strvs

Week 2 on Tour

Durant, OK

"So," Steve says, leaning against the dressing room wall while Bucky tunes his guitar. "That girl, she sticking around?"

Bucky's fingers still on the strings for just a second. "For now."

"For now?" Steve grins. "Come on, man. It's been what, two weeks? That's basically a record for you."

"It's casual," Bucky says it too quickly. "Just convenient. She's here, I'm here, why not?"

"Right, casual." Steve doesn't sound convinced. "That why you look at her like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like she matters."

Bucky's jaw tightens. "She doesn't, it's just sex."

"Sure it is." Steve is quiet for a moment, watching him. Then: "She's hot though, I'll give you that."

Bucky's grip tightens on his guitar. "Yeah, she is."

"You gonna share your new toy, or is this one different?"

The question lands like a punch. New toy. That's all she is, right? Just another girl, just fun, nothing serious. That is the test. This is where Bucky proves it's not different, that she's just another girl, that he's not in too deep.

"Why?" Bucky forces his voice to stay casual. "You interested?"

"I mean, if you're offering…" Steve shrugs. "We've done it before, always worked out fine. Unless she's special or something?"

Bucky should say yes, should tell Steve to fuck off, that this one's different, that the thought of anyone else touching you makes him want to break things. Instead, he hears himself say: "She's not special, just a good time." The words taste like ash. "Yeah, sure, like old times."

"Yeah?" Steve looks surprised. "You sure? Because if she's more than just casual I can step back."

"She's not." Bucky cuts him off, going back to tuning his guitar. "She's just—she's fun, that's it. No point being possessive over something that's not serious, right?"

"Alright then." Steve grins. "Tonight?"

"Tonight." Bucky's fingers move mechanically over the strings. "I'll set it up."

Steve leaves and Bucky sits there, staring at his guitar, telling himself this is fine. This is proof he's not getting attached, proof you're just another girl, proof he's still in control.

The sick feeling in his stomach says otherwise, but he's already say yes. And backing out now would mean admitting you matter more than he's willing to say. So he doesn't back out.

You should've known something was different when Bucky suggested getting drinks after the show instead of going straight back to the hotel.

"Steve's coming," he says casually, too casually, and you look up from your laptop at the booth table.

"Okay?"

"Just thought it'd be nice. The three of us." He's scrolling through his phone, not meeting your eyes. "We haven' really hung out, you know? Outside of the bus."

You don't paint out that you and Steve hang out plenty—you beat him at Mario Kart sometimes, and you make him coffee, you've had full conversations about his childhood in Brooklyn. What Bucky means is: the three of us haven't hung out with the sexual tension acknowledged.

"Sure," you say because you don't know how to say no to him. "Sounds fun."

The bar is low-key, divey, the kind of place where rockstars can blend in if they try. You're squeezed into a booth—Bucky on one side, you in the middle, Steve in the other. You can't help but feel like it's deliberate.

The conversation flows easier after the second round. Steve is charming, funny, easier to talk to than Bucky in some ways. He asks you more questions about your life, your work, actually listens to the answers. Bucky's hand stays on your thigh the whole time, occasionally sliding higher.

By the third round of beers, you notice the glances between Steve and Bucky. Brief, communicating something you're not privy to, like they've had a conversation you weren't part of… because they have.

When Steve opens his fourth beer, his hand comes to rest on your other thigh, and you flinch at that, looking at Bucky with wide eyes.

"So," Bucky says, leaning in close to your ear. "You trust me?"

"Yes," you say automatically.

"Good." His band squeezes your thigh. "Because Steve and I have done this before, on previous tours."

Your stomach flips. "Done what?"

"Shared." He says it simply, like it's obvious. "We've got a system we're good at… and I think you'd like it."

You look at Steve, whose hand has slide higher. "You two have—"

"A few times," Steve confirms. "With girls who were into it, it's always been good. Fun. No drama."

"And you want to—" You can't quite finish the sentence.

"I want to watch Steve make you feel good," Bucky says bluntly, hand sliding higher on your thigh. "And then I want to make you feel even better… together, the both of us." His thumb brushes over you trough your jeans. "He's a bit different than me. I think you'd enjoy it."

Your breath catches. This isn't spontaneous, this was planned. They've talked about this, coordinated this, decided you'd be into it.

"We don't have to if you're not interested." Steve says quickly. "No pressure, we can just finish our drinks and forget about it."

But Bucky's hand is between your legs now, and Steve is looking at you with those kind eyes, and you're desperately turned on by the idea of both of them.

"I want to," you hear yourself say.

Bucky grins. "Yeah?

"Yeah."

"Well, if you're sure, then let's get out of here." Bucky says, already pulling out his wallet.

The hotel room feels different with three people in it.

You're standing near the bed, suddenly nervous, while Bucky pours whiskey from the minibar. Steve is more relaxed than you expected, but after all, this wasn't new for either of them.

"First time doing this?" Steve asks gently.

"Yeah."

"We'll take care of you," he promises, and something about the way he says it makes you believe him.

Bucky hands you a glass, his eyes dark with intent. He takes a sip of his own whiskey, then sets it downs and cups your face. "You trust us?"

"Yes."

He kisses you, and you melt into it like you always do. When he pulls back, he looks at Steve. "Let's get her ready."

They move with practiced ease, like they've done this choreography before, Bucky behind you, Steve in front, four hands undressing you carefully, two sets of lips on your skin.

"So beautiful," Steve murmurs, kissing your shoulder as Bucky unclasps your bra. "Look at you."

Your bra falls away and both men pause, staring at your breasts.

"Yeah, look at you," Bucky breathes. "Told you her tits were perfect."

"You weren't lying." Steve says, his hands come up to cup them gently. "God you're gorgeous."

"Such perfect tits," Bucky says, hands joining Steve's, rougher. "Love these, could play with them for hours."

Having both of them focused on your breasts, touching them, praising them, makes your knees weak. Steve leans down and takes your nipple in his mouth, gentle and teasing, while Bucky's fingers pinch and roll the other one, harder, bordering in pain.

"Oh god—"

Steve's mouth is warm, sucking softly, tongue circling. Bucky's fingers twist, pinch, pull. Pleasure and pain, gentle and rough, all at once. They trade sides—Steve's gentle mouth on the nipple Bucky was tormenting, soothing it, while Bucky's rough fingers attack the other one. The contrast makes your head spin.

Steve's hands slide down to your jeans, removing them carefully while his mouth stays on your breast. Bucky's hand slides into your panties from behind, fingers finding you already wet.

"She's soaked," Bucky says, two fingers pushing inside you roughly while Steve's teeth graze your nipple gently. You gasp, caught between the dueling sensations.

They get you fully naked and on the bed, both of them still clothed, and the power dynamic makes you throb. Bucky strips off his shirt, then Steve does the same. They're both muscular, covered in tattoos, but different—Steve broader, Bucky leaner.

"On your back," Bucky says.

You obey and they flank you on the bed. Steve's hand cups your face, turning you toward him for a kiss. While his tongue explores your mouth gently, Bucky's hand comes down in a sharp slap on your pussy, making you cry out into Steve's mouth.

"Shh," Steve soothes, still kissing you. "You're okay, you're doing so well."

Another slap from Bucky, then his fingers rubbing roughly where he just struck. Steve kisses down your neck, while Bucky's rough fingers work between your legs.

"Spread wider," Bucky demands.

You do, and Steve rewards you with soft kisses on your collarbone. "That's it, good girl, so perfect…"

Bucky spreads your folds, exposing you completely, and delivers another sharp slap directly to your clit. You arch off the bed, but Steve's there, mouth closing around your nipple softly, grounding you with sweetness while Bucky delivers pain and pleasure in equal measure.

"Look how wet she gets when I slap this pussy," Bucky says. "Such a dirty girl."

Steve pulls off your nipple with a soft sound. "You're not dirty, you're beautiful." His hand strokes your hair while Bucky's fingers push inside you roughly, three at once.

"She's both," Bucky says, curling his fingers hard.

Steve's mouth travels down your body—soft kisses on your ribs, your stomach, your hip bones. Meanwhile, Bucky's fingers are punishing, fucking into you hard and fast, his other hand coming down in periodic slaps in your inner thigh.

"Want to taste her?" Bucky asks.

"Yeah," Steve mumbles.

Bucky pulls his fingers out and moves aside. Steve settles between your legs, and the first touch of his tongue is so gentle after Bucky's roughness that you nearly sob. Bucky moves up to your breasts, and while Steve's mouth works softly between your legs, Bucky's teeth bite down your nipple hard enough to make you gasp.

"That's it," Bucky murmurs, soothing the bite with his tongue before biting again. "Take it."

Steve adds his fingers, curling them gently while his tongue circles your clit with the lightest pressure. Bucky alternates between biting and soothing, his hand coming up to wrap lightly around your throat—not squeezing, just holding. The combination is overwhelming.

"She's close," Bucky observes. "Can always tell."

Steve doesn't answer, just adds a second finger and increases the pressure of his tongue slightly, and that's all it takes. You come with a cry, Steve working you through it gently while Bucky's hand tightens just slightly on your throat.

"Beautiful," Steve murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh.

"My turn." Bucky switches places with Steve.

Steve moves up to kiss you—soft, sweet, you can taste yourself on his lips—while Bucky settles between yor legs. His first touch is completely different. He devours you, rough and intense, three fingers pushing inside you immediately while his tongue attacks your oversensitive clit.

You moan into Steve's mouth and he swallows the sound, kissing you deeper, his hands gentle in your hair, while Bucky is absolutely ruthless, adding a fourth finger, stretching you, finger-fucking you hard. Steve's mouth moves to your neck, kissing you tenderly while Bucky bites your inner thigh hard enough to bruise, his fingers relentless.

"Please, it's too much—"

"Shh," Steve soothes, lips brushing your temple. "You can take it, you're doing so well sweetheart."

Bucky slaps your pussy, then goes right back to devouring you. Steve's hands are soft on your breasts, gentle touches and caresses, while Bucky's free hand grips your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints. You come again, harder, and Bucky works you through it roughly before pulling back.

"Delicious," Bucky says with a grin.

"Now," Steve says. "We'll take care of you properly."

They both stand and strip completely. You're on your knees at the edge of the bed, eye level with both their cocks.

Steve's hand cups your face gently. "Take your time, sweetheart. No rush."

You take him in your mouth first, and he's patient—lets you set the pace, his hand gentle in your hair.

"That's perfect. God, your mouth feels amazing."

While you work Steve, Bucky's hand tangles in your hair from the other side. After a minute, he pulls you off Steve—not gently, a firm tug—and guides you to his cock instead.

"Open wider," he demands, and when you do, he pushes in deep, fucking your mouth while Steve watches. The hand in your hair controls the pace, rough on demanding.

They trade you back and forth—Steve letting you control it, praising you softly, while Bucky fucks your mouth and talks dirty.

"Such a good cocksucker. Love watching you choke on it."

"You look gorgeous," Steve counters, cupping your face. "So perfect."

After a few minutes, Bucky pulls you off. "Time to prep you properly. Now I'm going to claim your ass."

Steve lies down on bed. "Come here, sweetheart."

You straddle him, and he guides himself inside slowly, so slowly. His hands are gentle on your waist and he kisses you softly as you sink down into him. "Perfect, you feel perfect."

Behind you, you hear the click of lube. Then Bucky's slick fingers are pressing against your ass. One finger, slowly, while Steve distracts you with gentle kisses and soft praise. Bucky adds a second finger, rougher now, and you gasp into Steve's mouth. Steve soothes you with soft sounds, his hands stroking your sides gently, but Bucky's fingers are relentless, scissoring, stretching.

Steve's hands find your breasts, palming them gently, thumbs brushing your nipples with feather light touches. Bucky adds a third finger and the stretch burns, but Steve's there, kissing your neck. "You're doing so well for us."

Bucky's free hand comes down in a sharp smack on your ass, and you jolt forward against Steve, who catches you with gentle hands. Another smack, harder this time, while Bucky's fingers work your ass open. Steve kisses you through it, his hands tender on your face.

"Almost ready," Bucky says, adding more lube. "Gonna feel so good with both of us inside you."

"Wait," Steve says softly, looking up at Bucky. "Come here first."

Bucky pauses, fingers still working you open. "What?"

"Just—come here." Steve's hand cups the back of your head gently. "Before we do this."

Bucky leans forward over you, and suddenly all three of you close—faces, inches apart. Steve's hand is gentle on your face, Bucky's is in your hair, and then Steve's pulling you both in.

Your mouths meet—all three of you—messy, intense, tongues sliding together. It's overwhelming, being kisses by both of them at once while Bucky's fingers are still inside you and Steve's cock is buried in you. When you break apart, gasping, Bucky immediately yanks your hair back roughly.

Bucky finally presses his cock against your ass, Steve's hands are on your hips, steadying. "Breathe, sweetheart. We've got you."

Bucky pushes in slowly—the only gentle thing he's done all night—and the burn is intense. Once he's fully seated, you're completely full, stretched beyond what you thought possible.

"How do you feel?" Steve asks softly, lips brushing yours.

You get lost in it for a moment, in the sweetness of Steve's kiss, and then suddenly Bucky's hand is in your hair, yanking your head back, breaking the kiss roughly.

"Mine," Bucky growls against your ear, hand tightening in your hair. His other hand wraps around your throat from behind—not squeezing, just claiming. "Don't forget who you belong to."

He forces your head to turn toward him and kisses you—possessive, brutal, all teeth and tongue, completely different from Steve's sweetness. When he releases you, you're breathless.

"Both of us, Buck," Steve says mildly. "Tonight she's both of ours."

"Tonight," Bucky concedes. His hand is still around your throat. "But she knows who she really belongs to. Don't you, baby?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He releases your throat and pushes you back town toward Steve. "Now let's make her scream."

They start to move—alternating, so you're never empty. And the contrast is overwhelming. Steve's hands are gentle on your hips, his thrusts measured and controlled. Bucky's grip is bruising, his thrusts harder, punctuated by occasional slaps to your ass.

Steve's hand slides between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling gently. Bucky's hand in your hair yanks your head back roughly, exposing your throat. Steve leans up to kiss your exposed throat gently while Bucky bites the other side hard.

The dual sensations push you over the edge. You come with a scream, clenching around both of them.

"That's it," Steve encourages softly. "So beautiful when you come."

"Fuck—squeezing me so tight—" Bucky's rhythm falters. "Gonna fill this ass up."

They both come within seconds of each other—Steve with a soft groan, Bucky with a harsh curse. You feel them pulsing inside you, and it's overwhelming.

Carefully, they pull out, and you collapse between them.

Steve immediately gathers you close, gentle hands stroking your hair. "You were incredible, so perfect. Did so well."

Bucky's hand grips your hip possessively from the other side, then slides up to cup your breast. "You're fucking amazing, knew you could take us both."

You're bracketed between them, both still touching you like they can't help themselves. Bucky leans in to kiss you—not as rough as during sex, almost tender. Then he pauses and looks at Steve, something passes between them, and then Bucky's pulling Steve in for a kiss over your shoulder.

It's something brief but familiar, comfortable—like they've done this a hundred times before. When they break apart, Bucky grins. "Just like old times," he says.

And you realize: they've done this before. Multiple times. This is their thing—this practiced choreography, this good cop/bad cop routine, this perfect contrast… and you're just the latest girl between them.

The thought should bother you more than it does, but you're too blissed out, too wrecked, too satisfied to care right now.

Steve holds you gently, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder, Bucky's grip is possessive, his thumb still absently stroking your breast. Both of them touching you, claiming you in different ways.

And you let them. Let them clean you up with soft touches and rough efficiency, let Steve whisper sweet things while Bucky says filthy ones. Let yourself exist in this space between them, caught between two different kinds of desire.

Try not to wonder if this is all you'll ever be to Bucky—something to share, something to use, something that exists only in the space between rough and gentle. Try not to think about him calling you his, but not his girlfriend.

Just try not to think about anything at all.

After, in the shower, it's just you and Bucky. Steve excused himself, said something about giving you two space.

"You okay?" Bucky asks, surprisingly gentle as he washes your hair.

"Yeah, that was…"

"Intense?"

"Yeah."

"You were perfect," he kisses your shoulder. "So fucking perfect."

You want to ask him what this means. Want to ask if this proves you're just casual, just a body to share. Want to ask if he feels anything for you beyond the physical.

Instead, you just say, "Did you like it?"

"Watching Steve fuck you?" He considers. "Yes and no."

"What do you mean?"

"I liked seeing you feel good. Didn't like seeing someone else make you feel that way." His arm wrap around you from behind. "Realized I'm more possessive than I thought."

Your heart jumps at that. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." But then he adds, "But it was fun. We could do it again sometime if you want."

And just like that, the moment of vulnerability closes. It's back to casual, back to fun, back to undefined.

"Sure," you say, because what else can you say?

That night, he falls asleep holding you tighter than usual. Like he's afraid you'll disappear.

You don't sleep at all.

Steve's waiting at the bus the next morning, coffee in hand. He hands one to you as you climb aboard.

"You good?" he asks quietly.

"Yeah, you?"

"Yeah." He pauses. "That was… that was a lot."

"You know—" He stops, like he's deciding whether to say something. "You know you don't have to do things like that to keep him interested, right?"

Your stomach drops. "I wanted to."

"I know, I just—" He runs, his hand, through his hair. "I've known Buck a long time. And I've seen him do this before. Keep things casual, keep things fun, never let it get real."

"We are casual," you say, even though it hurts.

"Are you?" Steve looks at you. "Because from where I'm standing, you're in love with him. And he's using that to get what he wants without giving you what you need."

"That's not—"

"I'm not judging, I'm just saying—you deserve better than scraps. He's my friend, and I love him like a brother, but you're also a good woman. Nothing like the other girls we've slept with."

Bucky climbs on the bus then, interrupting. "What are we talking about?"

"Coffee," Steve says smoothly. "How she makes it better than you."

"Everyone makes it better than me," Bucky says, and just like that, the moment passes.

But Steve's words stay with you: You deserve better than scraps.

Do you?

Notes: less heavy on the kink for this one but this fic makes sense by itself if you don't feel like reading the others!!!:3

. ݁₊☁️. ݁˖ .

Smoke and the stingingly sweet smell of shimmer makes for an interesting morning. The sun blazes in the sky and yet the air has a distinct summer morning's chill to it anyway. Powder doesn't let herself get lost in the nostalgia of the warm weather beating down on her shoulders as the cool air lashes past her face. Everything is going just fine. Just the usual chaos. It's just the same as every other mission they had been on.

Except…for him.

Sure, they had had their encounters but this was different. Everything seemed to go silent as she stood there amongst her friends, watching the sickly purple smoke clear just enough to get a glimpse of the figure ghosting through it with an eerie kind of grace. His steps fall softly, slowly— dissipating the fog with each tread.

"Hey," Him. Smug, confident, and dangerous.

Shit—

She whips her head to the side, her trance broken, and finds two of her friends thrown overboard by the force of whatever he had hurled at them. The rest is a blur— tiny, handmade explosives thrown, explosives she knows were inspired by her own childish ambition from years past. Don't think about that. Her own people zip back and forth on their hoverboards, leaving trails of dizzying green that spot her vision, bringing her right back into the havoc of the scene before her.

Focus. Stay focused.

In amongst the chaos she tips barrels full of shimmer to the floor, ready to set everything alight. She whistles to one of her team. Eve. A quick signal to let her know it's time.

She nods quickly and sparks up a flare, holding it over the puddle of liquid addiction on the ground. So close. So, so close. And it's not even a split second before Powder hears a crack and the pink-haired girl's mask is knocked off her face.

Shit. 

He's got her. His hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, his grip iron, his fingers digging into her flesh so hard Powder swears she hears the soft crack of her bones crumbling underneath.

He could kill her right there. He should kill her.

But he freezes— his expression completely wiped with shock.

Powder doesn't even have time to react before the flare is dropped to the ground and he strikes her in the back of her head— right as she's scrambling to get away. The whole scene plays out behind her eyes like a movie— slow, yet unrelenting, the passage of time displaying its cruel and brutal nature. She can't ever make herself fast enough or strong enough to go back and make it okay again. She's dead. And it's just another thorn in his side gone. All for Silco.

Blood rushes past Powder's ears, pounding in her head and blurring her vision as she leans over Eve's lifeless form.

How could he? 

How dare he?

She raises her gun to him, blind rage clouding the reality of the scene unfolding before her. She doesn't care that it's him. She doesn't care about what they used to be. She can't even find the sense to care about the scarcity of the bullets she's about to use. Her chest heaves and she lets out an almost animalistic growl, forcing her body to lurch forward and point the barrel of her gun directly at his head.

Her finger shakily begins to squeeze the trigger and she gets knocked completely off her feet, startling her out of the fog that wraps around her brain. He's firing blindly at them— at everyone— and she didn't even notice. Didn't notice the way he screamed. Didn't notice the way his head whipped around like he could see something nobody else could. All she could focus on was taking him down.

She feels like she's been flipped upside down as strong arms wrap around her waist and carry her away. She realises it's Scar— her friend, a real friend— saving her from making yet another stupid mistake and getting herself and everyone else killed.

. ݁₊⊹. ݁˖ . 

He storms through the winding alleyways with a kind of quiet rage— sticking to the shadows, keeping out of sight. Of course he had to see her today. It's exactly what he needed, the memory of his childhood best friend coming back to haunt him in real time. 

And to top it all off?

That pink-haired girl he could've sworn was Vi when he knocked that mask off her stupid face.

He froze up. He fucked up.

"Today's screw-up will set us back weeks,"

He knows. He already knows. Way to rub it in, right? 

His face twitches in indignation thinking about it. His head clouds over, anxieties and insecurities pushing down on him and choking him out as he marches forward.

"Take some time,"

"I don't need time,"

"Take it anyhow,"

He had to prove to him somehow that he could do this. He wasn't the same helpless child Silco picked up amongst the wreckage of his dead and broken friends anymore…right?

Things were easier with Benzo. He didn't feel the need to prove himself constantly. Of course, he hadn't fucked up yet when he was still under Benzo's wing. Makes a difference, doesn't it? 

Silco just wants him to be strong. 

Silco loves him. 

Silco glued all the broken pieces of him back together.

And yet he finds himself tearing towards Benzo's old shop anyway, wanting to breathe in the comfort of his old mentor— wanting to wrap himself in the past so hard he suffocates in it.

"Fuck…"

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The wind whips past her face— cold, ruthless— a cruel reminder of this morning's encounter. Powder made sure that everyone got back to base just fine before she all but shoved past Scar and got back on her board. She just needs…time. She thinks she just needs time.

The thought of him swirls around in her head as she rides the wind. How cruel fate had been to drive her best friend away from her like this. How cruel for fate— no— how cruel for Silco to warp him into a machine whose only use is to kill and destroy when she knows he could very well have brought life into people with his creations.

She doesn't know where she's going exactly, not until she's actually there. 

She stands in front of Benzo's abandoned shop and thinks to herself that it looks exactly the same as the last time she saw it— minus the cobwebs. She traces her fingertips over the door handle, breathing out softly as she does. Of course she'd end up here with him on her mind.

She looks over her shoulder as she cracks the door open; it's completely dead in this area with no evidence of a single soul having walked down this part of the Lanes in months. As she shuffles inside the smell of old liquor and dust slaps her in the face. It's tidier than she expected if she's being completely honest. She trails her fingers over the countertop slowly, reminiscing about what used to be, and she lands on a little pocket watch tucked under a piece of parchment.

He had a thing about clocks and she always found that strangely endearing.

How had things gotten so fucked up?

Powder stares at the little piece of machinery and clutches it tighter in her hand. She glances around the room slowly, walking towards the back, and she slides down against the wall, bringing the little clock close to her chest.

She wishes it didn't have to be like this. She wishes it so badly that it hurts— the pain inching its way through her body and striking every nerve and vessel like it's trying to kill her. Tears roll down her face— hot, searing into her skin— and she finds herself screaming, slamming her hands down next to her as her chest heaves in and out.

Why?

She throws the damn watch, just waiting for the noise of it cracking and shattering into little tiny pieces just like her past— just like her relationship with her best friend, the man who could've been her soulmate.

Nothing.

"Huh, I wondered where that went,"

Her head snaps up— mouth gaped open in shock— and he's just standing there, turning the little pocket watch over in his hand, studying it like this was something he did every day and not like he had just stumbled across the leader of the fucking Firelights, the very reason he had fucked Silco's so carefully laid plans up.

She stands up, drawing her knife out, and she points it straight towards his throat.

He huffs a low, snarky laugh, "You wanna stab me? Do it,"

"What are you doing here, Ekko? Go back to Silco," she snarls, her voice dripping in barely restrained rage.

"This was my home, I could ask you the same thing. Aren't you a little far from all your bugs, huh?" He takes a step towards her, fire lighting up his deep brown eyes.

"Fuck you," she seethes, tears streaming down her face, tracking blue paint and mascara down her cheeks, "Fuck you for choosing him. He's got you killing people— my people,"

"You don't get it," he breathes, "He picked me up when nobody else would. You ran, Powder. You just ran away,"

"I didn't know you were there! I came back for you and you pushed me away!" Her fingers shake as they dig into the handle of the knife.

"I hurt people. I hurt you. You think you would've ended up in this mess if it weren't for me giving you guys that tip?"

He steps closer, pinning her under his cold, brutal gaze. 

Her chest rises faster as she realises she has nowhere to go, and she stares at him with wide-eyed desperation as he keeps talking.

"You think any of it would've happened if I never said anything about Vander's deal with the enforcers? If I hadn't told Vi about the old cannery? Huh?"

And he's mere inches away from her— so close she can nearly feel the heat of his body radiating from him— and her knife is pressed right into his chest as he crowds over her. 

She doesn't answer for a second, just looking at him, panicked, and he's never seemed so damn calm and collected in his life.

He sure loves to play with fire.

She drops the knife to the floor and grabs his face and her lips are on his in one heated, stupidly impulsive second. 

He stumbles back in shock, almost breaking the contact between them, but he reaches up and tangles his fingers into her hair, kissing her right back as a low, soft whine escapes his throat.

She shocks herself with her own rash spontaneity but something about the way he looked at her— the love and conflict at war in his once warm eyes— has her desperate to just have him. A sort of primal urge overtakes her and all of the grief and anguish disappears against his soft, full lips.

It's not soft or gentle. They meet each other with fire and passion— all teeth and tongue— stumbling backwards with each other, hands in each other's hair, tugging one another closer, closer, closer, until the only space left between them is the fabric of their clothes. 

Ekko moves back with each step, pulling her along with him, despite not really knowing where his end goal is. He can't fucking think about that. Not when he's finally got her in his grips. Not when she's finally real and tangible against his skin, against his lips, on his tongue, in his mouth. God, he could never have imagined how sweet she'd taste— all fury and lust bundled into one. He could fucking drown in this moment, stumbling backwards through this old shop, this old memory until—

They trip on something left on the ground behind the counter— the abrupt clattering noise it makes startles them both and he reaches out to catch her, pulling her up and steadying her against him.

"Shit—" She balls her fists up against his chest, bunching his top up in her hands, putting all her weight on him as she takes a second to recover.

"Powder—" He cups her face in his hand, bringing her gaze back toward him as he leans back against the counter, keeping them both upright, "Powder,"

"Shit!" Her mouth falls open in realisation of what she just did, "We— We can't be doing this—"

"No? That was all you, sweetheart,"

She feels her face heat up a little at his immediate comeback but it's not hard to notice how off-balance he really is— fully shaken by her impulsivity.

"Don't— Don't be fucking smooth with me," she pants.

His hand creeps towards the back of her head once more, putting a tiny bit of pressure there. Do it again. Please do it again.

She raises her eyes to meet his and suddenly there's nothing in the world she wants more than to fucking kiss his stupid, beautiful face again. So she does. She squeezes her eyes shut and grabs onto him so tight she's surprised he doesn't fall apart beneath her. 

She hates him. She hates him so fucking much. She hates every single little part of him and even more she fucking hates the way he makes her want him, the way he makes her need him. She feels like she's lost all higher brain function as she slips her tongue over his, as she trails a hand down his ridiculously defined pecs and yanks his head as close to hers as physically possible. 

God, why is he so perfect? 

His hand pulls at her lower back as he kisses her, and he just knows she feels the heat rising between them the same way he does. He can feel her damn legs trembling as she pushes herself onto his thigh like he wouldn't fucking notice. Fuck, this isn't fair. He pushes off the countertop and shoves her up against the wall, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head in one large, calloused hand. 

He feels her breathing grow ragged, like she's becoming fucking feral as they make out. The way their lips mash together is almost violent— years of pent up need and frustration coming out in hurried, urgent, almost animalistic movements. He trails his hand down her back— possessive, needy— and grabs the firm plush of her ass, shoving his knee between her legs as he does, making her pull back with a short gasp before he closes the distance between them again, his lips claiming hers with such ferocity it could almost bruise.

"Powder— Powder—" He repeats her name in between kisses, a desperate mantra breathed into her mouth like he needs a reminder of exactly who he's toying with.

She arches her back off the wall as he moves away from her lips, his own pressing hot kisses into the skin of her face, her jaw. He pulls down the fabric of her top that covers her neck and his lips are on her immediately.

He guides her hips to grind against him as he works rough, bruising kisses into her pale flesh. He needs her to remember. He needs to make sure that he'll be burned into the back of her head just the same as she is for him. 

Blood sears hot and low in her belly as he claims every part of her available like he'll never have the chance to again. 

That's the thing isn't it? Maybe he won't. 

She strains against the grip he has on her wrists and he immediately drops them, using his hand to tip her chin up instead, granting him better access to the sensitive skin of her neck. Soft moans tumble from her lips and she reaches forward to grab his arms, to anchor her shaking body as he leaves yet another deep, purple mark in her flesh.

"Fuck—" she whispers, putting the back of her wrist against her mouth to muffle a small whine, not quite ready to admit to how much he's working her up.

She feels like she's lost in a drunken haze as she pulls him up, listening to his mouth unlatching from her neck with a soft pop. She takes a split second to admire his face— eyes wild and filled with desperation, his lips plump and wet with the soft light shining against the spit that glazes them— before she's kissing him again, stealing the very breath from his lungs as her lips melt into his.

Tiny little moans vibrate through the air around them and Powder finds herself yanking him by his hips. Closer. Please get closer. Her body begs for him, yearns for him in a way she didn't even know it could. He's like a fucking drug— sweet and perfect on her lips. The feeling of his hands could brand themselves into her body forever. She won't forget. She'll never forget this. How could she? He's danger and temptation thrown haphazardly into a little parcel and tied off with a pretty little bow.

He threads his fingers through her wild, blue hair, not caring about messing up her plaits, just needing her. God, his Powder is so beautiful. His wild, ever graceful, blue disaster. All he can think of is blue, blue, blue as she drags him down under the depths with her. He wants her so badly. Wants her to be his. How long had he felt like this? He had shoved her to the back of his head over and over, unsuccessfully putting her back on that shelf of old memories that collected dust in his mind, and yet she worked her way to the forefront of his thoughts again and again. And now? She's everywhere. She's tangled up in his fingers and panting into his mouth and he couldn't be more obsessed if he fucking tried.

God.

Fuck.

He slows his pace, just a little, licking into her mouth, savouring the sweet, sweet taste of his favourite girl. He drags one hand down— slow, torturous— and palms at her breast over the top of her heavy clothes. Fuck, he couldn't want to rip her damn clothes off her body more if he tried. Does she want it? Does she need him as much as he needs her? He kisses the corner of her mouth gently, moving back to her jawline, waiting to hear the soft little whimpers that carry out on her breath as he reduces her into a perfect little mess for him.

He fumbles with the buckle on the front of her one-piece and she gasps, her hand shooting out to grab his wrist.

"W-we shouldn't—"

He pauses, biting his lip, and he looks up at her with his brows furrowed in concentration, trying to figure out what she's thinking.

"You don't want it?"

"I didn't say that—"

He glances down to her chest where his hand still hovers and then back up to her face, "Don't mess with me, Powder. Are you in or out?"

He straightens himself up so he can get a better look at her, he's so close he can feel her breath fanning out over his face each time she breathes out. He studies her hesitation, the way she chews on her lip as she fights over whether or not she wants to sleep with her old best friend and more importantly her worst enemy. 

He runs the tips of his fingers over the base of her scalp softly, watching as she shudders out a short gasp and looks right back up to him, her eyes wide with an urgent, primal need.

"Ekko—"

He smiles— dark, dangerous. He's got her all figured out. He brings his forehead against hers as he pushes his thigh into her harder, right between her legs, pressing straight into that delicate, neglected part of her that so desperately craves his attention. Her lips part exquisitely as a soft yelp escapes her. 

She grabs onto his top, biting into her trembling lip as she looks back at him, "Fuck— Fuck you—"

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, "Yeah, okay,"

"Make it hurt," she says suddenly.

What?

"What?" he asks— completely bewildered— her words almost snapping him out of his lust-filled haze.

"I want it," She grips onto him tighter, her fists shaking slightly, "I want it— Just— Make it hurt—"

He trails a path from her hair to her chin with the tips of his fingers, and lifts her face gently in his hand. She vaguely thinks to herself that she could die happy here, with his face full of a mix of concern, lust, and a little confusion— his fucking perfect lips pursed into a soft frown as he mulls over her words— being the last thing she ever sees.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice low, edging on ruinous.

"I don't wanna…feel—" She pulls him closer, grinding down against his thigh, "I just— You can take it out on me— Everything— Make it hurt, make it rough—"

He smiles and god, does he look absolutely wrecked with the realisation of what she's asking for.

"Say please," He runs his thumb over her chin.

She lets out a tiny noise of protest, her voice cracked and broken, "P-please—"

"Fuck," he says, grabbing the buckle again, "Take your damn clothes off. Right now,"

Her hands join his, and in an awkward flurry of movements they manage to get her far-too-thick one-piece off, along with her heavy boots and dark, thermal leggings that come to just below her knees. 

She stands there with her hands on his shoulders, suddenly a little nervous as the cold air wraps around her. He brings his hand up to his mouth, the other resting gently on her hip as his eyes rake over her slim frame in barely contained desire. 

God, she's trying to kill him. 

"You looked like that under there this whole time?"

'That' referring to the black panties that ride high on her waist and hips— the amount of fabric just bordering on daring— and the fishnet stockings that cling to her legs like a second skin— the bands digging into the plush, milky skin of her thighs. She's just begging him to take her at this point.

She nods slowly, biting into her lip, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she takes in his almost devastated expression.

"Fuck—" He grabs her hips, "Fuck, Powder, you have no idea what you do to me—"

Her back hits the wall again and he's shoving her top up over her tits, his hand immediately finding her breast and the other pulling her against him harshly by her ass as he presses his lips to her throat once more. He works fast, rough kisses into her neck as he rolls the sensitive little bud of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, drowning in her tiny wails of desperation.

"Plea— Please, Ekko— Fucking— Fucking get on with it—"

"Oh, you need it, huh?"

She nods, gripping his hair, impatient, just wanting him. She bucks her hips into him as he traces his fingers over her body— slowly, slowly ripping a path into her flesh everywhere he touches. Finally, fucking finally, his fingertips tease at the waistband of her panties and there's no way in this moment she could want him more. He dips his fingers underneath, quickly finding the hot, wet pool of arousal between her legs, and he gasps.

"Fuck— You're— You're so fucking wet, Pow—" He looks up at her in pure disbelief, watching the way she shuts her eyes and tips her head back against the wall, rutting herself against his hand— so fucking needy.

He grabs her leg with his free hand and hooks it over his forearm, slowly slipping a finger into her as he does. He feels her long, sharp nails dig into the back of his neck as he curls his finger along the hot, sensitive walls of her cunt. He breathes out— soft and wrecked— and he can't help imagining bending her over the damn counter and shoving his cock inside her right now. 

Patience. 

He shuts his eyes briefly, pumping his finger in and out slowly, savouring the tiny, breathy moans she lets out as she drags her nails across the back of his neck and down his shoulders. Gently, he slips his ring finger into her along with his middle and she gasps, hitting her head back against the wall as she tries to hold herself upright. 

He chuckles lowly, "So damn responsive…"

And all he's met with is a protesting whine as she pulls at the back of his head, closing the distance between her neck and his lips once more. She'll run out of room for him to mark her up soon but it doesn't stop how addictive it is to have his breath wash over the delicate skin there as he licks and soothes and bites.

"Fuck, Powder—" he mumbles into her skin.

"Ekko! Ekko—"

"Yeah, that's my name, baby. Don't you forget,"

He runs his thumb over her aching, neglected clit as he murmurs low and deep against her throat. She sounds a ragged, high-pitched moan and drops her head down onto his shoulder, her arms yanking him close, closer. He feels her cunt pulse around his fingers and he finds himself clinging onto his self restraint harder than he has ever had to in his damn life. God, she feels so warm and wet and tight—

He's fucked. He comes to the conclusion that he's absolutely fucked in about point two seconds. She's so damn pliant and helpless in his arms— a perfect little mess around his fingers— and all he can think is how fucking desperately he wants to bury his fucking dick inside her and pound into her until the only thing floating around in that pretty little head is him, him, him.

"Powder— Powder, please— God, please, I wanna fuck you so bad—" he begs, his voice almost cracking in desperation as he pleads into her ear.

She nods and nods, shakily kissing the junction between his neck and shoulder. She whimpers ever-so-softly as he pulls his fingers out of her, her lips coming apart in silent protest.

He fast in undoing his trousers, barely even pulling them and his tight, black boxers down before he's pulling his cock out and lifting her leg up higher, brushing the tip over the wet fucking mess he's made of her panties. She lets a tiny little sob slip past her lips at the brief contact with her clothed clit. 

She won't tell him, but she needs it just as bad, if not more than him.

"Ekko—"

"Shhh, baby, just one second…" he says, his voice low and sweet as he kisses her cheek.

His brows knit together in concentration as he slides the damp fabric of her panties to the side. He inches forward, slowly pressing the head of his cock into her wet heat. He edges in slowly, groaning at the way she stretches to accommodate him. A tiny, high-pitched whimper falls from her lips as he pushes inside, and she clings to his neck so hard she almost knocks the air out of him. He fucking stops breathing anyway, his breath hitching as he slides in a little further. She's so fucking tight around him— hot, wet, velvet walls gripping him like her body can't decide whether it wants to drag him in further or to stop him right where he is.

"F— Fu— Ekk-o—" She claws at his back, nails scraping over him as she whines pathetically into his skin.

"Can you take it? Can you take it, Pow?" he asks, just waiting for her to confirm so he can finally throw all self control out the fucking window.

She just barely manages to nod and whimper a quiet 'yes' before he's grabbing her ass and pulling her all the way onto him, making her squeak quietly and dig her fingers in harder, trailing her lips up his neck messily as she does. God, she feels full, so fucking full— his cock pressing into every tender, sensitive part of her so goddamn deliciously. It's so much. Too much. But not fucking enough.

She lets out a soft pant, her lips parted against his neck. She mouths emptily over his skin as he stills for a second— worry slipping into his expression. She moans lightly, her voice carrying vibrations into his flesh as she opens her mouth onto him and bites the salty, sensitive skin beneath her lips. 

"Do it— Do it—" she whispers, "Take it all out on me and don't fucking hold back—"

She latches back onto his neck, earning a low, broken groan from him. He curses under his breath and draws back slow, agonisingly slow before he thrusts all the way back into her, listening to the schlick noise her cunt makes as it pulls him back in. He motions his hips into her again, lifting her leg up as high as he can get it, wanting to get deeper.

"Mhhfm— Ekko—" She squeezes her eyes shut as he presses her harder against the wall, splitting her legs until her damn thighs ache all so he can drive his cock into her deeper, deeper.

"What? You backing out now?" he teases.

She shakes her head, her hair falling into her face as she does.

They both know damn well she won't back out. Not with the way he stretches her out so fully, so completely. She gives herself over to him so willingly— she'd fucking beg for it if he asked.

"I hate you— I-I hate you—" she mumbles through a cascade of soft little moans.

"Yeah, that's it, pretty girl, take my fuckin' dick," He kisses the side of her head gently as he drives his hips into her again.

Her head lolls on his shoulder as he fucks into her, her whole body almost going limp against him as he presses into her g-spot over and over, his cock repeatedly hitting that soft, gooey bundle of nerves inside her with each thrust. Every inch of her skin trembles, her grip on him starting to become lazy as waves of pleasure course through her and twist deep in her gut.

He reaches up and tangles his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back gently to get a good look at her. He admires her face— her cheeks flushed bright pink, tear tracks streaking down her skin in blues and blacks, her lips swollen and shiny with spit— and he kisses her. He's soft and furious all at once, gripping the back of her head firmly as he ruts his hips into her again and again. She can hardly keep up with him, kissing him back sloppily, her tongue and her moans filling his mouth all at once. 

When he pulls back, she looks completely wrecked. He thought he had fully given into desperation and bliss but, god, does she look completely fucking gone. He groans— low and deep— and he lurches forward, pressing his lips to her neck and kissing up and down the column of her throat, listening to the cracked moans that vibrate through the air. He moves his hand down, brushing his thumb over her swollen, sensitive clit and she lets out a loud, uneven cry, her hands immediately jumping to grab onto his arms— bracing herself against the overwhelming heat pooling low in her belly.

"E-Ekko— I—" She finds the words completely lost on her tongue as he swipes his thumb over the sensitive little bud yet again.

"That feel good, Pow?" he asks, his voice low as he scrapes his teeth over her neck.

She nods and whines— all high and broken— as he pushes into her over and over, thumbing over her clit in a tandem with each thrust. She feels like she can hardly keep herself up as he completely ruins her from both inside and out.

She lets out a couple short pants, her chest heaving, "Mmhn— I— I—"

And with one particularly brutal thrust she feels wet, slick warmth begin to trickle from her cunt before it spurts out onto him, painting his hand and lower abdomen in her release.

"Did— Did you just—?" He glances down, his face a picture of complete shock.

"Shut up— Shut up, Ekko— Just fuck me—" she whines, digging her nails into his arms so hard she almost breaks skin.

"Fuck," He thrusts in again, keeping his thumb pressed firmly to her clit, "Holy fucking shit—"

She feels like she's on fucking fire as he keeps going— so close she can feel all the blood rushing straight to her hot, slicked cunt. Each thrust begins to force little droplets of clear liquid from her and she hears him fucking laugh under his breath. She doesn't care. She really doesn't fucking care as long as he keeps pounding his cock into her— stretching her out impossibly and forever. 

Every motion of his hips sends her reeling, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, helplessly dragging her towards the release she needs so desperately. She feels like she's fully lost control of her body with the way he fucks her— every rough, urgent thrust twisting and tangling the knot that forms in her gut. 

She glances down to where their bodies are joined and she eyes his drenched, dripping hand— covered in her own fluids— furiously working around her clit as his thick length plunges into her soaked cunt again and again. She bites her lip, looking back to him with wide, shiny eyes— her breath catching in her throat. He meets her gaze with half-lidded eyes, his lips lazily pressed against her neck still. He looks so fucking vulnerable like this— his pupils blown huge, his brows knitted together in concentration, his face flushed a deep red with tiny beads of sweat forming around his hairline in his exertion. 

Fuck.

Her nails bite into his arms as her body begins to shake, her limbs growing pathetically heavy as the heat stirs and blooms inside her, almost completely relying on him to hold her up.

"Mmh— I— Fu—" She shuts her eyes tight, shaking her head, wanting to avoid the way he raises his eyebrow cockily because he fucking knows he's got her.

And then it hits her. 

Hard. 

Fast. 

Devastating. 

And she cries out— loud, wrecked— before biting into his shoulder, muffling the fucking pathetic noises that come from her mouth as her cunt pulses and flutters around him.

He lets out a deep, prolonged groan against her neck, shutting his eyes and savouring the sweet, delicious feeling of her clenching down around his fucking sensitive cock, the pressure forcing him to slow his pace.

"Fuck— Fuck— That's a good girl, coming on my fucking cock—"

"Wh— What—?" she says, her voice high and unsteady, "What did you just call me—?"

His jaw drops, snapping his head up to look at her, panic washing over his face, "Shit— Fuck— I— I'm sorry, it just happened—"

She grabs his face, her fingers trembling as they dig into his hot, damp skin, "Say it again," she says, her voice almost a growl— every syllable crackling with wild urgency, "Fucking say it again—"

His eyes darken and his lips part in a silent whine, his breath stopping for a second as he takes in her wicked, desperate expression. 

"Fuck—" He shoves his cock all the way into her, stilling himself, gripping her ass and her waist harshly, "That's a good girl, that's a good fucking girl, coming on my cock,"

She wraps her arms around his neck, moaning softly into his ear as he presses her against the wall, "Fuck, Ekko—"

He kisses the side of her head, taking a second to breathe as he pins her, his cock still buried deep inside her. He's not done. God, he's nowhere near fucking done. But she—

"More—" she whispers, "Give me more—"

Oh.

Oh, he's fucked.

"Fuck, baby, you want more?" He barely gets the damn words out, every emotion coursing through him at once, the thrill overtaking his whole being, making his heart race as he grips her shaking body.

She nods, scraping her nails across his back under his shirt as he holds her up. 

He breathes out— sharp, unsteady— and he looks down over her body, looking at the way her leg shakes with the effort of holding herself upright with his fucking cock still inside her.

"Not like this," he murmurs, slipping out of her and letting her leg drop to the floor.

He takes her hand and guides her to the ground carefully. He runs his hand up her back, slowly directing her to lay with her face pressed against the discarded bundle of her clothes on the floor. She lets him, laying her flushed cheek on top of the soft fabric.

"That's it…" He caresses her waist gently, "Now, ass up for me," he says, pulling at her hips.

"Plea— Please—" she mumbles, her voice muffled as she arches her back for him.

"Patience…" he says, digging his fingers into the fat of her hips as he positions himself behind her.

He runs his finger under her panties that he so hurriedly shoved to the side earlier, teasing her, smiling to himself at the way she bucks her hips back into him. He looks at the way she watches him with her eyes half closed, her gaze lazy, almost sultry, and she knits her brows together in confusion and impatience. He grabs her panties in both hands and pulls them up, ripping them apart until he can just peel them off of her and throw them over his fucking shoulder. 

"Ekko—!"

He grins to himself— a stupid, cocky smirk that has Powder seething. He leans forward, brushing her hair away from her cheek, snickering to himself at the way she glares back at him— her face bright red with a light sheen of sweat plastering it— her arousal incredibly apparent despite how fucking outraged she is.

"Fuck, you look good like this," he groans.

He pulls her a little closer, grabbing her ass and spreading it apart, taking a good look at her puffy, stretched-out hole, still dripping in wet, hot slick. She shakes slightly in anticipation, wishing he'd just fucking get on with it. But he takes his time, fully admiring the wetness streaking through her thighs as he slides two fingers over her cunt, adoring the way he can see it pulse and flutter around nothing, just waiting for him to fill her again. She almost feels embarrassed with the way he looks at her— so intently studying the mess he's made of her already like she's just one of his little projects that he's been working on.

"Fuck— Ekko— Please—" she begs, curling her fists up next to her face, swaying her hips in front of him.

He raises his eyebrows, looking down at the furious, blue-haired girl beneath him. He strokes his hand over her ass softly before he raises it into the air just a little.

"Can I…?" He pauses hesitantly, dipping his head forward to get a better look at her expression.

She nods quickly, squeezing her eyes shut, gritting her teeth.

He grins and a sharp smack cracks through the air as his palm strikes her skin, "I said patience,"

She whimpers softly, nodding, digging her nails into her palms.

"Fuck— Look at you, Pow—" he marvels, his voice rough, nearly breaking in strained excitement as he holds her open for his prying, hungry eyes.

"Please—" she sobs.

"Didn't know you were so needy, Pow," he laughs as he lines himself up with her slick pussy, "Let me take care of that…"

And he pushes in in one smooth, complete thrust, not bothering to ease in this time. She can take it. He knows she can take it.

Short, laboured breaths pass her lips as he begins to rock his hips into her. He starts slow, deep— each thrust languid, relaxed. He can't get enough of the sound of her drenched pussy sucking him in, struggling to fit him inside, especially with how much deeper he can get in this position. But she takes it. She takes with her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her thighs trembling helplessly, her fingers scratching at the floor as the feeling of him pushing into her soaked, oversensitive cunt threads itself through her entire body— embedding itself into every little nerve and fibre of her.

He digs his fingers into her hips and yanks her onto him roughly, making her cry out and bite down on her lip. She tastes blood on her tongue as he fucks her, the metallic taste washing through her mouth as he keeps going.

"Hhmmfh— Mhhhfm— F-fu—" She claws at the floor, her nails scratching into the hard surface uselessly as his cock presses into the soft, tender walls of her cunt again and again.

He snickers to himself, leaning forward to cup her face in his hand gently, pressing his thumb against her chin, making sure she's looking back at him, "What, sweetheart? What is it?"

"Hhmh— F-fuck you— F-fuck you—" she growls, shoving her face into the bundle of fabric below her, muffling the ragged moans spilling from her throat.

"Yeah, Pow? Fuck you too," 

"H-harder— Harder— Do it h-harder—"

He chuckles— twisted, dark— loving to watch as she takes him so willingly, so eagerly, despite how furious she is. He picks up the pace, his skin slapping against hers— forcing broken, punched-out little moans from her every single time his cock slams into her.

He slides his hand up her bare back, and up and up until he can tangle his fingers into her knotted hair, holding her head down against the hard, unyielding surface beneath them. She cries out, eyeing him shakily, tears beginning to pool in her eyes as her body jerks forward with each thrust. He uses the leverage he has on her head to ram into her harder, faster, rougher, pushing down on her back with one hand to make sure all she can do is take it as he ruins her.

"Fuck, baby— Look at you taking this cock so well—"

She whines— loud and high— digging her nails into her own palms so hard she'll see little red divots for days afterwards. She feels like she's being split in half with the force of his thrusts combined with how achingly thick his fucking cock is. A slow, unsteady stream of her own juices trickle from her cunt every time he slams into her g-spot from behind, each brutal thrust forcing her to squirt out onto him and herself the same.

"I-I'm— F— Gonna fu— Mhnnh—!"

"Yeah, that'sit, Pow," he says, running his thumb across her tear-stained cheek, "This pretty pussy gonna come all over my fucking cock again, huh?" He laughs tauntingly, his breath starting to get lost amid his strained, drawn out moans, "Don't even h-have to touch you, hm? Fuck— Look at you taking it, what a good fucking girl,"

Tears start to spill down her cheeks as he teases her— rage, lust, and desperation coming out all at once and streaming down her face, tracking blues and blacks messily into her skin.

"I h-ha— I-I h-hate y—" She gets cut off as his pelvis drives into her ass— hard and fucking relentless— and the noise she makes is closer to a scream than anything, her voice breaking as he forces the knot inside her to twist impossibly tight.

She's so close to tipping right over the edge— white-hot pleasure pooling and searing low in her body as he winds his fingers into her hair tighter, tugging it, his fingertips finding purchase against her scalp and using it to drill into her so hard her vision starts to blur.

And she's falling, feeling like she's been flung from a ledge and she's plummeting straight towards the ground. She could swear she died for a second, her vision going completely black as fire licks through her entire body, scorching the painful pleasure into every nerve and cell of her being.

He bites into his lip as he watches the way she suddenly stops breathing, her chest heaving in and out emptily, her fists slamming hard against the ground before they unfurl and scratch at the floor weakly, her back arching as she shakes and convulses underneath him. Her eyes are stuck in the back of her head and he keeps going. Her lips part softly, a trail of drool beginning to drip down her face as she starts to heave in gasp after gasp, trying to catch her breath again after stopping for so long her face started to turn red. 

He groans— long and deep— the noise nearly turning into a whine as her cunt clamps down onto him. He strokes her hair— the gesture gentle, loving— as he slows his pace, still fucking her, still pushing past the resistance her pussy continues to give him. 

He looks down, running his hand over her ass, taking a look at the puddle that's formed underneath her shaky knees from her release, taking a look at the white ring of cum that's formed at the base of his dick, slicking her cunt even more as it pulses around him. He runs his thumb around his cock where they're joined together, where she's pulled taut around him, and he curses under his breath.

"Good girl, that's a good girl," he whispers, breathless.

"Ekko-o," she whimpers, her voice sweet and a little pathetic.

"It's okay— It's okay—"

"No— Keep going—" she says, shakily pushing back into him, fucking herself on his cock, "Please— Please, Ekko—"

"Powder— Fuck— Are you sure—?"

"Told you to take it out on me— I told you— So do it— Do it, please—"

He huffs a low laugh, shaking his head, "Baby…you want it that bad?"

She nods, her lip trembling as tears still trickle down her face.

"Take it, then. C'mon, baby, fuck yourself on my cock," he says, running his large hands over her back and landing them on her waist, admiring how easily she fits into his hold, "Show me how much you hate me, hm?"

She moans quietly, pressing her face into the floor as she slowly starts to rock her hips back into him. Quiet, desperate sobs escape her lips— mingling with the soft, wet noises of her cunt squeezing down around his dick with each backwards motion of her body. Every inch of her skin trembles, her brain getting foggy at the dizzying feeling of him slowly pushing into her g-spot again and again. Her legs quiver, her knees threatening to give way under her as she fucks herself back onto him, and she's slow, painfully slow— barely managing to move herself because of how sensitive she's become after each orgasm tore through her body and left her dazed and hazy. Her motions start to become lazy, unsteady, weak— going so slow she almost comes to a stop.

He slaps her ass, making her body jerk forward with the force of it, "C'mon, Pow, you can do better than that. I've seen you fight, you don't back down like this,"

She cries out, forcing her eyes shut as she gasps for air, "Plea— Please— I can't—"

"Too much for you? You want me to take over, baby?" he asks, his tone sickly sweet and perhaps a little condescending.

She nods, her face still buried in the little puddle of clothes beneath her, her fingers clawing at the surface below as if it could help brace her against the overwhelming, almost painful pleasure that courses under her skin like a live wire in water.

She lets out a soft whimper as he pulls out and grabs her leg, swinging it over his shoulder, the momentum turning her to the side suddenly, "I wanna see you— Wanna see your face,"

She looks back at him with wide eyes— the soft blue of her irises shimmering in the light of the dusty old shop. She reaches out for his hand, lacing her fingers into his, gripping his hand tight as he slips into her again.

"God…look at you…" he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, "Such a mess for me…"

Then he draws back and slams into her, forcing a broken sob from her— her mouth gaped open as her breath hitches and she chokes on the air. He lets go of her hand, instead reaching down to grab her tits as he starts pounding into her— each stroke fast, deep, merciless.

Powder begins to break down into quiet, wrecked sobs, bringing her hand up to rest over her eyes as she moans out. He digs his fingers into her thigh as he drills into her, holding her steady, holding her legs spread wide just for him. She feels herself beginning to climb again, heat swirling deep in her gut with the way he hits that soft, swollen little bundle of nerves inside her just right each time. He's fucking addicted to her, she's more powerful than any drug ever could be and he fucking suffocates just in her presence, drowning being inside her, and honestly, he wouldn't mind dying like this.

He pinches and twists the soft bud of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, marvelling to himself at how pretty she looks laid out so pliant and helpless for him, taking it like she was fucking made for it as he pummels his cock into her over and over. She peeks out from under her hand, biting down on her trembling lip as she watches the way his muscles move under his skin, watches the way he shimmers as the light bounces off his damp body.

Powder thinks to herself that she can't last much longer— her whole body aching and oversensitive as he splits her open, fire crackling and reverberating under her skin with each smack of his skin against hers.

Truthfully, Ekko could've come so many times already, but he holds himself back, wanting to watch her completely fall apart for him, wanting to unravel her and make her just as addicted to him as he is to her. They'll crave each other's bodies endlessly by tomorrow, by next month, for forever. How painful to get such a beautiful taste of what's meant to be, of what they're not supposed to have. He wants to take time to enjoy it. Just for a little bit. Just for a few more moments. Just a little more time with her. The longer he can shove his feelings down the better. And what better way to do that than to have the very reason for the feelings he pushes down so painstakingly, crying and whimpering on his cock? He lets himself indulge in this fantasy just a little longer. While he still can. While he still gets to have her.

"You think you can come again?" he asks.

She bites down on her lip, nodding hesitantly. Her heart flutters in her chest nervously as he traces his fingers over the clouds etched into her skin and slowly down her body, his fingertips teasing over every inch of hot, flushed skin until he finds the soaked little bud of her clit, nestled just above where she's wrapped so tightly around him. She flinches as the rough skin of his thumb swipes over it. It's painful, almost, feeling like icy-hot fire rips through the very threads of her body, and she adores the way it hurts— thinking that this is her sweetest punishment for giving herself over to him like this.

He kisses along the soft fabric clinging to her leg as he ruts his hips into her. He could never have imagined how perfect this moment could be. He had never let himself dream that he could ever have her again. He's not worthy of her attention. Except he is. Except he very much is. And it's fucking sinful that he is.

He circles his thumb around her clit slowly, carefully— aware of how overstimulated she's starting to become. He loves the way she whines so pitifully as he fucks her— quiet, desperate little noises spilling from her mouth as she climbs and climbs. She sobs softly as he plunges into her; the combination of his cock hitting her g-spot over and over and his thumb slipping over her clit at the same time has her seeing stars. He grunts softly, quiet huffs leaving his mouth with each thrust— her cunt fluttering and gushing around him as he turns her into a perfect fucking mess beneath him.

"Fuck…this pussy…" he groans, feeling his self control slipping further and further with every second that goes by, "Tell me…has anyone else had you like this?"

Her fingers shake as they scrape across her forehead, trying to ground herself enough to comprehend what he's saying to her, "Jus— Mmhhn— J-just once—" she stutters out before letting out a loud cry as he slams himself into her harder, "I was— I was thinking of you the whole time—" Her thighs tremble as he puts more pressure on her clit— his expression almost unreadable through the blinding haze of ecstasy that blurs the line between pain and pleasure so deliciously, "Ekko, I— I can't stop thinking of you—"

He bites his lip as he looks down at her. Why can't she be all his? He drives his hips into her hard, making her whimper and mewl helplessly.

"Same— Fuck— Me too—" And he slows a little, changing his rhythm to fuck her rough, deep, and torturously slow— making sure she feels every single fucking inch of him while he's still inside her.

"Fuck, baby, I'm— Fuck, I'm close—" He bites into the soft flesh of her thigh, muffling his voice as wretched moans spill from his mouth at the way his cock starts to become impossibly sensitive as the heated walls of her cunt suck him in so greedily.

She cries out pitifully, arching her back as he swipes his thumb over the hot, wet nub of her clit again. Before she even knows what hit her she's coming hard, the feeling of it twisting and reverberating deep in her gut and making her cunt twitch and pulse around him, drawing him impossibly deep as he strokes into her. She covers her face in her hands, moaning helplessly as he spears her on his cock.

"Look at me, Powder," He lurches forward, knocking her wrists to the side before grasping her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her gaze towards him, "Look at me while I'm fucking you,"

"Uhnhfnm— I hate you, I hate you—" she sobs as she feels the pressure growing, her tender, oversensitive clit twitching and making her whole body quiver as he thumbs over it roughly.

She clamps her thighs together— the action automatic— but all she's met with is his sturdy body getting in the way. Shockwave after shockwave ripples through her lower abdomen as she tries to ride out her orgasm, and she can feel her poor, abused cunt quiver and throb as she squirts out onto him weakly one last time.

"Fuck— Fuck—" It's too much for him, the way she clenches around him, and as much as he wants to hold on he knows he's going to be forced to finish with the way she's gripping him so tightly, "Powder, fuck— I'm— I'm gonna come—" He starts to draw out—

"Inside— I-inside— Please—" she gasps, grabbing onto his arm and shutting her eyes tight— willing herself to keep taking him despite how overwhelming it is. 

Because she needs it. She needs all of him.

"Yeah, Pow? Shit, baby—" he groans.

And he makes it through the last rough, urgent thrusts— drowning in her tiny, pathetic wails of desperation as he spills thick, hot cum deep inside her. He staggers to a stop, his hips stuttering as he groans and leans into her, caressing her face in his hand as he finally reaches his high. He breathes out— sharp and uneven— every intake of air catching in his throat as he comes down.

"Ekko…" she whispers, stroking his hand softly.

He kisses her thigh, letting his lips linger for a second before he picks her other leg up and puts it over his shoulder, turning her onto her back. He keeps himself inside her as he leans forward and kisses her, holding either side of her face in his big, rough hands. He shudders a little, slowly dropping down from his orgasm. 

He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, pulling back until his nose touches hers and he can feel her breath mingling with his as they pant into each other's mouths.

"Fuck…"

Powder wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back down. Maybe she wants to take time as well. Maybe she does truly hate him— hate what he's become. But…maybe she wants to kiss him anyway.

Tears pool in her eyes as she moves her lips against his, coming hot and wet down her face, burning into her skin. They both become breathless with their lips on each other's, stealing the air from one another as their tongues slip over themselves. She threads her fingers into his hair, clinging to his head like she never wants to let go.

"I missed you—" She kisses him again as tears spill down her face, "I missed you so bad—" And she pulls him back down, wanting to taste him on her tongue for as long as he'll let her.

"Powder— What—?"

"Shut up— Just shut up—" she says, yanking his head back down again.

Their lips mould together perfectly as they kiss— their mouths melding together like they were made just for each other. It's easy to lose sense of where one of them begins and the other ends, completely wrapped up in themselves because they belong together. 

Ekko pulls back just a tiny bit, his lips barely parting from hers, and he runs his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the tears that stain her face, "I missed you too…" he says quietly.

Tears well up in his eyes as he leans into her again. Because this is the end. It has to be, right? This wasn't supposed to happen. He tangles his fingers up in her hair, sliding his tongue into her mouth, licking slowly, carefully, as his tears splash onto her face and mix together with hers.

She moans softly into him, appreciating the way he worships her even when he's not supposed to. Maybe he hates her but he treats her so gently, almost like she's fragile as he holds her. He'll always feel love for her first and foremost. But of course he won't tell her that.

Ekko feels his emotions begin to crash into him as his lips clash against hers, the fog in his head lifting slowly and getting replaced with something much darker— much like what possessed him earlier. All the fury, the hurt, the guilt comes flooding back to him as he comes down.

He pulls out of her carefully and holds her face in his hands, studying the way she looks back at him with soft, loving eyes. Her lip trembles as she looks back at him, a small whine coming from her throat as he slips out of her. She doesn't want to feel empty again. 

She doesn't want to go back to what they were before.

She brushes her thumb over his cheek and she smiles, getting lost in his quiet, hooded-over eyes. They look warm again, she notices. They're glazed over with hurt despite everything, and she can tell it's over. It's over and she doesn't want it to be. 

Please don't let it be over.

"I—" He bites his lip, looking away from her, "This…? Us? I— I can't— I can't hurt you again, Powder…"

"Ekko…" She tries to wrap herself around him, tries to keep the him that's so soft and gentle and loving for her.

He strokes her hair carefully for a moment, taking one last second to admire her face before he stands up and pulls his clothes back into place. She scrambles to sit up, pulling her top back down over her chest.

"Wait— Wait, Ekko—"

"I'm sorry, Pow Pow," he says, his face growing devoid of emotion even with the tear tracks streaking down his cheeks.

He turns around and Powder curses under her breath, forcing her shaky body to grab her clothes and pull them back on. She swears to herself as her hands slip up on the buckles and the layers in her rush to stop him. It's already too late. He's gone and she won't see him again. She won't kiss him again. She won't ever touch him again. She won't ever get to see the love and warmth in his eyes again. He's gone.

She sinks down to the floor and buries her face in her hands, hot tears flooding down her cheeks and dripping down her arms. Her chest heaves as she sobs all alone on the floor, curling into herself and scraping her nails across her forehead— trying to distract herself from the hurt and anger and guilt rushing over her.

She let herself be vulnerable for the man that had been fighting against her people for years— her best friend, her worst fucking enemy. She whimpers to herself as she notices the way her thighs ache and she feels so painfully empty without him inside her— a stark reminder of her own rash decisions. She could've ignored it. She could've killed it. Could've killed him. But she didn't. She couldn't. No matter how much she tries to hate him she can't help but chase his attention, his affection.

The air around you feels damp and raw now in a way that has very little to do with the early summer heat. You force yourself onto your stomach and stuff your face into your pillow.

You can’t keep doing this to yourself. 

Or, rather, he can’t keep doing this to you. However excruciating his presence is when your family is around, it’s so much worse when they’re not.

Most of the time you want to throttle him. It had been that way since you were kids. You can still feel the grovelling embarrassment of being somewhere close to ten years old and begging him and your brother to let you tag along with them to do something stupid like peeking through the dirt-grimed windows of a neighbour’s house or sneaking into a derelict, moss-eaten hotel until someone called the cops. In defiance of all stereotypes, your brother never had a problem with it. He has doted on you since you were in the cradle.

Bucky, though. He was never receptive to it. He would let you make your case, watching you humble yourself with calculating, amused eyes that looked slightly wrong on a boy of only twelve years. You can still remember how he would make a big show of deliberating, before simply handing out a ‘no’, and moving away. Your brother would shoot you a remorseful grin but always followed after him without hesitation.

On the rare occasions he did let you trail after them, he made you regret it. He would poke and prod at you, pulling lightly at your hair or making fun of you until big, fat, brutally-resisted tears would well up in your eyes. Oh, you remember how much he used to enjoy that - the mean smile he wore while he called you a crybaby. It always ended with your brother sternly telling him to lay off, before walking you home.

Your parents refused to hear a bad word about him. They still won’t. 

You’re not really sure what is up with Bucky’s family and his home life. You just know that he had always spent more time at your house than his own. Once summer rolled around, it was like he forgot he even had a house of his own to begin with.

Your parents treat him less like a guest and more like a favourite son. The guest bedroom became Bucky’s room when you were eleven. When he tinkers around and puts together your mom’s overly-complicated coffee machine or fixes the hot water or - the very worst - mows the lawn, your parents treat him like a king. They rave in public and private about how they don’t know what they would do without him. When you had tried to tattle as a kid, the most you would get was a patient rub on the back.

It was a push and pull between the two of you. Always had been. Bucky was either acting bothered at your presence, poking and prodding at you cruelly - or irritating you with his own presence and annoying taunts.

And all of that was annoying. Is annoying. But nothing compares to that feeling. The one you’re experiencing right now.

It started when you were pushing sixteen. You had stopped asking to tag along a few years ago but that summer was different. Bucky was told by your brother, firmly and categorically, that you would be hanging out with them whether he liked it or not. He stared at you with odd fixity but made no protests and suddenly you were part of the friend group. Your brother had a crush on your best friend Wanda, who was also hanging around a lot that summer. That played into it. But you took it as a win regardless.

You spent most of your time that summer hanging out in a clearing in the woods by your house. There was nothing else to do and even if there was, you had no money to do it. Most of the details of the day itself now evade you - they’re blurry around the edges. There was a new addition to the group whose name you cannot now remember. A persistent, uncomfortable pass made for you. Your brother distracted by Wanda. A few coarse comments made, before the new guy began to touch.

What you do remember - what you well and truly cannot forget - is what happened after that touch. The way Bucky propelled up from where he sat on tree branches and lichen. How he grabbed the collar of What’s-his-name and flung him to the ground with one heavy, solid punch. The silence afterwards. The crawling shameful pang of excitement in your gut.

You never looked at him the same. 

It’s not for lack of trying.

God - you try. You try so hard. You have tried for so many years. But every fling you had in college ended up wearing his face when you closed your eyes. 

Thoughts of him run through your mind while you fill your pillow up with gasps. You’re sure that if you wrung out the fabric or pressed down hard, those sighs would have to spill back out, surround the room with breathless cries of his name.

But you have graduated now. You’re back home until you find a full-time job and this childhood crush will no longer do. It’s remarkably inconvenient, the way your knees go weak and wobbly when he walks in the room, even while you paint a snarl on. The way a hot, sticky warmth begins to flood the space between your thighs when you watch him work like he is today. 

And you’ve tried everything there is to try. You’ve tried dating other people - it usually ends sour. You made a trip or two to the counsellor on campus. You had even left stop-sign stickers around your dorm room as a reminder to snap out of it when you are thinking about him.

At Wanda’s recommendation, you have started a diary. Every time you think about him or let yourself get stupidly, fantastically turned on by him, you create a new entry. Not all of the entries are about him - some are flimsy little notes to distract yourself - but they all lead back to him one way or another. Once the book is full, you will burn it. You started it just before you left campus three weeks ago and the book is almost half-way full.

You know it’s a stupid idea. It won’t work, which is why you have already sought out a witch on Etsy for when this fails.

The deep, low tingle at the bottom of your stomach hasn’t ceased, because even while deep in thought, the image of Bucky’s strong back and his bold, lopsided smile are still running behind your eyes. You become suddenly aware that you’re lightly sweating. Your underwear is warm and damp.

You glance over at your diary on your bedside table - most recent entry late last night, courtesy of your traitorous imagination. You sigh and pick it up. 

Bucky sees you in the window to your bedroom. You’re just a little floating head above the window sill. He can’t make out an expression very clearly. He waves and forces back a laugh when he sees your bratty eye-roll, the way you flop away dramatically.

You’re back home. For the summer, at least. Until all those fancy graduate jobs in New York or Boston or Philly start opening up.

He doesn’t need to be here, if he’s being honest. Has no reason to be. The lawn has no need for mowing and there’s not a damned thing left in the house to be fixed. His own apartment isn’t exactly a paradise, but it’s not bad either. 

You won’t be here forever, though. He’ll take what he can get in the meantime.

He likes how it feels to annoy you without a buffer. With no parents to be on his best behaviour in front of, no brother to shoot him warning glances when he pokes too hard. 

He regresses slightly every time he floats back into your orbit. Falls out of adulthood and back into the familiar rhythm. The push and pull. 

His childhood crush has matured into something deeper, but his actions haven’t. He still tugs your pigtails in a metaphorical sense. It’s much too late to get you to see him as anything but an annoying, big brother-type figure now, but he can deal with that. He likes watching you get riled up, anyway.

You regress around him too. He takes great satisfaction in that. You walk into the house after months of being away, haughty and put-together, like you had finally done all your growing up in college. A few grating words from him can make you twitch a little bit while you fight the urge to snap, irritation spilling through the cracks. And you eventually do crack. All the way. Every single time.

He mows until the short tufts of grass turn to clippings. He spares no blade, weed or flower and thinks about you, lying up on your bed. Probably doing something dumb. Probably scrolling on your  phone or flipping through some magazine. He remembers when you were thirteen and he found that stash of teen-pop magazines in your room, the pages with boyband members dog-eared, hearts circled around their pictures. He smiles, thinking about the way you screamed when you caught him red-handed. How you told him to “stop being such a pain in my ass”, pushing him out your bedroom door and slamming it shut behind him while he laughed. You were sulky at dinner afterwards.

He rolls the mower back into the shed, ties the padlock and tugs at it twice before walking into the house through the sliding glass doors.

He’s sweating lightly. He takes a quick swallow of water from the glass on the counter - whether it’s yours or his, he can’t remember - and licks a few beads of moisture from his upper lip. He feels good. 

He flops down on the couch, puts on some show indiscriminately and wonders what you’re doing right now. He wonders if you’re on the phone with your college friends. Or with that Matt guy he had heard about through the grapevine. He wonders if you’re wearing the same tight shorts you had on yesterday.

He considers going upstairs to annoy you but thinks better of it. He will wait a while to see if you come downstairs on your own.

He imagines Matt as some football player. He can’t picture a face - just some obscure blur - but he’s probably handsome. Definitely blonde. Social butterfly. Good grades. He can’t see you going for someone without good grades. 

Bucky’s grades were never great, but you were such a little swot. He used to sit alongside you while you did your homework. When you would tell him to get lost, he would shoot back that he had homework to do too. It’s probably the only reason he graduated high school.

Matt is probably biding his time right now until you both have steady jobs so he can propose. He’s probably boring as shit. Fucks you missionary for thirty seconds before rolling over onto his back. He probably asks you whether you came afterwards, and you probably talk to your stupid college friends about how much he cares and how respected you feel. 

But that’s a dangerous avenue to walk down. Because now he’s thinking about how you would look afterwards, naked and unsatisfied. Would you ever think about shooting him a text when Matt drifts off to sleep after getting his rocks off? See if he could sort you out any better than your boring fuck of a boyfriend? 

Obviously not. But it’s a nice thought.

You probably don’t do any of the things that Bucky would want to do with you - and definitely not with Missionary Matt. You’re too fucking prissy. No way in hell are you letting anyone take you the way Bucky wants to.

He doesn’t even understand why his brain has chosen you of all people to be the star of every daydream he has had since he was old enough to know what a crush was. You’re arrogant and spoiled and you think that just because you attract men like flies to shit that you can bat your eyes and get whatever you want. (You absolutely can. Bucky has tried to be the one exception to that rule, but he’s also just a man.) 

Unfortunately, he knows all of this and still desires you desperately. And the want that pours out of him in waves isn’t strictly sexual - in fact, it’s mostly something else - but he’s not sure how to define it. He likes you, except ’like’ doesn’t seem strong enough to cover all he feels. So it’s easier to focus on the sex. Maybe that way he can convince himself it’s all he wants.

He has run out of patience. You still haven’t come downstairs and he can only deny himself for so long.

He takes the stairs two-at-a-time, but paces himself so you don’t hear his footsteps and think he’s eager. Your bedroom is at the very end of the hall. When he approaches your white door - still adorned with stickers and tags from every phase you ever went through - he thinks about knocking. He doesn’t.

He can’t remember the last time that he was in your room, but it is exactly as it always was. Pink wallpaper. A white desk in the corner armed with perfectly positioned sticky notes and neat, alphabetised folders. Stuffed animals perched in a line atop your bed like marching soldiers. Posters on the walls from films you thought made you seem edgy when you were fifteen, in direct opposition to the frilly pink decor of the room. 

The only thing missing is you, but he can hear the shower going in your ensuite.

He goes to sit down on your bed and focuses deeply on not getting a hard-on while he watches the bathroom door. But he lands on something solid.

Reaching underneath his thigh, he picks up a little pink notebook, turns it over in his hands. More little stickers plastered to the front, hearts scribbled onto it with a pink gel pen. He knows instantaneously that he has gold dust in his goddamn hands. He expects to feel at least a little guilt or shame for what he is about to do and is mildly surprised to find he doesn’t.

This is your diary.

The first entry is from three weeks ago.

22 May I just broke up with Matt. It was awful. He kept asking me why. I had to say that I didn’t want to live in Boston like him. He said he would find a different internship and we could go to New York instead, and then I really had no idea what to say. It’s not like I could tell him the real reason. He cried. I’m just glad it’s over.

I think I should feel at least a little bit sad about it, but I don’t. I’m just relieved and feeling awkward. I don’t think I could let him fuck me one more time without going out of my mind. This really is a curse. I hope he moves on quickly. I think Suzy is into him.

Bucky can’t help the stupid grin that breaks out across his face. Looks like Missionary Matt was too boring, even for prim little you. No engagement on the horizon after all. He shifts around slightly on the bed in the guest bedroom and tries not think about what might have been so lacking in the bedroom with Matt for you.

23 May My family are ditching me. They’re all heading off to the south of France for three weeks, but I won’t be home from college early enough. They fucking suck. I wonder if Bucky will still be hanging around. Three weeks of torture incoming.

He laughs, loud and long, at that. What a spoiled little brat. Still, it’s kind of cute.

Bucky was asked to join your family on their holiday and declined. Partially because he still, after all this time, doesn’t quite believe them when they say it’s not a bother. But it was mostly because of a selfish hankering to be able to hang out with you alone. To not have to check himself when his gaze lingers a little too long or when he presses you a bit too hard to be able to convincingly feign disinterest. He reads on.

23 May Now that I have thought about it, I can’t stop. Bucky is going to be hanging around the house. He always hangs around the house, even when nobody else is there. Dad said he’s going to help him with building a new shed outside. I wonder if he will be doing that while they’re gone. I remember that one time he helped Dad with that old vintage car he bought on a whim. I could see him from my window. He was shirtless and working under the car from a skateboard like something out of a goddamn porno. I think I’ll die if I have to see him do something like that again. 

Bucky’s grin is frozen on his face, skin heating up around his bones. The shed would be a good excuse to stick around now that he’s done everything else - he had forgotten about that. 

He wasn’t aware you had been watching him fix up that car from your window. That must have been, what - two? three? - years ago. Old Pontiac runs like new now. His eyes catch on the word ‘porno’, scribbled in your pink, curly writing. He thinks about you watching him from above.

24 May I might be going insane. I shouldn’t have let myself think of the visual of Bucky under that stupid car last night. I think it’s a good thing I dumped Matt. I would have let him fuck me and felt so guilty afterwards for imagining someone else. I handled it myself but I woke up feeling just as riled up. My fingers aren’t big enough. Maybe I should buy a dildo or something. Bucky’s fingers are huge. One time he put his hand over my mouth because he said I was whining too much and it covered more than half of my face.

The blood rushes to his cock so fast it leaves him lightheaded. He has to read the entry twice to make sure he didn’t black out and invent something out of wishful thinking.

25 May This stupid diary isn’t doing shit. It’s making it worse. Every time I write something down, it just makes me think about it more. I spent all of yesterday thinking about Bucky’s stupid fingers. I hate him so much. I want him to bend me over something and fuck me until I’m an inch from passing out. Maybe that’s all I need to get this out of my system.

26 May Today I thought about that time last summer when we were at the bonfire and I made out with that guy in the Bulls jersey and snapback. I forget his name.

Bucky looked so angry. I think that’s why I did it. I think I wished he was jealous, even though I know he was just pretending he’s my fucking brother or something. It made me think of that time he punched that other guy in the clearing in the woods just for touching me. I forget that guy’s name too. 

Bucky hasn’t forgotten either of their names. The bonehead from the bonfire was Jon and the asshole from the woods was Robby. And he was jealous. He was so fucking jealous. His dick is hard as a rock in his jeans, head spinning.

28 May Yesterday was ok. I kept myself busy. Today has been terrible. Mom sent me a group picture of everyone eating dinner out in the back garden and Bucky was wearing a tight, white t-shirt. He looked so big, even bigger than when I last saw him. I just kept wondering if his cock would be big too. I zoomed in and took a screenshot like some fucking pervert. I got myself off so many times and I still feel like I haven’t gotten it out of my system. I literally fingered myself until my sheets were-

“Fuck,” he grunts, strained even to his own ears. His eyes squeeze shut and his dick throbs violently at the idea of your little fingers pushing themselves into your pussy at the thought of him. He’s not sure how much more of this he can read before jizzing in his pants like some kind of virgin.

Who knew? Who fucking knew? His stuck-up little priss isn’t so prissy after all. He’s a bit dizzy with want and some other unidentifiable sensation. Something warm and gooey in his chest.

He almost likes how ashamed you are of it. It makes it that much more satisfying - like he’s won some game that he didn’t even know he was playing. He’s dimly aware of the fact that he lost the very same game himself, but he ignores it. 

You would be so embarrassed to find out he is reading this. You would yell and scream and throw shit around the room in a tantrum like a toddler. You might never speak to him again. Even so, he can’t help himself but flick over the pages to the most recent entry. It feels like a spoiler to a book he hasn’t finished.

14 June He came around with the lawnmower again. It’s getting harder every day not to get myself off to the thought of him-

He clearly missed that part. He wonders how long ago you made that resolution. He will find out soon enough.

-when he looks that good. I could literally see the fucking muscles in his back through his t-shirt and it was black. I’m so fucking wet. I’m going to have a long, cold shower and tonight I’ll cum to the thought of someone else. Literally anyone else.

Then and there, Bucky decides that won’t be happening.

You feel better after your laborious shower but only for a matter of minutes. You walk into your room wrapped in your bathrobe and notice that you can no longer hear the lawnmower. Bucky must have finished the job. He’s probably in the shower now, washing off the pollen and sweat.

And that does it. You sigh at the stickiness forming between your legs and reach over to your bedside table for your diary.

Except it’s not there. 

You open and close the small drawer underneath. Ruffle around in your sheets and pick up your stuffed animals one-by-one to look make sure they’re not sitting on it. Eventually you get up and remove the duvet from the mattress, pull the bed frame away from the wall, crawl to the floor. You even go to the bathroom to make sure you didn’t carry it in with you. It’s not there. It’s not anywhere.

You must have left it lying out somewhere outside. Your stomach lurches into your throat. Except that’s not possible, because your last entry was written right here on this bed just before you went in for your shower. You had left your room to get a towel and steal some of your mother’s hair stuff - maybe you had inadvertently carried it out with you. You had been severely distracted.

You dress as quickly as you can physically manage, ignoring the way your wet hair is soaking through your cotton sweatshirt, but when you leave your room your footsteps are hesitant and careful. The idea of Bucky picking up your diary somewhere and deciding to give it a browse sends a cold sweat of terror up the knobs of your spine. Oh god, don’t let him find it. Please don’t let him find it. 

You tear the linen closet apart. You even pick up the piles of towels that you know you didn’t touch and shake them out. Nothing. You fold them in a way that would make your mother wince and put them back.

Your parents’ room wields no results either. You run your fingers over the wooden bannister faintly while you walk down the stairs. Bucky isn’t there - thankfully - but neither is your diary. You hadn’t even come downstairs between writing your last entry and going for your shower. That, you’re absolutely certain of. But you’re running out of options.

You have one room left to check, but you will have to play your cards carefully. One wrong move, a bit too much information, and you could find yourself on the receiving end of questions that you would really prefer not to be asked. Or of a bit too much curiosity for your liking.

Your fingers linger over the wood of Bucky’s bedroom door for a whole minute before you can bring yourself to commit to a small, tentative knock. Bucky grunts on the other side and it’s untranslatable but you take it to be an in invite.

He’s lounging on his bed, one ankle hooked over the other, head reclined back to rest lazily on the headboard. He doesn’t move his bored gaze from the television, where some reality television documentary about the daily lives of zoo veterinarians is playing. You’re distracted by it momentarily. You didn’t think this would be his sort of thing.

“What’s up?” he asks you, still not looking your way. He didn’t shower. He’s still sweaty and tense, the smell of grass sticking to his clothes and skin. You try not to look.

“Just saying hi,” you say, shifting feet. You look at the door for a brief moment before deciding to close it awkwardly behind you.

He looks at you then, one eyebrow and one side of his lip quirking upwards in tandem. “Just saying hi.”

You nod. His smile breaks free then, but it’s not altogether a nice one. “Well, hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you mumble back. You continue to look at each other while you fidget, stepping forward cautiously until your knees hit his bed. You look at him expectantly and he rolls his eyes before moving his own legs so you can sit.

“What’s got you all buggy?” he asks sardonically, giving you a light tap on the side with his foot. He’s not wearing his boots anymore, but some grass still rubs off on you somehow. You rub your side and shoot him a look as if it hurt, even though it didn’t. 

“I’m not buggy.”

“Yeah y’are. You got bugs.”

“You got bugs,” you snap. “I’m perfectly fine.”

He laughs. “Alright, you don’t got bugs. I have bugs ‘cause I was out there mowing all day. Now what do you want?”

Your stomach gives an odd jerking motion at the memory of him out there mowing the lawn. You try to keep any guilt from showing on your face. “Maybe I just wanna talk to you.”

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t seem convinced. You nod.

“Yeah,” you say, picking at a loose thread his bedsheet. “So what have you been up to?”

“Sweetheart, what’s goin’ on?” he chuckles, turning slightly on his side so he can see you. “You know what I’ve been up to. You saw me out there.”

“Duh,” you say. You roll your eyes again and you can feel him laugh more than you can hear it - the minute little vibration through the sheets. His skin is inches away from yours. If you reached out just a little bit, you could touch his hand.

“Duuuhhh,” he mimics you with an exaggerated Valley-girl drawl. “Why’d you ask then, smartass?”

“I meant, like, after that.”

“After I finished the lawn?”

You nod. You are so desperately bad at this.

“Not much. Watched this,” he says, pointing at the TV. He gets distracted by something there and begins to watch it again. “Did a bit of light reading. What about you?”

Your heart is moving up in a slow but steady elevator to the base of your neck. “I’ve been in the shower,” you say casually. “What are you reading?”

“Long shower,” he says.

“Well it was an everything-shower,” you say defensively, forgetting yourself for a moment.

“The hell is an everything shower?”

“Don’t be dense. It’s literally in the name. It’s called an everything shower because you do everything in the shower.”

His gaze flies back to you then, dark and questioning, eyebrows raised slightly. It takes for his lip to twitch into a small smile before you come to your senses.

“A-as in,” you stammer. “You do all your self-care stuff. Like shaving and exfoliating and hair masks. That kind of everything.”

His smile widens and he nods, half sarcastically. “Right. That kind of everything.”

Your face heats up. There’s a brief pause. 

“So what are you reading at the mo-”

“Y’know I think you’d like this,” he says, pointing over to the TV again. You glance over distractedly. A giraffe is giving birth standing up. You can’t help the way your nose twitches slightly as you take in all the blood and goo onscreen.

“Why is that?” you ask.

“There’s this one girl who cries every time an animal dies. She’s been working there five years and she still cries every time. She’s like you.”

“I’m not like that.”

“Yes you are,” he laughs and the sound travels through you. “Remember that one time you cried because your dad asked me to catch and kill that mouse?”

You do. He had been strangely nice about the whole thing. He made a makeshift humane trap and brought it to the old railway line a few miles away instead. 

“I was sixteen-”

“And if you’re tryna tell me you wouldn't react the same way right now, I say you’re full of shit.”

You look at him resentfully. “Like you’re any tougher. You’re the one who saved him.”

“Well you know I can’t help but give you what you want once the waterworks start. You’re a pretty crier, sweetheart.”

You just look at him, feeling a bit dazed and uncomprehending. Saliva floods your mouth and you’re forced to swallow. He just glances over at you for the smallest of instances. You like the handsome, self-satisfied smile he gives himself before turning back to his programme, even though it’s at your expense. You know instinctively that you’ll be failing at your new resolution tonight. 

“Shut up. Don’t be weird,” you say, because you can think of nothing else. He huffs with humour and there’s something in his expression that you don’t like.

“So you said you were reading something?” you say. You’re aiming for a casual tone but you think you might be overselling it.

“Mhm,” he says, nodding once. The programme can’t be that interesting, but he seems absorbed in it.

“I didn’t think you liked reading.”

“I have a newfound appreciation for it.” He smiles at the screen and maybe you’re feeling a little jealous. You snatch the remote out of his hands, careful not to let your fingers brush, and blackness eats the image of a family of monkeys. His eyes snap to you with amused surprise. 

“What are you reading?”

Your heart is pumping while Bucky appraises you for a second, eyes sliding their way around your flustered face. He licks his bottom lip slowly before sucking it into his mouth. He speaks low.

“Don’t worry about it. ’S’too dirty for you, sweetheart.”

You really fucking hope that doesn’t mean what you think it does. He has the book. Oh dear god, don’t let him have the book.

Your voice comes out weak and fractured. “Are you… reading smut?”

He laughs again, face lit up. Eyes still on you. “That what you call it? Sure. Something like that, at least.”

“Bucky,” you say, voice no more than a horrified whisper. There’s a brutal heat curling in your gut - embarrassment and something else. “What are you reading? Please.”

He looks at you for just a second longer before reaching under the blanket beside him. His hand reaches out again, fingers curled around a book that looks incredibly small in his large palm.

You blink at it for just a second, as if concentrating hard enough might make it disappear. Please make it disappear. Please make it nothing at all.

But then you’re rolling forward, hardly aware of what you’re doing until your back is bowed, a low, despairing groan escaping you while your limbs slip away from you. Eventually you’re played across the bottom of the bed, face firmly pressed to the soft memory foam. If you stay here long enough, your face might imprint itself there. A garbled, monotonous litany is spilling from your lips. You’re not even sure what you’re saying.

Your stomach is going haywire. Bucky is laughing like you knew he would - you fucking knew he would be an asshole about this - and you would go running from the room if it didn’t mean that you would have to move your face from the bed and look at him. 

You suppose it’s better that he’s laughing than looking at you with the raw kind of disgust that you had pictured whenever you imagined him finding out about your feelings towards him. Maybe it means that you two can go back to normal at some point, even if the humiliation raging through your body begs to differ.

“Don’t be such a baby,” Bucky says and you hate him. Your face pops up to look at his. Still amused. Still wicked and gleeful. 

“Where did you get that?” you bark.

“Your room,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “Interesting read. You should be a writer with that vivid imagination. What did you call it, smut?”

“Fuck you!” you screech, and Bucky physically recoils at the loud noise, irritation crawling onto his features for the first time in this interaction. “You had no right to go into my room and invade my privacy. What the hell is wrong with you? You are such a piece of shit!”

Bucky rolls his eyes while you make your way up the bed and take a swing for his chest. He catches your wrists in time and your traitorous body pauses at the touch. 

“Like I said,” he says sternly. “Don’t be such a baby. You need me to help you get this out of your system? What was it you said again? Bend you over and fuck you until you’re an inch from passing out?”

You give one last valiant jerk to break free, but he has a death grip with seemingly minimal effort. You go still while the fight leaves you. Hot humiliation and more than a little arousal course through you.

“Fuck you,” you say again with considerably less vitriol.

“I will,” he says, eyes locked on yours punishingly. “If that’s what you want.”

Your breath stutters, heat rising up the length of your face. You’re not sure if he’s messing with you, but the words are having the intended effect regardless. Your thighs press together gently to alleviate some of the pressure that his words and his eye-contact are creating. His eyes flicker down quickly, following the movement, before moving back up to meet your own gaze.

“Got nothing to say now? That’s ok, baby. I saw enough in that little book. Let’s look.”

He lets go of your wrists and you immediately lurch forward to grasp the diary, but he gets there first. He opens it at a random page.

“I came home from college today,” he starts to read, voice low. “Everyone else was gone, but Bucky was here. I don’t know how it’s possible but he’s so much hotter since I last saw him. He wears a bit of stubble now and his muscles were almost bursting out of his t-shirt. We bickered a little bit in the evening, but the whole time I was just wondering what he’s like in bed. I don’t think he would be sweet and soft all the time, like Matt. Maybe sometimes but I think he would be so mean and rough most of the time. He seems like he knows how to make a girl cum.”

He looks up at you. You feel tears prickle behind your eyes, shame steamrolling through you. You reach for the book again but he moves it out of your reach effortlessly.

“You’re goddamn right I do,” he says, smiling as if he’s talking about something totally innocent. “You want me to show you, sweetheart?”

Your brain is scrambled and the only thing escaping your lips is a garbled mess of vowels. You’re still suspicious. It wouldn’t be entirely unlike him to get you to admit to this and then pull the rug out from under you a moment later.

He huffs an impatient sigh. “Don’t go dumb on me already, silly girl.”

He flicks to another page in the book, smiles, and finally hands it over to you. You take it uncertainly.

“Why don’t you read that for me? Out loud. Jog your memory a bit.”

You’re not sure what you’re doing, but at this point it’s easier to follow instructions than to figure out what to do yourself. You look down, take another hesitant glance at an encouraging Bucky and begin to read with a sheepish, shameful tone. Your face is burning.

“I want him so bad. I think I’ll die if I don’t have him. The orgasms I’m giving myself aren’t enough. I need him to fuck me, even just one time. I’ll never ask for anything else again in my life if I can get his cock inside me just once. I’m going so deranged, I actually pictured him choking me yesterday with those huge hands and it made me cum so hard.” 

Your own words have done a number on you. You are stupidly, ridiculously turned on by his eyes on you and your own words echoing around the room. You raise your eyes slowly and sheepishly to meet his and the look on his face is nothing short of starving.

“Fuck it,” he breathes, pulling you forward and into a kiss.

Your unsuspecting mouth meets his with short, stabbing gasps. His right arm moves to the back of your neck, pulling you against him firmly, while the prosthetic arm pulls you onto his lap. His lips move against yours and the only word to describe it is filthy. His lips are still wet from licking them and his tongue is sliding over yours delicately but expertly.

You’re in a state of euphoria. Part of you always wondered whether you had played this up too much in your head. You wondered - if you were given the chance to finally touch him like this, whether it might be a bit disappointing after all you had imagined. 

If possible, it might be the opposite. Your body is shaking with adrenaline. Without thinking too much about it, you grind down on his lap and feel his hard length through his jeans. A bolt shoots up your spine. Has he been hard this whole time?

He grunts at the friction, calloused fingers tightening their hold on you. His hand glides slowly down from your neck, through the valley of your breasts and over your stomach, playing with the waistband of your cotton shorts. You’re already so riled up, it makes you press down on him again, clutching at his shoulders as if you could possibly pull him any closer. You’re high off the feel of him when he pulls away, just a few inches.

“You ready to admit it yet? That you want me?”

“I want you,” you breathe. It’s almost embarrassing how automatic the response is. How little you even have to think about it.

You feel his smile spreading against your own face. “I know, sweetheart. Of course I know. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

Bucky is on the warpath, tearing your sweatshirt and his t-shirt off in quick succession. He takes a second to zero in on your breasts and you feel mildly self-conscious about your plain black bra, but he seems adequately distracted by them.

He slows down. Unclips your bra with languor. You shove away the sick, jealous feeling that creeps up when he doesn’t fumble even remotely with the clasp.

Once you’re bared to him, he seems to move slower. His hands go up to fondle them with uncharacteristic gentleness and you suck in a breath. His eyes darken to black, shiny knobs at your reaction and he maintains eye-contact with you while he presses a gentle kiss over your nipple, pulling it into his mouth.

A moan slips out at the sensation. So that’s what that should feel like.

“Wanna know a secret?” he murmurs between kissing and sucking, moving over to your other breast. You nod, uncertain whether or not he can see you. 

“Want you too. Wanted you since we were kids.”

You look down at him. He is seemingly avoiding your eyes. Your brain is a little hazy but still operational for the most part.

“Since when?”

“Just fuckin’ told you,” he says, moving a warm hand up your thigh. It’s a distraction tactic.

“No but when? What age?” Your voice is coming out breathy with the way his thumb is creeping underneath your shorts, stroking the sensitive crease between your thigh and the hem of your underwear. You wonder with some apprehension if his fingers can sense the warmth radiation from you. You’re soaked through.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, moving back up to kiss you. His thumb strokes over your panties now and you gasp into his mouth.

“Yes it does. Tell me,” you say. Because you’re muddled and jittery and incredibly fucking worked up, but more than all of that - you’re stubborn.

He gives you a hard look for a second, likely deciding whether he will be able to get you to let this go. You’re not.

“Was sweet on you when I was ten,” he says, rubbing you over your underwear harder now. Stars are exploding in your eyes, but the heavy, sluggish machinery that is your brain in its current state still chugs along at its steady, slow rhythm.

“Isn’t that when we first-”

“Yes.”

The shock almost overrides the sensation of his thumb slipping under the waistband of your underwear. But not quite. A loud, whining moan makes Bucky smile, but you still haven’t lost your head completely.

“You’ve liked me since we first met as little kids?”

He makes a loud, frustrated noise that vibrates through you and flips you over so you’re on your back. It happens so quick that it makes you dizzy. He folds himself over you and presses a vigorous kiss to your lips.

“Can you shut the hell up for two seconds?” he grunts, yanking your cotton shorts and underwear over your legs until you’re completely bare underneath him. “Tryna do something here.”

You laugh at him, but it doesn’t last long. He palms your breast briefly before trailing his fingers down, down, down. His fingers just barely graze over your clit and you buck up with a moan. All the humour is gone - you’re struggling to remember what you even found funny in the first place.

He brings his fingers up then to show them to you, glistening with your wetness. “You see how fucking desperate you are?” he asks. “Barely touched you and look how you’re reacting. Nobody’s ever touched you right, have they?”

You shake your head unthinkingly and his smile widens. It’s almost predatory.

“Poor thing,” he says with a smirk, lowering his hand once again to stroke over your clit. “I can tell. All jerky and twitchy. Just wait ‘till I get my cock in you.”

The whine you emit at his words slowly turns itself into a moan as he dips a finger into you. Slow, just feeling. He adds another when he sees how easily you accept the first. You had been right in everything you had ever thought about his fingers and how good they would feel inside you, how much they would stretch you out. Except it didn’t quite cover it.

None of the other college boys you had fucked had fingers like this. Calloused and big and rough. You clench around him when he begins to stroke, expertly curling into the perfect angle to hit that spongey spot inside you. Where the fuck did he learn to do this?

He presses you down with his other hand splayed over your stomach, stopping your hips which are moving down, trying to meet the rhythm of his fingers. The pressure it puts on your lower stomach makes you clench around him.

“Y’feel so fucking tight,” he grunts, eyes on your lips. “This what you wanted, huh? This what you touched yourself thinking about?”

You nod, but it’s not enough. He pauses his ministrations and raises his eyebrows for an answer.

“Yes, I- fuck, yes keep going - I thought about this when I got myself off.”

“For how long?” he demands.

“I- what?” you ask, feeling a bit dumb. His lip twitches impatiently.

“How long have you been thinking about me like this? With my fingers stuffing your tight little pussy?”

Your face heats up with shame, but you know if you don’t answer him, he will stop again. And that’s a lousy deal. 

“A long time,” you say, hoping he will accept it as an answer. Thankfully, he does.

“Fuck, sweetheart. Should’ve told me. Wouldn’t have let you go unsatisfied like all these other assholes. Would’ve kept this pussy so busy, you wouldn’t have had the time to write in that silly little book. Would’ve put you in your place.”

“Put me in my place?” you spit, dragged out of the floaty headspace you had been in. Unfortunately you can’t concentrate too much on your anger and indignation. The pleasure he’s giving you is too much to hold on to anything else but him. It does nothing to stave off your incoming orgasm - if it wasn’t so fucked up, you might admit that it probably brings you closer to the edge. His fingers push into you smooth and hard. He grinds his palm against your clit.

“Yeah, put you in your place. Such a fucking spoiled brat, always throwing tantrums and bitching. Whole time you just needed a good fuck. Well I’ll give you plenty, baby. Sort you right out. Your family can thank me for your good behaviour when they’re home.”

There’s something fucked up about the way his mean - and undoubtedly problematic - words push you over the edge. You clench down and all but explode over his fingers, bright spots in your eyes. You’re not sure if you’ve ever come so fast before, or so intensely. Your head is still spinning while you come down, twitching around his fingers until he draws them back out.

Your vision is still slightly blurred, but you see Bucky sliding his fingers into his mouth. He doesn’t even make a show of it - he’s not even trying to make you watch him. He’s just tasting you for the pleasure of it. Your pussy jumps.

When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his tongue. You should be spent by now, or at least somewhat less horny but you’re not. Your brain and body have clearly made a pact to make the most of your time with the man who has been driving you crazy for years. You begin to gush again when he bites your bottom lip. He releases a smoky chuckle against your mouth when your hips twitch against him.

He pulls up, standing over the bed to unbutton his jeans.

You’re still a little mad at him over that boorish ‘putting you in your place’ comment, but it does not stop you from getting dizzy when his cock is bared to you.

He’s the biggest you’ve ever seen and it’s not even close. Part of you knew he would be, but you didn’t think it would be this pretty. You didn’t even know a cock could be pretty.

It’s huge and rock hard where it presses up on his stomach. It’s very slightly curved with veins running up the flushed, heavy length. Your arm raises upwards unconsciously just to see how it would look in your hand, but you think better of it and quickly tuck it away again.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he asks and you realise he has been watching your reaction the whole time. Your face burns. “Feelin’ shy?” 

Your mouth opens and closes. “I don’t know how much…” you trail off, uncharacteristically nervous. You’ve never had a problem butting heads with Bucky before. Why is he so intimidating like this?

“Y’don’t know if it’ll fit?” he asks. You nod lightly and watch his cock give a small, light twitch. He takes it in his hand and gives it one slow pump. It makes your mouth hang open.

“Don’t worry, angel, we’ll take it slow. Don’t want to break you. Not this time, anyway.”

Feeling brave, you reach forward and take his warm, heavy cock in your fingers. It looks so much bigger in your hand than it does in his own and the sight makes your gut curl in both dread and excitement. He throws his head back, eyes half-lidded and dazed.

You give him one small pump and he grabs your wrist, shaking his head at you. You glare up at him.

“What the hell, Bucky? Don’t-”

He leans forward, grabbing your jaw in his hand roughly. “I know you wanna play with it so bad, sweetheart, but you can do that later. I’ll let you play with it as much as you want. But I’ve waited long enough and I’m not wasting another second. Gonna fill that tight cunt now. You hear me?”

You’re back in that floaty headspace, body feeling light, head feeling dreamy. You nod.

He smiles, using his leverage on your jaw to bring you in for a kiss while he climbs on top of you. You can feel the head of his hard cock pressing against your stomach.

“Good girl,” he says, moving away to lather kisses over your neck. His hips move to press the tip of his cock against your clit and you gasp. “My good girl You’re so sweet when you’re doing what I tell you to. Wish I’d known I could shut you up like this.”

You’re trying to be pissed off. You really are. But if you can be completely honest with yourself, it’s just turning you on more.

Your brain is almost gone, but you have one last spark of sentience. “Condom,” you gasp. “In my room.”

Bucky laughs against your neck. “You think I’m wearin’ a rubber with you?”

“Wha- yes?” 

“Don’t fuck with me, sweetheart, I know you’re on the pill. Seen it in your bathroom.”

“What were you doing in my-”

“I’m clean, just got checked. And I’m willing to bet you’ve never let anyone use this prissy little pussy without a condom before.”

You take a second, trying to assess how you feel about this. He really is such a douchebag, but he’s a douchebag you know incredibly well - he wouldn’t lie to you about this. You’re sure you could talk him into wearing a condom, but it might take a lot of back-and-forth. And his cock is teasing your hole now, and you’re squeezing around nothing, trying to suck him in. His cock is fully lubricated, all from the wetness between your thighs. You don’t say anything, but your body goes a bit limp.

“Yeah?” he says, celebrating his victory with a smile. You feel it against your collarbone. “You gonna let me skip the rubber?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Just stop fucking around Bucky. Please.”

He laughs lightly and begins to press in, the tight ring of muscle protesting against his size. You seize up while he stretches you out. It’s leaving a tight and uncomfortable sensation in your abdomen and you let out a quiet yelp.

“Such a good girl,” he says, reaching down to stroke your clit. He’s thrusting in slow, giving you just a little bit more with every press. His voice is low, as if he’s trying to comfort you, but it’s still coming across slightly patronising. “Letting me fuck you raw. Gonna take my cum like the good girl you are.”

You’re loosening up with the help of his dirty words and his fingers on your clit, drawing tight circles. It’s starting to feel good - more than good. But he’s still not in all the way. You have no idea how you’re going to take him.

His cock is insistent inside you, pressing in further and further while he whispers filthy praises and encouragements on your sweat-glistening skin. You brain is becoming jumbled with pleasure and the overwhelming sensation of fullness.

“This what you pictured when those other limp-dick assholes used to fuck you?” he grunts, bottoming out. You yelp at the angle he hits, body squirming around him. You thought you knew what getting fucked deep felt like, but you had never felt this. 

He pulls out and presses another punishing thrust into you. You gasp. “Answer.”

“Yes,” you say and you might be on the verge of tears. You can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. Everything feels a little blurry and his finger on your clit is still drawing tight circles. You just know that you need him to move. “Pictured you every time.”

He rewards you by beginning to slowly pull out and in, gently getting you used to his size. You’re filled to the brim with him. “I know. Read all about it in that dirty little book. Made them take you doggy so you could pretend it was me. So fucking desperate.”

Shame and pleasure are amalgamating in your stomach. It’s creating something more powerful than just the feeling of him moving inside you. It’s all becoming a bit too much, but in a way that you can’t help but love.

“It’s okay, angel. I’m no better than you. You turn me into such a fucking creep. Picking up girls who look like you. Leaving the dinner table to jerk it in the bathroom when you get all bratty and whiny.”

Just the thought of that makes you startle, pussy clenching around him. He looks so pretty, blue eyes dark with want, pink lips crushed between his teeth, gaze zeroed in on where you’re taking him, the light imprint in your tummy. The pleasure of it - the culmination of all your want - has you gasping, tears leaking from your eyes and trickling down your cheeks.

He sees it and startles. You can read it all on his face now - the awe and adoration.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooes, thumb reaching up to brush a fat tear from the corner of your eye. “Always been such a crybaby. You’re so pretty like this, such a pretty crier.”

It makes the tears puddle faster, the pleasure bordering on too much.

“I know, baby. It’s so much, isn’t it? I know,” he soothes you, while his hips work in direct opposition - fucking into you with brutality. It’s not just the pleasure, but the overwhelming emotion. You can’t work out exactly what you’re feeling, and you know that now isn’t the time to figure it out anyway.

Instead, you just let yourself feel it. The way his hips grind against yours, the feeling of him stretching you out, the crescendo of all that pent-up want finally bursting into song. You can’t stop looking at him, how pretty and fucked-out he is above you, even when he’s still pretending he hasn’t lost an ounce of control. 

“Stop with those fuckin’ eyes,” he grunts, catching your gaze. You’re still teary-eyed and pouty. “Gonna make me lose it early.”

The thought of him spilling inside you does nothing to curb the feeling. Your eyes widen and he grunts, pulling out of you and sitting up with his eyes squeezed shut. He takes a deep, dogged breath.

“Turn around,” he bites out.

With the way his face is pinched, eyes squeezed tight, he might be greatly suffering or experiencing a euphoria of pleasure. You don’t disobey a man at either point.

You spin around, face-down on the bed. You can hear him shuffle around, but seconds pass where you don’t feel his skin on yours. The anticipation makes you shiver.

When you finally do feel his touch, it’s his two hands slowly stroking down your hips. You lean backwards into his touch, whimpering just a little.

“What you whining for now?” he asks from behind you. You hear the smile in his voice.

“Put it back in,” you moan, pushing back on him until you feel his cock prod against your ass. You’re no longer feeling any shame at your desperation. You’re too far gone.

He takes your hip firmly with his prosthetic hand, the other moving down to give your ass a loving pat. “You need it that bad?”

“Don’t be a dick.”

He laughs low. “Still so fucking bratty. Think I can fuck it outta you?”

You can do nothing but nod, head rolling forward while the thick tip prods your entrance, sliding in slowly once more.

“That’s it,” he groans. He feels so much deeper like this. You can feel him all the way up your stomach to your throat. “Knew you’d take my cock like this. Knew you’d feel this good, just didn’t think you’d be this fucking dirty.”

“Fuck, Bucky, I need you,” you moan. You’re obscurely aware of the fact that you’ll probably be cringing at the memory of saying those words later, but it matters very little to you in this moment. “Needed you so bad.”

“Yeah?” he grunts. “Why don’t you tell me what you needed so bad?”

Your brain is moving like slow, heavy machinery again - too slow to come up with anything. “I- no, Bucky, I can’t-”

“Let me help you out.”

His arm reaches out in front of you, pulling out the godforsaken book that started this entire mess in the first place. You’re still a bit dumb, watching him pull open the book and flick to a page he has ear-marked - like a significant page in his favourite book. He slams it in front of you palm pressing it open until you take it from him cautiously. You look down at the book uncomprehending, body still jostling with the force of his thrusts.

“Read.”

Your head spins back, even though you can’t see him from this angle. He can’t be serious. 

One firm pinch to your ass confirms that he is.

Face burning and stomach clawing with shame and arousal, you clear your throat. Your voice comes out breathy and high.

“Matt always wore a condom but I think Bucky would be such a jerk about it. I wouldn't even mind. The thought of him coming inside me turns me on so- ooh!”-

Bucky’s hand reaches down below you, stroking at your clit.

“- so much. I really want him to fill me up. I wonder if he - fuck, Bucky - cums a lot. Whenever I think about him fucking me, I picture him filling me up to the brim until I’m dripping with his…”

You can’t go on any more. It just gets filthier from then on and you’re already on the verge of coming again. Thankfully, that seems to do enough for him.

“Jesus, you have a thing for this shit? That’s real fucking dirty, sweetheart. I promise I got a big fucking load for you. You’re the only one who is gonna take it from now on.”

You want to snap that he clearly has a thing for it too, judging by how riled up he is. He’s panting behind you, losing his rhythm. But you can’t do any such thing. All you can do is moan unintelligibly. You feel the familiar prickle behind your eyes, tears spilling out while you sniffle.

“Aw angel, you know what those tears do to me. Can’t help but give you what you want. You want my cum?”

You nod enthusiastically, spasming around him. You just wish you could see his face right now, but you can picture it.

“Fuck, yeah you do,” he growls. “Such a good girl for me. My good girl, all mine. Gonna give you my cum now, never gonna let you go empty from now on.”

With a firm hand between your neck and shoulder, he drags you upright against him. Your hands reach out to balance yourself against the headboard and he moves your jaw back until your mouth meets his. The kiss is brutal and sloppy, the angle not-quite-right, but just the feeling of his lips on yours and the movement of your tongues against each other makes you tumble off the edge.

A surge of unbridled want courses through you. You cry into his mouth, tears spilling between your lips until you can taste the salt. It’s either the taste of your tears or the sensation of your walls fluttering around him that causes Bucky to grunt, dick twitching once before spilling deep inside.

You had thought about this almost obsessively since you were old enough to understand the possibility. Somehow, you underestimated what it would do to you.

You might be floating or flying or drifting out of consciousness, but you are very conscious of the fact that you had never really known what it means to experience true pleasure until this moment. The noises he makes are filthy while he pumps you full of him, but you’re sure you’re likely giving as good as you’re getting. Not that you have the faintest awareness of what you’re saying.

Bucky wasn’t lying. You can feel his heavy load dripping out of you you, messing your thighs and the sheets. He continues to bounce you on his cock slowly and gently even after you have both come down from your highs. You’re sensitive and sore, but there’s something comforting about small, shallow thrusts, even if the squelching noises it’s making are obscene.

Eventually, he slides himself out of you and wraps himself around you instead. He envelopes you in a sort of gentle tackle, pulling your exhausted body with him deeper into the sheets.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. You can feel his stubble against your temples, his breath on your skin.

“Uh huh” you try. It comes out as more of a garble. He laughs, light and airy.

You open your eyes, take in his tired, happy grin. His blue eyes have gone bright again.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna break me,” you say sardonically. 

He plays with your hair, twirls it around a finger. “Might have gotten carried away.”

You roll your eyes. He does a poor imitation of you, rolling his eyes all the way back into his skull in mockery. You try to glare but it doesn’t work against your smile. You settle back down against his chest. Feel it vibrate while he laughs.

“You really meant that?” you ask after a moment. You cough away a scratch in your voice. “About wanting me since we were kids?”

“Hell yeah,” he chuckles. Your head bounces against his chest lightly. “I was so crazy about you when we were kids. Can’t believe you didn’t know.”

“How could I know? You were always so mean to me.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what that means in kid-language.”

“You still are. Sometimes.”

He raises his head to look down at you, searching your face. “Old habits.”

You nod, but you’re still working through everything in your head. Your post-orgasmic brain is working no faster than it was ten minutes ago. 

“I’m sorry for reading your diary,” he says after a few seconds and you swear you might see the raw edge of panic sitting somewhere there on his face. “It was a shitty thing to do. I don’t regret it, because I don’t know that I would have ever had the balls to make a move otherwise, but I am sorry.”

It’s so bizarre, so completely unexpected, you can only stare. He’s looking back at you with an uncharacteristic nervousness that makes you slightly uncomfortable. Truthfully, you had forgotten you were even mad about the privacy violation in the first place. Maybe it’s the two orgasms.

You still don’t want to have a heart-to-heart with Bucky - that might be pushing things a bit too far, a bit too early. Instead you lean forward to give him a small, chaste kiss. He smiles.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, pressing small kisses to your lips, moving down your cheek and on to your neck. “Just wait ‘till I get my tongue on you.”

You tense up, resolutely ignoring the heat pooling low in your stomach. There is no way in hell you can endure another round right now. Your limbs are still shaking.

Whatever expression is on your face makes Bucky laugh. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ll give you a couple hours. We got two long weeks in this house by ourselves.”

a/n: the diary entries are basically just my dms with my moots lmao

🏷 everything taglist: @buckysbbydoll @donuelle @angelryex @kombuchaaaaa @dollfaceglow @vip-hs

🏷 bucky taglist: @dolcesaints @marina468 @avgdestitute @tw1sters @dxnsgrl @thegirlwhowaited5everok @pjo4life1939 @otheliesstuff @domitaylorsversion @simplemind-simplematter @love-stucky @queen-acdc @epiphanyrogers @monicasposh @daddysbitchybaby @yearninglustfully @starr-jazz @las-galletas @thatesqcrush @mathcat345 @openlyluckyartisan @buckmybarnes @atsumubabe @annoyingrebelsoul

If there was one thing your mother had taught you, it was patience. Patience woven into silence, silence sharpened into something lethal.

From the time your fingers were clumsy on the bowstring, your mother had made them sure, steady, an extension of instinct rather than flesh.

Those lessons are carved into you, etched as deep as scars. Like the ones littering your collarbone, down your chest and over your stomach. They are a reminder of the things you’ve sacrificed to become who you are. Of the blood you’ve spilled. The lives you’ve taken.

They are the price of becoming what your mother demanded. A weapon honed to perfection, loyal only to the clan, to the land that raised you from ash.

Now, balanced in the crook of a charred tree, those teachings coil through your muscles like waiting serpents. The forest around you is a ruin. Familiar blackened trunks claw at a gray sky, the air thick with the stale scent of ash. It covers your skin, only highlighting the red paint that indicates the clan you are coming from. Like a mark that means you are to be feared.

You’re alone, but so is a palululan before it strikes.

Below you, your oblivious prey moves. It is a na‘vi, tall and muscular. His braids sway with every step, his eyes scanning the desolation as though searching for something that has already been devoured by fire.

The man is a warrior, like you.

He carries his bow slung across his back, a weapon made of metal strapped across his chest and a knife on the side of his tweng [loincloth], gleaming faintly where light filters through the canopy.

Armed to the teeth, yes, but his posture betrays him. No tension in his spine, no ear bent to the forest’s whispers.

Foolish. He doesn’t scent the wind, doesn’t pause to look. He moves through this burned forest like prey too arrogant to know it bleeds.

By the time you would chose to strike, there would be no time for him to reach for any of those many useless weapons. This would be easy, you thought.

It seems he hadn’t even noticed that his careless steps treaded upon sacred ground— your clan’s territory. Such an easy prey. Too easy. Oblivious and entirely blind to its surroundings, you almost felt pity for him.

But mercy was never part of your mothers teachings. The bow in your grip is no tool, it’s an extension of your will, as much a part of you as blood and bone. You steady your breath, the bowstring pulled taut, every muscle singing with the promise of release.

But then he pauses and so do you. You watch as his hand slips behind his shoulder and for a flicker of a heartbeat, you expect steel, the glint of a blade, a fight worthy of your arrows.

But no. Instead, he slides the strap of a weathered pouch from his shoulder and lowers it to the scorched earth. Fingers dig inside, emerging not with a weapon, but with something that looks like a fruit, its skin still dusted in ash. He wipes it halfheartedly against his thigh, then tears into it with sharp white teeth, juice trickling along his chin. Back pressing against the blackened spine of a tree, he slowly lowers himself to the ground, stretching his long limbs before he devours the fruit in his hand.

You almost let the arrow fly anyway, until your gaze catches on his hand. Four fingers. Not three.

The realization slams into you harder than any blow you’ve ever taken. Four. Like the tawtutes [humans]. But no tawtute moves with that kind of grace, no tawtute wears skin this deep shade of blue, nor breathes the air without one of those strange shields clinging to their faces.

He is na‘vi. And yet… not na‘vi. A wrongness cloaked in familiarity.

For the first time in years, your grip falters.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

The fruit tastes awfully sweet, almost unnaturally so.

Lo’ak leans back against the scorched trunk behind him, shoulders pressing into bark that crumbles like old bone before he takes another bite.

Syrupy, like nectar that’s been left to ferment, sharp enough to prickle on his tongue and make his jaw tense. He rolls the flesh against his teeth, sucking out every drop of its juice. He’s never seen, let alone taste anything like this before. Not on the islands of Awa'atlu and not anywhere else.

Lo’ak is surprised this fruit had even managed to grow here. The forest doesn’t look very nutrient-rich. It doesn’t even look alive if he were being honest. Every tree was charred black and splintered, their roots clawing at soil that seems more ash than earth. Nothing should grow here anymore.

He turns the half-eaten fruit in his hands. The skin had fooled him at first, dulled gray under layers of soot, but once he’d wiped it clean, its bright pink color startled him. Inside, the flesh was just as vibrant, soft and pulpy, bleeding color onto his fingers.

It was delicious, but left an odd sensation on his tongue.

Wiping sticky fingers against his loincloth, he unhooks the bow from his back and lays it down carefully, then shrugs off his fathers heavy assault rifle strapped to his chest. It hits the ground with a dull thud, sending a puff of gray dust spiraling upward. Lo‘ak flexes his shoulders, feeling the ache settle deep in the muscle after hours of walking through nothing but ruin. An empty forest, wiped clean of all that once lived.

It seems the sky people are everywhere now, pushing deeper, hungrier. Dad thinks he can outsmart them by hiding, but Lo’ak knows better. That’s why he’s here.

To find help. Allies. Another clan willing to fight, willing to bleed if it means keeping Pandora out of the RDA‘s hands. He has heard of another clan living in these forests, but the further he walks, the more doubtful he becomes that the rumors are true.

Lo’ak drags a hand down his face, smearing sweat and ash across his skin. For a moment, he lets his head rest back against the tree, eyes closing to shut out the world around him. His chest tightens at the thought of going back empty-handed, of telling his father there’s nothing left out here. That they’re alone. Again.

But then a sound slips through the silence, so soft it might‘ve been his imagination. A creak, high above, like the whisper of weight shifting on a branch.

Immediately, Lo’ak’s eyes snap open.

The next moments are a blur of movement and confusion.

Before Lo’ak can even think of reaching for his bow, or the gun lying in the ash, something cold and sharp bites against the skin of his throat. His breath locks, heart slamming hard enough to rattle his ribs.

His gaze snaps downward first, drawn to the glint of the blade angled beneath his jaw, then slowly lifts, until it collides with the face of the person holding it.

A woman.

But despite being so close to the sea, you are nothing like the reef people he’s lived among for so long. There’s no broadness in your frame, no heavy muscle sculpted by the sea. You look more like the female warriors he remembers of his home, slender and elegant in a way that speaks not of fragility, but precision. Every line of your body looked honed for speed, every angle promising death should he make the wrong move.

Your skin looked the kind of ashy blue you’d only find on his people if they were sick. It looked unnatural and would made every mother worry for her child‘s health. But it’s the war paint that grips his attention next: thick crimson stripes, bleeding from the high planes of your cheeks, spilling down over the curve of your chest and tapering toward your navel.

Your ears glitter with silver and bone, pierced so many times they seem armored. Lo’aks eyes dip lower, and the scars he finds there make his breath hitch. Small, yet deep marks scattered across your skin in constellations that remind him of his tanhì [bioluminescence freckles], only harsher, carved by design. Certainly no wounds of war.

These were done intentionally.

Lo’ak swallows hard, the motion scraping his throat against sharpened bone pressed tightly to his skin. His eyes flick lower, catching sight of your fingernails around the knife’s handle, long and wickedly sharp, gleaming like individual blades against the black smear of coal coating your hands and fingertips.

"K-Kaltxì. [Hello] Oel ngati kameie [I see you.]" Lo’ak exhales the words in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Instead of a verbal response, your eyes narrow, suspicion sharpening the already dangerous angles of your face. Without breaking eye contact, you shift your weight then, one swift kick sending the gun clattering over the blackened roots, another scattering his bow far into the ash and out of his reach.

"Alright then," he mumbles in defeat. Perhaps you didn’t feel like talking to him.

The blade on his throat never wavers as you circle him. With a flick of your wrist and a tug on his arms, rough fibers of a cord bite into Lo’ak’s wrists as you drag them behind his back and fasten them to the trunk of the tree. The knot is tight, merciless, made by someone who has bound men before and will do it again without hesitation.

"Wait," Lo’ak starts, the words tumbling out in desperation. "I… I don’t mean harm. My name is—"

"Tìfnu. [Silence / Be Quiet.]" You hush him.

So you can talk, he thinks. Lo’ak presses the back of his head against the scorched bark, testing the bindings already cutting into his wrists. Too tight. "Fuck…" he sighs in a mixture of frustration and defeat. "Listen, this is a misunderstanding!"

You pull the cord taut, ignoring his words as though they’re nothing more than the wind muttering through burned leaves. The knife glints dangerously close to his skin every time you move, a reminder of how quickly this could end if you willed it so.

"Stupid forest boy, you claim to see but cannot even see what is in front of you."

Lo‘ak frowns. Had he done anything wrong to upset you? The question sits on the tip of his tongue, but a sudden shudder that creeps up his spine makes him pause for a moment.

It’s the moment your eyes meet his that he notices the heat churning beneath his skin, crawling over him like fire ants. He had felt warm earlier, but now it wasn’t just warm, he felt significantly hotter. He quickly glances away, blaming his reaction on nerves.

But the sweet, sticky taste of the fruit he’d eaten earlier still lingers in his mouth, thick and cloying, leaving his tongue numb, his lips dry. It had been too sweet, almost wrongly sweet, and now his body feels flushed, overheated, like the fire in your gaze had crawled into his blood.

Something feels… wrong. Very wrong.

Pinned against the tree, Lo’ak swallows against the burn in his throat, forcing himself to meet your eyes again.

"W-What did I do?" he manages, voice rough, more desperate than he intends.

"Foolish boy," you snap again, voice sharp with fury. "This is Mangkwan territory!"

Lo’ak blinks, the word rattling strangely in his mind. "Mangk…" His head tilts slightly. "Never heard of that clan before."

If his words had offended you, you didn’t really show it, save for the subtle flick of your tail that gave away your irritation.

Again, his hands strain against the bindings, wrists already aching, but the knots don’t budge. You begin to circle him, a predator studying prey, your steps slow and silent. The knife never strays far, though it dips just enough for your free hand to rise.

Curiosity glints in your eyes as you snatch his hand, your fingers brushing over his own. The moment your touch grazes his pinky, Lo’ak jolts, the sensation flooding through him like lightning. He bites down hard, teeth scraping against his tongue to smother the sound threatening to break free. A whimper sits at the edge of his throat and shame burns hot in his chest at how close he is to letting it escape.

Lo‘ak frowns deeply. What the fuck was happening to him?

This isn’t fear, he knows the weight of fear, the tremble of it in his bones, the icy paralysis that comes with danger. But this— this is heat, raw and unrelenting, crawling through his veins, tightening his chest until he can barely draw breath. He had been threatened before, bound, dragged into danger by the sky people, by soldiers, even by his own reckless choices, but never had he felt like this before.

He squeezes his eyes shut for half a heartbeat, forcing his breath to steady, but the fire doesn’t fade.

"You are not Na’vi, vrrtep [demon]" you murmur, voice low and edged with suspicion.

"I am!" Lo’ak blurts quickly. "Listen, if you would just untie me, I can explain!"

Unfortunately for him, you just ignore him. It’s like he’s not even really here, just physically. Just a foreign thing for you to prod at and inspect.

You move with the precision of someone dissecting prey, your attention fixed entirely on him. Fingers trail slow and carefully, first from the fluffy tip of his tail, all the way up to the base, testing, feeling. Then your hands slide over his chest to the curve of his ear, brushing the sensitive ridge with a featherlight touch. Lo’ak jerks under you, the bindings creaking as his muscles strain against them.

His breath stutters.

When your thumb drags slowly across the fine hairs of his brow, he can’t stop the shiver that ripples through him. Every touch feels magnified, like the skin beneath your fingers has been stripped raw, his nerves wide open.

Lo’ak tries to steady himself, to bite down the whimpering sounds clawing at his chest, but each new point of contact frays another thread of his composure. The shudder in his shoulders builds into tremors, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts. His lungs refuse to fill properly, breath escaping in ragged, uneven pants.

All the while, you’re murmuring things. Fascinated by all the differences and similarities between your bodies. But Lo’ak barely even understands what you’re saying anymore. The closeness of your body and your hands all over his skin are making his head spin. Every bit of sensory stimulation, no matter how slight, feels like fire against his skin. It makes him want to do something.

Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut once more, desperate to block it all out. Desperate to hide the shame coiling in his stomach at how helpless he feels, how his body betrays him with every flinch, every unsteady exhale.

He hears his blood pounding in his ears, as if his heart has become a run-away machine that is just going to pump and pump, madly, until it explodes.

Still, you don’t relent. You lean in close, close enough that the heat of you seeps into him, close enough that the sharpness of your scent fills his nose. Like earth, smoke and iron. And something sweet. Something unnatural and strange and fucking sweet, sweet enough it would make his teeth rot if he were to taste it.

And the longer it goes on, the hotter he feels. Until the tingling under his skin has turned into throbbing and suddenly he’s burning up like he’s running a fever.

The throbbing is painful and confusing at first, for like a split second, before he puts all his focus behind locating where it even comes from, just to try and ease that sudden pressure there.

At last, your touch drifts away.

The absence is almost worse than the contact, leaving his skin buzzing, raw, as though every nerve still echoes with the memory of your fingers. You straighten, rising fluidly to stand before him. For a moment, you don’t speak. You only look at him, gaze sharp.

Lo’ak can’t move, bound as he is, but he wants to shrink under that stare, to disappear into the ash covered earth.

And then your eyes drop.

So do his.

The sight makes his stomach plummet. The thin fabric of his loincloth is strained, tented high and obvious, leaving no room for denial. Heat slams into his face, mortification burning hotter than the fever already in his blood.

A groan claws its way from his throat before he can swallow it back. His head falls against the tree with a soft thud and again his eyes squeeze shut as shame twists inside him, every inch of him flushed and betraying.

"Listen," Lo’ak stammers, his voice rough and too fast, "that, uh, that usually never happens. I‘m not— I don’t know what’s wrong, but I feel…"

He swallows hard, his throat dry, but the taste of that sweet, sweet fruit still clings to his tongue, sickly and cloying.

Lo’ak’s words falter, splintering into silence and before he can steady his breath, the press of your delicate foot comes down against his boner. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him how easily you could. His body stiffens, he bites down on his bottom lip hard, and when the pressure shifts just slightly higher, just enough to make him flinch, a whimper slips from him.

You arch a brow, unimpressed.

"You are pathetic, forest boy."

With a roll of your eyes, you push off and step back. You stalk over to his leather bag, crouching low to pull it closer. Fingers move with precise efficiency, flipping open flaps, checking straps, rifling through the contents.

A waterskin. Flint. Spare cord. Nothing escapes your inspection. But then your hand freezes.

"Your trust in eywa to see for you will drive you to your death one day." Your voice is low, dangerous, edged with controlled anger.

From behind, Lo’ak can see how your shoulders visibly tense, the muscles rigid beneath your skin, and for a heartbeat, the world seems to shrink to the two of you. He swallows hard, heat crawling up his neck as he watches your expression darken, the lines of your face sharpening with fury once you’ve turned to him fully.

"This," in your hand lays one of the fruits he had eaten earlier, its bright pink color shining through the layer of ash. "Is a Txeptsyip Mauti [flame fruit]. It is meant for mating, you sxkawng! [Idiot/Moron]"

He’s trying, Eywa knows he’s trying, but the heat thrumming in his veins makes concentration nearly impossible. His eyes keep drifting, unable to resist the way you move, the way each motion is so precise, almost commanding. Every tilt of your head, every careful step and especially the sway of your hips hold him spellbound.

You’re beautiful, in a mildly terrifying way. A dangerous woman who could kill him in the blink of an eye, and yet that very way your eyes narrow down at him as if you pity his very existence makes his cock throb.

There’s something magnetic about you, something that pulls him in despite the ropes binding his wrists.

"P…Please," the word tumbles out before he even knows what exactly he’s begging for. All he knows is that it hurts and for some reason unbeknownst to him, it felt as if you could somehow relieve this pain, make it better. So he pleads, not only with his words, but with his eyes too. His brows bow and his eyes go glossy as he stares at you with his mouth agape.

For a moment, your hairless brows narrow. When you finally step forward, your shadow falls over him like a looming cloud. The tilt of your head is small, but it feels like judgment. Rope bites into his wrists and sweat beads at his temples, sliding hot and sticky into the curve of his jaw.

No warning comes before you sink into a crouch. The sudden nearness forces his lips to part, though words refuse to follow. Heat climbs his throat, burns in his cheeks, and his pulse hammers loud enough to drown out all the other sounds around him.

That grin, eywa, that grin— it spreads slow across your face, giving him goosebumps. It’s sharp, mocking, a demons smile that knows exactly what kind of torture it’s dealing. He groans lowly, the sound vibrating in his chest like a growl.

Bark digs into his shoulders as his body jerks, hips straining against nothing as they buck up into the air. Every breath rasps shallow, ragged, the effort of holding himself together unraveling second by second. Great mother, this was becoming unbearable.

"It is painful, isn’t it?" You whisper, still grinning as if the thought of his suffering was something amusing. Fingers hover for a second, before they brush over and squeeze the prominent bulge under his loincloth. "It hurts… here, doesn’t it?"

A sharp breath hisses through his teeth, chest rising and falling too fast as he fights against the ropes digging into his wrists. The restraints only make everything worse, make every inch of space between you a kind of torture.

"Uh-huh, yeah, yes." Lo‘ak whines. "Fuck, yes, t-there."

He can’t even recognize his own voice anymore. It’s raw, shaky, and you’re right— it is pathetic. The sound makes his stomach twist, but at the same time, he can’t deny how good it feels.

Every brush of your dainty fingers, every glance of your sharp eyes, sends another wave rolling through him like he’s high off something. And maybe he is. Not that he’s ever touched tawtute drugs, but this haze choking his brain, this fire in his blood, this has to be what that must feel like.

Eywa help me, he thinks, though he doesn’t know if he wants help anymore. It feels too good, too dangerous, too much. His body is betraying him, pushing into every little shift you make like it’s begging for more, while his mind screams at him that you could gut him open in an instant.

The ropes biting his wrists are the only thing keeping him from reaching out, from grabbing you, from doing something so stupid it might actually get him killed.

The fog in his head thickens. Every thought tangles with lust until he can barely think at all, just a mess of want and don’t crashing together. His chest heaves, his tail twitches uselessly against the tree, and all he can do is drown in it.

Your tongue, sharp and wet, swipes over your bottom lip to wet it and Lo‘ak follows the movement with his eyes, hungry to get a taste it it himself. Your tongue, your lip, your salvia, all of it. It doesn’t really matter.

"You should understand, we eat the Txeptsyip Mauti to ensure fertility, when a mate has been chosen," you explain, your voice sultry slow. "But you and me, we are not the same. There is nothing loving and gentle about what the fruit will make my people do to their mates."

Lo‘ak has to swallow down the pool of salvia in his mouth before he drools like a nangtang [Viperwolf] in heat when your fingers begin to wander, teasing the cord of his coverings, pulling them taunt until the knot gives and the fabric slips off of him. His cock springs free and slaps against his stomach with a hard, wet thud.

Your grin widens at the sight of him and a almost pleased expression crosses your features.

"The Txeptsyip Mauti will make you want to fuck." You emphasize the word by wrapping your hand around the base of him, giving him a firm tug that makes his eyes momentarily roll back inside his skull. "Rough, like an animal. And it will not stop hurting until there is nothing left in…" You unwrap your hand from his throbbing length to glide down to where his balls hang hot and heavy, giving them a not so gentle squeeze. "…these."

Bending his knees with all the strength Lo’ak could muster in this position, he manages to thrust his hips up and into your hands, desperately seeking friction. He whines again, his cock leaking fat tears of pre-cum that drip down his length and tickle him in all the worst ways.

"Oh, great mother, please! Please do something, anything!"

One, just one of your fingers then runs up over the underside of him, up, up, up— until you’re teasing the wet little slit at the head with a fingertip. Normally, this would be barely enough to elicit even a shudder from him. But now it’s more than enough to shake his whole body to the core. Enough to make him moan like a pathetic little virgin, enough to make his cock jerk and throb and his balls grow tight, his toes curl. And then he’s coming.

Lo‘ak watches in horror with his mouth agape and all these foreign noises leaving him, as his length twitches in the air and warm, sticky cum leaks all over his stomach.

"What the— fu–ck!" He gasps between deep groans. Never before had he come untouched like that!

And now his whole body felt on fire. Partly from embarrassment, but mostly because it wasn’t even close to enough. He had just spent more seed than he had ever seen come out of him before all over his stomach, and already he was hard as a rock again.

Again? No. Still. He was still hard.

"T-Touch me! More, I need more," Lo‘ak heaves in breathless frustration. "Please, please touch me, it hurts so bad!"

Although he can’t see himself, Lo‘ak knows just how big and round his eyes must be as they stare up at you. Fingertips dip into the mess collecting near his navel before you bring them to your lips, tasting him. A hum that’s far too soft for a woman like you makes goosebumps raise all over his skin. Then your other hand reaches out, grabs a fist full of braids from the top of his hair to pin him back against the tree rather roughly.

"You talk too much, vrrtep [demon]. But you are lucky I enjoy the way you beg for me." You tell him with a wicked smile, sharp canine glinting in the dim light. "Fine. I will touch you. But after I am done with you, I will bring you to our Olo’eykte so she can decide what to make of you."

Before Lo‘ak can process the meaning of these words, you’re already fumbling with the strings of your loincloth. Your fingers are quick and steady and the piece of clothing falls before his eyes in one fluid movement.

"Now would be the best time for you to start praying to your goddess that my mother will let me keep you," you grin. "My people are nowhere as nice to strangers as I am."

Now that you were finally bare before him, he doesn’t know if he would rather spend more time admiring your beautiful cunt or beg you to get on with it and finally fucking do something. He can barely listen to a word you’re saying, can barely piece together the words of information you give him about being the olo’eyktes daughter. But when you move to squad over him, he decides to be rather thankful that you are not wasting any more time.

Lo‘ak feels like heaven is opening up for him when you spread your thighs and reach behind yourself, gripping his length with your hand still coated in cum. If his own hands were free, he’d simply grip you by the hips and force you down in one quick thrust. Or he would push you to the forest floor and pound you like there’s no tomorrow, fuck you hard and fast until the shape of his cock was molded to your pussy. He would use you in a way that would bring shame to his entire bloodline, fuck you like you were nothing more than a vessel for his seed.

All these primitive and animalistic thoughts made him shudder. They were so unlike everything Lo‘ak knew about himself. Whatever this fruit was, it was bringing out the worst of him. The part that was reduced to instincts and lust.

Your hands hold him steady as you position the smooth tip against your entrance. His eyes are transfixed at the sight your slick arousal coating your lips who part so eagerly for him to slide in between. And then you sink down.

Lo‘ak groans, eyes slamming shut as he presses his head back against the tree. You’re warm and wet, there’s pressure all around him, it’s such a tight fit and—

"FUCK!"

All air wheezes right out of his lungs when his eyes snap open and he’s found you forced yourself down his entire length in one, merciless and surprisingly fluid thrust.

You’re grinning at him like a nantang [viperwolf] cornering its kill, teeth bared in a smile that promises no mercy, only inevitability.

Lo‘ak inhales shakily, then exhales all the same.

The texture of your inner walls is soft and spongey, like velvet and warm honey wrapped tightly around his cock. There’s heat everywhere, and then you shuffle a little to get a better position, your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself and then you raise all the way up until only his tip rests inside you.

In a desperate attempt to get you back, Lo‘ak is bucking his hips up a little, whining when you hover there for a second too long.

"Eywa, woman, please move. You’re so fucking—" he starts, but then you slam yourself down, harder this time. A wanton moan tears from his throat. You lift yourself up again, then sit back down. Repeat the movement, twice. Lo‘ak tries to lift his legs to meet your thrusts, and when you glance back over your shoulder you see how his toes are curl in pleasure.

You’re still grinning even as you fall into a steady, fast paced rhythm. Your pretty tits are bouncing right in front of his face, so his tongue rolls out of his gaping mouth in hopes he‘ll catch a nipple between his teeth. Now that he focuses on them, he can see the outline of something shiny and polished pierced right through them. But you’re moving too fast and he’s bound too tightly, all he can do is let drool run down his chin as he stares at them, at you, while you fuck him.

"So good, it’s so— ngh–good, fuck, please," the words sound almost like they are punched out of him by the harsh thrusts of your hips. "Please don’t stop! Don’t— I’m gonna— gonna— hngh– ah!"

"What, again?" You chuckle softly, but there’s a mean edge to your tone that makes him want to return the favor. Great mother, he wants to rip free and make you cum so hard—

Lo‘ak briefly closes his eyes when he can feel the pull at his muscles, the tightening of the knot in his stomach that warns him, he is going to come again. Then he tenses up when you’re squeezing around his cock, moving quick and short and possibly faster than you should be but he is coming already, completely and utterly unable to hold it for even a second longer.

"Oh, what a good boy you are." You tease, forcing his gaze to stay on you with your hand squeezing his cheeks. "Look at you coming for me, so obedient. Yes, let it all out. Give it to me!"

Each thrust of you slamming down on his cock was starting to make him see stars.

You were fucking him through this orgasm and another one following right after, purring filth and degrading praises into his ear, telling him exactly what you‘d like to do to him. What he would like to do to you, once he was free.

By the time he comes a fourth time, Lo‘ak shudders and gasps for air, his fingernails digging into his own palms while you encourage him to keep going. By the time he is grunting and pulsing, filling every inch of space inside you with his cum once more, Lo‘ak is feeling positively dirty. He feels used, like some wild animal just pinned him down and fucked him.

And strangely enough, he likes it. He knows it’s the fruit that makes him do this, makes him think this. But he’s so far gone, he doesn’t know anymore what is real and what is not.

Lo‘ak feels overused and spent, empty for all he’s worth, but you’re still grinding on him, still squeezing every last drop out of him until it’s slowly starting to hurt with how overstimulating it is.

"Can’t," he wheezes, his head suddenly too heavy to keep upright on his own. His forehead rests against your shoulder, your skin cooling his heated body. "I can’t.. can’t cum anymore."

"No?" You hum every so softly, but Lo‘ak could tell the disappointment in your voice. "Oh, I think you have one more in you."

He shakes his head weakly against your shoulder. "No, no I can’t, s‘too much."

Softness comes where he least expects it. Fingers glide over the back of his head, not pressing, not punishing, just a careful brush that sends a shiver darting down his spine. Nothing in your handling of him until now has been kind, yet this small gesture unravels him. He doesn’t dare question it. Not when it feels this good.

A hum escapes his throat before he can stop it, low and rough and yet so sickening soft. The sound betrays him, but he can’t care. Nails stroke down through his hair, smoothing it flat in places where ash has settled. Down, always down, until they trace the hair of his braid. The motion drags fire along every nerve, and his breath hitches with each careful pull.

The trail ends at the end of his kuru, where skin meets braid and everything feels far too vulnerable. A strange weight presses in his chest as awareness blooms there and he suddenly feels unbearably exposed.

Movement stirs. Your body shifts, shoulder rolling, arm bending back toward your own braid. Suspicion sparks through the haze flooding his mind. His head lifts, slow and sluggish, but determined enough to get a glimpse at what you’re doing.

That’s when he sees it. Your grin, sharp as flint, wicked enough to make his blood run hot and cold all at once. The pieces click, and dread coils hard in his gut. Eywa, no. You wouldn’t dare.

"I believe you just need the right… motivation."

The end of his kuru is caught in your grip, the braid pulled taut, the sacred tendrils exposed. Opposite of it, you lift your own braid, and suddenly the air feels too thin. Tiny pink tendrils writhe and shift, alive in their own strange way, reaching, seeking. They dance in the space between, like two hearts aching to close the distance.

Lo’ak’s chest tightens. This is wrong. This is so wrong. Tsaheylu is sacred, it belongs to chosen mates, to bonds made with reverence, not enemies! Not like this.

The sight makes his stomach churn. Heat crashes into him, tangled with horror, with disbelief. His body thrashes weakly against the restraints, a frantic, jerking effort to pull away, but the ropes dig deeper, holding him fast. His pulse roars, ears pinned flat against his skull.

"Don’t," he rasps, voice hoarse, the word breaking apart under the weight of his fear. His throat works as he swallows, desperate to speak sense into a moment already spiraling. "Sa’nok [My mother] would curse me!Eywa would curse you!"

"Your goddess has no dominion here. I am your goddess now."

The tendrils twitch again, straining closer, and Lo’ak’s breath seizes in his lungs.

"N-No, no, no wait!"

And then the gap closes. For one suspended heartbeat, the writhing tendrils brush against each other, and then they connect fully.

White heat lances through Lo’ak’s body. His back bows violently against the ropes, every muscle seizing as if lightning has struck him. A cry rips from his throat, raw and startled, beyond his control. His pupils blow wide, swallowing the gold of his eyes until only black remains.

It’s too much. Too fast. Thoughts scatter like frightened animals as something not his own surges into him. The sacred bond that should bring harmony instead feels jagged, wrong, tearing through the walls of his mind like claws.

And then there’s your voice, hot against his ear, and Lo‘ak realizes then that you’ve started moving once more as you whisper, "come."

It wasn’t just a demand. Lo‘ak felt his body obey without having much or any say in it. It took all of his sheer strength and willpower for him to keep his eyes open, to not miss the way your own fluttered, the way these small noises escaped you in a shivering breath. The way your own orgasm was triggered by the force of his own. Two bodies became one, breathing together, moaning on the same exhale, the tremor moving from his own body over to yours.

When it’s finally over, he isn’t sure that the breath he’s inhaling comes from his own lungs anymore.

"Lo‘ak", you murmur his name for the very first time, slowly, as if tasting each syllable on your tongue.

The bond grants you with memory threads, small and bright, offered through that fragile, pulsing connection. Faces, a slice of a laugh at the reef, the weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder, the ache of his clan’s fear, all tumble into the space between you and him like stones dropped into still water.

Vision blurs in his eyes as if the world is falling away. Muscles slacken, breath shallows, and the fever that had set his blood to a roar begins to ebb as quickly as it rose. Exhaustion drags at him like a tide pulling back, heat drains from his limbs until his skin feels clammy.

A slow, small sound escapes his throat, not quite a sob, but close, and you let the connection loosen, fingers curling around the end of his kuru as if testing a tether. The knowledge you’ve gathered is enough: his name, the cadence of his fear, the stubborn, dangerous light in his eyes that had driven him here. The location of his clan. You know it all.

"You, Lo’ak," you say lowly, that wicked grin spreading over your lips once more, "are mine now." The words hang heavy in the air, an announcement that makes him shiver. "You belong to me, daughter of Varang, bringer of fire and ash."

You could hear the soft hum of the room’s ambient systems, the low mechanical whirrs, the faint electric pulse of tech running in standby, and underneath it all, Tony’s voice. He hummed absently as he moved around you, flicking through translucent holoscreens that floated in the air, readable only to him. Light glinted off his arc reactor through the thin black shirt he wore, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, veins flexing with every subtle flick of his fingers.

He looked like a scientist. Or a surgeon. No, a goddamn artist.

“You look tense,” he murmured, stepping in close, his fingers grazing your jaw with a feather-light touch. “That won’t do. We need to get a clean read. No clenched teeth, no locked jaws. Just you- open and…relaxed.”

He held up a sleek piece of tech. A mix of leather and metal. To you it looked like a ball gag. That wasn’t just a gag. It was his gag. Something custom. Personal. Laced with Stark Industry Tech.

“Open up, baby. Gotta install the biometric reader. It’s not science without a baseline.”

You hesitated, lips twitching. Just for a second. But he didn’t push. He just waited you out, smirk deepening, one brow arched like he had all the time in the world. That cocky, knowing gaze made you squirm even before anything touched you. Your breath hitched. And then you parted your lips.

“There we go,” he said, tone thick with approval as he slid the gag into place. It clicked against your teeth, snug and firm. A soft vibration flickered across your tongue as it locked in pushing the muscle down.

Friday’s voice chimed in overhead, calm and clinical.

“Gag calibration complete. Biometric sync active. Tracking vocal response, saliva levels, and tongue pressure.”

Tony leaned down, brushing his lips across your cheek in a whisper of a kiss. “Good girl. Now let’s get to work.”

He started with the egg.

Sleek. Silver. Pulsing faintly in his hand like it had a heartbeat of its own. The metal shimmered under the clinical lights, smooth and polished, shaped with the kind of precision that only Stark could deliver. He turned it over once, twice, like he was admiring a prized gadget- one that he was particularly proud of.

He showed it to you like a doctor unveiling a revolutionary new tool- calm, confident, deeply amused. Except this wasn’t a sterile exam room, and the look in his eyes wasn’t professional. His smirk told you he already knew what kind of mess this thing would reduce you to.

"This is your warm-up," he said, voice low and playful. "Phase One. Internal warming protocol. Testing receptivity. Calibration through heat and pulse response."

You whimpered into the gag. Of course you were excited- he’d been teasing you with this little 'demonstration' all week. Whispering promises in your ear, tapping out reminders on your thigh, dropping technical jargon laced with filth that left your core throbbing before he’d even touched you. Now that it was finally happening, your whole body was buzzing with need.

He didn't wait. He moved closer, one gloved hand parting your thighs a little further, the other settling between them. The bench adjusted beneath you, lifting your hips another inch to meet his touch perfectly. His fingers dipped between your folds- testing your wetness, teasing you just enough to make your body jerk in its bonds.

"Already responsive," he muttered, half to himself, half to Friday. "She’s going to be a dream to log."

He slid the egg in with two fingers, slow and deliberate. The cool metal kissed your entrance, making you flinch slightly- it was colder than you expected, stark contrast against your heated skin. Your walls instinctively tried to resist, clenching down, but his fingers were patient, coaxing you open, parting you around the sleek, unyielding toy.

The egg slid upward, heavy and smooth. As it moved deeper, your body yielded to it, the slow stretch making your breath catch. Its contours were designed to press into every sensitive spot, and you could feel your muscles fluttering around it, trying to accommodate the sudden fullness. As he pushed it deeper, you could feel every inch of it being swallowed by your body, your slick muscles tightening, fluttering around the intrusion.

He pushed the egg up high inside you, then paused, his finger still inside you too. "Squeeze for me," he ordered. You did, instinctively, your walls closing down as you used your pelvic floor, and Tony gave the platic string attached a soft tug.

The stretch, the resistance- it was delicious. The egg stayed locked in place. You couldn’t push it out if you tried. He smiled, clearly pleased.

"Perfect. Secure fit," he murmured. "Wouldn’t want it popping out mid-test."

It settled deep inside you, a sinful throb blooming in your core. Then it pulsed- just once, a quick flutter that made you jolt.

"There we go," he breathed, watching the screen light up with new data. "Didn’t even turn it on yet and she’s already going. Fuck, I love this job."

You were barely processing the first toy when he reached for the second.

Beads. Tapered, growing in size, each one gleamed under the soft blue lighting like tiny pieces of futuristic art. You squirmed, thighs pressing together, but it was no use- Stark had seen your reaction.

Tony laughed- low and delighted.

"Didn’t know we were going there, huh?" He nudged your knees apart again, voice dipping to a darker octave. "Come on, baby. I want you to open up for me. Let’s see what this one does..."

You shook your head slightly. Whimpered into the gag. Wide eyes watching him as you tried to protest around the ball gag in your mouth. 

Tony turned to the tray beside him, selecting a small, frost-blue tube of gel. "Wouldn't be very considerate to skip prep," he muttered, more to himself than to you. He uncapped the tube and squeezed a slow, deliberate line of the slick, glistening substance along the length of the beads. The gel shimmered faintly under the light, warming as it reacted with the ambient temperature.

He coated each bead carefully, fingers moving with methodical ease, making sure the entire string was evenly slicked. "Lubricated. Body-safe. Custom formula," he said with a wink. "Slippery enough to slide in smooth- sticky enough to stay in place until I say otherwise."

Then he held the beads up for you to see, the string dangling between his fingers. You tensed instinctively.

"Oh no. You’re freezing up. Can’t test properly if you don’t behave. Legs. Open."

You didn’t.

Tony tsked, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment. Then he grabbed your chin, firm and steady, tilting your head so your eyes locked with his.

"Don't think so much. That’s not what good test subjects do."

Click.

The bench tilted beneath you without warning. Your hips rolled upward, knees falling further apart as the restraints auto-adjusted. You were fully exposed now- helpless. Wide open.

"You know I can override those restraints, right? I built them. Now be a good girl and show me everything."

He dipped his finger back into the gel and brought it to your ass, pressing a cool dollop directly to your tight, puckered entrance. The sudden chill made you flinch, but it was followed by the warm glide of his fingertip as he gently teased the gel in slow circles.

"You tense here, too," he said, amused. "Don't worry. This formula warms up just like you do."

He rubbed it in carefully, working the gel into your rim with delicate, coaxing pressure. The sensation tingled- both from the temperature shift and the way his finger circled and pressed until your body finally began to relent.

Then he lowered the beads between your cheeks and began to press them in- one at a time. The first slid in easily, the gel working its magic, cool and slick. The second made your breath stutter. The third had your whole body tensing as your hole stretched just enough to accommodate the new pressure.

Each one pulled a different, desperate noise from you- somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, caught in the back of your throat and forced through the gag in broken fragments.

By the time the third bead settled inside you, you felt full. Stretched in ways that left you panting, your back arching hard off the bench. Everything was working together- the deep pressure of the egg nestled high in your core, the hum beginning to buzz through your clit like a phantom, and now the slow, firm intrusion of the beads pressing against nerves that had you seeing stars. You struggled to catch your breath, the gag forcing each inhale to be short and choppy. Air hissed through your nose while your mouth flooded with saliva, spit slipping from the corners of your lips in thick strands that slid down your neck and onto your chest. The overwhelming heat of arousal and frustration tangled in your gut, building like steam with nowhere to escape. The restraint of it made the fire inside you burn hotter.

Your muscles clenched involuntarily, your hips rocking against the air, chasing friction that didn’t come. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t beg. Just drool, tremble, and take everything he gave you.

"Mmm. That moan? That was bead three. She likes that one, Friday."

"Confirmed," the AI replied. "Pelvic floor tension rising. Heart rate increasing."

"Good. Means it’s working."

The egg began to heat. The beads hummed in sync, and you felt everything shift- internally and externally- as pleasure bled into pressure, and pressure into overload. You were trembling now, thighs twitching again, trying to close- but the bench held you wide, utterly exposed.

"Heart rate’s spiking..." Tony’s voice was pure, filthy glee. "Oh, she’s gonna break soon. Look at her squirm."

You rutted against the air, clit untouched and screaming for attention. Your walls fluttered around the egg, your ass clenching down against the beads as the different pulses overlapped and collided. It was all too much and somehow not enough. You needed more and needed it to stop, all at once.

You tried to breathe, but the gag made it impossible to take anything but shallow, panting gasps. Each exhale was laced with a moan. Drool spilled freely down your chin, dripping warm across your face and neck. You were flushed, messy, wrecked- and he hadn’t even touched your clit.

Your back arched violently off the bench, cords of heat coiling through your belly and thighs. It felt like your body was unraveling, muscles tight and desperate, nerve endings screaming with pleasure.

Tony leaned in again, voice dark and syrup-smooth. "We’ve got her plugged, egged, and ready to combust. Think she can handle the next phase?"

Friday answered, "Orgasm build-up at 87%."

"Perfect." He tapped a command into the air. "Now let’s push her."

The egg pulsed deeper. The beads vibrated sharper. You cried out- moaning, writhing, the gag muffling it into raw, incoherent noise. You couldn’t form words. Couldn’t beg. Just sob through the pressure building to a breaking point.

"Baby, this is science. Filthy, beautiful science."

It hit you like a wave- white-hot and all-consuming. Your legs shook violently in the stirrups, muscles spasming as your body locked around the egg and beads pulsing inside you. Every nerve ending fired in chaotic pleasure, overwhelming your senses. You tried to scream, to sob, but the gag reduced it to a shattered, strangled cry that vibrated through the tech, each desperate noise dutifully logged.

Drool spilled in long, wet strands down your chin as your back bowed hard off the bench, your whole body trembling under the assault of pleasure. Your cunt clenched tight around the egg, milking it involuntarily, while your ass throbbed with each hum of the vibrating beads. Everything inside you was pulsing, moving, grinding you down into submission.

Tony watched, transfixed, his gaze locked on your ruined, shaking form. “There she goes - God, I should patent that moan.”

Your eyes rolled back. You could barely breathe. You could only tremble and leak and convulse as the orgasm tore through you. The bench beneath you vibrated subtly with your body’s response.

Friday: "Orgasm confirmed."

Tony waited until you were trembling, your breathing uneven, your thighs still twitching with aftershocks that rippled through your overstimulated body. Sweat slicked your skin in a thin, glistening sheen, catching the light as your chest heaved with broken gasps around the gag. Your limbs strained weakly against the restraints.

Then- slowly, methodically- he reached between your cheeks and took hold of the first bead. He didn’t rush. He eased it out one at a time, each slick orb dragging along your inner walls with a sticky, stretching glide. You shuddered at the sensation- the unbearable emptiness that bloomed in the wake of each removal. Your ass clenched reflexively around the loss, trying to hold onto what had filled you so completely. But he kept going.

The final bead popped free with a slick, obscene sound. Your hips jolted involuntarily, your back arching once more as your body spasmed again, clinging to the ghost of sensation.

Friday's voice crackled overhead. "Anal pressure reduced. Sphincter still contracting. She’s experiencing post-orgasmic muscle spasms."

Then came the egg.

He curled his fingers inside you, tugging the retrieval loop with a firm, practiced motion. The egg slipped free, wet and shiny,  your cunt fluttering uselessly around the sudden void. The stretch, the drag, the warmth- it all left you aching. You cried into the gag, overwhelmed by the emptiness and the continued tremors in your muscles. Your thighs kicked slightly, your knees drawing in as far as the restraints would allow.

"Vaginal walls contracting. Core temperature still elevated. She's not done trembling yet," Friday observed, calm as ever.

Tony held both toys in one hand now- wet, warm, shining. He looked down at you with naked satisfaction.

"That’s some damn good tech," he said. "But we’re not done."

From the tray, he lifted his final piece.

A dildo- sleek, deep grey, Stark-stamped at the base. Modeled after him, and you knew it. Maybe a little bigger. Slightly wider at the base, with delicate ridges along the underside that hinted at something extra. Your breath caught just looking at it.

“This one’s special, baby. Built it from memory- well, from yours,” Tony said, rolling it in his hand. “Temperature regulated, pressure-sensitive, and the best part? The internal sensors sync to your contractions. It responds to you. The more you clench, the deeper it drives. A perfect loop.”

You whimpered around the gag, heart fluttering.

He moved between your spread legs and lined it up against your soaked, fluttering entrance. You were already sensitive- still trembling from the last orgasm- and when the wide tip pressed in, you nearly cried. It stretched you slowly, steadily, a little more than you were used to. Your slick walls resisted at first, clenching down instinctively, but Tony was patient, guiding it with precise control.

“There you go,” he coaxed, voice smooth but sharp-edged with amusement. “That’s it. Take all of it. Come on, baby- I know you can..”

His tone dipped into a purr. “There you go. Taking it like you need it. Bet you love being filled up with Stark-grade tech, huh?”

Your back bowed off the bench as he pushed it in, inch by inch, your pussy yielding to every contour, forced to accommodate the full shape of it. The fullness was delious, your body stretched taut around it. Your eyes rolled back as the final ridge slipped inside, the toy settling deep.

“There,” he said, watching your reactions with fascination. “Fills you out just right. And now... we see what she can really do.”

The base clicked into a pulse pattern, and the toy began to move inside you- slow at first, deliberate, like it was learning your shape. You could feel every textured ridge of the shaft as it rubbed against your inner walls, dragging across oversensitive flesh, sparking little detonations of pleasure with every pass.

Then it pulsed- long and low, a rhythmic thrum that radiated from base to tip, sending heat spiraling through your belly. With every thrust, the toy seemed to stretch you deeper, nudging a spot that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch against the restraints. Your pussy clenched around it reflexively, triggering the internal sensors Tony had mentioned. And just like that, the toy responded- pressing harder, thrusting deeper, faster.

It wasn’t just fucking you- it was reading you, syncing to the wild flutter of your muscles, pulsing in tandem with your arousal.

“Look at her,” Tony murmured, grinning as he watched the toy disappear again and again between your legs. “Every little squeeze makes it work harder. You’re doing this to yourself, baby. And I haven’t even touched your clit yet.”

You’d been so consumed by the thrusting inside you, by the stretch and pulse of the toy, that you hadn’t even noticed Tony move. But suddenly, he was there- looming over you, and the egg was pressed directly to your clit.

The sensation was immediate and brutal.

Your entire body jolted. The contact felt almost painful, your nerves raw and exposed, the stimulation electric. You tried to buck away, hips arching, thighs trembling, but you had nowhere to go.

Tony caught you effortlessly. One hand shoved the egg against your swollen clit, refusing to relent, while the other pressed down on your thigh to keep your knees from closing.

“Uh uh. None of that,” he said smoothly. “You don’t get to hide from this, baby. You earned it.”

You sobbed into the gag, thrashing your hips side to side, but the bench and Tony’s hands made escape impossible. Every attempt to squirm just sent the dildo thrusting deeper inside you, and the egg grinding cruelly over your clit.

“You’re not gonna break,” he whispered, teasing. “You’re gonna burn for me.”

"Don’t you dare run from it. look at me."

He was holding you still- one hand clamped over your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other pressing the egg mercilessly to your clit. You were trembling in his grasp, utterly helpless against the merciless pairing of his tech and his control.

"You’re gonna come again for me, sweetheart. Real data’s in the repeat response," he said, eyes locked on yours, voice both commanding and hungry.

The dildo thrust deep, the ridges grinding against your most sensitive spots as your walls clamped down. The egg buzzed brutally against your swollen clit, so overstimulated you couldn’t tell whether you were trying to run from it or chase it. Every jolt of pleasure lit your nerves like lightning- white-hot and impossible to hold back.

Your body jerked, hips spasming, thighs trembling violently as the sensations overloaded you. Your entire body was working against you- every clench, every twitch, every gasp just triggered the toy to go deeper, harder, faster. You weren’t riding it anymore- it was riding you, and Tony just watched with that devilish smirk, keeping you wide open.

“That's it. Shake for me. Scream into that gag. Show me what science can do.”

The climax tore through you without mercy- harder, deeper, a violent unraveling of every nerve as your body convulsed around the relentless rhythm of the tech inside you. You didn’t just come; you shattered, splintering open in a release so intense it blurred your vision, your mind, your ability to distinguish pleasure from pain. Your vision shattered into sparks, your scream muffled into a raw, hoarse noise behind the gag. Your body thrashed in the restraints, muscles locking as the orgasm ripped through you, longer and sharper than the last.

Friday: "Second orgasm confirmed. Neural spike significant. Subject approaching physical limit."

He slowed the toy, letting it ease to a stop deep inside you before withdrawing it carefully, letting you feel every last ridge dragging along your raw, overstimulated walls. Then, with a gentleness that almost contrasted the torment he’d just put you through, he removed the egg from your clit. The instant the contact broke, your whole body sagged in the restraints with relief and exhaustion. You were shaking, barely breathing- every inch of you buzzing, nerves fried and twitching from the overload.

You could taste salt on your lips- your own tears and spit, your jaw aching from clenching around the gag. You were drenched, body glistening with sweat, your skin flushed and hypersensitive to the air.

He removed the gag last. Your jaw fell slack with a wet, trembling gasp, strands of spit clinging to the corners of your mouth. You blinked up at him, vision hazy, lips wet and parted.

Tony gazed down at you, eyes gleaming with wicked satisfaction, his mouth tugging into a crooked grin that said told you so. He looked like a man admiring his finest creation- smug, yes, but also thoroughly entertained by the glorious, twitching mess sprawled out beneath him.

“You did good, baby. Fucking beautiful. But next time?”

He leaned close, brushing a kiss to your temple- slow, deliberate, his breath warm against your damp skin.

“Think I’ll need to design something that gets you to squirt. Can’t let a variable like that go untested. Wouldn’t be very Stark of me to stop now, would it?”

He turned with a little flourish, tapping the screen with a flick of his fingers, not bothering to look back.

College is fun, well at least how it’s depicted in the movies. The usual college life offers you are deadlines, final exams, and a bunch of group projects you’re too jaded to care about. So the moment your friends invited you to go to a party with them, you took the chance immediately. You’ve been craving excitement in your life, what better way than a party full of strangers? Which now brings you here, at your common college party, surrounded by freshmen and seniors alike, cups either filled to the brim or empty of alcohol, and people, likely strangers to each other, making out in unsuspecting hallways. This is the life.

Your friends are anywhere but beside you, which undoubtedly makes you feel alone but you’re also grateful you don’t have to see them smooch off with some random boys. It also made perfect sense to you that Silena and Clarisse would run off somewhere. They were freshmen after all, your juniors back in high school who somehow made their way back to you. This was their first ever taste of the fun side of college life, and it was technically your first party in a while too, but three years into university and everything adventurous to first years are now part of the nuances and mundanities of your daily life. 

You were standing alone in one of the better-lit areas of the party house: the bar that held the punch bowl and the beer kegs. You were biting on the rim of your plastic cup which has long been void of liquor, trying to either think of what to do or distract yourself from thinking at all. That was until your other friend, Thalia Grace, nudged you on the shoulder. She had this puzzled look on her face with a very slight hint of disappointment. “Why aren’t you going out there? Go, have some fun, doofus.” You rolled your eyes jokingly. “I’d honestly rather not.” you replied. 

One thing about Thalia was that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. She tugged at your left arm in an attempt to drag you away from the bar. “Come on, they’re playing Truth or Dare near the staircase. You could manage that much fun at least?” You looked at her and sighed in defeat. You knew you weren’t going to win this anyway. You set your cup down on the counter and let Thalia lead you to the most cliché party game of all. 

There were about twelve different people in that circle, some familiar faces and some you don’t recognize. What you did notice though was that the circle was devoid of all the couples you knew. Clarisse and Chris weren’t there, neither were Silena and her boyfriend, Charles Beckendorf. You looked around and found the four of them situated on the couch, simply waiting for the game to start. The fact that taken people weren’t in this circle set your stomach off. 

One of the guys in the circle then started speaking. “So, we’re playing Truth or Dare or Drink,” you look a bit stunned. It was the first time you were hearing this variation of the infamous party game. “The rules are simple. It’s just your regular truth or dare game as per usual, but it gives you the option to refuse a truth or a dare, but in exchange you have to drink the strongest, and honestly a pretty disgusting, mixture made by yours truly.” 

You’re both weirded out and piqued by this retrogressed version of truth or dare. Where is the fun in having the option to avoid the truth or the dare? But then again, how bad are the truths and the dares for you to opt for that disgusting concoction? Now you’re nervous. An empty bottle of beer is placed in the middle of the circle, and the guy who introduced the game spins the bottle. A few rounds of this happens.

It first landed on a guy you know as Michael Yew, also a freshman. You recognize him from the freshmen welcoming party for your college, but you don’t know much about him. He chose truth, but that’s about as far as you listened. You don’t know why, but you keep unintentionally tuning out the entire game, which you find odd because the entire reason why you even went to the party anyway was to have some fun. This was supposed to be the fun. The next few spins just had you aimlessly staring at who it points to and watching them either say their truth or do their dare. No one came close to choosing the mixture.

The bottle spins again, and like the prior spins your eyes follow who it’s pointed to. You look up to see a guy with a familiar face and unmistakable dark curly hair and piercing eyes. In college, you had your friends, likely a small friend group. For you, you had Thalia and your group of third year friends, and you had your underclassmen. But the thing about college is that your social circle really doesn’t stop there, unlike in high school where it really is more stratified. Thalia introduces you to a lot of other people, some were her friends from org, while some were her friends from high school. The guy your eyes locked to was one of them. His name was Luke Castellan.

In all honesty, you barely knew the guy. Whenever he and Thalia meet in the hallways, with you tagging along of course, he’d simply nod at you and divert his attention back to your mutual friend. There was a point in time that you thought they looked cute together and you asked Thalia why they weren’t together. “He’s just a friend!” she’d reply, which you found weird because this man was the word attractive incarnate. He was tall, dark, and handsome alright, with a similarly attractive smile plastered on his face at almost all times. 

“Truth.” Luke responded to the bottle’s unspoken question. For the first time since the game started, you actually paid attention to the question. People in the crowd were thinking of questions to ask Luke while you stayed quiet, patiently waiting for the next voice to make itself known. Then, some random guy asks, “Out of all of the girls in this circle, who’d you sleep with?” Half of the circle and the surrounding audience erupted in little giggles like they were children hearing the word “ass” for the first time. Did Luke have some kind of reputation? It was a very juvenile response to an equally juvenile question, you thought. 

He just smiles shyly and looks around the circle, looking at every girl in the face with absolute scrutiny. Then his eyes locked in on Thalia, who was right beside you. You were sure he was gonna answer her, you’ve always felt the energy somehow. You anticipated your answer to be correct like you were playing Who Wants To Be a Millionaire instead of truth or dare or drink. You looked at Luke intensely, something you didn’t notice you were doing but he did. 

As he was about to answer, he looked away from Thalia at the last minute and his eyes maneuvered towards your direction. “Her.” he says while pointing at you, not even bothering to name you. It took you a while to process what he had just done, but the moment you realize what he just admitted to a circle full of almost all strangers, you feel heat creep up your cheeks. Luke Castellan, a man you’ve barely interacted with, who is also your best friend’s best friend, just admitted that out of a circle full of other girls you deem more attractive than you, he would choose to fuck you.

Thalia immediately nudges you on the shoulder with her own, giggling and teasing you. You looked over at her and you could see that her teasing was as genuine as the morning sun. Did Luke tell her about liking you? Or at the very least that he found you attractive? You couldn’t deduce anything except that you were thankful Luke chose a truth instead of a dare. The rest of the circle hollers and teases, tossing words like “Nice one, Castellan” and continuous woos around. You then look at Luke who’s shooting you a smirk, and you feel yourself get even more embarrassed. 

The hype in the circle soon dies down as the bottle is then spun again. The next three rounds of spinning weren’t enough to distract you from what just happened, but the next spin does. The end of the bottle conspicuously lands on you, and everyone darts their eyes towards you. Like you were the star of the show that they were waiting to interview. It was Luke’s voice that broke the tension away from you. “Truth or dare, sweetheart?” That voice. That godforsaken sultry voice laced with underlying sweetness and mockery had just asked you a question. 

You refused to look Luke in the eyes and just answered, “Truth,” in a surprisingly calm voice. A small group in the crowd then makes sounds of disappointment. “We’ve gotten four truths consecutively. Come on, sweetheart, choose dare!” said a guy in the crowd, emphasizing sweetheart through the same tone Luke used to say it. Oh, so this was the peer pressure you didn’t experience in high school. Somehow, it eluded your adolescent years and made its way to your supposedly less dramatic college years. How nice. 

You got the courage to look up at Thalia, hoping maybe she’d save you, but to no avail. She nodded her head to you, encouraging you to take the dare. You took a deep breath and replied in the most defeated tone known to man, “Fine, dare.” The group then goes up in noises and hollers again. From that alone, you could already hear their dare before any of them even spoke. “Seven minutes in heaven for you and Luke, sweetheart!” That nickname is definitely sticking for some reason.

You looked at Luke, shooting him the same stare you did Thalia, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he’d decline. Instead of showing you something you’d call mercy, he got up from his place, took off his jacket which revealed to you his well-toned muscles (which is wow by the way), and he extended his hand towards you, gesturing for you to take it like he was offering you the deal of a lifetime. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and blankly look at him. Okay, it’s not that you didn’t want to. Again, you’ve always found Luke attractive, but what was shocking you was that he allegedly reciprocated those thoughts. And truth be told, you weren’t that experienced with making out or sex for that matter. You weren’t a virgin, but from what you could gather from how Luke acts and how people regard him, he has way more experience than you’ll ever get in your lifetime maybe. You didn’t want him to see that side of you. Besides, he was Thalia’s best friend. After this party, you were bound to meet each other again and you just weren’t up for those hypothetical awkward situations. 

Luke was still in front of you, waiting for you to take his hand. You could tell people were expecting you to take his hand too. The pressure bubbling in your head and the heat accumulating on your cheeks forced you to say your next few words without you thinking about them properly. “I’ll drink!” You weren’t looking around but you could practically feel the looks of disbelief burning through every inch of your body. Wow, you managed to disappoint an entire circle of people and the surrounding audience with two words, yay you! 

Luke retracts his arm and makes his retreat back to his place on the floor. You still wouldn't look at him directly. “Well, someone finally chose the drink but it was during the spiciest dare? Come on!” a girl in the group says. A few moments later, you find yourself being handed the cup of the mysterious concoction. Yeah, you’d rather have whatever this was than for Luke Castellan to remember your lips on his. You hesitate a bit, but you eventually chug the drink. 

Your chugging seemed to assuage the crowd from their initial disappointment with your decision because they started shouting “Chug! Chug! Chug!” until you reach the bottom of the solo cup. You felt like you were about to vomit out everything you just took in, but you forced yourself to take it like a champ. The drink tasted like a mixture of three different vodkas, beer, a citrus you definitely couldn’t identify, then something sweet at first but then spicy after for some reason. Whatever was in there, it achieved its goal: making you nauseous.

The crowd cheered you on, practically forgetting about the initial drama you caused, so you tried to stand (sit) tall, feigning that the drink didn’t affect you. You managed to succeed, but there was a pair of eyes that couldn’t seem to be pleased with you. You looked towards the direction of that stare and found yourself meeting eyes with Luke Castellan. He didn’t look angry nor sad, but he looked at you with such intensity. You could only offer him a small smile before diverting your attention back to the circle. 

A few more rounds happen. People made out, a guy licked vodka from a girl’s chest, a girl was forced to balance a coin on her elbow. Whatever college students usually do at parties, it happened within that circle. You failed to look or acknowledge Luke for the rest of the game until it was eventually over. People started to get up, some went home while some went around the party house more. You were determined to make a beeline towards the door and get out of there, but Thalia stopped you. 

“Wait, I have to go to the bathroom real quick. We can go home after I’m done, is that okay?” You wanted to send her an intense stare that would ideally signal “Hey I kinda wanna go though!” but you stop yourself and simply nod at her. She gives you a small smile and replies, “I’ll be quick. I promise.” And then she left your side to head for the bathroom. You examine your surroundings and decide to wait near the door. You were near but a bunch of college students still crowded the place so you still felt a distance between you and your so-called freedom. 

You lean on the wall and scroll your phone as you kill time waiting for Thalia. You then feel a presence beside you, so you instinctively speak. “Hey, you ready to go—” you stop before you’re able to finish your sentence. Standing beside you wasn’t your best friend, but rather her’s. For the first time since after he extended his hand to you earlier, your eyes meet Luke Castellan’s. Your breath hitches as you clutch your phone and stare up at him. Yeah, definitely tall, dark, and handsome. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” he says in the same sultry voice as earlier. You try not to let him affect you. “Hello, Luke.” He begins to play with the ends of your hair, rubbing them in between his fingers. You didn’t really mind, but it did make you a bit embarrassed. You haven’t been this close to Luke ever. The most you guys do is nod at each other in the hallways. Well, okay, maybe not. You catch yourself looking at him whenever he joins your group of friends with Thalia. He’s hot, okay? 

He suddenly breaks the silence. “Did I do something wrong?” You stare up at him, not really processing his question. “Uhm, what?” He sighs heavily and crosses his arms. “Did I do something to you? I seem to recall you avoiding me like the plague earlier.” Oh, that. Of course, it was that. “That wasn’t anything personal, Luke.” You can tell by his face that he does believe you, but he’s not satisfied with your answer. He simply nods, and for some reason this irks you. Then you remember he kind of owes you an explanation for something too. 

“Is it true?” you ask him, which catches him off guard. “What is?” he replies. “What you said earlier during truth or dare… W-would you actually…” He looks away as he smiles at the question you’re unable to finish. “What? Would I actually fuck you?” It was your turn to be caught off guard as his straightforward answer juxtaposes your hesitative question. Again, you try not to show that his answer fazed you. “Well?”

He scoffs and looks directly at you for a second before he leans towards your face. You were honestly fully expecting him to kiss you, which of course doesn’t happen. Instead he brings his lips near your ears and whispers, “It was a truth, wasn’t it? I don’t lie, sweetheart.” You feel your knees go weak at his breath hitting your ear. If you were blushing during the game, you couldn’t imagine what you looked like right now. But he wasn’t done.

“Do you want me to prove it to you? That I’m not lying?” You didn’t need a degree to figure out what that meant. For whatever reason, this conversation with him felt like a competition and he was winning. You didn’t like that. “Why me, Luke?” Your head doesn’t move to face him; he was still inched near your ear. Any movement from you and your lips would touch his skin, which you believe would only add fuel to the fire. He moves back away from your ear, but his eyes immediately find yours. “You’re hot, sweetheart. Nobody ever told you that?”

Maybe you just barely went around meeting people or your self-esteem was just below hell, but in the three years you’ve been in college, no guy has ever called you hot. Sure you were called cute and pretty, especially by your friends and some guys just trying to be nice, but this was the first time you’ve ever been regarded like that. The first time you’ve been, let’s say, deemed fuckable by a guy who wasn't someone you were dating. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you weren’t turned on just a little bit right now. His deep and alluring voice mixed with the way his breath hits your skin and the way he stares at you so intensely. Is this what lost sailors at sea feel when they encounter sirens? Consider yourself entranced by whatever spell Luke Castellan was casting on you. Your inability to reply causes Luke to assume that your answer was “no”, which it ultimately was. “Really? Not a single guy has ever told you you’re hot?” he asks as if you not being called attractive was the least believable thing ever.

“Stop trying to flatter me.” you replied to him. You were getting extremely flustered at this point, causing you to look down, once again unable to meet his eyes. You were fiddling with your fingers in order to distract yourself from what was happening before you. Suddenly, you feel his hand make contact with your chin as he forces you to look up at him. “I’m not flattering you, sweetheart. I told ya, I’m telling the truth.” 

“We’ve barely talked up until this point, Luke. This is nonsense.” Luke is ultimately confused as to why you keep denying that he found you hot. Usually girls would bat their eyelashes at him or just take the compliment and own it. Not you though, which he found amusing. It gave him all the more reason to show you how much of a catch you were (at least to him). “That doesn’t seem to stop you from ogling at me.” And he bites back. “I… I do not.” He scoffs again, laughing a little at the end at your little remark. 

“Oh please, sweetheart, you practically undress me with your eyes everytime I hang out with you and your friends.” You feel yourself becoming smaller and meeker as this conversation continues. So he notices you staring, huh? “Sorry…” His head turns to face you as if surprised by your response. “Oh, don’t say sorry, sweetheart. I find that hot, too.” As if that wasn’t enough, he leans back again to your ear and whispers, “Do you want to try actually undressing me, sweet girl?” You’re hot and bothered at this point. If you weren’t in the middle of a party house you were afraid as to what you’d let Luke Castellan do to you. You can feel your chest go up and down, your heart beating fast and loud. 

“We’d still see each other after, Luke. I… I don’t think I could just forget it ever happened… if it does.” Those were your true fears, aside from the fact that the last time you had sex was likely a year ago. You don’t have sex with strangers, unfortunately, and your last boyfriend broke up with you well over a year ago. He leaves the side of your face to look at you and he grabs your hand and places a kiss on it. “We don’t have to forget about it, sweetheart.”

You’re hesitant but you know you want to. This is the action, the excitement you’ve been craving for. Maybe Luke was playing with you just to get into your pants. Maybe he was going to forget all about you after this. But at the moment you could care less. You were drunk with alcohol, especially after that horrendous mixture from earlier. You were sure as fuck that you were wet with what Luke Castellan had been whispering in your ear for the past few minutes. You haven't had sex in so long, too long actually. And again, this hot man you’ve been, in his terms, undressing with your eyes was right in front of you, willingly telling you he’d love to fuck you into the mattress. It truly was hard to say no.

“Can you promise me I won’t just be a quick fuck to you?” He looks into your eyes and smiles, kissing your hand again. “Promise.” You might regret that, but you don’t care. You needed the reassurance to push you forward, but you would’ve done it even if he said no, and that was your flaw. But you really don’t care anymore. Luke places a kiss on your forehead which he smiles into, which just augments the fluttering beating of your heart and encourages the small side of you that was still clinging onto his promise. 

You really should have done your research on this party. Luke had led you upstairs with no hesitation, but you had the apprehension at the back of your head that you were about to fuck in some random person’s room. Luke saw the fear in your face and knew exactly what you were thinking, so he quickly said, “Relax, it’s my room.” Gods. So that’s why everyone knew who he was. Luke wasn’t just famous on campus or had a reputation. Luke was the host.

He opened the last door in the hallway and led you inside, quickly shutting it as you went in. Luke then faces you and you feel the tension in the air thicken. He starts walking towards you which you respond to by walking backwards until your foot hits the end of his bed, forcing you to sit down. Luke then towers over you, taking in the sight of you below him before capturing your lips on his. One thing about the way Luke kissed you was that you could tell he was hungry; he was practically eating your face. It was sloppy, but the good kind. The kind you expect from a drunk college boy who has been waiting for this moment.

He gently pushes you down on the bed until you lay flat on your back and he’s completely on top of you. His lips taste of cherries, probably from the ones mixed with the alcohol downstairs. You were undoubtedly getting addicted to the taste, enjoying the way his lips moved along with yours, and the way he sucked and bit into your lips from time to time. While one of his hands supported his weight, his other hand made its way to your chest, gently squeezing on your tit. This causes you to gasp in surprise, which Luke takes advantage of as he slips his tongue into your mouth. His tongue explores all that it can, suckling on your own, only separating from you to take in small gasps of air then it’s back into your mouth. 

The makeout session was hot and heavy, his hand continuing to squeeze, paw, and massage your breasts while he ravaged your mouth with his own. But you were getting unbelievably antsy. With how much Luke was enjoying making out with you, you’d think that was what he only wanted. You pulled away which causes an unsatisfied groan to leave Luke. He doesn’t wait for an explanation from you as his lips quickly latch onto your neck, opting to attack your skin with red marks instead.

You gasp and a moan leave you as he attacks your neck, suckling on the skin as he did your tongue and lips. “Luke… please.” You were whining and begging. That along with your small gasps and moans made his dick twitch in his pants. You felt him grind onto you a little bit, making you feel his hard cock against your crotch. You wanted it so bad. With one last kiss and suck on your neck, Luke kisses your lips once more before taking off your shirt. He smirks at the sight of your black bra as he effortlessly tugs down your skirt, revealing your matching black panties. 

He licks all over your exposed chest before biting down on the fabric of your bra, pulling it down to reveal your tits. He practically slobbers all over them sucking on your left tit, then massaging your right. “A-ah…” He looks up at you and smirks as he continues to suck on your tit, satisfied that he’s making you feel good. He leaves your tit with a pop, then goes back to leave kitty licks on your swollen nipple, then sucks again, then licks again, all the while pinching the other one. “L-Luke…” Your mewl signals him to finally actually leave your tits alone, and when he does, they’re as red and full of marks as your neck. He then leaves another kiss on your lips.

Luke slowly peppers kisses from your chest all the way down until he reaches the fabric of your black panties. Instead of immediately yanking them down, Luke presses a kiss on your core through the lace before prodding his tongue into it like an attempt to penetrate the black fabric. You lean your head back in pleasure as Luke eats you out through your panties, licking vigorously and with fervor as if his tongue was actually on your cunt. He adds to the building pressure on your stomach as two of his fingers begin to massage your clit through the fabric. You were moaning wantonly, feeling the wetness of his saliva through the lace as his tongue pokes into your pussy ever so slightly. 

“Luke… c-can’t cum…” You were lying to yourself. You were absolutely capable of cumming just from this alone, and you were about to. But you wanted nothing more than for him to rip your panties and just fuck his tongue into you. Can’t help it, can you? A year without sex is bound to make you a little needy and a little antsy. “You’ll cum,” he manages to say in between licks. And cum you do. Your orgasm escapes you abruptly as you cum on your panties, eliciting a loud moan from the back of your throat. Luke licks it up with the same eager demeanor as he had initially eating you out. Once he’s finished, he places kisses in between your thighs, sucking on your skin to leave familiar red and purple marks on them. 

As you were coming down from your high, like your bra, Luke’s teeth bit on the edge of your panties and pulled them all the way down. He throws them not too far and lavishes the look of your sweet cunt, wet with remnants of your slick and cum around it. It was perfect for him. You expected him to go back in and lick your pussy up, but instead he takes off his shirt before pulling you up, setting your hands on either side of his pants. “Told you, you’d undress me, sweet girl.” You bit your lip before fiddling with his button and zipper then tugging the waistband down. 

The sight that awaits you is more delicious than you could have ever imagined. His bulge was so obvious through his boxers, and he was big and hard. You wet your lips with your tongue, and he chuckles, amused at your reaction. “You’ll get that later, sweet girl.” You look up at him confused. Later?

Before giving you the time to ask for an explanation, he then began to lie down on the bed, resting his head on the two pillows stacked on top of each other. You look back at him with the same confused look on your face. What does he want to do now? As if he heard your thoughts, he then says, “Come on and ride my face, sweetheart. All yours.” 

He looked at you with heavy lidded eyes and a sly smirk on his face. He was serious. “I’ve never…. ridden anyone before, let alone someone’s face…” You say hesitantly, afraid he might judge you. You look away from him, a little embarrassed about your lack of experience. “Aw, that’s okay. C’mere, sweet girl.” Luke gestures for you to come over to him, so you crawl over until you’re straddling his thighs. His hands make their way to your thighs, massaging them as if to calm you down.

“Just sink down on my mouth, baby, and I’ll do the work,” he says too casually, “you can grind on my face. In fact, I’d love that.” He’s smirking at you again before sitting up from his initial laying down position to catch your lips in a quick kiss. After that, he’s situating himself back on the pillows. You bite your lip nervously, completely unsure if you should ride his face, but you did want to give it a try. Besides, Luke looked like he was about to plead for you to sit on his face if you didn’t willingly do it yourself the first time. So, you lifted your body up a bit to hover above his own as you made your way towards his face, your knees shifting around his white linen bed sheets. 

Once your cunt was literally hovering above his mouth, you began to hesitate again. What if you crush him under your weight? What if you don’t do it well and he doesn't enjoy it? Your time spent thinking while gripping the headboard causes a second unsatisfied groan to leave Luke’s mouth, but he remains patient. “Do you not want to do it, sweetheart? It’s okay if—” you cut him off. “N-no, I do. It’s just, what if I don’t do well..?” A deep sigh escapes Luke. He couldn’t wait any longer. His hands snake their way onto either side of your hips, locking it in a tight grip as he pulls all of you down onto his face. 

A particularly broken moan leaves you as his tongue finally prodded against your actual cunt. He licked long stripes across your pussy, causing a combination of moans and whines to emerge from the depths of your throat. He was too good at this. Luke then begins to give extra attention to your clit, licking and sucking on it like he did to your tits. He was full-on making out with your pussy like they were your own lips. While he was eating you out like a god, you suddenly remembered his suggestion. You then began to grind on his face, the movement working in tandem with the ministrations of his tongue, giving you an otherworldly pleasure you didn’t think you’d ever experience. 

This was the heaven you would have experienced had you said yes earlier. That didn’t matter anymore. You had more than seven minutes now. Luke Castellan could eat you out for the rest of the night as much as he wanted. You were glad the party was still a little alive downstairs because the noises coming out of you were nothing but unholy. Let the music drown out your loud, broken moans and your continuous screams of Luke’s name. It made Luke a little sad though. No one was hearing you moan his name.

You were basically treating Luke’s mouth like it was your own personal toy, grinding your pussy hard on his tongue as you chased your high. “Luke, I— I’m gonna cum… again..!” You threw your head back from the pleasure, and all Luke did was suck, lick, and hum against your cunt. He honestly wanted to see your face contorted in pleasure, but guess he’ll have to wait for a better view later. Your high is even more intense than the last one. 

Luke can feel your legs clench around his head and shake as you cum. Your chest heaves intensely, sweat dripping down your forehead and your tits. You were still slowly grinding your cunt on Luke’s face and he wasn’t one to complain. “So sweet, baby. You taste so good. Ugh, I could eat you until the day I die.” He eagerly lapped at your juices, humming as he tasted the essence of your sweet pussy again. He enjoyed and revelled in every single second of it.

After a few more kitty licks to your cunt, his grip on your hips tighten again as he hoists you away from his face. You were back to straddling his thighs as he sits up. You couldn’t see it clearly, but the light from his window illuminates his face a little bit. You see his chin absolutely smothered with your slick, and it was a hot sight. His chest was moving up and down while his mouth was agape, remnants of your cum visible on his mouth and chin. For the first time tonight, you were the one who pressed him into a kiss, inevitably tasting yourself on his tongue. 

As you pull away from the kiss, Luke then flips the two of you over and now you’re back to your first position with you beneath him. He pushes some hair out of your face to see you clearly before he stands up from the bed. You prop your weight on your elbows to see what he’s doing, and he looks back to you at the notice of your movement. He smirks and says, “You want to do the honors for me, sweetheart?” You get up on the bed and crawl towards the edge of it. You sit down on top of your legs as your face levels with his abdomen. Your hands make their way to his waistband and you fiddle with it a little bit, feeling a little bashful.

“Don’t be shy now.” He says teasingly, and with that you pull down his boxers. To say he was big wouldn’t do him any justice. No, he was huge. His cock stood tall and hard, tip red and leaking precum. You couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of it. Luke begins to fist his cock slowly before he pushes you back down on the bed. “Spread your legs f’me, sweet girl.” You slowly spread your legs in front of him. You would’ve been eager if you weren’t so scared of how big he was. 

He strokes his cock a bit more before dragging his tip along your slick folds, teasing your already sensitive cunt. “W-will it fit?” Luke looks up at you and meets your eyes filled with worry and excitement. He licks his lips before replying, “You’ll take it. You’ll take it so good, like a champ. Like you did with that drink, yeah?” He says all of this while still continuously dragging his tip along your pussy. All you could do was nod. Were you scared he wouldn’t fit? A little, yeah. But god, you wanted him inside of you so bad. 

He sees you nod and smirks to himself. “Good girl,” he mutters. He then angles your hips a little higher and sheathes himself inside you with a quick thrust. A reverberating and guttural moan breaks out of your mouth as Luke enters you with no warning, your soft, tight pussy being broken in again as if it was your first time. You feel him pulsing inside you and you could feel yourself clench around him; you guys were the perfect match. Hitched breaths and a strangled moan come out of Luke as he stays inside you, buried to the hilt. He stills your hips with his grip as his lips quiver. “You’re so tight, f-fuck. Should’ve fucked you on my fingers first.”

Luke feels you clamp down on him hard which draws out a deep groan from within him. “D-don’t do that, baby. I won’t be able to control myself.” Luke closes his eyes before they open again and look down on you, a primal look slithering inside his pretty brown orbs. “Then don’t.” That response was all Luke needed before he began thrusting. His pace was fast and rough, but calculated. You could feel all of him in each thrust, but would empty out of you just as fast. You looked down to see where you were connected and your eyes were met with a prominent bulge appearing and disappearing on your lower stomach in tandem with Luke’s thrusts. Luke notices this too and chuckles in between his pants. He puts one hand over the bulge and gently presses down, prompting another strained moan out of you as you arch your back.

“Feel me there, sweet girl? I’m filling you up so good. God, you feel so fucking good around me.” Luke presses your forehead against his as he resumes his relentless pace. “F-fuck, Luke, you’re so deep inside me…” A mewl soon follows your cries, and your hands make their way to his back, making claw marks on his skin. He presses a kiss on your forehead and mutters, “I know” while continuing to pound into you like his life depends on it. Soon, you’re too cockdrunk to really say anything coherent. Luke fucks into you and you babble a set of words he can’t determine, and that’s what he likes to hear. He teases you a bit.

“What’s that, baby?” He then mocks your moans. You try to muster up the strength to argue back at him, but he thrusts hard with the obvious intent to shut you up. You babble more nonsense, moaning with pleasure as you feel his thick cock graze your cervix. He was inside you oh so deliciously deep. Your velvet walls clamped and clenched around him like he was always meant to be there, and he was. Luke felt like he could stay inside you until his very last breath. Luke’s hips were stuttering, unable to handle the way your pussy took him in, refusing to let him go. 

The knot in your stomach threatens to snap at any moment. You feel heat in your abdomen as the familiar ecstatic feeling creeps up your body. “Luke, I’m gonna…” He coos, pressing yet another kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips. “Cumming?” He says in a voice so sweet that was betrayed by his brutal pace. You couldn’t utter another word, the feeling of his cock hitting your walls shutting you up. You nod instead and he gets the memo. 

His cock throbs violently inside you, signaling that he was also close. His thrusts lose their calculated edge as they become sloppy, obviously chasing his orgasm. “I– I can’t..!” With one final thrust from Luke hitting you, your eyes roll to the back of your head as you let go completely for the third time tonight. Your back arches and your thighs once again begin to shake from the intense orgasm. 

Luke wasn’t done, however. He continued to thrust into your oh so soft pussy, feeling you tighten around him from the orgasm. Your cum and slick lubricate his cock even more, motivating him to keep pounding into you like you were his personal fleshlight. You’ve been pleasured enough tonight; it was his turn now. “J-just a little more, sweet girl. Fuck, I love your pussy. S-so good to me…” 

The overstimulation was getting to you as you were choking up whines that mixed with your moans. “T-too much, Luke…” He kisses your lips and forces his tongue inside your mouth again—an attempt to distract you from the overstimulation—as his grip on you tightens. After a few more thrusts, Luke releases his warm, sticky cum inside of you, filling you up to the very brim. You felt him throb inside of you as he painted your insides white. You felt full, and you were tired, the fatigue catching up with you because the adrenaline was finally dying down. 

Luke pulls out and looks at amazement at his cock, which was coated in both his and your cum. Gods, he wanted to make you suck it, but he knew you didn’t have the energy, and he didn’t want to do that to you. Then his eyes wander off and catch sight of your pulsing pussy. It was clenching around nothing, like it was missing his cock inside of you. He couldn’t just leave her alone.

While you were staring up at the ceiling, trying not to pass out from the pleasure, you felt a tingle down there that you weren’t expecting. Luke’s warm tongue suddenly made contact with your pussy again, licking up your cum, as well as his. Unlike the first two times, he went slower and was more sensual. It felt more intimate rather than sexy, but it was still really hot. You whine from the overstimulation, yet your fingers still entangle themselves in his dark curls, egging him further. He mumbles in your cunt, “S’ry, baby. I’ll j’s clean you up.”

A few more licks from him and small moans from you, and he was finally done. If he kept going a bit more, you would have cum again, and you don’t think you’d be able to stay conscious for that one. Luke gets up and wipes his chin clean (but not really). You were too tired to protest, but your eyes tried to follow his movements. He came out of his bathroom with a damp towel and began to wipe down your face, then your arms, up until your thighs. 

He throws the towel off somewhere and picks up something from the ground. You try to focus on what he was holding until you eventually recognize it to be… your black panties from earlier. Luke notices you staring at him holding them. “I’ll be keeping these for myself, sweetheart. A little prize for making you feel good tonight.” He winks and picks up his jeans from the floor, stuffing your panties into one of its pockets. You didn’t really care if he kept them. Heck, he could keep your bra, too. 

“Luke, come to bed.” You attempt to get him beside you before you succumb to slumber. He smiles at you before picking up his shirt from the ground. Then, he walks towards you and puts the shirt on you, gently guiding your arms through the sleeves. He fixes the blanket on his bed and pulls it over the both of you before cuddling you in his arms. You barely notice it because of how tired you were, but just as your eyes closed, you felt Luke snuggle up to your hair, pressing a kiss on the top of your head. Oh, Luke.

After that, you don’t remember much. You doze off into a void before you even realize it, and so does Luke. 

—

The next day, after the party, you woke up in Luke’s bed. You flutter your eyes open and find a snoring, naked Luke beside you. You remember the events of last night. You didn’t need his bare sexy back filled with marks to remind you of what happened. You hear a ringing sound and you attempt to get up from the bed to find the source, but you end up stumbling and falling into Luke’s gray carpeted floors as your knees shake like jelly. 

You manage to sit up at least and crawl through the floor, deducing that the ringing is coming from your skirt’s back pocket. You don’t bother to look at the caller as you accept the call and put it on speaker. “Hello?” A coarse and groggy morning voice replaced your usual meek tone. “Where have you been?! I’ve been worried sick!” You instantly regret putting it on speaker as you hear Thalia practically scream at you through the other end. “I leave you for 5 minutes to go to the bathroom and you’re gone! I looked everywhere for you!” 

You feel bad for making Thalia worry. A tipsy girl alone at a party suddenly disappearing is definitely terrifying, but then you realize something. “If you thought I was dead in a ditch somewhere, you would’ve called the police, yet here we are, Thalia. Why?” There’s a short pause on the other end of the line before Thalia replies. “... Someone said they saw you go up with Luke. I… I didn’t want to ruin the fun if you were having any. B-but you didn’t go home or call me! I’ve been calling since 4AM!” You laugh a bit at Thalia, but you were relieved to know how good of a best friend you landed.

“I spent the night at Luke’s.” You say with a little upstart in your voice, the most you can muster up so early in the morning. “Did he ask you out?” Thalia says flatly. Confusion makes its way to your face and tone of voice. “Ask me out?” You hear Thalia sigh before continuing her sentiments. “You know, I’ve been waiting for that doofus to finally get the courage to ask you out. He’s been egging me to set you up with him for months now. Now, you’re telling me he fucked you first before he even asked you out? Unbelievable! That man, I swear—”

A ghost of an arm manages its way to grab your phone and ends the call. Your head turns to its direction and your eyes are met with Luke in his boxers holding your phone in his hand. This man ate you out thrice last night and fucked you like there was no tomorrow, yet Thalia’s confession over the phone seems to have made you more embarrassed than anything that happened between you and Luke last night. There is silence in the room as you stare up at Luke. 

Luke is the first to interrupt this silence. “Sorry, sweetheart, you know Thalia. She can be a bit of a blabber—” 

“I’m free this Saturday.”

you can’t remember how long it has been since your boyfriend and you properly enjoyed each other. luke’s been busy with duties as head of the hermes cabin, and so have you as the head of your own cabin. so that’s why you were in this position: grinding against luke’s calloused palm, on your bed, while he’s double-checking some lists and writing down a new training schedule with his dominant hand. “l-luke please~” you hiccuped; needy and dreanching his palm, earning a gental slap to your clit which only made your thighs lock down harded around him. luke gently probed you with his index and middle finger, his eyes still (mostly) on his task, but a subtle smirk plasters his face as he sees you throw your head back from the corner of his eye. he curls his long digits in your tight cunt, hitting that gooey sweetspot of yours that made your eyes roll back. you grab onto his muscular forearm, in desperate need of stability as you begin riding his hand, the sheets below turning murky from your juices flowing onto them and luke’s palm. “enjoying yourself, pretty?” you nod frantically, opening your eyes to see his head fully turned towards you, observing you; observing how you’re jumping on his slender fingers like on the most delicious dildo you’ve ever had the pleasure to use, fingernails despretly clawing at his upper arm and shaky gasps escaping your lips at every slightest change of angle from his side. you could see the stain forming on the denim on luke’s jeans, indicating that he had just come from you desperately riding his fingers. he slowly pulled out of you, leaving your hole gasping for more as you looked up at him with unshed tears. “don’t look so sad love,” luke’s thumb and index finger found your clit, pinching and tugging at it harshly, sending jolts through your already quivering body, “let me take care of you.” now with the tasks abandoned and pushed aside, it’s your turn to be pushed down onto your soft pillows as luke takes one of your calfs, hoisting your leg on his shoulder, while pinning the other down firmly. luke tenderly spread your puffy, overstimulated lower lips. “beautiful.” he murmured, before spitting onto your core, making you recoil back a bit, covering your mouth at a particularly loud sound threatening to escape. a few muffled cries left your lips as he began gently spanking your pussy, before caressing between your folds and plunging his ring and index finger into your needy hole. luke leaned forward, sweetly kissing your lips as he sped up, making your vision blurry as your release drenched his trousers and the bed. safe to say you two had a long night ahead.

── © dewypout

You, as Viktor's devoted assistant, had been with them since the early days. The three of you had spent countless hours in this very lab, pushing the boundaries of science and magic.

The three of you have been set to work for many nights, the air crackling with anticipation. You could feel the tension building as you worked alongside Jayce, your fingers dancing over the delicate components, weaving the new configuration into the existing framework. All the while, Viktor hovered nearby, offering guidance and encouragement.

The hours ticked by, the lab lights flickering as the night grew old. The air grew thick with the scent of burnt metal and the faint ozone smell that accompanied powerful magical surges. You were acutely aware of Jayce's proximity, his arm occasionally brushing against yours as you both leaned in to examine the minutiae of your work. Each touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn't help but steal glances at him, his eyes focused and intense.

You look over, studying Viktor as he works, his sharp features cast in shadow and light by the flickering screens. His hair, usually a wild mess of unruly curls, was now slightly slicked back with sweat. His eyes were a piercing amber, intense with concentration as he monitored the system's response. The lines on his face, a testament to countless nights of tireless research, had deepened, making him look both older and somehow more handsome.

The quiet stretched, punctuated only by the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall. You couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. You knew how much pressure he put on himself to ensure their work was perfect.

“Viktor, are you quite alright?" You couldn't help but ask as you noticed his furrowed brow and the intense concentration that had taken over his features. The blueprints scattered on the table between you whispered of secrets and innovations that could revolutionize the world of Hextech. The warm glow of the pendant lights danced off the metal surfaces, casting a serene ambiance over the cluttered lab.

Viktor's head snapped up, his eyes focusing on you after a brief moment. "Ah, yes, Y/N," he replied, his voice a touch deeper than usual, gruff with exhaustion, as he tapped the tip of his metal cane against the floor. "Just ensuring that the calibration of this device is flawless."

The cane was an extension of him, a testament to his ingenuity, a tool that defied the limitations of his damaged leg. "Jayce, would you be so kind as to fetch me the calibration matrix?"

Jayce nodded with a smirk, his eyes glancing from the blueprints to you, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "I've seen that look before," he said, his voice low. "Viktor's mind is racing."

You couldn't help the flush that crept up your neck. You'd caught the way Jayce had emphasized 'racing', his eyes holding yours for a beat too long. Was he referring to the thrill of discovery or something more?

The air grew thicker with each passing second, the unspoken tension between you and Viktor palpable. His gaze remained fixed on you, the intensity behind his eyes. Only for a second, and he glanced away.

No.

That was nothing more than acknowledgment.

He acknowledged me.

"Y/N," he began, his voice a gentle command that sent shivers down your spine, "I've noticed that you've been particularly attentive to my work lately. Is there something on your mind?"

He had been stressed, you knew. The deadlines for the Hextech project were approaching, and the weight of the world's expectations seemed to rest heavily on his shoulders. The lab was his sanctuary, but even here, the whispers of failure lurked in the shadows.

You took a deep breath. "I…I just want to help, sir," you replied. "You and Jayce are doing something incredible here, and I want to be a part of it."

Viktor smiles, glancing at the work displayed in front of you. "You are an invaluable asset, Y/N," he says, his voice soft and smooth as this praise falls. But there is more to our work than meets the eye." He pauses, his gaze falling back to you. He smiles once again before turning.

Jayce returned with the matrix, tossing it casually to Viktor. "Here you go, old man," he teased, the nickname rolling off his tongue with ease. The tension in the room lightened slightly, but the underlying current remained. Viktor caught the matrix with ease, his grip tightening around it.

"Thank you, Jayce," he said, his tone clipped. He turned to you, his gaze lingering on your flushed cheeks. "Y/N, would you be so kind as to assist me with these final adjustments?"

His request was not a question, but a gentle command. You nodded, stepping closer to him.

Viktor acknowledges your attentiveness and stresses the depth of their work. Despite Jayce's playful interruption, the atmosphere remains charged. You express your desire to help and assist Viktor with his task, moving closer to him at his request.

Together, you studied the complex matrix, your eyes darting over the numbers and symbols that danced before you. His scent, a blend of oil and metal, filled your nostrils as you leaned in closer, trying to make sense of the intricate calculations. Viktor's finger hovered over the paper, tracing a line of data that didn't quite add up. "Here," he said, his voice low and gruff with concentration. "This equation is incorrect."

Jayce sauntered over, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. "How did you catch that?" he asked, leaning over your shoulder.

Viktor's expression was one of mild annoyance at the interruption, but he replied evenly, "It's elementary, Jayce. The discrepancy in the power coefficients is glaringly obvious."

Jayce leaned back, raising an eyebrow. "I guess I'll leave the 'elementary' stuff to the professor," he quipped his tone teasing but his eyes gleaming with genuine respect for Viktor's intellect.

Viktor's gaze didn't waver from the matrix. "Your contributions are appreciated, Jayce, but my methods are my own," he replied, his voice firm. "Now, if you would be so kind as to rerun the simulation without the error, we might actually make some progress."

Jayce's smirk grew wider. "Alright, Viktor. Let's hope you're right," he said, sauntering back to his workstation. The room grew quiet again, filled only with the sound of the machines whirring and the occasional clank of metal on metal.

“But…what does it mean for us?" you said, abruptly, “If the equation runs correctly?”

Viktor's eyes snapped to yours, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to breathe. "It means," he began, his voice measured and deliberate, "that we've reached a new level of understanding." His hand hovered over the beginnings of the Hexcore as if he could feel the power surging within it, and then he looked at Jayce, a question in his eyes.

Jayce nodded, his smile widening slightly. "It means," he said, his voice low from across the room, "that the three of us have created something incredible together."

Viktor leaned closer to you and pointed at the matrix. "As I said, the mistake is here," he murmured, his finger landing precisely on the errant symbol. His proximity was intoxicating, and his confidence in his own abilities even more so. You nodded, trying to focus on the task at hand, but your mind kept wandering.

"Tell me, what is wrong with this calculation? " His accent was heavy, and his speech was softer due to his proximity. Your heart raced as you swallowed hard. "It seems like there's a misplaced coefficient," you managed to reply, your voice a mere whisper. "It's affecting the output power of the device."

He nodded, his gaze flickering over to Jayce before returning to you. "Very good, Y/N," he said, his voice a warm caress. His hand slid gently down your side, his fingertips barely grazing your skin. It was a simple gesture, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you. He stepped back, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Jayce," he called out, his voice now a command. "I must admit, Y/N has proven to be quite the asset. Her insights and diligence have not gone unnoticed."

Jayce paused in his work, looking over with a grin that was both proud and mischievous. "Yeah," he said, his eyes sparkling, "she's a natural. Who knew she had such a knack for this stuff?".

Viktor's smile grew, a hint of pride in his voice. "Indeed," he said, his eyes lingering on you. "I believe she deserves some… recognition for her efforts."

Your heart thundered in your chest as the implication of his words sank in. This wasn't just professional praise; it almost seemed like something more. You watched as Jayce's grin grew into a knowing smile, his eyes flicking between you and Viktor, and back down again. Collecting his work.

Viktor's hand reached out again, his metal-tipped fingers brushing against your bare arm, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "You have a keen eye for detail, Y/N," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "It's been invaluable in our work."

His eyes searched yours, and you felt the intensity of his gaze. The praise was a warm balm to your soul, a gentle reminder that you belonged here, in this lab, with these two brilliant minds.

"Thank you, Sir," you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady as you felt the blush spread across your cheeks. His smile grew wider, there seemed to be a hint of something in his gaze.

It's soft, dark.

Jayce, ever the observant one, took a step closer. "You know, Viktor," he said, his voice casual but the glint in his eyes anything but, "I think Y/N is entitled to a bit more praise than that, " He winked at you, and you felt the heat in your cheeks rise even higher.

Your mouth opened and closed as you tried to formulate a coherent response, but all that came out was a nervous giggle. "I…I just want to do a good job," you stuttered, trying to shrug off the sudden attention. "It's nothing special."

Viktor's gaze sharpened his grip on the calibration matrix tightening. "Is that all you wish for, Y/N?" he asked his accent now giving his voice a deep, velvety purr. "To simply…do your job?"

You looked up at him, the amber of his eyes piercing through the haze of your hectic mind. "N-no," you managed to reply, your voice trembling. "But I don't want to distract you from your work."

He stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against yours. "You are not a distraction," he said, his voice firm. "You are an essential component of our work. Without you, we would not be where we are." His hand reached out, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

Frozen.

He gives you a moment to pull away.

Thoughts going a million miles a minute.

Softly leaning into his touch, you felt a shiver run down your spine. His eyes searched yours, looking for confirmation, for consent. You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. Viktor's expression softened, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"If this is something you wish to explore," he began, his voice low, His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of hesitation. You swallowed, your heart racing.

Jayce stepped closer, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Only if you're comfortable, Y/N," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "And if you're up for it, we're more than willing to give you what you need."

You took a deep breath, your body trembling with anticipation. The air between the three of you was charged with an unspoken understanding. "I…I want to," you murmured, the words barely escaping your lips..

Viktor's smile grew, his eyes lighting up. He stepped closer, his cane clicking sharply against the floor. "Excellent," he said, leaning down, capturing your mouth in a kiss, both gentle and possessive.

His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer to him. The metal of his cane dug into your side, but you didn't care. You were lost in the sensation of his lips on yours, the taste of him, the feel of his body against yours.

Jayce watched for a moment before moving in, his hands reaching up to cup your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw. "Viktor's right," he murmured against your ear. "You're not just a distraction, you're a muse." He kissed you, his lips a stark contrast to Viktor's, insistent and demanding. You moaned, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer.

As your kisses grew more passionate, you felt a thrill at the thought of being watched by the two of them, of being the center of their attention. Viktor stepped back, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of you with Jayce. He nodded, a silent command, and Jayce's hands began to wander, slipping beneath your shirt to caress your breasts.

"Jayce," you whispered, breaking the kiss. "I…I want to watch you too."

Jayce chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "As you wish," he murmured, his hands moving to the fastenings of his clothes.

He stripped away his shirt, revealing the defined muscles of his chest. His eyes never left yours as he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor. You watched, transfixed, as he took his cock in hand, stroking it slowly.

Viktor's gaze was intense as he watched Jayce, his desire clear. He reached out, his metal-tipped fingers tracing a line down Jayce's chest before wrapping around his erection. Jayce gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as Viktor began to stroke him in time with the rhythm of his movements.

"Now, my dear Y/N," Viktor said, his voice deep, he kissed Jayce, dominating the kiss with authority. "Let us see what awaits you, love."

He nods to Jayce, allowing him to pleasure himself freely before turning to you, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Strip, please" he ordered, his voice a low, velvety command that sent a shiver down your spine.

You complied, your trembling fingers undoing the buttons of your shirt, your eyes never leaving his. You felt Jayce's gaze on you, his eyes dark with desire as you revealed your body to them.

You stepped out of your shoes, your heart racing as you slid your pants down your legs, leaving you in only your underwear. Viktor's gaze was unyielding, his cane tapping impatiently against the floor as you stood before them, vulnerable and exposed.

"Everything, love" he murmured, his eyes raking over your form.

You took a deep breath, feeling the fabric of your bra and panties hugging your body. The set was black, the bra cups pushing your large breasts up. The panties were sheer, leaving little to the imagination, the lace tracing the contours of your ass cheeks. With trembling hands, you reached behind your back to unclasp your bra.

The act of undressing in front of them was a new experience, filled with a thrilling mix of excitement and vulnerability. You could feel their eyes on you, hungrily taking in every inch of your exposed skin, and it took all your resolve to keep your gaze from dropping to the floor. Instead, you focused on their faces: Jayce wore an expression of eager anticipation, while Viktor's demeanor was one of intense concentration.

Your breasts spilled free, the cool air of the lab causing your nipples to pebble under their heated gazes. The feeling of exposure was exhilarating, a thrill that sent your pulse racing and a blush creeping up your neck.

You couldn't find the words to express the emotions that bubbled within you, a potent mix of shyness and desire. You felt their eyes on you, Jayce's with a glint of mischief and Viktor's with a more intense, possessive hunger.

"Very good," Viktor murmured, stopping before you continued to your underwear, his eyes taking in every inch of your exposed flesh. He stepped closer, his cane tapping with each step. "Jayce, I believe it is time for us to show our appreciation."

Jayce grinned, his hand still moving leisurely up and down his length. "With pleasure," he said, stepping closer to you. His eyes never left your breasts as he leaned in, his tongue flicking out to tease one of your nipples. You gasped, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.

Viktor reached out, his hand sliding down your spine to cup your ass. His grip was firm, almost possessive. "You are exquisite, love," he said, his voice a soft growl. "So very beautiful." His thumb slid beneath the waistband of your panties, teasing the sensitive skin. You squirmed, the anticipation of his touch making you wet.

As he felt the dampness, his eyes lit up with a predatory glint. "Ah," he said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "You are quite eager for us." He turned to Jayce, his smile wide and triumphant. "It seems our little assistant is more than prepared for what we have planned."

Jayce chuckled, his eyes never leaving your exposed body. "Always eager to please, aren't you?" He leaned in, his mouth closing over your other nipple as he pinched the first, rolling it gently between his thumb and forefinger. The dual sensation was almost too much, your knees threatening to buckle.

Viktor's hand slipped into your panties, his fingers sliding through your folds to find your clit. He began to rub it with slow, deliberate strokes, his thumb pressing down firmly as he watched the pleasure build in your eyes. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So beautiful."

You moaned, your body responding to their touch, their dominance. Jayce's mouth left your breast, kissing a trail down to your navel, his tongue swirling around it before dipping lower, teasing the fabric of your panties.

With surprising gentleness, Jayce hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, his eyes holding yours. His touch was feather-light, but the promise of what was to come was anything but. He peeled them down slowly, inch by inch, before allowing you to step out of the wet pool of fabric.

Viktor's hand tightened around your waist, his voice a soft command in your ear. "Let's move this elsewhere, sweets," he said, his words a gentle rumble that sent shivers down your spine. He led you to the couch in the corner of the lab, the same couch where you had spent countless hours discussing theories and crunching numbers. But now, it felt different. It was a stage set for a different kind of exploration.

As you sat down, the plush fabric of the couch enveloped you. Viktor positioned himself in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours. "It is not proper to keep a lady standing," he murmured a hint of amusement in his voice. The couch was a stark contrast to the cold metal and gleaming technology that surrounded them, offering a semblance of intimacy in the harsh, brightly lit room.

Viktor knelt before you, his eyes never leaving yours. He placed his cane aside, his hands sliding up your legs.

"Are you certain, Y/N?" he asked, his voice thick with need. You could see the desire in his eyes, the way his pupils had dilated. You nodded, your cheeks aflame.

"I am,"

You whispered, the heat of your words hanging in the air as you stared into Viktor's eyes. The intensity of his gaze made your knees wobble, but you held firm, the need to feel his touch again overwhelming any shred of doubt.

Viktor's smile grew, a predatory light sparkling in his eyes. "Good," he said, his voice a velvet caress. He leaned in, his breath warm against your cheek. "You will not regret this decision, my sweet."

He slid his fingers through your folds, his touch gentle but insistent. You gasped as he found your clit, his thumb circling it with a precision that spoke of his mastery. His fingers slid lower, slipping inside you with ease. He began to move them in a slow, deliberate rhythm, the sound of your wetness mingling with the low, guttural noises that escaped your throat.

He watched you with a focused intensity, his eyes hooded and dark with desire. Every stroke was calculated, every touch designed to push you closer to the edge. Each thrust of his fingers was punctuated with a twirl of his thumb against your clit, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

Jayce's mouth found your neck, his teeth nipping gently as he sucked and licked. You arched your back, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge.

"Please..," you moaned, your voice a plea.

Viktor's smile grew darker, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. He knew you were close, but he wasn't quite ready to let you fall. "Beg for it," he said, his voice a low command that sent another shiver down your spine.

You nodded, your breaths coming in short gasps. "P-please, Sir," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I need… I need more."

Viktor's eyes lit up with fierce joy at your words, the power dynamic between you two now crystal clear. "More?" he questioned, his fingers moving faster, his thumb pressing harder against your swollen bud. "You wish to be pleasured more?"

"Yes," you whimpered, your hips bucking against his hand. "I need… I need you to… please don't stop."

He chuckled a dark sound that sent a thrill through you. "As you wish," he murmured, "But you must be more specific, my dear. Tell me exactly what you want."

You looked up at him, your eyes glazed with lust. "Your mouth," you panted. "I want your mouth… there."

Viktor's smile grew wider, his teeth flashing white in the dim light of the lab. He leaned in, so close to where I needed him. I could almost cry… "You wish for me to taste you?"

You nodded frantically, your eyes closing. "Yes," you breathed. "Please, sir. Taste me."

With a groan, he obeyed, his mouth replacing his thumb. He licked and sucked at your clit, his tongue delving into your wetness with a hunger that left no doubt as to his enjoyment. The sensation was exquisite, and you couldn't hold back the cries that spilled from your lips. Each stroke of his tongue sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, your body tightening around his fingers.

Jayce, ever the attentive lover, took advantage of your distraction, his mouth moving from your neck to capture one of your nipples, once again. He bit down gently, the slight pain mixing with the pleasure from Viktor's ministrations. Your moans grew louder, filling the room with the sweet symphony of your desire.

This was unlike anything you had ever felt before. The combination of their expert hands, their knowing touches and kisses, was overwhelming. You had always craved this kind of connection, this kind of intimacy, but had never allowed yourself to indulge. Now, with the two most brilliant men you knew worshiping your body, you felt like you were floating on a cloud of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

Jayce's cock was hot and heavy in your hand, the veins pulsing with the beat of his heart. You leaned in, your breath hot against his skin. He watched you with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling with his ragged breaths. You licked the tip, tasting the salty precum, and he groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily.

Viktor watched with a hunger that matched your own, his own hand still working your clit with a precision that was both thrilling and terrifying. "Take him in, love," he whispered, his voice a soft command. "Show him how much you crave his attention."

You took Jayce's cock in your mouth, feeling him grow even harder. You sucked gently, your tongue swirling around the head, tasting the saltiness of his precum. His eyes widened and his grip on your hair tightened, a silent plea for more.

You obeyed, taking him deeper, feeling his cock hit the back of your throat. He groaned the sound melding with the wet sounds of your mouth working him.

Viktor watched, his eyes gleaming with approval. "Very good, love," he murmured, his own hand still working your clit with a maddening rhythm. "So eager to serve."

Jayce's whimpers grew louder, his hips thrusting slightly as he lost control. "Fuck, Y/N," he gasped, his voice strained with pleasure. "That's so good."

Viktor's eyes never left yours, his gaze intense, watching every flicker of pleasure that crossed your features. "Are you close, love?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate in your very soul.

You nodded, the tension in your body coiling tighter with every second. "Yes, please..," you gasped, your own pleasure building.

"Mm," Viktor murmured, his eyes darkening with desire. "Come for us, sweet girl." His words were a command, a promise, and a challenge all rolled into one.

Their combined efforts pushed you over the edge, and you shattered into a million pieces, your body convulsing as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. You cried out, your orgasm a symphony of pleasure that seemed to go on forever.

As the last tremors of your climax subsided, Viktor leaned back, his eyes filled with pride. "So beautiful," he murmured, his thumb still gently stroking your clit. "Such a Good Girl for us, love."

You panted, your cheeks flushed with the aftermath of your release.

Viktor sat back on his heels, watching you with a look of pure satisfaction. "You are exquisite, my dear," he murmured, his thumb still ghosting over your sensitive flesh. "Your responsiveness is… enchanting."

Jayce had moved to the edge of the couch, his hand moving faster now, his eyes glued to the sight of your body. "Vik," he gasped out, his voice tight with need. "I'm not gonna last much longer."

Viktor chuckled, a low, rich sound that seemed to resonate through the room. He leaned back, watching as Jayce's hand moved faster and faster, his eyes glazed with lust. "Always so eager, Jayce," he murmured, his own fingers sliding down to trace the crevice of your ass, teasing you gently. "But do not come yet."

Jayce groaned, his eyes flickering between you and Viktor. He knew he was close, but the desire to please was stronger. He slowed his pace, his hand tightening around his shaft as he fought for control. You watched him, your own desire mirroring his, the need to give him the same pleasure he had given you.

Viktor stood, his movements graceful despite the cane. He leaned in, his breath hot against your cheek. "Would you like to finish him, love?" he whispered, his voice a seductive invitation.

You nodded, eager to show your submission to both men. Jayce's eyes lit up with excitement, his grip on his cock faltering. Viktor's hand slipped away from your pussy, giving you room to move. You leaned over, taking Jayce in your mouth once again. You felt him quiver at the first touch of your tongue, his eyes rolling back in his head.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice strained. "Y/N, you're so…so good."

You took him deep, swirling your tongue around the head, feeling his cock pulse with every beat of his heart. Viktor's hand slid to the base of Jayce's shaft, his long fingers wrapping around him as he began to stroke in time with your movements. The room was filled with the sounds of wet sucking and skin on skin, the scent of arousal thick in the air.

Viktor's other hand reached out, tangling in your hair, guiding your movements. You could feel his dominance growing, his need to control the situation becoming more pronounced. You moaned around Jayce's cock, the sound vibrating through his shaft, making him groan even louder.

"Please, Sir," he breathed, his voice strained. "Can I… can I come?"

Viktor's eyes flicked to Jayce, his expression unreadable. With a regal nod, he said, "You may."

Jayce's breaths grew ragged, his hips bucking slightly as he approached the brink. "I'm…I'm gonna…"

Viktor's grip on your hair tightened. "Swallow," he ordered, his voice a dark, command.

Jayce's eyes rolled back in his head, his body tensing as he reached climax. You took his hot seed into your mouth, swallowing it eagerly. He groaned, his grip on your hair loosening as he slumped back against the couch, his chest heaving.

Viktor's gaze never left yours, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched the scene unfold. He leaned back, his gaze raking over your naked form with a possessive hunger.

"Your dedication to our work, and to us," he began, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through the very air, "has been nothing short of extraordinary." His hand reached out, stroking the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. "But now, it is my turn."

You nodded, your voice a mere whisper of agreement, the anticipation building within you like a coiled spring.

Viktor leaned back, his gaze never leaving yours. "Stay," he said, the command in his voice unmistakable. Jayce nodded, his eyes still glued to the two of you, his own need palpable.

Viktor turned his attention back to you softly smiling, his hand sliding down your body, tracing the curves of your waist and the dip of your hips before settling on your ass. His eyes roamed over you with the intensity of a scientist studying a rare specimen. "Your beauty is truly mesmerizing," he murmured, his voice a warm caress in the cool lab air.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, "Are you absolutely certain this is what you wish for?" His question was a final checkpoint, a gentle reminder of the control you held in this moment of shared vulnerability. You nodded, your voice a breathless whisper of agreement.

"I want this, sir," you murmured, the words leaving your lips with a sense of urgency that seemed to echo in the quiet lab. Your heart was racing, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your orgasm. The anticipation was almost unbearable.

Viktor's eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he nodded, a look of determination crossing his features. "Very well, love," he said, his voice a gentle rumble.

Jayce watched with rapt attention, his own desire palpable. He leaned back, his hand still idly playing with himself, his eyes never leaving the two of you.

Viktor's hand slid down, his fingertips brushing against the slickness of your folds. He circled your entrance, teasing, before sliding two fingers inside you. You gasped, your body responding immediately to his touch.

You felt your walls tightening around him, your body begging for more. "Please," you gasped, your voice a needy plea. "I need… I need you to fuck me."

Viktor's eyes darkened at your words, his desire for you now impossible to hide. He withdrew his fingers, and for a moment, you felt a pang of loss. But it was quickly replaced by excitement as he stood, his own need now clear. He unbuckled his trousers, his cock springing free, long and hard. His cock that truly captured your attention. It was thick and long, a testament to his size despite his lean frame. The sight of him made your stomach clench with want.

"As you wish, my love," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "But I must ensure you are adequately prepared for me." He stepped closer, his hand stroking himself slowly, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Your body is so tight," he said, his voice a gentle rumble. "But fear not, I will prepare you." He reached for a jar of lubricant, his movements deliberate and precise. He smeared it on his fingers before sliding them back inside you, stretching and preparing you for what was to come. The sensation was both thrilling and a little intimidating, but you knew you could trust him.

With a wicked smile, he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "I am quite… substantial," he said, his voice sending shivers down your spine. "But I will take my time. I want to feel every inch of you, to hear every moan and gasp as I claim you."

Jayce's eyes grew darker, his own need mirroring the desire in your eyes. He watched as Viktor slid three fingers into you, his thumb pressing against your clit. The sound of your moan filled the room, mingling with the steady throb of the arcane machinery. Viktor's fingers moved in and out of you, his thumb working in a slow, deliberate rhythm that had you writhing on the couch.

"Look at me," he ordered his voice a gentle command that sent a fresh wave of heat through your body. You obeyed, meeting his gaze as he continued to prepare you for his possession. His eyes never left yours as he withdrew his fingers, the lubricant glistening on them. He reached down, guiding his cock to your entrance, the head of his shaft nudging at your slick folds. You held your breath, the anticipation unbearable.

With a single, powerful thrust, he claimed you, his cock filling you to the hilt. You gasped, your eyes widening at the sudden, delicious fullness. The pain was a sweet agony that made your toes curl.

Your moans filled the lab, mingling with the steady thrum of the machinery. Viktor's eyes never left yours, watching as your pupils dilated with pleasure. "So tight, my love," he murmured, his voice a deep growl of satisfaction.

He began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, steady rhythm that had you clutching at the couch cushions. Each stroke sent a new wave of pleasure through your body, your muscles clenching around him, urging him deeper. The room spun around you, the only anchor the feel of his cock stretching you, filling you completely.

Jayce watched with a raptor's intensity, his hand moving faster as he stroked himself. "Vik," he breathed, his eyes locked on the two of you. "Let me see more."

Viktor's smile grew, his strokes becoming more deliberate. He reached down, his thumb brushing over your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arched up, your nails digging into the couch, your moans growing louder.

"Sir, please," you begged, the words slipping from your lips like a mantra.

Viktor chuckled, the sound dark and thrilling. "Your desire is intoxicating," he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, his cock still buried deep within you and kissed you. It was a gentle, claiming kiss, one that seemed to reach down into the very core of your being.

The room around you faded away until there were only the two of you, locked in this dance of power and passion. You felt every inch of Viktor, his dominance enveloping you as surely as his cock filled you. His strokes grew faster, more demanding, and you could feel your orgasm building again, a sensation that seemed to coil tight in your belly.

Jayce's hand tightened in your hair, his other hand stroking his own cock as he watched. "So fucking hot," he murmured, the words barely audible over your moans. "Look at her, Vik. Look at how much she wants it."

Viktor's strokes grew more powerful, his hips slamming into you with an urgency that was both thrilling and overwhelming. You felt yourself slipping, losing yourself in the sensation, but Jayce was there, his hand on your cheek, turning your face to his. He kissed you, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you as you moaned around the sound of your own pleasure.

"I've got you," he whispered, his voice a soothing balm in the storm of sensation. "Just let go."

And you did. You let go, your body shattering around Viktor's cock, the sound of your climax echoing through the room. Viktor's eyes widened, his own release following swiftly behind, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he emptied himself.

As the aftershocks of your orgasms began to subside, the three of you lay tangled together on the couch, breathing heavily. Jayce's arms were wrapped around you both, holding you close as you both came down from the intense high of your shared pleasure. The room was still, save for the steady hum of the arcane machinery and the occasional clank of a loose gear.

Viktor was the first to break the silence, his voice a low rumble. "Your performance was… most satisfactory," he said, his hand stroking your back in a gentle, almost soothing manner. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of regret or discomfort.

You couldn't help but smile at his formal choice of words, feeling a warm glow spread through you. "Thank you, Sir," you murmured, the endearment feeling natural on your tongue. You turned your head to look at Jayce, who was smiling down at you with an affectionate glint in his eyes.

Jayce leaned in to kiss you softly, his hand stroking your cheek. "You two are amazing together," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "I can't wait to see what we can all do together."

Viktor pulled out of you gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He helped you sit up, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "Indeed," he said, his voice a low rumble. "Our bond has grown stronger tonight."

The three of you dressed slowly, the mood in the lab now one of contentment and satisfaction. You couldn't help but feel a sense of belonging, a feeling that you had found your place among these two brilliant minds.

As you put your clothes back on, you noticed the way they both watched you, their eyes filled with something more than just lust. It was a look of possession, of claiming, but also of care and affection.

Which is: moving.

Just a little. Barely-there rolls of your hips, slow and innocent. Rocking your body against him like you don't know what's beneath you. Like you dot feel the shape of him thick under his sweatpants. Like you don't feel the way it twitches when you drag yourself forward with a gentle grind. Joel's chest shifts under our cheek. You feel his body tense and then stay quiet. "You comfortable?" He mutters low, voice a little gravelled from the beer he had earlier. His fingers squeeze onc at your waist.

"Mhm," you hum.

"You sure?"

You pause. Smile against his shirt. "You're warm..

That makes him huff. But he doesn't move out. Dosent push you off, either..

So you keep going.

A slow grind here, a slight arch there. Your thin cotton shorts don't hide anything, and neither does the way Joel's thigh flexes under your ass when he starts to get hard. You sigh, soft and content, eyes still on the tv like you're not intentionally torturing him.

He growls.

"Don't do that."

You blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Do what?"

"Don't play dumb, darlin'."

You rock your hips again, slower this time, dragging your clothed pussy against the buldge under his sweats. A moan curls in your throat, too quiet for the screen to catch. "Just getting comfortable." Joel's grip on your waist tightwns. Then his hand slides down slow, firm, fingers slipping the hem of your shorts, tracing along your panties, barely brushing where you're already warm and soaked. "Christ," he mutters, jaw tight. "You're already wet." You smile. "I've been wet."

That does it.

Joel loves fast, both hands grabbing your hips,.lifting you enough so he can shove your shorts down to your knees and pull your panties aside with two fingers voice low and hard in your ear.

"You start shit like that on my lap, you better be ready to take what comes next."

Then he shifts beneath you, cock springing free from his sweats thick, hot, already leaking and lines himself up with your dripping slit without ceremony. The movie still plays. Some loud car chase scene in the background..the flicker of the tv lights your skin in flashes.

And Joel pushes in.

Slow.

Thick. Stretching you open like it's the first time.

You gasp, one hand flying to his shoulder, the other clutching his forearm where it wraps around your waist.. his breath is not at your neck as he graosn into your skin. "Fuck, baby. So tight already."

You tremble in his lap.

He bottoms out,.cock buried deep, still holding you in place with one arm locked around your stomach, not letting you move. "Feel that?" He breathes into your throat. "That's what you wanted?" You can only nod, mouth open, already desperate for more. But Joel stays still. "Not so smug now, huh?" He mutters. "Big girl when you're grindin' on daddy's lap, but now you're quiet."

You whimper. Clench around him. And that, makes him smile. His hand moves to your throat, fingers under your jaw, tilting your head back so you have no choice but to look at him.

"You gonna be good now?"

"Y-Yes, daddy."

"Then ride me slow," he growls.

"Nice and easy. Just like started."

You start to love, slow, uneven, grinding yourself down on his cock until the thighs tremble and your eyes roll back. He's thick inside you, heavy and so deep, the strech burning in the sweetest way. You clench around him with each little roll of your hips, breath coming in gasps. Joel groans into your neck, his voice gravvely and low. "That's it, baby. That's my girl." He palms your wasit, guiding you in lazy, dragging strokes,.not letting you move too fast. "Ride it nice," he breathes. "Make it messy."

You roll your hips in a tight, needy circle, moaning into the warm spice between his neck and shoulder. Your slick coats his cock, wet and stickey where he disappears inside you again and again.

"F-Fuck- joel-"

He pulls back slightly just to glare up at you, beard damp with sweat, jaw clenched tight.

"What'd you call me?"

"....Daddy," you whisper, breath catching.

He smirks. Satisfied.

"There she is."

Joel let's one hand slide up your spine, slow and warm, until it cups the back of your neck, holding you, grounding you. His other hand moves lower, down your chest, over your ribcage, until he's cupping your breast. He groans in his throat. "Fuckin' love these pretty tits." He brings his mouth to one, latching onto your nipple with a hot, slow suck. His tongue flicks against it before he sucks harder, groaning like you're the sweetest thing he's ever tasted.

You whimper, riding him slower now, grinding down and fewiing every inch of drag inside you. "Can't get enough of you," he growls. "God, look at this fuckin' body, drippin' for me." You moan when he nips at your breasts, just enough to make you cry out, just enough to make your walls flutter around him.

"You like that?" He mutters, licking back over the mark he left. "Like me suckin' on these pretty fuckin' tits while you ride daddy's cock?"

"Y-Yeah- yes- fuck, Joel-"

"Daddy," he growls again. "Don't make me tell you twice."

"Daddy," you sob, hips stuttering, thighs shaking.

He drops his head back to the couch, eyes on you now. Watching you fall apart. "Jesus," he groans. "Look at this. Look at you," your skin grows in the dim light of the tv. Breasts bouncing as you ride , cunt gripping him wet and tight. His cock is so deep inside toy, pressing against every sensitive spot. "You're so fuckin' pretty like this, babygirl." He whispers. "So fucked out already and I ain't even finished with you."

You gasp when his hands slides back to your hips, gripping hard, helping you move. Your rhythm falters, legs trembling. "Fuck- daddt- I'm close!"

He nods, jaw tight.

"Yeah I feel it. Pussy's squeezin' me so damn right. You're gonna come for me, huh?"

You nod, frantically, moaning loud now. "Say thank you," he grits, fucking up into you slow and hard. "Th-Thank you daddy- thank you for your cock-" Joel growls and grabs your ass, slamming you down on him once, twice, deep and you snap. You come with a cry, thighs shaking around him, your whole body clenching deep as he fucks you through it, still deep, still slow, grinding into your pulsing walls.

"Shit- fuck there you go- ride it out... Fuckin' good girl-"

You're gasping, drolling onto his shoulder and Joel grips you tighter. "Gonna fill you now," he rasps. "Gonna come so deep in this pussy you'll be leakin' all night." You moan for him, pussy still flattering, overstimulated and soaked.

"Do it, daddy... Please- want it- fill me..."

He groans, thrusting up hard. "Gonna fuckin' breed you," he pants, cock twitching, "gonna fill this tight little cunt with everytning I got-" and then he comes, deep inside you, thick and not, moaning into your mouth as his cock jerks, buried in your soaked stretched walls.

You both breath heavy against each other, unmoving, trembling, still connected. His come pooling inside you while the movie plays on like nothing happened.

Your breathing is still ragged when you.feel his arms wrap tighter around your waist, not letting you move, not letting you even try to lift yourself off of him. Joel's cock still rests deep inside you, softening now but thick and warm and still filling you with the last waves to his come.

Your thighs twitch.

"Stay there," he murmurs into your hair. "Don't fuckin' move."

You melt into his chest with a soft whimper, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, body buzzing from the after shocks. You can feel it, the slow drip of his seed inside you,.thick and warm and the way your body pulses around him clenching on instinct.

The movie's still playing in the background, but neither of you are paying attention anymore. He lets out a quiet breath then tilts your chin up with two fingers, you blink up at him,.and he looks at you like he's already regretting how rough he was, like he needs to see that you're okay.

"You alright, babygirl?"

You nod. Your lips apart, eyes half-lidded. "I'm good. Sore..."

Joel hums, brushing his lips against your jaw.

"I know I know. You were so good for me"

A soft kiss lands beneath your ear. Then one on your temple. Another over the bite mark on your neck from earlier. Gentle, apologetic. His hands start to roam again, this time slow, sweet. He cups your breast, thumb brushing lazily over your nipple, not with hunger now but reverence.

"Love these," he murmurs. "Could spend all night takin' care of "em,"

You laugh breathily, still trembling. "You did."

Joel grins and finally, slowly lifts you off of him. Both of of you jiss at the mess, the strech, the slick warmth leaking from between your thighs. His come trickles out of you in a slow, sticky line as you collapse onto your side beside him, legs weak.

"Jesus," he mutters, staring between your legs like it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. He's off the couch in a second, grabbing an old shirt from the basket of clean laundry and returning to kneel Infront of you.

"Open for me, sweetheart."

You part your thighs, dazed and loose and Joel gentle starts to wipe you clean. Careful, focused, like you're something precious.

"I made a mess of you," he says softly.

You.hum. "worth it."

He kisses your inner thigh before tugging your shorts back up your legs and then pulls you into his lap again, this time just to hold. Pressed against his chest, warm and clean and wrapped in his arms, you feel it. The protectiveness. The softness underneath the edge. Like now that the storm has passed, he's right there to hold you through the quiet.

Your saloon was the beating heart of this dusty little town you called home. It was where cowboys gambled, outlaws whispered their secrets, and weary travelers sought a stiff drink and a soft touch. But none of them had your attention the way Kate Bishop did.

Kate was trouble in the form of a cocky gunslinger, always riding in with that smug smirk, dusty boots propped up on your bar, and a cocky drawl that sent shivers straight through you. She wasn’t just any cowgirl—she was the best shot this side of the Mississippi, always swaggering in like she owned the place. Maybe she did. She sure as hell owned you, even if she hadn’t made a move...yet. You looked her over, eyes landing on her bulge. You'd heard some of the other girls talk about it in whispers. 

"You gonna pour me a drink, darlin’, or just keep starin’?" Kate’s voice was thick as honey and twice as sinful. 

You scowled, more at yourself, for getting caught looking at her. "You got a tab as long as the Mississippi, Bishop. Maybe you should pay up before expectin’ more whiskey."

Kate grinned, slow and knowing. "I can think of another way to settle my debt." She leaned forward on the counter, her calloused fingers just barely brushing yours.

That is how you found yourself straddling the gunslingers lap, your arms wrapped around her neck and her hands on your waist. The skirt of your dress covering Kate’s lap. Her eyes sparked as they looked down upon you. Even seated in her lap she was much larger than yourself. 

“Mmm I like this view of you sweetheart.” Kate was cocky but you can’t help but love it. She uses the grip she has on your hips to grind you down in her lap. She can feel the heat radiating from your core and you can feel her large bulge already painfully hard. 

You suppress the whimper that desperately wants to escape your lips. Instead you're able to lean forward and whisper in Kate’s ear. “I’ve heard it’s better to save a horse and ride a cowgirl.” You nibble at her ear and can hear the slightest hitch in her breathing. “Is that true?”  

That small falter that you noticed just moments ago gone within an instance. The grip Kate has on your hips tightens and a low growl rumbles in her chest. “Stand.” She commanded, leaving no room for argument not that you wanted to anyways. 

You slip out of Kate’s lap and stand in front of her. Your hands clasped in front of you. “Good girl.” Kate looks down to her lap and you follow her gaze. A visible wet spot had formed on her pants. A deep blush covers your cheeks at the realization. “Fuck darlin’ already so desperate for me and I haven’t even touched you.” 

“But you’re ha-” Kate tuts cutting off your protest. 

Kate removes her focus from you and begins to undo her pants. You watch as she pulls them down just far enough to free her cock. Your eyes widen when you see just how big she is. Sure you knew that she was well endowed but she is larger than you had expected. 

It’s like Kate can read your mind. “Don’t worry darlin’ I’ll make it fit.” She slowly strokes herself with a smirk playing on her lips. “Now I want you to be a good girl for me and remove those panties of yours. Then I want you to come back over here and ride my cock.” You can’t help but shutter at her words. “That’s what you wanted isn’t it?” You know that is more of a statement than a question but you nod anyway. “Aww what happened to the confident girl that was in my lap a few moments ago. What seeing my big cock get you all fuzzy brained there. Don’t worry sweetheart soon enough there won’t be any thoughts in that pretty little head of yours other than my cock fucking into you.” 

That whine from earlier slipping through your lips as you squirm. But you do as you're told. Removing your panties before moving over and straddling Kate’s lap again. Barely hovering over her cock. Kate pushes your dress up around your hips wanting to watch as you sink down on her. 

 You line yourself up with her cock and slowly start to sink down. A moan coming out of you, her hands on your hips pulling you down until she's bottomed out. Feeling her in the deepest parts of you, stretching you further than you thought possible, but in the best way possible.

Kate bites her lip, feeling your warm wet walls envelop her length. She so desperately wants to pound into you, but she doesn't want to hurt you. "Come on, sweetheart, move those pretty hips of yours. Fuck yourself on my cock.” God hearing her voice in a harsh tone makes your stomach flutter. 

You slowly move your hips, feeling her cock hit your spongy walls. Your body twitches with each roll as you grab onto her shoulders. "Ah...fuck...K-Kate...mmm" She held you against her, feeling her smirk widen.

"Feel good sweetheart? You were made for my cock, weren't you?" Kate asks and you nod another moan coming out of you.

"Fuck yes...yes…” Your mind is so fuzzy making it hard for you to form a coherent sentence. 

"Good darlin' cause you feel so fucking perfect wrapped around me." Kate’s grip tightens around your waist. "So fucking good." 

"Mmm fu-fuck." Your movements still slow as you're stretched to the max.mKate tries to hold off, tries to wait, but she's tightening her grip on you. Her hips starting to fuck up into you. A deep moan comes out of you at first until it turns into a series of "uh...ah...ah..uh uh". She hooks her hands under your thighs, standing up and bouncing you on her cock. Every thrust of hers pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

You grip at Kate's back, digging your nails into her shirt. Wrapping your legs securely around her waist as she continues to bounce you on her cock. Moans slipping past your lips as your head falls back. She can feel how your walls are pulsing around her length. "You gonna cum sweetheart? Make a fucking mess for me?" She growls. 

"Fuck yes..please...God I...yes yes" You manage out as Kate kisses over your shoulder and up your neck. 

Kate’s breath is hot by your ear. "Gonna let me breed you sweetheart? Want me to breed you full? Till it's dripping down your thighs?" She growls by your ear and you feel yourself on the brink of ecstasy. 

"Yes please please breed me. Need all of you in me. Need it so badly." You whine out. Your orgasm washes over you with a powerful thrust from Kate. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as your cum coats her cock. Your walls squeeze her that much more, setting her off. You feel as thick ropes of cum coat your walls. 

Kate doesn't slow even as you come down from your first orgasm. You really shouldn't be surprised at her stamina, but she has your head reeling. "Ka-Kate." You gasp.

Kate walks you over to a table and lays you on top. Stilling her hips for a moment as she looks down at you. "So fucking beautiful." You feel your face and chest flush as your breathing heavy and just as you start to come down Kate's moving again. Pressing your legs closer to your chest. It felt like she was hitting even deeper as you reached for her forearms, nails digging into her tough flesh.

As she thrust into you, your dress starts getting in her way. She desperately wants to see all of you. "Fuck this." She growls in frustration. Kate easily manhandles you the way she wants. Without even pulling out, she grips the top of your dress and starts ripping. Buttons start flying as she pulls the fabric apart, but she doesn't stop at the end of the buttons she easily rips all the way down. She lets the fabric hang to the sides, exposing your flushed skin to her. 

As your dress rips you want to be mad, but you're more turned on than anything else. Your back arching into Kate’s touch as her hands find your breasts. She kneads them thoroughly before pinching your nipples and pulling out them until moans were the only thing you were able to do

Kate starts to move her hips again. "You make such pretty noises for me darlin'." Soon enough she is pounding into you. "I think I'll keep you, sweetheart. Making you my breeding bitch. Maybe get you pregnant. Would you like that sweetheart? Be mine forever." 

The thought made your eyes roll back. The thoughts flashing before you of a little family and fuck it's all you wanted. "Yes! Yes! Wanna be your breeding bitch! Please will take all of it! Even if you get me pregnant, you can keep breeding more into me!" You moan and pant, looking up at her.

Kate groans, leaning down to kiss you harshly. You can't help but gasp into her mouth. "Mine." She growls against your lips. 

"You-yours." You moan out.

You whine when Kate stands back up, but that doesn't last long when her thrust speeds up. Her eyes rake over your body, stopping at your lower stomach. You lift your head to try and see what she does. 

What you see is with every thrust there is a large noticeable outline of her cock. You don't know how, but she looks even larger, and you feel fuller. A low moan slipping out. "F-.fuck..." You couldn't take your eyes off of the bulge until your head was falling backwards as you orgasmed rocked through you.

Kate presses down on the bulge with her hand. Your cum squirting out creating a mess on both of you. A loud moan erupts from Kate's throat as her hips stutter and she cums with you. Filling you up even more. Your hips roll instinctively  pushing upwards trying to keep what you can inside. You wanted to be bred. You need it. Needed her. Needed to feel that you were hers even after she'd left you.

You whine when Kate slowly pulls out. Feeling a lot emptier now. "Shhh." Kate shushes you softly. It's like she can read your mind as she picks you back up in her arms. You instinctively wrap around her but whine more when you feel as her cum leaks out of you. 

Kate kisses the side of your head, letting her lips linger there. "Shhh, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere. Let's get you cleaned up." 

"Not leaving?" You mumble as you nuzzle against her.

"Not at all darlin'. Since the moment I laid my eyes on you, I haven't wanted anyone else. I haven't looked at anyone else." Kate’s words are soft and has your heart swelling. 

Your POV:

I groaned as I tossed and turned in Percy’s bed desperately trying to find a comfortable position. It was the worst day of my period and the cramps were absolutely killing me.

“Do you want any pain meds?” Percy asked.

“I already took some.” I grumbled.

“Heating pad?”

“I already tried that, it wasn’t helping.” I sighed.

Percy was silent for a few moments then grinned.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing is funny, I just had an idea.”

“What’s your idea?” I asked desperate to try whatever crazy idea had him smirking if it meant relief.

“I read that orgasms help cramps.” Percy said wrapping his arms around me.

“Percy!” I exclaimed as I felt tinges of embarrassment in my cheeks.

“What?” Percy said as seductively as he could, “Don’t you want to fix your cramps?” He said kissing my neck.

My breath hitched and I nodded, “Yes, but Percy today is my heaviest day. It would be a huge mess.”

“I don’t care.” Percy said shrugging, “My apartment has a washer and a dryer for a reason and my sheets are navy blue.”

“Percy there’s going to be blood everywhere! On you, the bed, the—“

“If that’s the only reason you don’t want to, I don’t care. I’m a demigod in my twenties. I’ve been covered from head to toe in my own blood, a friend’s blood, monster blood, mystery blood, and worse things than blood. I’m inevitably going to be covered in blood again and I would much rather be covered in blood because I’m making you feel better than because I’m fighting for my life. It might make a mess but messes can be cleaned. I’ve become an expert in blood removal.” Percy said kissing me and pausing a few moments, “Besides, I think it would be kind of hot.”

“Hot? Percy Jackson what part of my uterus tearing itself to bits is hot?”

“The part where I know you’re more sensitive than usual so you’re going to be moaning my name… and how easy it will be to slip my cock into your cunt with how soaked you’re going to be.”

I nearly choked because I wasn’t expecting him to say that and he smirked at my reaction.

“What do you say sweet girl?” Percy said lightly tracing his fingers over my thighs, “Gonna let me fuck you hard enough to remind your body to be nice to you?”

“Y—yes.” I finally sighed.

Percy grinned and got rid of his clothes at the speed of light leaving only his boxers because he knew I liked pulling them off of him. He took his time teasing me though and removed everything slowly starting with my (his) shirt. I hadn’t put on a bra today and Percy ran his hands gently over my breasts testing the waters to make sure I wasn’t too sensitive. I was sensitive, but it was just the right amount. Instead of gasping in pain, my breath hitched with pleasure.

“Sore?” Percy asked cautiously, not trusting my body language alone.

“A little, but it feels good when you touch me.” I sighed.

“My poor girl.” Percy said using both hands to very gently massage my breasts, “Let me fix that.”

Not only did it alleviate some of the pain, but it was making me more and more desperate for him. If I wasn’t bleeding I’d probably be soaked anyway right now. Percy dipped his head down to place soft kisses on my chest. Usually he was one to mark me everywhere he could, but today he avoided that. He was being as gentle with my body as he could while still making me feel good. He grazed his teeth over one of my nipples and a soft moan escaped my lips. His lips were seemingly permanently attached to my nipple as he alternated between sucking and swirling his tongue around it. He then moved on to my other nipple and my hands wandered to his hair. I tugged and he groaned. The vibrations from his groan felt so good that I tugged his hair again eliciting yet another groan from him. I whimpered as he continued to suck, lick, and graze his teeth on my nipple just enough to work soft moans from my lips. I panted beneath him getting worked up much quicker than normal. Percy released my nipple from his mouth with a pop and smiled at me.

“Making such pretty noises.” Percy said kissing lower towards my stomach.

He kissed his way down to the waistband of my sleep shorts where he slowly pulled them down my legs. I suddenly became very conscious of the fact that I had never had sex on my period before and I became incredibly embarrassed and closed my legs.

“Hey, none of that sweet girl.” Percy said nudging my legs apart and kissing my legs as he got closer and closer to where I needed him most.

I was torn between the deep need for him and the embarrassment I felt. The need won though because Percy between my legs could only be negated by very few circumstances.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Percy said noticing the lingering look on my face, “You’re going to look so pretty cumming under me.”

Percy pulled my underwear down I felt my cheeks heat up even more when he quickly discarded them and my period product with them.

“Hey look at me,” Percy said cupping my face in his hand, “I love you, all of you… but I’m feeling a tad overdressed.” He laughed.

I realized he was talking about his boxers and I pulled them down revealing just how much he wanted this too. His tip leaked precum and I bit my lip just thinking about him filling me up. Between the cramps and the deep desire for him, my cunt ached and I was becoming less and less worried about the blood and more concerned about Percy fixing the ache between my thighs.

“Are you ready?” Percy asked.

“Yes.” I said quietly.

Percy took my chin in his hand and tilted my face up to meet his gaze, “You’re going to watch me fuck you.” Percy said firmly.

I quickly nodded and Percy started to push his tip through my folds. I gasped and immediately tangled my fingers into his hair. I wrapped my legs around his waist and moaned loudly as he pushed himself farther and farther inside. He stopped when his hips met mine and kissed me as I adjusted to his length.

“Ready?” He asked after a while.

“Yes.” I said nodding quickly.

Percy began slowly moving his hips and my nerves felt like they were on fire. He had barely even done anything and the pleasure was already intoxicating. I whimpered as he rolled his hips deeper and deeper into mine.

“That’s it, let me hear you.” Percy grunted as his cock dragged my walls.

As Percy’s speed picked up, sounds of squelching and skin slapping filled the room. If pleasure wasn’t replacing my aching cramps, I may be embarrassed by the sounds and the feeling of blood dripping between my thighs.

“Oh, fuck, we have got to do this more often you’re soaked and you’re gonna make me cum squeezing me like this and making such pretty noises.” Percy groaned.

My eyes rolled to the back of my head and when it finally hit me that not only was Percy not disgusted or uncomfortable, but he was enjoying it, I let myself enjoy it too. My orgasm was building quickly and the knot in my stomach thankfully replaced the cramps.

“Percy, harder!” I pleaded, desperate for more.

“There’s my girl!” Percy said panting as he picked up his pace, “Let me make you feel good, yeah?”

“Mhmm.” I moaned, clawing desperately at his back that was probably going to have puffy red marks soon enough.

Percy didn’t seem to mind and moaned softly as he snapped his hips into mine repeatedly. He was propped up above me and the way he looked had my cunt clenching around him. His hair was wild in areas but stuck to the sweat on his forehead in others. Sweat glistened all over his body accentuating his perfectly toned muscles from years of quests and training. A few tattoos and scars were spread across his skin telling his story poetically. While my eyes were busy appreciating every inch of Percy’s body, his were locked on me.

“You’re so beautiful.” Percy practically sobbed as his thrusts got sloppier.

“I’m close.” I managed to choke out between high pitched moans.

Not even a moment later I came undone screaming his name so loudly that I was sure all of Olympus could hear. Pleasure more intense than anything I had felt since the first time Percy fucked me this hard washed over my body in electrifying waves. Percy wasn’t far behind me and only stopped grinding his hips into mine when both of us came down from our aftershocks.

“No matter what you say, that was fucking hot.” Percy said kissing me, “You’re fucking hot, gods, I swear I might cum again if I even think about how you just looked under me.”

Percy slowly pulled out trying not to hurt me and I cringed as I felt a gush of liquid between my thighs. Blood and cum leaked from my cunt onto his sheets and Percy frowned at me.

“Hey, none of that. It’s normal. If you can grin at me while you swallow my cum, I can live through getting a little bit of blood on my cock.”

“A little bit? Percy your bed is practically a crime scene.”

“Yeah, because it should be a crime to make me cum that hard so quickly.” Percy said grinning from ear to ear.

I was caught completely off guard by his cheesy comment, but I shouldn’t have because that was just who Percy was.

Percy took my silence to his advantage and said, “Really, Y/n, I think it’s hot. I know you let yourself enjoy it there for a while, so let me worry about the mess and you just worry about how you feel.”

I thought about it before nodding. He was right, I had for a while there forgotten to feel embarrassed and it felt amazing. I also knew when Percy was lying and this wasn’t a lie. Percy had seen me at my worst and most vulnerable so I guess it was silly to think that something like my period would in any way bother him.

“I guess you’re right. You held my hair back while I threw up and cleaned that infected monster scratch on my back and didn’t complain.” I laughed.

“And I would do anything for you… except make pancakes a color other than blue, that’s too far.” Percy chuckled, “But really, I wasn’t just doing that to make you feel better, I wanted it. I was serious, that was really hot. I barely had to touch you to get noises out of you that made me crazy for you. I love hearing and seeing you fall apart and that’s what you did. Blood can be cleaned and it’s worth it to see and hear you like that. Now let’s get you a hot bath to ease your muscles.” Percy said carrying me to the bathroom.

He drew a bath and I slipped in but he didn’t follow even though he was now also soaked in blood and cum.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’ll be back in a minute, I’m going to replace the sheets so you can get back in bed after the bath.” Percy said.

A few minutes later he came back and slipped into the bath behind me. He instantly relaxed when the water hit his body and he pulled me close to him. I gasped when I felt how hard he was against my back.

“Already?” I laughed.

“I told you I thoroughly enjoyed myself.” Percy laughed.

Now that I didn’t really mind period sex and we were in the bath where I knew Percy had more power from the water, I turned around to face him grinning.

“Guess we’ll have to fix that, won’t we?” I said putting my hands on his shoulders.

Percy’s eyes got dark again and he grinned, “I like this side of you.”

I just smiled as I sunk down on his cock.

“Oh fuck.” I moaned as his tip prodded parts of me it definitely had before just with more sensations, “Feels so good.”

I quickly began moving giving Percy no time to register that he was even fully sheathed inside of me before I was moving up and down on his cock as fast as I could. I was incredibly horny from the hormones and had held myself back with embarrassment before and regretted it, so I was milking his cock for whatever it would give me now. I whimpered as I slammed myself back into his lap over and over and Percy’s head lolled back while his fingers gripped my hips.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Percy groaned, “that’s it, use my cock honey.” He said bucking his hips to meet my movements.

The noises we made were downright sinful as my legs burned. The second I began to slow down Percy compensated by slamming his hips into mine even harder. The water sloshing around us only fueled him more. A string of incoherent curses and moans escaped my lips but were distorted from being bounced about on Percy’s cock.

“Please!” I shouted unsure of what I was even pleading for.

“Please what?” Percy grunted as he relentlessly fucked me without so much as taking a moment’s break.

I only managed to moan pathetically in response and Percy smirked cockily.

“Oh honey, so drunk on my cock you can’t talk? You want even more?”

I nodded quickly and dug my nails into his flexed biceps.

“I’ll always give you whatever you want, even if it’s more of my cock you’re such a slut for.” Percy growled.

I hadn’t even been sure of what I was pleading for so when he told me he’d give me more, I had no idea it was physically possible to fuck me any harder. Percy had an innate way of proving people wrong though and the way he fucked me made me certain that I had either died and gone to Elysium during my last orgasm and this was just paradise, or Percy was just secretly a god of sex putting the likes of Eros and Aphrodite to shame. Either way, I wasn’t going to be walking whether I was dead or alive.

“I felt your cunt squeeze me, you like that?” Percy asked, not even panting as the water gave him more and more power.

“Y—ye—yes.” I stammered, barely even capable of a simple three letter word.

“Are you going to cum all over my cock sweet girl?” He asked kissing my neck feverishly.

I couldn’t even respond to him because of the way his tip was crashing into my cervix. Where he was gentle and treated me like porcelain earlier, now he was rough and determined to crush any hint of a cramp with his cock. I just nodded and he kept going. Soon my second orgasm hit and Percy didn’t stop until we were both completely overstimulated and collapsed against each other, relishing in the warm bath water.

“How are your cramps?” Percy finally asked huskily.

“What cramps?” I laughed, “I think you found a cure.”