oh kay

2016.

“It’ll be easy. One and done. I’ll be home before dinner.”

Satoru’s lips twist into a pout against your cheek. He rears his head back to look at you. Glare, actually. Glare at you.

It’s a reaction you expected, but your stomach still twists itself into knots. The unconvinced hum he gives you is a downplay of his very real feelings, and he’s playing the part of an angry kitten for your sake. He’s genuinely upset, and he’s trying to keep you from the inevitable guilt that’ll swallow you whole. Protecting you from yourself. The worst part? It’s kinda working. You hate it. Hate it.

He buries his face in your shoulder and you nose at his temple apologetically. You don’t want to go any more than he wants you to. Before you can soothe him with a kiss, he rolls away and turns his back to you, arms crossed petulantly. He’s still playing, but you recognize this gesture for what it is: his irritation is slowly chipping away at the façade.

You follow and press yourself against his back instinctively, reaching up and around his shoulders to poke his cheek. A pitiful attempt at lightening the atmosphere, but it works.

“C’mon, babydoll, don’t be mad.” You brush your nose against the shell of his ear affectionately, breathing in. He smells nice. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Another unconvinced hum.

You chuckle and squeeze his cheeks. His lips twist into a pout. He looks adorable like that; you want to kiss him all over. You want to eat him up. You want to stay.

“Swear,” you press on. He’s close to relenting, you can tell. He never could stay mad for very long, not with you around. “You won’t even realize I’m gone.”

You both know more than anyone how unlikely that is. It’s always the same thing with curse users: you think there’s only one, and before you know you’re neck deep in blood and mud, fighting off two dozen because the entire organization wants a piece of you.

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he huffs. He pushes your hand off his face a little too roughly, and you deflate. Clearly, he won’t be so easily soothed today.

He’s silent for a moment, and you think he’s given up. You move to wrap your arms around him again, but he speaks before you can.

“I just think it’s funny how you’re needed for a sudden emergency on our first day together in, like, two months.”

You chew on your cheek, sighing softly through your nose. Well, he’s got a point. You doubt the higher-ups care about your little love story, but... well, the timing feels a little too inconvenient to not be intentional. They could’ve had anyone on-duty report in Kyoto. Instead they asked you.

It’s not the first time the brass does this. You’ve never been too shy to be openly critical of them. Critical of how they treat the students, how they treat your coworkers. How they treat Satoru. Sawai Yumeko’s death shook you more than you’d like to admit. She was a good kid.

Petty retaliation. They want to exhaust you, hope it keeps you quiet.

Except you don’t intend to keep quiet. You never have. You never will. You thought by now, they would’ve learned their lesson: the only way to keep you quiet is to put you six feet under.

“Yeah, I know,” you say lowly, kissing his nape.

But Satoru’s not done with you, apparently.

“For each one you see, there’s ten that you don’t. You know, like cockroaches.” You exhale sharply through your nose. Can’t he give it a rest? Complaining about it’s not gonna cancel the mission. Irritation prickles at your veins. He continues, “It starts with one and ends up with you gone three weeks trying to take down the whole shtick.”

“I know, Satoru.”

You didn’t mean to snap at him, but he’s only frustrating you both right now. You know all this. You know all this. And the last thing you need is to go into an assignment irritated and distracted.

Because he’s right. It’s like he read your mind. You have a bad feeling about this one.

He turns to brace himself over his forearms, eyes narrowed into slit. Not quite a glare, but almost. A genuine one, this time. You shouldn’t have snapped.

“What, ‘m I not allowed to be pissed?”

“You’re allowed to be pissed.” You run a hand down your face with a sigh. You don’t want to fight. There’s no reason to fight right now, not when it’s out of your hands. Not when your frustration’s not directed at each other. “Just... please.”

His face softens. He chews on his lip for a second — you can almost see the gears turning in his head. You wrap an arm around his shoulder when he settles against you, head on your shoulder and hand near your heart.

You close your eyes to soak in the feeling of him, warm and solid against you, where he belongs. Maybe the mission will go as planned. Maybe it really will be just the one curse user. Maybe you’ll be home for dinner.

He falls asleep just after asking you out. He looks so young, under the gentle morning sun. Untroubled. What do you need to do to keep him like that?

Eventually duty calls. You maneuver him off you as gently as you can and lean down to kiss his cheek when he makes a small sound of protest.

“Love you,” you whisper.

𖦹

The mission didn’t go as planned. In fact, it couldn’t have gone worse.

It wasn’t just the one curse user, of course it wasn’t, but you’d been expecting that. You hadn’t expected the shikigami, though.

A shikigami so dangerous it was on par with Megumi’s technique. Clearly a last resort, because it took down three of its allies before even taking an interest in you. Not like you would’ve been able to fight back, what with the gunfire being rained down on you.

It cornered you in an alley before you could react. Bit your hand off, bit a chunk from your side until eventually its summoner succumbed to his wounds and it disappeared. And left you, bloodied and panting, collapsed against the alley wall.

Just a little bit longer. Your phone. If you can find your phone, you can call Satoru, and he’ll send Shoko in no time.

“You can’t...”

Huh?

“You won’t... get away...”

Oh, it’s one of them. You’re surprised he can even talk.

No matter. No need to waste energy you don’t have on replying. All you need to do is find your phone, call Satoru, and then just hold on. Hold on until someone comes to get you.

Blood drips on the concrete. Drip. Drip. Drip. So quiet now that calm has returned. Now that you’re all dying.

Drip.

The moon is out. She’s beautiful tonight. Bright and indifferent. Cold. You’re cold. Is it getting cold? Where’s your phone? If only... if only you could find it, you’d...

“No one... no one is coming to save you, sorcerer...!”

A gunshot—

Then pain. Darkness.

Drip. Drip.

You expected to die right away. But your cursed energy thrashes, claws at your skin, burns through your limbs to keep you alive, alive, alive—

No one is coming to save you.

You should give up. You should let go. What can you do? Those things happen. You became a sorcerer anyway. You knew. You just...

Satoru.

There’s still things you wish you could’ve done. Like cursing the old geezers out one last time.

Satoru, I...

Or going for that ramen you know Satoru loves.

Satoru. Satoru.

Ah... Satoru, he’ll... he’ll be so sad when he finds out. Alone in that apartment. In that bed you shared.

Love you.

What’s he supposed to do alone? How could you be so heartless?

I love you. I love you. Satoru, I love you.

You were supposed to go out for ramen together.

Satoru. Satoru. Satoru. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Get up. Just get up.

Satoru. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru...

I love you. I love you. Please get up.

Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru…

Don’t leave me. You’re all I have.

Satoru—

Cursed energy bubbles, boils until it spills. It hurts. Hurts, hurts, hurts. It doesn’t stop.

And suddenly you have arms again. There’s someone with you. You’re not sure where you are, and you’re not sure who you are, but him you know by heart.

“Satoru... Satoru, don’t go...”

He’s backing away. Why? He’s all you have. What are you supposed to do alone?

“Don’t go. Satoru, don’t go. Satoru, I love you...”

But he vanishes before you can react. You were sure you’d grabbed him, but he... he just vanished. He’s gone.

Why’d he go? Why’d he leave you?

“Satoru...”

Satoru, why?

The boiling again. A torso. A leg.

“Satoru...!”

A head. A mouth.

“SATORU!”

Then the world explodes and goes dark.

𖦹

Time passes, or so Satoru says. You can’t really tell. Most of the time, you feel like you’re floating. Not here, not there. You only know when you’re with Satoru, and when you’re not. When you’re home, and when you’re not.

You’re not completely unaware, though. Some things are burned in your skull. Like when you meet the boy Satoru called Megumi for the first time.

Satoru said you knew him, knew him well. Said you were close to him, before. You still don’t know what he means by before — before what? To you, there is no before. There is with Satoru, and without.

Satoru always looks sad, when you tell him that. You wish you could fix it, but nothing you say ever makes him feel better. He just smiles and brushes your jaw. Kisses you and says it’s fine. You don’t need to worry about it. It’s fine.

He told you beforehand that he wanted you to meet someone, and that means you have to be on your best behavior. So when he calls, you come without a fuss, pulling yourself out of your domain.

As always, it takes you a couple of seconds to take in your surroundings. You’re at Satoru’s heel, of course, but there’s someone else. You flatten yourself to the ground, muscles bunching, but Satoru stops you.

“Hey, hey, eeaasy now.” He grabs the back of your head and pushes you further into the ground, and that’s when you see him. “It’s okay, Megumi, he’s not gonna hurt you.”

The boy’s on the ground, collapsed against a wall. There’s a small stool at his feet, knocked over. Did he trip over it trying to retreat?

He’s panting, watching you, eyes wide and jaw clenched. He looks... familiar. In a way that hurts to look at.

Black hair. Green eyes. And that face, you know it. You know him, you’re sure of it.

“Th-that’s Y/N?” He grits out, eyes flickering between you and Satoru.

Satoru chuckles darkly. You nuzzle into his palm. “What, you don’t recognize him?”

He pats your head fondly. It’s a soothing gesture; he always does this when he needs you calm, soft. You relax your muscles, and Satoru pinches your cheek with a coo.

“This is Megumi,” he tells you, tilting his head towards the boy. “Remember, Y/N?”

You remember, and you don’t. You know you knew him. Before. But before what? It’s always that same question with you. Before what?

You look at Megumi. He looks back.

“Hi, Megumi,” you greet, gentling your voice as much as you can. It’s hard. You have a lot of teeth in your mouth.

Maybe you weren’t too successful, because Megumi looks down. Away. Clenches his fists and bites at his lip when it starts to tremble. Did you scare him? You hope not. Satoru said Megumi mattered a lot to him. The last thing you want is to make enemies with the people he loves.

Satoru sighs. He gives you an affectionate pat on the back and turns to you. “How about you come back later, baby?”

You give a little nod and retreat back into your domain. The last thing you hear before you’re cut off from Satoru’s world is Megumi’s voice. He’s shouting.

“What did you do to him?!”

𖦹

Megumi becomes a part of your routine after that. You see him more often, always with Satoru. You try to talk to him, but he’s not too responsive.

“Tell me about school!”

“...It’s fine.”

“You’re working hard?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve got a lot of friends?”

“Mh.”

Quiet and withdrawn. You can’t tell if he’s simply like that or if it’s because of you. He barely ever looks at you. And he always looks so sad, when he does. Nothing you can say could ever make him feel better.

Time passes, or so Satoru says. You feel yourself change, mind, body. You feel less like an animal, more aware of yourself and your surroundings. Your body shifts as your awareness grows, less like a beast, more like Satoru. Only bigger. Taller. You like towering above him. You can tell he likes it, too. Really likes it.

Your sense of time sharpens as well. You stop relying on Satoru. You stop letting yourself drift aimlessly. You change.

You begin to remember the before that Satoru sometimes talks about.

The alley is first. The smell of blood. The shikigami. The gunshot. The moon. Unpleasant things you were fine having forgotten, but hey, can’t have everything, right? Then other things. Satoru, mostly. Your mother. Megumi. The school. Shoko. Suguru. Bits and pieces of happiness resurfacing without warning. Coming up for air after drowning in your memory.

You change.

The first time you see Megumi alone, without Satoru, is a turning point.

You’re bored. Bored out of your skull, restlessness tingling down your limbs. It’s unbearable. Usually Satoru lets you blow off some steam on missions, but it’s been a while since he called on you. So you slip out of your domain, careful to keep your cursed energy suppressed.

It’s the middle of the night. Satoru’s sleeping soundly, for once — maybe the first time in months you’ve seen him in bed before three in the morning. You stop to admire him for a moment. He looks young. Untroubled. What do you need to do to keep him like that?

Nothing you say ever makes him feel better.

Blissfully, his bedroom window’s already open, so you slip outside, quiet as a shadow, to explore.

You never get to see much of the Jujutsu Tech campus — the council may tolerate your presence thanks to Satoru, but he still doesn’t like to have you out in the open for long periods of time. He likes you best tucked away, or close to him. You get the feeling. One day a sorcerer might try their luck and jump you. Not like you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself, but you don’t want to hurt anyone. At least anyone who didn’t deserve it.

It’s a nice place. Traditional buildings, nestled in the forest. Hidden, private, peaceful. You like it. You liked it just as much before you died.

Died. Such a strange thought. You died and you came back.

Just like Satoru. Now you match.

You go farther. Past the barriers. Past the forest. Down the mountain. Maybe you’re pushing your luck, but it’s so nice, being out in the open. The cool wind on your skin. The bristle of the leaves. The moon is out. She’s beautiful.

You feel strangely alive, strangely more than that.

You sense Megumi long before you can see his building. The place he lives in with his sister is in Shibuya, tucked between an abandoned building and a cemetery. You remember him exorcising a curse there, under Satoru’s supervision. Was that before or after? You can’t remember.

He’s awake. Out on the balcony, and he saw you coming.

You land heavily beside him with a huff, stretching out your neck. He’s tense. On edge. Because of you? Probably. You crouch and raise your hands placatingly.

“Easy there, Megumi. You’re okay.”

Megumi gulps, dropping his hands from the sign he formed. Ready to fight, then. And confident in his ability to defeat you? Or maybe just a defensive reflex. Either way, not bad, kid.

“Y/N-san. What are you doing here?”

“Just stretching my legs. It was getting claustrophobic.”

He doesn’t answer. Right. Quiet type. You could never get him to talk before, and you doubt you’re going to start now. Teenagers...

It’s quiet for a while. Megumi sits in a plastic chair, elbows on his knees, staring down at his hands. You close your eyes for a moment, basking in the peaceful silence. The pleasant breeze. Cursed energy simmering in the air.

And the swarm of curses scuttling in every nook and cranny of the city. Maybe you should exorcize a few while you’re here.

Megumi, first.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You try again.

“Mh.”

“...Something bothering you?”

He takes a second. “Just... thinking about school.”

School. Right, he’ll enroll in Jujutsu Tech soon enough. Daunting stuff.

“I’m sure you’ll do great,” you say softly.

His shoulders sag. Tremble, slightly. He squeezes his hands. Swallows again.

“...I miss you, aniki.”

...Oh. Well, that’s... something, at least? Something you don’t get.

You tilt your head. “What do you mean? I’m right here.”

He presses his lips together. Turns his face away.

Okay then. Conversation over.

Satoru is awake when you return. You find out immediately — because as soon as you land in the apartment, you’re pinned to the wall by the crushing strength of Infinity.

It burns. The wooden walls splinters and tears at your back, his cursed energy’s crushing you, hissing violently, and you can’t help but wonder: what’s gonna give first, the wall or you?

You might die. For real, this time. Satoru doesn’t fuck around.

But the physical pain is nothing, nothing compared to the sight of his face. Eyes dark and accusing and so fucking hungry. Bloodthirsty in a way you never thought you’d see directed at you.

And sad. Like you’ve wronged him. Betrayed him. It pulls at your chest, tugs as if you still had heartstrings there beneath your ribs, hidden away. You need to fix it. You need to fix it.

He’s smiling. That smile he’s always giving to everyone else, and now you’re the one who feels betrayed because how dare he? How dare he slap on that mask like you’re a stranger? An insect he’s about to crush under his heel? How dare he?

You fight back against the crushing weight of Infinity, snarling. “Satoru—”

“Where were you?” His voice is soft, airy. Nothing out of the ordinary for him — if you didn’t know him better than he knows himself.

“Out,” you bite, keeping your chin held high to sneer down at him. He should know better than to try and intimidate you. He should know he can’t use the tricks that work on anyone else.

He drops his technique and lets you fall to your knees, but before you can straighten he grabs the back of your neck and shoves your head down. Robs you of the sight of him, forcing you to stare down at the hardwood. You drop a hand to the floor to keep him from flattening you down entirely, the smallest act of defiance you can muster against him.

“Without me?” He quips. You can hear the way his smile widens in his voice. His arm is trembling, his grip almost unsteady. “That’s so mean, baby.”

“I came back, didn’t I?”

He bristles, like you’ve hit a nerve. Like he’d genuinely entertained the possibility that you wouldn’t. “That’s so not the point.” He pushes your head further down, and you strain against him. “What makes you think you can just disappear on me like that, hm?”

“I’m not your pet, Satoru.”

You push at his elbow to make his arm buckle and shove him away. He lands on the bed with a huff, and then he shoots you a look. You don’t recognize it. So resentful, so cold. And you end up feeling like a misbehaving puppy anyway.

You grit your teeth and steel yourself. “What, scared I’ll go on a rampage and start eating people or something?”

It’s a taunt, nothing more, but his mouth twists and you wonder if there’s some actual truth to it. If he insists you stay by his side not because he wants you, not because he can’t bear to be away from you, but because he wants to keep an eye on you.

Or maybe you’re misinterpreting entirely. He feels so far away, all of a sudden.

You rise and he does the same. You’re towering over him, by a head at least.

He’s still smiling. Stiff and sharp. Showing way too much teeth.

“Don’t go anywhere without me ever again,” he lets out, “or I’ll kill you.”

“You think you could?” You scoff.

“You think I can’t?” He retorts immediately.

He has the means to, at least. You’re strong, but he’s stronger, probably. And you have no intention of testing that theory, none whatsoever. It’s the last thing you want, to fight to the death against Satoru. Yes, you’re sure Satoru would be strong enough to exorcize you. But it’s not about strength, is it? Not with you. Not with him.

“Hey, you’re the one who brought me back,” you taunt again. “So if anything—”

“It’d be my fault if you kill anyone, that what you’re saying?” He steps around you, shrugging carelessly. “I’m a big boy, I clean up my messes. And besides...”

He puts a hand on your chest and pushes. You let him. You fall heavily on his bed and Satoru climbs on your lap, staring down at you. The cold you saw in his eyes earlier is thawing. Placated by your simple presence. Something tingles in your gut, pulls you to him. You want to bite him. Put your mouth on him. Melt away the cold until it disappears forever, until you’re sure he’ll never look at you like that ever again.

You reach up to grab his thighs as he leans over you, hands planted on each side of your head.

“All this,” he continues, looking you up and down, “was a joint effort, you know that, baby.”

He reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. You know what he means.

Live together. Die together. That was the unspoken promise that tied you to him. That tied him to you.

“We did this just like we do everything,” he finishes. “Together, just you and me.”

He leans his head down and you meet him halfway, nuzzling against his cheek. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth to slide against his jaw. He shivers.

“Don’t go anywhere without me again,” he whispers.

You see it for what it is, now, the restlessness in his energy, the trembling in his limbs. He doesn’t keep you under his thumb to keep an eye on you. He does it because he can’t bear to be away from you. Because he wants you. Because he loves you.

𖦹

2017.

Satoru warned you about Rika. He told you that she’s abnormally strong, that she more than deserves her title of Queen of Curses. He also told you she manifests randomly, just like you used to before you fully regained awareness of yourself. Which is why there wasn’t a drop of suspicion in your body when you climbed out of your domain to see what all the fuss with that Okkotsu kid was about.

Regret is bitter on your tongue. Or maybe that’s just the wood dust from the wall you were thrown into.

You cough, trying to get your bearings and extract yourself from the wall.

“Baby, you okay?” Satoru calls out from the middle of the track field.

You thrust out your arm, thumb up, and Satoru returns the gesture. Beside him, Okkotsu’s freaking out, torn between stuttering out apologies and trying ― key word, trying ― to control Rika. She’s not listening to him one bit; instead she’s snarling at you, like she actually has a chance of intimidating you, of making you back down.

“Stay away from my Yuta!”

As if.

You don’t care about her Yuta. You don’t give a damn, not even an inkling of one ― but now she’s riled you up and you want nothing more than to pound her head into the dirt.

Finally, you pull yourself out of the wall.

“Alright, Queen of Curses, you wanna go?”

Okkotsu squeaks. “S-sensei, are they going to―”

“’Fraid so! My Y/N’s not one to let others walk all over him, see!”

You’re up in her face in one strong leap. If this kid wants to play, you’ll play.

Rika screeches and you narrowly avoid the swipe of her talons. Cursed energy blooms in your palm and you throw a punch, and this time she’s the one sent flying away. She  plants her talons in the dirt to slow herself down with a wail.

“That hurts!”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s supposed to!”

She jumps back into the fray and throws blow after blow, each one you avoid by a hair. She’s definitely strong. Wild and feral like an animal, unpredictable and vicious. But there’s no thought, no strategy behind it. No control over her cursed energy. You dodge every swipe, but she can’t do the same for yours.

You’re so much better than her. In every sense.

The thrill of the fight takes over you, cursed energy crackling between you like fireworks. You could exorcize her right here, right now, be done with this mess. Okkotsu would go back to living his normal life and you’d go back to your Satoru and―

“Okay, that’s enough!”

Satoru’s command freezes you in place, and you leap away from Rika and back to his side. You lower yourself to a crouch and he pats the back of your head affectionately. Okkotsu’s stood behind him, protected, but he’s still shaking like a leaf. Poor kid.

You keep your eyes on Rika wearily. She hasn’t had enough. She’s barreling towards the three of you at full speed.

“Yuta, look. He’s to me what Rika is to you,” Satoru starts explaining. Always looking for an educational opportunity in the wildest things. “Remember what I told you about channeling her cursed energy?”

Rika screeches again. She’s ten meters away. You’re all easily in her range.

“Sensei, shouldn’t we―”

“The more energy you can control, the stronger you’ll get,” Satoru keeps talking, completely ignoring the teen. “And eventually you’ll be able to control her fully. It’ll look something like this.”

He tugs at your cursed energy, mingling it with his own. Rika screams and prepares to strike.

The air buzzes around Satoru. He lifts two fingers, and the cursed energy around them turns pink―

CRASH!

The blast’s so bright and powerful it darkens the surroundings completely and almost blows Okkotsu away. When the smoke clears, there’s a large trench left in the dirt. Rika’s gone.

“Huh,” you let out. “She fled in her domain to escape.”

“Mhm!” Satoru sounds way too proud of himself. “She figured it was her only chance to avoid it.”

“Was it?”

“Obviously.”

Okkotsu’s quiet beside you. His eyes are wide, jaw slack. He’s impressed, but…

But he looks scared, too.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’ll be able to do that, Sensei…”

Satoru pats his head, smiling reassuringly. “Like I said. Eventually. It’s gonna take hard work!”

The teen hums, clearly unconvinced. He looks down at his hand.

You feel for him. He seems so sad. So lonely.

Satoru lets out an eep!, looking down at his watch. “Yikes, gotta run. Yaga’s gonna be pissed at me.”

You let out a sigh, standing to your full height. “Late again?”

“It’s fiiiiine, he’ll get over it,” Satoru drawls, waving a dismissive hand. “Yuta, work on that cardio while I’m gone, ‘kay? You need to. Like, really.”

Okkotsu deflates and nods.

“Satoru,” you scold.

“What?” You give him a look, and he shrugs. “I’m a teacher, aren’t I?”

You shake your head disapprovingly. You swear, sometimes he doesn’t care how things sound coming out of his mouth.

Still, you nuzzle the top of his head before he goes.

You stay with Okkotsu after Satoru’s left. At first, you lay under the shade of a tree while he runs laps, attention locked on Satoru’s cursed energy. Time slips away from you, and before you know Okkotsu drops heavily beside you and downs half his water bottle in one go.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?” You can’t help but tease.

He startles, like he’d forgotten you were there. Or that you can talk.

“Uh ― working hard. Definitely,” he mumbles, looking down.

He’s pathetic in a way that makes you feel oddly paternal. Like a wet kitten, scared of the world but being very brave about it. You can tell why Satoru likes him.

“She’s a handful, isn’t she?” Rika.

“Yes, that’s… that’s an understatement.” He looks up, sneaking a glance at you every now and then. He wants to say something.

“Spit it out,” you say, not unkindly.

He hesitates. A second, two. Then, “Sensei said you’re to him what Rika is to me… So, he… controls you?”

“Not really, no. He asks to borrow my cursed energy and I give it to him.”

“Then how would I…”

“I was a sorcerer, Okkotsu,” you explain gently. “I’m not like Rika. When sorcerers die, they’re liable to become curses. That’s why they always need to be killed with cursed energy.”

His face falls at your words, and he looks down again. Maybe you shouldn’t have spoken so callously; the thought that you’re a dead man walking is a grim enough one to yourself, so to a fifteen-year-old…

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s― it’s okay, I… It’s okay,” he mumbles. “So, you… cursed him?”

“He cursed me, actually. Although in my case―” you yawn and stretch your neck, “―it was more of a duo project.”

“I don’t understand.”

“What?”

“I thought…” He shakes his head, curling a hand around the ring he wears on a chain. “I thought you’d be the one cursing him. You’re the cursed spirit.”

“Exactly. I’m the cursed spirit. I’m the one who’s cursed.”

He doesn’t answer. Seems to contemplate something. Or realize something. About his own situation, maybe? Did he think Rika was the one cursing him this entire time?

He looks so sad, all of a sudden. You’ve seen this face before, on someone else. You hate it. But nothing you could tell him would make him feel better.

𖦹

Satoru doesn’t return until sundown.

You’re laid on the hardwood floor of his campus apartment when he bursts through the door excitedly.

“Jeez, I’m glad today’s over.”

He drops his jacket on a side table and stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rides up. Drool pools on your tongue at the hint of his soft, tender skin.

“Long day?”

“You can say that again,” he huffs. He stretches out his neck next, and you greedily drink in the sight of his exposed throat. “What are you doing down there?” He asks when he sees you sprawled on the floor.

“It’s comfortable.”

“There’s a king size in the bedroom though?”

“And?”

He rolls his head, removing his blindfold to better stare at you. His eyes glint in the dying light, bottomless pools enchanting you effortlessly. He’s so beautiful. You want to eat him.

He moves to walk past you.

Unacceptable. He made you wait all afternoon, all alone, and he won’t even give you a kiss? You won’t let that stand.

You grab his ankle and pull, and he falls to his knees with a heavy thud.

“Hey!” Indignantly, he glares at you from between his legs. “What was that for, you dick?”

You drag him towards you and wrap your arms around his waist, trying to pull him down to you, but he strains against you. “Let me hold you.”

“Nope, no way. Get off.”

“Satoru…” You drag out the last syllable of his name, emulating the bratty drawl he’s never afraid to use on you. “Come on. Let me hold you. I waited for you all day.”

“Should’ve thought about earlier,” he scoffs, pushing at your head, “before you tripped me like a jerk.”

“You’re saying that like it hurt.”

“It did!”

“Stop lying, I know you still have Infinity on.”

“Hmph.”

He grumbles under his breath, but at least he also stops fighting against your grip and lets himself fall half on top of you. Grateful for the opportunity, you push his shirt up and nuzzle into his stomach, inhaling the scent of his skin.

“Didn’t you miss me?” you breathe against him.

“I wanna shower.”

“Satoru.”

He kicks his leg petulantly. “Let me shower.”

“Not until you admit you missed me.”

“Alright, you big baby.” He rolls to his back, braced on his forearms to look down at you. “I missed you. Can I go shower now.”

“Mm. What’s the point?” You twist and crawl between his legs, nuzzling against his inner thigh. He’s wearing way too many clothes right now. “You’ll need another one when I’m done with you.”

“Can’t give me a second? I just got here and you already wanna fuck me.”

You can’t deny that you’re riled up like crazy. The fight from the afternoon is still in the back of your mind. You haven’t had enough, and you need to blow away that steam somehow.

“Your fault for being so enchanting.”

Satoru snorts. “Charming, really.”

You crawl your way up to his face, nosing and tonguing at his jaw, his neck, his lips. Like this, you’re covering him completely. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this, how different you look from before. How big you are. How small he seems, compared to you. It makes your head spin.

Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulders, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Seriously. You’re pretty wired. What’s up?” When you don’t reply, his smile turns sly. “Rika got under your skin?”

“I don’t wanna talk about her.”

“Oooh, did I hit a nerve?”

You lace your fingers between his to pin his hand above his head. “…You should’ve let me exorcize her.”

“Don’t think you could’ve, to be honest.”

“Are you saying I can’t?” You let out, pulling back to narrow your eyes at him.

He holds up his free hand placatingly. “Easy, big guy. I’m not doubting you, she’s just, you know. A special case.”

He’s got a point. You’ve never encountered a curse like her in your lifetime; maybe Okkotsu’s the only one who can exorcize her. Undo the curse fully.

You let a huff, nipping at the soft skin beneath his jaw.

“C’mon, it’s not a big deal,” Satoru soothes. “You’ll get over it, won’t you?”

You don’t dignify him with a reply; instead you push his lips open with your mouth and kiss him, slow and deep, sliding your tongue against his. He melts into you, wrapping his legs around your waist.

It’s too easy to get lost in him. He pants against your mouth and you swallow every breath eagerly, pushing your tongue a little further down his throat until he makes a startled noise that does something violent to your composure.

You pull away to mouth at his neck again, heat flashing down in your gut. Teasingly, he rocks his hips against yours, already half-hard in his pants.

Abruptly, he pushes your head away again, ignoring the growl of discontent you can’t help but let out.

“You’re not fucking me on the floor, you dog,” he pants, ornery as always. “Take me to bed.”

“Too far,” you grunt. Your free hand lifts his leg over your shoulder so you can rut into him, dragging your hard cock against his. Too many layers between you. You need them gone. Now.

Satoru hisses at the pressure, head falling back and jaw slacking in pleasure. Fuck, he’s so beautiful like this. You need more, immediately.

“It’s like…” He bites back a moan at a harsher thrust, rocking back against you instinctively. “Like, three steps away.”

“Your point?”

“Babyyy,” he whines, and you feel yourself crumble. “My back hurts.”

“Hold on.”

He barely has time to comply before you’re lifting him off the floor with one arm, your other hand undoing his belt. Surely enough, the apartment’s small enough for you to cross the living room in three strides and step into the bedroom. You’re so busy lapping up the drool dripping from the corner of his lips that you almost hit him against a wall.

He lets out a huff when you drop him heavily on the bed, but you don’t waste time. You drag his pants down his thighs just enough to expose the bulge in his boxers and lave your tongue over it greedily. He’s all wet and sticky with pre, hardening so quickly you almost want to tease him for it. But that’d be a waste of breath, a waste of time that could be used to make him unravel under you instead, so you reign in the urges in favor of taking his clothed bulge into your mouth.

He whines in frustration, pushing his hips against your face harshly.

“Do it properly or don’t do it at all,” he lets out through clenched teeth. He’s reprimanding you, but his hand is fisting the sheets all the same, and he can’t bite back his high, breathy moans.

But you heard him loud and clear. You pull back and drag his pants down his legs fully, taking his boxers with them.

“I thought I was the dog here?” You tease. “Is my Satoru all worked up after all?”

“Ugh, shut up and get to work already!”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

“Yes sir,” you breathe.

You lean in and lap at his puckered hole, slobbering all over his shaft, his balls and thighs. You don’t even need to lube him up ― you’re drooling so much that he’ll be drench by the time you take him.

You swipe your tongue over his puffy hole and he keens, his back arching to push his ass harder against your mouth.

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” he pants, “keep going, nh.”

Dutifully, you obey, laving over his hole, circling it. His thighs tremble around your head, shaft leaking and twitching pitifully. You dip your tongue in him and get smothered by his thighs. It only encourages you to push further into him, licking at places he can never reach by himself.

You push your head harder into him, stroking his wall with your firm tongue, breathing in the smell of him, sweat and slick precome. It makes your head spin, makes you want to sink your teeth into him until you can taste something else.

“Fuck,” Satoru whimpers, blindly reaching down to grab your head, “anh, that’s good, baby, c’mon..!”

You rut into the mattress, doubling your efforts to pull more out of him. The friction makes you moan into him, the sound vibrates against his walls and he echoes it, like you pushed it straight into his throat.

Harder. Harder. More. Your tongue brushes against the soft, sensitive spot in him. He cries out and jerks his hips up, to get more or to run from you, you aren’t sure. You pin him down and bully his prostate, drinking in his staccato moans and rubbing yourself against the mattress.

He’s getting close. His thighs twitch around your head, pushing his hips against your face in tiny thrusts, in time with your tongue, his moans are high and breathy―

You pull away from him entirely, pull your tongue out of him with one last lick.

He throws his head back with a whined-out growl, frustrated beyond belief.

“Nooo, no, no, why’d you do that?” He slaps your shoulder, annoyed, and gulps in large breaths like you knocked the wind out of him. Which you kind of did.

“That’s for leaving me alone all day,” you retort, licking your lips to taste the mix of your spit and his pre.

You look down, vaguely aware that’s he’s above you calling you an asshole, but you’re more entranced by the sight below, if you’re honest. His taint is slick and puffed up with your ministrations, ready for the taking. His cock twitches, slick and shiny, and you can’t help but give the mushroom tip one last lick. For the road, you tell yourself.

There’s something even better waiting for you, though. Your own cock is just as slick as his, painfully hard and wanting.

You crawl up his body, licking up his sweat. You push his shirt up as you go, kiss his navel, his chest. You nip at a sensitive nipple, earning yourself a whimper.

Finally, you tug his shirt up and off him, throwing it somewhere to join his pants. For a second, you can’t help but pause to admire him, his skin flushed all the way down to his chest, pupils blown wide, lips red and swollen from his teeth. Eyes dark and hungry, mirroring your own.

He looks so good. Good enough to eat.

He grasps your jaw and shakes you out of your reverie. Still panting, he says, “C’mon, big guy, snap out of it. You gonna fuck me or what?”

And he doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You always feel more beast than man, when you’re with him like this. Your new nature takes over from the old one you try hard to maintain, like a fog descending on your mind.

You wrap an arm around his waist and flip him over with a grunt, sucking at the smooth expanse of his shoulder blades. His spin curves sinfully under your touch, and you drag your tongue up the length of it, pressing your hips against his back.

Your tip catches his hole and he presses back against you, eager to swallow you up.

The first time you fucked, you’d been half out of your mind and barely there. It wasn’t tender or loving, nothing but animal hunger that only he could’ve brought out of you. You’d been scared to hurt him. You’d been scared you were too big for him.

He’d proven you wrong by begging for it like a bitch in heat, the size of your cock only making him more eager.

You’re less scared now, but still. He’s not exactly built for this, so you take your time.

The moan he lets out when you sink your tip into him almost makes you lose it entirely.

“Mnh, fuck, come on, put it in already…!”

“Easy, Satoru,” you pant against his shoulder. You’re barely in, and he’s already squeezing you like he’s trying to strangle you.

“’M tired of taking it easy.” He pushes his ass against you until you’re bottomed out, throwing his head back against your shoulder. “Fuuuck, yeah, that’s it… ah, that’s so good, s-so big…”

You look down at his taint― big mistake. The sight of him, stretched beyond his limits around you, hole fluttering and slick with spit, makes your gut clench painfully. You pull out and slam back into him, tearing a cry from his throat.

The rhythm you settling is harsh and punishing, hips slapping his ass raw. The bed shakes with every thrust, smacking against the wall.

Satoru buries his face into the pillow, half-smothering his high, keening moans. You lean down to suck at the back of his neck, sneaking in a little nip here and there just to feel him jump and flinch.

With every hard thrust, your meaty cock crushes against his sweet spot and beyond. A given, considering how fucking big it is. You bully him open with every stroke, it’s like you forcefully make his eyes roll back in his skull, like you rip every moan and whine out of his throat yourself.

He doesn’t have the energy or the wherewithal to keep his mouth shut ― poor thing’s too focused on how good it feels to be speared open and fucked into the mattress ― so you seize the opportunity when you see it and slip a clawed finger in his mouth.

Miraculously, he finds the strength to close his lips around it and suck greedily, his moans vibrating around your finger. You stroke his tongue in time with your harsh thrusts, making sure to keep him nice and stuffed from both ends.

His taint twitches and flutters around you, and he curls into the mattress to rock his hips back harder.

You reach around his waist to press against his belly. Your cock is bulging through his skin, like you’re moving his organs out of the way to make room for yourself. You can’t help but press a hand there, hard, to feel yourself go in and out of him, feel the tremor in his navel at the pressure.

“Oh, anh sh-shit, that’s― that’s so good, baby, that’s so fucking good!”

“Getting close, sweetie?” You pant against him. You follow his movement and drop your forehead to the mattress to curl above him and look him in the eye, completely covering him with your body. The stink of sweat and sex fills your nostrils and only makes you pound into him harder. The wet slap of your thighs on his own, covered in spit and sweat and pre, bounces on the walls.

It’s like you’re in your own little bubble, just you and him and no one else in the world. His taste on your tongue, his scent in your lungs, his voice so sweet and desperate in your ears, his puffy, pink hole swallowing you up ― you never want to leave.

The change in angle is small, but even that’s too much for him. His prostate’s swollen, abused beyond his limits, each stroke sends a sharp tingle down the length of his body until even his toes are curling in delight.

“Fuck, f-fuck― coming, coming, I’m…!”

He bites around your finger with a sharp cry when he comes, spilling all over the mattress, his abs, his soft, creamy thighs. Your slow your pace the slightest bit to fuck him through it, pushing your tongue past his lips to drink in his high, pitchy moans.

His hole tightens like a vice around you and your orgasm follows his suit. You push your hips flush against his to bury yourself as far as he’ll allow, press hard on the shape of your cock and bite his pillow with all the strength of your jaw. It tears under your teeth, and the soft feather filling spills out like your spend spills out of him, white creamy tendrils dripping down his ass and thighs, back to the front to his twitching cock.

Your strength dissipates and your arms give out from under you. You let yourself fall heavily on top of him.

If he were in his right mind, he’d protest immediately, but you’ve fucked him dumb enough that you’ve got peace and quiet for a good minute, so you simply lay there and soak in his body heat.

Tenderly, you rub his soft thighs, caressing the indents your teeth left behind, the bruises you’ve sucked into his skin. The marks you’ve left on him, the proof that he belongs to you. It soothes the animal part of your brain that demands you keep him tucked into your side, away from view, away from anyone.

It takes a second for him to come back to himself.

“You’re heavy,” he whines from under you, voice muffled by the bedsheets.

“You’re comfortable, though.”

“Y/N, move!”

“Mm. No.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh, to make sure you know he’s really not okay with this, but he still gives up and melts under you.

It’s quiet for another moment, the silence only broken by his panting breaths as he slowly returns to his body.

“…You okay?” You murmur. You run your tongue over his shoulder, leaving tender nips in your wake.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine,” he breathes. You move to pull out of him but he startles and tenses. “No, no, wait. Stay a little bit more.”

“You’re sure?” You ask skeptically.

“Sure.” He wiggles his hips teasingly. “Wanna feel you in me a little more.”

Well, how could you say no to that?

You settle back down against him and nuzzle his temple affectionately. He’s warm, slick with sweat, flushed a lovely pink all the way to his chest. He’s so beautiful. You want to eat him.

At some point, he starts telling you about his day. You close your eyes, lace your fingers with his and let his voice soothe you.

His voice in your ear. His scent in your nose. His taste on your tongue. His warmth against your skin. You feel like you’re in a bubble. Just you and him, alone.

Just you and him, together.

to everyone who commented "we could've had a smut scene???" on dead beat this one's for you

You’d been talking about a project that actually mattered to you- a personal one which was years in the making and something vulnerable you had never showed anyone. 

Sukuna, lounging on the massive couch like he owned the entire building (which, technically, he could if he felt like it), had waved a dismissive hand, eyes half-lidded in that signature arrogant smirk.

“It’s mediocre at best,” He’d said voice casual, as if the words weren’t cruel. “Why waste your time on human sentimentality? You’re better than that pathetic little dream.”

The words landed like a slap. Not because they were the harshest thing he’d ever said- they weren't -but because he’d said them so flippantly about something you’d let him see. 

You hadn’t yelled. You hadn’t even argued back. You’d simply looked at him, expression blank, and decided in that moment that the silence would hurt more. No words, no acknowledgement and maybe he'd have a better fucking attitude. 

Sukuna had laughed loudly at first, thinking it was a game. “Oh? The silent treatment? How quaint. You’ll crack in an hour, sweetheart. You always do.”

He was wrong.

Six hours later, the apartment felt like a pressure cooker.

Sukuna paced the open living room like a caged tiger. His usual overwhelming confidence had cracked, the black markings across his skin pulsing faintly with irritation. He’d tried everything.. everything.

First came the noise.

He blasted music some aggressive, bass-heavy song that rattled the glassware in the kitchen, while shooting you pointed glances from across the room. You had just sat at the dining table with your laptop, eyes on the screen with not even a flicker of recognition. He turned it up louder and yet he still got nothing.

Then the 'accidental' provocations.

He strolled past you shirtless, sweatpants slung dangerously low on his hips, the sharp cut of his V-line and the dark tattoos drawing the eye whether you wanted them to or not. He stretched slowly, muscles flexing as he reached for a glass in the cabinet. You didn’t even look up. 

By late evening, the arrogance had started to fade.

Sukuna’s pacing had grown more agitated. He ran a hand through his pink hair, tugging at it in frustration. His cheeks carried a faint flush he couldn’t hide, and when he tried to speak, his voice cracked just slightly on your name only for him to clamp his mouth shut when you refused to even glance his way. 

The silence was suffocating. It weighed down on him heavier than any binding vow, more maddening than any opponent he’d ever faced.

He hated it.

He absolutely hated how your absence of attention felt like he was facing  withdrawals. Like something vital had been ripped away. Sukuna, the King of Curses, reduced to this- restless, needy all because his favorite person wouldn’t even spare him a single word.

He stopped pacing near the couch where you’d eventually moved to read. For a long moment he just stood there, chest rising and falling a little too quickly eyes locked on you with an intensity that bordered on feral.

You didn’t look up.

That was the final straw.

Sukuna dropped to his knees with zero grace. He shoved his way between your legs, broad shoulders forcing your thighs apart as he pressed his face desperately against your thigh. His breath was hot through the fabric of your clothes, mouth already open, lips mouthing and sucking at the material like he could taste you through it.

“C’mon…” His voice was rough, edged with a whine he would never admit to. “Say something. Yell at me. Call me an asshole. Anything.”

He nuzzled higher, nose dragging along your inner thigh, pink hair tickling your skin as he breathed you in. His hands so capable of destruction gripped your hips like you were an anchor keeping him stable. 

“Please…”

The word sounded foreign on his tongue, but he said it again. And again. His tongue pressed flat against the fabric, tracing the shape of you with messy, needy strokes. His pupils were blown wide, crimson eyes glassy and desperate.

He had never been ignored by you before, and it was breaking him beautifully.

When you still didn’t speak, didn’t even card a hand through his hair, something inside him snapped. 

With a low, broken whimper, Sukuna tugged at your waistband, yanking your pants and underwear down just enough to free you. He surged forward like a man starved, lips wrapping around the head of your cock in one sloppy motion.

The first suck was greedy and desperate. His tongue swirled messily around the tip, pressing into the slit as if he could draw your attention out through pure sensation alone. He moaned loudly at the taste, the sound vibrating through you as drool immediately spilled from the corners of his mouth.

“Fuck… look at me,” He mumbled around you, the words garbled and wet. Drool already slipped from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin as he took you deeper. He hollowed his cheeks and sank down further, taking more of you into the tight heat of his mouth. 

Sukuna had sucked you off countless times before, usually with cocky control and teasing flicks of his tongue. This was nothing like that. This was frantic messy in a way the King of Curses never allowed himself to be. . He bobbed his head with messy enthusiasm, gagging softly when he pushed too deep but refusing to pull back.

Instead he leaned into it, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the effort. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, nails digging into your skin as he held you in place. One of his hands eventually wandered, palming desperately at the massive bulge straining against his low-slung sweatpants. He ground into his own palm with shameless need, hips jerking erratically while he continued worshipping you.

You stayed silent, but you finally spread your legs wider, giving him more room.

The small mercy tore a loud, muffled moan from his chest. The vibration shot straight through your cock, making your thighs tense. Sukuna’s eyes fluttered, lashes wet with unshed tears as he doubled his efforts. He pulled off for a gasping breath, strings of thick spit connecting his swollen, reddened lips to your glistening cock.

“You’re my only fucking person,” He rasped, voice hoarse and cracking. “Don’t- don’t do this to me. I was an arrogant prick. I’m sorry, alright? Just… say something. Please.”

His voice broke on the last word. Before you could respond he dove back down. This time he took you all the way to the hilt in one slick, determined slide. His nose pressed flush against your pelvis, throat bulging visibly around your length as he held himself there. His throat fluttered and constricted wildly, massaging every inch while he fought the urge to gag. Tears slipped freely down his flushed cheeks now, but his eyes never left yours.

He stayed like that until his lungs burned, then pulled back just enough to suck in a desperate breath before plunging down again. Over and over, he fucked his own throat on your cock with sloppy, uncoordinated movements. 

The sounds were filthy- wet glucking, choking, and constant needy whimpers vibrating around you. Drool poured from his mouth in thick strands, soaking his chin, neck, and the front of his chest. His pink hair was a mess, strands sticking to his sweaty forehead.

Sukuna’s hand moved faster inside his sweatpants, jerking himself in time with the bobbing of his head. His hips rolled helplessly, fucking into his fist while he worshipped you. Every time you let out even the smallest groan or shift of your hips, he grew more frantic, sucking harder doing everything he could to earn any reaction.

His thighs trembled. The wet spot on his sweatpants had grown massive, precum leaking steadily as he edged himself closer and closer just from the humiliation and desperation of being ignored.

You finally reached down. Your fingers threaded into his messy pink hair and gripped tight. Sukuna’s entire body shuddered violently at the contact. A broken, pathetic whine escaped around your cock.

“Good boy,” You said, the first words you’d spoken in six hours. Your voice was low and rough. The praise hit him hard Sukuna’s eyes rolled back, a muffled, guttural cry vibrating around your length as his hips stuttered hard. 

He came violently in his pants without warning, thick ropes soaking through the fabric and dripping down his thighs. Even as he shook through his orgasm, he kept sucking you desperately as if he couldn’t bear to stop.

You didn’t let go of his hair. You held him in place and rocked gently into his mouth, fucking his face with slow, deliberate thrusts while he trembled and whimpered through the aftershocks.

“The prettiest, neediest curse I’ve ever seen,” You murmured, stroking his tear-streaked cheek with your thumb. “Look at you. Falling apart just because I wouldn’t talk to you. Sucking me like your life depends on it. Making such a mess of yourself.”

Sukuna moaned pathetically at the words, another weak spurt leaking into his already ruined sweatpants. The praise seemed to unravel him further. He pulled back just enough to swirl his tongue messily around the head, licking and sucking with sloppy devotion while looking up at you with glassy, adoring eyes. 

You kept praising him in that low, calm voice telling him how good he looked on his knees, how only you could reduce the King of Curses to this desperate, drooling mess, how much you loved seeing him like this. Every word made him whimper and suck harder.

Finally, the pressure became too much. You gripped his hair tighter and spilled down his throat with a low groan. Sukuna’s eyes fluttered shut in pure bliss as he swallowed every drop, milking you until you were completely spent.

Only when you loosened your grip did he pull off with a wet gasp, coughing softly as strings of spit and cum connected his lips to your cock. His face was a wreck: flushed dark red, eyes red-rimmed and glassy, chin shiny with mess. 

The moment it was over, Sukuna surged upward. Strong arms wrapped around your waist as he climbed into your lap, clinging like an octopus who refused to be pried off. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, body still trembling as he pressed flush against you.

“Don’t… ever do that again,” He mumbled, voice hoarse and raw. He pressed lazy, possessive kisses along your jaw, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. “I hate it. Hate not hearing you. Hate not having your eyes on me.”

You ran your fingers through his damp pink hair and he practically purred, nuzzling closer. 

“Next time I say something stupid,” He muttered, kissing you again, slower and deeper this time, “just punch me instead. Or make me ride you. Anything but silence.” A small, cocky smirk tugged at his lips even now. “Because if you ignore me again… I’ll just have to get on my knees faster. Make an even bigger fool of myself until you forgive me.”

​What had he done to deserve this?

​Before the academy, before the nightmare of Raccoon City—hell, even after the world fell apart a dozen times over—what had he done to earn a grace like you? In a world choked by the rot of Umbrella and the shadows of corrupt men, Leon Kennedy had somehow stumbled into your life. He didn't think he deserved you. In his own mind, he was still just a rookie cop who’d had to grow up in a single, blood-soaked night. And you? You were a legend, a pillar of S.T.A.R.S. who had survived the Arklay Mountains only to spend your fifties tethered to Chris Redfield’s relentless, exhausting crusade to fix a broken world.

​Leon never expected a forever. It was never supposed to be more than a lingering, sideways glance in a dimly lit bar while Chris talked shop. It wasn't supposed to end in a quiet ceremony, or the secret thrill he felt every time someone called you Mr. Kennedy just to see the smirk play on your aging, handsome face.

​And yet, as the infection tore through his nervous system, his mind didn't go to the mission. It went to you. Your voice was the only thing cutting through the white noise of the virus; your smile was the only image that wouldn't dissolve into the blur. You were his anchor. Even as his muscles seized and his mind screamed for the mercy of unconsciousness, the thought of coming home to you kept his heart beating.

​But the reality was a cold, hard floor. His body was a cage of fire and ice, twitching violently as the antidote warred with the parasite.

​“Can't believe you're heading out again,” you murmured in the golden light of the memory. The bedsheets were tangled around your legs, and the scent of cedar and old coffee hung in the air. “I finally get a week off, and they decide they can't breathe without you.”

​Leon huffed a dry laugh, his lips pressing firmly against your weathered knuckles as he lay draped across you. “Gonna miss me, old man?” he whispered against your skin. He knew the answer, but he needed the vibration of your voice to steady him.

​You leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his messy brown hair. Leon let out a long, shaky breath, melting into the heat of your chest. “Of course,” you said softly, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “I always do. Just….come back in one piece this time. I'm too old to be a widower, Leon.”

​Leon closed his eyes, tilting his head up until his lips met yours in a promise he intended to keep.

​Then, the world shattered.

​His back arched off the freezing ground, a choked gasp tearing from his throat as he shouted your name into the empty air. His eyes snapped open, stinging and bloodshot. There was no warm bed. No hand in his hair. The taste of you was replaced by the copper tang of blood and a sterile chemical stench.

​His left hand flew to his chest, searching for the silver band he’d worn for years. His finger felt unnervingly light. The ring was gone—likely stripped away during the chaos or lost in the dirt. The silence of the room was deafening, a requiem for a man who had everything to lose and was currently losing it all.

Leon’s lungs burned, each breath a jagged shard of glass as the last of the infection was purged from his veins. The silence that followed the chaos was deafening—the monster was dead, Victor Gideon was a memory, and Grace was finally safe.

​None of that mattered.

​His vision was a blurred mess of gray and red, but his hand was already moving, clawing at the dirt and the debris. His fingers felt wrong. They felt lighter, colder, stripped of the one thing that grounded him to his humanity.

​"No….no, no, no," he rasped, his voice a broken shell of its former self. He dragged his body across the floor, his knees scraping against the jagged concrete. "Not this. Not now."

​His mind was a whirlwind of panic. He had survived Raccoon City, the Plagas, and the fall of governments, but the thought of losing that simple silver band felt like the final, killing blow. It was the only piece of you he had brought into this hellhole. It was the promise of a quiet house, the scent of cedar, and your hand in his hair when the nightmares got too loud.

​"I’m coming back," he hissed through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into a pile of ash and spent shell casings. "I promised. I told you….I told you I'd come back."

​He was rambling now, a feverish mumble that only he could hear. To any observer, he looked like a broken man searching for a scrap of refuse, but to Leon, he was searching for his soul. He didn't care that his gear was shredded or that his ribs felt like they were held together by the thinnest of threads.

​"Can't lose it. Please, just….not this."

​He pushed aside a heavy piece of fallen rebar, his breath hitching. There, half-buried in the soot and the dark, damp earth of the crater, was a glint of silver. It was dull, coated in a layer of grime, but it caught the flickering emergency light of the facility.

​Leon’s hand shook so violently he almost knocked it further into the debris. He lunged for it, his fingers closing around the cold metal with a desperation that bordered on holy. He didn't just pick it up; he cradled it against his palm, bringing it to his lips as a sob he’d been holding back since the mission started finally threatened to break through.

​He wiped the dirt off with a trembling thumb, the familiar weight of it centers him. He didn't think about the global implications of all of this. He didn't think about the debriefing or the scars this night would leave. He only thought about the way you looked in the morning light, and how he wasn't going to let that be a memory.

​With a grunt of agony, he forced himself to his feet. His legs felt like lead, but he slid the ring back onto his finger. It was a perfect fit—a constant, solid reminder of the man waiting for him. He adjusted it, twisting it once, twice, until it sat exactly where it belonged.

​"See you soon," he whispered, his eyes hardening as he looked toward the exit. "I'm coming home.”

The silence of the house was its own kind of weight. It wasn't the peaceful quiet of a cold night; it was the hollow, ringing silence of an empty nest that was never meant to be this still.

You sat at your mahogany desk, the green shaded lamp casting a warm, localized glow over a sea of chaos. Your home office had become a secondary branch of the BSAA in all but name. Scattered across the blotter were thick manila folders and grainy satellite captures—reports Chris had unofficially slid your way. He valued your eyes, the eyes of a S.T.A.R.S. veteran who had seen the world break before the rest of the public even knew it was cracked. But tonight, the analysis of bio-organic weapon dispersal patterns in Eastern Europe felt like trying to read a dead language.

Your mind was miles away, buried in the dark soil of whatever godforsaken corner of the globe Leon was currently haunting.

You knew better than most what he was capable of. You’d seen him survive things that would have leveled a small army, but that didn't stop the creeping dread. You knew how Raccoon City had carved him out, leaving a hollow space that he’d spent years trying to fill with duty. Your greatest fear wasn't that Leon wouldn't be able to handle the job—it was that one day, the job would simply decide it was finished with him, and you’d be the last to know. You’d be sitting right here, analyzing a report for Chris, while your world ended in a silent, classified file on someone else's desk.

Letting out a heavy, jagged sigh, you scrubbed a hand down your face. Your palms felt rough, the skin dry from years of handling firearms and paperwork. Your fingers brushed against the grit of stubble on your jaw—a silvered, unruly growth you hadn't bothered to trim since Leon left.

"Get it together," you muttered to the empty room. Your voice sounded gravelly, older than you felt like admitting.

With a grunt of effort, you pushed back from the desk, the wheels of the chair groaning against the hardwood. You began the ritual of tidying up, stacking the BSAA reports into a neat, categorized pile. It was a habit from the old days—leave your station ready for the next shift. You clicked the desk lamp off, plunging the room into a shadowy twilight, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the blinds.

As you moved through the hallway, the muscle memory of your life together took over. For a fleeting, heart-stuttering second, you expected to see a shadow move in the kitchen, or to feel a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist from behind. You could almost smell him—gunpowder, expensive cologne, and the faint, metallic scent of rain. But when you turned the corner, there was only the hum of the refrigerator and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.

He wasn't there.

You shook your head, a self-deprecating smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. You were too old for ghost stories, especially the ones you told yourself.

Stripping off your flannel shirt and undershirt as you walked, you let them fall onto the armchair in the bedroom, followed by your belt and trousers. You stepped into the en suite bathroom, the tile cold beneath your feet. The fluorescent light hummed to life, bright and unforgiving.

You leaned against the marble counter, staring at the man in the mirror.

You looked at the silver ring on your left hand first. It was scratched, the metal dulled by decades of life, but it was the most solid thing in the room. Then, you looked up. The light caught the deep salt-and-pepper of your hair, more salt than pepper these days. The wrinkles at the corners of your eyes were deep—laugh lines earned from rare, genuine smiles, and worry lines earned from every time Leon walked out the front door. Your face was a map of a long, hard-fought life. You weren't the young S.T.A.R.S. operative anymore; you were a man in his fifties who just wanted his husband home.

You shook your head again, dismissing the melancholy before it could take root. Turning away from your reflection, you reached into the walk-in shower and twisted the handle. The pipes groaned, a familiar shudder running through the wall, before the spray began to hiss against the stone floor. Steam started to rise, blurring the edges of the room, and for a moment, you just stood there, watching the water swirl down the drain.

The quiet click of the front door’s latch was a sound Leon had rehearsed in his mind a thousand times over the last forty-eight hours. He didn't turn on the lights. He didn't need to. The house breathed with a familiar, lived-in warmth that made the sterile, metallic tang of the lab feel like a bad dream he’d finally woken up from.

He moved like a ghost through the foyer, his movements heavy with a bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of caffeine could touch. His tactical boots, caked in the dried mud and grime of a nightmare, were set by the door with a dull thud. He didn't bother unlacing them properly; he just kicked them off, his socks padding softly against the hardwood. His jacket followed, hitting the floor with the muffled thud.

He knew exactly where you were. The low, rhythmic hum of the pipes vibrating through the floorboards told him everything. It was your ritual—the late-night shower to wash away the phantom weight of BSAA casualty reports and the stress of waiting for a phone call that might never come.

Leon moved into the bedroom, his silhouette a jagged shadow against the moonlight. He stripped with a mechanical efficiency, his hands trembling slightly as he unbuckled his holster. His pants and boxers pooled on the faded rug in front of the bed—the one you’d bought together because it reminded you of a proper home—and he left them there.

He stepped into the bathroom, the air thick and heavy with steam that smelled of your sandalwood soap. The humidity clung to his skin, pulling the chill of the outside world from his pores.

Before he reached for the shower door, he caught his reflection in the mirror.

The fog had started to claim the glass, but he saw enough. He looked at the man staring back—a man who had survived, but looked like he’d been dragged through the gears of it. There was a jagged cut along his cheekbone, held together by dried, copper-colored blood. Bruises the color of spoiled plums were blooming across his ribs and shoulders. But it was his face that held his gaze. He saw the gray stubble dusting his jaw, thicker now, and the stark, silver strands peeking through the weary brown of his hair. He was aging. They were both aging, the years stolen by a world that never stopped needing them to bleed for it.

Then, his eyes dropped to his hand. The silver ring sat firmly on his finger, gleaming even through the grime. He twisted it once, a grounding habit, before his gaze drifted past his own reflection.

Through the frosted, foggy glass of the sliding shower door, he saw you.

You were a blurred, familiar silhouette in the spray, your head bowed under the rush of the water. Even through the steam, he could see the strength in your shoulders—the build of a man who had carried a familiar weight and survived. You were standing there, unaware that the ghost you’d been mourning had finally come home.

Leon didn't say a word. He didn't want to break the silence yet. He just stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving with a sudden, sharp intake of air, fixated on the sight of you. To him, you weren't just a man in a shower; you were the end of the road. You were the reason he’d clawed his way out of the dirt.

Slowly, his hand reached out, his fingers pressing against the warm, wet glass, leaving a clear streak in the fog as he prepared to let you know he was back.

The sliding door creaked on its track, a low, metallic groan that cut through the steady drumming of the water. You didn't even have time to turn your head before the sudden draft of cool bathroom air hit your wet skin, quickly replaced by the heat of a body stepping into the stall behind you.

The steam swirled, momentarily clearing as Leon stepped into the spray.

The first thing you felt wasn't his touch, but his weight—the sheer, solid presence of him suddenly occupying the small space. Then came his hands. They were cold at first, a stark contrast to the scalding water, as he pressed his palms flat against your shoulder blades. You felt a shudder ripple through him the moment his skin made contact with yours. It was the touch of a man who had spent days wondering if he’d ever feel another human being again.

He didn't say a word. He just leaned forward, his forehead dropping heavily against the space between your shoulder blades. His breath hitched, a jagged, wet sound that was swallowed by the splash of the shower.

"Leon?" you breathed, your voice cracking. You started to turn, but his grip tightened, his fingers digging into your shoulders, not out of aggression, but out of a desperate need to keep you right there.

"Just….a second," he rasped. His voice was a wreck—gritty, raw, and exhausted. "Just let me stay like this for a second."

You stood still, the water cascading over both of you. You could feel the grime of the world washing off him and onto you. The water at your feet turned a murky, tea-colored brown as the dust, soot, and dried blood from the facility began to melt away. He smelled like ozone, wet earth, and the metallic tang of an oncoming storm, but beneath all of that was the scent you knew by heart—the faint, lingering musk of his skin.

Slowly, he began to move. His hands slid down your arms, his fingers interlaced with yours, and that was when you felt it—the cold, hard press of his silver ring against the back of your hand. You let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding since the day he left.

Leon finally pulled back just enough to let you turn around. When you faced him, the sight nearly broke your heart. The water was slicking his hair back, revealing every new line of exhaustion on his face. The cut on his cheek was weeping a faint pink under the spray, and his eyes were bloodshot, framed by dark circles that looked like bruises.

He looked at you with an intensity that was almost painful. His gaze traced the graying hair at your temples and the laugh lines around your mouth, his eyes softening with a reverence that bordered on worship. To him, you weren't an aging veteran; you were the only beautiful thing left in a world of monsters.

"You're late," you whispered, your hands coming up to cup his face. Your thumbs brushed over the gray stubble on his jaw, feeling the prickle of life beneath your touch.

Leon let out a broken, huffed laugh, his eyes closing as he leaned into your palms. "It.was….complicated."

"I thought...." You stopped, the words catching in your throat. You didn't need to finish.

"I know," he murmured. He stepped closer, closing the final inch of space between you until your chests were pressed together, the water trapped between you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you in so tight it was hard to breathe, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "I promised I'd see you soon. I wasn't going to break that. Not for anyone."

He was shaking now—the post-adrenaline crash finally hitting him in the safety of your arms. You held him, your fingers threading through his wet hair, shielding him from the rest of the world.

Leon didn't move. He stayed anchored against you, his weight heavy and honest, his damp forehead resting against your collarbone. You could feel the tremors running through his muscles—the slow, rhythmic aftershocks of a body that had been pushed past its breaking point and was only now realizing it was safe to collapse.

​Gently, you reached for the bottle of soap, the familiar scent of cedar and sandalwood rising with the steam. You didn't ask him where it hurt; you already knew. You could see the map of his pain written in the dark blooms of purple along his ribs and the jagged, angry red of the laceration on his cheek.

​You poured the soap into your palms, lashing it into a thick, white foam before you began.

​The silence between you wasn't empty; it was thick with everything that didn't need to be said. You started with his shoulders, your large, calloused hands moving in slow, grounding circles. You felt the knots of tension under his skin—hard as stone—and as you worked, you felt them slowly begin to give way. The water at your feet was still tinted a murky gray, the filth of the facility swirling down the drain, leaving Leon’s pale, scarred skin behind.

​As you moved your hands down his back, Leon let out a long, shuddering breath. It wasn't a sigh; it was a surrender. He leaned into your touch, his eyes closed tight, his hands coming up to grip your forearms as if to make sure you were still solid, still there.

​You were meticulous. You cleaned the soot from the nape of his neck and the dried blood from the shell of his ear. When you reached the deep bruise over his ribs, your touch lightened, becoming a ghost of a caress. You saw him flinch, his breath catching in a hiss of pain, and you paused, leaning down to press a lingering, salt-tinged kiss to the top of his wet head.

​I’ve got you, the gesture said. You’re home.

​Leon finally pulled back just enough to look at you. His blue eyes were glassy, reflecting the overhead light, rimmed with a weariness that went bone-deep. He looked small in that moment—not the government’s top agent, not the survivor of a dozen bio-hazards, but simply a man who was tired of fighting.

​He reached out, his trembling fingers taking the soap from you. He didn't wash himself; instead, he began to wash you. His movements were slow, almost reverent, as he ran his hands over your chest and arms. It was his way of checking you, of confirming that while he was gone, the world hadn't touched you. His thumb traced the silver band on your finger, lingering there for a second longer than necessary, his ring clinking softly against yours—a small, metallic heartbeat in the spray.

​The water was starting to run clear now. The grime was gone, but the exhaustion remained, etched into every line of his face.

​You took the showerhead from the wall, turning the spray down and rinsing the last of the suds from his skin. The water smoothed his hair back, revealing the silver at his temples that seemed more pronounced tonight than it had a month ago.

​Leon leaned his head back, letting the water hit his face, his throat working as he swallowed back the emotions he wasn't ready to voice. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked at you—truly looked at you—with a raw, unfiltered devotion. He reached out, his wet palm cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your graying stubble.

​Still, neither of you spoke. The hurt was there, hovering in the bruises and the haunted look in his eyes, but the comfort was stronger. It was in the heat of the water, the familiar weight of his wedding band, and the fact that, for the first time in days, his heart rate was finally beginning to match yours.

​You reached over and turned the handle, the sudden silence of the bathroom feeling heavy and holy. The only sound left was the drip-drip-drip of water hitting the tile and the ragged, synchronized breathing of two men who had cheated death one more time.

You stepped out first, grabbing the largest, plushiest towel from the rack and holding it open. Leon stepped into it without a word, his body shivering as the cool air hit his wet skin. You wrapped him up, pulling the fabric tight around his shoulders and rubbing his arms to bring the heat back. He leaned his head against your shoulder, his eyes half-closed, letting you guide him like he was a man walking in his sleep.

The walk to the bedroom was slow. The only light came from the moon spilling across the hardwood, illuminating the trail of discarded gear Leon had left in his wake—a reminder of the man he had to be out there, contrasted against the man he was allowed to be here.

You sat him down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He looked small, wrapped in that white towel, his damp hair sticking up in golden-gray tufts. You stood between his knees, taking a smaller towel to his head, gently drying the strands with a tenderness that made his breath hitch.

"Stay," he whispered, his voice finally finding its vibration. His hands, still clean and smelling of your soap, reached out to circle your waist, pulling you closer until his face was pressed against your stomach.

"I'm not going anywhere, Leon," you murmured, your fingers raking through his hair. "I’m right here."

After a few minutes of quiet, you helped him into a pair of soft cotton lounge pants—the ones he always complained were too loose but wore every time he came home. You climbed into the other side of the bed, the linens cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the grime he’d been caked in.

The moment Leon slid under the covers, he didn't just lie down; he sought you out like a compass needle finding north. He draped himself over you, his heavy head landing on your chest, his arm hooking firmly over your waist as if to anchor you to the mattress. You felt the cold metal of his wedding band press against your skin, a solid promise.

You pulled the heavy duvet up over both of you, tucking it around his shoulders. The house was silent, save for the distant hum of the refrigerator and the rhythmic, slowing thrum of Leon’s heart against your ribs.

"It's quiet," Leon mumbled into your skin, his voice thick with the onset of sleep. "I forgot it could be this quiet."

"That’s because you’re home," you replied softly. You reached down, taking his hand in yours and interlacing your fingers. The two silver rings clicked together, a tiny, domestic sound that felt more significant than any explosion he’d survived.

Leon let out a long, contented sigh, his entire body finally going slack. The tension that had lived in his shoulders since he’d left Raccoon City decades ago seemed to melt into the mattress. He nuzzled closer, his nose brushing against the gray hair on your chest, his breathing deepening into the slow, steady pull of a man who finally felt safe enough to dream.

You lay there in the dark, watching the shadows of the trees dance on the ceiling. You felt the weight of your years—the laugh lines, the gray hair, the old injuries that ached in the rain—but as you looked down at your husband, finally at peace in your arms, you realized you wouldn't trade a single wrinkle. They were the marks of a life lived together, a map of how far you’d both come to reach this bedroom, this bed, this moment.

"I love you, Leon," you whispered, so low you weren't sure he heard it.

-------------------------------------------------------

bucky hadn’t planned on spending his evening at a bull riding event, sam had insisted though.

“first one in twenty years, buck. you can’t miss this!” sam said with that damn grin of his. “you’ve been cooped up too long, you have to come.”

bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea. crowds, noise, strangers, it wasn’t usually his scene.

and now here he was, sitting front row in a linen shirt, and slacks. the place was buzzing with people, families, diehard fans, and kids running around with snacks twice their size.

“really, buck? front row?” sam asked.

“if i’m going to do this, might as well commit.” bucky replied, shrugging. “got to look like i belong here, don’t i?”

the announcer’s voice boomed through the speakers, and one by one, riders came out. the crowd whooped, and cheered. it was the first night of the four-day tournament, each evening meant to showcase the best riders in the world.

bucky watched quietly, arms folded, brow furrowed, until you walked out. he noticed the way the crowd perked up when your name was called, like they had already knew you were worth waiting for.

your grip on the rope, the way you adjusted in the saddle? it was all confidence. and when the bull shot out of the gate, you didn’t just hold on, you rode like you belonged there. even when the buzzer finally went off, you were still there, still steady.

he leaned forward, exhaling a low whistle to himself.

‘yeah.. they definitely saved the best for last.’

“what’s that guy’s name?” he asked.

sam was already grinning.

“wow, forgot it already? you were staring like you wanted to memorise him.”

“i was.. distracted.” bucky grumbled.

“distracted, huh? more like enamoured.” sam gave him a pat on the shoulder. “don’t worry, lover boy. i’ll remind you.”

eventually, sam does tell him your name.

“..right. got it this time.”

—

by the end of the night, bucky was at the ticket counter, buying himself a special pass that would allow him into the backstretch, and mingle with the riders, specifically you. the woman at the booth raised a brow at him, but he just slipped the pass into his pocket without explanation.

bucky left that first night with more on his mind than he wanted to admit.

sam would’ve teased him endlessly if he knew, but bucky lucked out. the next morning, sam was shipped off on a mission, leaving bucky free to do whatever the hell he wanted to without any commentary.

—

on day two, he thought about saying something. he had the pass, after all. he could’ve walked right up, started a conversation. instead he lingered near the pens, leaning against a rail, pretending to be absorbed in the bulls when really, his eyes kept finding you. his jaw worked, hands shoved deep in his pockets. you were close enough that he could’ve called out to you, tapped your shoulder, but he said nothing.

bucky waited.

‘maybe tomorrow.’ he thought.

—

later that night, sam sent him a text.

sam:

‘so.. how did your favourite rider do today?’

bucky:

‘you’re still on that?’

sam:

‘always. spill it, barnes.’

bucky:

‘he was really good.’

‘couldn’t take my eyes off him.’

sam:

‘knew it.’

‘you remember his name yet? or still too busy staring?’

bucky:

‘yeah. rolls off the tongue nice, doesn’t it?’

sam:

‘look at you, getting all poetic.’

—

‘tomorrow’ finally came. it was day three of the tournament.

the tension in the air was thicker than before, the pool of riders was smaller now, the competition tighter. you had just secured your place in the finals after another brutal ride, the crowd still buzzing as you walked off, sweat dripping down your temple.

bucky was already in the backstretch, like usual, leaning against a fence post like he’d been there all his life. truth was, his heart was hammering harder than it had during any mission. he told himself to keep it casual, to look calm. he had spent two days watching you, waiting, building the nerve.

there was no backing out now.

—

when you finally came around the corner, taking your hat off, bucky pushed off the fence.

up close, you were even bigger than you looked in the arena. shoulders broad, dirt streaked on your forearms, and taller. so much taller that he found himself instinctively straightening himself, only to realise it still wasn’t enough. he had to tip his chin up to meet your eyes. for just a second, his mouth went dry.

“you ride like you’ve got something to prove.” he finally managed to speak.

you gave him a quick once-over, then broke into a grin.

“that so? thought the whole point was just to not fall on my ass.” your laugh followed, boyish.

he felt it more than heard it, a tug somewhere low in his chest. he fought to not smile, opting to rub at the back of his neck instead.

“guess you make it look simple.” he muttered, eyes flicking away before finding yours again.

you tilted your head slightly downward towards him, clearly noticing the way he kept shifting under your gaze.

“you here with someone, or just hanging around?”

“was with a friend on the first day, but he shipped out, so now it’s just me.” he replied quickly. “..saw you ride, and figured i’d come say hi.”

that made you grin wider, leaning just a little closer, which only emphasised the height difference he was already losing to.

“so you bought one of those passes just for me?”

bucky froze, caught dead-on. his jaw worked before he let out a quiet, almost sheepish response.

“..maybe.”

“damn.” you said, chuckling as you backed up from his space. “makes me feel real special.”

he shifted his weight, finally letting out a low huff of laughter, half at himself.

“well, you should’ve picked someone who doesn’t limp after every damn ride.” you ran a hand through your hair, eyes still glinting with that playful edge.

“i don’t mind a limp, means the ride was worth it.” he replied, suddenly cocky.

you just blinked at him, heat creeping up your neck.

“..did you just-”

“what? i was talking about the bull, sweetheart.”

“you’re ridiculous.” you spoke again, trying to sound flat.

“and yet you’re still here. guess that means something, doesn’t it?”

you were still grinning at bucky when he shifted in his boots, glancing at the ground for half a second, then back up at you. his hands shoved themselves deeper into his pockets, then he cleared his throat.

“you, uh..” he hesitated, then forced it out. “you wanna get a drink? with me. i’ll buy.”

“ah, so that’s how you’re convincing me.” your brows shot up, clearly amused. “you in love with me already? you don’t even know my name yet.”

“as if your name wasn’t announced in the whole arena.” his mouth twitched into a smirk.

that made you pause, blinking at him. still, you wiped your palm against your jeans, and held it out, telling him your name.

bucky thought it was cute how you still wanted to introduce yourself, even though he’d already memorised your name. he took your hand without missing a beat, his grip warm, and firm. his thumb brushed over the edge of your knuckles before he let go.

“i know.”

“you.. remembered that? hell, i didn’t think anyone outside the announcer cared to listen.”

“of course i did. hard not to when the crowd went crazy when they called you.” he replied simply.

“yeah, well.” you shrugged. “crowd doesn’t buy me drinks.”

“guess that’s my job tonight.” he gave you a nod. “bucky. james buchanan barnes, if we’re being formal.”

“alright, bucky, deal. but just so you know, i drink a lot.”

“good thing i’ve got deep pockets.” he shot back.

as you started walking towards the lot, bucky fell into step beside you. he glanced at you, at the dirt on your boots, the carefree swing of your arms, and that stupid grin that hadn’t left your face since you agreed.

“you live around here?” he asked casually, like it wasn’t eating him up inside to know.

“yeah, just a couple miles out. family’s place, been there all my life.” you replied simply. “though i moved out pretty recently, figured it was time to have my own space.”

he swore he could feel his shoulders loosen, tension leaving him in a way he hadn’t expected. he nodded, but inside? he was grateful as hell, relieved, even. you weren’t some name in the arena that he’d never see again after the finals. you were here, local. close enough that if this went anywhere, he wouldn’t lose you to the distance.

“that’s good.” he said, finally. “means i’ll actually get to see you again.”

“you planning on sticking around, bucky?”

“if you’ll let me.” he didn’t hesitate.

“careful, might just hold you to that.” you gave him a wink, and he swore he felt his knees go weak.

—

the two of you ended up at a dim little bar just outside the arena. bucky kept his promise, buying every round without complaint, but the drinks weren’t really the point.

what stuck with him was the way the night stretched. easy conversation, back-and-forth teasing, stories traded between sips. you had that boyish charm that made him fold, your grin flashing every time you got him to laugh. and he did laugh, way more than he had expected he would, the tension he had been carrying melting off.

you told him about your first ride, about the scars that came with the sport. he listened, genuinely, eyes steady on you the whole time. when you asked about him, he deflected at first, force of habit. but somehow, with you leaning into his space, eyes glinting with curiosity, he gave away way more than he usually would’ve.

by the time you had to leave, bucky knew.

he liked you.

the easy way you carried yourself, the raw stubborn strength you had in the arena, the way your laugh made his chest feel lighter, it all hit harder than he had expected.

and when you bumped into his shoulder on the way out, flashing him that grin again? he knew this wasn’t just a one-night thing.

—

on the last day of the tournament, bucky woke up earlier than usual, his head was still a little foggy from the drinks but his mind was still sharp on one thing, on you. he laid there for a while, staring at the ceiling of his room. he spent a good while replaying every laugh, every smile, the way your height had nearly thrown him off balance, and how damn easy it had been to just talk to you.

eventually, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. he grabbed his phone, and decided to text sam. he sat on the edge of the bed, thumb hovering over his phone before finally giving in. he typed fast, then hit send before he could even have the chance to second-guess himself.

bucky:

‘i think i met someone.’

it didn’t take long before sam replied.

sam:

‘someone?’

‘like a person someone??’

bucky:

‘yes, a person.’

‘one of the riders.’

sam:

‘HOLD UP.’

‘you mean, you’re catching feelings at a RODEO??’

‘i knew dragging you out there was a good idea.’

bucky groaned on his side of the phone, already regretting this.

bucky:

‘i’m serious, sam.’

‘he’s got this boyish charm, funny as hell.’

sam:

‘you sound so gone already.’

‘the guy rides half-ton death machines for fun, and you’re the one all dizzy?’

bucky:

‘we went out for drinks last night, just talked. it felt easy.’

‘and he’s local. means i might actually see him again.

‘and he’s tall. way taller than me.’

sam:

‘how tall we talking?’

bucky:

‘at least 6’4, maybe 6’5. easy. made me feel like a damn kid.’

sam:

‘fuck.’

‘you got yourself a tree.’

‘wait.. oh my god. you’ve got a size kink, don’t you??’

bucky:

‘sam.’

sam:

‘nah, it all makes sense now.’

‘tiny bucky getting all flustered by a tall cowboy. this is gold.’

bucky:

‘he’s a bull rider, not a cowboy.’

‘and i’m not tiny.’

sam:

‘oh, excuse me mr. technicality.’

‘fine, tall bull rider. doesn’t mean you don’t have a size kink though.’

bucky:

‘i hate you.’

sam:

‘no you don’t.’

‘you’re too busy daydreaming about climbing that man like he’s the bull.’

bucky didn’t give a response, and sam had a field day with it.

buzz.

sam:

‘oh my god. you didn’t even deny it.’

bucky threw his phone across the bed with a groan, but he couldn’t stop the flush rising up his neck.

sam:

‘jokes aside, i’m proud of you buck.’

‘never thought i’d see the day where you actually meet someone that can make you blush.’

bucky:

‘don’t get ahead of yourself. we don’t even know if he likes guys.’

sam:

‘please. are you even seeing the way he acts with you?’

‘if he isn’t, i’ll eat my hat.’

—

the arena was packed for the last day. dust shimmered in the morning sun, the crowd restless with anticipation, it was the day of finals after all.

bucky sat front row again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, every muscle tight. his eyes were locked on the chute where you stood, calm as ever, settling into a bull that looked twice as mean as the others.

when the gate swung open, chaos exploded. the bull kicked, and twisted like a demon, and the crowd roared. the other riders had barely scraped the eight-second mark, but you rode like you were attuned to the beast’s rhythm, muscles flexed, boots dug in, your whole frame moving with the chaos instead of against it.

bucky’s chest was so tight he forgot to breathe.

eight seconds.

nine.

then ten.

then the buzzer blared, the crowd erupting as you launched yourself free from the bull.

“ladies, and gentlemen, your finals champion!” the announcer’s voice cracked through the speakers, calling out your name.

bucky found himself on his feet before he even realised it, clapping hard enough for his palms to sting. his heart hammered, way too proud for someone who technically didn’t even know you, but god, he couldn’t help it.

you had won first, of course you had. and bucky knew that he wanted to be the first one to see you.

—

the backstretch was a blur of noise, clapping hands, riders congratulating each other, staff rushing around. you were still buzzing. your whole body ached, your legs heavy, but the grin wouldn’t leave your face.

and then, through the bustle, you spotted bucky.

he was standing a little stiff, like he wasn’t sure if he belonged here, but his eyes were locked on you. the second you caught sight of him, your smile stretched wider.

“bucky!” you called, voice hoarse but bright. you didn’t even think, your boots carried you straight to him.

before he could even speak, you wrapped your arms around him. your hug nearly swallowed him up, but he didn’t care. he froze for half a heartbeat, then melted into it, wrapping his arms firmly around your back.

“you did it.” he murmured against your neck. “you won.”

“damn right i did!” you laughed, pulling back just enough to look down at him. your cheeks were flushed, adrenaline still high, and without thinking, you dipped, and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

it wasn’t much, just a peck, but bucky went still. his eyes widened, lips parting like you had just knocked the wind out of him.

you chuckled, still riding the high, still close enough that your breath fanned across his face.

“sorry, got carried away.”

“don’t-” his voice came rough. “don’t apologise.”

for a beat, the noise of the backstretch faded, it was just the two of you locked there in that moment. your hand still rested on his shoulder, his grip lingering at your side.

then someone shouted your name, calling you over for an interview, and the spell broke. you started to turn, but his hand caught your wrist. it wasn’t rough, just enough to make you glance back.

“wait.” he said, a little breathless. “go out with me again. tonight.”

your grin softened into something more curious.

“didn’t think one round of drinks was enough for you, bucky?”

“not even close.” his thumb brushed once against your wrist before he reluctantly let go, grounding himself. “you just won the damn finals, you should celebrate. and i.. i’d like to be there, if you’ll let me.”

you tilted your head, studying him for a beat. then that boyish mischief flickered back into your expression, your grin curling wide again.

“well, since you asked so nicely..” your grin turned sly.

you tugged your hat off, and without hesitation, set it on his head. it dipped too low on his brow, swallowing him a little, a small clover burn mark on the rim plain as day, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“there.” you said with a wink. “hold onto that for me, bucky.”

before he could sputter a reply, you walked off toward the cameras waiting to interview you.

bucky just stood frozen, the brim shading his eyes, the smell of dust, and leather clinging to it. for the first time in years, he felt something warm in his chest, the flush creeping up his neck. he adjusted the hat with both hands, unable to stop the stupid grin spreading over his face.

—

the reporters were quick to pull you in front of the cameras, mics raised, and questions flying. you answered with that same, easygoing grin, still riding the adrenaline, hands resting loose on your belt buckle.

behind the cluster of lights, and lenses, bucky lingered near the wall. he hadn’t moved since you set your hat on him.

it didn’t take long for someone to notice.

“hey-” one of the reporters broke off mid-question, pointing at bucky, who was in the corner. “why does that guy have your hat?”

another camera shifted, catching him right in the corner of the frame.the wide brim of the hat dipped low on his brow, but the burn mark on the rim, a distinct four-leaf clover, was unmistakable. he stiffened under the sudden attention, but didn’t take it off.

you laughed, shaking your head.

“relax, that’s on me. i gave it to him.”

“really?” another reporter pressed. “that’s the hat, right?”

“yeah, been with me for years.” you tipped your chin.

“so why’d you give it to him?”

your grin stretched.

“guess i thought he could use a little luck himself.” you let that hang for a second, before adding on. “and besides, he’s my lucky charm.”

the line earned a ripple of laughter from the press, flashes popping brighter, the noise swelling.

and bucky, caught in the corner of the frame, felt heat crawling up his neck.

“worked out, didn’t it?” you tipped your chin. “took first.”

the reporters chuckled, questions spinning back to your ride, but he barely heard them. he stood rooted in the corner, the weight of your hat on his head, the words echoing through him like a brand.

my lucky charm.

that would’ve been enough, except one reporter leaned forward, eyes bright.

“so, is he your boyfriend?”

the question made the press pool hum with excitement, mics shoving closer.

bucky’s stomach dropped, his face burning under the hat. all eyes were on you, waiting.

you leaned against the rail, eyes sparkling.

“boyfriend?” you echoed, then tipped your head towards him. “not yet.”

the cameras immediately pivoted to him, catching the way his mouth opened, then shut, like a deer caught in headlights. that single word, ‘yet’, sent the press into a frenzy.

—

the crowd finally thinned, the cameras shut off, and you found bucky still waiting beyond the ropes, still wearing your damn hat like it had grown roots into his head. he didn’t even try to give it back, just shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

“you survived.” you teased, shoulder brushing his as you passed. “press can be meaner than the bulls.”

“at least bulls don’t ask if i’m your boyfriend.” he huffed.

you shot him a look, a playful grin tugging at your mouth.

“why? did you hate it?”

his jaw clenched, then released, like he was wrestling with his own emotions.

“..no. i didn’t hate it.”

—

the bar was loud, and bucky stayed close, way closer than necessary as you shouldered through the crowd. you ordered, slapped cash on the counter, and before you could even think, he was already leaning in.

“you really had to say that? call me your lucky charm?” he asked, trying for stern but ended up landing somewhere nearer to shy.

“it wasn’t a lie.” you shrugged. “plus, it rhymes with your name. lucky bucky. kinda catchy, right?”

“that's stupid.”

“yeah, but at least you like it.”

bucky glanced down at his glass, then at you, then back down again. he couldn’t stop staring at your height, at the way you dwarfed him without even trying.

“you know, you’re making it real hard for me to act like i’m the confident one here.”

that earned him a laugh from you. and when you leaned in closer to hear him better, he caught a whiff of leather, and dust, that had his stomach tightening in ways he couldn’t name.

“you’re taller than me.” he blurted absentmindedly, then immediately regretted it.

“yeah? took you four days at the arena to figure that out?”

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face, but the tips of his ears went red anyway.

“i mean way taller. it’s.. distracting.”

you grinned slow, boyish charm lighting up your face.

“good distracting or bad distracting?”

“good, definitely good.” he swallowed hard, eyes darting away. “god help me, i actually like that.”

the first round went down quick, the tension in bucky’s shoulder easing just a little as the whiskey burned its way down his throat. by the second, his hand was flat on the counter instead of balled into a fist, his body angled towards you.

you kept him talking without even trying, just nudging him with easy questions, laughing at the smallest things he said, giving him all the space in the world to open up at his own pace.

by the third drink, he was actually smiling, the kind that reached his eyes.

“you know, i didn’t even want to come to this thing.” he admitted, voice quieter now. “thought sam was crazy for dragging me out here.”

“and now?” you prompted.

bucky looked at you, really looked at you, then he let out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

“now i’m glad i did.”

“that’s the whiskey talking.” you cocked a brow, grinning.

“no.” he replied, firmer this time. “that’s me talking.”

something in the way he said it caught you off guard. it was earnest, although rough around the edges, but still honest.

“guess i should thank your friend sam for this, then.”

“if we thank him, he’ll never shut up about it.”

“guess you’ll just have to suffer.”

“worth it.” he replied with a little huff of a laugh.

by the fourth, bucky was tipsy enough to lean closer, elbow brushing your side as he muttered.

“you’re too damn tall for your own good, you know that?”

you chuckled.

“you keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.”

“it’s not.” his words tumbled out before he could stop them, and his face went hot the second he realised it. “it’s just.. you’re- forget it.”

“you like me.” you tilted your head, grin tugging at your lips.

bucky’s mouth opened, shut, then opened again. he looked like he was about to deny it, but he sighed in defeat.

“yeah.” he muttered, the word slipping out raw, and unpolished. “yeah, i like you.”

then bucky froze, like he had just handed you something he couldn’t take back.

but instead of laughing or teasing, you just smiled, and bumped his shoulder with yours.

“good, because i like you too, bucky.”

he groaned into his hand, but the flush on his face, and the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him completely.

you set your glass down with a soft clink, and leaned back on the stool.

he looked loose now, not so tightly wound, his smile lingering even when he wasn’t trying.

“well, since this is all over..” you said, turning to face him fully. “why don’t you come by? stay for the night?”

bucky blinked, lips parting like he hadn’t expected you to put it so plainly. for a second, you thought he might overthink it, tie himself up in knots, but then he nodded, almost too quick.

“yeah. yeah, i’d like that.”

your grin softened into something gentler. you leaned down, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, lingering just long enough that he could go still beneath you.

by the time you pulled away, his face was hot, and his eyes were wide, as if no one else had ever treated him with such easy affection before.

you stood, and grabbed your hat, placing it back on his head.

as you walked, you shifted your grip, threading your fingers through his.

his steps faltered for a beat, his breath hitching, but he didn’t let go.

you lifted his hand, brought it close, and pressed a kiss against the back of his knuckles.

bucky exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping, the last of his composure spilling out onto the sidewalk.

“you’re going to kill me.”

—

your place wasn’t far. you tossed your hat onto the shelf, slipped off your boots, and handed bucky a folded set of clothes, soft cotton shirt, and a pair of shorts that looked comically big for him.

“here.” you said. “get comfortable.”

he ducked into the bathroom to change, and when he stepped out, the shirt hung loose on his shoulders, the sweatpants rolled at the waist to keep them from sliding down. it made him look smaller, softer too, in a way that you weren’t expecting.

“fits better than i thought it would.” he muttered, tugging at the hem, a little shy.

“looks better on you than it ever did on me.” you answered without hesitation.

bucky’s cheeks went pink. he crossed the room, and settled on the couch. he sat close, close enough that your knees brushed against his. his hands fidgeted in his lap, but his eyes kept flicking to your mouth.

you didn’t make him wait. you leaned in, and caught his lips with yours. it was soft at first, then firmer when you felt him sigh against you.

he kissed back almost desperately, like he had been holding his breath for his entire life, and only now remembered he was allowed to breathe.

when you shifted to cup his jaw, his whole body tilted toward you, until he was nearly climbing into your side. then, like it was second nature to him, he swung a leg over, straddling you without breaking the kiss.

your hands went to his waist, steadying him as he settled against your thighs.

bucky gasped into your mouth, realising what he had done, but didn’t move away. if anything, he leaned closer, lips parting for yours again.

“comfortable?” you tease.

“mhm.” he breathed, voice shaky as his hips gave the smallest, helpless grind forward. “fuck- too good.”

“instinct, huh?” you stroked a hand up his back. “you do this often?”

he froze. his lips parted, eyes snapping open as the weight of your words hit him.

“w-what?” his voice cracked, colour rushing into his cheeks. he pulled back just enough to look at you, wide-eyed, like you’d just caught him red-handed.

“you know.. climbing on someone’s lap, grinding like that, kissing them until you’re-” you shifted your hips just a little, earning a strangled noise from him when the friction pressed where he was aching. “until you’re like this.”

it hit bucky all at once. the hard strain between his thighs, the heat pooling low in his gut, the way he was practically rutting against you without meaning to.

“oh fuck-” he froze, hands curling into fists against your chest, face flaming red. “i- i didn’t- god, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean to get hard?”

“don’t say it out loud.” he groaned, covering his face with one hand. “fuck, this is- this is embarrassing.”

“embarrassing?” you echoed, amused. “how so?”

“because- because it’s new for me.”

“not used to wanting someone this bad, huh?” you asked, softer now.

bucky’s throat worked as he tried to answer, but all he managed was a shaky nod. he buried his face against your neck like he was trying to hide from his own body.

you could feel how hard he was against you, every twitch betraying just how badly he wanted more.

“hey.” you murmured, stroking slow, grounding circles on his back. “look at me.”

it took him a moment, but he lifted his head.

“you don’t have to be embarrassed. if you want me, all you have to do is say so.”

“i-i don’t-” he swallowed hard. “i don’t know if i can say it.”

you cupped his face, making him meet your gaze.

“why not?”

“..because if i say it, then you’ll know. how bad i- how bad i need it.”

you smiled, boyish, and gentle.

“bucky, i already know.”

a strangled noise broke out of him, somewhere between a laugh, and a groan. he dropped his forehead to your shoulder, and twisted his fingers into your shirt.

“still, it feels different if i say it.”

“then try me.” you coaxed. “no rush, just say what you can.”

for a long moment, he just breathed, shallow, and quick. then finally, in the smallest voice, he spoke.

“..i want you.”

the words hung there, raw, and trembling, his whole body taut like he had just jumped off a cliff.

you kissed him, slow, and sure, letting him know he wasn’t failing.

“good boy.” you murmured against his lips. “that’s all i needed to hear.”

your hands slid down his back, resting heavy at his hips. you guided him forward, just a small roll of his body against yours.

bucky gasped into your mouth, the sound raw, and startled, and his hips twitched again on instinct.

“that’s it, just feel it.”

he whimpered, low in his throat, pressing down harder. the friction only served to make him shudder. his thighs tightened around you as if he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to.

“fuck-” he breathed, pressing his forehead against yours. “god- it’s too much.”

“not too much, just right.” you whispered.

he whimpered again, muffled against your shoulder now, but he didn’t stop moving. every grind drew another stuttered breath from him, another broken sound, his body giving him away even as he tried to hide his face from you.

“you’re doing perfect.” you praised. “feels good, doesn’t it?”

all he could do was nod, clutching at your shirt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded while you let him rut himself dizzy in your lap.

you shifted bucky without warning, big hands guiding him until his back was pressed to your chest. his body fitted neatly between your spread thighs. he let you manhandle him, shaky, pliant, and too wrapped up in the moment to resist.

nerves sparked hot through him at the new position, but any thought of pulling away vanished the second you slipped your hand under his waistband.

“wait-” he gasped.

“shh.” your lips grazed the shell of his ear as your calloused palm closed around him, rough skin dragging against the flushed head of his cock. “i’ve got you.”

bucky’s head tipped back against your shoulder as he let out a broken noise. his thighs trembled as you stroked him slow, way too slow for how wound up he already was. the friction was brutal, the scrape of your rough hand against his sensitive cock overwhelming in the best way.

“fuck- fuck, oh my god-” he choked out, twisting his fingers into your thigh like he was holding on for dear life.

you tightened your grip just a little, dragging your palm over him with devastating precision, squeezing just right at the base before sliding up to twist around the tip. his whole body jolted, a sound caught between a whine and a sob ripping out of him.

“that’s it.” you murmured from behind him. “let me feel how bad you need it.”

“too good-” he panted, voice breaking as his hips bucked helplessly into your fist. “fuck, i- ngh, i can’t-”

“already?” you teased softly, hand working him faster. “barely touched you, and you’re about to lose it?”

bucky groaned, face burning, eyes squeezed shut like he was ashamed of how quick he was unravelling. but the way your hand moved, steady, merciless, perfect, left him no chance of holding back.

“it’s- fuck, g-gonna-”

“didn’t take much, did it?”

the words punched through him harder than anything could. his face went scarlet, shame flooding him as he whined, hips stuttering in your grip.

“d-don’t.. please.”

“hey, hey.” your free arm wrapped snug around his waist, pulling him back against your chest. “don’t be embarrassed, bucky. it just means i’m making you feel good.”

bucky whimpered again, caught between shame, and need.

your hand only worked him faster, merciless, perfect.

his cock twitched, his legs kicked out uselessly, and then he was coming apart with a strangled cry, hot, and messy, spilling into your fist, and his shorts. his entire body shuddered as you held him through it, stroking him slow, coaxing every drop.

“good boy. that’s all i wanted, just you feeling good for me.”

his breathing was ragged, cheeks burning red as he mumbled something about being sorry.

“sorry?” you echoed. “you think i didn’t like seeing you fall apart like that?”

he shivered, didn’t answer, just leaned into you.

you let the silence stretch for a moment, then tilted his chin to look at you.

“bucky, you ready for more?”

he just blinked, lips parted, eyes wide like he couldn’t believe you had asked.

“yes- please.” he breathed, desperate. “please, i’m ready- fuck, i need it.”

you raised a brow, thumb tracing over his kiss-swollen lips.

“need it, huh? like you can’t breathe without it?”

a helpless noise tumbled out of bucky, half-whine, half-confession. he nodded again, messy hair sticking to his damp forehead.

you kissed him hard, swallowing the way his chest hitched. then you eased him onto his back, settling between his legs as your hands slid down, coaxing his thighs apart.

“never had anyone before?” you asked, lubing up your fingers.

“n-no, but- i want- fuck, i want you.” he whispered. “please- i’m clean.”

you hummed, pleased, as you pushed your finger in slow.

bucky gasped, clutching the sheets as his body squeezed tight around you.

“that’s it, relax.” you coaxed, working him open with steady patience. “let me stretch you out, make sure you can take me.”

he whimpered, hips twitching.

“more- please, i can-”

“you’re already greedy for it.” you chuckled low, adding a second finger. “body doesn’t even know what it wants yet, but you’re acting like cock’s the only thing keeping you alive.”

“yes- need it, need you-”

by the time you had slid a third finger in, bucky was already panting like he had run a marathon, whimpering into the crook of his arm, cock leaking against his stomach.

“please.” he begged. “i’m ready, i swear- i can take it.”

when you finally stripped your shirt off, bucky’s whole body stiffened like someone had pulled the plug on him. his eyes went wide, jaw slack, and for a second he forgot how to breathe. he tried to play it cool, tilted his head, bit the inside of his cheek, but the way his gaze dragged down, and then shot right back up to your face betrayed him.

“fuck..” he muttered under his breath, a little too honest, a little too raw.

you didn’t say anything, just chuckled, and lined yourself up, the blunt head of your cock nudging at his entrance.

his legs trembled where they were gently hooked around your waist, his hands clutching at the sheets like he was bracing for impact.

“relax for me.” you murmured, kissing the corner of his mouth. “i’ll go slow.”

he nodded, but the second you pressed forward, his whole body seized up tight, gripping you so hard you couldn’t get more than the tip inside.

“fuck.” you hissed, forehead dropping to his shoulder. “you’re- shit, you’re really tight.”

he whined again, embarrassed. he tried to force himself to relax, but only ended up clenching harder.

“s-sorry. i can- i can do it, just-”

“hey.” you caught his face in your hands, making him look at you. “you’re not doing anything wrong, first time’s always tricky.”

then you kissed him soft, dragging your thumb over his cheek until his jaw loosened a little. then you tried again, pushing slow, inch by stubborn inch. his breath hitched sharp as his nails bit into your back.

“god you’re- fuck, so huge.” he groaned, torn between pain, and need. “i- fuck, don’t stop.”

you chuckled, strained, sweat beading at your temple as you rocked your hips.

“wasn’t planning on it. just- fuck, you’re going to make me work for it, huh?”

it was a little awkward. stopping, pulling back, circling your hips just to coax him open a little more.

bucky kept trying to push down onto you, desperate even through the discomfort, which only made you groan and kiss him harder.

finally, with one slow, steady push, you sank deeper, halfway in.

he cried out, eyes squeezing shut, thighs trembling around you.

“there you go.” you whispered, kissing his throat as he gasped for air. “that’s it. you’re taking me.”

he only clung to you, still flushed with embarrassment at how much effort it took, but the way you held him kept him grounded.

“easy, let me- fuck, let me get you there.”

then with one steady grind of your hips, you slid in fully.

bucky’s chest heaved, while he clung to you like he might float away.

“all of me, you took it.” you whispered.

he nodded faintly, dazed, eyes glassy.

“feels.. so full.”

you shifted your hips, just a little, just enough to test how deep you were seated.

that’s when he screamed.

it ripped out of him, raw, and startled, his back arching hard, every muscle locking as your cock slammed right against his prostate. his voice cracked on the sound, high and wrecked, before he slapped both hands over his mouth in horror.

“fuck!” you hissed, caught between the shock of the sound, and the way his body clenched tight around you. “bucky..”

bucky’s face was crimson, eyes darting everywhere but you, muffled whimpers spilling from behind his palms.

“mmf- didn’t mean-” he whined.

you grabbed his wrists, pried one hand away, and pinned it to the mattress. you leaned in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered.

“don’t you dare hide that from me.”

“it- it just slipped out-” he whimpered again, trying to twist his face away.

“that so? then maybe i should hit it again, see if it ‘slips’ twice.” you rolled your hips with purpose this time, and his choked cry told you everything.

“fuck- oh god.” he mewled, hips bucking even as he flushed deeper, torn between shame, and need.

you kissed the hinge of his jaw.

“that’s what i thought. you like it way too much to stay quiet about it.”

“fuck-” he panted, face flushed. “that- there-”

you paused, just to watch him squirm, lips quirking as you whispered, “what was that, bucky?”

bucky’s eyes flicked to yours, glazed and frantic. he swallowed, shame painting every inch of his expression.

“h-hit it again.”

“thought you didn’t mean to scream?” your grin widened.

“i don’t care,” he gasped, clutching at your shoulders like he’d fall apart without you. “please. do it again.”

so you did.

you rolled your hips slowly, angling until you pressed flush into that swollen spot inside him.

bucky’s head snapped back, a loud, needy moan tearing out of him, no shame, no restraint.

“that’s it,” you growled, snapping your hips harder, sharper, hammering that same spot again and again. “right there. that what you wanted?”

“yes- oh, fuck- yes!” his voice broke, raw and wrecked as his nails raked down your back.

every thrust made him cry out louder, the whimpers from before melting into shameless moans that filled the room.

you drove into him with merciless precision, abusing his prostate until his thighs shook around your waist, his cock leaking untouched against his stomach.

“sound so good like this,” you panted against his ear. “moaning for me, begging for it. you love the way i fuck that spot, don’t you?”

“y-yes! oh god, i- fuck!” he choked out, body arching as you slammed into him again. “don’t stop- don’t stop-”

and you didn’t, not until he was screaming for you again, back arched off the sheets, body shaking like you’d fucked the strength clean out of him.

you angled your hips just right, grinding deep, hammering his prostate over and over until he was thrashing under you.

bucky’s voice had gone wrecked and raw, moans spilling out with every thrust, his body trembling like he couldn’t take it anymore.

then it hit, sharp, overwhelming.

“f-fuck—!” he cried out, back bowing hard, his cock twitching as he came untouched, spilling hot across his stomach. his whole body seized around you, milking your cock so tight you had to grit your teeth not to lose it too soon.

you didn’t stop moving, just slowed the pace, keeping him full through his orgasm. you kissed his jaw, his damp hair, murmuring low.

“good boy. just like that. you came so hard for me.”

bucky only whimpered, still twitching, trying to catch his breath.

when he had calmed down enough to focus, you pressed your forehead to his.

“think you can handle me a little harder?”

his wide, glassy eyes locked on yours, and he nodded without hesitation.

“y-yeah. please.”

so you gave it to him. your thrusts turned sharper, deeper, your hips smacking against his ass as you drove yourself into him with full force now.

his cries filled the room again, higher and more desperate, but this time he didn’t try to hide them.

“fuck, bucky-” you groaned, rutting into him, chasing your own high now. “feels so fucking good-”

bucky’s arms wrapped tight around your shoulders, pulling you close.

“d-don’t stop- want you-” he babbled, half gone.

you buried your face against his throat, your voice ragged. “can i- fuck, can i cum in you?”

he gasped, his nails digging into your back, then nodded frantically.

“please- yes, inside..”

that was all it took. with a low, guttural groan, you slammed deep, holding him tight as you spilled into him, cock twitching as you pumped him full.

bucky sobbed out your name, clinging like he didn’t want to let you go, his body milking every drop.

when it was over, you collapsed against him, both of you shaking, sweaty, and breathless. you kissed the side of his throat, soft and lingering.

you eased out of him slowly, shushing his soft whine at the emptiness, and settled him back against the sheets.

bucky’s thighs trembled when you spread them enough to clean him up, your touch gentle now, reverent, wiping him down with care. he let you, pliant and quiet, though his cheeks still burned.

you pressed a kiss to his knee, then to his hip, before finally crawling up, and pulling him into your arms.

he burrowed himself into your chest without hesitation, still catching his breath.

“hey,” you murmured, brushing your lips over his damp hair. “you were perfect. took me so good.”

he made a tiny, flustered sound into your skin, like he didn’t know how to handle praise that direct. his fingers curled weakly at your side.

you let him rest like that, stroking his back, until you felt the tension in his shoulders start to melt. then, with a grin he couldn’t see, you dropped in casually.

“you know the cowboy rule, right?”

bucky shifted, muffled.

“..what cowboy rule?”

“when you wear a cowboy’s hat,” you said, tone all serious, “you have to ride the cowboy.”

that got him to look up, blinking at you in disbelief, his lips parted.

“you’re unbelievable.”

you chuckled, boyish and smug, tapping his chin.

“i mean, technically, i’m not a cowboy, but you get it.”

bucky groaned, half-exasperated, half-embarrassed, and shoved his face back into your chest.

“i can’t believe i let you talk to me like this.”

“yeah, but you’re still here.” you teased, hugging him tighter. “that says a lot, doesn’t it?”

he didn’t answer, but the way his body softened fully against yours, safe, warm, wanted, told you everything you needed to know.

—

the next morning, bucky left quite early in the morning. he promised you he would be back as long as he was finished with whatever he had to do.

that ‘whatever’ in question was going back to sam.

he shoved the door shut with his shoulder, trying not to wince too obviously as he unlaced his boots. his thighs ached, his ass ached, hell, even walking felt like a chore.

from the couch, sam raised a brow over his coffee mug.

“you’re limping.”

“i’m fine.” bucky grumbled.

“you’re limping.” sam repeated, setting his mug down with a clink. “what did you do? get in a fight?”

bucky froze, ears going hot.

“..something like that.”

sam’s eyes narrowed, widened, then narrowed again.

“oh my god. you didn’t.”

“..what?” bucky shot sam a look that was meant to be threatening, but with the way he leaned on the arm of the couch for balance? it wasn’t very convincing.

sam burst out laughing.

“you did! that bull rider wrecked you!”

“sam-”

“oh this is rich.” sam grinned. “so, how was the dick?”

“what-”

“you heard me, buckaroo.” sam leaned back. “don’t play coy, you’re limping home with post-sex glow. spill.”

bucky sank into the chair across from him, rubbing a hand down his face.

“i’m not-”

“buck.”

then bucky sighed in defeat.

“..it was good.”

sam’s eyebrows shot up.

“good?”

“really good.” bucky admitted before he could stop himself. “he- he knew what he was doing. big hands, rough, but careful. kept talking me through it, making sure i was okay. then when he-”

he cut himself off, face flaming when he realised what he had just blurted out.

“and then when he..?” sam leaned forward, smirking.

“fucking hell.” bucky groaned, covering his face with his palms.

“you were really about to give me a play-by-play.” sam cackled.

“..shut up.”

“oh no, no, no- you don’t get to shut down now.” sam continued. “i’ve never seen you glow like this. man rearranged your spine, and now you can’t shut up about it.”

bucky groaned.

sam leaned his chin into his hand, all mock-innocence.

“so, what’s the star rating? out of five.”

bucky shot sam a look that could kill.

“sam-”

“six out of five? seven? don’t lie to me, barnes.”

when bucky didn’t answer, sam’s grin only grew bigger.

“sounds like you found religion last night.”

that dragged a noise out of bucky, half growl, half mortified laugh, as he shoved a pillow at sam.

“you’re insufferable.”

“and you’re in love.”

bucky froze, just for a second, then he turned away, ears red.