself every time-“

You laughed- a breathless, wrecked thing- and reached back to tangle your fingers in his hair, “And you love it.”

Nanami's only response was to fuck up into you harder.

Nanami-san would walk away, Ino thought frantically, his hand now actively palming himself through the fabric. He would never- he would act like he didn't see anything, he would-

But Ino wasn't Nanami.

The moment your rhythm grew erratic -the moment your spine curved into a beautiful bow and your head fell back against Nanami's shoulder- Ino saw it…

Your breasts, full and heavy with the evidence of your recent pregnancy, bounced with each thrust. And then, as a particularly vicious snap of Nanami's hips drew a scream from your lips, the prettiest white streams began to dribble from your peaked nipples. Twin rivulets of milk traced down the swell of your tits, catching the low light, dripping onto Nanami's stomach.

“Oh god- oh god-“ Ino Ino's hands trembled violently as he wrenched at his zipper, and then his cock was out, flushed dark and drooling precum down his shaft. He grabbed himself and stroked -messy, desperate, graceless- shoving his sleeve between his teeth to muffle the pathetic whimpers spilling out of him with every slick pump of his fist.

Inside the office, Nanami groaned at the sight of you- at the feel of your milk against his skin. His hand came up to cup your breast, thumb dragging through the wetness, smearing it across your nipple. “Look at you,” he rasped against your ear, voice wrecked, “making such a mess. Can't even- can't even control yourself.”

“Your fault,” you gasped, bouncing faster, “You did this to me- you bred me-“

Ino's hand worked his cock frantically, pre cum slicking his palm, his hips jerking into his own grip. He watched Nanami lose the last thread of composure- watched him grip your jaw and turn your head to lock your mouth in a bruising kiss, all while fucking into your squelching cunt.

No… Nonono- Gonna cum. Fuck, I'm gonna-

Your orgasm hit first- your whole body seizing, cunt clamping down so brutally tight that Nanami choked, his steady rhythm shattering. Milk spurted from your tits in sticky sweet streams, splashing across his heaving chest, and he followed you over the edge with a guttural groan-

He ground into you, buried to the hilt, and you could feel his cock kicking inside you- pumping load after thick load until your cunt couldn't hold it anymore.

Ino watched, throat dry, as cum started spilling out around Nanami's shaft. Not dripping- gushing, forced out with every slow roll of Nanami's hips, frothing white around where his cock split you open. It ran down in sticky trails, coating his balls, smearing across the insides of your trembling thighs, dripping onto the floor in fat drops.

“Beautiful,” Nanami muttered, pulling back just enough to watch his own cum ooze out of you.

That was it.

Ino came hard, his whole body convulsing as his cock pulsed in his grip. Thick, white ropes of cum painted his palm, his fingers, dripping between his knuckles and splattering against the floor.

His back slammed into the wall behind him with a dull thud, and then his legs buckled causing him to slide down -graceless-, until his ass hit cold floor, thighs falling open, chest heaving with each wrecked breath.

His ski mask slipped off his head.

He barely noticed. He didn’t care… he was too ashamed…

Inside the office, you'd collapsed against Nanami's chest, boneless and sated, your breathing evening out into the soft rhythm of sleep.

Nanami held you there, one hand stroking down your spine, his own eyes closed as he caught his breath.

Slowly, his lashes lifted… and his gaze drifted to the cracked door…

To the sliver of hallway visible beyond it…

To the familiar black ski mask lying on the floor, a pale hand resting limply against it.

Nanami's jaw tightened.