nanami's gf

It’s Super Bowl Sunday and the Dallas Cowboys somehow actually made it. They’re playing against the 49ers this year.

The week is already a blur of rehearsals, interviews, appearances, and obligations. But as a proud member of America’s Sweethearts, this is what you’ve been waiting for.

Every performance as one of the Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders is met with scrutiny. Every kick, every smile, every misplaced step is picked apart by someone. Meanwhile, players are constantly practicing, conditioning, and sizing each other up.

It’s exhausting.

But it beats being in the ER, you supposed. At least here no one is actively dying.

Four years ago, all of this would’ve terrified you. The cameras. The attention. The pressure of knowing that a mistake could potentially kick you off the team.

Now, it’s just part of the job.

You’re one of the squad’s popular veterans. The one that rookies often seek out when they’re nervous before a performance or just overwhelmed of being a cheerleader for such an elite group.

You know the routines down to a T. You know the harsh expectations. You know how to smile through the pressure. You’ve learned to handle it all.

You’ve grown accustomed to the attention. Fans adore your personality. Sponsors love your professionalism. Players, unfortunately, still mistake your friendliness for interest.

Some try to impress you. Some flirt. Others come up with ridiculous excuses just to strike up a conversation with you.

Most of the time, it’s harmless.

Most of the time, you can handle it.

Most of the time, it isn’t wanted.

Mostly because they aren’t Brendon Park.

He’s staring at you. You know he is because you can feel it. You don’t have to look to confirm it. You never do. You hadn’t needed to for years.

It’s almost embarrassing how good you’ve become to sensing Brendon. No matter where you were, you always know when he’s there—even when you don’t want to.

It also doesn’t help that you instinctively scan every room that you walk into, looking for him.

Every event. Every stadium. Every room.

Some part of you refuses to settle until you’ve found him.

Every year for the past four years, without fail, he finds you. It starts the same way.

He’ll flash that stupid, cocky smirk. He’ll flirt. A look that lingers a second too long. He’ll say something that should make you roll your eyes but instead makes your heart flutter. He’ll look at you like you’re the only person in the room.

And despite it all, despite knowing better, and despite knowing how the story ends every single time — you’ll let yourself believe it. You’ll indulge in it.

Then the season ends and people forget that the Super Bowl ever even happened—like those two weeks of intensity, chaos, and whatever the hell happened between the both of you was just a blur that never really existed.

Then he’ll go back to San Francisco. Back to med school. You’ll go back home in Houston. Back to working your grueling twelve-hour shifts at a level 1 trauma center.

And just like that, you’ll both go back to pretending nothing ever happened.

At least until the football season picks up again. Like clock work.

Your lives just felt like they were running parallel without ever meeting in the middle. Dating felt impossible despite how often your worlds collided. Because no matter how hard you both tried, there was always something standing between you.

A game. Flights. Training camp. Auditions. NFL obligations. DCCs obligations. Clinicals. Commitments neither of you could just walk away from.

Just life really.

The cruel part was that you were exes, but nothing about you both ever really behaved like it.

You still talked. Still called each other when something good happened.

It wasn’t a relationship anymore—not officially. But it wasn’t nothing either. Because you knew where he was and what he was doing half of the time. And he still knew the same things about you.

If you went on to a coffee shop with a male friend, he’d know.

If he was seen with a model, you’d know.

Neither of you ever had to directly ask. The news always somehow made its way to the both of you.

A photo. A comment. A fan interaction. TMZ lately. Or a teammate mentioning it in passing like it was nothing.

But it would mean something.

And the reaction was never loud or dramatic on either side. Just a text that came in too quickly, or a long phone call in the middle of the night. Controlled, casual tones like it didn’t bother either of you. But the questions usually have it away.

Careful ones. Too specific.

Who it was. How long was it going on for. Whether it was serious. Whether you were happy. Whether he liked her more than he ever liked you. Whether your dates was smarter. Funnier. Better than him.

Neither of you called it jealousy. But that’s exactly what it was. And you both knew it.

“It’s America’s Sweethearts— The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders!”

The announcer’s voice boomed loudly throughout the stadium. The crowds erupted into loud, screaming cheers and applause.

And just like that, the memories and the thoughts disappeared. Training takes over. Instinct takes over. are running to the field with the right precision and correct spots.

You and the rest of the squad skip onto the field, each of you moving with practiced precision as you find your places. You smile is already in place. It’s polished, sunny, and effortless. The same smile you’ve perfected over the years as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader. The one fans adore. The one that cameras love. Your girls fall into formation around you, pompoms in hand and sporting similar smiles.

For the next few minutes, nothing mattered. Not the cameras. Not the pressure. And certainly not Brendon Park. Whatever existed between the two of you could wait.

Right now, you had a job to do.

The first note of “Thunderstruck” blasts through the stadium speakers. Your smile widens. The crowd roars.

And the show begins.

It’s exhilarating.

Everything that you’ve worked towards. Every rehearsal. Every late night practices. Every sore muscle and blister feels all worth it beneath the stadium lights.

The stars on your uniform glitter as you and the rest of the squad hit the final jump split in perfect unison. The crowd erupts loudly.

You’re smiling more genuinely though your chest rises and falls a little faster now. Years of performing have taught you how to look effortless even when you’re painfully exhausted. Your makeup is flawless. There isn’t a strand of hair out of place either.

As soon as the final note of Thunderstruck ends, the squad is already moving.

You spring back to your feet, blue and white Pom-poms in hand, jogging off the field alongside the other cheerleaders.

The roar of the stadium follows you. Fans wave from the stands. Some are screaming your name. Others hold up signs and take pictures of you, hoping to catch your attention.

You make sure they do. A bright smile. A lot of waving. The occasional kisses being blown to the stand. And squeezing the hand of a little girl wearing a miniature, matching uniform.

“Good job, ladies!” One of your coaches said.

A few of the rookies immediately launched into excited chatter, hugging and clinging onto each other. Still riding the high of performing in front of a packed stadium.

An artist begins singing in the meantime. Brendon is positioned on the other side of the field, stretching and occasionally looking back at you.

“Well, if it isn’t America’s favorite sweetheart.”

You make a face to your teammates and let out a groan before you turned around. A few of them immediately start snickering.

“Don’t.” You hissed.

“I’m not saying anything!” One of them defended, far too innocent to be believed.

You turn back with an eye roll before forcing a polite, smile on your face.

Chris Jones, a newer Dallas Cowboys running back and a pain in your ass, is standing there with an annoyingly confident grin. He’s incredibly bold. Despite the cameras, audience, coaches, and the very strict rules against fraternization with cheerleaders, here he was. Openly flirting with you.

“Hi, Chris.”

“Hi, sweetheart.” Chris smirked. “Just wanted to say you did a great job out there. All of you.”

“Thanks,” You said, then paused. “But— please stop calling me that.”

“Why?” He asked innocently. “It fits.”

“It really doesn’t.”

“Well,” He leaned in slightly, grin widening. “it does if you’re my favorite sweetheart.”

Behind you, a few of your cheerleaders start giggling. One of the rookies let out a small “awww,” while a veteran rolled her eyes so hard you could practically hear it.

You kept your smile in place, but it felt strained now It sounded so rehearsed.

“Did you practice that in the mirror this morning?” You laughed.

Chris grinned, completely unaware of the fact that you weren’t interested. Mistaking your politeness for interest.

“Maybe,” He winked. “Is it working?”

You didn’t like him that and in no way were you fawning over him. You were being polite, professional. But Chris liked you. Not really in a looking-for-something-serious way. Just in a he’s trying his luck with a well known cheerleader kind of way.

“Definitely not.”

He’s watching you like maybe you’ll give him more than your usual politeness. But you don’t. He just grins, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Well, it was definitely worth the try.” He laughed.

“Right…” You coughed. “Uhm, well— Thanks? Anyways, i’m just gonna—”

You gestured vaguely towards your teammates.

“Can’t be seen fraternizing with you, you know? We’ll both get in trouble.”

Chris chuckled like you said a funny joke. He ran a hand through his blonde hair.

“If it’s with you,” He smirked. “It’s definitely worth the trouble.”

A couple of your teammates react behind you—gasping, giggling, rolling their eyes, and whispering like they’re watching something unfold in real time. Your smile thins, your patience running out.

“Okay,” You take a step back, huffing. “Goodbye, Chris.”

He just grinned at you and nodded at the rest of the girls before jogging back to the field.

Across the field, Brendon doesn’t know what the conversation entailed. But he saw the entire interaction.

The newer running back of the team he’s playing against, one whose name he hasn’t bothered learning. Mediocre stats. Mediocre player. Easily replaceable.

He just knew he was arrogant with the way he was bold enough to talk to you in the middle of a stadium. To openly flirt with you.

He didn’t need to hear the conversation to know the running back was flirting with you. Your posture stayed relaxed, your expression composed beneath that sweet smile you wore whenever you were being nice. Around you, your teammates watched with barely concealed amusement, treating the whole thing as entertainment.

He hated how long the conversation lasted. Longer than it needed to. Longer than he would’ve liked. He hated that you even entertained it at all.

More than that, he hated the smile on your face. The one reserved for sponsors, fans, interviews, and apparently cocky rookie running backs now.

He hated that you were even bothering to smile at him. Peering up at him with those pretty eyes that he’s memorized for years—the same ones he loved.

It genuinely pissed him off that some no-name running back had the audacity to flirt with you in the middle of a football field—in front of thousands of fans, dozens of cameras, and Brendon himself.

It bothered him that the younger man hadn’t cared about that there were clear rules that should be preventing this interaction in the first place. Didn’t even care how inappropriate it was to corner you on the sidelines before kickoff.

Worst of all, he was looking at you for too long. His eyes lingered over the tiny DCC uniform, openly appreciating what every other man in the stadium was already looking at.

Brendon’s jaw clenched, the vein on his neck and forehead visibly popped. He shifted slightly where he stood on the other side of the field, helmet tucked under his arm. His teammate patted him on the back, motioning towards the huddle. He breathed in harshly before he adjusts his hold on the helmet.

He gives one look to the clueless running back and resets. Normal, focused, and locked in. Whatever was going through his head, disappeared. It didn’t matter right now.

He’ll do something about it eventually.

The game started shortly after that.

Truthfully, you aren’t paying attention to it. You’re watching the clock more than the scoreboard. You’re keeping track of when the squad needs to go back on the field and what quarter you’re in.

Then you started noticing something.

Chris was having an awful game. That was lightly putting it, really. He’s getting absolutely bullied—shitted on. Every single time he touched the ball, someone is there. A linebacker is on him.

The wide receiver closes in before he can find space. The second he’s about to pass the ball, two defenders seem to come out of nowhere and dog pile him.

It’s relentless. Almost targeted. You almost feel bad for him. It’s terrible just watching the bloodbath being committed against him.

It happens over and over again to the point where you’re eyeing Brendon wearily.

You watched as Chris gets tackled again when his quarterback sends the ball in his direction.

Then again. Then one more time.

It’s almost pitiful seeing how his confidence was dwindling down. The Cowboys aren’t sure what to do with him. The coaches are tense and some are shouting at the team from across the field.

The 49ers are playing brutally. Resembling sharks going for the kill at the slightest scent of blood. And somehow, every time he gets absolutely shredded, Brendon seemed to always be near the crime.

He’d be calling adjustments. Pointing things out. Changing formations immediately.

The announcers praise his leadership skills. But you know him well enough to not be suspicious.

Then it happens. Chris was able to break free for the first time in the entire game. You watched in anticipation as Chris is heading towards the goal with the football. The stadium erupts as he sprints down the field with nothing but green ahead of him. You can hear fans, coaches, and your teammates standing on their tippy-toes as they hold in their breaths. They’re cheering for him. They’re hopeful for a score.

Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten. He’s actually going to score, finally.

Then out of nowhere—

Brendon appeared. You don’t even know how he even got there. One second ago, he was across the field. The next he’s launching himself at Chris. The collision is violent that it has you wincing and the entire stadium gasping. Chris goes down hard. The ball then slips out of his hand and onto the grass.

The crowd goes absolutely insane, losing their minds. Because quarterbacks rarely ever go for a tackle and Brendon— Well, he did just that. It’s deafening.

For a moment, all you can do is stare. Brendon is already on his feet like nothing. Like he didn’t just violently slam that poor man down onto the floor. Players are swarming him, smacking his helmet and cheering loudly. They’re celebrating and hugging each other.

And before they could fully surround him, he takes off his helmet. He shifted his gaze to the barely conscious running back straight to you.

Your stomach drops.

Because of the look on his face— he’s smiling. Not a big one. Not even a particularly nice one. It’s smug, pleased even. That small, infuriating smug smile you’ve known and recognized for seven years. The one that knows something you don’t. The one that’s insufferable because he did something he shouldn’t have.

You narrowed your eyes immediately.

His smile widens, just very slightly. Like he’s pleased with himself. Then he shoved his helmet back on and turns away. Leaving a barely conscious Chris flat on the ground while medics and teammates helped him up.

Beside you, one of your veteran teammates whistled lowly.

“Oh girl.”

You don’t take your eyes off Brendon.

“What?” You asked.

Julie snorts.

“I’d really hate to be Chris right now.”

༻𐫱༺

The Dallas Cowboys lost.

Truthfully, It didn’t really surprise you after the absolute blood bath the 49ers delivered in the field. By the fourth quarter, the outcome almost felt inevitable. You felt extremely bad for Chris who was barely conscious as he was carried away. You’re sure the next few days, the world wasn’t going to be kind towards him.

Still, the loss stung. Not just because you spent months working your ass off towards this moment.

But because within the last four years, this is the closest the team has ever been to a Super Bowl victory. You’re not sure if you or even the girls will ever get to perform here again.

And now it was over.

The locker rooms empty. The confetti was the wrong color. The celebrations belonged to a different team.

Namely, the San Francisco 49ers.

A fact that became significantly more irritating when you found yourself getting ready for their after-party a few hours later.

Officially, you weren’t supposed to be there. Unofficially, half of your closest friends are going to be there.

Years in the NFL meant that invitations to exclusive parties weren’t uncommon. Everyone essentially knew each other. Most of you got along. Some had gone to college together. Others had spent seasons and years crossing paths that friendships became inevitable.

So when one of your closest friends—a retired Cowboys Cheerleader—called to ask if you were attending the biggest NFL celebration of the year, you agreed without much hesitation.

The fact that it was a celebration in honor of the 49ers winning was just an unfortunate detail.

And another very unfortunate detail was that Brendon would be there.

But you tell yourself that you don’t care. You’re having fun. Because here you are, in a cute deep blue dress that’s riding up your thighs, dangerously close to showing your ass and accentuating your body prettily. You’re cheering with your friends in a corner, a shot of tequila in your hands before—

“Ladies,”

Your friend, Kimberly, pushed herself in the middle of your circle and raised her glass. All of you immediately quieted, watching her with amusement.

She grinned.

“To finally making it to the Super Bowl.”

You all collectively cheered.

“To making it to the Super Bowl!” You grinned.

Glasses clinked. Then everyone threw their shots back, squealing and laughing together.

You down yours immediately, throwing your head back as the tequila hits the back of your throat — burning your tastebuds. Your nose wrinkles as you force yourself to swallow, reaching for a lime wedge while your friends all just howl with laughter around you.

“Ugh, I hate tequila.” You whined.

“You should take another shot then.” Destiny, your other friend, encourages with a grin.

“Absolutely not!” You rolled your eyes. “This is my second one already.”

“Ugh, don’t be lame, bitch!” She gently pushed your shoulder.

“I’m not lame!” You insisted.

“You’re being no fun.” She huffed. “We’re supposed to get trashed tonight!”

“I am not trying to give the entire Dallas Cowboys organization a reason to write me up for doing something stupid.” You pointed out. “I’m still under contract!”

“Thank god I don’t have to deal with that crap anymore.” Destiny rolled her eyes.

“Lucky you.” You said dryly. “I still have to put up with it.”

“You’re almost done, girl.” Kimberly said encouragingly.

You hoped so.

As much you loved being a cheerleader for the Dallas Cowboys, the organization was notoriously strict about their image and professionalism—even during the off-season. You loved doing it but it was also exhausting. It was mentally and physically draining. You’re not enjoying it as much as you did your first two years. But your contract wasn’t over until late April which meant the obligations and expectations still stood.

Unfortunately, getting trashed at a party full of NFL players, sponsors, celebrities and reporters fell into the category of what you weren’t supposed to do.

“Speaking of bad decisions,” Destiny said suddenly, smirking at you.

You narrowed your eyes.

“What?”

“Heard there’s a really cute running back trying to get into your pants.”

You nearly choked on your drink. You didn’t expect her to bring Chris up. You didn’t even know she even knew!

“Yeah—“ You laughed awkwardly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Mm,” Julie hummed. “Chris was totally trying to get into your pants. I was there.”

“Chris was just being friendly.” You huffed.

“He ran across the field just to talk to you.” Kimberly laughed.

“And he literally said you were his favorite Sweetheart.” Julie pointed out.

“Which was super gross and unoriginal.” You muttered, rolling your eyes.

“Okay, but he’s hot.” Destiny added unhelpfully.

You shot her a look. Chris was attractive, sure—but you were not into him. At all.

“He’s okay,” You respond. “Besides he’s like 20—practically a baby.”

“He’s twenty-four.” Julie corrected.

“Still.”

“He’s cute, you’re hot, and I think you guys should fuck.” Destiny grinned.

“Ew—no, Destiny!” You groaned. “It’s against our contracts too, by the way.”

“Awh but you guys would make such a cute couple.” Kimberly coos.

You roll your eyes.

“You guys are so annoying.” You muttered. “Chris is not that cute and—.”

Suddenly, everyone around you froze. Julie looked past your shoulder. Then Kimberly did too. Then somehow Destiny’s grin somehow got bigger.

You paused and raised an eyebrow at them.

“What—“ You said suspiciously. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

Nobody answered. They just continued to stare past you. Slowly a sense of dread began creeping down your spine. A throat clears behind you.

Fuck.

You slowly turned around. And immediately regretted it. Brendon stood directly behind you with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Far too close to you. Far too handsome. Far too amused.

“Well sweetheart,” he drawled.

You took a long, slow breath with narrowed eyes. The nickname never meant anything good from him. His gaze flickered briefly to your friends before settling back on to you.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You looked briefly at your friends with a pleading look. “Right guys?”

Silence. Your friends all hurriedly nodded with awkward smiles, bringing their drinks to their lips.

“Mm.” Brendon hummed.

You know that tone. He’s completely unconvinced and annoyed. Trying very hard not to look annoyed. Which means he’s annoyed. Probably on the brink of anger.

Destiny awkwardly interjects. “I’m gonna go… Get a drink!”

“Me too!” Both Kimberly and Julie shouted, eyeing each other briefly.

“Traitors.” You muttered unhappily.

Within seconds, they abandon you. Not before giving you a quick hug and nervously smiling toward the serious quarterback standing in front of you.

Cowards.

Silence settles between the two of you.

Brendon doesn’t say a word. He just quietly observes you over the rim of his whiskey with that infuriating, steely nonchalance of his.

You have no idea what he heard. Or if he even heard the conversation at all. But judging by his clenched jaw and the colder, icier gaze of his blue eyes—you’re almost certain he’d heard some of it.

You clearly your throat.

“So…” You begin awkwardly.

Nothing. He says nothing at all. He just stares at you with that same stone-faced expression he always wears when he doesn’t like someone—or he heard something particularly distasteful.

“Congrats on the big win….” You say cautiously. “I’m sure you’re hap—“

“He’s not that cute?”

The words cut cleanly through yours. His voice was steady. Curious in a detached, almost clinical way. But you know him. You know he’s angry, bothered by what you said and what was being said by your friends. It’s the cool, unreadable look in his eyes and the complete lack of emotion in his voice that gives him away. To anyone else, he’d seem perfectly calm and collected.

But to you? He’s absolutely furious. Filled with a quiet, unadulterated rage born entirely from jealousy.

And it completely irritated you.

“Oh my god, Bren.” You groaned. “I am not doing this with you right now.”

“Oh, but you were discussing that just fine with your friends,” Brendon pointed out flatly. “Okay.”

“Yeah, because they brought it up!” You snapped.

“Mm” He nodded once. “Instead of saying he wasn’t attractive—literally anything else—you said he wasn’t that cute.”

You stared at him incredulously. You couldn’t believe him at all. Was he seriously getting upset over what you said?

“Which tells me that you think he’s somewhat attractive.”

“Oh, my god.” You groaned. “No I don’t!”

“Then you should have said something else.”

He muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I was trying to get them to drop it.” You shot back. “They only started teasing me because he flirted with me. I wasn’t sitting there talking about Chris for fun.”

Brendon let out a quiet scoff. “Really?”

“Yes, really.” You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re being a such a child, right now.”

His gaze didn’t move from yours.

“That’s interesting,” He said coolly. “Because from where I was standing, it looked an awful lot like you were flirting back.”

You froze. The words took a second to register in your head.

From where I was standing.

Your heart stuttered. He saw it on the field. He watched Chris openly flirt with you. The entire interaction. Of you smiling awkwardly and forcing yourself to laugh. Every second of you trying to be polite and kind despite wanting to leave the conversation entirely.

Your stomach dropped.

It shouldn’t matter, you tell yourself. You’re single and it doesn’t matter if another man flirts with you.

But Brendon saw it.

And at first, it made you anxious. Like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have despite being entirely innocent.

Then the anxiety shifts into irritation. Because he shouldn’t be upset about it. He’s done the same thing—stood there while a woman openly flirted with him in front of you, acted like nothing happened, like it didn’t matter.

So why does it feel like it matters now?

“Flirting?” You huff out an amused laugh. “When—“

“On the field.” He said, voice tightening. “You know when. Don’t play dumb.”

You glared at him.

“First of all, no one is playing dumb. Second of all, he came up to me. He flirted with me. Not the other way around.”

“But you didn’t shut it down.” Brendon snapped.

“What the hell was I supposed to say?” You hissed. “Oh, sorry, my ex-boyfriend is the quarterback on the other team and he’d lose his shit if he found out you’re here flirting with me?”

He paused.

“Yes, actually.”

“Brendon,” You sighed tiredly. “You’re being ridiculous right now.”

“Oh?” He let out a humorless, quiet laugh. “But if abother girl came up to me right now and started flirting with me, you wouldn’t care? You wouldn’t give me shit for not shutting it down?”

“That’s—“ you hesitated. “That’s different.”

“Exactly,” He laughed sardonically. “So don’t pretend you don’t like it when I do this shit.”

“I don’t, actually.” You sniffed, looking to the side as strangers passed you two. “You might’ve destroyed Chris’ career after this.”

“He shouldn’t have had the ball then.” Brendon shrugged. “And don’t pretend like you give a shit about him and his career. It’s not cute.”

“He’s a nice guy.” You insisted. “There was no reason for you to act that way towards him.”

Immediately, something in Brendon shifted. His blue eyes darkened—stormier now. His jaw was clenched even tighter, the tension of his neck made the lines of his neck visible.

“Don’t fucking defend him.” He hissed.

You flinched slightly at the sharp, harshness in his voice.

Brendon dragged slow, deep breath forcing himself to rein his irritation back in. He rubbed a hand over his jaw before letting out a short, disbelieving laugh under his breath before setting down his glass of whiskey on the nearest surface.

He shook his head like he couldn’t believe this conversation was even happening.

“He was flirting with you.” Brendon said sharply, emphasis becoming more deliberate. “I don’t play nice with dipshits that think they have a chance with you, you know that.”

He exhaled lowly through his nose, patience clearly running thin.

“You think I care if his career is ruined after this? He made bad plays. He was in my way.”

“You’re insane.” You hissed.

“I’m being honest.” He shot back.

You let out a laugh because of that. Brendon was rarely honest unless it benefited him. He wasn’t honest about what he felt. Not about whether he wanted you in his life long-term—unless someone else stepped out of line in yours.

“Honest?”

“Yes,” He repeated, more calmly now. “Or did you want me to just sit there and be okay with some fuck flirting with you?”

You want to be spiteful because whatever this is—it’s pissing you off.

“Yes actually.” You respond instantly.

It’s petty.

It’s silent for a second. Brendon observes you with his icy gaze in a quiet disbelief.

Then he scoffed.

“Oh, okay.” He nodded slowly. “Then what about the model texting me a month ago at two of the morning when you stayed in my hotel, huh?”

Your expression dropped.

“Oh my god.”

“The same one,” He continued, voicing dropping lower, sharper now, “you called while I was in the middle of fucking you.”

Silence. His eyes locked onto yours.

“You should’ve ignored her.” He added, almost mocking now. “Should’ve sat there and let her continue texting me.”

You swallowed, shifting your eyes away almost guiltily. You’re aware of what you did. The wrongness of doing that. But the anger and possessiveness you felt when you heard the dings of that model texting him outweighed your moral compass.

“You don’t get to bring that up.” You said, voice lower now.

Brendon stepped closer to you.

“I don’t get to?” He repeated.

He reached for your wrist—firmly but not painful. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to keep you there.

“So you’re allowed to sabotage my own dates,” Brendon said, eyes narrowing. “Do the most outrageous shit imaginable— but I’m not allowed to tackle some loser that’s playing in my game?”

“You sicced your whole team on him.” You rolled your eyes. “Be serious.”

“And you made her listen to us having sex.” Brendon hissed.

Instinctively, you turn your head away. Because the ugly part of you—the part you don’t want to admit that’s there—doesn’t feel regret.

It feels justified. Petty. Possessive. Like that woman needed to know who you were. Like she needed to hear exactly what she was competing with. To know how well Brendon was fucking you. To know that you’ll be the only one to make him make those sounds.

“Look at me,” Brendon commanded.

Before you could snap at him, his other hand is already there. Not rough, not painful.

But firm. Two fingers under your chin, tilting your face towards him. His gaze is darker now—less controlled than before.

“You’re being hypocritical.” He snapped again, but it came out rougher this time. Less controlled. “You don’t get to act like what I did was wrong when you do the same thing—marking your territory like I’m some fucking prize.”

Your chest rose sharply. You inhale quickly, mustering up a glare at him.

“I wasn’t marking my territory.” You denied.

Brendon scoffed.

“Then what would you call what you were doing then?”

You stay quiet. Because you don’t know how to answer that. Because you lied—you had been marking your territory just like he had been. Too possessive for your own liking.

The truth and lack of denial sits right there in front of you.

He exhales hard through his nose, running a hand over his mouth.

“This is what I’m talking about,” He muttered. “You don’t get to pretend like I’m the only one doing this.”

“I was making a point.” You admitted low enough for him to hear. “Because you’re mine.”

That made him pause fully. His eyes snap back to yours. And then the atmosphere between you shifted again, it feels heavier. Dangerous.

“Yours?” He repeated.

Within seconds, you grabbed a fistful of his suit jacket and yanked him down to your level.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Then his hand slid to the back of your neck as you press your lips against his.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t sweet at all.

It’s ferocious, heated, and messy. It felt like weeks, maybe even years of resentment, jealousy, longing and frustration came crashing down together.

But you both feel the heat blooming in the pits of your stomachs.

You gasped into his mouth when you feel Brendon’s teeth nipping your bottom lip, his other large hand trailing down your back to grip your ass. He’s kissing you like he owns you.

Warmth blooms in the pit of your stomach, tasting the whiskey on his tongue. You lean into the kiss more, moaning softly as you suck on his tongue for a few seconds before nipping his bottom lip and pulling away.

Both of your chests rose and fell with uneven breaths as you struggled to steady yourselves.

“Yes, you’re mine.” You repeated with a small smirk, panting softly.

Brendon was still impossibly close. His hand was still on your ass. His gaze lingered on you—darkened, unfocused, and almost dazed. A faint flush settled across his cheeks, his lips slightly parted. His thumb lingered against the side of your face before trailing to your swollen lips, gently prying your bottom lip briefly. He inhaled sharply then he smirked before patting your cheek softly.

“Is that so?” He murmured lowly.

You didn’t speak, just watched him with your own dazed eyes. He watched you for another second before looking around.

“We’re continuing this upstairs.”

Then he grabbed your wrist, tugging you as he walked out of the venue towards the elevators of the hotel. You both dodge a bunch of reporters, mutual friends that try to strike up a conversation, and old players stopping to congratulate Brendon on the win. It was, without a question, the least discreet either of you had ever been.

He acknowledged them with little more than a distracted nod, never loosening his grip on your wrist. You, on the other hand, forced polite smiles— slipping into your cheery professionalism you had perfected as a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader—even as the star quarterback of the 49ers dragged you across the banquet room.

You were almost certain that someone had taken a picture. By tomorrow, it will be all over the news and more speculations will come to light. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when your heart was racing from the argument. And you certainly didn’t care especially because of the familiar warmth pooling in the pit of your belly and between your thighs.

He dragged you all the way to elevators pressing the floor button immediately as you situated yourself against the wall. It’s just the two of you. The tension was still so thick with the way Brendon turned to look at you with that heated gaze.

“You dragged me out there like some gorilla.” You muttered unhappily.

“Shut up.” He muttered back, almost petulantly.

“Seriously, Brendon,” You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest. “You should’ve fucked off and left me alone, honestly. I was having fun with my girls!”

He glared at you now. His nostrils flared as a spike of irritation flashed inside of him .

“You were having fun discussing another man.” He hissed.

You make face instantly. This conversation was going nowhere. Not when he’s so adamant that you were entertaining Chris. And for the record you were not!

“oh my god—“ You groaned. “How many times do I have to tell you that I wasn’t?”

“Right.” Brendon said. His tone was entirely sarcastic. Like he didn’t believe you for one second.

Instead he got closer to you, his body practically caging you against the wall of the elevator. His left hand is on your hip, keeping you in place. His right is cupping your cheek, thumb sliding over your bottom lip and so gently tugging it down.

“I think,” He murmured with his voice so calm, steady. “You need a reminder of who exactly owns you.”

You stopped breathing momentarily. You just look at him. There’s a clear sense of possessiveness in the way he holds you, practically engulfing your entire body. His words sound more like a promise than a reminder.

He paused then he patted your cheek a little rougher this time. “Because from the way you’ve been acting, you clearly forgot who you belong to.”

You breathed in slowly. Almost like you’re worried of saying the wrong thing. It was almost laughable how worried you seem despite having crossed so many lines today.

Then his left hand trails down to your thighs. he grips your thighs, playing with the edge of your dress. He’s aware he shouldn’t be doing this with you in an elevator. But he doesn’t care. Not when you’re looking at him with that hazy, desperate gaze and still swollen lips.

He pressed you more into the corner of the elevator, hiking one leg over his hip as he shoves his hand between your thighs. Immediately, he feels the heat of your bare cunt.

“No panties?” He laughed in disbelief. “Were you planning on getting fucked tonight like some slut? Any other man would think you’re a fucking whore— is that what you want? To be treated like a dirty whore?”

“N-No of course not—“

He cut you off by rubbing your clit once more, making you dig your manicured nails on his thick forearms. You can barely think. How could you when his fingers press against your clit teasingly and so good? You mewled and grind against his hand, trying to feel more pressure on your clit.

“Fucking wet already– I knew it.” He laughed. “You do want to get fucked like some slut.”

He’s being mean. It should be degrading. You should feel disgusted. But you don’t. You like when he’s being mean. When he treats you like a dirty whore.

“Answer me—“ Brendon demanded. “Do you want me to treat you like a dirty slut?

You shook your head hurriedly. “N-No! Please D-Daddy! It’s just—“

Brendon’s fingers are running up and down your pussy, smearing your slick all over. Making you messier.

“It’s just what?” He mocked. “You wanted to be easy access for some fucking loser? Spread your legs for ‘im without trouble?”

You squeal loudly when he shoved two thick fingers into your slicked up hole, pistoning in and out of your cunt.

“No!” You denied. “I-I’m sorry, Daddy— I don’t want anyone but you!”

He’s fingerfucking you in the middle of an elevator, completely trying to ruin you. Your cunt clenched and practically squeezed his fingers so tightly that you’re sure he’d probably lose circulation. Your insides are throbbing and you feel like you’re on fire. The pressure is settled deep in your stomach.

“You’re fucking soaked.” Brendon hissed against your ear. “God, you’re such a fucking slut.”

He’s sure that if he keeps rubbing his thick thumb over your clit and maintains the pace of his fingers for the next thirty seconds—you’d cum. You’d cum all over his fingers like a disgusting whore.

“Please, Bren—“ You cry out, reaching to grip his forearm that’s between your thighs. “I’m gonna cum, please! K-Keep going I’m gonna—“

Ding!

The elevator stops finally onto the floor of his hotel room and you let out a frustrated cry as he swiftly removes his fingers out of you. He gives your cunt a quick, harsh smack—making you moan softly before tugging your dress down. He pulled away from you, shifting slightly as his hardening cock strained against the tight confines of his pants. The door of the elevator finally opened and Brendon steps out of it immediately. Trailing after him clumsily as your legs feel like jelly, you let in a small inhale and you carefully patted your hair down just in case

It doesn’t take long for both of you to finally make it to his room. And it doesn’t take you both long to end up kissing once more after he kicked his door shut with his foot.

He’s kissing you so well, so good that you feel your toes practically curling. You’re not even sure when he removed your dress but you feel the cool air, hitting your body. His hands roam over your back and down to your ass as he kissed you ferociously. It’s euphoric the way you were feeling. The way your head feels dazed and your cunt ached for him just from a kiss. From his aggressiveness that undeniably turned you on.

“Get on your knees.” Brendon barked.

He pulled away, equally as breathless as you and there’s a clink of his belt, the sound of his pants rustling as he takes out his cock. You hurriedly get on the mattress and onto your knees, your ass and cunt facing him. You spread your knees wider as you whine when he nears. You can feel the bulbous, thick tip of Brendon’s cock pressed against the entrance of your cunt.

“Look at you,” Brendon growled, “Fucking spreading your legs like a dumb bitch in heat.”

His muscular body is practically engulfing your body as he bends you over, sustaining you with one hand gripping the fat of your hips tightly.

“Don’t worry,” Brendon purred low against your ear. “I’ll treat you like the dumb, desperate whore you really are.”

“Please Daddy,” You begged, trying to push against his hips. You just want him to get it over with. To fuck you, to completely ruin you, to treat you like the dirty whore you were, and to remind you that you’re only his.

You’re almost certain you’ll bruise but you don’t care.You just want to feel him inside of you, ruining you like he always does. Staking his claim over you.

He pushes into you before you could even speak, protest—snap at him for not hurrying up. For not fucking you the way you want.

Your pussy pulsates around his thick cock. Your jaw hangs open as you let out soft moans, pushing your ass back to meet his hips. But the solid grip of his hand on your hip stops you from getting what you want.

“Fuck,” Brendon grunted lowly, “You’re so fucking wet.”

He forces his cock to keep sliding in with a painfully slow, deep push that has your thighs trembling and making your insides feel like goo. A flood of slick gushes all over his cock and drips down his balls. But it’s not enough. Your tight cunt constricts around him, demanding more—so fucking desperate for him to just fuck you like you deserve.

“H-Hurry up and fuck me—“ You whine loudly, arching your back to force more of his dick into your cunt. Then you squeal as a loud crack echoes in the room as his large hand smacks your ass, making your meat jiggle on impact.

His left hand goes to aggressively wrap the strands of your hair, yanking and tilting your head back.

“Shut the fuck up,” he snapped, finally moving his hips to go in and out of your pussy with aggressive and deep thrusts.

He lets out deep, quiet grunts as he fucks you. The room is filled with squelching sounds of your wet pussy, your loud moans, and the sound of the bed frame slamming against the walls. It’s erotic how every time he pulls his cock out of you, there’s a white, milk rim around it.

“You think anyone else can fuck you like this?” He growled against your ears, snapping his hips harshly back and forth.

“Only you, Daddy. Only you,” You whimper. “Daddy can only fuck me like this—“

You shook your head as you let out loud mewls as your ass cheeks slap against his hips. It’s too good—the way he is fucking you. The way he’s able to render you speechless just from being split apart by his cock. Your brain can’t even form a proper thought without short circuiting once Brendon brushes against the sweet, little spot. Instantly making you cry out and squeal, begging him to give you mercy from how fucked out you already are.

“You’re mine,” He hissed. His breath is stuttering as your pussy constricts around his dick. You’re gripping him, trying to milk him dry. “Fuck, fuck—“

“M’yours, daddy,” You mumble as you try to keep yourself up. Your knees are buckling and your arms feel too heavy to even keep yourself body up. There’s drool dripping the side of your mouth and you just look disgusting, you know you do. You look sloppy. Your makeup is smearing everywhere and making your appearance look messy. A stark difference than your usual.

You look like a fucking slut. It’s hot and it’s a look that Brendon never knew he needed. You keep babbling that you only belong to him, that you’re all his, that you don’t need anyone else but him. Him and his cock to keep you happy. He should be pleased. He is but it isn’t enough.

Because he cannot let what happened earlier just slide. Mid-thrust he grabbed your phone and went through your contacts. You’re too fucked out to even notice what he’s doing. Too cockdrunk to even realize that he was dialing the number of the running back that pissed him off. He pressed the phone against his ears as the phone dials, still fucking you and thrusting into your needy little cunt.

“Heeey—“ Chris starts but Brendon heard enough.

He smirked and throws your phone next to you.

You don’t notice it. You’re desperately clawing the mattress, gripping the sheets as he pistoned his cock in and out of your walls, hitting the sweet spot over and over again. Your pussy gushes around him, soaking his dick completely. His wet balls keep slapping against your clit, harshly. It’s too intense, the pressure in your belly feels heavier. You’re letting out incoherent mumblings and whimpers , pressing your face deeper into the bed.

“You love my cock, huh?” Brendon murmured lowly against your ear.

“Yes! I love Daddy’s cock! I-I love– it!”

Brendon reached under your stomach up to your breasts, squeezing them and pinching your nipples harshly. All you can do is let out sob and arch your back more as your ass meets his thrusts.

“Tell me who owns you, slut.” He hissed. His jaw clenched as he could feel himself being so close. He’s fucking you a little more desperately, faster and even more aggressively. “Tell me who owns this pussy.”

“Daddy, owns me! Daddy owns this pussy!”

That itch— You’re so close, you know you are. You’re so desperate, you’re clawing at the mattress beneath you and let out a cry of frustration as his iron grip on your hips keeps you in place. Preventing you to fuck yourself dumb on his cock.

“Please, Bren—“ You sob. “Please, daddy– I need to cum so bad. I’m so close!”

Your pussy just clenches desperately to his dick, gripping and tightening your slicked up walls around him.

“Fuck,” Brendon curses. “You’ve been a good little bitch for me, hm? Fuckin cum for me then.”

You could cry tears of joy. You let out loud whines and mewls as you fuck yourself on his dick, meeting his own thrusts. You’re so, so close— you could feel your tummy tighten. Feel the way your pussy just throbs—

“Say my name,” he growled. “Say it—“

“Brendon,” you moan out softly as you lay there on your stomach with your ass up. “Brendon— Please, I need you so bad!”

Immediately, he turns to look at your phone and he nearly grins when he sees the phone call end. You’re still clueless. It’s okay. As long he knew, what was going then that’s all he cared about.

As a reward, he then brings his hand between your thighs as he fucks you harder, pressing against your clit. You immediately let out a loud scream—

The orgasm hits you so hard that your arms give up underneath you, just your knees and Brendon’s iron grip on your hips keeping your lower body up. Your pussy pulsates and gushes around his dick, soaking the sheets beneath you completely. You’re babbling incessantly as he uses your slicked up pussy—You’re thanking him. You’re whispering how good you feel after cumming on his dick. You’re completely done.

He fucks into you a couple more times—once, twice, three more times—before his cock finally fills your sweet cunt with his thick, creamy cum. He lets out a soft, shuddering breath as he leans against your back. He pressed a soft kiss on your spine and then up to your neck.

He patted your hip and gently pulls out, gazing at the white cum spilling out your cunt. You let out a soft, happy sigh as you relaxed on the mattress.

It doesn’t take long for Brendon to help you clean up, to make you comfortable and so loved. He has you pressed against his naked chest, running his hand up and down your back. Occasionally, he’d press a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. He was always an affectionate man after sex.

You’re sleepy and you just try to blink away the tiredness as you sit in comfortable silence.

“Come to Philly with me.” Brendon said suddenly.

You pause and then you slowly pull away to sit up and really look at him. He’s serious, you realized. His face isn’t showing any hint of amusement, any other emotion— Brendon is completely serious.

“What?”

He sighed softly like your confusion inconvenienced him.

“I start my residency in Philly next year.” He explained. “I want you to come with me.”

You’re utterly confused.

“..Why?”

He exhaled softly. He knows he doesn’t express his feelings often. And he knows that this is his best chance of doing exactly that.

“Why not?” He countered. “You’re done with Cowboys after this season. My contract is up after the Super Bowl. Med school’s over.”

You don’t say anything. He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. A nervous tick. Your silence is bothering him. But you don’t know what to say. You’re speechless— You genuinely thought that after med school, he’d just drop you. That he’d forget about you.

“Look,” He said softly. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“What do you mean by ‘this’?” You frowned.

“The distance, the flying .” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Acting like we’re not—“

Brendon paused and took another deep breath. He clenched his jaw and then looked at you.

“I’m over it.”

Your stomach dropped and you nearly stop breathing. You still don’t know what to say. You understand what he means but you want him to say it— To say the words you’ve been waiting to hear for a long time. He cupped your cheek and gently caressed your skin with a hesitant smile.

“I really,” Brendon swallowed. “…just want to come home to you every day.”

A smile bloomed across your face—it’s soft, disbelieving and painfully happy. For the first time, everything felt complete.

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“What do you guys think of this one?” You ask Jaylen and Kiara as you hold up the bikini to the camera. The bikini in question can hardly be called that, as it really looks like a piece of dental floss.

“Ugh, Jack must be conservative. Why are you so covered? You’re going to Brazil, they be practically naked there,” Kiara exclaims. 

Originally, you and Jack had planned to go to Puerto Rico for your honeymoon, but after your co-workers came back from vacation with all of their exploits from Brazil, you immediately changed your mind. 

Always one to let you have your way, Jack readily agreed to the change in plans, and you both set off to book the trip and hotel together. 

Jack looks over at the phone, “Kiara, I’ll have you know that I do run a strict program when it comes to my wife, but the bikinis are all her choice. I’m just here to look.”

He turns his gaze to you, “You should definitely pack that one.” He slaps your butt before lying down on the bed to play with Princess.

Jaylen laughs, “Y’all are some freaks! This honeymoon is just going to be you and Jack all over each other.” 

“Exactly! My husband and I get to be all over each other and as nasty as we want,” you comment, winking at Jack, who winks back. 

“Good, y’all can start working on my nieces and nephews while y’all there,” Kiara said, before she looked off to the side. You figure that either Dennis or Robby is probably in her apartment. Knowing your sister, it may be both. 

“Plus, I can’t go too small on the bikinis, where would I put fat ma?” you said, to which you and your sisters all burst into laughter. 

“Don’t worry about where you’re putting fat ma, my mouth is always available,” Jack quips. 

Kiara screeches through the phone, “Jack, please never say that again.” 

“I won’t be surprised if you come back pregnant,” Jaylen states, chuckling through the phone. 

“Whatever, y’all aren’t messing up me and my husband’s vibe. I’ll talk to y’all later. We gotta finish packing. Are y’all still good to watch Princess while we’re gone?”

“Yeah, just drop tt baby off,” Kiara said before you all say your respective goodbyes and love yous. 

You fold the bikini and slide it into the luggage before folding the accompanying cover-up. You look up to find Jack staring at you. You smile, “What?”

“Nothing, I’m just happy that I get to spend a full two weeks in another country with my beautiful wife,” Jack announces, scooting to the edge of the bed so that he can be closer to you. His hands find your hips as he places his head against your stomach. 

You smile once you feel planting small kisses against your stomach. You trail your hands down to play with Jack’s curls. 

He looks up at you, his soft hazel eyes softening at your appearance, “I’m happy that I get to spend forever with you, baby.” 

“Forever and always, Jackie. Just think, we’ll be expanding our family after a while.” At your statement, Jack smiles and kisses your stomach again. You aren’t pregnant, but you’d both been talking about the prospect more since getting married. 

You both weren’t rushing anything. In fact, you figured that you’d just let the process come naturally. 

You didn’t doubt for a second that Jack would be a good father because every single thing about him has proved to you that he’d go above and beyond for your kid.

Your hands come around to cup his face. “Now, while we’re on this trip, all I wanna see is skin from you and hoochie daddy shorts. This is my time to objectify you more than I already do.”

Jack chuckles, “Got it, baby. I’ll pack my sluttiest shorts and button-downs.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Jack. I might have to get you out of your clothes as soon as we touch down in Rio,” You said, raising your eyebrows suggestively. Jack only laughs and pulls down onto the bed next to him. 

“We’re gonna have a good time, sweetheart.”

You and Jack are up bright and early for the flight to Brazil. It’s a 14-hour flight, so you both expect to be sleeping for the majority of the way there. You and Jack stand side-by-side at your respective sinks in the bathroom. Even though you're sleepy, you’re excited to spend your honeymoon with Jack. 

You zip up your jacket as you do a double-check to ensure that you and Jack have everything. Jack is downstairs, making sure that everything is secure before the two of you leave. Of course, Robby and Dennis had volunteered to watch the house while you both were gone, but Jack still wanted to be proactive in checking. 

He scoops Princess up in his arms, “Hey there, pretty girl. You ready to spend a week with your aunts?”

Princess barks in response, which you and Jack both know means yes. You’d both been working consistently with her to get her to respond and answer to different commands. Kiara had even thought that it’d be a funny idea to buy her different buttons to communicate with you and Jack. So far, Princess had decided that the ‘girl please’ and ‘treats’ buttons were her favorite. 

“Are you gonna be good for aunts?”

Princess barks twice, which signals no. Jack laughs loudly before moving to grab her bag that he packed the night before. As you descend the stairs, you and Jack work in tandem to load your respective luggage into the truck. Jack drives to Jaylen’s house because you know that Kiara won’t be up this early. 

Jesse opens the door with his silver hair swiped in different directions, “Morning, love birds. You ready for your honeymoon?”

“Ecstatic, really. Jack packed all of his hoochie daddy shorts,” You state, winking at you. 

Jesse turns to look at him, “Good for you. I always thought that you could use a nice tan.” He turns his gaze back to face you, “What about you? What swimsuits did we pack?”

“Floss, of course! You know me, Jesse.”

He chuckles in return, “After two years of friendship, I definitely do. But I should be letting you two go. Don’t worry about Princess, she’ll be in good hands.” 

“Thanks again for agreeing to watch her, Jess.”

“S’no problem.” He leans forward to pull you into a hug before kissing your cheek. Once your hug ends, Jesse pulls Jack into a similar hug. 

He waves you both off, “Now, get out of here. Go have fun. I’ll tell Jaylen you stopped by.” He picks Princess up out of Jack’s arms and grabs her bag. Princess looks like she’s already in Heaven at the prospect of being held by one of her favorite men. 

Jesse looks down, “Tell mommy and daddy bye.” 

Princess barks once before turning her attention back to Jesse. You and Jack laugh softly before heading back to his truck to go to the airport. Surprisingly, it doesn’t take long to get there, and before you know it, you and Jack are checking your bags at TSA and sitting at your terminal. 

“You wanna get something to eat before the flight?” Jack asks, peeping down at you.

“Yes, please. My stomach’s in my back.” 

You both end up with breakfast sandwiches and coffee from one of the airport cafes. You get an iced latte, while Jack sticks with his usual black coffee. After you eat, you and Jack hold hands as you wait for your flight to be called. Jack’s fingers play with your wedding ring, and you can see him looking down at it. 

There’d been a lot of moments since getting married when you had caught Jack staring at you. It was almost like he couldn’t believe that you were there. You knew that it was still surreal for him at times to be married again. 

But throughout it all, you never doubted the fact that Jack loves you. Even when you woke up in the morning and saw him lying next to you, it still all felt like a dream. 

You were officially married to the love of your life, living in your dream home, and you had the best support system out of this world. 

After twenty minutes, yours and Jack’s flight is called. You chuckle to yourself as Jack pulls out the printed boarding passes.

“Baby, I already told you that they’re on our phones,” you said.

“I know, but what if something happens. It’s just a precaution, Princess,” He explains. Frankly, you’d never get tired of his old-man tendencies.

Once you and Jack are in your seats, you smile brightly at him, “We’re about to be in Rio, baby!”

Jack smiles in return. Seeing you happy and at peace will always be one of the things that makes his day brighter. 

“Two weeks of sitting out in the sun with my hot wife,” He comments. 

You lean over and lower your voice, “Two weeks of you getting to see me in all of my bikinis and taking them off me too.”

Jack lays his head back, “Sounds like the making of the best vacation ever.”

After fourteen hours of flying, the pilot officially announces that you have all arrived in Brazil. As expected, with Jack being a certified old man, he claps when the plane lands, which then causes everyone else to clap.

“Okay, Jack, I see you being a trendsetter,” You tease as you both walk from your seats. As you walk from the plane, you head to the conveyor belt to grab your luggage.

Jack orders an Uber to come pick you both up to go to the resort. It isn’t long before your Uber driver, Roberto, picks you both up and drops you off at the resort. 

Jack ushers you inside the resort as you both walk to the front desk. The girl at the desk smiles, “How may I help you both?”

“We have a reservation for Abbot,” Jack answers.

“Ah, yes, our newlyweds. Congratulations, and here are your keys. Domingo will help you with your luggage, and we hope that you both have a lovely experience!”

You’re practically bursting at the seams with excitement as you and Jack stand in front of the door to your room. Jack had been meticulous with choosing the resort and the room. You both planned the itinerary together, but he made it very clear that he wanted the room to be a surprise. 

He scans the key over the door and opens it. “After you, Princess.” 

As you walk into the room, your jaw drops upon seeing the flowers that adorn the bed, along with the stunning view. Directly connected to yours and Jack’s room is a private jacuzzi. You already have a few ideas for it. 

The bathroom is beautiful and has a lot of natural light. It warms your heart when you see the shower chair there just as you both requested. You wanted Jack to be stress-free during this honeymoon, which included not having to worry about his leg. 

“So, how’d I do on the room?”

“I love it. You really went all out,” you said, stepping closer to stand in front of him.

Jack reaches out to cup your cheek. “I only get the best for my wife.”

The jet lag starts to weigh down on you, and Jack can clearly see it by the way that your eyes droop. 

“How about we order room service and relax for the rest of the day? We can start our adventures tomorrow,” Jack said. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” 

Jack chuckles, “Yeah, you have, but you know I’d love to hear you say it again.”

“I love you so much, Jack Abbot.”

He leans down to press a soft kiss against your lips, “I love you too, Princess. Now let’s get settled in.”

The next morning, you and Jack are up bright and early. You feed him another slice of mango as you munch on a piece of kiwi. He lies back on the bed as the light filters into the bedroom. Jack takes a second to admire the way that the sun reflects on your skin and braids. He reaches out to touch one of the braids that has a golden accessory attached to the middle. 

“I really love the braids,” He comments as he twirls the hair between his fingers. 

“Thanks, I think she did a really good job. Even though I’m convinced you thought I was missing,” You tease.

Jack chuckles, “Listen, your old man is still learning. I had no idea that your braids would take 5-6 hours, honey. I was worried.”

“Well, now you know. Kiara was clowning you the entire time. She was convinced that you were about to issue an Amber Alert with Robby.”

“If I needed to, I would.” By the tone of his voice, you know that Jack is dead serious. The last thing Jack played about was your safety. Ever since the Pitt fest situation, he’d been more vigilant about protecting you. That included you both sharing your locations and doing random checks throughout the day. 

You didn’t see it as Jack being overprotective. You still remembered how scary the entire situation was and how scared you were that you wouldn’t make it back to Jack. So you would let him play mother hen to ease his worries. 

“What’s the plan for today?” You ask Jack, as you sip on your iced coffee. 

“Few excursions. Visiting some landmarks and I figured that we could go to the beach, and then out for dinner tonight,” He explains.

“Good, so I should dress comfortably for now?”

“Definitely.”

After breakfast, you and Jack both get ready. You put on a pair of denim shorts with a tube top, while Jack opts for a button-down and khaki pants. 

Your eyes zoom in on the long nature of his pants, “Where’s the hoochie daddy shorts? You’re gonna burn up in those, Jack.” 

Jack glances down at his pants and gives you a tense smile, “It’s fine, baby.” 

You both stare at each other for a couple of seconds until you squint your eyes at Jack. You take a step forward and pull his body closer to yours. “Jack, I know you just as well as you know yourself at this point. What’s going on?”

You catch the brief conflict that goes on in his eyes before he sighs, “It’s my leg. I just don’t want people to constantly stare at it, you know? I want this to be a normal vacation for us, and I definitely don’t want people to look at you a certain way because we’re together.”

It hurts your heart to hear him talking about himself like he’s a burden, but you know that this is a subject that you’ll both have to navigate together. 

You reach out to cup his face in your hand, “Hey, listen to me. There’s nothing wrong with you, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with your leg. If people stare, then let them. You’re my husband, and I love you just the way you are. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed to be walking around with you because, if you weren’t aware, you’re the full package, Jack. Plus, if someone gets too feisty with you, I’ll cuss them out in a second.”

Jack chuckles at your words because he knows that they’re true. You’d both been out and about one evening when someone made an ignorant comment to Jack. You didn’t even blink before you were cursing them out so badly that they started to tear up. 

“I love you, Jack. I want you to enjoy this vacation. You deserve it. Don’t deprive me of seeing you because I love each and every part of you, okay?”

Jack’s eyes mist up with tears before he leans in more to your touch. He turns his face to kiss the palm of your hand. “God, I love you, sweetheart.”

“You better. Now, go change into the hoochie daddy shorts so I can objectify you,” You said, pushing him towards his suitcase. 

After Jack changes into his shorts, you make him stand in front of you and do a little turn. He blushes as you whistle loudly. “Ugh, if I didn’t want to explore, I would let you bend me over right now.”

“We have plenty of time for that, honey,” Jack answers with a chuckle.

You and Jack travel from your room and catch a ride with one of the hotel workers to the center of town. You both end up doing a local tour to some of the landmarks, which you both take pictures at. Jack knows how much you value eating and trying local cuisine, so eventually you end up at a cooking class where you learn to make local dishes. 

Jack watches as you laugh along with some of the older ladies, who are teaching the class. 

Your host, Bruna, looks up at Jack and nudges you a little, “Your husband is very enamoured with you.” 

You look up and catch Jack’s eye. He smiles sheepishly at you before looking back down at his dish. You chuckle softly, “I’m very enamoured with him too.”

“How long have you both been married?”

“About a month, but we’ve been together for a year,” You said.

She gives you a bright smile, “Only a month and he still looks at you that way. Cherish that. That kind of love never fades away. I can tell that he’d move the Earth for you if you asked.” 

“I’d do the same for him if he asked.” 

“There’s a small festival happening tonight if you and your husband would like to come back. My family and I would love to host you both for dinner,” Bruna suggests.

“That sounds amazing, actually. I’ll let him know, and we’ll be back out. Thank you for inviting us.”

Bruna nods, “You’re welcome, my dear.”

After the cooking class and a meal together, you and Jack venture out to look around a few local shops for some souvenirs. You can’t help but buy a pair of Havianas and customize them with special charms. As you and Jack walk to the beach, you turn to face him. “You ready to see one of the special bikinis that I packed for this trip?”

Jack chuckles, “Honey, I’ve been dying to see you in a bikini, especially after watching you pack them.”

On the beach, you enter one of the changing stalls before changing into a bikini that has the Brazilian flag printed on the top. As you come out of the stall, Jack’s eyes flit down to appreciate the swimsuit. You clock the way that his eyes visibly darken as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. 

“Honey, you look amazing. Turn for me,” Jack orders gently. You turn so that Jack can get a view of the back of the bikini, which is basically a string. He reaches out to grab your backside in his hand and groans lowly, “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

You move so that you’re facing him again. “So, I guess it’s safe to say that you really like this one?”

Jack steps closer and fully cups your backside in both of his hands, “Baby, I love it so much that I’m this close to taking you back into that stall.” He holds up two fingers and pinches them together. You laugh loudly while leaning into his chest, “Save all of that energy for tonight. I have a surprise for you, and the hosts from earlier invited us to a family dinner tonight.”

Jack leans down to place his lips over yours, “I’ll try to be on my best behavior then.”

“Good. Now, go change,” You said, pushing him gently towards the stall. It doesn’t take long for Jack to change into his swim trunks, and you make it obvious that you’re ogling his chest. You both walk and find a spot with empty chairs. You take out the sunscreen and hand it over to Jack.

“Can you put this on for me?” 

Jack fails at hiding the smile on his face, “Course I can, baby.”

He starts at the bottom of your legs, squirting the sunscreen onto his hands before rubbing the cream gently into your skin. As he makes his way up your thighs, you can see Jack taking his time to rub the sunscreen in. He stares up at you, “I gotta take my time and make sure you don’t burn up, baby. You know, protect you from all the sun rays.” 

You chuckle, “Is that right? Well, you’re the doctor, and I follow your orders.”

“Exactly, it’s in my medical opinion that you need to let me take my time on this,” Jack states, rubbing slower between your thighs. Once he’s done, he presses a kiss to one of your thighs. You’re about to take the sunscreen from his hands when he stops you. “I got it. I wouldn’t want you to miss a spot.”

From that point, Jack makes a show out of putting sunscreen on your upper body. When he reaches your breasts, he traces his hand along the sides of your breasts that peek out from the swimsuit. He moves around your body and slathers the sunscreen across your back. 

“There. All done,” Jack said, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.

“Your turn. I can’t let my white man burn up out here,” You joke. 

You take the same care and attention that Jack did when applying the sunscreen to his body. When you reach his torso, you pointedly plop down into his lap. Jack stares up at you, his hazel eyes shining beneath the glow of the sun. You rub your hands up and down his chest while gazing at him, “You look so pretty like this, Daddy. This sun is gonna do wonders for all of those freckles.”

You lean down to press a kiss to Jack’s shoulder where there’s a litter of freckles. 

You can already see the beginnings of Jack blushing as you fawn over him. His arms close around your waist, and you can feel the chill from his wedding ring. “You sure know how to make a man feel desired, sweetheart.”

“Good, because I always want you to know that I want you, Jack. Every single part of you.”

After you and Jack finish putting on sunscreen, he follows you out into the water. He had packed his waterproof prosthesis for the vacation, so that he could swim with you as much as he liked. You both laugh and splash each other in the water before floating alongside each other.

Once you’re both done playing in the warm water, you walk back to your respective chairs and sit down. Jack pulls out a book while you lie on your front to tan. As much as he tries to pay attention to the book in his hand, he can’t help the way that his eyes drift off to look at you. His eyes trace over your brown skin and the way that your braids just casually lie off to the side.

As the kids would say, Jack is down bad for you. 

He subtly adjusts himself in his shorts before dividing his attention back to the book in his hand. You smirk slyly when you notice the movement. 

About two hours later, you tell Jack that you’re ready to leave and you both head to the stall to the showers to wash the sand off. Jack runs hands across your skin to remove the grains of sand from your body. 

He’s surprised when you pull him into one of the stalls and locks the door. 

Before he can think even further, you push him down onto the bench. Kneeling between his legs, you look up, “I wanna taste you before we head back.”

You reach inside Jack’s shorts and pull out his hardening dick. Your tongue meets the tip of his dick as you lap at the bead of precum that sits there. You trace your tongue up and down Jack’s length before moving your lips to engulf him in your mouth.

“Fuck baby…” Jack moans, his hands coming up grasp your braids.

You relax your jaw as Jack’s length slides deeper down your throat. You tap his thigh, signaling that you want him to use your throat. Pulling your braids into a ponytail, Jack uses the opportunity to guide your head up and down. 

You stare up at him with your pretty eyes as he groans softly under his breath.

“My pretty wife. You letting me use your throat like this. You feel so good baby,” Jack said, looking down at him. 

You moan at the praise as Jack’s hip start to lift to fill more of your mouth.

It’s not long before he’s moaning and throwing his head back as warm spurts of cum hit the back of your throat. You happily swallow Jack’s release before pulling back with a soft pop. 

You smile up at him as he looks thoroughly wrecked. “Do you need a nap when we get back, old man?”

Jack chuckles, “Nope, I’m just saving my energy for tonight, baby.” He leans down to smush your cheeks together, “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

He notes the way that your eyes darken. 

It only fuels the growing desire that you have for him.

Once you and Jack are back at the hotel, you both wash off and decide to take a nap. You wake up a few hours later and start to get ready for the dinner and festival. 

You put on a baby blue two piece set. The skirt flows around your hips. You add a waist chain to complement the look, along with other pieces of gold jewelry. You style your braids into a ponytail before sticking a flower accessory in your hair. As you start to slick your edges down in the mirror, Jack appears behind you. 

“Look at my beautiful wife. I swear you just keep getting prettier, Princess,” He states, wrapping an arm around your bare waist. 

“I’m glad you think so. You should wear your blue button down. It’ll match my outfit,” You tell him. 

He nods before pressing a kiss to your lips. You spritz a few sprays of perfume onto your body before walking back into the bedroom to watch Jack get ready.

You whistle loudly, “Excuse me sir, are you single?”

Jack chuckles, “No ma’am. I’m happily married and my wife can fight.”

The statement causes you to laugh loudly. 

“See you remember!” You said, referencing back to the time that you told Jack to start saying the phrase when women flirted with him. 

You lean back into the chair, “And what’s the last thing you do after they ask?”

Jack holds his hand up to flash his wedding ring at you. 

“Good boy.”

You both take an Uber to the middle of town where the festival is being held. It’s exciting to you to see many beautiful black and brown people enjoying their time without any worry of being profiled. 

You and Jack watch as the floats come by and Jack takes the opportunity to take pictures and record. This is definitely Facebook material. 

“Smile, sweetheart,” He says, holding the phone above you both. 

A wide smile covers your lips as Jack snaps the pictures. You turn your head to press a kiss against his cheek as he captures the moment. The last picture that Jack captures is of you both kissing each other. 

“Come on, let’s go dance,” You tell Jack, ushering him to a different part of the street where multiple couples dance together.

“You know I don’t have that much rhythm,” He states, blushing slightly. 

You turn and wrap his arms around your waist, “Good thing you have a beautiful wife who can. You know how to handle me real well.” 

You grind your body against Jack’s to the beat of the music. The tempo picks up as you bend down in front of him to start twerking. Jack’s mesmerized, but he catches what you’re throwing back. 

A few of the other dancers whistle and cheer loudly at you and Jack. You look back to find him smiling at you. 

A few songs later, Jack decides to go sit down at one of the spare tables as he watches you continue to dance with the other women. 

You hike your skirts as you follow the rhythm of the samba that the other girls are showing you. It makes Jack smile seeing you be this carefree and joyful. 

He silently says a word of thanks to whoever above is listening. He’s forever grateful for the opportunity to be married to someone like you. 

Your host, Bruna, from earlier walks up to you and you happily greet each other. Jack can see you animatedly talking to the older before you both look in his direction. 

As you and Bruna walk to the table, she pulls Jack into a quick hug. 

“My family and I have prepared an amazing dinner for you both. A few of the other guests who took the class today will be joining us,” Bruna explains. 

The three of you walk back to her house, where she hosted the earlier cooking class. She introduces you to most of her family members, along with re-introducing you and Jack to the other people that came to the class. 

As you and Jack take your seats at the big table, Bruna and her family bring out various dishes and place them on the table. 

You lean over to Jack, “This looks so good. We might actually pass out from a food coma.”

Jack laughs softly, “Don’t pass out too quick. Don’t forgot that you have to show me your surprise.”

“Oh trust me, baby. You’ll be wide awake for it,” you tease. 

Bruno comes out and stands at the head of the table as she raises her glass, “Thank you all for coming tonight. My family and I have always been honored to host people in our home and share parts of our culture. Tonight, we’ve prepared different local dishes, and we hope that you all enjoy.” 

Before she takes a sip of her drink, she looks in yours and Jack’s direction. “Also, I would like to raise a toast to our newlyweds, the Abbots. May you both be blessed forever with love and prosperity.” 

The rest of the table lifts their glasses and cheers to you and Jack. 

The dinner goes by smoothly with you and Jack making conversation with everyone. He keeps his hand placed on your thigh. You eye him from the corner of your eye as his runs the tips of his fingers up your leg. 

Jack moves closer to whisper in your ear, “I think it’s about time that we head out, Princess. Daddy really wants to be alone with you.”

You bite your lip. “Okay, daddy.”

You and Jack stand together. “We’re gonna head out, but thank you all for your generosity.” 

Bruna stands to hug you and Jack. She gives you a sly smile, “Thank you both for coming. Have a good night.” 

As you turn to leave, she grabs your hand, “You’ll both have many children. Take my word for it.”

You chuckle, “Thank you, Bruna.” 

Bruna’s husband offers you and Jack a ride back to your hotel. As you and Jack bid the man farewell, Jack’s gaze goes to the weird way that you’re walking. 

He frowns, “Hey, Princess, you feeling okay?” 

You turn, “Mhmm, just a little off. I think it’s my legs. Maybe my thighs?”

“Okay, I’ll check when we get into the room,” Jack states, ushering you along with him. You smile innocently behind his back at the fact that he’s falling for your plan already. 

When you get into the room, it’s clear that Jack’s being very careful with you. He steps in front of you, and his concerned gaze filters over your form. 

“Where’s it hurting at, baby?” Jack questions. 

“My butt,” you answer plainly. 

“Alright, turn around so that I can see. We may need to go to an urgent care.”

You widen your eyes for dramatic flair, “I think I should bend over so that you can have a better look.”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea”, Jack replies, still oblivious to your ploy. 

You turn and bend to lie over the bed. You purposefully hike your ass higher in the air for Jack’s gaze. Jack kneels to start his inspection. He presses at your legs as he lifts the skirt. “Does this hurt, baby?”

“No, I think it’s a bit higher.” 

Jack nods, pushing your skirt up higher. He pushes it all the way up and is pleasantly surprised to find you bare beneath the skirt. It’s not the fact that you’re not wearing underwear that surprises him. 

It’s the fact that nestled between your cheeks is the flashing glimmer of a butt plug. He looks up just as you turn around with a mischievous smirk. 

You pout, “What do you think, Dr. Abbot? Am I gonna need to take a trip to the ER?” You start to move your hips from side to side. As if in a trance, Jack’s gaze follows you. 

He swallows, “No, Princess. I’m perfectly equipped to handle this on my own.”

He meets your gaze again. “How did you manage to get a butt plug through TSA?” 

“I talked the TSA lady into letting me bring it on. I mentioned that it was our honeymoon, and I was planning to get extra nasty for you. She was down for it,” you said. 

Jack flips you around and pushes your legs back. He stares intensely at your wet center before looking back up at you. 

“I need a taste of my girl. I’ve been missing her all day,” He mutters before lowering himself to the floor. You feel him start to press kisses to the insides of your thighs. 

He hovers his mouth over your mound before lowering himself down to press a kiss against your clit. 

“Jack…” you moan softly. 

Jack’s tongue comes out to lick a long stripe up from your entrance to your clit. He moans at the taste of you hitting his tongue. He leans back down to tongue at your entrance. He keeps his hazel eyes connected to you so that he can watch the way that you writhe and grip the sheets. 

Jack makes out with your pussy as his nose bumps into your clit. You grip his hair between your fingers. His tongue moves down to swipe at the slick that’s gathered around the plug. You shiver at the feel of him licking around the plug and swiping his fingers across your clit. 

“Mmm, you taste good, baby,” Jack states, moving up to slide his fingers inside of you. His other hand moves to the plug, and he starts to push in and out of you at the same time as his fingers.

Your eyes roll back at the full feeling. Jack takes the opportunity to connect his lips to your pearl again as he continues stimulating you. It isn’t long before he feels your pussy contract around his fingers as you explode. Your back arches from the bed as you grip Jack’s curls tightly between your fingers. 

He presses one last kiss to your clit before removing his hand from you. Jack slides the pads of his fingers into his mouth and licks them clean of your release. You sit up and grab his face in your hands. “You always make me feel so good, Daddy.”

You switch spots with Jack as you fully strip in front of him. He mimics your motions, and now you’re both bare before each other. Leaning down, Jack watches you softly as you remove the prosthesis. 

“Lay back,” You tell him.

Jack obliges and scoots up the pillows to watch as you crawl onto the bed. You surprise him when you straddle his lap backwards. You peep at him over your shoulder, “I want you to watch me ride you this way.”

Sitting up, you grab his dick in your hands and point the tip at your entrance. Jack keeps his eyes on you as you lower yourself down. A mutual moan leaves both of your lips as Jack feels you clench around him. 

Jack reaches out to grab your hip in his hand. “Come on, baby, let me see you ride me.”

You lift and slam yourself back down. Reaching out, you place your hands on Jack’s thighs as you keep moving up and down on his length. The glimmer of the plug winks at him as you watches the way that you ass ripples against him. 

“Who knew that my pretty wife would be such a slut for me?” 

“Only for you, daddy,” you reply back, as you grind down. Jack uses the opportunity to grab your hips and he thrusts up into you. 

The loud sound of your skin slapping, along with the sound of squelching fills the space of the room. You moan loudly at feeling Jack use you. Jack watches the trail of sweat as it makes it way down your spine. 

You pant loudly, “Want you to use my other hole now.” 

You slide yourself off of Jack’s dick and move to lay on your stomach with your hips hiked in the air. Jack moves behind you and stares down at the plug. Gripping it gently between his fingers, he slides the plug from your hole. 

He can’t help but be transfixed at the way your hole is open from the plug. Gripping his dick into his hand, he guides the tip to the entrance of your ass. 

“Just relax for me, baby. Don’t tense up,” He orders softly. 

You nod into the pillows. Jack notches the tip at your entrance before starting to slide in. Already, you can feel the fullness from how big he is. Jack eases in carefully until he’s fully seated inside of you. 

“You’re so deep, Jack.”

“Yeah? You like me when I’m this deep, Princess.” 

Pulling back an inch, he thrusts forward and watches as your walls greedily suck him back in. You reach back to hold yourself open for Jack’s viewing. You look back at him, “Harder.” 

This only serves as motivation for Jack as he picks up the pace of his movements. Grabbing your braids in his hand, Jack brings your body back to meet his thrusts. You claw relentlessly at the sheets as the tears of pleasure start to prickle at your eyes. 

Unintentionally, you reach back to palm at Jack’s stomach. He smirks and takes your hand in his. “Is Daddy going too hard for you, sweetheart?” 

It only makes you moan more at hearing the condescending tone of his voice. Jack lets go of your braids to bring a hand around to start strumming at your clit. 

“I’m close, daddy,” you whine into the sheets. 

“Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you,” Jack said, increasing the speed of his fingers. 

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train. The sensation of Jack filling you up combining with his fingers stroking your pearl is all so much. Your body shakes in Jack’s hold as he feels you tightening around him. 

Jack feels his own orgasm creeping up, and he presses deep inside of you. You moan and shiver at the feeling of his cum spurting deep inside of you. It feels weird, but oddly comforting at the same time. 

Jack shivers and presses a kiss to your shoulder before sliding out of you gently. 

He lays back on the pillow and pulls your body close to his. He looks down at you and presses a few soft kisses against your lips. 

“Thank you for the surprise,” Jack mutters into your hair. 

“You’re welcome. We definitely have to do that again,” you state.

Jack chuckles and nods his head. He pulls you closer as both of your eyes start to close from the events of the day. 

“I love you, Jack.”

“I love you too, Princess.”

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I remember the first time that I met you. 

You were standing in the middle of the room, women and men flocking around you. All hoping for just one chance to have your eyes on them. 

I watched you that night. I don’t think there was one moment when my eyes didn’t glance in your direction. I was at a weird point in my life. I’d just lost Anthony. Another heartbreak added to a list of unreliable men that all derived from my father. 

I kept my eyes on you. I could feel my interest growing more and more with each passing glance that I gave you. I wanted you to see me just as much as you were seeing everyone else. Call it a coincidence or some sick act of fate, but you did. 

You slid your body into the seat next to mine and ordered a glass of Hennessy. I knew that you were waiting for me to finally acknowledge you, which I did after a few short seconds. I was “playing hard” as my mother had taught me as a young girl. You always make men wait for you. Never let them get the assumption that you’re “easy” because then they’ll leave. 

At least, that’s what my mama always told me. 

“So you gone keep pretendin’ like you don’t see me starin’ at you?” You asked. 

I flicked my gaze over you, “I thought they taught all good Southern boys that it was rude to stare.”

You laughed, and not some mild chuckle, you fully laughed at my statement. A smile crossed your face next. I’d known enough men to know what each smile meant. That night, yours meant trouble. You leaned closer to me, as if we were sharing some deep secret, “Well, suga’, I’m not one of those good Southern men ya’ mama and grandmama probably told you about. I’m way better.”

I liked that about you. Your arrogance. It wasn’t like other men’s arrogance. Where theirs bordered on into dangerous territory, yours ventured more in line with self-assuredness. You knew who you were, and you weren’t afraid to let it be known.

“What’s your name?” I asked, taking a small sip from my drink.

“Elias Moore, but you can call me Stack,” You answered in return.

I rolled the syllables of your name around in my mouth for a few moments. Three syllables. What I found interesting was the notion that the “lie” sound in your name stretched out. I suppose that should’ve been my first warning not to fall for you. But I’ve always been bad at relationships, and I’ve always been good at picking very bad men, including you.

You asked for my name, and I gave it to you. 

Naturally, you complimented my name. ‘Said it fit my face and that it was the prettiest thing you’d ever heard. For the remainder of the night, we sat at that bar, exchanging knowledge and thinly concealed desire. I liked it. I liked being seen by you. I now recognize why so many people were drawn to you. You had the distinct ability to make others feel like they were the center of your universe.

And God was it infecting. 

I wanted more.

I needed to have more of you.

I’ve known many men in my life. 

But I can say with full assurance that I haven’t loved many. In fact, I’ve only loved three.

The first was my father. 

He was bound to be the first man that I’d love in my lifetime. But see, my father, he’s a very talented man. He’s the only man that I know who can disappear and reappear all at the same time. By the time that I was born, my mama and daddy had already split up. Problems that were too complicated for a child my age to understand, but I grew to know more. 

Growing up, I didn’t see my father much. There’d be a handful of times that I could count on my hand that I had memories with him. He’d appear in my life with empty promises of sticking around and building our relationship. I’d always been a foolish and naive girl, and it started with him. I believed that he meant it when he said that he wanted to be around. 

But reality comes in quick to remind you that love isn’t always eternal. 

I liked to think of my father as a Jack-in-the-box. One minute, he was here, and next, he wasn’t. There’d be a bitter acidic feeling swirling through the cavity of my chest when I realized that he had left. The phone calls decreased. The Saturday pickups stopped. He was my very own ghost.

When my father appeared again, he didn’t appear alone. He appeared with another girl whose resemblance to mine was nearly identical. I watched as he laughed and paraded his perfect daughter around. I watched their interactions. The inside jokes and laughs. There’d be moments when I saw him be immortalized in pictures with her when I had none of my own to cherish.

That was the first time I’d ever felt the hunger. 

It clawed away at my chest and rattled beneath my ribs. My gums ached with a distinct urge to consume.

My father was the first. 

Lee was the second.

Sweet Lee. 

I was a sophomore when I met him. He’d just gotten out of a relationship with a very pretty girl. We clicked together in this strange way. The first moment of us texting consisted of corny jokes and poor pickup lines, but I liked it all. I liked being in those moments with Lee when it felt like I was at the center of his entire world. 

The strange thing about Lee and I, we never had a moment to properly kiss until our last moments together.

There’d been this moment outside of school where we stood toe-to-toe, like we were in some romance movie, and we smiled at each other, but I felt the hunger simmering low beneath my stomach. When he leaned in to kiss me, I turned my head at the last second so that his lips landed on my cheek. What I loved about Lee is that he was a real gentleman. He didn’t mind that I turned my head. He just assumed it meant that I was shy. 

I smiled at him that day–perfect porcelain teeth hiding thinly concealed fangs. 

A common theme in my life with men is that they all inevitably leave. And coincidentally, they all end up leaving for another woman. I’d watched my father leave and go on to create a perfect family with another woman and child. His perfect family. 

It was only nature that Lee would do the same thing. 

The aforementioned girl from earlier wasn’t over Lee. In fact, she was just as possessive over him as I was. I saw that look in her eye. It’s a look of predatory disposition that only women can seem to sense in each other. However, the girl didn’t know that I possessed something much more dangerous than she and anyone else could ever comprehend. 

This face that I wear is not my own. 

It’s one that I inherited from my mama and from her mama, but that’s all it is–a mask. I’d grown so used to wearing it that I can’t remember what my real face looks like. I knew I loved Lee, but I was never brave enough to say it aloud. I wouldn’t express that kind of emotion unless he told me that he loved me first. I knew that we were well on our way to that stage until his love started to waver. 

The calls decreased. The texts went unanswered for hours. I knew in my heart that he was with her. 

Then came the feeling again. 

The hunger. The ravenous bloodthirst and ache in my gums to sink my teeth into raw flesh. 

By the end of the week, I asked you to come over. You thought it was to finally end things, which was true in some way. That night, I stepped closer to you. Your chest was pressed up against mine, and I could hear the thudding of your heartbeat against my breasts. I trailed a hand up your chest before settling it upon your cheek. I remember you leaned into my touch and closed your eyes at the warmth of my hand. 

I brought your face closer to mine until your lips were pressed to mine. 

Only a few minutes later were you gone.

The ache and hunger that I felt were gone, too.

Anthony was the third. 

He was the one that I loved the most out of any man. I loved Anthony more than my father, and I loved him more than Lee. I met Anthony in my senior year of high school. I was bright-eyed and eager to finally transition to the next stage of my life. 

Then he walked in and ruined my life. 

Smooth brown skin and hazel eyes. 

My mama had always told me to watch out for those men with the pretty eyes. They’d use their eyes to draw you into their lies. That’s exactly what Anthony had done to me. 

I tried to fight the interest that I had for Anthony. It was all in vain when he spoke, and his words wrapped around me like silk. He was the first boy that I’d ever let see me–the real me. I bared parts of myself to Anthony that I don’t think I’ve ever recovered. 

Anthony started the game first. He’d been doing this for far longer than I had. We developed a friendship first. Isn’t that how all good relationships start? The relationship came next, or I’d rather refer to it as something more parasitic. Anthony took, and I gave. That’s the way that it worked. 

He’d give me scraps, and like a hungry dog, I licked them obediently from the floor. Even worse, I’d look at him and thank him for it. There’s always been something interesting about Anthony. He was so talented at giving you breadcrumbs of his love and then stealing the rest away for later. 

The first time that Anthony kissed me, it felt like he was taking something away from me. I could taste the metallic iron on his tongue, and only after a few seconds did I realize that it was my own. He swirled his tongue around in my mouth like he wanted to consume every piece of me for himself. He held me close, hands gripping at the curves of my still girlish body. He trailed his lips down and ran his tongue upon my neck before biting down. I remember the dizziness that I felt from it all. The hunger settled in my stomach, and it felt like a hot piece of iron searing into the depths of my soul.

In that moment, I gave every piece of myself over to Anthony, and he’d given me a small portion of himself, too.

There were moments of bliss before the darkness started to take over again.

He found another girl. 

When he wasn’t with me, he was with her. I’ll let you in on a little secret: he was always with her more than he was with me. Just as my father, Anthony, would immortalize himself in pictures with his other, more perfect girl. I watched. I wept, but I still wasn’t ready to let him go. He’d come back eventually. He’d take a piece of me as an offering each time before he’d disappear. I let him.

It was only when he was taking from me that I ever felt wanted by him. 

The hunger grew inside me–stronger than I’d ever felt it. This time, it made me sick to my stomach. I’d wake up in the morning with my gums aching something awful before running to the bathroom to throw up yellow bile. I dry heaved over the ceramic bowl as my mother rubbed my back. 

As she looked at me, I knew that she recognized all the signs of my peril. 

Besides, she’d been the one who passed this curse down to me.

“You need to eat, baby,” She whispered against my hair.

I don’t remember when the change happened, or when the light switch flipped, but suddenly, I wanted to reclaim all of the parts of me that Anthony had stolen. I wanted to take from him just as he’d done to me. That night, I rubbed at my gums, smearing blood across my teeth and moaning at the taste of it.

I met Anthony in the middle of the woods. 

In those very woods, our bodies connected one last time, rolling around in the dirt like we were animals. I clawed at his back, fingernails carving at his back. I wanted him to feel the pain and not be able to discern it from pleasure. 

Then he was gone. 

There was blood. Lots of it. It covered my body. I went down by the river and washed it from my face.  I walked home, and my mama was waiting there for me on the porch. A cloud of smoke covered her face as she held the Virginia Slim between her fingers. She stood from her chair and ushered me inside the house. 

I sat between her legs as she picked the dried leaves and things from my hair. She was so patient and soft as I lay my head against her thigh. She started at the front of my hairline and began to braid my hair. She leaned down to press a kiss against my temple, “It’s okay. It’s over now.”

I let myself close my eyes as I still tasted the remnants of blood on my tongue.

You surprised me, Stack. 

I didn’t expect ot fall for you as quickly as I did. But you made it so easy to want you. After the first night of meeting you, I started to see you everywhere. You’d even managed to haunt my dreams when I closed my eyes at night. 

I saw you a few days later at The Chow’s grocery store. I felt you before I saw you. Funny enough, I could smell your cologne permeating throughout the air, even though I was sure that you were still standing at the front of the door. The hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as you slithered behind me. 

A serpent came to tempt Eve, and Lord, I was willing to eat any forbidden fruit if it meant that I got experience life with you. 

“Sure is nice seein’ you here,” You said, shamelessly trailing your eyes up and down my figure. The dress clung to my body due to the sticky nature of the humidity that day. 

I locked my eyes onto you, “You sure you ain’t stalkin’ me?”

You smirked, flashing that gold in my direction. Your smile, it always felt dangerous, even if it was sincere. There was something predatory that lay beneath that smile. But I’d always been the lamb that found herself being devoured by the wolf. 

“No stalkin’. You know this town is small enough for me to turn around and see you. Plus, it’s easy to spot you, seein’ as you ain’t from here.”

“What gives you the impression that I’m not from around here?”

You leaned your body closer to mine, “Well, I’ve been livin’ here my whole life and I ain’t neva’ seen a pretty gal like you here. Trust me, I’d remember.”

I remember laughing at your statement. You always had this way of making me laugh, even when I was so mad at you and ready to burn the house down. You’d blown the match out and made some joke about keeping me warm. You always made me laugh, Elias.

I miss that about you. 

I’d be telling a lie if I didn’t say that our relationship progressed rather quickly. Once you were in my life, you became entwined in ways that I couldn’t fathom. You introduced me to your family: Smoke, Annie, and lil’ Sammy. I remember the first time that Smoke and Annie saw me. That almost quick, indiscernible look of concern as they took me in, standing next to you.

I was smart enough to avoid any contact with Annie. 

I know she’d figure me out with just one touch. 

It was Smoke who kept his eyes on me the whole time. I never told you about the conversation that he and I had in the kitchen. 

“Where you from?” Smoke asked from behind me. 

I turned from the sink and leaned against it, “All over. My mama and I moved a lot growing up. I grew up in the Delta, though.” 

He nodded. That quiet disposition and distrust sinking away at his eyes. For a moment, I felt that ache in my gums. I wondered what his eyes would taste like squishing between my molars. 

I took another sip of water to dispel the hunger. 

“My brother seems to like you a lot,” Smoke commented.

“I like him a lot.”

“You don’t think that’s pretty quick?”

I shrugged, “When it’s meant to be, it’s just meant to be. No use fightin’ it.”

Smoke nodded, but I could still see that weariness and older sibling protectiveness dripping from him. However, he was right to worry. 

“Just be careful. My brother can be very careless when it comes to women.”

“Noted. Thank you, Elijah.” I said, concluding the conversation. Even though he tried to hide it, I watched the flinch that overcame him at me saying his name. 

I took you to meet my mama. 

I don’t think you realized how much of a privilege it was. I rarely brought men home to meet my mama unless I was sure that it was serious. My mama greeted you with a smile and a Virginia Slim between her fingers. 

I watched the interaction between the two of you. 

You were being your usual charming and charismatic self. You didn’t even realize that my mama had already picked up on what type of man that you were. She’d always been good at spotting wolves, even when they tried to hide in sheep’s clothing. 

Later that day, as my mama and I sat on the porch, she brought you up, “Be careful with that boy of yours. He ain’t the type to be chained down.”

Upon hearing her words, I felt the ache and burning start to consume my throat. My mama rocked in her chair and held the cigarette out in my direction. I grabbed it from her fingers and took a long drag from it. The bitter nicotine burned at my throat, but it helped satiate the hunger. 

“It’ll be different this time. I care about him. We’ll make it work.”

My mama didn’t say much. Just took the cigarette from my fingers and held it back up to her lips. As she expelled the smoke from her mouth, she spoke again, “I hope for your sake that it’s true. But remember this, baby…you need to eat.” 

I didn’t go visit her for weeks. 

There’s something about you, Elias. You have a way of slithering yourself beneath the layers of my skin that I was aware of. You’re the embodiment of physical desire and passion. You always had this way of making me feel like I was on fire everywhere. When you touched me or pressed your lips against mine, I always felt like you were taking a canister of gasoline and pouring it all over me. 

I’d gladly give you the match. 

Late at night at the juke joint, you press my body against yours, holding me close like I’d slip through your fingers. You settled your mouth against my pulse and kissed there. 

“All these men here. Lookin’ at you and wishing that they had a chance, but you’re all mine, babygirl. I ain’t eva’ letting you go.”

I remember the chills that scattered across my body at your clear possession over me. You wanted me. You desired me. I didn’t have to question it. 

I remember looking up into your eyes, “I’m all yours, Elias. Forever.” 

That night was the first time that we made love. I’d never felt anything like it before. It felt like I was being infected with you, and there was no cure for it. You and I weren’t gentle about it either. I remember how you slammed me against the wall, rutting your body into mine. The sounds of your hips slapping against mine as I clawed relentlessly at your back.

It looked more like we were fighting than making love.

It was something primal, but it was ours. I remember that as I rolled my hips across yours, I draped my body across yours and mouthed at the place where your neck and shoulder met. Suddenly, it was as if I could feel the blood moving beneath your skin, and my mouth watered in anticipation. 

I bit you. 

Not just some gentle love bite. A bite hard enough to imprint my teeth in your skin. You flinched and came inside me. I think it surprised you just as much as it surprised me. When I released you, I could feel the shame settling over my body. I was prepared for you to throw me off you and kick me out. 

But you surprised me. 

You smiled. Wild, unhinged, and dark. You threaded your fingers throughout my hair as you brought me down into another earth-shattering kiss. 

My eyes met yours as we pulled back from the kiss, “You can bite me too if you want.”

It’s funny how things seemed to deteriorate for us, Stack. 

We were good. God, we were so good. 

You’d told me you loved me more times than I could comprehend. Even though he was still wary, Smoke had started to come around to the idea of you and me being together. From what I’d discerned, this was the longest relationship that Stack had been in.

It felt good to hear it be called a relationship. Not some situation, but an actual relationship between you and me. 

But I was so blind. So consumed by love that I didn’t see the signs that you were starting to fall out of love with me. 

It started when she came into town.

Mary. 

Some white girl, yet you claimed that she was nothing of the sort. I should’ve sensed the signs when you couldn’t keep your eyes off of her in the train station. When I asked you about her, you claimed that she was old news. Nothing to worry about. How naive I was to actually believe your words. 

It started small with you. You trailed crumbs across the floor of your indiscretions and sins. You wouldn’t be outright with your betrayal. No, you were a man who valued the thrill of danger. Your connection with her started emotionally before it became physical.

That’s what hurt more. 

You’d already been giving her the pieces of yourself that I had masterfully crafted and catered to. The hunger, it came back fierce and unwavering when you came home, smelling of her perfume. I pretended not to notice, but it made me sick to my stomach. 

That night, we engaged in another session of primative mating. It was borderline violent as I released my frustrations onto you. I think you suspected that I knew, but you gave it back to me just as fiercely as I gave it to you. Your fingers tangled in my hair, and you pulled so hard that I could feel the strands breaking. 

I wondered if you were this rough with her. 

Did you give her these same brutal thrusts, or were you gentle? Were you slow and methodical in your movements? Did you whisper sweet nothings into her ear as she withered and cried in pleasure? What was she giving you that I wasn’t? 

I bit you again that night. Harder than I ever have before. This time, it broke skin. Your blood filled my mouth and trailed down your back. You moaned through it all as our mutual releases hit. I let you go and wrapped my arms around your neck as the blood continued to seep down between our bodies. 

Hot tears flowed down my face and burned as hot as lava. 

You turned my face to yours as the tears touched your skin. For a moment, we stared at each other. For a moment, you were in love with me again. For only a moment, you were mine again.

Only a moment later did I watch your love go away. 

Small towns have a way of holding the darkest secrets, especially if it’s for one of their own.

Curiously, I waited for someone to slip up and confirm your infidelity. I wanted to see if there’d be any brave souls who wanted to put me out of my misery, but there were no takers. They’d all kept their loyalty to you. 

But I saw the stares. The low murmurs as I passed through the stores. The poorly hidden faux masks of sympathy. You were parading your whore around at night, while her husband and I were expected to play supporting characters in your affair. 

I waited. 

You left for the night to go to the juke joint. I followed you, but I stayed concealed by the shadows to observe. I swallowed down the bile as I watched you and her, bodies coiled together like a piece of rope. You held her and whispered in her ear just as you’d done to me. What hurt the most was how carefree and in love you looked. 

There was a clicking in my throat and that familiar burning of hunger. 

By the time that you came home that night, I’d quietly packed my things to leave. I walked to my mama’s house, and as expected, she was waiting there with a pack of Virginia Slims. 

“Come here, baby,” She said, patting her lap. I sat between her legs, just as I’d done a thousand times in my life. She ran her fingers across my forehead, feeling the spike of heat beneath her fingertips. 

“You need to eat,” She said, smoke billowing around us. The quiet song of crickets and frogs filled the outdoor space as my mama continued stroking my hair. I felt my mouth water as the violent urge to devour enveloped me. I turned my head to my mother’s bare leg and bit down roughly. Her metallic blood filled my mouth, and she never made any signs to show that it hurt her.

Besides, we’d been doing this since I was a child. Just as her mother had done for her and her mother before her. We were all women weaned on violence, and we’d give this same thing to our babies.

It was just the way of life. 

Word spread rather quickly of me leaving you. You showed up just as I expected. Sorrow and shame were present in your eyes as you stood in front of me. The hunger was back. It tore at my gums and scattered across my taste buds. 

Suddenly, I wanted to take from you. I wanted to see the inside of you and feel your blood dripping into my mouth. I invited you into the house. My mama was gone for the day. 

I turned to face you as you stood across from me in the bedroom, “Did you ever love me, Elias? Truly love me?” 

“I did. I mean, I do. What Mary and I have is complicated. But you matter to me just as much as she does.” 

A low laugh rattled from my chest as the hunger rummaged beneath my ribcage. I stepped closer to you, “So choose. Me or her.” 

I waited for your reaction. I wanted to see, and just as expected, you disappointed me. The flash of conflict in your eyes let me know that it’d never be me. It’d always be her. You’d managed to become my father, Lee, and Anthony all in one blink of an eye. 

I trailed my fingers up your chest before grasping your face in my hands. I pressed my lips against yours softly. I could taste the remnants of her on your lips, and it made me ill. 

“Make love to me one last time, Elias.” 

The grief passed through your eyes. You always were selfish and greedy. You truly believed that you could have it all. Our clothes fell to the floor in whispers. I straddled your thighs on the bed as I sank down on you. That same breathless gasp left your mouth. We weren’t violent this time. There was no need to sully this moment with violence. Just as your climax consumed you, I clamped down on the same place where I’d bitten you before.

Only this time, I didn’t let go. 

This time, I tore the piece of flesh from your neck and swallowed it. Your eyes widened in pure terror as the blood spluttered from the wound and covered both of us. You tried in vain to push me off of you, but the blood loss was happening too quickly. I held your wrists down to the bed as I drank my fill of your blood. My teeth sank into the middle of your neck as I ripped another piece from you. Your vocal cords were exposed. 

I watched the muscles contract. The same vocal cords that you’d used to tell me you love me and lie to me all in one breath. You continued sputtering on the bed, but I was able to witness that final moment when you’d taken your last breath and your eyes glazed over.

I made sure to hold contact with you so that I’d be the last thing you ever saw. 

I ate the rest of you. Each and every piece. I didn’t want any piece of you to go to waste. Even when I’d made it to your bones, I sucked the pieces of meat from the bone and swallowed them all. Your cum was still staining the bed, and it had mixed with your blood. I licked the tangy and sweet fluids from the sheets. 

The only thing that I’d kept of yours was your skull. 

I added it to the collection next to my father’s, Lee’s, and Anthony’s. You’d be forever immortalized with them. You’d be with me forever. I’d always love you, Elias. By consuming you, I was honoring you and showing you that love. 

My mama came home later as I lay beside your skeleton. 

She took your bones and buried them down by the swamp. Surely, no one would ever find you there, unless there was some gator or storm that washed you up. 

She came back and ushered me from the bed. My mama led me to the bathroom where she’d drawn a warm bath. She ran the sponge across my skin as the blood stained the water a violent red. She dressed me just as she had when I was a child. 

In the living room, I sat between her legs as she grabbed the wide-tooth comb and the Blue Magic Grease. Just as she’d always done, she braided my hair. 

“It’s okay. We’ll be gone in the morning before they come.”

I held your chain between my fingers. 

You’d always be with me forever, Elias.

I told you that this was a love story, right?

You should be chilling on this beautiful beach or by the pool in your childhood home in a bikini, sunglasses on your face with a big glass full of something strong. Or even attempting to surf a wave like you used to before you quit surfing for good. 

Not here in a lifeguard uniform with enough sunscreen on your body to coat an elephant, bored out of your mind and on the verge of insanity. You've been doing this for only two weeks now and you already want to quit. 

You thought that coming back to your old seaside town after a year in the city attending university would allow you the relaxation and decompression you needed before heading back in the fall to start your new semester...and officially becoming an adult. 

You didn't feel quite like an adult even after you graduated high school and went to college in a city far, far away from your little town by the shore. Precisely a train to the airport, a plane ride, and a taxi away. This school was at the top of your list when it came to biology, with their acclaimed (and expensive) science program and influx of internships. 

Since you were a little girl watching 'The Little Mermaid' and obsessing over the aquatic mammals at the aquarium, you've wanted to be a marine biologist. You've always been attracted to water, fish, and the big, beautiful sea. You carry a sea turtle plushie around (even to took it to college!) and own about five different shark figurines. 

Getting through your major was hard, especially in an unfamiliar place, but you and your parents knew that you had to spread your wings in order to succeed. Once you aced your exams and got a job after interning with an aquarium your freshmen year, it seemed like all the stress and rough days were worth it. 

Going to school away from home was the best decision you ever made, you believe. You've met so many people, explored so many places in the city, and did all the things your small town wouldn't allow, yet you never forgot about where you came from. 

So when the opportunity came to return home for the summer came, you took it...including this part-time job as a lifeguard. While it isn't ideal, the money is going towards student loans, books, and tuition. Plus the uniforms are cute: a red bathing suit reading 'Lifeguard' in white letters on the front, a whistle, and a hat. 

After being back in town for two weeks and being gone for a year, it seems like barely anything has changed. The only thing that has are the people. Shoko, your longtime friend and one of the lifeguards, has grown out her chestnut brown hair and cut down on smoking. Two more trainees, Yuji Itadori and Todo Aoi, have been hired to join the crew. 

There seems to be more kids and tourists surrounding the beach and boardwalk now, taking advantage of the sun and trinket shops. Your parents have gotten older, but still fuss over you and their beach house. The scent in the air is still the same breezy, sea-scented air you've always loved. 

But there is one person you haven't seen yet that you wonder will ever come back...and then you stop yourself. Why are you thinking about him? 

'He left before you finished high school,' you think to yourself, scoldingly. 'He isn't thinking about you, so why are you thinking about him? He's the reason you quit surfing!' 

Not just competitive surfing, but surfing period. Because every time you got on that board and tasted the saltwater, you were reminded of him. He sucked the freedom and joy out of it, not to mention made you feel incompatible with his skills. It became a competition with you two: who can surf the longest? Who can ride the biggest wave? 

Until he kissed you and left without ever saying goodbye or keeping in touch. After that, you quit for good. 

So you go back to your job of overlooking the beach, occasionally blowing on your whistle, and checking out the hot guys that the beach has to offer. Your hometown always had its studs, practically serving one up to you now: he is a tall, long-haired drink of water, his body practically built from granite stone. 

He has his back turned to you as he stands near the water, wiping down his board, so you can't see his face, but you notice the tattoos roping his arms and his back dimples. You peer at him behind your shades, glad to have a discreet hiding place high on top of your tower. 

You watch as the sexy stranger drags his board out into the water and slides onto it stomach-first, paddling into the sea. He passes by splashing kids and relaxing adults, swimming deeper and deeper into the water. You scowl in confusion at him as he passes the line, even as a big wave comes hurdling towards him. "What the hell is he doing?" you whisper to yourself. 

You lift your whistle to blow, but stop when the man stands up, his arms out and feet planted firmly on the surfboard. He then begins surfing the wave, doing so as if he has done this many times before. The sun glints in his long, black locks and against his toned body as he twists against the wave. Chasing it. Dancing with it. It's quite impressive. 

"Y/N!" someone calls. You snap out of your trance and look down to see Shoko in her uniform and sunglasses. "It's your break time. We can switch now." 

You sigh in relief, happy to have some time alone and get something to eat. But as you are gathering your beach bag, you hear a sudden scream. "Help!" someone wails. "Please someone help him! He's drowning!" 

"Surfer overboard!" another calls. "He's too far out! Can anybody swim?!" 

You snap your head towards the commotion at the same time as Shoko, both of you in savior mode thanks to your training. A small group of people have surrounded the shoreline where they look out at the surfboard currently being swept up by the waves. But no surfer. 

Quickly, you jump from the tower and land perfectly on the sand before dropping your bag and racing over to the crowd. "What happened?" you demand. They all looked relieved to see you. 

"He swam out too far, got hit with a wave, and fell off his board," one kid rushes to explain, clutching an inflatable donut to his chest. "We tried to throw a floatie at him, but he's too far!" 

You look out to where the surfer is currently, the water rippling being an indication of where he sunk. "Stay here," you order before ripping off your hat and gunning for the water. You blow your whistle three times-a sign that someone has drowned-and Shoko and the other lifeguards quickly get people away from the water. 

You have only saved about two people in your life since the beginning of your lifeguard position. This is the third time, but like the other times, your training comes rushing back to you, making you act quick. 

With your red 'Lifeguard' rescue tube strapped to your body, you dive into the water and begin to swim as fast as you can towards the surfer. You pop your head up every so often to breathe and make sure you're heading in the right direction, catching glimpses of the surfer's black hair. 

Your limbs burn the more you push yourself in the undercurrent that pushes back, but you continue to move, knowing that if you don't, this poor person will die. Luckily, you finally make it to him and manage to snatch his arm in the water. "Gotcha!" you grunt, pulling him towards you. 

You feel your heart jump at how deep the water is, the floor nowhere in sight, but you use your rescue tube for the both of you. You fling the surfer's arm over the tube while you do the same, the both of you now floating together with your other arm wrapped around his shoulders. 

The man sputters, his wet, black hair covering his face. You pat his back to get the rest of the water out, trying not to pay attention to his sexy neck and shoulder tattoos. "It's okay, sir," you pant. "Just breathe; I've got you." You push the man's hair back so he can breathe better. "Nothing is going to..." 

Your words die in your throat when you catch a glimpse of his very handsome, very familiar face. A face that you know all too well despite having not seen him three years. "Geto?!" you exclaim. 

Your old nemesis opens his eyes, his violet irises slightly unfocused. "Y/N?" he mumbles. "You..." His eyes flutter closed and his head lulls back before he can finish his sentence. 

Pushing away your shock at seeing him back in town, you quickly toss his other arm over your shoulder and begin to butterfly kick your way back to the shore, grunting from the dead weight of Geto. Fortunately, a white rope appears in front of you as a lifeline. "Ms. Y/N!" Todo calls from the shore. "Grab on! We'll pull you two back to safety!" 

As you wrap a hand around the rope and let yourself be pulled to the shore, you turn to stare at Geto. The sunlight glints against his skin and long lashes fanning his eyes. He looks the same but different; there are a few slight changes in his features. 

When you finally get him to shore and allow the lifeguards to help you lay him down on the sand, you see the changes more prominently. Back then, he had less tattoos and was quite lankier yet still clean. His hair was shoulder-length and he often wore it in buns. 

His hair is now down to his back and he has way more tattoos: a sleeve inks his left arm while his thick neck and right ribcage are inked. He is also buffer and bigger, lean muscles glinting with droplets of water in the golden sun rays. 

You would be thirsting after him if he wasn't practically dead or on your shit list. What the hell is he doing back here?!

"Jesus, Geto," Shoko hisses, looking upon the surfer in worry. You almost forgot her and Geto have always been close. "He's not breathing," someone gasps. "Wasn't he in the national surfer's championships earlier this year?" 

You are reminded of the past like a slap in the face: Geto had moved to Los Angeles to become a professional surfer. At the time, you were about to enter your sophomore year of high school while he just finished his senior year. The last time you saw him, he had thrown party to celebrate being drafted in the championships and his soft lips were on yours. 

"Everybody back up, please!" Yuji yells, bringing you back to reality. "Make room! Let the guy breathe and the lifeguard do her job." 

Now everyone's eyes are on you. 'Stop this,' you think to yourself. 'He almost drowned and you need to save him. He could die.' 

Quickly, you kneel before Geto and stare down at his plump lips. You swallow hard, biting back a grunt of frustration. You lean down and pry his lips open, tilting his head back for easier access. "You'd better not be faking," you hiss before you press your open mouth to his. 

You begin to exhale into his mouth, filling his air with lungs. The crowd waits with bated breath, watching you save the golden boy. Finally, Geto lurches beneath you and you quickly leap away to let him recover. 

He sputters before lurching forward and coughing up the water in his throat, retching on the sand. When he finally stops, he lays back on the sand, taking deep breaths, and his violet eyes lull to the side to stare at you. "Y-Y/N?" he murmurs, recognition flickering in them. "So I wasn't hallucinating earlier. That was really you." 

You would laugh if this situation wasn't so dire. "Yeah," you reply. "It's me." A slight smile appears on Geto's lips. "It's been so long," he softly says. "How are you doin'? You graduated, right?" 

Quickly, you reassess the situation and allow Todo and Yuji to help him up. "Uh, let's talk after you get yourself checked out," you say. "Todo, please escort this man to get some first aid for his knee please." 

The big, buffed boy nods, already leading Geto away by his shoulders as the crowd disperses. "You got it, Ms. Y/N!" But as they head towards the small lifeguard hut, Geto turns to look at you over his shoulder. You ignore the clench in your stomach from his eyes meeting yours. 

"You knew that guy?" Yuji curiously asks, watching too. 

"That was Geto, an old childhood friend of mine," Shoko explains, happy to speak for you. "He moved away from here three years ago to be a professional surfer. He came back just yesterday." 

You gape at Shoko in shock. She knew and didn't tell you?! "Y/N hated him back in high school," she continues, not even looking at you.

"I didn't hate him," you protest, glaring at her. "I just never liked his cockiness. I doubt anything's changed." 

"Excuse me, lifeguard," someone says behind you. "Did you happen to see a tall, dark-haired guy with an ugly face 'round here?" 

You knew that suave, sexy voice anywhere and turn to see none other than Gojo Satoru, Gojo's surfing buddy, with his white-hair, striking blue eyes, and abs worth dying for. You've always liked Gojo, his goofiness and charm. 

"You don't recognize me, 'Tarou?" you question, putting your hands on your hips. His blue eyes widen at the sight of you. "Y/N?" he gapes. "Fuck, girl, look at you! What, you not gonna give me a hug?" 

He swoops you up in a big embrace that makes you giggle, your feet lifting off of the sand. "So how's school? What are you doin' back here in this small town?" he chuckles. "I thought you left for the big city last time I heard." 

"School is school," you reply with a shrug. "Came back here for a break until the fall. Why are you here?" 

"Championships are over for Geto, so he came here to teach some kids how to surf for some kinda program." He gives you a crooked smile as puts his sunglasses on his eyes. "I'm just here for the fun." 

"Well, you'll find your friend at first aid," Shoko replies, jutting a thumb back at the station where Yuji retreated for the bathroom. "He almost died, so Y/N had to fish him out." 

Gojo rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "He's such a show-off. Well, lemme go find him and beat his ass. You two stick around and we can link up later." He gives you both a wink before he runs off in the sand to find his friend. 

That afternoon, you and Shoko get off from work. You change out of your sweat and water-soaked uniform and into some cut-offs and a bikini top before meeting Shoko out on the beach. She is smoking in her own cut-offs when you arrive, watching the families pack up their kids for the afternoon. 

"Why didn't you tell me Geto was back in town?" you immediately ask her. She glances at you behind her designer shades, barely looking taken aback by your question. "Was I supposed to?" she shoots back. 

You scowl at her, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, you never came off like you liked him before," she says, shrugging, "so I figured it wasn't a big deal. He didn't know you were back either." 

Shoko has been friends with you since HS, but was also friends with Geto and Gojo, tutoring them before the duo graduated. The fact that she is so friendly with the guy you despise still rubs you the wrong way...even when you know it's stupid. 

You sigh, rubbing your hands over your shoulders. Goose pimples appear despite it still being warm. "I just don't want things to be awkward," you whisper. 

Shoko cocks her head at you, confused. "Why would they be? You didn't fuck the guy, did you?" Her eyes widen, shock on her face. "Wait, did you?" she pushes, grabbing your arm. "I thought you only kissed!" 

"Ugh, never mind," you huff, waving her away. "And no, I didn't. He and Gojo are sluts; they'll fuck anything with a skirt. At least Gojo is nicer than Geto is." 

"What's this about Gojo bein' nicer than me?" a familiar voice asks. 

Shit. You turn, finding Geto standing behind you with a towel wrapped around his broad shoulders and not looking so unconscious now. "I'm guessin' I wasn't supposed to hear that," he chuckles, smirking at you. "Glad to see you haven't changed much, Y/N." 

You stare at him, speechless. Seeing him again is like a tsunami hitting you, especially when looks so damn GOOD. 

Gojo comes skipping after Geto, tossing an arm around his friend's neck. "Well, we run into each other again." He grins at you. "You pretty ladies want some drinks? We're headin' to the bar and we're buyin'...well, I am. Told Sugu I'd treat since he almost died." 

"I didn't almost die," Geto sighs, rolling his eyes and taking Gojo's arm off of him. Ever the self-assured prick. 

"Yeah, 'cause of her," Gojo argues, pointing at you. "Good thing this lifeguard was on duty and knew CPR." Geto's violet eyes widen, his shock evident. "You did CPR on me?" he asks you. 

You flush despite the fact that you were forced to since he nearly drowned. "It's part of my job," you deadpan. "You weren't breathing, so I had to." 

"It's not like he hasn't tasted you before," Shoko sniggers, side-stepping your pinching fingers. "Sounds tempting, but we need to shower first. I smell like seawater. I like my drinks strong too." 

Gojo sniggers, waltzing over to your friend. "Yeah, we know. Too bad your legs ain't as strong as your tonsils." He then snatches her shades off and books it across the sand while she chases him. "Hey, you prick!" she shouts. "Bring those back! They're Gucci!"

That leaves just you and Geto to walk alone side by side to follow the running pair. It is so awkward and tense that you'd have to cut through with a chainsaw. Words left unsaid for three years hang between you, suspended by a thin thread. 

"Hey," he finally greets. 

"Hey," you say back, lacking all kinds of enthusiasm. You stare at your white toes to avoid looking at him and his perfect body. He clears his throat, aware of the awkwardness. "Thanks...y'know...for helping me out earlier." You shrug it off. "Just doing my job." 

"If this is awkward, I can leave you be," he says, stealing a glance at you. You pretend not to notice it. "Don't worry about it. It's awkward being back here anyway." 

A slight chuckle leaves his lips. You ignore the butterflies it gives you. "I'm sure it is. You're a big city girl after all. Ivy League, right?" You bite back a chuckle. "Not Ivy League; just a marine biologist in the making." 

"I take it school is goin' well for you then?" he continues. You don't understand why he's making so much conversation. "What are you doin' back here anyways? Last time I checked, this town was too small for your dreams." 

You feel guilty for saying that now since you're happy to be home, but being a marine biologist (and before, a competitive surfer) wasn't going to happen in this little town. "Needed a change and I felt homesick, so I came back. I start my sophomore year in the fall with a new job at the aquarium." 

Geto hums in acknowledgement. "I saw that on your IG. Congrats." You pause, letting him walk a little ways ahead before he realizes that you've stopped. "You...keep up with my IG?" you ask, squinting suspiciously. "Why?" 

The surfer shrugs his broad shoulders, oblivious to the context. "Shoko is a mutual friend and I just happened to see you pop up. I never followed you or nothin', but I keep up with what you do." He looks deadass and genuine which makes it worse. Why is he checking up on you? You were never close friends and you never dated. 

You push away the confusing thoughts and keep walking with him in tow. "So what are you doin' back here?" you ask. "I would've thought Cali was the place to be." 

He catches the sarcasm in your tone and sniggers, moving to pull his hair into a long ponytail. The act is annoyingly hot. "It is," he chortles. "The beaches are way bigger there. The championships are over till next year, so I came back for the summer to teach kids how to surf. It's part of this program I put together to give back to the community." 

"That's good for publicity, I'd guess," you dryly joke. The words are out before you can stop them. But luckily, Geto snorts, getting your humor. "Oh, like you wouldn't believe. Women love men with kids." 

You roll your eyes at his cocky remark, but then again, you asked for it. Silence descends upon you again but less tense than last time. It is as if you have opened up a bottle that needed to be a long time ago. 

"Listen," Geto suddenly says. He sounds almost...nervous? "If you're not too tired, I'm havin' a party at my Air BNB tonight. Somethin' to celebrate my win." He pauses to give you a crooked smile. "I won, by the way. The championships. Thanks for your congratulations." 

And then the moment is over. You huff to yourself, already sick of him. "I don't watch sports," you mutter. "But congrats." He puts a hand on his heart, pretending to be touched.

"You and Shoko should come through if you want," he continues. "We'll have beer, games, music-" 

"Geto, what are you doing?" you question, finally looking at him. Really looking at him and not daring to look away. "Why are you doing this? We haven't spoken in years." 

'Not since the kiss.' 

He stops walking and so do you, both of you staring at each other in the setting sun. You can see it in his eyes like golden sparkles glistening within pools of violet. "What's wrong with reconnecting?" he asks with a smile. "Besides, this will give us a chance to catch up. Have some fun before the fall, y'know?" 

You don't know what is definition of 'fun' is, but you don't want to find out. He shrugs once more, backing off to give you space. "Just think about it. You've got sand on your butt, by the way." 

He leaves you to stand alone and look at the sand coating your asscheeks popping out from under your cut-offs. You angrily wipe the grains away. "Asshole," you huff to yourself. He hasn't changed at all either. 

You sit and stare at Geto's rented beach house aka his Air BNB, and it feels like you're about to enter the gates of Hell.

"Shoko, I-I don't know about this," you nervously say as you stare out at the gorgeous beach house from Shoko's car. "There's a lot of people we don't know in there." 

You wondered why Geto decided to stay here when he could've stayed at his childhood home, but if he was planning to party, you guess this was smarter. The house is beautiful, sitting right on top of a sandy hill with a driveway, a pool, and a breathtaking view of the beach. Perfect for a morning surf and a nighttime skinny dip. 

Shoko turns to you in her driver's seat, applying eyeliner to her eyes. "Who cares? We're here for the drinks and to have some fun. Plus, you look GOOD." 

You're wearing your favorite frilly white sundress for the occasion paired with gold sandals and your waterproof mist on your face to freeze your makeup. Your hair is braided back to accentuate your face, much to your mom's liking. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she told you when Shoko pulled up to the door. "And tell Geto I said hi." 

You only grunted as you grabbed your bag and left to meet your friend. The ride over here was like going up a rollercoaster, fear and apprehension twirling in your gut as you threw back a shot of vodka and puffed on the vape you forced Shoko to give you even though you don't smoke. 

"This about Geto?" Shoko asks now, giving you a knowing look. "Don't lie to me. I can tell when you do." 

You look away to stare at the party, biting your lip at the sight of partiers in the pool. "Did he say something to you?" she demands and slams on the wheel. "I knew he'd fuck up again! When I catch him-" 

"No, no, it's me," you reassure her. "It's just weird, y'know? We haven't seen each other since he left for LA and now we're still at odds.” You want to ask Shoko what she meant by Geto "fucking up again". What did he do to fuck up the first time? 

"Then this is the perfect chance to patch things up. You only live once, right?" Shoko gives you a reassuring wink before she coaxes you out of the car and into the balmy, sea salt-scented night. There is a clear, inky sky full of stars; a perfect night for an adventure. 

The pool is full of inflatable animals, beach balls, and drunk people while the rest of the house is full loud music, red solo cups, flashing disco balls hanging from the ceiling, and even more drunk people. Including Gojo. 

"Weeell, look at what we have here!" he announces. He saunters over in his backwards cap, his face flushed pink and eyes aglow as they rake over your body. Daaamn, Y/N! You look like you tryna do somethin' tonight...or someone?" He quirks a curious brow at you. 

"Don't get your hopes up, Satoru," you laugh. "I'm not doin' anything with anyone. Just here to have fun." He nods in approval, taking your hand. “Then let's get you girls some shots and get you on the floor." 

He leads you and Shoko over to a back table covered in bottles of booze, cups, and a bowl of spiked fruit punch. You take a cup of the punch and sip on it, the vodka warming your tummy with every sip you take. Soon, you are flush from the alcohol and feeling looser, laughing with people and swaying your hips in your dress to the music. 

You're not thinking about Geto or saving his life or why he invited you here...until you are forced to. When your cup is empty and you turn to get more punch, you practically fall right into the surfer's muscular back. "Sorry!" you exclaim, horrified and feeling like a stupid drunk. 

When Geto turns around and you realize that it's him, dread creeps in and the false confidence that the alcohol provided fades. He looks absolutely delicious in his shorts and Hawaiian-print shirt peeled open to reveal his abs, tattoos, and the silver chain dangling like a treat from his neck. 

His violet eyes widen an inch, shocked at seeing you here. "You came," he states, giving you a smile. He actually looks happy to see you. "I didn't think you'd show up. You look good." His eyes rake over your dress, lingering a bit too long on your legs. 

“A party's a party," you deadpan, fixing your face as if you ate something sour. "It was Shoko's idea to come." He doesn't look the least bit disappointed that it wasn't your decision. "Well, m'glad you did," he replies, sounding genuine. "Hopefully, you'll stick around this time." 

A sudden flashback appears in your mind: Geto, age eighteen, looking down at you with those damn violet eyes as he stands on his childhood home's back porch. "I’ll be right back. Stick around for me." He turns to go inside, leaving you to touch your lips where his once were, claiming he wanted to teach you in case you did it in college and didn't know how. 

You remember that after waiting fifteen minutes for him, you had gotten up and left the party, but texted him that you did. He never answered. The next day, you got the news that he left for California in the dead of night. He hadn't even said goodbye prior to you kissing. 

"What does that mean?" you ask him now, squinting at his muscular back as he turns to pour himself more beer. Does he mean when you left his party? Does he mean when you ghosted him the same way he did you? 

'What does he mean?!' your drunken mind screams, frustrated.

Before you can turn him around and force him to answer, Gojo comes to break it up. "Heeey, there's the winner!" he shouts, tossing himself at Geto. "We got beer pong started! You two stop bein' so antisocial and join in!" 

But before he can wrap an arm around you and force you over to the beer pong table, you give him a wavering smile and side-step him. "I-I'm gonna go to the bathroom," you stammer before running off to get out of there as quickly as humanly possible. 

You squeeze through the throng of partiers, getting your toes stepped on and accidentally bumping people before making it to the staircase. Quickly, you wedge yourself upstairs and walk past closed doors until you find out that is cracked. 

In your drunken and panicked state, you push it open to see nothing but darkness. "Dammit," you huff, pressing your hand against the wall to find a light switch. Luckily, you find it...the bad news is that you're in a bedroom. 

Geto's bedroom. You can tell from the surfboard sitting in the corner of the room and the framed photos of his life in Cali on his dresser and armoire. It is a beautiful room with a king-sized bed coated in a combat bedspread, a flat-screen, and a balcony overlooking the beach. 

"Shit!" you hiss, stumbling backwards. "This isn't the bathroom!" You have to leave now before you're caught! But as you turn to rush out, you clumsily knock a photo off of Geto's dresser. "Shit!" you hiss again, panic seeping in your veins. You're so sure that you'll be caught. 

Quickly, you kneel down to pick up the framed photo of a young Geto and his parents at a surfing competition, but something stops you short. There, on the floor, is a blue greeting card covered in fish that change colors in the light. With shaky hands, you open the card and find your handwriting: "Good luck in Cali - Y/N" 

'He kept it,' you think to yourself, in shock. Your mom told you to buy it for Geto despite you not wanting to. You had handed it to him in a hurry, flushing with embarrassment, but he just smiled at the card before taking you outside to sit with him on the back porch. 

Before he asked you about college. Before he mentioned dating. Before he lightly teased you about kissing before he realized that you've never kissed anyone. Before he showed you how, his lips soft and his tongue piercing gliding against your tongue. 

Before he went back inside and left you sitting there, starstruck and then forced to confront your actions. Before he left for LA and never returned until now, bringing the past back with him. 

"Hey." You squeak, dropping the card and finding Geto standing there in the doorway. Quickly, you pick up the items you dropped and stand. "I was just looking for the bathroom," you lamely explain. "I got lost." 

He huffs out a laugh, his squinted eyes full of humor. "Don't sweat it. There's one in here you can use; just don't puke in my toilet." Quickly, you hand him the items and rush to the bathroom door near his bed, feeling calm only when you are finally alone. 

You manage to pee and check yourself in the mirror, finding only slightly smudged mascara and a glow to your face from the spiked punch and your setting mist's hold breaking up, before exiting after washing your hands. 

Geto turns from his dresser, his eyes concerned. "You good?" he asks. You primly nod, awkwardly fidgeting with the ruffles on your dress. "You kept the card I gave you," you murmur. 

He looks confused, obviously tipsy too, before he looks at the fish-coated card. "'Course I did," he chuckles. "It's a cute card. You always loved your fish." He stares down at it rather adoringly, making you feel weird butterflies. "Y'know, it's funny, but I always knew you'd leave here too. You were always so smart...destined for bigger and better shit." 

You hug yourself, squeezing away the flutters. "Yeah, well, I only started college. I could flunk at any time." 

Geto shakes his head, looking serious now. It renders you breathless. "You won't. You never will, Y/N. That was never you." He pauses, shaking his head as he looks back at the card. "You were always so dedicated. So determined. So fuckin' hard-headed." 

So much for the nice shit. "Thanks for the compliment," you murmur. "I've been told that by guys before." He chuckles to himself, the sound airy and sexy. "So you dated around at school?" he wonders aloud. 

You scowl at him, weirded out and confused by his sudden interest in your dating life. "Of course, I did. I'm a nineteen-year old girl, Geto." You cock your head to the side, sizing him up. "Why're you askin' me that anyway?" Geto keeps giving you that strange look, one you can't decipher. 

CRASH! 

You both flinch at the sound of something breaking outside the door. "Shhhh!" someone shushes while giggling. Geto unclenches his fists at his sides, sighing defeatedly, before giving you a small smile. "Wanna go somewhere more private?" he asks. 

You make out the hope in his tone, his eyes alight with something. Not lust, but it's still there, looming before you. You keep silent, unsure. Sensing your hesitation, he bluntly says, "I'm not tryin' to do anything, Y/N. I wouldn't do that. I just meant let's talk. We can go on the beach and take a walk if you down." 

Still, you're silent, weighing your options. Standing near the cracked balcony doors, you feel the summer breeze cool from the sea, relaxing and serene. Geto's expression grows softer, his eyes and lips drawing you in. "It's your choice, sweetie." 

Between the sea breeze and the music pounding against your skull, you are more inclined to agree...and not at all because of the random ass pet name he throws at you. "Fine then," you reply. "Let's talk." 

You never knew how quiet the beach could be until you and Geto start walking side by side in complete silence on its shores. 

It's a beautiful night; a night fit for a painting with its starry sky and soft waves crashing against the shore and mossy rocks. A fat, white moon hangs in the sky, suspended like a spotlight. The beach stretches on and on, your footprints from your bare feet in the sand leading all the way back to the AirBNB. 

You and Geto have been walking for at least five minutes, but with the silence and the tension in the air, it feels like five days. As the ocean breeze blows, you shiver slightly, holding your sandals against your chest. 

Geto notices. Of course, he would. "Cold?" he asks. You shake your head, pressing your lips tight together. They are slick with a fresh coating of Fenty Beauty lip bomb gloss. "I'm fine," you mutter. 

Suddenly, he unrolls the blanket he's been holding under his arm, having carried it in case you wanted to sit. You shake your head, emitting a laugh from him. "Don't fight it, Y/N," he chuckles. "You've always been so stubborn." 

You flush as he places his blanket over your shoulders; it smells of sea salt and citrus. You continue to walk with him, the tension brewing now. "You always treated me like a kid," you say way harsher than you intended. "Even when we were younger." 

Geto hums to himself, acknowledging your statement. "Is that why you always hated me?" he suddenly asks. You glance at him, your stomach jumping at his words. "What?" you dumbly question. 

His smile is wry; weak. "It's not a secret, Y/N. You never liked me, even as kids. I never knew why 'cause I always liked you." 

You scoff, calling bullshit. "Is that why you always picked on me? Why you always acted like you were better than me? 'Cause you liked me so much?" You tick to fingers up and down, air-quoting "liked". 

Geto is silent for a while, leading you to look at him only to find him gone. You turn to find him some ways behind you, having paused in the sand to stare at you in the moonlight that illuminates his handsome face. "Is that what you think?" he questions, squinting those damn eyes at you. 

Why does he sound so surprised? You find yourself becoming irritated by his mock obliviousness (you're also kinda drunk). "You were always so cocky," you shoot. "Always knew more than me. Always did better than me at everything. I could never compete." 

You know you're saying too much. You know that you're uncapping a bottle that should stay closed...but you can't anymore. The vodka and the sea and Geto's cologne are all pushing you to be vulnerable tonight. 

The surfer's eyes soften more, gazing down at you as if you are a wounded kitten. "Is that why you quit surfing?" he softly wonders. Your anger subsides, replaced with fear. He knows. And he's heard which is worse. From Shoko? Maybe by your parents? 

You stare down at your feet, biting your lip. "It wasn't just that," you admit. "That night after your party...when we..." You grow hot in the face. "Say it," Geto softly urges. "What did we do, Y/N?" He has gotten closer and you are hyperaware of it. "We...kissed," you whimper bashfully. "And you left and never called me again." 

"Well, you never called me either," he rebuttals, a smile in his voice. "I figured you moved onto bigger and better men. Plus, we never dated to begin with. Like I said, you hated me." 

"I didn't hate you," you rebuttal, not liking how he's painting you or how he's making you feel: guilty. Ashamed. "You were just always rubbin' shit in my face." 

Now it's Geto's turn to feel guilty and ashamed. "I never meant to make you feel like that, Y/N. I'm sorry...but you never should've quit surfing. Not because of me and my mistakes." 

Damn. That hurt. It hurt more than you'd like to admit. "So giving me my first kiss was a mistake?" you blurt. 

The surfer sighs, exhausted. "You misunderstood me. That was never a mistake, but I couldn't let you get involve in me. In this." He ticks a finger between himself and you. "Everything. You were on your road and I didn't wanna ruin that for you." 

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip again, tears threatening to push past your eyes. Why is he saying all of this now? "But I always thought about you," he professes. "I never stopped thinking about that night, sweetie. How you looked...how you tasted..." 

His words set you on fire, making you feel like you just stepped foot in lava. "W-We shouldn't talk like this," you stammer. "You shouldn't be saying this. Not to me." 

You turn to walk off, mostly to cool down and clear your swimming head, but Geto gently takes your hand. It's so much bigger than yours. "How come?" he murmurs, his face intimately soft. You stare at your hands locked together, wondering what his fingers would feel like on your body. "Like you said; I'm on my road and so are you. We'll both be leaving in the fall anyways." 

Geto raises a brow. "So?" he asks. You have a logical rebuttal in your head; it's there! 

"S-So...so..." And yet, you are bumbling and fumbling over your words now, your mind going blank. And then you feel the drunken tears pushing up, your embarrassment and these stupid feelings making you feel so small.

"It's okay, Y/N," Geto comforts. "Come here." He pulls you into him and you let him, his big arms embracing you. You let yourself melt into his touch, against his rock-solid body. You inhale his scent, falling into a field of citrus fruit and saltwater. 

In his arms, you feel safe. Safe enough to admit the thought that's been pushing at your skull for three years now. "You showed me how to kiss before," you whisper against his chest. "You wanted to teach me how to be good for guys in college." 

"Mmm-hmm," he hums. "I did. I'm sorry that I-" 

"Show me again," you interrupt. "Teach me." Geto's body tenses and he pulls away to glare at you, confused and alarmed. But you keep your gaze soft, hoping he'll see that you're serious. 

Quickly, the confusion melts and his eyes grow hooded, making heat pool between your thighs. "Have you kissed anyone since you left?" he asks, his voice husky and deep. You bite your lip, nipples hardening beneath your dress...though they've been hard since he hugged you. "Yes," you reply. 

"Did they kiss like me?" he questions. You stay silent, unable to speak and expose yourself even more than you already have. Geto's hand presses against your cheek, gentle and intoxicating. "Tell me, sweetie." 

"No," you manage to squeak out. He inhales slowly as if he can barely contain your response and then, slowly, carefully, he leans down to swoop you up in a soft, passionate, earth-shatteringly magical kiss that nearly makes your foot pop like a girl in a romcom would. 

It is just as amazing as the first one you shared was, only this time, you're older and so is he. So he can deepen the kiss if he wants to. You can allow him to slide his tongue against yours, the cool metal of his piercing caressing your tongue. You can moan into his mouth as your hands wrap around him, pulling him closer. He's still the best kisser you've ever had. 

Suddenly, Geto pulls away with a soft groan and tilts your chin up slightly to kiss your neck. Each kiss leaves a trail of fire across your skin as you grasp his broad shoulders. "Suguru," you softly moan. "People might see us." 

Your body screams with need as he pulls you close to him, pressing you flush against him. "I don't care," he rasps out. "Let them. I want this." You can feel it: it's pressing into your thighs now, hard and throbbing thanks to his trunks. 

"I want this too," you mewl. "I want you." He pulls away to look at you, allowing you to stand on your toes and kiss him again, hungry and needy. 

"Fuck," he whispers against your lips, astonished. He pulls away from your kiss, taking his bottom lip with you as he gently suckles on it. It excites you, making your pussy throb beneath your dress. "There's a couple things I'll have to teach you then," he softly chuckles. 

You wonder what he means by that until he takes your hand, interlacing your fingers. "Come here, with me." 

You let him lead you away down the beach, yards away from the house, behind a small, secluded surfboard hut. Colorful surfboards hide you from view and Geto lowers his beach bag down to pull you close. It is now just you two standing alone, unbothered and together. 

"So what now?" you wonder aloud, giddy with excitement and thrill. A wicked smirk appears on the surfer's lips. "I'll show you. First, you need to get out of this sexy lil' dress." His big hands slide your spaghetti straps down, revealing your tan lines. 

You find yourself giggling yet feeling nervous as you help him slide your dress off, revealing the string bikini underneath. Geto salaciously bites lip as he helps you pull each string off, letting each article of clothing fall to the sand. That leaves you naked, exposed to him and his cock pulsing beneath his shorts. "You're perfect," he sighs. "Better than I ever dreamed." 

That makes you smile and your pussy gush between your thighs. He joins you, only having to kick off his slides and peel off his shorts. Your mouth grows dry at the sight of him: his tanned, lickable abs lead down to a happy trail and pale, muscular thighs untouched by the sun where his beautiful, throbbing cock swings. 

He, too, is as perfect as you dreamed he'd be. He is what you'd imagine while with other boys in college, while you'd rub your pussy in your dorm room, biting your pillow to not wake your roommate. Your childhood nemesis of all people! 

"C'mere," he huskily orders. You do so, wanting so badly to be near him. You begin to kiss and touch each other the way you've dreamed, indulging in all you have to offer. His body is a wonderland, thrilling you in ways a wave can't. 

Geto pulls away from kissing your lips again to focus on your breasts, massaging them with his big hands. He pays close attention to your fluttering eyelids and soft moans, moving on to gently sucking on the hard peaks of your nipples. 

You gasp and cup his head against your tits, tingling with pleasure. Your nipples are usually very sensitive, meaning that every tweak of Geto's fingers and swipe of his slick tongue sends your pussy into a frenzy. "W-Wait," you stammer, rubbing your thighs together. "I'm really–" 

"Wet?" he finishes, chuckling. He pauses, staring up at you with glinting eyes. "That's the idea, sugar. That's how I want you." He presses a chaste, wet kiss against your lips as his hand ducks between your thighs to asses the lips down below. 

"Shit!" he hisses, his cock visibly twitching as his fingers become soaked with you. "Did you get this wet when we kissed that night?" 

You jerkingly nod, embarrassed. Despite the way the night ended, you did feel a wet spot as he slowly made out with you that night. 

He looks satisfied with that, his violet eyes glistening like two sugilite gems. "Good girl," he coos. "Such a pretty girl." He gently runs his fingers along your slit, making you whine, before taking them away. 

"Such a pretty pussy," he murmurs, bringing his fingers coated in your juices to his lips. You watch, transfixed and so, so horny for him. Hornier than you've ever been for any guy. "I really wanna taste you," he hoarsely says. "I want you to hook your leg over my shoulder and make up for lost time." 

A heat builds in the pit of your stomach that drops down to your ass. He notices your sudden change in attitude and silently asks with his eyes. "I've...never had that before," you softly admit. 

In all your time in college, you've never had anyone go down on you before. You've given blowjobs and split your legs open for dick plenty of times. But cunnilingus? Never happened. 

Geto looks perplexed, tilting his head to the side. "No one's ever eaten you out before?" he asks, shocked. You think he'll laugh at you, but he just looks plain whipped. "That's...such an honor, sweetie. I'll make it real good for you. You just relax for me, okay?" 

He then kneels before you and swings a leg over his shoulder, forcing you to grab onto him for balance. He smirks, pressing a kiss to your ankle where your gold anklet glistens. "And don't worry; I'm a good diver. I can hold my breath." 

"Okay," you reply, giggling slightly. Your heart races wildly in your chest, anticipating what comes next. From your first kiss to your first lick. 

And God, can this man lick! When Geto says he's a good diver, he isn't kidding. He goes head first, starting off with gentle, slow kiss and tongue flicks against your wet slit, prying your pussy lips apart to gently suck at your clit. 

You moan at the contact, the feeling so foreign yet pleasurable. When he begins to run his lips over your clit, you giggle out, "Sugu, that tickles." He smiles against your pussy before slurping at your juices, running his tongue around your entrance. 

"Oh, fuck," you moan, tilting your head back. "Sugu, that's so good." You press your head back against one of the surfboards as you grip your surfer's shoulders, your white nails contrasting against his tan skin and tattoos. 

He hums appreciatively against your clit, pulling away to smile at you. "Told you I'm a good diver," he jokes. "Shit, you tasted so good." He sounds like he means it, even gazing lovingly at your glistening cunny slick with your arousal and his spit. 

He goes right back in, gently sliding his tongue inside of you as his nose glides against your clit. Your mouth falls agape, your eyes wide as saucers. "Oh, my God," you whine. "Sugu, yes!" You throw your head back from the sheer pleasure, shamelessly grinding your pussy into his tongue. 

You've never felt so high before, especially off of someone else. You feel like you're riding a big wave, feeling the high and rush of being on top of the world before a wipeout. Geto's hands grip your ass, keeping you pressed firmly against his mouth, locking you down so there is nowhere to go but up. 

And up, and up, and up as you get closer to your orgasm. "Sugu," you whimper, winding your fingers through his raven locks. "Oh, fuck, I'm gonna...you're gonna make me cum!" 

The surfer hums an eager "mm-hmm" into your pussy, sending vibrations throughout your body. He licks faster, curling his tongue up to toy with that spot that nearly makes you unravel at the seams like an old sweater. 

And soon, you do. With a loud moan of his name and a couple of "fuck"s slipping from your lips, you cream all over Geto's long, wet tongue, still grinding your pelvis into him, riding his mouth. Your orgasm is intense, making you shiver and shake. Your surfer grips you tight, keeping you grounded as you roll and whine your waist for him, riding out your O. 

Finally, your moans grow weak and your hips slow their movement, the pleasure almost painful now. You feels 100x better than you did moments before; freer and sexier. All because of Geto's magical tongue. 

He pulls away to kiss and slurp at your inner thighs, giving you a playful bite. Slowly, he unwinds your leg from his neck and stands, his lips slightly glistening and his eyes lust-blown...and his cock extra hard. "You're so hard," you softly gasp, staring down at the appendage. 

You can't stop yourself; you gently grasp his dick and begin to stroke him, up and down, up and down. His soft groans encourage you, welcoming your touch with a pulse and a twitch. "Yeah? That's all for you. You should've seen me after we kissed that night." 

You feel your pussy throb at the newfound knowledge that he was just as horny for you as you were for him that night. For years you wondered what his cock looked like...felt like...tasted like...and now, here you are with it hard and heavy in your palm. 

"C-Can...can I taste you too?" you softly ask, peering up at him through your thick lashes. "Maybe we can 69?" 

Geto looks taken aback by your bold suggestion laced in such sweet shyness, but then a crooked smile appears. "So you want my tongue again?" he teases, his cock throbbing against your fingers. "Is that it, mama? You like my mouth that much?" 

He cups your chin in his hand, forcing you to keep looking at him. The possessiveness in his grip makes your overly-sensitive cunt twitch. You find yourself nodding, responsive to anything he says. 

He groans, pushing his hips forward so his cock can slide deeper in your hand, fucking it. "Sure thing, sugar; whatever you want. Let me just lay this blanket down." 

After reluctantly tearing himself away from your hand and laying the soft blanket on the sand, he lays down on his back, his thighs open and his hard cock on full display for you. You find your place on top of him, hovering just above his face while your legs straddle each side of his shoulders. 

"Fuck," he softly groans, staring up at your pussy hovered above him. His big hands grip your ass, gently prying them apart to see your other pretty hole. You whimper, biting your lip in a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. "You're absolutely perfect, y'know that?" he murmurs, giving your inner thighs an open-mouthed kiss on each. 

You could say the same thing about his big, beautiful, rock-hard, throbbing cock displayed in front of you. The urge to lick and suck on it is almost as powerful as your uncertainty about sitting on his face. "S-So...how do we..." You trail off, bashful. 

Geto chuckles, his breath fanning against your wet pussy, making you twitch with need. "Just sit on my face, sweetie. Don't worry; I can take it." 

He gives your ass a firm squeeze, making you moan. "Then you swerve your hips around, like you're ridin' a wave," he continues, his voice huskier the more he stares at your sobbing wet pussy above him, waiting for a taste. "Just pretend I'm your personal surfboard," he raspily jokes. "I think I'm a little better than one though." 

And just as he instructs you to do, you slowly close the gap between your dripping pussy and his face, gasping when his lips and tongue make contact with you. "Oh, fuck!" you shout to the stars, moaning in pleasure. Everything feels so much deeper and intense in this position. 

You hope he feels the same when you begin to stroke and suck on his cock slowly yet greedily. You've been wondering what he would feel like in your mouth, stretching out your throat. You wondered what his moans would sound like as you pleased and stroked him with your wet mouth, caressing him with your tongue. 

Well, now you do, and you have front row seats. His toes curl and his hips slowly grind up to meet your mouth every time you pull your head up and down, humming from the taste of pre-cum on your tastebuds and his tongue fucking your pussy. 

You are sure that you're dripping all over Geto's pretty face, but he sloppily eats your hole like he needs more, massaging your ass while he does so. You continue to grind against his face, alternating between rubbing your clit against his top lip and nose. 

"Mmm, baby," you moan, wetly popping off of his cock to verbally tell him of your pleasure. "Sugu, you're mouth is s-so good!" 

Geto grunts into your pussy as he juts his cock up to rub it against your tits, desperate for relief too. You go back to giving it to him, slipping him down your throat, hollowing your cheeks and opening the tight hole of your throat for better access. You want to give him all of you. 

At some point, for what feels like hours of constant sucking, licking, and slurping each other up, you find yourself cumming again. You muffle your moans and slutty sounds of your O with Geto's cock, keeping your lips wrapped around it as he swallows your cum, moaning about how sweet you are. 

You tremble and shudder from the orgasm, digging your nails into Geto's tree-trunk thighs to ground you. You have never had two intense orgasms back to back before, and it leaves your body drained. 

Slowly, you slip off of Geto's face to allow him air to breathe and straddle his chest instead. You look back at him lying behind you, lips glistening with your cum, his hair a mess, and a dazed look in his eyes. He's never looked sexier. "Tired, sweetie?" 

"Not at all," you quip back. "You didn't cum yet." You wrap a hand around his spit-slicked cock and begin to stroke him, earning a moan of enjoyment. "Did you want something more?" you suggest, hoping you don't have to elaborate on that. 

You don't. From the look in Geto's eyes, he knows exactly what you mean. "Yeah, but...I don't think I have a condom," he sheepishly admits, a pink blush coating his cheeks. It's so unlike him yet so endearing. "I'm sorry. I can go back and-" 

"No," you cut in, shaking your head. "I mean, there are other ways, right?" The surfer silently stares at you, making you think that maybe you said the wrong thing...until his lips curl into a salacious smile. 

"You want this dick that badly, huh?" he teases you. Whimpering, you turn your head to face away from him, but he stops you with a sharp smack on your ass. "No, no, don't run. Say it to me. It's just me here, mama." 

It must be the need you feel or the sharp sting of his ass smack that has you so horny and eager, but you turn around and peer down at him through your lashes, heat pooling in your core and making you soak his abs. "I want you, Suguru," you whimper. "Badly." 

A seductive light sparkles in Geto's violet eyes and he nods, his chest rising and falling with anticipation for your cunt. "Do what you want with me then." 

He doesn't have to tell you twice. You brace yourself on his thighs and lift yourself up to hover over his cock, but before you can come down, he stops you, his eyes flaring with a passionate fire. "But when this is over with, I need to you to know that this is not just a one-night thing for me. I want this to be real." 

You stare at him over your shoulder in shock, nearly craning your neck. Desperately, you search for a little glimmer of a lie in his eye. A twitch in his lips. A sign that he is just toying with you and doesn't mean these serious, intimate things...but you find nothing but a hot determination. 

You swallow hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. "Sugu—" 

"Just listen, please," he hoarsely begs, pleading with his eyes. "I've been thinkin' about you for over a year, Y/N, wonderin' how you are, where you are, who you're with." He sits up to plant a soft kiss on your back, your shoulder blades, your waist. 

"I'm sorry I didn't take that chance to go down your road with you. I'm sorry I never told you this before, but now...now we're here and I'm not wasting another second not bein' real with you." 

He wraps his arms around you, holding you in his lap, locking you there. "I want you," he rasps. "I don't care if you leave and go back to the city to live your life. I'm always gonna want YOU, Y/N. And if you don't feel the same, say it now so I'm not makin' myself look like a fool." 

Those words, saccharine sweet and filled with so much yearning, make you wetter than you've ever been in your life. He has freed you from the past and your resentment for him. You now know that you can be real too. 

You feel tears push past your eyes, most definitely fucking up the rest of your mascara, as you take his hands and interlace your fingers with his. "I want you too, Suguru," you softly sob. "I need you." You grind your pussy against his cock, emitting a groan from the both of you. 

Geto leans back on the blanket, eyes hooded and so dark that you can see the stars in them. "Then take me." 

With the flames of a thousand horny fires lighting your loins up, you push yourself up, your hands still locked with Geto's, and then come down to grind your naked pussy against his shaft. Your surfer gives a low hiss while you lewdly moan, sparks of pleasure shooting throughout your bodies. 

Your pussy lips are sticky and wet, sliding so easily against Geto's thick, gorgeous cock, your twitching clit singing with pleasure. You're so wet that he could easily slip inside and fill you up to the brim with all of him, stretching your walls out and tattooing himself against you so you can never forget the feeling. 

"Shiiiiit, sweetie," Geto hisses, making you giggle from the sheer force it takes for him to hiss out that one swear. Is your pussy really that good? You turn to stare at him over your shoulder, becoming transfixed at the way his face screws in pleasure, cheeks flushed and lips plump from kissing. 

You release his hands, letting him grasp your hips as they grind and roll against him, his cock sliding between your dripping pussy lips, coating his shaft and balls in your juices. "How's it feel bein' my surfboard?" you joke. 

Your surfer cracks a smile, a laugh leaving his pretty lips. "Fuckin' perfect," he replies. "A wave don't compare to this." 

You concur, your eyes rolling back from the magical feeling of your clit sliding against his dick. Moans of "ah" and "mmm" leave your lips as you grind quicker, speeding up your movements and applying more pressure to your clit, stimulating yourself on your surfer with every intention of cumming. 

You can tell Geto isn't far behind from the sound of his moans growing louder and his grip tightening around your hips. "S-Sugu," you warn. "If we're not quick, someone could come soon." 

"Yeah," he hoarsely agrees, "and it's gonna be me if you keep that up. Fuck, the way you move makes me wanna visit your city as soon as the fuckin' fall hits." 

You know he's referring to the way you're gyrating your hips forward, causing your pussy to slide against the base of his cock, so you continue. 

"I want you to cum," you whine, turning back to look at him. "Please, Sugu, baby. Cum with me." 

The man is practically in agony, his neck tense and his jaw tight as he gets closer and closer to cumming. "Fuck, Y/N!" he gasps, lifting his hips to meet your grinding. "Keep lookin' at me like that. Need to see you cum for me." 

You frantically nod and close your eyes to focus. Focus on your hips moving together. Focus on your clit tingling as you reach your peak. Focus on that tightening knot in your core getting tighter and tighter until...it snaps. 

"Fuck, Sugu!" you whine, definitely loud enough for the rest of the beach to hear. You don't care; not when your third orgasm of the night is so good and euphoric. You spill your cream all over Geto's cock, leaving you both sticky and wet with your cum. 

Geto continues to grind himself against your cunt, repeating lewd moans of "fuck, fuck, fuck" until he forces you to bend forward, presenting your ass to him. He wraps a hand around himself and furiously fucks his fist until he finally spurts his cum all over your ass. 

You shiver in delight as he moans from his release, the sound echoing throughout the salt-scented air, mingling with the soft crashing of the waves. A giddy and delirious giggle escapes you as you feel his warm spurts of spunk hit your ass, marking you with his scent. You always hated it when guys did this to you back in college. 

But with Geto Suguru? You welcome it. 

After some recovering and some small kisses on your backside, Geto helps you lie down with him on the blanket under the starry canvas of the night sky. Together, you curl against each other, his chest your pillow and your arms becoming anchors as they wrap around his waist. 

You close your eyes, letting your head swim and your heart race decrease. You feel better than you've had in weeks. "That was so nice," you sigh against his chest. 

"You definitely were," he chortles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "I'm sorry I couldn't give you more." You hum in disagreement, pressing a kiss to one of his pecs, stroking the dark outline of his tattoos. "It was more than enough," you promise. 

And then reality hits you like a big wave right in the face, causing you to giggle to yourself. Geto looks down at you expectantly, raising a brow. "What?" he probes. 

You shake your head though you grin to yourself, still stroking his ink. "This is...just crazy, y'know?" you snort. "Me sleeping with my childhood nemesis who confessed his romantic feelings for me? Shoko won't believe it." 

Geto laughs with you, using one of his big hands to stroke your hair. "Nah, she will; Gojo too. They always knew I had a thing for you." 

Of course, they did. 

"I meant what I said earlier," he suddenly says. You look up at him, confused. His eyes are soft and intimate. "That I'd visit you in your city. That wasn't just sex talk. With my type of money, I'll fly wherever you go." 

You laugh and pinch his nipple at his cocky little quip, earning a pinch on the ass in retaliation. "I'd love that, Sugu," you purr, snuggling into his side. Your stomach flip-flops with hope, wondering if this truly is a done deal. "So this can really work? Us? When we leave here in the fall?" 

Geto hugs you closer to him, his arms secure and strong as they lock around you. "I'll make it work, but only if you want that too." 

You want that more than anything. "Well, you know I love challenges," you giggle into his chest. "I'll gladly try dating a celebrity athlete." You sigh, draping your legs across his, intertwining them in a heap. "At least we have now." 

"And the whole summer," he murmurs into your hair. 

For a while, you stay like that, you the little spoon and he the big spoon, snuggling on the blanket in your afterglow against the soft lull of the waves. But after a while, reality sets in again and the night remains young. 

"So...what now?" Geto wonders aloud. You sit up on the blanket, his hands still stroking your thighs. "Well, we do have this open beach...and these surfboards right here." 

Your eyes click to the colorful surfboards presented before you before you give Geto a knowing glance. He cocks his head at you, smirking at signature smirk that makes your panties drop. "Are you challengin' me, L/N?" he teases. "You must wanna get that ass whooped." 

You scoff, shooting off of the blanket to find your bikini. "Don't play me. I may be rusty, but once I get back on that board, I'm doin' the whoopin' here." 

You stick your tongue out at him as you bend down to pull your bikini bottoms over your soaked pussy. You are just tying the strings around your waist when you feel a hand sharply smack your ass from behind. 

SPANK! 

You squeak, looking up to find Geto already gunning for the water with his asscheeks out, his trunks in one hand, and a surfboard under his arm. "Sugu!" you squeal. "You cheated!" 

He turns to look at you, his grin as bright as the summer sun. He is the epitome of joy as he steps backwards into the frothy water. "Don't hate the player; hate the game, mama," he laughs. "Now get your ass in this water with me!" 

You finish getting dressed and take a surfboard before running after him, laughing giddily, joy spilling out of you. As soon as you hit the water and surf the first wave in what feels like decades, you feel complete. Especially with your new boyfriend. 

THE END.

TRAVEL&co kiosk, between gates 31/32 & gates 33/34.

An overwhelm of options can paralyse choice.

Bursting from the metal confines of the display stand, a rainbow of pamphlets cry out for your attention, each more desperate than the last to be picked off the shelf and purchased. Titles in bold, italics, underlined; every old trick in the book, intended to capture the eye, stands before you.

Top 20 Tourist Stops in East Asia.

DOs & DONTs of Hostel Living.

HIDDEN GEMS: a Guide to Rural Sight-Seeing.

Trust your gut, you can practically hear your mother’s voice in your head, guiding you to put your faith in something arbitrary. While her motherly advice is typically welcome, this time the thought leaves an acidic taste in your mouth that lingers, souring your expression and becoming the root of your furrowing brows.

Your gut has unfortunately been a source of misery as of late, leading you down the regretful path of trusting a man, putting all your patience and hope in his ability to change, eventually, for you. What a selfishly naive belief, to think you could change fate, scrub the mould off a man’s heart and bring him back to the land of the feeling. No affection that requires you to humiliate yourself is ever worth it, and god have you learn it the ugly way: tears dripping onto the carpet beneath your knees, chest heaving for breaths, and his lame-ass excuses, I’m just not ready for commitment, baby.

More the fool you for believing a man pushing thirty, incapable of holding down a job, and still riding the high of his days as the high school quarterback could ever face something as challenging as putting a label on the months of ‘messing around’ you both had been partaking in. Now here you stand, suitcase checked in and a one-way boarding pass in hand, frozen before the overwhelming display of travel books one of the airport’s many kiosks has to offer, and hellbent on placing as much distance as possible between you and that man.

A last minute decision, filling the neglected well of spontaneity in your life. Your parents had thought you mad, your friends had insisted on keeping you company. With both groups of protesting figures in your life, you put your foot down and demanded the solitude you craved. After all, you can’t exactly embark on a solo-trip around the planet with someone by your side — even if that someone is your mother or closest friend.

But maybe loneliness is not all it’s cut-out to be. You’d give up everything just about now to have someone to help pluck out the right pamphlet, something sure to serve you not just your first stop but for the entirety of your travels.

“You’re looking at stand like it owes you a debt.”

At first, you think you’re hearing things, brain so desperate for validation it’s taken to imagining company. Then something moves in your peripheral and you’re struck with a sight that feels like something the universe has sent directly to mock your battered and bruised heart: a man.

Not just any run-of-the-mill man, but a man made of blue eyes, sharp cheeks, and a smile so pearly-white you feel you’re staring into the mouth of a predator, inches away from sinking it’s canines into your delicate skin and devouring you whole… But no beast looks like this, enchanting and handsome in a manner that has you questioning where this stranger has been hiding from you all along — until, of course, you remember you’re in an airport and it’s likely this man is merely passing through your city, a temporary stop on his journey to who-knows-where.

Is it too late to change your flight?

“And now it seems the debt is mine,” the stranger lets out a chuckle at his words, wolfish smile stretching wider along his cheeks and making you painfully aware of the creases that mark the skin around his eyes — evidence of a life well-lived, the wrinkles of happiness. They only serve to make him all the more enticing to stare at, a deer caught in the glow of a very beautiful headlight. “Any chance I can pay it off with a little advice?”

Why has it taken you so long to realise the man is talking to you?

A scramble for breath, for words, for something that won’t deepen the embarrassment already scorching your cheeks, you muster a sophisticated, “Huh?”

… and instantly wish the linoleum flooring would spontaneously drop to reveal a sinkhole big enough to swallow you.

“Here, let’s go with,” the man drags out his word, bending at the waist as he leans forward, arm reaching down to pluck something from the stand. You barely have time to admire the way he fills out his trousers, jeans clad skin tight against the swell of his ass, before his spine has straightened and he’s waving a booklet in your face. “This sounds pretty useful, don’cha agree?”

The tiniest twang of an accent kisses your eardrum, scratching an itch you hadn’t even been aware of until now. You almost feign mishearing, just for a chance to hear the stranger repeat himself. But your eyes are drawn downwards, towards the title in his palm, and all hope of feigning ignorance flies out the door.

The Wise Traveller: navigating safety as a solo-travelling woman.

Hackles rise, an old reflex from the days you payed your gut any mind. Your mouth dries, and your eyes widen slightly, and you’re suddenly reminded of the fact this stranger is a man, mankind’s greatest predator.

“How do you know I’m travelling alone?” The question is a bite, one you deliver before sense can tell you better.

By the way the man’s smile falters, a minuscule tremble in the corners of his mouth, your hostility was unexpected. Nevertheless, the man makes no attempt to impose his presence on you, shoulders slouching in on themselves and dampening the height he holds over you.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” his words are sheepish, almost, a twinge of embarrassment painting a rosy streak over his cheeks. A hand winds its way up to the back of his neck, a self-soothing method you know far too well, fingers rubbing over skin. “You just… have the look. I’m really sorry miss, I didn’t mean to make you uncomforta-”

“It’s fine,” a mixture of shame and guilt has you cutting him off, eyes shooting back to the display and making a hasty decision to pick up the first guide they land on. “Thanks for the advice, but I’m all caught up on safety. This is what I was looking for.”

An Idiot’s Guide to Germany. It sits pretty in your hold, thin enough to read before the plane descends back onto solid ground, and completely useless to you.

But the man in front of you doesn’t need to know Germany is far from your destination.

So you scurry off, ready to put the embarrassing interaction in your rear-view mirror and re-vowing to yourself to put an end to interactions with men that make you want to claw out your skin — whether the fault be theirs or your own — and shoot off in search of the till. But something halts you on your way, turning on your ankle to face the beautiful stranger once more. He’s watching you with an endearment in his eye that makes your guts tangle in knots, sickly butterflies flying the nest and spreading through your body.

Men can be so unfairly pretty sometimes, especially when built like the model-esque figure before your eyes.

“Have a safe flight!” And with this final and only attempt at politeness, a last-ditch effort to salvage a conversation your own paranoia has already butchered, you shoot off to pay for a travel guide that will soon make a home for itself at the bottom of your bag, never to be kissed by the light of day again.

Paying for your unwanted good and stuffing it into your purse, your pursuit of escaping as swiftly as possible is hindered by the sudden tap of a finger on your shoulder, coaxing you to glance over your shoulder and find the same beautiful stranger, smile still plastered across his million-dollar face and sporting a plastic bag in his grasp, extended out to you and awaiting your acceptance.

“Please,” the blue-eyed man presses, plastic rustling in his grasp. “I’m sure you’re a smart girl, and that you’re more than capable of keeping yourself safe. But I have a little sister and- Well, it just wouldn’t sit right on my conscience to not do my part in keeping a woman safe.”

You accept his offering, fingers looping through the holes of the bag, because it feels cruel to deny him, to send him off with his tail tucked between his legs and his well intentions stomped all over the floor.

The man excuses himself, rushing off who knows where as you begin your own journey towards your assigned departure gate. Only as you settle in to the exhausted queue of antsy passengers, desperate to start their holidays or return to their families at last, do you take a peak into the plastic bag.

There it sits, just as you expect, The Wise Traveller.

Before you can think better of accidentally advertising to your fellow travellers your vulnerable state of solitude, the booklets is in your grasp and you’re flicking through the opening pages. Blue ink, smudged by the press of pages, catches your eye; an inscription from your handsome stranger.

There’s no such thing as being too careful. Stay safe, be wise, & enjoy your trip. - Bucky

Dragon Crest Mountain, Thailand.

The view from the top of the world is beautifully depressing.

Beautiful because the horizon stretches below you, curves and edges of green treetops and mountainous terrain. An infinite expanse of mother nature’s art painted shamelessly over the canvas of the Earth, unmarred by the hands of man nor the wheels of machines.

Depressing because, despite the view, your mind is elsewhere; enthralled by visions of tangled sheets, and bruising touches, and tear-filled tissues.

With the fellow hikers that surround you moved to silence by the ethereal view, no chattering mouths can muffle your ears from the buzz coming from your bag. A familiar pattern of three, buzz buzz buzz, you can easily picture the screen lighting up with his name, treacherously innocent for a man who masks the Devil behind his shy smile and his careful caresses.

You groan, louder than intended, and surrender with an apologetic smile towards the group of elderly women shooting daggers in your direction. Your frustration cannot be helped, really. It is utterly and entirely justifiable, given the texts staring back at you from the screen in your hand, freshly fished out your bag and clasped within your sweat-dampened grip.

DONT REPLY!! (tony) — 10:48 you'll never guess who i ran into today, honey.

DONT REPLY!! (tony) — 10:48your mother, she said your flight landed safely!

DONT REPLY!! (tony) — 10:49 i'm glad but i can’t help wishing you were here. my bed isn’t the same without you.

Psychological warfare.

That is what this is, the manipulative moves of a man who knows all the right words to say at the worst of times. How can he speak of missing you, when he couldn’t even appreciate you when you were right in front of him, nothing short of begging him to need you as much as you needed him?

Still, your ex-situationship’s messages worm themselves into your mind, planting seeds of doubt into your dignity and sanity. Your thumb swipes up on the screen before you can think better of it, the lingering muscle memory of a lovesick fool who at last has felt the exhilarating rush of hearing from the man who makes your usually rock solid heart feel like it is made out of glass.

It wouldn’t hurt to reply, surely. It would be the polite thing to do. After all, you and him are friends. Good friends, with years of history outside of the sultry looks exchanged atop mattresses. And he just wants to know you’re okay, right? A perfectly human reaction to having the person you spend nearly every day beside suddenly up and leave, bags packed with a one-way ticket and a declaration that you are going to see what else the world has to offer, both the good and bad.

Just as you type the opening letters to a calculatedly casual reply, another message enters the chat, lighting a fire in your chest and flooding your mouth with the bitter taste of anger.

DONT REPLY!! (tony) — 10:53 but it’s okay. take your time. i’d rather you work through your little hissy fit first.

Scoffing before you can help it, you hastily switch off the phone and shove it back into your bag, eyes rolling and mouth curling with a snarl as you mutter, “Rich coming from a man who cries every time his shitty team loses.”

The remedy to the ugly feelings swirling up a storm in your chest lays ahead, dragging your eyes back out to the view of the world at your feet, a vastness that manages to make yourself, and consequently your troubles, feel minuscule and unimportant. You can cry a thousand times about a man who will never change his ways nor mature beyond the mindset of a frat-boy, and the Sun will still do her job regardless of your pain: rising, falling, and blessing the lands with her warmth.

And so, ultimately, no matter the heartbreak locked behind your phone screen, you are truly a girl who is going to be okay. Maybe not today, or tomorrow, or in any recent days that follow. But at some point, as you jet from country to country, checking off box after box on your bucket list, and nourishing your well of experience, you will feel your phone buzz with a notification and the last thing on your mind will be the hopeful dread of it being from Tony.

Something flashes in the corner of your eye.

Startled, your shoulders jump as you turn, just in time to be blinded by the obnoxious flash of a camera, shutter snapping shut as the camera’s owner takes a picture. Sight still blurred by the blinding white light, you faintly make out the shape of a dark haired man, camera still raised at shoulder height.

“Oh, sorry,” you stumble over the apology, too busy trying to shuffle out of the lens’ way. “Let me just- I can move, so you can get the full-”

The cameraman chuckles and the sound runs right through you, a visceral reaction stirring within as you feel the hairs on the back of your neck rise and your palms grow sweaty. It’s like you know that laugh, the deep chortle that has an uptick in pitch at the end, itching at a particular spot in your ear.

“No, no, it’s fine- Don’t move!” The man, amidst his laughing, exclaims with a panic that manages to freeze your fleeing feet. Camera back to his face, he points it unmistakably at you and clicks capture, flash firing in your eyes again. “Sorry, sorry! It’s just- Wow.”

Doing your best to not show your confusion — though a part of you is painfully aware of the awe in the stranger’s tone, and the Tour Guide name tag dangling from his lanyard, and the curious American twang voice — you settle on a tightlipped smile, polite enough to gift a stranger yet not void of the utter confusion coursing through your veins.

“Sorry, gosh… You must think I’m some kind of creep,” the man continues his spew of apologies, shaking his head as he lowers the camera and let’s it drop, strap tightening around his neck and halting the device from crashing to the floor. “I normally ask before I, you know, take pictures of the tour guests. But the sunset was hitting you perfectly, and you looked so candidly peaceful, and I didn’t want to ruin the picture by making you… Aware. People get awkward when they know a camera is watching them.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s-” whatever words awaited at the end of your sentence are lost to space and time, as the cloudiness finally drifts, no longer obstructing your line of sight, and you find yourself face to face with eyes so blue, you would have to be an idiot to forget them. “Bucky!?”

Taking on the role of confused bystander, the blue-eyed man is now the one shooting you a tightlipped smile, a questioning gaze skimming over the length of you. You swear you can almost see the cogs turning in his brain, like he is actively trying to replay any memory that features your face.

When it hits him, it is a visible recollection, one that sends his mouth stretching into a full-blown smile and has you embarrassingly aware of how white his teeth are, canines glinting under the shine of a lowering sun.

“Hey, I remember you!” Connection established, he takes a step closer to you, lowering his voice in an attempt to not interfere with the quiet solace the rest of the hikers are seeking. The dampening of volume is not enough to deafen the excited recollection in his voice. “Kiosk Girl! Wow, this is- How was Germany?”

“What?” Mouth moving quicker than mind, you let your confusion rule over your sense before you are struck over the head with the rest of the scene that unfolded at the kiosk stand. The staring at pamphlets, the interruption of a handsome stranger, the offer of a survival guide. Your defensive denial, the awkward reach for a booklet all about a country you weren’t even travelling to, the gift of the survival guide, inscribed with the handsome stranger’s name. “Germany, right. Yeah, uh, it was great. Bit cold but-”

“Cold, in June? Strange,” Bucky, now even closer than moments before, is staring down at the camera, back in his hands and flicking through a series of photos. Photos of you, bated in hues of orange and purple, staring out to a blanket of greenery, sundress trapped in motion by the rustling of a warm breeze. “I always heard the weather was good there this time of year.”

Like a glass of cold water splashing over your face, the man’s words are enough to leave you shaken, the ice-cold embarrassment that soon melts into the shame of lying — and lying badly, of all things — to someone with a smile as earnest as his.

Too deep now to back out, you nod and commit to your deceit, praying you live long enough to someday forget this interaction ever happened, “Yeah, they- Well, the locals said it was a fluke. Global-warming, you know, changing the natural order of the world.”

If there is a higher being watching over your interactions, it is made of cruelty and spite, for only a creature made of all things not-nice would thrust you into a position where you embarrass yourself in front of a beautiful stranger not once, but twice — the same stranger, too. Incidents weeks apart, yet the burning sensation of bile biting at the back of your throat is just the same as the one you felt in the airport, rushing away to pay for the neglected German guide you had shamefully abandoned on the plane.

Bucky, the stranger who has unknowingly become the agent behind your most embarrassing moments in recent times, is none-the-wiser to your internal panic, nodding in acceptance of your explanation and shifting focus over to the camera in his hand.

“I’m sorry, again, for taking this without asking. I didn’t mean to scare you,” is it fair for a man to look so effortlessly good, one hand reaching up to push a set of overgrown brown curls from his forehead, hooking one particular long strand behind his ear? Rarely a fan of long locks on a man, there is something about the way he wears his head of hair, dishevelled yet, strangely, not a hair seems out of place, falling perfectly in a way that frames his sharp features. His voice fills your ears again, pulling focus down to his rosebud lips. “But, uh… If you don’t hate the pictures, I can pass them along to you.”

“If I don’t like them? Are you kidding?” Overcompensating for your frazzled nerves, your enthusiastic display as you glance down at the photograph burnt into the camera’s screen is hopefully enough to atone for your earlier sin of lying. “These are- Wow! I mean, are you a professional photographer? You should be photographing models, not working here as a tour guide-”

And now you are just overdoing it.

Because, truth be told, the picture is not even that good. You are barely in focus, the background is more pixelated than one would hope, and there is an intruding figure in the corner, the sandal-clad foot of a man who had been standing off to the side.

“You really think so?” Bucky drinks in your praise, cheeks glowing a rosy hue as he basks in your eager praise. Men really are so simple at their core, happy to believe they are overqualified in a skill they barely have at the slightest of celebration. “I was just messing with the lens, didn’t think I’d even do that good… Oh, but, actually-”

He pauses, hesitation on his face as he mulls over a thought.

You encourage him to speak his mind, eyebrows furrowing as you question him with your gaze.

“It’s just, I completely forgot, we’d have to exchange phone numbers if you’re wanting me to pass the photos on. Which I totally understand if you’re not comfortable with! I mean, I’m a man, and I’m a stranger, and-” Like he is aware of his own mouth racing off ahead of him, Bucky draws his tongue back in and tries to settle a little composure into himself, straightening his shoulder and clearing his throat. “Or we could meet somewhere in a few days, if you want a printed copy of it. Would Wednesday work for you?”

The shake of your head comes swiftly, shooting his offer down, “Sorry, I leave for Tokyo on Tuesday. But I don’t mind! Exchanging numbers, I mean.”

To the outside, you must sound like a pair of mumbling, stumbling fools. Sentences barely cohesive and rarely uninterrupted by a hum or a haw, thoughts actively unravelling as you both speak them into existence.

But a part of you can’t help feeling a certain wave of charm roll over you, an endearment that clutches at your heart and has you wondering how a man with a face like that could ever sound unsure of himself.

“Oh, in that case…” and Bucky has already taken to digging through his back-pocket, slipping a black phone into his grasp. You watch him press the power button, only to be met with the familiar sign of a dead battery: black screen, white charger symbol. “Shit, sorry. Do you mind if I type my number into your phone? Mine’s dead as a dodo right now.”

It would be rude to say no. And, really, what other choice do you have? Other than, of course, to suddenly change your mind and decide you don’t want the mediocre picture, but then that would require you to be rude. Besides, it’s not like you weren’t going to end up having his number anyway, what difference does it make if he types it in?

Your hands are scouring through your bag, searching for the familiar green of phone case well-past its sell-by date — with more bumps and scratches along its surface than a reckless teen’s first car — when you feel the violation of his stare wandering into the contents of your bag.

It doesn’t take long for you to both zero in on a familiar booklet, tucked neatly into an inner-pocket and seemingly sporting a few dog-ears.

“You kept it,” he notes, gaze still glued to The Wise Traveller, and the comment almost makes you hurl — because it’s like he knows you abandoned the other guide you purchased that day.

“Uh, yeah,” your reply comes a little more breathless than you would like, as you try not to think too hard about the engraving along the inside of the pages, the very place you had first learnt his name. “Figured you were right, back in the airport. Can’t be too careful these days.”

Then it hits you.

You’ve not even told this stranger- Bucky your name.

Here you are, a fool fumbling over words at the sight of his pretty face, freely handing over your phone for him to pluck into his own grasp and begin swiping over the screen, and you’ve yet to once offer him the appropriate politeness of sharing your name.

Only, as you finally give it up and introduce yourself, you’re met with a reply that from any man less attractive would have had you running for the hills: “Oh, I know!”

As though he can feel your wide eyes, watching him with a measured caution, Bucky is quick to fire into a chuckle and shake your phone in your direction, screen opened on your contacts and brandishing your name along the top.

“It says it right here. Cute name, by the way. Makes sense for a pretty girl like you,” thumbs swipe across your phone, numbers punched into a new contact. Meanwhile, Bucky continues to make small talk, with a smile on his face you have quickly decided comes far too easily to him — surely no one is that happy, all the time? You’re almost certain if you peel back the complex layers of reasoning behind his grin, you’d find customer service at the root of it all. “Is it any good?”

Too focused on studying his more-than-good looks, it takes you a moment and one too many slow blinks to realise he’s back on the topic of the safety guide, “Oh, uh, Yeah. It’s great. Very… safe, you know?”

Here you go again, lying for the sake avoiding the awkward conversation where you tell the very stranger — very kind stranger, mind you, who has extended you nothing but a show of good faith, a man so used to playing the role of big brother that he could not stop himself from instilling some level of safety into a lonesome woman — that you had not opened the book he had gifted you beyond that pages of his footnote. All those apparent dog-ears? Wrinkles in the book’s corners, a result of shoving the poor thing and crushing it amongst the other contents of your bag.

“Can’t be that good, surely,” guilt coats the back of your throat. You swallow it down and keep your focus on Bucky, who has finished inserting his contact details and now balances your phone between two fingers, awaiting your eventual acceptance of it back into your grasp. “Pretty sure you just broke rule number one.”

“I- What rule?”

Like a wind-up toy, Bucky clears his throat and recites with practised ease, “Never tell a stranger your travel plans.”

Your whole world goes still.

A heart that no longer beats. Lungs that no longer inflate. Hands that run cold with a nervous sweat.

Birds chirp in the distance, the noise louder than ever before. Voices, muffled as though you are submerged in water, swirl around you in an unidentifiable cluster — men, women, children; every one more monotone than the last.

It’s his laugh that pierces through the threatening haze of quiet, throaty and inviting, tickling at your own humour despite the fact you can’t seem to pinpoint what exactly is so funny about this situation.

Maybe this Bucky guy is just a little awkward, the type to fall back on laughter when he feels stifled by silence.

You don’t get the chance to investigate your sudden theory any further, for the duties of a tour guide seem to catch up to him at last. The flock of older women have swarmed him like vultures, each trying to get him to help them focus the binoculars that dangle from their necks. Before they can fully sweep him away, the handsome stranger offers you one last grin and some parting words.

“Have fun in Tokyo!”

Bondi Beach, Australia.

Like any true, modern day feminist, the last thing you enjoy doing is agreeing with a man… But Anakin Skywalker certainly made some good points against sand.

It is coarse, it is rough, it is irritating, and it does get everywhere.

Right now, it’s wedged between your hallux and index toe, irritating the skin with each step you take, grinding against the toe post of a sandal and driving the bothersome granules deeper into you. So, it’s safe to say you dive at the first sight of respite, just about throwing yourself into an empty bar stool.

Pearl Waves Beach Club is certainly a sight to behold.

A beacon of white, with floor to ceiling length windows that look out towards golden sun and aqua waters, and an overwhelming aura of wealth and excess that makes you feel less than adequate, wandering through the air-conned space clad in a burgundy two-piece bathing suit, a hastily tied shawl around your waist, and shoes that announce your every move with a harsh slap against marble flooring that echoes out into the tranquility of the beach club.

None of that matters now that you’re nestled in a seat, the lingering dampness from the ocean that still clings to your bikini bottoms now wetting the dark leather beneath it. The sticky residue of suncream has mixed with your sweat, creating an uncomfortable film atop your body, and salt has embedded itself into your scalp, doing its best into coercing you to scratch at and relieve the pinch in your skin. Despite all that, you feel nothing short of blessed, covered in the tell-tale stains of someone who has spent the better half of their day strewn upon a sandy beach and basking in the sun’s radiance, like if you lay there long enough, you will eventually evolve and gain the skill of photosynthesis.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

Barely believing the vision unravelling before your very eyes, you blink twice before making a show out of rubbing your knuckles against closed eyelids. Sight readjusting to the brightness of the beach club, you find your eyes have far from deceived you: there, making his way up the length of the bar, with a dishtowel tossed over one shoulder and a pearly-white grin plastered along a clean-shaven face, is none other than your handsome stranger.

“Oh my-” Cutting yourself off before you can fully form the words, you gape at him in shock, pointer finger aimed at his direction as though you are accusing him of something — like the crime of running into you for a third time on your trip around the globe, or the more unforgivable sin of daring to look better with each run-in. Even now, the luscious locks you had admired back in Thailand chopped and traded in for a far shorter, more polished slick of dark hair, held in place by a lick of hair gel, he looks better than ever. There’s only one issue- “James?”

That is what sits engraved into his golden name tag, clipped to a black button up that sits stretched a little too tightly around his forearms.

Following your line of sight, chin near pressed to his sternum as he looks down at his chest, Bucky — or James, or whatever his name is — is flooded with a wave of red, embarrassment burning at the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Afraid my name’s not actually as cool as something like Bucky,” his hands plant themselves on the bar, as the man positions himself directly across from you over the counter top.

Try as you might, you can’t resist the invisible magnet that draws your attention down to his arms, bare in a way they never have been before. While you want to follow the trail of veins that dance up the length of each forearm, you instead find yourself staring where politeness says you shouldn’t.

Because where you expect to find skin as golden as the one along his right arm, you find a story of pain instead. Splotches of pink paint the otherwise white skin with colour, with a shine that does not match the typical look of flesh. Where some spots appear unnaturally smooth, other flecks of tissue appear sunken in, visual marks of trauma along his left arm.

Catching yourself as you blatantly stare, regret making impact with your chest, you force yourself to meet those aqua eyes of his, watching you with the patience of someone who is beyond used to the rude — even if well intentioned— stares.

“I don’t know if cool is the right word for Bucky,” opting for diffusing with humour, you tease your handsome stranger. Though, really, maybe he is no longer a stranger. With how often fate seems to be driving you together, maybe it’s time you consider him an acquaintance. “Sounds like the stage name for one of those horses, you know? Make some noise, folks, for Bucky the Bucking Bronco!”

Mouth contradicts hand, as James struggles to contain his amusement, pouring out of him in melodies of laughter. All the while he grasps at something dramatic with his palm, colliding over where his heart sits beneath layers of cotton and flesh and bone, clutching as though you have freshly driven a dagger into him.

“Harsh! Call me a loser next time, why don’cha?” There it is again, that lilt of an accent, curving over the man’s words as he feigns offence. Palms up in defeat, Bucky shakes a chuckle out himself before pinning you under his intense stare, “Go on, tell old Loser McGee over here wha’cha want, before they kick you out for harassing an innocent bartender.”

A familiar overwhelm befalls you, leaving your stomach feeling like a led balloon as you fix your attention on the boards behind Bucky, where options upon options, upon options lay scribbled in chalk. Brands of liquor, strains of beer, every cocktail under the sun; they all sit compiled in a list so overflowing with choice, it paralyses you once again.

“I,” you drag out the sound, mouth paused and agape while you try to pick something, anything to drink… Before ultimately confessing, “Have no idea. There’s too much to choose from.”

“You’ve got a real problem making decisions, you know that?” You are almost taken aback by Bucky’s brash declaration. No matter how true it may be, you never expected the man made up of bashful smiles and shaky words to just come right out and say it like that, no tact in his choice of words that could soften the blow of reality. “Between here and that kiosk, I’m starting to worry about how you’ve been getting by without me on the rest of your trip.”

While you might have tuned your gut out nearly two months ago, she has a nasty habit of screaming her way back into the forefront of your mind. And right now, she’s screaming a tale of seduction, one where she is trying her best to convince your sharper senses that there is a flirtatious undertone behind the way Bucky cocks his head and tilts one side of his mouth up into a smirk, just waiting on your response to his teasing.

A bad habit that doesn’t die at all, apparently, you give in to the noise of your gut and try reach a place of equal footing, arms crossing over your chest and subtly squeezing your nylon clad breasts closer together, deepening the line of your cleavage.

“You don’t have to worry, James,” elbows kiss the cold of the bar counter as you shuffle closer and lean against it, ignoring the bolt of electric heat that shoots down your spine as you notice blue eyes lower from your face and fall right into your cross-armed trap. “The world’s full of handsome strangers eager to help a girl like me decide.”

“Is that so?” There’s a tick in his jaw, which you swear you witness him clench, only for him to distract you with the sight of his back muscles, straining as he turns and begins reaching for various colourful bottles you barely recognise. “Then let me be the one to decide for you today, hmm?”

An unmeasured amount of time pases with his back turned on you and your eyes attempting to peak over his shoulders, catching glimpses of how he chops at fruits, and measures liquids, and grabs at ice. Everything culminates in a grand finale of his hands grasping at two metal cups, one jammed into the other as he begins to shake, and shake, and shake.

Bucky is nothing short of peacocking, dazzling you with easy flips and twirls of the shaker, each toss more riskier than the last. Braced for breath, you half expect him to fail any moment now, make a fool of himself and send the contents of the cups spilling all down the front of him.

Surprisingly, this does not end up being the case.

Instead, you watch him turn with a smug, satisfied grin and lay a colourful concoction in front of you, decorated with a handful of fruit and a sprinkle of mint leaves.

“What’s this?”

“Don’t ask, just drink,” Bucky encourages you, two fingers pinched around the neck of the straw and guiding it to your waiting mouth. Just as you wrap your lips around the plastic, an angry yell breaks out from the opposite end of the bar, where you spot a red-faced, uniform-clad man glaring daggers at your handsome stranger- No, acquaintance's* direction. “Oh, shoot… I’ve gotta go, that’s my manager. Enjoy!”

Before disappointment at the sight of him racing off down the bar can solidify itself in your chest, you feel a rush of relief as you witness him come face-to-face with his manager — who you almost swear you witness rip Bucky’s name tag clean off his shirt — for the moment you take a sip of his cocktail, something in your stomach turns…

It might just be the most disgusting thing you’ve ever tasted.

Therme București, Romania.

“I have a new nickname for you,” your declaration is half-slurred, on account of your face being nose deep in the headrest of a massage table. “Buck-Of-All-Trades.”

A laugh you’ve grown too familiar with echoes over the zen playlist that has been filtering out of a speaker for the past thirty minutes. Incense burns in one corner, while a glass door that has long ago steamed up with the heat of the room sits on the opposite side. Melting into PVC leather, you are naked with nothing but a thin, pristine white towel to cover your most delicate areas. And, with knees that squeeze into your waist with every smooth roll of his hands along your oil-slicked back, is your handsome acquaintance.

Weeks and miles away from the events upon the Australian beach, you had walked into your much anticipated massage with one thing in mind, an apology given by a staff member after a forty minute wait: “The original masseuse you booked with has fallen sick, so we have matched you up with one of our newer experts. Thank you for your patience!”

Had you admittedly been a little frustrated? Well, yes!

Had that very same frustration evaporated the moment you watched Bucky step into the room, hair a little fluffier than before and sporting a five o’clock shadow? Well… Yes!

“Hmm, how so?” Like he is trying to torture you, there is a certain strain of exertion in James’ voice, a sound that pairs with the relaxing roll of his palms up the length of your back as perfectly as red wine goes with steak.

“Because,” half the word collapses into a breathy sigh as you feel the tips of his fingers press into a knot. One third of the way down your spine, burrowed beneath the point of your right shoulder blade, he sniffs it out like a police dog sent to find drugs. “Every time I see you, you have a new job.”

You leave out the part where this is the first one you’ve witnessed him be good at.

In a way, you’ve grown fond of that less-than-perfect photograph he captured of you on Dragon Crest. With a view so ethereal, it would be selfish to think anything as cheap and measly as a camera could dare capture it in all it’s glory.

And his cocktail, though far from drinkable, had certainly looked beautiful, brandished all over your Instagram story and paired with the perfect caption: Custom cocktail from a handsome bartender <3

Tony definitely had not reacted well.

You happily left his messages on read, his demands for your return abandoned to the void of your chat.

“That’s not a very nice nicknames though, doll,” a tut comes from behind you, and it takes just about every inch of will you own inside your body to not raise your head and glance back. The fear of not surviving the sight of Bucky, thick thighs spread and arm muscles rippling under his repeated touching along your naked back, is what really holds you in place. “Ain’t the rest of that sayin’ meant to imply I have no real skills? Master of none?”

With a dismissive wave of your hand and a relaxed shh, you sink deeper — if that is even possible — into the massage table, swallowing back a pleasured moan as his thumbs begin working at the knot.

“You men are all the same,” you mumble before you can think better of it, sighing as you close your eyes and visualise a montage of Tony and all his nagging words. “Can’t just take a damn compliment, always gotta turn it into an argument.”

“‘S that so?”

“Yes, that is so.”

Like he feels your breath hitch at a particular pressure, he reinforces it, thumb pressing right where you need him to, “You’re speaking from experience, I take it.”

A groan fires out of you, half because you are frustrated under the reminders of Tony that swirl around in your mind and half because there is an embarrassing rush of blood shooting straight for your core with every roll of his fingers, a slow pulse making itself known between your legs that practically begs you to grind down into the hardened leather. But you don’t, because you can’t.

Because that would be wrong.

Because that would violate Bucky’s trust and safety as a professional.

Because he would feel it the moment you even dare try, his own groin all but resting against your lower half.

“Too much experience,” you manage a response, finally. “My ex-boyfriend… Actually, I can’t even call him that. But anyway, he was the worst.”

“Oh yeah?” He passively replies with the very words you want to chant as his fingers skim and find another knot to undo, unknowingly undoing other parts of you too.

“Y-yeah,” you sigh, shoulders rolling back as you squirm and try to get comfortable, despite the slick forming between your thighs. “He used to argue with me, all the time. And he wasn’t afraid to get mean with it.”

“What a jerk.”

“Yeah, he is a jerk,” much like your body needed the physical therapy of steady hands loosening all your muscles, your mind is basking in the healing nature of finally trashing a man who had made you feel so inadequate, you had to run halfway across the earth just to escape your scorned heart. “Do you know-” a rhetorical question, for poor Bucky has absolutely no idea who you are talking about, “He couldn’t even drive 10 minutes to come pick me up once? My clutch broke and I had no way to get to work, and he complained when I asked him for a favour. He literally works down the street from me!”

“Jesus, darling,” he follows it up with a low whistle, just in time to cover up the faintest huff of a moan pushed from your mouth. “No wonder you’re so tense, dealin’ with boys like that.”

As good as the validation feels, to have a voice outside of your head paying testament to your woes and sympathising with your troubles, you are still plighted by the cruel torture of thinking too much about Tony at once. And, so, you cut the conversation short, drag it someplace else.

“What’s your story, then?”

Hands pause along your back, mapping over the skin like Bucky is searching for the next tweak to undo in your spine. Finding one quicker than you expect, he sinks his touch back into you and matches your question with his own, “Who says I have a story?”

“Oh, come on,” the effect the massage is having on you grows harder to suppress with each passing moment. “You don’t travel the world, working every job under the sun, and not have a story!”

Mask slipping a little too far, a moan crawls its way from out your chest. It is nothing dramatic, a simple hum of affirmation, a noise that says yes, keep going without you needing to part your lips.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you my story,” Bucky is likely paying you some kindness, refusing to acknowledge the noise that just left you.

Never have you been more relieved to be in his presence. Then again, the more you think about it, his presence tends to be accompanied by relief: saving you from choosing at the kiosk, sparing you from the silence of the mountain, rescuing you from the threat of dehydration at the bar.

You catch the next hum before it can make too much noise, a subtle squeeze of your thighs relieving the burn between your thighs if only for a moment.

“I was a smart kid but I never really had any direction in life. No big burning passion, you know?” You nod into the headrest, then nearly laugh as you imagine what you must look like from his point of view right now. “So when my friend Steve showed up one day and told me he was enlisting in the military, it was like the universe handed me a task. I mean, when I say this kid was scrawny, I mean he looked one gust of wind away from being swept away to the land of Oz.”

Laughing is a mistake that only leads to a broken moan, his thumbs once again pressing just right.

“Stop that,” Bucky scolds softly, reinforcing the pressure behind his touch like he is trying to coax you into letting the noise fully form, let your pleasure perforate the calm room. “‘S just you, me, and the incense in here. I promise no one’s gonna judge you, so sing your little heart out. Let’s me know I’m doing a good job.”

Latch unlocked, permission granted; it’s embarrassing how quick you are to obey. Hypnotised by his words, you find your lips parting with permanence, throat relenting and becoming a vehicle for your pleasure, the zen playlist quickly becoming a backing track to your gentle moans.

“There we go. Isn’t that nice? Lettin’ loose, letting yourself feel good?” When had his hands reached so low, fingertips dancing along the hem of the white towel strewn along your lower back? “I quickly learned I liked the military. I was good at it. The routine, the demanding physicality, the yes, sir, yes and all the other stupid things they make you chant.”

It damn near gives you whiplash how easily James slips back into relaying his story to you, voice void of a previous layer of sultriness and now coated by something more careful, something practised. The monotony of a story told one too many times and perfected to hit all the right story beats to keep his listener engaged.

“But then there was an accident,” for the first time since he planted himself atop your back, the hitch in your breath is caused by something other than his tender touch. Memories of his left arm, scar tissues wrapped around him like vine, suddenly hits you. “I pissed some guys off, got one too many push ups handed to them by pointing out their misdemeanours to our superiors. I don’t remember how the prank was actually meant to play out but, next thing I know, I’m waking up to my bed sheets on fire and the feeling of death clawing up my arm. And that was that. A month in hospital, many more months in physical therapy. I quit the military, so did Steve.”

It feels selfish to moan right then, but Bucky only seems to light up at the sound, massaging deeper into the tissue of your back, relishing in your vocal praises.

“Then,” his pause is for dramatic effect. “I just sat and felt sorry for myself. For months. It was more excruciating than the pain, that boredom. It felt like I lost my life, even though I was still alive and fully intact, save for the scars left behind by the fire. And… I don’t know. There’s really only so long you can do that before you have to get up and go. Do something again. I just decided to do everything. Everywhere I want to go, I go. Every job I want to try, I apply. What’s the worst thing that can happen? I get rejected? I guarantee that’s less pain that what’s going on in my arm.”

Though your reasons are far smaller, far less visible, the scarring along your heart feels seen by Bucky’s words.

The massage finishes far sooner than you would like.

Bucky at last gets a chance to dismiss himself from you without some outside source dragging him away, giving you just enough time to suspect there’s hesitation in his voice, as he draws out his goodbye before exiting the massage room and leaving you to re-dress.

Bones turned to jelly, heart a little lighter too, you’re too blissed out to care that your underwear has gone missing, no longer stuffed neatly into the pocket of your trousers.

Nonno Gio’s Cooking Class, Italy.

You realise too little too late that you’ve fallen for a tourist trap.

Because Nonno Gio, who you expect to embody the essence of Italy, turns out to be a middle-aged American man who seemingly has watched one too many episodes of The Sopranos. A golden chunk of chain sits clasped around his bright red neck, and his accent is plucked right out of New Jersey.

It’s a little too hard to lament the loss of a few hundred euros, however, while watching your cooking partner whisk away at a selection of dry and wet ingredients… Particularly because the cooking partner in question is your handsome friend — yes, he has received an upgrade in titles — Bucky.

“We seriously need to stop meeting like this,” had been his version of a greeting, shoulders shaking and mouth laughing with disbelief as he watched you saunter up to the very cooking station he had been assigned. “It’s starting to get creepy.”

“Creepy?” You echoed, throwing an apron over your head, at last standing by his side. “If me stalking you all across the globe is creepy then, sure James, I’m creepy!”

Taking charge, Bucky leaves you to laugh at your own silly joke while his hands grasp at the strings of your apron. Pulling the fabric flush against your front, guarding the pretty pale yellow of your sundress from any dusting of flour or splashes of liquid, he threads the strings into a tight bow and punctuates the action by smoothing his hands over your hips, undoing a ruffle that has formed along your waist.

The entire class is a practice in patience, a way to prove to yourself just how good your ability to endure has become.

Because Bucky is an example of visual torture.

Floppy hair that falls over his eyes as he concentrates on chopping onions, a single tear slipping down his cheek. You take a deep breath and force your hands to focus on your own task, instead of brushing the locks from his face.

Muscles that ripple beneath the confines of a white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and light cotton sitting loose around his bicep, just see-through enough to grant you the view how toned they are. He kneads at the pizza dough, meanwhile you need three stabilising breaths to calm your less than kitchen-friendly thoughts.

Sharp cheekbones, one side sporting the delicate swipe of flour staining his tanned skin, right where he foolishly wiped away an invisible bit of lint without fully washing his hands. You want to laugh at the sight, or to lick the pad of your thumb and swipe the powder away, but you are too busy reeling from those same flour-covered fingers grasping at your chin, tilting your eyes up to meet his blue ones, and smudging your own cheek with flour.

“There,” he mutters, cool as a cucumber and nowhere near as affected as you. “We’re matching, Now we look like a real team.”

It’s after you both ship off your pizza into the specialised oven, with Bucky insisting you both grasp at the peel and feed your wonky masterpiece, possessing a shape closer to a square than a circle, in together, that you finally feel yourself lose the ability to trap your tongue, mouth flying off to speak your thoughts before you can swallow the words back down.

“This might sound insane, so feel free to call me crazy,” is always a promising, stable way of starting a sentence. It is truly a miracle the handsome man entertains your wording with an endeared smile. “But I feel like there is a reason behind why we keep running into each other. Like… Like the universe is pushing me in your direction, you know? I mean, what are the chances?”

Silence.

The other members of the cooking class chatter around you both, but you don’t hear them, too focused on the fragile bubble that surrounds you and Bucky.

“You’re crazy,” straight to the point, monotone voice and deadpanned stare. It’s safe to say James does not give you the answer you were expecting… At least not immediately. But then the tension on the surface of his face cracks and he breaks out into an easy smile, something similar to relief swimming in the pools of his eyes. “But I’m glad you said it, ‘cause I’ve been thinking the same thing. For a while now.”

Despite the hazard lights flashing from within your gut, screaming warnings at you to not repeat previous mistakes, to not hand a man the ability to make a fool out of you, you take a leap of faith and pray this time you don’t wind up weeping with your knees pressed into the floor — there’s not even a carpet to soften the blow this time.

“I leave for France tomorrow,” this time, you share your plans knowing full well it is the number one rule in The Wise Traveller not to. You justify this violation of safety with the fact Bucky is no longer a stranger. He is your friend, right? “I’ll be in Bordeaux. You know, in case you’re struggling to pick where you’re going next. I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Thankfully, Bucky is better at cooking than he is at mixology, and when the pair of you tuck into your less-than-authentic Italian pizza, you’re suddenly thankful you fell for Nonno Gio’s tourist trap.

How else would you have (possibly, maybe) scored a friendly date in Bordeaux?

Super-Bass Club, Greece.

The nightclub’s name is far from an exaggeration: you can feel the bass infiltrating your heartbeat.

Or maybe it’s not the bass, but adrenaline; kicking in and raising your heart rate.

The straps of your heels dig painfully into the skin around your ankles, rubbing them raw and no doubt drawing blood to the blistered surface. Every hurried step forces you to tug down the hem of your dress, riding up under the force of your strides. Sweat stings at your eyes and bodies swarm all around you, swaying out of tune to a DJ who loves his job a little too much, despite the fact he can barely succeed at a simple cross-fade into the next track.

At the very least, you suppose, the DJ is playing the club classics, the records that never fail to get a crowd screaming out the lyrics at the top of their lungs. It’s his only saving grace.

Safety lays ahead, a beacon of light shinning from where the exit to the club sits, new bodies spilling into the venue while all you want to do is escape.

A hand around your wrist halts you, drags you back with a squeal before you can dive out the doors.

You don’t have to turn to know it’s him, the very same stranger who has been harassing you for the past half hour, unwilling to take the hint of your side-eyes and disapproving glares as he attempted, time and time again, to grind up against you on the dance floor. While at first you had tried to flee subtly, it quickly became obvious that rejection was not something the bull-headed man took well.

The moment your footsteps had sped up across the floor, he began pursuing after you.

And now he’s caught you, a wriggling fish trapped in the painful hook of his hand. He wastes no time, another set of fingers reaching to roughly grab at your face, tilt your face up to his, and-

A scuffle ensues, one that you seem to be trapped in the middle of; a tug of war where one hand is dragging you towards your pursuer and another two, more careful, are prying you backwards.

Two trumps one, without a doubt, but not without the aid of a third set of hands, this time clamping down around the assailant’s wrist in a painful grip and ripping the unwanted hand off of you, arm twisting unnaturally as your third defender pins the stranger’s hand behind his back. Through the shock of it all, you barely register the other four hands dropping their grasp from you, nor the pair of security that grapple with the man responsible for your shaky hands and jackhammer heart.

You manage to concentrate enough to notice him, however, relinquishing his hold of the stranger to his fellow bouncers and approaching you with the caution of a scared lamb, blue eyes wider than ever before as they frantically search over your body for signs of injury.

“Are you okay? Does anywhere hurt?” Bucky — like every time before — looks better than the last time you saw him. Beard fuller, hair softer, worried face a reflection for the swirling neon lights around you both. Dressed from head to toe in black, a splash of white sits across his chest in the bold shape of SECURITY. “See, doll? This is why you need to be more careful, hmm. Where’s that guide I bought you?”

Tuning out the condescension, filtering it through a part of your brain that registers his words as only the worried rambling of someone concerned about their friend, you take to answering his first questions instead.

“I’m fine,” your voice sounds miles away to you, lost in the crowd along with the rest of the drunken fools. The buzz of alcohol has long simmered away within you, nothing but a static flatline remaining that leaves you tasting bile and wanting your bed — not the bed in your hostel, your bed, back home, where the sheets still smell like Tony. “Just my wrist hurts.”

That is enough to kick Bucky into gear, and the next thing you know, you’re sat outside the club atop a plastic chair, ice pack pressed to your skin, a jacket wrapped around your shoulders, and Bucky crouching by your feet.

A soft crack rings out into the Grecian night as he twists the lid off a bottle of water, offering it up to your lips and gifting an approving nod as he watches your throat bob, swallowing down a few sips.

“Your taxi should be here in ten minutes,” Bucky keeps his voice to barely a whisper, afraid to startle you. If you weren’t still so shaken, or stewing in a frustration towards him you thought you had got over weeks ago, you would laugh and point out the still very audible thump of Greece’s shittiest DJ entertaining the masses back inside the club. “I’m sorry… About that man. He’s been- Dealt with. Banned for life, no doubt, that’s what usually happens with-”

“Why didn’t you come?” Your question seems to hurt him more than the pain in your wrist, eyebrows furrowing and gentle smile slipping into an almost pout. “I waited. I thought I would hear from you. But you never came, and I explored Bordeaux alone.”

Knees kissing the dirtied ground, Bucky leans closer and perches his hands on your naked thighs, inches from where your dress rests around your legs, “Did you want me to come?”

“I told you I would be there.”

“That’s not the same as asking me to go,” he kisses those pearly teeth with a hiss, adjusting his grip on your legs and glancing over his shoulder, like he’s waiting for a taxi to finally pull up to the club’s entrance. Is he that desperate to see you leave? “I know you’re used to snapping your fingers and getting what you want, but I’m not that easy. Gotta use your words, baby. I can’t read minds, can only do as much as you ask of me.”

Intoxicated by his cologne, by the alcohol in your veins, by the sudden waft of cigarette smoke blown your way from bystanders to the left, there is suddenly only one question on your mind for Bucky… What a shame you speak it out loud.

“Would you kiss me?”

No further questioning is needed.

Bucky moves lazily, hand reaching up to grasp at your cheek. A thumb swipes over the swell of it, before steady fingers press your head to tilt it down to give him easier access to your mouth, pushing up from the ground to take possession of you.

His lips are soft, pressing carefully against your own. Bucky lets you take the lead, moving at whatever pace you set. At first slow, tentative, memorising the shape of his mouth against yours. And then desperate, lips widening with each smack and tongues reaching to taste each other.

Car horns blare, strangers chatter, and the bass continues to thump obnoxiously under the command of the DJ, but none of that matters right now. All that matters is Bucky, kissing you with equal fervour, groaning into your mouth as you sigh against him. The taste of mint hits your tongue, remnants of gum he had long ago chewed.

Your own wandering hands ruin the fun, gliding down the stretch of his black top and hooking two fingers beneath his belt, dragging him closer as you mutter, “There’s a spare bed back at my hostel.”

Disappointed does not even begin to cover what you are feeling when Bucky pulls back, head shaking and hands grasping at your wrists, prying your touch from off of him. Before you can feel the shame of rejection, though, he’s pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and offering you an apology.

“I’m not the kind of guy who sleeps with a girl in your state, doll,” his hands take to tightening his jacket around your shoulders, a sudden gust of wind filling the night with a chill that runs right through you. You shiver for a whole other reason, however, when Bucky’s breath hits the shell of your ear as he mumbles into it, “Besides, I want you remembering every second of our first night together, not some drunken blur.”

Your taxi arrives quicker than you would like.

Bucky walks you over to it, holding the door open for you all the while he spills out directions in Greek to the driver. Only as he goes to slam the door shut do you remember the weight of his jacket around your shoulders, hand shooting out to pause the door.

“Wait! Here, your jacket,” you drunkenly exclaim, trying to unwind yourself from the warmth of him around you.

But Bucky is already shaking his head, hands insisting on tightening the fabric back around you, “Where are you going next, after Greece?”

You answer without hesitation, because Bucky is not a stranger.

He’s not even a friend.

He’s a man you almost just dragged to bed.

“Portugal.”

“Okay then. Give it back to me in Portugal,” with a slap of his hand atop the roof of the car, Bucky throws you one last grin before shutting the door on you, a single promise kissing your eardrums and setting your heart aflame the rest of the drive back to your hostel: “I’ll call you!”

Prisioneiro do Mar Hotel, Portugal

Bucky keeps his promise.

Calls you the next morning, arranges to meet with you in Portugal, wishes you a safe flight and even tells you that you looked beautiful the night before, even if deep-down you know you looked a mess after your run-in with the handsy stranger.

It is you who messes up this time.

“Bucky, I’m so, so sorry,” your apologies are almost as frantic as your hands, riffling through another suitcase and dumping piles upon piles of your clothing onto the hotel room floor.

The entire room is a mess, clothes strewn across just about every surface imaginable and every cupboard has been pried apart — even the safe lays with it’s door wide open, showing off your collection of jewellery to any wandering eyes.

How fortunate that the only other eyes in the room are Bucky’s, who stands by the foot of the bed and is trying his best to soothe your panic.

He’s not doing a very good job.

“I swear to you, I packed it. I remember packing it!” You, admittedly, are not the most sound of mind in this moment. A weight sits on your chest, heavy heart making every breath feel harder. Sweat gathers at the base of your neck, dampening the licks of hair at the back of your head. And, no matter how hard you try not to think about, memories of Tony are running on repeat in your mind. “God! I’m such a fucking idiot- I… How do you even lose a jacket?!”

Tearing through another bag, you’re none the wiser to Bucky as he inches closer to you, weaving his boot clad feet through empty spaces in the floor that don’t possess your clothing, unwilling to stain your pretty dresses with his footprint.

Your cheeks are overrun by tears in the blink of an eye. Angry, rotten little things that track rivers down your skin and drip all over the open bag you are kneeling over. Soft hands meet your shoulders, cradling them just as they begin to shake under the violent sobs that rack through your chest.

More than anything, you are embarrassed to be causing such a scene, especially when Bucky seems so unaffected by the loss of his jacket.

“Hey, hey,” his voice is practically a gentle coo, while his hands are dragging your body upright off the floor and forcing you to face him. “No need to cry, doll.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” this apology comes with a fresh wave of tears. At the very least you’re able to laugh, even if only a little, at your mess of a state, painfully aware that your understanding of his words does not pair well with the tears tracking down your cheeks. “I just- I can’t help it- Can’t stop them from falling. Think it’s some- Trauma response, or something.”

Breathing becomes a struggle as your chest pulls tight, lungs squeezing out every drop of air you attempt to feed them with. All the while, Bucky watches you with caring eyes, a pout nearly overcoming his pretty lips while he tries help you syncopate your breathing with his, hand pressing your own to his chest and forcing you to feel every strong inhale and easy exhale he makes.

“It’s just Tony. I remember it, this one time,” you speak in fragments, stretches of sentences huffed out with each breath, a little less shaky than the last under Bucky’s guidance. “I lost one of his shirts… Or he left it at someone else’s apartment, one of his other fuck buddies. Anyway, he didn’t react well. He was screaming at me, for hours, calling me useless, and stupid, and- God. Sorry, this just-”

“Stop apologising,” Bucky wipes away a tear before it can even fall, lets it stain his finger while he continues to soothe it over your cheek, big blue eyes commanding you to relax under their stare. Far away from Tony, he wants you to remember where you are: in a hotel room, in Portugal, with him. “Don’t have to worry, doll. ‘M not gonna yell at you.”

You thank him softly, let yourself lean forward and collapse into his arms, emotional exhaustion taking grip of your soul as your forehead meets his shoulder.

Bucky holds you like you are made of porcelain, hands barely daring to fully cup at your body as you press yourself against him.

When he hums, you feel it run right through you.

“‘Cause I know you’ll make it up to me, won’t you? I can trust you to make it right, can’t I?”

Nodding a little too frantically, nervous energy still coursing through your veins, you pull back just enough to look him in his darkening eyes, “Of course! There’s a mall not far from here, we can go and find a replacement for the jacket.”

But you’re not even finished talking when Bucky starts to shake his head, one hand flattening itself atop your shoulder and applying pressure. You’re already halfway to the floor when you realise the man is guiding you onto your knees, heartbeat beginning to pick up for a whole other reason than some stupid, misplaced jacket.

“That jacket was one of a kind, baby,” his statement confuses you. You could have sworn it carried a label from H&M on the inside. Or had you misread it, mistaken a luxury brand for something a little more familiar to you? “You don’t seriously think some small town mall’s gonna have anything worth apologising with, do you?” You shake your head without even realising, too busy watching the way his spare hand has fallen over his belt. “No, exactly. ‘S better you put your money where your mouth is instead, give me a proper apology.”

The entire act of his fingers undoing his belt, while the others slip from your shoulder and travel up to flatten themselves atop your scalp, bitten fingernails scrapping over the roots of your hair, it feels like the antithesis to everything you’ve ever enjoyed before.

With Tony, things were fast-paced yet fairly vanilla. He never wanted to draw out the experience, make his movements linger until you find yourself on the very precipice of needy, mouth watering at just the sight of a happy trail.

Which is exactly the state you’re in now, watching with anticipation as the man towering over you unthreads his belt and loosens the button of his jeans. The sound of a zip being undone fills the hotel room, reverberating off the walls of your skull and having a Pavlovian effect over you, thighs involuntarily squeezing in search of friction at the thought of what Bucky hides beneath his quickly-disappearing layers.

As it turns out, he’s hiding a lot. More than you expect.

You’re no expert in size, guesstimating that he’s definitely an inch or two over what most men possess. The tip of his cock is an angry red, crowned by a bead of pre-cum dripping from the slit and slipping over the curve of a mushroomed head. While you’ve never been a great aficionado of the male genitalia, something in you feels entranced, suddenly more than willing to sit here all day and just study the shape of Bucky.

Unfortunately, you are barely granted a few seconds to admire before the hand on your head is pulling you forward, closer, until you have no choice but to part your lips and make space for him.

“There we go,” Bucky, eyes more overblown by pupil than the pretty blue you have grown accustomed to, sighs out with guttural relief, head falling back as his hips give the smallest of juts forward into your mouth, feeding himself deeper. “God, don’t you just look gorgeous, huh? Pretty lips stretched round my cock, shit. Gonna need to relax your jaw.”

Caught under his spell, you’re left with no autonomy to stop yourself from obeying his every command, jaw falling lax and tongue flattening itself beneath the weight of his dick as he gives another roll of his hips, this one a little deeper and teasing at your gag reflex. This seems to delight the man, eyes lighting up momentarily as you choke on the beginning of a gag.

“Now, you want to make it up to me, don’t you?” Your attempt to nod just makes him laugh, biting back a groan as he feels your tongue drag over the underside of his length. “Then what I need you to for me is just sit there, keep your mouth open, and let me use your throat. Can you do that for me, doll?”

This time, you don’t try to nod. Instead, you hum affirmatively around his tip, relishing in the slight wave of power you feel as his eyes roll back and he instinctively thrusts into your mouth.

He starts with careful movements, barely-there rolls and ruts that press his cock a little heavier against your tongue with every one he makes. Tears still drying into your skin, it’s hard to tell if the slight salty tang invading your tongue is from you or him, precum mixing in with your excess of saliva.

The wetter your mouth grows under the invasion of him, your cunt rushes to match, slick turning your panties sticky and uncomfortable as you shift weight from one thigh to the other. A friction that Bucky cruelly cuts off, a disapproving tut coming moments before he nudges one foot between your legs and forces them apart, leaving nothing but the cool air of the hotel room to kiss your soaked underwear, a feeling so uncomfortable, it has you wishing you could peel them off.

“Uh-uh, no,” Bucky protests at the way your eyes squeeze shut, a pleasured pain shooting through your throat as he slowly begins to fuck deeper into your mouth. With deeper, faster is always soon to follow, until barely a moment or two seems to pass between the gargled sounds of his head hitting the back of your throat, forcing spit to slip past the corners of your lips and to drip down your chin, spilling all over the pretty colours of your blouse. “Want you watching me, doll. Want those pretty eyes on me when I fill this-ngh. This fucking tight throat.”

Bucky does as Bucky says, hot ropes of salty, thick cum spurting out to coat the back of your throat, tainting your mouth in a pearly whiteness that mixes with your spit, a messy string of fluids connecting your lips to his cock even as he pulls it free from your lips.

Before you can think too long, notice how he’s not even softened after spilling his seed all over your tongue, you’re busy being pulled back onto your feet and forced to welcome Bucky back into your mouth, this time his own tongue meeting yours. He hums in approval, swallowing back the flavour of himself all over your mouth, physical evidence of how easily he has claimed you as his.

So easily, you’ve barely even realised.

“Keep your mouth open,” Bucky mutters, thumb swiping over your lower lip and invading your mouth, pressing down on your tongue as you watch Bucky feed a string of his own spit onto your taste buds. Thumb retreating and pushing up against your chin, forcing your teeth to knock together, his instruction is simple, “Swallow.”

How you get from the messy floor to the messy bed, you’re not sure.

You’re even less sure how you wind up naked in the blink of an eye, panties tugged off by Bucky with an almost disapproving look, like the sight of them offended him.

Planted directly across from the bed stands a full length mirror, angled perfectly for you to watch as Bucky, his large frame engulfing you from behind, guides your thighs to part and puts your soaked cunt on display both of you to watch in the reflective glass, chest heaving so hard your breasts bounce with each breath.

Never have you felt so desperate, so warm, so in need of someone to put you out of your misery and give you the satisfaction of their touch. And Bucky seems to be aware of this, for he is torturing you, dragging lazy fingers down the stretch of your thighs and laughing in a way that is nothing short of mocking as a shiver runs through you and you squirm.

“Knew you’d be like this,” he’s talking more to himself than you, thumb ghosting over your clit and quickly evading as you attempt to grind down on the feeling. “Such a needy, desperate little thing. Perfect for me, aren’t you?”

You’re mid-nod when you’re forced into a pathetic yelp of, “Yes!” as Bucky’s palm slaps down against your cunt, nerve-tingling pain than soon melts into pleasure.

“When I ask, you answer, okay?” Three fingers rub at the raw skin of your cunt, two more slaps having preceded his warning. “Verbally, properly. You understand?”

You almost nod, until you think better of it, “Yes, Bucky.”

“Good girl,” his simple praise should not send your heart into arrest. But then maybe there is a lot about this situation that should not be playing out the way it is. “Now, eyes on the mirror, doll. Want you watch as I spread you open on my cock.”

Eyesight trained forward, you see the brief flash of his fingers lining his dick up against your wet hole, before he thrusts right in to the hilt and steals the air right out your lungs. One hand by your hips, the other wraps around the front to grasp at one of your tits, large hand staking claim over the entire swell of it and giving a teasing squeeze. It is hardly comfortable, pressing against the breast tissue, yet you find yourself enjoying it all the same, back arching into his touch.

Between your legs, visual sin is on display, a repeated back-and-forth motion of Bucky dragging his cock out of you a little further each time, light catching on the way your arousal clings to him in a wet sheen, before he buries himself back inside. At the base of your abdomen, right where your untrustworthy gut should sit, a shadow lingers beneath your skin, the faintest shape of him pushing up against your flesh.

“Look at us, doll,” ditching your breast, his hand grasps at your chin, stabilising your attention back on the mirror after you let yourself tilt your head back against his shoulder. “Do you like what you see? I’m everywhere, taking over you. Aww that’s it, cry all pretty for me again.”

Tears are slipping down your cheeks, overwhelm overcoming you at his words, his touch, his stare. Bucky really is everywhere, consuming you and grounding you all at once, a steady figure at your back that the universe sent you, no doubt an apology for whatever the hell Tony was.

“Bucky,” his name has never sounded so pathetic, falling from your lips in the shape of a whine, toes curling against his calves as he deepens the angle of his thrusts. Once again, the deeper it goes, the faster it grows, the soft echo of skin slapping against skin beginning to play out in the room.

“I know, baby, I know. We look so pretty, don’t we? Here,” you almost whine when one of his hands abandons you, but he silences you with the other diving between your legs, thumb effortlessly finding your clit and gifting it some much needed attention. “Take some pictures, doll. Told you I want our first time to be memorable, so go on and give us something to look back on.”

Your first thought isn’t that his phone is no longer black like you remember, this one red and sporting scratches along the back.

People change phones all the time, right?

Besides, who has time to notice silly details, when Bucky is back to touching you all over, both hands claiming parts of your skin?

Screen already unlocked, you try your best to steady your shaky thumb, guiding it up to the Recent Apps tab and attempting to press the camera icon… But Bucky just so happens to deliver a particularly spine-arching thrust, tip budging right against the spongy spot inside you that has you seeing stars, and your thumb presses on a familiar purple square before you can stop it.

And then your heart stops.

Bucky stops too, physically coming to a halt as he registers what exactly you’re staring at on his phone screen, “Well, shit.”

There, on his screen, sit two profile icons hovering over the same spot on a Life360 map: your picture, and Bucky’s.

And, try as you might to convince yourself, you know you never granted him permission to your location, never even got a notification of him attempting to befriend you on the app.

Bile stings at your throat. Your stomach drops to your knees. And, much to your own disappointment, your cunt pulses around his stilled member, buried inside you.

“There, that’s the solo-traveller look you asked me about,” Bucky somehow seems unshaken by your discovery, chuckling with near satisfaction as he watches your eyes focus back on the mirror ahead of you, stare wide and mouth paralysed with… “Fear, like you don’t know what to do with yourself.”

“James, what the hell is-”

“Shh,” he hushes you with both his mouth and his hips, grinding the head of his cock against you. Despite the situation at hand, you cannot deny the way your body physically reacts to him, walls squeezing around his cock and a moan slipping through the cracks of your frowning lips. “Thought we weren’t going to yell at each other, doll.”

“That was before I found out you’ve been stalking me!”

“Stalking is a little harsh. Watching over you sounds nicer, don’t you think?” He asks, like the wording drastically changes the result of his actions. Both hands are on your hips now, tilting them as he continues earlier ministrations, a slow roll of his own that are meant to distract you from the gut-wrenching revelation. “You were so eager to hand over your phone in Thailand, remember? You were practically begging me to add you on Life360. Bet you just wanted that comfort of knowing someone responsible was watching over you, huh?”

Did you beg? Had you mentioned the app to him at any point?

Months past, so many things happening between then and now, you are struggling to remember. Maybe Bucky is telling a version of the truth you’ve simply forgotten.

“We both know how bad you are at asking for what you want, baby. Was it so wrong of me to help you?” Warmth pooling in your spine, you barely even register the way you begin to wind back against him, bodies moving in perfect, effortless harmony as he begins fucking you properly again. “Could see it, how badly you wanted me but you just wouldn’t dare ask. Was it so wrong of me to give us a little man-made fate?”

That word almost pulls you out his trance, memories of how vulnerable you had felt confessing it back to him Italy flooding back in. And all along it had just been him, not the universe, following in your footsteps and manipulating your encounters.

Like he can feel the shadow of doubt creeping back over you, Bucky reinforces his sweet talking, mouth momentarily latching onto your earlobe and delivering a gentle scrape of teeth that forces you to listen.

“I mean, think of everything I’ve done just to have you, doll. Think of how far I was willing to travel, just for the chance to see you,” the worst thing is, it’s working. You can feel your resolve slipping, will giving into him the closer you’re moved towards the crescendo of your orgasm. “Meanwhile, Tony couldn’t even drive 10 minutes down the street for you. Is that what you think you deserve, baby? Someone who puts no effort into being yours?”

You give a nod, or a shake, or a something of your head, teeth clamping down on your lower lip as finally the first waves of your orgasm roll over you. Thighs shaking, yet he holds you steady against him.

Could you be steady, with him? Is that something Bucky can bring you?

No more crying on carpeted flooring, no more questioning where you stand in someone’s life, no more waking up to find your late night companion already gone.

“When I ask, I expect answers.”

You swallow back the ball in your throat, force away the doubt and the fear and the panic, and give into the warmth of his hands.

The same hands that orchestrated your fate, placed you in one another’s path. Isn’t that what you had been waiting for all along, to be chosen by someone?

“No,” the moment the two letter word leaves you, you feel him spill into your womb, groaning loud and proud into your ear. “I think I deserve you, Bucky.”

Bodies move languidly, collapsing into one another atop the bed, clothing strewn all around you from your earlier worries.

Your head meets Bucky’s chest, where a heart beats rapidly beneath the confines of flesh and bone.

His left arm curls around your naked body, dragging you impossibly closer. You cringe ever so slightly as you feel his cum spill out onto your inner thigh, all the while Bucky’s hand soothes the top of your head, lulling you to let yourself relax into him and let your eyes slip shut, accepting the way he cages you in.

“You do, baby. Deserve all of me. And you can have that, if you let me have all of you.”

+ extra hyde!

· guys i'm being so fr, do not do anything the reader did in this fic. y'all are too precious to wind up being the subject of a netflix documentary. · and before anyone comments that the reader has no self respect... well, yes! that is the plot. subject is very much aware <3 · no but why did any of my friends encourage me to write this silly fic??

Succumbing to his more debased urges, your coochie would be his 'kitchen' for the next 2 hours. It was obvious from the perverse way his lips smacked together, sucking his teeth at the sight of your succulent cunt—he couldn't wait to serve you up on a platter.

Digging in, Toji wastes no time with prep work. 

Unabashedly feasting in your savory folds as if he were a gourmet who had just been presented with a 10-course 3-star michelin meal. Toji's filthy mouth proves to be such a needy glutton for your pretty pussy—slurping, suckling and nibbling at your sensitive lil’ clit until you’re sobbing. You clench and twitch around his tongue which seems to be on a mission to completely sear your insides, reducing your to legs to gelatinous goo. 

All the heat Toji boils in your core spreads to your entire body and your hands grow slippery with sweat. You shake as you struggle to maintain hold of your knees. Yet the scalding look Toji gives you makes you think twice before you let go of them—lest chef Toji say the dish is ruined and he needs to start all over again. 

“Chef knows best” Toji tells you, along with his specialty cuisine style of "making it nasty", so of course he must braise your swollen throbbing clit in globs of his spit. His tongue bastes over your sopping folds as he scoops the marinated mixture—crafted of his saliva and the syrupy juices of your ripened cunt—back into your steamy quivering hole. 

At the very least you were grateful that despite the embarrassment flaming on your tear-stained cheeks, the amount of carnal pleasure coursing through your body sent your mind into euphoric delirium. Your eyes spared you from the sight of Toji's shameless display of ravenous hunger by becoming lodged into the back of your skull.

Nevertheless, you didn’t need to see to tell that Toji is a messy cook. Some of your rich milky sauce is sure to dribble down to the crack of your ass as his lecherous ministrations cause you to overflow. Not to worry though—when it comes to relishing your perfect pussy, Toji ultimately keeps a tidy kitchen and he is certainly not wasteful. 

Toji will dutifully clean up any mess, unlike your actual kitchen where he never washes a dish. Likewise, although when you try to get him to eat healthier and he refuses his greens—Toji will never hesitate to toss your salad. Stirring his tongue deep into your puckered hole he savors the taste while three of his thick fingers bully into your tight lil’ pussy, blending you up until you pureed all over his fingers.

The intensity of your lustful moans rival that of the vulgar sounds sloshing from your core and echoing throughout the living room. Both sounds Toji finds himself developing an insatiable hunger for and it spurs on his near relentless teasing of you. 

Duplicitous in his positively feral pussy drunk state, he reasons with you that "a chef never reveals his secrets".

Therefore you are never certain upon reaching the peak of your next mind-mincing orgasm if he will serve you utterly delectable release—the sweet nectar of your squirt garnishing his lips resulting in Toji to nearly busting in his own pants from rutting against the sofa—

—or if he will cruelly snatch it away from you again as you teeter right on the edge of rapture. When he does this there is certainly a twinkle in his eyes as he mocks you, "but you weren't quite done simmering just yet, mamas."

Absolutely overdone and oversensitive, if the torture of him stewing your insides becomes too much—If you really whine and tell him you've had enough—to his credit Toji would stop. Stop and hover mere centimeters away from your leaky lil’ peach that is. 

You would whimper, so sore from the abuse of his tongue as his own eyes would roll back at the sugary smell of your arousal wafting off your messed up lil cunny. Toji knows at this point you are too fucked out—too thoroughly made well-done on his tongue to escape from his gluttonous depravity. 

Sloppy and glazed in your cum, the scar on Toji's lip glistens as it pulls into a devious smirk. Huffing out, Toji would softly breeze air over your puffy clit until your lil nub throbbed with enough need to beg for another course. 

Toji would oblige you of course. 

Nonetheless, as punishment for disturbing the chef while he’s cooking, you would have to wait a bit more before you felt his mouth on you again. Only blowing over your sex, your desperate pleas are only met with cruel chuckles chiding you that he needed to "let his food cool properly" before he could eat the next serving.

In the end, Toji's hard efforts in your kitchen are rewarded as he thoroughly consumes every last morsel you have to offer, cleaning up every lingering string of your arousal. With his wanton thirst for your creamy caramelized cunt finally quenched he brings himself up to admire your cute slutted out pout. 

You gasp as Toji’s lips meet yours in a fiery kiss. His tongue is just chaotic, dominating your mouth as if he were still craving the taste of your core.

You're dizzy for air when Toji finally pulls away. Still coming down from your blissed out state you fail to notice Toji had switched your positions. You are now on the floor between his legs while he sits on the couch.

His beefy thighs manspread wide as his girthy length springs from his dark sweats. The angry red tip of his cockhead sways back to hit his abs thickly coated in what must be his own fluids from at some point cumming in his pants just from eating you out.

Reaching out to grab your chin his thumb rubs over your lips in a gentle caress before bullying them open. You were going to roast his cock in that warm n’ tight throaty lil oven of yours.

It was your turn to make him dinner.

✰ ©blkkizzat 2024. do not steal works or gfx, do not translate.

✰a/n: y'all idk im hungry, on my period and i clearly got demons. that's all the defense i got so y'all can lock me away for this now. *runs away* p.s.plug!choso lovers this is not a fic, its a drabble i promise i literally wrote this in tumblr drafts don't kill me LOL

Now, Shiu Kong must have known what he was walking into.

He must have-

Or at least one would think—hell, Shiu himself had assumed so and mentally prepared himself for about fifteen minutes outside the barn house before walking inside to tell the two of you to keep it down (those sensitive horse hybrids were complaining!) But he had never expected- fuck. This was all that damned Kusakabe’s fault.

It’d been about two months since Fushiguro Toji was added to his farmyard roster. Ever since his supposed ‘best friend’ had gone and dumped the proud bull hybrid on Shiu’s otherwise idyllic farm. It was meant to be temporary - just a few days watching over him until Kusakabe returned from a Hybrid Farms Convention in Tokyo. Meant to be…

But he was bigger than the rest. Broader. Gruffer. With pierced ears and the sleekest black coat on his lower half. 

So Toji had drawn gazes - one of which being from you, his most prized cow hybrid, specifically.

And Shiu couldn’t have that.

Especially not given the fact that you were the sweetest, softest thing…oh, alright you were his favorite. A part of him almost expected that having a prime bull hybrid around so many unmated cow hybrids would be nothing but trouble. But he just didn’t expect Toji to go after his favorite- anyone but you.

Thus he’d spared no expense keeping the two of you apart. 

Yet in the end it hadn’t mattered how many padlocks (twenty, at the last count) or planks that Shiu had fastened on Toji’s separate enclosure—because a padlock is only as good as it’s locked. And only three days into Toji’s stay, he’d forgotten to lock that damned thing before leaving the farm on an errand- was about halfway out of town by the time that he’d remembered. 

And turned that truck around in the middle of the highway.

Of course, by the time that Shiu actually arrived at the farm and thrown those barn house doors open - much like he had done tonight - the two of you were already tangled up n’ mated. With you humming delightedly into Toji’s neck—bite marks down every inch of it. The creamy scent of pheromones wafting out of the barn house and saturating the farmyard air.

And Toji himself hadn’t spared you an ounce of mercy.

As teeth marks were indented all along your supple skin; especially ‘round each areola of yours which Toji pinched. Letting milk flood out of Shiu’s beloved cow hybrid. Looking straight at him.

Fuck.

Shiu remembers it as clear as day.

Did he mention that he was rock-fucking-hard then? He probably shouldn’t have mentioned that…

Because it only makes him think about how hard he was right now, too. 

He was staring at a vision that was quite similar: Toji was ramming into you like there was no tomorrow- so fast that he’s only seeing the blur of his angry cock and the smack-smack-smacking of skin-on-skin. Except this time you were on all fours.

So Shiu was given the perfect view of your pretty tail swishing from side-to-side. Only growing more agitated as Toji grows faster.

The farmer watches as Toji’s hand wraps around your tail and drags you backwards- so disrespectful. A few more bite marks. A few more shakes of your pretty thighs - he gets the sense that you’d be collapsing onto the floor if Toji wasn’t helping hold you up. And once again Shiu’s struck by just how pliable you are underneath the other man.

“C’mon now-” Toji grunts. “Giddy up. Almost there.”

You’re shaking even harder. Your skin was glistening with sweat. Your eyes dazedly drift towards the other man - and he knows by that glint in your eyes- he knows it. 

He knows that you’re about to cum.

And you’re throwing your head back with what he assumes to be a moan announcing your crescendo—“Shi- oh.”

Oh.

Were you about to…?

Oh fucking-

And Shiu considers himself an intellectual man - he really does. He’s usually quick with his quips and isn’t the most inerudite of the rowdy bunch down at the bars; but this…this leaves his brain blue-screening and his mouth hanging stupidly open. Almost in a mirror of yours.

He can only stand and watch - cock throbbing in his denim overalls - as you’re tremblin’ all between Toji’s harsh thrusts. The way he fucks you is rude—as if the sound of the other man’s name on your lips almost spurs him on further.

He had to remind you who your mate was, after all.

You’re growing limp once your wave of bliss is completely bated. And it’s with a deafening slurp! that Toji himself finishes.

Polishin’ off what Shiu assumes to be your sweetest inside with his long, clingy ropes of cum- so much so that he’s seeing a ring of white start to formulate around Toji’s length. Lucky fucker. Shiu’s mouth goes dry as Toji pins your hips to the hay-littered ground and fucks and fucks his cum into you ruthlessly.

After a few prolonged minutes, he finally sets your waist free and lets your body droop onto the floor completely.

And between pants, Toji manages to whisper- “What the fuck?” Though his keen senses had already picked up on the fact that the farmer had intruded on your little…rut session, it’s only now that Toji’s finally turning.

The veins on his neck popping and prominent. Eyes greener than the brightest field - narrowed. It was as if he was finally seeing the farmer as more than simple amusement or some guy to poke ‘round with his horns sometimes - a challenge.

Was it just Shiu or were Toji’s horns looking extra sharp tonight? 

“And remember that.” Shiu speaks with courage that he did not have—to hell with not biting the hand that feeds. Shiu might’ve been the farmer but he was less than a pigsty in Toji’s eyes. Or so he felt. “Next time your pretty girl cums, she’ll be saying my name.”

Toji doesn’t even pull out of you before he snipes- “Next time you say shit like that, they’ll carry you out in a wheelbarrow.”

“And replace me?” Shiu snorts. “You think she’d milk for anyone else?”

“Pig-”

You, pointedly, kept your mouth shut to avoid saying anything more inflammatory.

And you best believe that he’s stepping back from those barn house doors as soon as he could - what was that he said about considering himself an intellectual man? He’s letting the doors slam behind him and waiting for a moment outside until he hears the two of you start it up again—those horse hybrids and their beauty sleep be damned.

With that said, Shiu takes a deep breath and heads back to his farmhouse.

The time was 12:28AM and he spends the next hour rubbin’ his cock raw to the memory of you almost moaning his name.

.

.

.

“…What did you just say to me?” And something must’ve shown in Shiu’s tone, because his friend groans from the other end of the line—‘oh, c’mon man-’

And never in his life has he let out a louder sigh. Pointed, too.

Because here Shiu was carrying on his early morning duties - ensuring herd checks and watering some of the trees, just going into the barn house to do some milking - when he gets a phone call—and from who else? Kusakabe Atsuya himself.

Now, Shiu has long since gotten used to dreading Kusakabe’s phone calls. The man’s his best friend, but a phone call from him was never bound to end well - he’s the entire reason he has a massive bull hybrid mated with you in the first place. So needless to say it didn’t start off on the right foot. But then the words left his mouth—

“-Tokyo Hybrid Farm Convention-”

And Shiu almost ended the call then and there. 

But Kusakabe must’ve had an inkling. Because he yelped out a few pleas- “Wait wait wait wait- please, I promise you’re going to want to hear this.”

And Shiu had no choice but to groan and comply. At least hear the man out. “Alright, but you better be quick. The cow hybrids need to be milked before noon.”

“Oh please- you and I both know that you’re just impatient to see your ‘pretty girl’, yeah?” Kusakabe hurries before his best friend loses his patience. “Anyways—hear me out- there’s a Hybrid Farm Convention in Tokyo-”

“I’m not-”

“And this time it’s for the hybrids.” Kusakabe cuts him off. Then basks in Shiu’s stunned silence for a few seconds, “And I know I ended up dumping Toji on you for a few days…and eventually…permanently, but let me make it up to you by getting him a new hoof-trimming chute. And maybe while I’m there I can even get him fitted for a new bull ring.”

Shiu rubs his chin in thoughtfulness. “I have been meaning to get him a larger one…”

“Then it’s settled.” Kusakabe says gleefully. “I’ll get you the ring and take Toji off your hands for a day.”

“Can’t it be a few days?” Shiu grumbles.

“No way, man. He’s all yours- consider me the babysitter.” 

“Whatever- better than nothing.” 

“So I’ll pick him up in an hour or two, yeah?” Kusakabe affirms, and from the other end of the line Shiu can hear some shuffling. A truck door slamming. “I’ll have him back to you around midnight.”

“Take your time.”

And with just a few more words shared, Shiu’s ending the call. He stands at the door to the barn house in a way far too reminiscent of the night before—and from here he can see you nuzzlin’ up to Toji for warmth as the early morning sunlight creeps into your hay-scattered abode. It really was a heartwarming sight, the two of you - if only Toji wasn’t glaring at him as if he wanted to trample over him.

However, this time, Shiu was the one with the upper hand. “Guess what, hotshot?” He goads at the bull hybrid, and it works to make his ol’ golden nose ring huff. “You’re going to be going on a little field trip today.”

Toji scoffs and rests his chin on your head.

“Oh no- I’m afraid this one’s going to be a bachelor’s trip.” The most wicked smile twitches at his lips. He watches Toji’s brows furrow and his front legs start to kick at the ground as if about to charge. “You’ll be going to the Hybrid Farm Convention in Tokyo with your old pal Kusakabe, isn’t that exciting?”

The look on Toji’s face was ‘most certainly not’.

“Then we can replace that old-fashioned ring of yours with a new one. Make that ugly mug a little more handsome, hm?”

“My ass is more handsome than you.”

“Real mature.” Shiu shakes his head as Toji flips him off and struts away outside—his midnight-black hair gleams under the morning sun, and the muscles of his upper half are almost Herculean. Shiu follows your gaze to the bull hybrid. 

With a fond chuckle, the farmer then walks over to you and runs his fingers across your scalp. Reaching that one spot he knew you loved so much- scratching behind your hybrid ears. “I don’t know how you put up with him, pretty girlie.”

“He’s really not that bad once you get to know him.” You’re softly nuzzling into him.

Shiu shudders as he thinks back to last night. “Yeah, well I think I know him a little too- hey, are you feeling a little warm?”

“Hmmm?” Absent-mindedly you’re humming.

“I’m serious, girl.” Shiu’s brows furrow- and he’s taking his hand off of your scalp to feel the temperature on your forehead. “I think you’re a little warm.”

Eyes closed, you’re only pushing against him- yearning for his touch. And Shiu tries not to think about that too hard. “I was just in the sun, Shiu.”

“Yeah but…” Now that he thinks about it- you were particularly touchy today—almost needy. And he’s sure he wasn’t imagining the scent of soft sweet cream that lingered in the barn house today. Although that wouldn’t make sense - cow hybrids were prone to one heat cycle a month, for about a week give or take.

And you’d just finished your cycle two weeks ago…Shiu would know.

He hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep those past few days. And as if that wasn’t bad enough- immediately after your heat, Toji’s rut had started up. 

The farmer turns his head and looks at the little homemade calendar hung up at the end of the barn. It contained all the dates of the hybrids’ heats and ruts and when he might expect them next—and not to brag, but it had a 97% accuracy rate. The 3% was when Toji wanted to piss him off and somehow manage to draw his rut out a little longer.

But according to that- you should be in the all-clear. He furrows his brows at the color-coded green zone. What can he say? Shiu Kong liked pretty things, okay?

Aforementioned Shiu Kong looks at you. “Maybe…hm, maybe it’s just a little fever, pretty girl. That brute must’ve worn you out.” You’re shyly bumping your shoulder into him, and he runs his hand across your body. “Now then I need you to get some rest, okay? Go sleep and I’ll bring over your breakfast- oh.” Just then, his hand dips up to the swell of your chest where your tits were. “And I’ll milk you tomorrow depending on how you’re feeling, does that sound good?”

Almost dazedly, you’re nodding with a smile. “Mmm s’good, Shiu.”

A thrill zips down his spine - he ignores it. “G-good. Go on now.” And right before he himself leaves the barn house, Shiu says. “And do try to convince Toji that it’d be good for him to get a new ring. The fool doesn’t realize the power he has in emptying Kusakabe’s pockets.”

Shiu gently closes the door to head back to his duties.

He flips Toji off behind his back.

.

.

.

At 12:21PM on the dot (Kusakabe said he’d be here half an hour ago) his best friend’s truck is parked in his vast farmland. And Shiu helps Toji into a hybrid trailer—he could have just gone in the passenger-side seat, but Shiu didn’t trust Toji one bit to not just open the door and jump out. Perhaps even outrun that truck at the first instance of missing you.

Honestly, he might just do the same with the trailer too…

But Shiu doesn’t tell Kusakabe this - instead he’s letting the man load his prized bull hybrid. And then clapping him on the shoulder, “Alright- he’s your problem now.”

“Just for today.” Kusakabe rolls his eyes. “A day longer and he might just drive the truck himself getting back to his mate.”

He whispers, “…I wouldn’t count on him not to do that today, either.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Shiu amends. Looking at the huffing n’ puffing Toji inside the trailer, arms crossed. “Just that he’s a romantic.”

“That he is.” Kusakabe tips his hat and waves himself off. “Alright- midnight, yeah?”

“Like I said- take your time.” He says, eagerly- perhaps a little too eagerly.

The other man gets into the truck and slams the door shut - the force causes that hunk of rusted metal to wobble and creak, like an old man’s laugh. Shiu gets the sense that the entire world seemed to be laughing at him at that moment—including his best friend. Was he really that obvious? 

Shiu walks up to Kusakabe’s window and leans against it. “What the hell are you laughing at?”

“Oh- nothing.” Kusakabe has the audacity to wipe off a mirthful tear. “Just that it reminds me of back then. Bet you’re really happy to have some alone time with your pretty girl, huh?”

“You say that like it’s been ages since Toji’s been here.” Shiu scoffs. “She’s known me longer- probably still likes me better too. You know she only lets me-”

“-milk her.” Kusakabe interrupts. Amusement on his features at the familiar words, “Yeah yeah. You’ve said it once before, man. Or maybe twice. Thrice. Fifteen times-”

“Whatever, man.”

Shiu kicks off the side of Kusakabe’s truck and gives it a customary slap on the bonnet. 

“Drive safe. Even if you get stranded this time, I’m not coming to pick you up.”

“What a friend.” Kusakabe starts pulling the truck ahead and calls out as he goes. “Take care of the pretty girl when her mate’s not around~”

“You know I will.”

And as he watches the truck pull away with Toji inside the trailer—the bull hybrid lets out a mournful sound. It’s as Shiu feels a soft head rest against him that he realizes you’d joined him in the farewell; longingly watching your mate be hauled off. 

“It’s just for the convention, pretty girl.” Shiu mutters to you. He reaches to scratch behind your hybrid ears but- the faint heat radiating off you makes him pause. “Is…it just me or has your fever gotten worse?”

“Mmm, dunno.” You murmur thickly. You push deeper against his body and Shiu’s suddenly hit with a lingering scent of dairy and fresh flowers, presumably from last night.

“If this gets any worse then we might have to pay a visit to Dr. Shoko…”

Fervently, you’re shaking your head. 

Although you liked the cool and composed otter hybrid, Dr. Shoko, actually visiting the doctor was another thing. And so Shiu let it slide - for now - as he advised you to stay out of the sunlight and get some more rest—he’ll bring some cool drinks over after he’s done tending to the horse hybrids’ hair.

Shiu watches as you totter off into the barn house once more.

He’ll have to keep a close eye on you…

.

.

.

3:18PM

The farmdog hybrids were particularly energetic today - Shiu spent just about two hours straight neglecting his tractor maintenance to throw frisbees with them. Ah, to hell with that old thing. Maybe next time he’ll accompany Kusakabe to those Tokyo conventions and see if they have discounts on tractors. 

Although he knows he shouldn’t have been so careless - but you can’t blame a farmer for letting loose! Especially not when - usually - whenever he did this sort of thing—it’d only end up with Fushiguro Toji trampling all over the frisbee for the sake of it.

Especially not when it’s exactly what got him to notice the state of you in the first place.

Shiu had thrown the frisbee too far. It had landed somewhere by the pond, and Shiu didn’t want Ino getting his coat all muddied again- so he told the canine hybrid to stay put as he himself trudged through all the vegetation and too-soft earth. Ah…remind him to unweed this mess sometime soon. Spike rushes stuck to his boots, and water lilies waded towards him as the farmer determinedly made his way to the frisbee. 

Just bending down to get it when-

Letting out softly—“Oh.”

When Shiu spots your curled-up self on the side of the pond bank—all cocooned amongst the lush vegetation like a little treasure just for him. He tries to shake that thought out of his mind.

You startle awake once he steps on a twig attempting to get nearer to the frisbee- “Easy there.” His deep tone soothes you. “Easy. Easy. It’s just me.” You’re following the voice and settling down once you recognize him. “What’re you doing here, pretty girl?” 

“Just resting.” You respond. Now that you were sure there wasn’t any danger, you’re settling back down into your comfortable position. “The water helps keep me cool, y’know?”

“That pesky fever’s still bothering you?” Shiu reaches down to measure the temperature on your forehead - and sure as day, he’s feeling the heat simmering. If he wasn’t mistaken—it was just a tad hotter than what he remembered it to be when saying goodbye to Toji. “Hm…it doesn’t seem to be getting better on its own. How about a visit to Shoko’s?”

“Shiu…” You whine.

“Now now, missy.” He tuts. “I need you to be healthy- not only would Toji kill me otherwise, but I wouldn’t forgive myself either.”

“I’m feeling fine…really. It’s just a little hot.” You insist. “Today’s been really hot- I promise m’gonna feel better once the sun goes down.”

“Hmmm. Alright.” Though Shiu still didn’t seem all that convinced. “But you won’t cool off with water just by looking at it.” 

“What do you-”

But those words are getting stuffed back into your throat once Shiu takes a little run-up and throws himself into the pond. Creating a resounding splash! and sending a wave of water into the air—like translucent sun-glittered frogs that take a soaring leap and land on you. 

You’re yelping as the cool water lands on you- “Shiu—! You little-”

And then jumping in after him.

He throws his head back and lets out a deep, joyous laugh. And if he smelled the soft fragrance of honey suckle and fresh cream…then he imagines some of the other cow hybrids are ready for milking again.

.

.

.

6:21PM

Shiu wasn’t celebrating—honestly.

Even he wasn’t that tactless.

It’s just that it was a little quiet without Fushiguro Toji around to cause trouble with the other hybrids, or with any guests, or with Shiu…or with practically anyone that wasn’t you. He wondered whether you realized the sheer extent of his special treatment. Which was why he decided to spoil the lot of you - especially you - today.

And for this Shiu’s apples were amongst the most famed in these parts - he hears they went for thousands of yen each in Tokyo. Lush and luxurious. Like biting into a piece of heaven—he knew that the hybrids were particularly covetous of this rare luxury. And luckily for him, they’d just been harvested today. 

So why not give you lot a little treat?

Those stingy middle-men would be here to load up the apples tomorrow morning; so before that he herded his hybrids to the picturesque orchard. Where the apple trees embraced the groves from either side, the tops of their branches nearly winding into the sunset-painted clouds and pulled them back, and beneath them lay crates upon crates of apples like treasure pots at the ends of rainbows. Those apples seemed to gleam even brighter as the sun dipped beneath the horizon; gilded. 

And Shiu kept his hands on his hips, a proud smile on his face, as he watched over the hybrids picking apples and digging through crates. All except for…

“Where’s…”

Brows furrowed- Shiu turns around and spots you slumped against the wooden entrance to the orchard. Those towering pillars were intertwined with vines, and amongst them you looked like the prettiest rose. 

“Something wrong, my girl?” He walks towards you, handsome features pinched in concern. Immediately, Shiu’s hand goes up to feel your temperature once more. “Fuck-” And almost as soon as it makes contact with your forehead, he’s pulling away—

“Shiu…”

“You’re burning up- pretty girl, why didn’t you tell me that it’d become this bad?” He hisses. And then he’s reaching down to gently clasp your hand. Those caramel-brown eyes of his are just so soft…“C’mon- lets get you to Shoko’s before she’s off—”

Yet oh-so-stubbornly you’re shaking your head. “Promise m’okay, Shiu.”

“But-”

“It’s not a fever.” And the hairs on his body stand on end at those words. If not a fever, could this be…“I think it must be the heat or something- that and Toji did wear me out a little last night.”

His jaw clenches. “I’m sure. But I still think it would be good to go for a check-up.”

You’re averting your gaze from his. “I’m alright. Trust me.”

And though Shiu was clearly displeased by this turn of events—how could he ever say no to his favorite girl? It was almost embarrassing how easily he’s bending to your will- and letting out a sigh he attempts to make sound annoyed rather than fond. “Oh, alright…but at least try one of the apples. I’m sure they’d be good for you.”

“Of course-” Then you take a step - and the faint dizziness that’d accompanied your fever makes you nearly fall into Shiu’s chest. Thankfully the farmer catches you easily with his scarred palms darting to your waist, his broad arms wrapping around your body- and the tips of his fingers graze where your tail starts.

And both of your breaths hitch-

“Hey boss- can we dig into the pears too or are those off limits?” Ino’s blissfully oblivious tone shatters whatever strange atmosphere had seemed to concentrate between you two.

And you both jump backwards as if electrocuted.

“The uh- the what-” Shiu whirls around at the farm dog hybrid, “Not a chance. Don’t even think about touching those.”

“…Oops.”

“Those are ¥5000 a pear-” He pinches his nosebridge and groans- as his most trusted dog hybrid scampers off with an armful of pears. As he does so, Ino’s dropping one on the grass that Shiu’s bending down to pick up. Wiping off the non-existent dust on his denim overall, Shiu pulls a pocket knife out and cuts a clean slice of pear in mere seconds.

Calm and controlled.

Somehow, just seeing how competent he was with it made something at the pit of your stomach- twinge.

Before you know it, Shiu’s holding the tempting slice out to you. “Eat.” When you look at him in hesitation, he chuckles handsomely. “They’re about to raid the pears anyway, so you might as well eat.”

And so you do - he watches every minute expression of yours as you bite into it. That glimmer in your eyes. That smile.

Fuck…

Chomping on the luxurious fruit, you’re soon raising your nose into the air and sniffing.

Shiu raises a brow, “Something wrong? It’s not rotten, is it?”

You shake your head and continue sniffing. “No, it’s just…” Your ears twitch towards him- and he finds it so cute how they move almost all on their own. “Something smells good.”

“The pear?” 

“No.” Shaking your head once more—the way you look at him then is just…different. “Like apples. And caramel. And honeysuckle.”

Shiu scratches behind his neck. “Well, I don’t know about the caramel- but we are in an apple orchard.” Gesturing at the sprawling land. “Help yourself.”

You smile and rub yourself against him lightly, soon joining your friends.

This was proving to be quite the strange day- fuck, were you getting hotter?

.

.

.

11:59PM

“I should have taken you to Shoko’s in the morning—”

This is all Shiu’s fault.

This is all Shiu’s fault.

But to understand just how badly he’d messed up, one would have to rewind the clock to about two minutes and twenty seconds ago; it’d been a long day at the farm. Exhaustibly so. Even more so than usual, Shiu was dead-tired—it was practically subconscious the way in which he’d scrubbed himself clean and slipped into his favorite pair of pajamas (the ones with the cows and barns on them). 

And he’d just - just - sat himself down on the creaky sofa in front of the TV, to get in at least five minutes of his favorite cheesy soap operas before he zonked out before it…when the front door started rattling.

Wait…rattling?

Knocking.

Shiu sighed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he heaved himself to a stand- “Yeah, yeah m’coming…don’t break the damn door down.” He’d at least expected Kusakabe to give him a call before he returned and started trying to leave him doorless- but ah. 

Shiu was grumbling a few choice words underneath his breath as he swung the front door and screen open. Only to be met with—

“Pretty girl?” In split-seconds, every ounce of sleepiness leaves Shiu as he darts to hold your faintish body. Your head was drooped, and your breaths were coming out rapid. You were supported by only some of the other cow hybrids. Immediately his hand is flying to your waist, and he’s throwing one of your arms around his shoulders- before giving up on any inhibitions and pulling you into a proper princess carry.

A worried Ino and the others trailed after. “The cow hybrids let me know that there was something wrong, boss. So I brought her here.”

“Good thinking. Thank you.” Shiu just barely has the thought to murmur. He hurries to sprawl you out across where you would be most comfortable: his bed. “We need to contact Dr. Shoko immediately.”

“It’s not her time of heat yet, right?” Ino asks from the doorway. Behind him were some of the other members of the barn house looking in concern.

“No.” Shiu shakes his head. He glances up and sees the commotion- “It might be a fever, or maybe it was too hot out? I don’t know—fuck, I should’ve just taken her in the morning when she first told me.”

“Should I get the truck ready now, boss?”

“Sure. But I don’t want to move her much right now- poor thing.” Shiu looks on sadly at the way you’re gripping his soft pillows and smushing them to your face—breathing them in. “I’ll call Shoko and see if there’s anything we can do from here-” Reaching over to his bedside cabinet and picking up the phone, “You guys get some sleep, and I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“You’ve got it.” Ino nods- and then he’s herding the rest of the barn outside. 

In this little bubble of his bedroom, this little nook of the farm which smelled like fresh cream and honeysuckle, and had the air of sluggish mornings that made one’s eyes droop; it was just you and Shiu and the ringing tone of Shoko’s clinic.

Ringing once.

Ringing twice.

It cuts and Shiu’s trying Shoko’s personal number this time. She picks up almost instantly- “Hello?”

“I’m not going to ask about the integrity of your sleep schedule, but I need your help-”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

And as Shiu lists off your symptoms - the clamminess, the rapid heartbeat, the puffs of pheromones now filling up his bedroom, and more importantly…the wetness between your thighs (he wasn’t a lecher- he promises, it just-so-happened that Dr. Shoko had asked him to double check as part of your symptoms) - he himself starts to get an understanding of your diagnosis. You were in heat. But-

“But wasn’t her heat just two weeks ago?” There’s a shuffling of papers on the other end of the line as Shiu realizes Shoko must’ve gone through your file at home. “And she isn’t known for having any irregular heats.”

“Could this possibly be triggered by something external?” Shiu asks.

“It is possible.” She answers. “Have there been any changes to her environment? Something that may trigger a stress response in her?”

“Well, just today I had Toji go out with my friend to a convention- could it possibly be the distance?” He suddenly feels a drop of guilt at possibly being connected to why you feel this way.

“Hmm, I don’t believe so. Mating bonds are of the nature to be most volatile in close distances, rather than when they’re apart.” She hums thoughtfully. “You said that her mate was away today, right? And this started just today? Have there been any…other changes?”

Shiu raises a brow. “Other?”

And he can’t see her, but he gets the feeling that had they been in her office- then Shoko would have her fingers crossed and a grave expression on her face. “Yes. Has she been close with any other hybrid on the farm? Perhaps nuzzling up to them? Perhaps giving off her scent?”

The tips of Shiu’s fingers, clutching the phone, feel utterly numb. “…Yes.” Him.

“Well then. I believe the matter is quite simple, Mr. Shiu.” Tell him. “It is a strange phenomenon in which the hybrid seems to have two mates.”

“…” He can’t quite seem to close his mouth. “What?”

“Precisely.” Shoko speaks as if merely commenting on the nice weather or a particularly good football goal.

“B-but—” Shiu clutches the phone and tries to keep his volume from rising so as not to awaken you - you’d fallen asleep wrapped in his sheets now. Nose stuffed into the fabrics coated with his natural musk. “I thought hybrids mated for life? With only one-”

“Most often, yes. But there are rare cases in which a hybrid might find themselves connected to two others, or even three. Sometimes these connections may be latent and only make themselves known when triggered by a heat or time apart from her original mate.” His jaw just keeps dropping. “And it seems that in your cow hybrid’s case, in the absence of one mate she found her second mate’s connection activated. This is likely what caused her to go into heat.”

“So it’s official-” He begs. “She’s in heat now-”

“Yes, and I suggest you just let her do what needs to be done with her second mate in order to get it out of her system, otherwise she may feel rejected.”

And it seems that the conversation was coming to a close- for there was a note of epiphany in her words. But before Shoko could end the call, he questions once more. “And about the…double mate thing- does that also mean that the second mate is mated to the original mate?”

There’s a pause.

“Well, I suppose that’s up to you, Mr. Shiu.”

Wait how did she—

And then she ends the call.

Shiu holds numbly onto the phone for a few seconds - the silence felt deafening. Before a sudden stirring makes him dart his eyes over towards you. 

Like an angel.

Your face was half-pushed into one of Shiu’s pillows - also patterned with cows and barns - and that blanket of his had twisted ‘round your body like a snake now—clammy with your sweat. Your fingers were clawing at the old creaky mattress, and your knees were pushing higher, and between them were- oh.

Were another one of his pillows.

And fuck- he’s never felt more jealous of an inanimate object in his entire life.

You were reeling your hips back—thrusting them forwards again- grinding down on the pillow. Wetness was seeping between those pretty, shiverin’ legs of yours and staining the cover. From here he could see a dark splotch starting to stain the silken fabric - smelling like the sweetest honey scent.

And it makes his mouth water.

“Baby- baby…” Shiu lovingly pats your leg, dawning you completely awake. He could see now that you were in the throes of your heat - but those eyes of yours were completely alert. “I need you to get comfortable, okay? This is gonna last about a week.”

“I’m in heat?” You blink. “Dr. Shoko said you’re my mate, Shiu.”

“So you heard that, huh?” He lightly chuckles. “Just know that we don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to. Heats don’t necessarily affect humans-”

“Then why’re you so hard?” Though that tone of yours was utterly innocent - the look in your eyes wasn’t. You knew what you were doing to him—and you’re only hiking up the temperature between the two of you as you’re leaning in. 

On wobbly arms, you’re pushing yourself up n’ leaning in so close-

Oh, how he’s dreamed of this exact scenario so many nights before. In this very bed. With his hand wrapped around his cock.

And Shiu knows he’s talking out of his ass - it’s the inhibitions taking over now…“You’ve got me there- but what about Toji-”

“Isn’t he your mate, too?”

And then your lips are on his.

.

.

.

Fushiguro Toji feels a disturbance in the force.

He can’t quite explain it- it’s nothing that he’s seen or even something that he’s felt. Nothing tangible to give reason to this madness. It’s just that something was…off. Kusakabe notices the hybrid squirming in his seat - yes, it seems that he trusted the bull hybrid enough to let him ride shotgun - and turns on the radio.

Just Toji’s luck, it was Scotty Doesn’t Know by Lustra.

“Turn it off.” Toji scoffs and crosses his arms.

“Why? Remind you of a certain someone~?” Kusakabe asks in-between singing at the top of his lungs.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

And even though Toji is merely looking at the smaller man- he shrinks into his seat. Did he mention he’d sharpened his horns for today? Kusakabe whimper, “O-oh nothing…nothing, just that ah- the lyrics might be a little reminiscent of ah-”

And Toji was even more infuriated because of that nagging sensation- that strange…fuck. “Spit it out.”

Kusakabe lets out a squeal and looks as though he utterly regretted letting the hybrid sit next to him. “J-just the fact that Shiu mayormaynothaveacrushonyourmate—” It’s out before Toji could even register it. “Pleasedon’tkillme-”

“If I kill you who’s driving?” Toji had now unbuckled his seatbelt despite Kusakabe’s protests. Snooping around the truck and trying to trace that little- scent? “What is that infernal- fuck. And I already know that farmer’s got a thing for her - though I’d pay for him to actually try. Would love to see his face as she rejects him.”

“Really? Because she was looking all cute and cuddly and a little feverish this morning.”

“What.”

And then it hits him—that scent. Fresh cream and sunny days and honey-

You were in heat.

“Fucker, step on it.”

Kusakabe whirls towards him. “What-” But before he can finish, Toji’s grabbing onto the steering wheel and damn-near crashing them on the highway as he speeds ahead.

The radio trills: ‘I can’t believe he’s so trustin’.

While I’m right behind you thrusting.’

.

.

.

“Mmm—” Shiu’s lips are hot and persistent- letting off the most sensual mwahs! as he continues the pattern down the side of your neck.

Listen, Shiu Kong might not be a hybrid like you, but if he kept his nose pressed against your sultry skin then he could almost feel it—those pheromones. 

It was wafting off your skin like an atmosphere that was entirely your own, a gravitational pull constantly tugging him closer; the sweetened scent of honey and freshly-whipped cream. It made him blush. It went straight down to his cock.

Fuck that- it was taking over him.

A guttural groan rips out of Shiu’s chest- he kisses a pathway down the middle of your body until he’s reaching your core. Once he does, he gives the hottest wettest kiss of all to your cunt—“Oh, baby. Lean back a bit f’me, yeah?”

And then he’s pressing an open palm on top of your stomach. Pressing you to recline on the bed.

“Good girl.” Shiu rumbles. Low. “Now squeeze those pretty legs around my head- yeah, just like that. Tighter.”

“Tighter than that n’ you’ll suffocate.” You gasp.

“What about it?”

Using his own strong arms - so fucking beefy from years of work at the farm - Shiu wraps your thighs around his sweaty head. His sharp, straight hair tickles your inner thighs; so much so that the farmer has to tell you to settle down. “Easy there- eeeeasy there, girlie. I’ll make you feel good during your heat.”

“I’m not a damn horse.” You huff.

“Yeah, because you’re gonna be the one riding, huh?”

The gasp that flutters its way up to your throat doesn’t get the chance to escape- because the question on Shiu’s tongue curls around your cunt. He’s letting the squashy end of his tongue dip between your swollen pussylips—giving you a loooong lick where you were most tender. Those cushiony tastebuds of his were massaging you already- and the way he’s twisting his tongue so deliciously as he enters—

“Oh.” You’re arching off the mattress, thighs plastering to the side of his face. And yet your pussy’s openin’ up for him so invitingly. “Keep going, Shiu…”

“Had no plans of stopping soon.” Gurgling wetly between your legs.

His tongue was just so soft and smooth.

The way he’s adjusting it in and out makes your mouth just water. In and out. In and out. Shiu notices that every time he hooked his tongue around the outer rim of your entrance made your pheromones surge. Fuck—that heat of yours was affecting him, too, and leaving him sippin’ on your pussy like an aphrodisiac.

Lavish lips plastering aaaaall over again and again- “Mmmm, my pretty cow hybrid. No idea how I lasted this long without this.” Breathing through his nose - he didn’t want to waste a single second of this. His usually-deep timbre shakes with pleading desire. “And what can this do?”

You’re squealing once you feel thick fingers curl around your tail. “That’s my tail…”

“I already know that, pretty girl.” Shiu shakes his head fondly - as though you’d been the one to say something ridiculous. And in-between lapping away at your leaking pussy, he tugs softly on your tail in order to bring you closer. “But what can it do-”

“Well she likes getting it pulled during doggy position.” 

Both of you would have recognized that voice amongst a thousand bull hybrids - ten thousand. That stature. That scent of freshly-cut grass and something deeper…something more alluring.

“And sometimes if you bite it she starts clenching like crazy.” 

Fuck.

Because neither of you had heard the door click open - except maybe in what felt like a distant dream. Something worlds away.

You’re feeling a sense of déjà vu. 

Shiu’s feeling cold sweat breaking out as he realizes that he hadn’t actually locked the door. In fact. 

Whoever had opened it must be gripping it so hard that its oak frame was starting to splinter-

Both of you experience a pang at the pit of your stomach- a draw. And Shiu gapes as he looks down at himself—what the fuck was that…? He’s looking up at Fushiguro Toji standing in the doorframe with the same shocked expression.

“The hell do you think you’re doing with my girl?” Toji spits, scarred lips twisted.

“Listen, man-”

“You’re not going to make her cum eating her out like that.”

“I…what?”

Toji manages to make Shiu shut up. This must surely be a dream? And it’s just about enough time for the other man to cross the distance between the door and the bed - kicking it shut behind him - and make himself quite at home on the bed. The mattress creaks under the weight of the hybrid; and you yourself are letting out a soft moan. 

He sits beside where you were sprawled-out, facing Shiu.

“You see…my pretty girl here-”

Shiu mutters underneath this breath. “Fuckin’ stealing my pet name too, now?”

But Toji has the courtesy to ignore it - for now. “-has a certain set of rules she needs to follow.” 

At this, the other man’s brows raise in interest. Satisfied at the attention; Toji himself traces his dominant right hand over your stomach, your hips, before lowering down to your cunt and holding those puffy pussylips of yours open. Pushing them apart. Pryin’ them apart. 

Both men gulp at the way you’re clenching around nothing.

“See…she might look all innocent and sweet- but she’s a proper little slut.” The words almost make Shiu flinch - and the bull hybrid takes great care repeating them. “Your…pretty girl is a proper- little- slut. And I know that she likes being fucked like one.”

And before either of you can make a move - Toji’s swiftly craning his head down and spitting a great glob of saliva on your cunt.

It trickles over your exterior and smears along your inner thighs- and Toji takes his sweet, sweet relish in swipin’ off some of that excess and popping it into his mouth. “So?” Toji asks. “Eat her out.”

Eat…Toji’s own mate out? Like this?

“What?” Toji has the audacity to look shocked. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been eyeing her- don’t act like you haven’t been fantasizing it. You’ve wanted her even before I arrived at this damn farm.”

Shiu’s lips tremble- he almost wants to because hell, he’s been given the permission now. And yet…“Is this some sort of trick? You’re not gonna use those horns on me afterward, are you?”

“No, not at all.” The other man replies - almost too breezily. He raises his brows at Shiu expectantly. And stares deep into Shiu’s eyes as he says. “So? The fuck are you waiting for-”

Those mere words make Shiu’s cock stand painfully erect.

However, there’s a reason they claimed that Fushiguro Toji was a ruthless man. 

Because humans always did move far too slowly for the bull hybrid’s liking. And he wastes not a second more before pawin’ at the back of Shiu’s sweaty scalp - taking just a moment to bask in the utter shock upon his features - and shoving—

Straight between your pretty, pretty thighs.

Which he honestly didn’t have to do because—well fuck, you didn’t have to ask Shiu twice to eat you out. Shiu lets out a strangled grunt that turns into a moan. 

And without further ado, he’s back latched onto your pussy- those handsome cheeks of his hollowing out as he sucks n’ sucks. And you don’t know whether he was doing this for you or himself. 

Shiu ate you out like he was going to die of thirst if he didn’t.

“Fuck-” He hisses. With every movement of his face, he nuzzles himself closer. “Fuck fuck fuck—more.”

Syrupy breath sticking against your pussylips. 

And his tongue was even worse-

“My pretty girl. More.”

He’s slithering it aaaaaaaall along your outer cunt - lapping up every wad of slick you were gifting him - and then rubbing his textured tastebuds along your exterior when it just wasn’t enough. Because your cunt was practically an aphrodisiac for him.

It’s as if the heat was contagious.

Because the longer he’s spending between those gorgeous legs of yours - the more he’s blabbering like a damn fool. The murkier his eyes are growing. The harder and harder his hips are coming crashing—! down on the rickety wooden frame of the bed—pathetically dry-humping it in time with the thrashes of his tongue. Slipping right between your velvety folds and yearnin’ to taste the honey between.

That thick silkiness of his tongue was just dizzying.

He was cleaning up the mess that Toji’d made earlier—tasting him, tasting you. Shiu’s face grows warm as he remembers.

That dextrous tip of his tongue delves between your pussylips - entering that cute hole - and is lapping up everything you’re giving him. “Babydoll, fuck my mouth even deeper.” Needing more. “Even deeper.”

“F-fuck- shit, shit shit.” You’re trilling out. “You’re practically nose-deep. How can you possibly go any deeper?”

With a needy whimper, you’re letting your hybrid tail swish towards him - and without further ado Shiu takes it and wraps his fist around it. Giving a gentle tug. Fuck.

And when he actually discovers that he’s able to manhandle you further onto his mouth with that tail of yours- nothing’s stopping Shiu from increasing his strength to give you a mean haul. “Mmm- yes- oh, Shiu. It feels so good, Shiu—!”

“But not good enough, right?” Toji speaks over you, in a haughty tone.

Your hybrid ears twitch in confusion.

And before you know it, you’re feeling the sensation of Shiu’s slithering tongue disappear. 

You whine out in disappointment. And you already know that that mate of yours must have something to do with it-

Sure as day; Toji has his fist gripping Shiu’s jet-black hair and reeling him back. The other man obviously had his face twisted into something ferocious, and the tension made the atmosphere pinch. But underneath that…there was an undercurrent of sweetness…the mottling of Toji’s gleeful pheromones mixing with his lustful ones.

And Shiu’s, too.

And if you weren’t mistaken- was that a faint blush on the tips of his ears?

It seems that Toji notices, too. “See anything to blush about here?” Then his eyes dip down to you. “Oh…right. Heh.” Leaning in oh-so-closely to the other man; Toji whispers in a gravelly tone into his ear. “But if you stand around blushing and bein’ a wuss for too long, then just know that she’s not gonna wait. She’s gonna dry up~”

He spits once more.

So disrespectful.

And then turns down to Shiu and warns. “Don’t eat her out just yet. Rule number one…” Your heartbeat races as he speaks those familiar words - Fushiguro Toji never was one to care for rules…unless it was in bed. “No running.”

“I’d never run from this pussy.” Shiu frowns.

“Not you, nitwit.” Mercilessly, he’s planting a smack at the back of the farmer’s head. “Her. Don’t let her run.”

Seemingly getting the green light to start up his sensual ministrations again- Shiu slowly starts lapping between your pussylips once more. Proddin’ his thickened tip into the deep orifice of your cunt. “B-but she’s not-”

“Look.” Toji interrupts. Just as you were starting to buck and lift your hips off the sodden mattress. “Look at the way she’s moving ‘round.”

“But that’s just-”

“But this pretty cow hybrid is in heat—and you can’t just leave her uncomfortable like this, can you?” Those dazed eyes of Shiu Kong’s open wider. He faintly nods. “So aren’t you the farmer?”

He nods again - looking as though he was about to faint.

“So herd your damn cow hybrids- c’mon- don’t let her run—” Spurred on even further by his words, Shiu’s plunging back in-between your legs and usin’ his tongue for his life.

Opening his mouth wiiiiiide to make sure that he’s able to reach every nook and cranny—the end of his tongue was just so dexterous and somehow managing to slip into spots you hadn’t even known you had. “O-ohhhh, fuuuuck-” Moans just keep bubbling out of your lips. “It feels so good, Shiu-”

And just when it looked as if you were about to buck—Shiu grabs ahold of your hips- so hard that he leaves neat semi-crescent nail marks on your skin. Plopping you back down onto the bed.

Plopping you back down onto his face.

From then onwards, he doesn’t let you move a single inch as he’s thrashin’ away his fat tongue inside your cunt. Stretching that pussy out to his textured tastebuds. 

And Toji had been watching the entire display closely…very closely. With his hand wrapped around his throbbing cock. “Good.” His head threatens to tip backwards as he gives a harsh tug on his thickened length. “And now rule number two: squeeze those gorgeous legs around your head. Doesn’t matter if you suffocate.”

“That- that’s what I said—” Shiu keens.

“Then why’re you speaking?”

Goosebumps run down Shiu’s arched spine. “Oh…”

“A cunt like hers isn’t to be taken for granted.” Toji tuts from above you, and you can’t help but ogle the way his biceps bulge as he pushes down Shiu’s head. “Deeper.” Harder. “Deeper. Don’t waste time talking. Don’t waste time gawking like an idiot. In fact-”

His heated words make goosebumps scatter across your open thighs.

And you whimper-

“-don’t even breathe.”

They’re both driving you absolutely mad—

Toji catches your left ear between his fingers- as it’s been swatting furiously away the more aroused you grew. So soft beneath his touch.

He uses it to urge your mouth down to where his lap was.

“Rule number three…let her fuck back into you- but only if she really…really deserves it.”

“Make the pretty girl work for it?” Shiu looks up.

Toji displays a priggish smirk. “Now you’re getting the hang of it.”

And you don’t know what sort of expression Shiu might have on his handsome face right now - he was much too…preoccupied for that - but you can sense him nod. Short and sharp. As he keeps on lavishin’ your insides with his tongue; the farmer makes note of just how hard you’re clenching around him. “C’mon, pretty girl—” He pushes down your bucking hips. “Clench a little harder ‘round my tongue, would ya?”

“O-oh, now you’re just mean.”

“It’s what you deserve.” Toji chuckles. “Don’t think I can’t smell your pheromones gettin’ even sweeter- you’re loving this.”

You have no counter accusation - it was, after all, painfully true. And then Toji caresses your sweaty scalp with his thick digits—grabbing ahold of the back of your neck. “Now…lets see if you can be a good girl for me, too.”

An acrid sort of sweetness floods your mouth - because in mere sultry moments Toji has his legs positioned so that they’re practically straddling your face. On the mattress; he’s kneeling to the side of your head and letting his pursed, pinkened cocktip swab across your lips.

He’s rock-hard.

Instantly your jaw’s falling open to accommodate him.

And believe- that there was a lot to be accommodating. For Toji was so many countless inches, thick and decorated in a prominent network of veins across every inch of him. They zigzagged across each of his angles n’ ended up being the most prominent where your sweet spots were—Toji meant it when he said he was made for you.

He had a scruff of jet-black happy trail. He was an angry red at his tip. He was dripping precum.

It puckered out from the divot on top of his shaft—then ended up smeeeeared down the insides of your soft mouth. “Fuuuuck…” Toji himself whispers as he eases in. The bedsprings purr as Shiu bucks against the bed harder.

And before you know it, he’s reaching upwards and biting down on your throbbing clit. “Don’t forget about me, pretty girl. You’re not getting off easy. Rule number three, remember?”

“I—oh.” Shiu’s putting his fingers in now - fingers. Two of them. Long and perfectly calloused from years of hard labor to now massage your tender insides.

Both men are manhandling you oh-so-perfectly: Shiu dragging you down by your tail- and Toji using both hands to maneuver your head down. Letting you take up numerous inches of him. Thick and throbbing.

That rounded end of his shaft hits the back of your throat and you’re immediately coughing-

“Easy there.” Toji lovingly croons…“Not.” And you didn’t expect mercy, did you? Soon enough both of them are running their bodies ragged trying to draw out the most reactions from you—Toji fucking his cock into your suckling mouth, and Shiu hooking a finger not against the roof of your cunt to press on your nerve-filled spots- to make you clench. “C’mon- milk me. You can do better.”

“C’mon, little cow hybrid.” Shiu titters. His digits prove so effective in stretchin’ out your insides even more so than his tongue—and those tastebuds of his remain tickling your clit. “Won’t you squeeze me a little harder?”

“She can’t answer.” Toji laughs. “Got her mouth a little full.”

“Bull got her tongue.”

“Mmmm…” With that said, Toji’s flooding your tastebuds with a thick lacquer of his precum. He increases his pace a little more.

“Just a little harder-” Meanwhilst, Shiu whispers to himself as he keeps probing your sweet, sweet insides. “Just a little- a little—” And at precisely that moment; he’s hitting the bullseye. What else but the place marked X: your g-spot? “O-oh.” 

He damn near cums in his pants.

“Just like that.” Shiu continues. “Fuck back into my fingers. I know you can, girlie.”

“Accomplished rule number three already?” Toji asks the other man. “Yer nicer than me- I know that for sure.”

“What can I say? She’s my favorite.”

After a few more thrusts n’ bucks n’ smashes at your favorite spot - you don’t think you can even formulate a coherent thought. You’re being tugged back and forth by both men—and they aren’t showing any signs of slowing down soon enough. “The fourth and fifth rules are a little alike…” Toji rumbles from above you. “The fourth, of course, is to get ready.”

“Get ready?” Shiu asks. Though by the way he feels the heat in the room - your pheromones - flare up, he’s sure you’re anticipating whatever it is.

“And the fifth is to…” The end of that sentence teeters on the edge of Toji’s tongue as he reels his hips back, back, back, baaaaack- “-take it all like a good girl.” 

And that’s exactly what you’re doing.

Letting the entire length of Toji’s cock fill your mouth from tip to base- his fleshy cockhead searches your insides like a flashlight. It’s almost too pornographic the way you’re choking on his length—gagging, eyes watering. 

To which of course, your beloved mate reaches down to pinch your nostrils closed. “Now now…are you the one in heat or am I?”

“Mmmpf- mmm—” You keen. Moans bubbling from the back of your throat but having no way out.

“Oi- I think she’s close.” Shiu breathes.

He could taste it in the sweet treacly syrup leaking out of you - his favorite. He could taste it in the way your cunt walls were pounding faster than ever. He could fucking smell it in those pheromones of yours that just seemed to flare to life-

“S’that so?” Toji asks. “And that brings me to our sixth and final rule: if she wants something, then she can use her words to ask for it.”

“Hardass.” Shiu scoffs.

But they’re both increasing their pace. For competition or simply to drive you mad?

The sloppiest squelches and pops! fill the room—and Shiu watches as your tail starts twitching agitatedly once the pleasure almost gets too much. Oh his pretty cow hybrid. Once you’re so close that you feel like you could burst- “Toji, she’s close—”

“Then ask for it.” Toji keeps shovelling his cock deeper. Deeper. “Fucking ask for it, doll.”

“Toji-”

Slamming into your throat with a final thwack! His balls were damn near leaving an imprint on your chin. “You can ask the farmer to help you with your heat- but you can’t ask me to make you cum…?”

“She did.”

The tension in the room falters - but never bates - as Toji turns to look at the other man. “What?”

“She did-” Shiu hastens to explain. “Ask to cum, that is…” And as if to prove his point—he’s plummeting a few more pushes with his fingers, scissoring them inside you so that those slurping suctioning noises are extra loud. “-right here.”

Toji waits for a beat.

Before he lets out a little snicker.

Before he lets out an entire laugh-

“Maybe you’re not so bad- for you, that is.” And then he’s boring his forest fire gaze down at you. “Hear that? Yer damn lucky that you’re the farmer’s favorite—hah, better thank him.” Toji’s then tugging your ear to watch you squirm just a little.

He lets out a final few thrusts.

And waits until his cock was embedded deeeep into the back of your throat - and your nose was pressed against those tufts of black at his base. Until you were well and fully stuffed full of him. 

“So cum then, my pretty mate.”

And with a few more thorough slashes inside you—knockin’ Shiu’s burly fingers into your sweetest spots, slithering Toji’s length down every crevice of your mouth, you’re crashing into your high. 

It’s quick and searing.

It takes over your body faster than you can register. Burning through every other thought and feeling - you’re letting out erotic moans around Toji’s cock, and they keep getting louder as it keeps prolonging. Longer and longer. The more they’re toyin’ with your throbbing, sopping cunt. 

Those fervent peaks seem to get stronger - and within you feels practically white-hot in sensation. Pulling off of his bulbous tip. “Sh-shiiiiiit—” Keening out. “It feels so good- it feels so good-”

“You’re welcome.” Toji says. Shovelling his pinkish tip back between those lips.

At the same time that Shiu’s panting. “Anything for you, pretty girl.”

“Don’t fucking stop.”

Of course, as your mates they’re practically bound to listen to your every syllable.

And you don’t feel them rest - even take a breath - until your orgasm was well and almost completely disappeared from the horizon.

Tears of overstimulation were now springing to your eyes. Thighs twitching with the faintest splinters of sensitivity. “F-fuck…” Toji’s throbbing tip falls from your lips. It leaves a thin ribbon of slick connecting you to him still. You’re blabbering. “Fuck, I’m getting sensitive now.”

“Hm…Shiu climb up.” Toji says.

Both you and Shiu share a glance—and with something that looked like a half-shrug, Shiu’s attempting to heave himself up from the floor-

Only to be grabbed by Toji by the hand and yanked onto bed.

The farmer’s letting out a little yelp as he’s finding himself bounced onto the springy mattress - right on your other side. Sandwiched between the two buff, broad men- you don’t think you’ve ever felt your heart beat faster…ever smelled your pheromones so potently…

“Shiu, I need those off.” You huff. Batting those teary lashes of yours.

“Oh.” His face twists into something like ecstacy - how many times has he fantasized about those very words leaving your mouth?

And, flustered, the farmer starts unbuckling his overall one-by-one-

“We’re not trying to wait until her heat’s over.” Toji gruffs. And his veined forearm reaches across you - grasping onto the front of Shiu’s overall and giving it a good tug.

Those buckles are breaking free immediately. 

The bull hybrid smiles to himself proudly. “There.”

“I should have half the mind to return you to Kusakabe…” Shiu grumbles to himself, as he takes off the rest of his clothes. That sentence makes the faintest flicker of recognition light up in his brain - really, where was Kusakabe - but it’s evaporating soon enough once you start helping him take his boxers off. 

“I’m warning you in advance, however…” He starts.

“Why?”

“Yeah- are you hiding a 21-incher in there or something?” Toji scoffs.

“No no- it’s not that. I’m…above average- probably.” Shiu waves off, his burning blush creeping up onto his face again. “It’s just that I might have made…a little mess when I was eating you out.”

Your brows furrow. “What do you mean by- oh.”

Oh, was right. Right indeed.

Because of course- Shiu was naturally an impressive size. About eight inches. With a much more tan tip than Toji’s - and perhaps even thicker, too - and a girth that made your mouth water. He was smoother than Toji—less veins ‘round his shaft except for a single prominent one that went around the left side. And he was curved ever-so-slightly upright, too. 

But what really caught your attention was…Shiu had cum in his pants.

Just from eating you out.

“Oh…” Your eyes widen as you take in the dark splotch at the front of his boxers. 

Thick ropey white cum had seeped into it- and Shiu’s hastily snatching those boxers out of your hands to throw them over his shoulder. His hands felt sticky. “But that’s neither here nor there-”

“Of course it is.” Toji says after a moment of contemplation. “I’m adding a seventh rule.” 

Yours and Shiu’s eyes pop open. 

“Shit.”

“Shit-”

“What?” The bull hybrid looks at you both in mock innocence. “I was just going to say that the guest goes first…”

It’s…unexpected. To say the least. But you weren’t complaining - and by the way that Shiu’s reddened length perks up at the idea, you don’t think he is either.

“Um, so how do I…”

Toji angles himself towards you- “Get up a little, doll?”

You arch your hips off the bed; and Toji’s taking the opportunity to sidle his own hips underneath them. He’s manhandling you so that you’re simply sprawled-out on his chiselled front—and oh, how your mouth waters at the sensation of his rippling pecs and abs. The way they’re massaging you from behind at even the slightest movements—was that his v-line? 

And did you mention that Toji just-so-happened to have the cutest ringed piercings through each nipple?

They’re pushing into you from behind once the hybrid hooks both hands underneath each of your legs. And he’s lifting them aaaaaaaall the way up until your knees hit your tits. Spreading you wide, wide open.

A full nelson.

Except…this time, it’s Shiu’s who’s going to be basking between your legs. 

The aforementioned man takes a courageous gulp as he shuffles on his knees between your legs - and Toji’s - to lovingly gaze at you. “Fuuuuuck, my pretty girl…you really are so gorgeous.” Shiu whispers- underneath his breath as though he didn’t even mean for you to hear.

His darkened eyes sweep down your body like a caress. “The way that pussy’s dripping so much- shit, s’like a flood down there. Can you even feel yourself?” You’re squirming at his lecherous words. “And those legs. Trembling. And the way you’re just throbbing- I can see it from here.”

You’re gasping as he presses his hot length down on your cunt. 

Sandwiched between each of your pussylips: Shiu doesn’t think he’s ever seen a prettier sight. “You’re just so dirty, girlie~”

You shudder.

And Shiu could have kept going- it absolutely killed him to tear his gaze off of you. It really did.

But Shiu could sense Toji starting to get impatient if the slightly souring tint in his pheromones was anything to go by- hey, look at that…he’s reading pheromones now. Mentalling patting himself on the back; the farmer starts slide-slide-sliiiiiding his fattened-up cock between your precious folds. “Easy there, girl?”

“Yeah yeah- we’re easy.” Rolling his eyes, you’re getting jostled as the hybrid underneath bucks. And at this point, you’re honestly wondering which one of you was more excited for his entrance…“Just get on with it.”

“Unlike you, Toji, I don’t just- get on with it.” Shiu sounded offended at the mere suggestion. 

And as you both look towards him for further clarification, Shiu nervously bites down on the inside of his cheek and pushes his swollen cock down the slit of your cunt. “It’s just that…” He lets his particularly large tip kiss your hole. “-what if I end up hurting my pretty girl during her heat? I’d never forgive myself.”

“How cute.” Toji snickers. But there’s something that you recognize there—appreciation? “But not if you follow our rules, farmer boy. Remember those?”

Shiu rolls his eyes. “How could I forget?”

“Yeah- recite those.” And you’re gasping once one of Toji’s meaty palms drift up to your face - covering your dazed peripherals. “We’re both going to take turns fucking her using those rules, and my mate’s going to guess which one of us it is—how about that?”

“Mmm, sounds fun.” You smile.

And seeing that gorgeous smile of yours - what else was he supposed to be but putty in your hands? Shiu’s giving himself a few pumps before starting to press into your tight rim.

You’re tight.

So fucking tight.

His brows furrow n’ sweat starts beading at his forehead as he slowly - sloooowly - starts easing his proud cock inside. You’re arching into Toji’s back, whilst Shiu probes into your deepest depths. “O-oh.”

It was something so different.

Although he wasn’t exactly as vein-covered as Toji was; Shiu’s length managed to have the perfect curve that prodded ‘round the roof of your cunt. Somehow directly aiming for those tender spots inside—you’re feeling the pointed end of his shaft draw sensual zig-zags inside and you’re immediately begging for more.

Of course, that’s when Toji’s silently signalling Shiu to pull out.

Replacing the farmer’s cock with his instead.

Thick. Throbbing. Those patterns and groves on his shaft were just dizzying- and Toji’s already rendered your eyes sprinting to the back of your head with but a mere few inches inside you. 

He’s making your first ring of muscle streeeeeetch- and pressing a second overlarge hand down on your stomach to keep you from movin’ around too much. And you don’t need to see him to reach blindly behind you and tug on Toji’s newest bull ring—

“Don’t be mean, Toji.”

“S’not being mean, it’s just the rules.” Toji argues. His words come out in sizzling pants against the side of your face - somehow just his presence seemed enough to make your heat symptoms two times worse. “Now that the practice run’s over…”

Your eyes are fluttering open- only to see nothing past the gaps of Toji’s thick fingers. “That was just the practice run—?” Your poor puckered hole was already pulsating with friction.

But neither of them are answering.

Instead, it just seems that they’re intent on fucking any question or comprehensible thought right back into you—because just you’re feeling a sudden intrusion deep into your core. The bulbous head of it swipes apart your puffy pussylips- and the next thing you know, you’re seeing nothing but stars at the neverending inches of one of their cocks.

Somehow managing to probe even deeper than the first time- whoever this was was so fatly swollen that his cockhead opens up plunging crevices inside you. Perhaps even new ones.

You’re gasping away- “Please.” Both men are impressively managing to keep quiet as they’re easing inside. Not completely bottoming-out…but enough to make your toes curl. “Oh, please that feels so good.”

Hips attempting to chase more- he was going so slow.

But just as soon as you do - almost the very instant that your hips are breaking contact with the skin of Toji’s toned pelvis - you feel one of his hands pin you back down. Preventing you from moving a single inch.

Your hybrid ears rustle with the huff of laughter from behind you—and you know that there’s only one man who’d keep a hand oh-so-possessively on top of your womb as he sinks into your soaking wet cunt. Rule number one, remember?

“Toji-” You’re sputtering out, voice breaking so prettily at the end of your plea. “T-Toji move a little faster- ngh, please—”

Yet another failed attempt at a buck. “Good job, doll.” He gnaws on your ear lobe. “But don’t think we’re done here just yet…”

And then before you know it, he’s pulling out. The action lets out the loudest, sloppiest little plop! of pleasure between your legs- and it feels as though firecrackers are going off through your veins.

You’re practically shaking once another intrusion starts proddin’ between your legs. This time a bit more…timid. A bit more hesitant. A bit more inexperienced and careful—and you don’t have to pay attention to anything more as Shiu creeps your legs around his waist.

Letting his tunneling cockhead push into that wet hole of yours.

Unlike Toji, however, Shiu Kong simply couldn’t keep his mouth shut. 

“Oh…” It’s just about the most attractive thing you’ve ever heard - like music to your ears. But could you really blame the guy? “Legs- rules number t-two, remember?” This was the first proper taste of that syrupy cunt he’s getting—the exact same one he’s been dreaming of for ages…as much as that makes him sound like an utter pervert.

Maybe he was.

Maybe- what even was he? What was his name? Who was he?

Shiu can’t formulate a single thought.

Maybe he should be concerned about that…but for the time being, he’s collapsing his lower half into you. Funneling the smoother length of his cock inside; the farmer is the first of the two to actually bottom out. Thighs against your thighs. Forehead against your forehead. Cocktip against your cervix.

You swear you’re feeling Shiu intrude all the way up to your throat—“Shiu…keep moving, baby.”

“Oh- oh, you seriously want it?” He asks between uneven pants. And even more uneven are those semi-thrusts he’s poundin’ away at the back of your pussy—unwilling to break contact with your sopping womb for even a split-second to thrust back in. “You seriously want this ol’ farmer to fuck you like this? And that’s not just the heat talking-”

“It’s always the heat talking.” Toji scoffs. “This slutty girl’s always in heat. Honestly- who told you it could come early?”

“S’not my fault.” Shiu taps the side of your thigh to signal to you that- oh…you’re getting dangerously close to Toji figuring it out. 

Sure, it seems that he’d deduced by now that there was something regarding the startings of a mating bond between you and Shiu. And what sort of hybrid would come between that? But the fact that Toji himself shared it…

Thankfully in that moment Shiu’s creating a distraction - unintentional or not. Because just a few thrusts and he’s already starting to bead out hot, glutinous cum that sticks to the back of your pussy.

“Shit…” Shiu whispers to himself. You’re sensing one of his hands reach downwards to squeeze ‘round the base of his length—perhaps thinking that that would stop him. But the only thing Shiu’s managing to do is milk out a few more cobwebs of cum that are getting fucked and fucked in by his irregular thrusts. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Time’s up.” Toji cuts him off gruffly. “It’s getting too easy- hurry it up.”

“Yes…sir?” Fuck- he hates to admit it but the bull hybrid was correct.

Ah…you’d expected for the two to alternate between thrusts. But you just didn’t expect it this fast. Because all of a sudden, Toji’s going from merely caressing your front to wrapping his entire left arm around your middle. Oh, those beefy forearms of his were simply indescribable. 

Then Shiu’s reeling his sloppy, cum-glazed cock backwards for one of them to replace it in no time. 

Such plump inches of their shaft. Such impatient semi-thrusts as he leaves your mouth watering. He’s increasing his pace twofold once you’re accommodating him inside, and Toji’s pressing his palm deeper against your face. “Oh-” And you hadn’t expected them to stick to their damn six (or seven) rules so much, either…“Fuuuuuuck. Is it Toji?”

“Nope.” Shiu chuckles. From where he was positioned in front of you, the farmer leans down and kisses your lips. “Still me.”

In punishment, you’re getting a heavy spankin’ on your stuffed pussy.

“Shit.”

“And the rule-” Toji pipes up from behind. “What about the rule?”

“What about the rule, I mean—” It’s just then that you’re realizing - you haven’t been able to squirm a single inch since Shiu had begun swabbin’ your poor insides. “Rule number one- rule number one.”

“Good girl.” Toji laughs. “Next.”

And you’re soon coming to the realization that they weren’t going to make this easy for you: due to everything from their rapid alternations, to the way that both of them were fucking you so stupid—

“Toji-” You’re dragging your nails down whatever body part of Toji’s that you could reach. His biceps flexed underneath your touch. “And the rule is…oh, the rule is…” Brain landing on the closest one that you think you could remember. “Rule number six?”

“Half-correct.” Toji punishes you with yet another spank. The white-hot pain and pleasure that runs up your cunt is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. “That was actually a trick round - no rule.”

You bite. “Silly me…”

“But half-correct deserves just a little bit of a treat, doesn’t it?” Shiu makes your case.

And the ever-mean Fushiguro Toji considers it for a few seconds - before he’s nodding and letting his fingers dip between your pussylips. Rolling over clit in circular motions. “Happy?”

“V-very much.” You respond.

And so the cycle repeats - as both men are fucking into you like damn animals.

“Shiu? Rule number one-”

Thwack! “Half-correct.”

“Toji? Rule number five.”

Thwack! “Half-correct again, doll.”

“Toji? Rule number six.”

Thwack! Thwack! “Wrong!”

“Shiu-”

“Toji-”

Shiu. Toji. Shiu. Toji. Shiu. Toji. 

Over and over again—until you’ve said every rule at least five times, and their names countless amounts so.

It was almost getting too much. There’s another switch; and this time the thrusts are like none before them. They were harsh. They were jagged. They weren’t hitting with any specific target or objective in mind—just with the sole purpose of indentin’ his fat cockhead into every spot inside you, and hitting his hips to yours until you skin was burning-

“Toji?” You’re guessing, “Ruler number- fuck…the one about getting ready-” Based solely on the way that both men had their hands tapping at your hips to let you know when a particularly hard hit was coming through.

“And which one is that?” Toji croons.

“Number four-” There’s a victorious little pebble of precum that Toji’s emptying out into your insides. 

“Mmm, good catch.” And you’re feeling the smile crawl onto your face. “But I’m not Toji.”

Fucking—thwack!

“But how about just a little reward?” And then a hot mouth starts kissing down the valley of your breast - from this angle you could only assume that it was Shiu. 

Shiu was lapping the soft targets of your areolas…just lightly biting…and oh—he lets out a wet gasp as a thin stream of milk flows from your tits n’ into the handsome man’s mouth. “Oh- this might just be my reward.” He says as he keeps massaging your chest, twiddling his fingers over where you were most sensitive. 

“Leave some f’me.” Toji grunts at the other man.

By this point you were a blabbering mess, and it didn’t help that the other two were only growing sloppier by the second. Perhaps it was the heat affecting you three. Perhaps it was the pressure being put on all your bodies - crushed together like this. Hips driving into you again and again and again—

Another globular tip swerves inside you. “I-is it…Toji?” You ask. Your lower lip wobbles at the sudden stretches on places that couldn’t be reached without such a girth - both of them had their merits and it was hard not to long for…both. The mere thought fogs your mind. “And is it…”

Though there could only be one answer. At least for this one.

Your poor tail’s being used as a lever to drag you down onto Toji’s extremely thickened cock until you sat on the bottom of it. “-rule number five?”

Toji kisses the side of your face. “Now that…is 100% correct.”

“And what would you like as a reward? Tell your Shiu anything, pretty girl.” Shiu says—drawing a half-serious scoff from the hybrid.

But of course. There can only ever be one thing.

Your mouth opens and the confession slips out of you before you can think it through fully.

And then there’s a beat of silence- hell, you think even Toji’s hips began to falter. For but a mere split-second before he’s bashing in the soft spongy platform at the end of your cunt—“Oh.” He breathes. “I don’t see why not…”

Thrill shoots through you.

And for the first time in a while - Toji removes his palm from your face. You’re wincing ever-so-slightly at the sudden flood of light, before that expression turns into something akin to yearning as you stare at Shiu’s cock throbbing between your legs. 

He was almost out-of-place with Toji’s fat length already stuffed inside you. 

“Whatever you want, pretty girl.” Shiu whispers to himself as he glides his blushin’ cockhead to drag along your outer cunt. Uuuuup the planes of your thighs. Lingering on that leakin’ slit that was so stuffed. And then squeezing the very tip-top reddened crown of his shaft into your entrance—did he mention that you already had Toji’s fat length stuffed inside you?

Shiu’s expression morphs at the tightest fit-

“Shit- fucking shit, are we sure—”

“Why not?” Toji asks. And Shiu thinks that that’s damn easy for him to say; especially considering that he was already kept hostage inside your gooey inside. That’s where Shiu was trying to be.

He’s attempting to drag you in using your tail.

The other man is rolling his eyes - and his hips. Letting off a few useless semi-thrusts that doesn’t push him even a single inch inside—not with the extremely plump circumference of the hybrid’s length inside. “Oh yeah? Then why don’t you- hah, pull out and try doing it yourself if you think it’s so easy?

“The early bull gets the pussy.” Toji smirks. “Besides- don’t tell me you’re forgetting rule number five already? The one about taking it all also means that you have to- mmm, put it all in-”

“I remember.” Shiu spits. Hands pushing your legs further open and grindin’ his hips close until his happy trail was roughly massaging your clit. “I’m just saying that it’s hypocritical to talk about the rules when even you wouldn’t be able to-”

“Guys-” You shrill above the constant arguing. “Guys.”

It takes you raising your voice loud enough to make the bedroom walls shudder for them to finally hear you.

And once they look at you- you’re huffing up at them. “I’m making my own rule.” Both pairs of pretty pussydrunken eyes widen in unison. “From now on- if you fight then you have to kiss and make up.”

“What-”

“What-”

“Pretty girl…” Shiu attempts to appeal to your softer side.

“Nuh huh.” Shaking your head. “So kiss—and then just fuck me.”

They share a look as if to question whether usurping of the rule-making was allowed…before it seems to dawn on them that yes—if it was you. And Shiu’s shrugging and leaning in - all the while still keeping his pulsating cocktip present between your folds - and Toji meets him halfway with only a few grumbles.

Shiu moans into the kiss.

And with a resounding sluuuuurp! he’s managing to squeeze just an inch or two of his cock inside. Double lengths stretching your walls until you were seeing white-

“Oh- oh.” You’re moaning. Shiu now had everything he needed to reel his bulky hips back and start pummeling you in time with Toji’s own thrusts. “I’ve never felt anything like this before—”

“Me neither.” The farmer manages through clenched teeth. The sensitive underside of his cock was rubbin’ and getting pulled by Toji’s own - those patterns of his veins, and the rock-hardness that mirrored his own - and even the slightest friction was enough to send spirals of white-hot pleasure pouring out of his bawling divot. 

“Tch- fine…me neither.” Toji groans. “But it only feels good because of me-”

“In your dreams.”

Without even being asked to or reminded of the newly-minted rule, they’re pressing a kiss onto each other’s lips—and then yours. Their pheromones twisting and melding into one. Their skin growing even more heated. Their cocks growing faster- 

And faster.

Both Shiu and Toji were moving at sloppy, lust-hazed paces that should not be possible for such a tight cranny. And yet they were managing to time it so that you’re feeling both of them exactly in the best ways: Toji and his deeeelicious veins pressing their patterns onto the sides of your channel, Shiu and his upright curve that spotted all your best nerve endings. 

They’re sandwiching you from above and below, too—Toji and his Herculean build, Shiu and his similar yet broader- and somehow stronger build.

They’re absolutely ruining you.

Ruining you.

Fucking you until your pussy’s feeling rattled and raw- and your eyes have completely bleared over with tears. Brain fried.

So it isn’t long before you’re feeling the pangs of an oncoming orgasm, and letting your mouth open to announce it—

“I-I’m going to cum.” But in actuality it’s Shiu that manages the declaration. And he’s stuffing his face into your tits, suckling out the sweet sweet milk that your hybrid body produces as he strings your gooey insides with his cum. “My pretty cow hybrid, I’m gonna stuff you full.” Looooong ropes of satin. So hard- that Shiu’s forced to hold onto both yours and Toji’s horns as he fucks your overstuffed pussy through his orgasm.

Those veins of Toji’s were making him twitch in pleasure.

You and Toji are crashing into your high rather soon afterwards too.

“Gonna…oh.” As the forceful waves of dopamine flood through every vein and atom inside you—practically make you vibrate with pleasure. You’re letting your eyes fly to the back of your head, and your toes curl as both men thrash that gooey g-spot of yours.

Perfectly synchronized with every peak upon peak of your high.

The prolonged wave of bliss soars—and it’s around the very crescendo that you’re feeling Toji empty his heavy balls out as well. They’d been thwack-thwack-thwacking! near the bottom of your slit for so long now, creating a carnal ache over your outer pussy- and it just feels so good to feel those globs of cum flood your deepest caverns.

Where Shiu had already made a mess before- “Shit…don’t stop.” 

And it’s with renewed vigor that they’re fucking and fucking you through the white-hot pleasure - so good that you’re sobbing. In-between this euphoric experience is when Toji’s keening his hips up into yours- chasing the wetness of your cunt even more—

Not just to fuck his pearly-white droplets of cum inside - but to try and squeeze, fuck, his swollen knot inside.

“Inside—” As you demand needily at your bull hybrid, Shiu watches on in something akin to awe. He starts nudging his hips back as though to give Toji more space-

But you’re wrapping your legs around his hips and dragging him to you. “Rule number one, remember?”

Letting Toji fuck his knot inside you as Shiu has his twitchin’ wet cock stuffed in there, too. The stretch was indescribable.

You think you’re cumming all over again just from it.

“My- my mates…” You’re sobbing out- sandwiched between the two buff men. Shiu leans in to kiss you, and once he’s taking a good long look at Toji too. 

“My mates…I suppose?” He says with a sheepish smile.

Toji looks between the two of you, seemingly having connected the dots. “Does this mean I’ve gotta get both of you pregnant?”

You smile. “Sounds good to me.”

Shiu. “Wait-”

Because heats lasted a week for hybrids. 

Shiu better get his human stamina used to it.

.

.

.

“I’m sorry…what?”

It’s a sentence that Shiu thinks he’s going to have to get used to a lot—telling people that the cow hybrid you’d had a crush on for the past few years but then gotten mated is actually your mate too - and that by association you’re her mate’s mate but honestly not really complaining about it is…for one a long sentence. 

And two, it’s probably going to get a bunch of weird looks.

It sounds like the stuff of a fantasy, maybe even those romance stories; and Shiu’s well and fully aware of how he sounds when he says it.

Which is why he’s telling Kusakabe first - it only seemed appropriate.

“It’s exactly as I said.” Shiu states matter-of-factly. “And you can ask Dr. Shoko if you think there’s been any mix-”

“No no, man. It’s not that I don’t believe you.” Kusakabe interrupts him. “In fact, I think it’s great that you finally managed to do something about your feelings- congratulations, man.”

“Thank you.” Shiu watches the herd from the door to the barn house - inside, the only pair were you and Toji. His breath hitches once you’re walking over from Toji to nuzzle up to him. He reaches to scratch behind those silken ears of yours—“But then what was all that about?”

“Ah- no, it’s just…” There’s a truck honk from the other end of the line, and Shiu realizes that Kusakabe must be going somewhere. “I assumed it was actually about the bull.”

Shiu squints. “The what thing?”

“The bull thing. I guess Toji forgot to tell you since you were a little preoccupied. But last night when Toji took over driving my truck we happened to run into…everything.”

Shiu snorts. “Serves you right.”

“And man- I needed this truck to transport this new bull hybrid for ol’ Gakuganji down in Kyoto. You know how he gets. It’s the only one big enough so…” 

And now…now Shiu wasn’t exactly having fun. “…And?” The two of you were looking at him in interest now, clearly having heard something about another hybrid—and Toji especially had had his smirk growing in synchronization with the increasingly ashen look on Shiu’s face.

“And so Toji said it’s alright, but would you mind looking after this new bull for a few days until I get the truck fixed? Just for a few days. I’m actually on the way there right now so thank you. His name is Sukuna and-”

“Noooooooooo-”

Hand washing the car on a hot summer’s day was something you would never normally do.

You always let your dad handle a job like that. He’d always tease you for being ‘spoiled,’ always hitting you with the typical line of, “What happens when I’m gone? How will you take care of yourself?”

And every time he hit you with that line, without fail, you would find yourself grabbing the plastic bucket, soap, and sponges out of spite, just to prove a point.

Now, you were outside, drenched in a mixture of sweat and water as the sun beamed down. You were splayed over the hood of the car in a way that looked anything but sexy. You had on a tank top and shorts—natural, given the heat—but despite the porn director approved outfit, you looked anything but pornographic.

Matter of fact, if someone were to come up to you now, they would probably lose interest instantly.

“Hey there,” a familiar, deep voice called from behind you. “Looking pretty hot.”

Normally, you would scramble to make yourself look at least somewhat decent for anyone who approached you in this state.

But it was your best friend—so who cares?

“Steve,” you huffed, raising a leg to balance yourself on the hood of your dad’s car. “Are you going to help me or just taunt me?”

Steve crossed his arms, watching you slip and slide all over the green station wagon that looked like it was ready to fall apart at any given moment.

“Has your dad seen you like this yet? I’m sure if he saw what a poor job you were doing, he wouldn’t ask you to clean it again.

You puffed a strand of hair out of your face. “The reason I’m cleaning in the first place is to prove to my dad that I’m perfectly capable.” You mumbled under your breath, “… He called me spoiled.”

Steve chuckled lightly. “Can’t say I disagree.”

Sneering, you spun around and hurled your wet, soapy sponge in his direction. It landed right in the center of his chest, dampening his snug t-shirt with a dark spot that began to spread. He laughed, catching the sponge before it hit the ground.

“Get off the hood before you hurt yourself,” he grinned, taking a step closer.

You grunted as you slid off the car. As you stood up, your eyes trailed past Steve’s shoulder—something unfamiliar catching your attention.

The house across from yours had been unoccupied for months, but someone had recently moved in. Days had passed, and you hadn’t seen the new neighbors yet. But for the first time since the ‘FOR SALE’ sign was removed, you were finally seeing the man who lived there.

He was tall—maybe around Steve’s height. He had dark hair that fluffed messily at the top, and he was covered in dirt, looking as though he’d been doing yard work all morning. The sun hit his eyes, and he squinted, shielding them with a large hand.

As he looked up, his gaze drifted across to your lawn, and his eyes met yours for a long moment.

A warm, friendly smile tugged at his lips, and he waved. You blinked, a light smile forming on your own face when you realized he was waving at you. You waved back shyly, and his smile grew wider.

“He waved at me,” you pointed out.

Steve, curious, glanced over his shoulder. When he caught the man’s eye, he gave a quick, short nod—a casual greeting between guys.

“He seems nice,” Steve shrugged. “Your new neighbor?”

You nodded, stealing a few more seconds to look at the man across the street. He bent over, his large traps tensing against his cotton tank top as he shoved a pair of gardening gloves over his rough hands. He crouched, his dirty boots and jeans digging into the soil as he began to pull at stubborn weeds.

A man. Hard at work.

The best kind of man.

“He is,” you breathed, looking back at Steve. “And he’s hot, too.”

Steve huffed a laugh, stepping out of your way and towards the car, sponge in hand. “You trying to make me jealous, sweetheart?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a spare sponge from the soapy tub. You stepped up to the opposite window from Steve and began to scrub.

“You know, I’ve seen this play out in movies and stuff—” Steve shouted from the other side of the car. “The girl who washes her car and catches the eye of the conveniently attractive neighbor across the street.”

You quirked a brow. “In movies, or in porn?”

Now, it was Steve’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Point aside, you should go for it.” He peeked at you over the roof and nodded in your neighbor’s direction. “You’ve been single for quite a while now. It wouldn’t hurt to dip your toes back in the dating scene.”

You snorted. “Whatever happened to you being jealous?”

Steve shook his head at your comment. “I’m just saying—you’re young and pretty. You could grab that guy’s attention if you really tried.”

Pausing your sponge, you glanced over your shoulder, catching your neighbor’s gaze again. He had been staring at you—for how long, you didn’t know. Either way, your heart did a little flutter in your chest, your face warming at the thought of him watching you.

“You really think so?”

Steve hummed. “Have I ever lied to you?”

Since that day, and with the help of Steve’s encouragement, you found yourself spending more time outside just to catch your neighbor’s eye.

Most mornings, he was already out there working on the front of his house—mowing the lawn, painting fences, or tending to the plants.

The job itself didn’t matter. It was the man behind it all who suddenly made this boring, textbook suburban neighborhood interesting.

Despite only a few days passing since you last washed the car, you miraculously decided to wash it up again the day Bucky was working on the front of his house. How convenient!

Grabbing your tools while wearing a tank top—thinner than the last one—and shorts that rode so far up they were bordering on a wedgie, you stepped out with a confident stride that immediately caught his attention.

He glanced at you from his spot on a ladder, squinting as he smiled.

“Good morning!” you chirped.

“Morning,” he shouted back, nodding to the same car parked on your driveway. “Cleaning again?”

“Oh, yeah,” you smirked, motioning to your bucket. “Just something I like to do every few days.”

If Steve or your dad were here, they would be laughing in your face.

The man’s eyes slowly raked over the car—taking mental note of just how pristine and shiny it already was—before trailing back to you. “Must be a high maintenance girl, huh?”

It was just something about the way he said it—his voice deep and textured with a rasp that made every syllable sound flirtatious. You chuckled softly, your face warming.

“Something like that.”

He chuckled in return before getting back to work.

You dunked the sponge into the bucket of soapy water and got to work. Most of your time was spent focusing more on suggestive poses than actually getting the car clean. You stretched your arms high to reach the roof so the hem of your tank top rode up, then leaned low over the hood, letting your short shorts ride up to reveal the curve of your ass.

It didn’t take long for your clothes and skin to be covered in soap and water. The sun was in your favor today, catching the water as it glistened on your skin and the soap as it trickled down your thighs.

One quick glance over your shoulder made your heart stutter.

You knew you were doing it right because he was looking right at you.

He slowly began to descend the ladder. Before you knew it, he was walking in your direction, crossing the street until he reached your driveway. You had to bite back a smile as the sound of his boots scuffed closer, stopping just behind you.

“I believe we haven’t properly introduced ourselves,” he called out to grab your attention.

You didn’t turn around right away, careful not to make it too obvious. You glanced over your shoulder first, your back arching in a way that felt a bit of a strain—thanks to your usually terrible posture—then slowly stood up, trying not to groan at the sudden soreness.

“I don’t believe we have,” you said, setting the sponge down and wiping your wet hand on your damp shorts. Good enough.

You extended your hand and gave him your name.

He returned the gesture with a smile, his grip warm and rough—the hands of a working man.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Bucky,” he huffed. “Bucky Barnes.”

He looked around, appearing almost skeptical to be standing in your driveway. “You look young,” he pointed out. “Are your parents home? I’d like to introduce myself, being new to the neighborhood and all.”

“They’re on vacation,” you explained. “I’m a student over at Jepsen University.”

“A student, huh?” He rubbed his chin with his left hand. No ring. “A pretty thing like you oughta’ be careful at Jepsen. There are a lot of nasty frat boys roaming around campus.”

You chuckled, a light sway in your movement. “You went there?”

He nodded. “Graduated top of my class.”

Even though there was no ring, you still needed verbal confirmation before throwing yourself at him.

“How are you and the family liking the neighborhood so far?” You tested.

Bucky took it upon himself to lean against your car, making the frame creak slightly. He didn’t seem to care about the soap dampening his jeans.

“Well, me and my girl are liking it so far,” Bucky said. “It’s quiet, and plus, I get a good view across the street.”

You made a face at his explanation. My girl. He had a wife? Or a daughter? He was deliberately flirting with you, wasn’t he?

Bucky caught your expression and laughed lightly, waving a hand dismissively.

“My girl Alpine,” he clarified. "She’s the cat loafing on the windowsill in my living room, always staring out.”

You felt your face warm, and your posture eased up instantly. Not only was your neighbor hot as hell, but he was single—and a cat dad! There was a bit of an age gap, but that wasn’t something you couldn’t handle.

You crossed your arms, the movement accentuating your breasts beneath the thin tank top, and jutted your hip out to emphasize your curves. You smiled pridefully, watching as Bucky’s gaze traced a slow path from your eyes down your body.

“Like father, like daughter, then.”

His grin widened handsomely. “What can I say? We like looking at pretty things.”

You smiled, biting the inside of your cheek. He was such a natural flirt—and despite all your attempts to grab his attention, your words suddenly failed you when the time came.

Bucky glanced around the driveway as if he were still searching for someone. Then, he asked, “That guy who usually comes over to help you out—” he brought up slyly, still looking around, “he your boyfriend?”

You blinked at his question. The way he was subtly trying to fish for information made your stomach do a flip in celebration.

“Steve?” you asked, your voice coming out breathier than intended. A small, teasing smile tugged at your lips. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

You noticed the way Bucky’s shoulders relaxed slightly at your words. He was jealous.

“He goes to Jepsen, too?” He questioned.

“Yeah, he’s my senior.”

“Ah,” Bucky drawled. “A frat boy, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his endless questioning. “I wouldn’t call him that. He’s my best friend,” you reassured him, watching the way his blue eyes searched yours. “He just comes over sometimes to help out—or more like he comes over to make fun of me while I do all the work.”

Bucky chuckled a deep, gravelly sound that was effortlessly charming. “Best friend, huh?” He pushed himself off your car, taking a step closer to you. Fuck, he even smelled good. “Well, I can’t say I blame him for wanting to hang around. Though, if you ever need a man who’ll actually help instead of just laughing at you, you know where I live.”

He tilted his head toward the house across the street, his gaze dropping to your lips for a second before meeting your eyes again.

“You said your parents were away on vacation?” he asked.

You nodded.

“For how long?”

“Just for a couple of days,” you replied.

Bucky hummed, an amused smile playing on his face as he looked at you. He leaned in, his voice releasing a low murmur as his warm breath tickled your skin.

“A couple of days, huh?”

You caught his gaze tracing a path down your tank top before he met your eyes with a devastatingly slow smirk. If he had this much confidence at his big old age, he was definitely a troublemaker when he was in college, that’s for sure.

“Would you look at that? That’s plenty of time for us to get well-acquainted.”

He watched the way your breath hitched and smiled, looking satisfied. He pulled away and turned back towards his side of the street. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought he heard a small whine escape you.

“See you around, neighbor,” he called over his shoulder with a charming smile, sauntering down your driveway and back towards his own.

As he walked off, your heart was beating with excitement—beating far too fast to keep up. And the only thing you could think about was how much you were going to gloat about this to Steve later.

You sat across from Steve at the same dingy diner where you two met every Thursday for brunch.

While you sat cross legged on one side of the booth, Steve sat opposite from you in a crisp navy blue collared shirt with a name tag that read HYDRA’S MECHANIC! and the name Steven on the top right.

“He has a cat, Steve. A cat!” You smiled, dipping your toast into a pool of egg yolk. “Her name is Alpine—and he called her ‘his girl.’ Isn’t that so sweet? I nearly had a heart attack right there in the driveway.”

Steve held a coffee mug in his hand, watching you. He was supposed to be heading into work in twenty minutes, but he was currently occupied with the girl in front of him—and her endless rambling.

“And he’s single,” you continued through a mouthful of toast. “No ring, no wife—just a gorgeous, ripped cat dad with a voice that sounds like it came straight out of a smutty audiobook.” You paused, taking a quick sip of your drink. “I mean, yeah, he’s definitely got a few years on me. He’s a little older, but honestly, it doesn’t matter. It just makes him more…” You sighed dreamily. “Capable.”

Steve didn’t say a word. He set his coffee cup down, picked up a fry, and dipped it slowly into a side of ranch with a lopsided smile.

“What?” you asked, your brow furrowing as you caught his grin.

“Nothing,” he said simply, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Steve. I know that face,” you pointed out. “That’s your ‘I’ve got something to say, but I won’t’ face mixed with something else. Come on, tell me! What are you thinking?”

Steve chuckled, wiping his hand on a napkin before leaning back in the booth. “I don’t know how I feel about you going after some guy who’s that much older than you. He seems like the type of guy you have fun with—not someone you bring home to your parents.”

Your eyes went wide. “What? You encouraged me to go for it!”

Steve held up his hands defensively. “I know, I know! It’s just… I don’t know. Can’t a guy worry?”

You couldn’t help but smile at his bashfulness. “Aw, you’re worried over little ol’ me, Stevie?” You tilted your head, taunting him.

He rolled his eyes. “You know what? Forget I even said anything—”

“No, no,” you leaned in, resting both arms on the table “Okay, fine. I’m hearing you. What can I do that’ll make you more comfortable in this situation?”

Steve shrugged, lifting the coffee cup and bringing it to his lips. “Could start by meeting the guy, I guess.”

“Okay,” you agreed casually. “He did mention you, actually.”

Steve quirked a brow, eyeing you over the rim of his mug. “Did he?”

You nodded. “He asked if you were my boyfriend.”

He scoffed a laugh. “Boyfriend? He’s already getting jealous? God—how old is he again?”

You gave him a look. “He was just curious, Steve.”

“Sure, and I’m a superhero fighting crime in New York.” Steve set his mug down, dipping another fry into ranch and plopping it into his mouth. He gathered his phone and wallet, quickly tucking them into his pockets. “I gotta go. Shift is starting soon.”

“Wait.” You sat up straight. “My dad won’t stop texting me asking if you can fix the wagon—it keeps making this weird noise and he won’t leave me alone until you look at it.”

“I’m free tomorrow after work. I’ll swing by then. I’ll consider this—” he motioned to the table, where the bill sat squarely in the middle with your name on it, “—payment for the repair.” Steve pushed himself out of the booth, licking the ranch off his thumb before pointing a finger at you. “I’ll text you. And don’t screw the guy ‘til I meet him.”

You couldn’t even get a word in before Steve was already rushing out the door, the bell jingling after him.

“Yeah. Okay, Dad.”

After paying for brunch, you drove home feeling giddy.

Turning the corner onto your street, you spotted Bucky right outside his house, mowing the lawn. This time, he was shirtless.

You purposefully slowed down to get a good look at him, but the moment he looked up and spotted your car pulling into the driveway, he smiled—aiming it right at you through your fishbowl wagon on wheels.

Parked in the driveway, you took a quick look at yourself in the pull down mirror, checking to make sure there weren’t any crumbs on your face or a stray strand of hair sticking out. Smoothing down your top and adjusting your shorts, you stepped out of the car—aiming for casual. But with the way your heart was beating, you were anything but.

Bucky had killed the mower engine and was wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. He looked hypnotizing, his chest and stomach glistening in the afternoon sun.

“Eventful day, I take it?” He nodded towards your car. “Noticed your wagon was missing from the driveway this morning.”

He had noticed you were gone? You tried your best not to smile.

“Oh, yeah,” you leaned against trunk nonchalantly. “I went to have brunch with a friend.”

Bucky crossed his arms over his chest—a move that did very interesting things to his biceps that were hard to ignore—and leaned his weight back on one leg.

“Let me guess,” he said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Steve?”

After Steve’s comment about Bucky being jealous, you couldn’t help but bask in confidence. You quirked a brow, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “Are you jealous?”

Bucky tilted his head, pretending to contemplate the question as he looked you up and down.

“Only a little,” he admitted with that handsome smile of his.

You grinned. “Well, there’s no need to be jealous, I assure you,” you explained, pushing yourself off the car.

Taking a step back, you gestured vaguely to his yard. “I’ll let you get back to it, though. You look pretty busy,” you said, despite how much you actually wanted to pull up a folding chair and just stare.

You turned to head towards your front door, but you didn’t get far before his voice stopped you.

“You know,” Bucky called out as he began crossing the street. “Your car is looking a little dirty.”

You stopped and turned back, your breath catching as you watched him make his way onto your driveway. Shirtless and confident, he looked even more imposing standing on your property than he had the other day. He came to a halt beside the green wagon, glancing at the circle of bird poop sitting right on the roof.

Then, he looked back at you with a smile—as if he already knew you wouldn’t say no.

“Need some help cleaning?”

“I…” Your eyes trailed to his bare chest slicked with sweat. You didn’t know how you were going to control yourself, but despite it all, you swallowed hard and said, “Yes.”

Minutes later, you found yourself grabbing all the supplies needed to get the car cleaned. Bucky stood by the bucket, holding the hose as the water filled the plastic. It took everything in you not to stare at the way the sun was shining down on his tanned skin, sweat and water glistening down the hard lines of his stomach.

His jeans sat dangerously low on his hips, the hem of his briefs peeking out over the top. He hadn’t even started cleaning the car yet, but he already looked hotter just standing there than you ever felt trying to look appealing while washing the wagon.

When the bucket was full, he lifted it by the handle without much struggle. You watched as his biceps and forearms flexed against the weight of it. His eyes caught yours, and you swallowed hard, quickly forcing your gaze away.

Bucky stepped to the passenger side, opposite where you were standing. He didn’t seem bothered by your staring.

Actually, he seemed to be feeding off the attention, especially after catching you several times.

“This is a nice car,” he commented, dunking a sponge into the soapy water. “Vintage. I’m surprised she’s still kicking around.”

While Bucky scrubbed down the passenger side, you kept trying to sneak glances through the untinted windows. From where you stood, you had a perfect view of his chest muscles and his stomach pressing against the glass as he worked.

“Uh—yeah,” you cleared your throat, forcing your focus back. “It’s from the sixties. It’s my dad’s, actually. Steve just helps me fix it up.”

“Your friend Steve,” Bucky mused, peeking at you over the roof. “He a mechanic?”

“Yup,” you nodded. “So if you hear loud car noises coming from across the street tomorrow when he fixes it, you can blame him.”

“This Steve guy sounds like a total catch,” Bucky said with a light laugh. “You sure you’re not dating him?”

You weren’t sure why Bucky was so insistent on you having a secret relationship with Steve. You had your fair share of insecure men who were jealous of you hanging around with someone like Steve Rogers, and you figured that habit died out once men hit the age of twenty five. But with Bucky standing across from you, poking at your relationship with Steve, you were starting to think that wasn’t the case.

“I swear, I’m not dating Steve.” You raised a pinky so he could see it over the roof. “Besides, he’s like an older brother to me.”

Bucky blew a raspberry.

“Poor kid,” he chuckled. “But really, I’m surprised he hasn’t made a move on you.” He bent down to clean the rim right above the tire, letting his eyes trail over your body through the window. “If I had a pretty girl like you in my life... we wouldn’t have been friends for long.”

You felt your heart stutter.

What did that even mean?

Did he mean he would make you his girlfriend?

You wanted to hear him say it—to blurt out the answer himself.

You dumped your sponge in your bucket, letting yourself get damp with the soapy water.

“Is that so?” you challenged, trying your best to play it cool. “And what would we be then?”

He stood up with a low groan, looking at you over the roof. He began making his way towards your side of the car, moving purposefully slow as he dragged his sponge across the hood—hardly even pretending to clean it anymore.

“After watching you wash this car—looking like a woman straight out of my dreams? We’d be a lot of things,” he said smoothly, locking eyes with you as he reached the corner of the bumper. “But ‘friends’ sure as hell isn’t one of them.”

You grinned, allowing him to be the one to approach you as you continued scrubbing.

“So,” you kept your voice playful, a little teasing. “You’ve been watching me?”

Bucky didn’t bother denying it.

He stopped just inches away from you. He let his tongue run slowly over his bottom lip, his eyes traveling shamelessly down your body. He was mesmerized with the path of the soap bubble trickling down your collarbone, sliding between the curve of your breasts before disappearing into the thin fabric of your tank top, where your perky nipples were poking right through.

It was hard for him to ignore. They were practically begging to be licked.

“Hard not to,” he rasped, stepping closer until he was standing directly behind you. He propped one strong arm against the roof of the wagon, locking you in. “Especially when you’re giving me a view like that from across the street.”

You let out a shaky breath—one that you hoped he didn’t catch, but he did. You stared at him through the reflection of the window, and his eyes were on you—tracing your face, leaning in to smell you.

It was this very moment that made you remember the age gap, because he was moving and talking so smoothly, like it was all natural to him. As if he had been swooning women like you for years.

But you weren’t going to let that shake you up.

You pushed your hips back subtly, letting your damp ass press against his hips. You tried not to gasp at the straining bulge that was waiting for you between his legs.

“Well, I’m right here,” you said quietly, staring at him in the reflection. “So, what then?”

Bucky looked around, his gaze sweeping across the street to make sure no one else was near.

With one hand still propped against the car, the other found your hip, giving it a firm squeeze to keep you right where you were with your ass pressed tight against his cock.

“Do you want to know what I love most about being in this neighborhood, aside from the fact that I have a super attractive neighbor living across from me?”

He rocked his hips forward, letting his hard bulge nestle perfectly between the curve of your bottom. His cock was fighting the restraint of his jeans, and just from that small movement alone, you could feel how big he was.

Bucky pressed his lips against your ear, murmuring low and tickling your skin with his warm breath. “I love how quiet it is. There’s rarely anyone outside, or even driving by... so when I touch you like this...” His hand slid up from your hip to cup your breast through your tank top. “No one will even notice.”

You gasped as he fondled your tits, his rough fingers flicking the sensitive peak of your nipple. As he dampened your shirt with his wet hands, the water seeped through the thin fabric, making every bit of friction feel even more sensitive than the last.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Oh,” he let out a low, rough breath. “You’re so reactive. I’m going to have so much fun with you.”

Bucky’s hand left the roof of the car to wrap around your eyes, pulling you even closer against him. He rocked his hips—back and forth, in a steady rhythm—dry humping you right there against the green wagon in your driveway where anyone could see.

The friction of his denim against your damp, thin shorts made a warm heat pool in your lower belly. Every grind of his hips was met with a hard twitch in his jeans, making your body ache for more.

His hands were everywhere. One hand gripped your hip, tickling the skin beneath the fabric as he gave your flesh a possessive squeeze.

The other continued to fondle your tits, tickling your nipple through the wet cotton. His thumb and forefinger would catch your nipple, rolling it until you were arching your back and whimpering his name.

“Cute noises coming out of you,” he murmured against the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “I wonder what kind of noises you’ll make if someone were to drive by and see what I’m doing to you?”

You shuddered as his hands roamed lower, his fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. He undid the button with just one hand, letting his fingers trace the skin of your mound, grazing low until he found your clit—lightly rubbing the nub of his finger against it.

A moan left your lips as you arched your back deeper against him. He groaned as your ass rubbed against his throbbing cock.

While Bucky’s fingers toyed with your clit—rubbing in deep, circular motions—he rocked his hips, seeking pleasure of his own. You were moaning, breathing hard as you stared down at him playing with you.

“Bucky… I… mph—” you moaned, your voice pitched high. You ground your hips against his hand, fucking yourself onto his fingers.

With Bucky standing right behind you, he looked down at the soapy water trickling over your chest, his cock growing harder by the second.

He wasn’t lying when he said you looked like a woman straight out of a dream. He wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes apart—which he could do easily—and fuck you right on the hood of the car he’d been watching you parade yourself on for the past few days.

He was so horny, he needed to sink into you—fast.

But first, he needed to see how much of him you were willing to take, starting with his fingers.

“Gotta test you, baby,” Bucky rasped against your ear. “See how much your little pussy can take.”

His hand traced down from your clit to your folds. He groaned once his fingers made contact with your slick heat. You were so wet, so easily riled up, and so ripe for the taking, yet he wanted to make this last.

Bucky glanced around one more time—the coast was clear. He shoved your shorts down, exposing your ass to the cool air, and pushed your lace panties to the side. He probed his middle finger against your entrance, dancing his digit in a curling motion to prepare you.

“So wet,” he murmured, grinning at your little gasps and mewls. “Could easily slide my finger right in.”

His middle finger slowly eased into your pussy, the warm flesh of your entrance accommodating him smoothly. There was a bit of a stretch, sure, but he could easily finger fuck you right now with no struggle at all.

“How many can you take?” he asked.

You felt your face warm at his question. “… Two.”

He hummed against your ear. “Two, huh?”

Without warning, his ring finger took a quick drag against your entrance—already stuffed by his middle finger—and slid in slowly. Your mouth dropped as a broken gasp tore from your throat. The stretch was burning. His fingers were long and thick, and having two of them inside was enough to fill you completely.

“Fuck—Bucky!”

Bucky didn’t give you a chance to fully adjust to his two fingers before he started moving—thrusting in and out, curling deep inside you as he searched for every sensitive spot. With his free hand still clamped onto your hip, he humped you from behind, groaning as his denim jeans grew even tighter around his throbbing cock.

He was so hard it was painful.

His need to sink himself inside you was spiraling out of control as he felt his pre-cum soaking into his waistband. He gritted his teeth, his jaw clenching as he watched the way your ass bounced against his hand, swallowing his fingers with every move.

“Christ,” he hissed against your neck. He slowed his hand just enough to hook a third finger against your entrance, probing the tight and overtaxed muscle. “You’re squeezing my fingers so tight, baby.”

He looked at you through the reflection of the window, and you stared back, caught in his dark gaze. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nodded with a whimper.

Bucky hummed in satisfaction, and without warning, he pressed the tip of his pointer finger against your stretched entrance.

Your eyes flew wide at the sensation as he slowly began sinking that third finger in, forcing you to press your tits and hands into the glass window for support.

“Bucky,” you gasped. “What are you—!”

“Think you can take three?”

He couldn’t even sink his third finger in all the way, your body simply wouldn’t allow it.

The stretch was a dizzying mix of burn and pleasure, your hips going stiff as you struggled to take him in. He was breathing hard against your ear, and you could feel every heavy throb of his cock right behind you.

“Oh my—fuck, Bucky! It’s too much, I can’t—”

He continued rutting his hips against yours, silently encouraging you to accommodate all three fingers. You could tell he was trying to hold back. His fingers stayed there, unmoving, while his hips did all the work.

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, his hand stilling completely inside you. “Three’s a little tight, huh? Come on, baby. Try for me. If you can take three, then you can take my cock with no problem.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to relax the muscles that were fighting him.

Slowly, you began to push back, easing yourself onto those three thick fingers and sinking down until you felt the base of his hand press against your folds.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping onto your shoulder as he felt your tight cunt finally give way to accommodate him. He was hard as hell, his balls growing heavier and his cock thickening against your lower back with every heavy breath he took.

“Fuck. That’s a good fucking slut,” he hissed, his hips rutting in an uneven motion. “Taking all three fingers—God, you’re being so good for me.”

His teeth traced the column of your neck, biting gently to make you gasp. His lips closed against your skin, sucking and marking you as he murmured filth in your ear.

“So fucking tight,” he whispered. “Been watching you for days, thinking you were going to be untouchable—just eye candy for a man like me living across the street.” He curled his fingers, hitting your sensitive spot and making you cry out his name. “Who knew I’d have you right here, pinned against your daddy’s car, being stretched out in broad daylight.”

You watched him through the reflection, your pussy clenching around his fingers at the dark way he was staring at you.

“Oh, you’re such a little slut for your neighbor, aren’t you?”

Your cunt fluttered around him, his fingers fucking you so thoroughly you felt like you could cum.

“Bucky,” you whined, your hips twitching as you tried to clench your legs together. “I’m—I’m gonna—”

“No,” he grunted, his voice deep and rough. “Not yet.”

If he had fucked you for even a second longer, you would have cried out in pleasure and came right there in your driveway.

But instead, he abruptly yanked his fingers out, the vulgar squelch sound following after. You let out a cry of frustration, your body slumping against the window as he left you feeling cold and aching.

Behind you, Bucky’s eyes locked onto yours in the window’s reflection as he slowly licked your juices off his fingers. The act was so unapologetically filthy that your face burned with embarrassment.

“You even taste sweet, too,” he murmured.

He took a step back, his hands fumbling with the zipper of his jeans. He gave himself a quick squeeze through the denim before finally freeing himself.

You couldn’t help it. You looked over your shoulder and your breath hitched.

Now, you understood exactly why he wanted you to take three fingers first.

His cock was massive, thick and pulsing for you. He stepped back into the space between your legs and slapped his cock against your lower back. It was hot, hard, heavy, and already wet at the tip where he leaked pre-cum. His breathing was labored as he grabbed his shaft, rubbing the tip against your bare ass—smearing his slickness and marking you from behind.

Bucky moaned at the sight of his pre-cum glistening on your soft skin.

“What a pretty, pretty whore,” he cooed. He leaned over you, his thick arm hooking around your waist to bend you over while your hands pressed against the window.

He couldn’t wait any longer. He slapped his cock against your wet pussy, making you wince as your body hummed with anticipation.

“Your pussy’s all stretched out now, ready to take me.” He grabbed his shaft, positioning the head right at your entrance.

The tip of his cock nestled perfectly between your wet, aching folds. Just the sensation of it alone was enough to make him groan in pleasure.

It felt as if your entrance was giving him warm, wet kisses, welcoming him home.

“So, it should just slide right in,” he rasped, slowly drawing his hips forward and beginning to sink into you. “Fuck.”

He couldn’t even make it past the head because of how tight you were squeezing him. His face scrunched in a twist of pleasure and pain, his arm wrapping you tight as he fought for control. You mewled and whined so sweetly—the sound of it should have made him feel bad, but it only made him want to tear you apart more.

“Fuck—how the hell are you still so tight, even after everything?”

Every time he tried to draw his hips forward, your body buckled and clamped down, refusing to give an inch more than the head of him.

“God,” he hissed, forehead dropping to the back of your neck as he struggled to breathe. “What a tight pussy fuck.”

He tried to rock into you again—slow and agonizing. He was gritting his teeth until his jaw ached, his cock pulsing as your cunt fluttered around him, desperate to stretch around his size.

“F—fuck, Bucky, I’m trying—” you whimpered.

“Come on, baby,” he rasped, rocking his hips and trying to find pleasure from what little was already inside you. “I already stretched you out. I know you can take me. You’re just so fucking small.”

You looked at him over your shoulder, and your breath caught. His face was twisted. He looked almost angry—snarling from how difficult this was for him.

You tried pushing your hips back, wincing from the delicious stretch.

“Is this hurting you, Bucky?” you asked, your voice coming out more timid than you’d like. “Are you hurting because I’m so tight?”

A raspy, deep groan tore straight from his throat. You were asking out of genuine concern, but he took it as a challenge.

“God—you fucking—are you trying to test me?”

Bucky kicked your legs wider, his hands clamping down on your waist. He hauled your body back into his, then completely sheathed his cock into your tight pussy.

The air left your lungs the minute your ass pressed against his pelvis. His dark curls were hot against your skin as he finally, finally buried himself all the way inside you. He was in to the very hilt, but you were still so tight that moving was nearly impossible.

He stayed perfectly still for a moment, his forehead resting against your shoulder as he let the sensation of your tightness settle.

In the window’s reflection, it looked as filthy as it felt—a large, shirtless, and sweaty man mounting and rutting into you from behind like an animal, his broad shoulders swallowing your frame as his heavy arms circled you, keeping you pinned close and tight.

“Fuck,” he choked out. “There it is. There you are.”

After a moment of adjustment, he began to rock his hips. He drew in and out slowly, fucking you with deep, hard strokes that made the car creak.

“Christ, look at you,” he hissed, his eyes fixed on your reflection over your shoulder. “Stretched wide open—fucked like a whore for the whole neighborhood to see. You’re taking every goddamn inch of me, aren’t you, baby?”

Your face twisted in pleasure, your bottom lip hanging open as you moaned a litany of words. “Don’t stop... Please, Bucky, please.”

“This was why you were putting your body on display for me, huh? Hoping I’d finally cross the street one day and fuck you.” He fought for his breath as his hips increased the pace, his cock sliding in and out of you, relentlessly making you his. “You’re a smart cookie, too. Made sure your parents were out of town so you could act like a total slut.”

You moaned, eyes rolling back at his filthy words as your body clenched in reaction. “Yes! Yes, Bucky! I’m a slut for you!”

He groaned as he tilted his hips, forcing himself even deeper into your abused pussy.

“Squeezing me so tight... I can only imagine how you’d react if your parents were to drive down the street right now. Imagine them seeing their precious daughter getting split open by her older neighbor—a man they haven’t even met yet.”

He felt your body begin to tremor, your walls fluttering around his pulsing cock. He leaned in even closer, his hot, raspy breath dancing against the shell of your ear.

“Now, what would happen if your poor best friend—Steve, was it?—drove down here expecting to fix your car, only to find you with your tits pushed against the glass, stuffed full of my cock? How would you react then?”

Your knees wobbled and your eyes rolled back at the image. Your body convulsed, your pussy squeezing him impossibly tight at the filthy thought of it.

“Oh, my god—S-steve...!”

Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh, followed immediately by a deep, guttural groan at the sensation of you clenching around him. He didn’t even care that you moaned another man’s name when he had you stuffed.

“Fuck, so goddamn tight,” he rasped, his arms wrapping around you tighter as you shook. “Shit, you like it, don’t you? The idea of getting caught by your best friend? Fuck—what a goddamn nasty whore you are.”

His hips began to blur against yours as he fucked you harder, the car creaking and groaning with every thrust.

“Bet he doesn’t even know how you’re clenching around me just at the thought of him. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him?” He leaned over, biting your shoulder to stifle his own grunt. “Would you let your best friend watch me split you open like this?”

You nodded frantically, sweat beading at your temple from being used so thoroughly. The talk—the idea of it was filthy, a dream that you would’ve never considered doing, but Bucky was fucking you so good that anything he said at this point was hypnotic.

“Yes, yes, Bucky, please! You both can take turns using me!”

“Nasty little slut,” Bucky hissed, his teeth biting gently at your skin again. “Fuck. I’m getting close.”

You nodded hard again, your knees nearly giving out if it weren’t for his big hands holding you back. “Me—me too, shit—!”

Bucky’s grip on your body tightened, pulling you close against his bare and sweaty chest.

After three hard thrusts that bottomed out against your womb, he let out a deep grunt against your neck, his body going stiff as he finally came.

His cock pulsed as cum began to spill out of his tip, pumping you full of his seed and staying completely stuffed inside you until you were filled to the brim. Your head tossed back as a cry left your throat, your overworked pussy clamping down on him and pulsing in a way that milked every last drop out of him.

He held you tight, breathing deep into your back as you both fought for air. “Fuck—you’re draining my balls dry, sweetheart.”

You both started to laugh—deep, tired, and rumbling laughs at everything that had just transpired out in the open, right in your very driveway.

Bucky looked down, pulling out slightly and watching with blown out pupils as his cum trickled out of you and onto the concrete, where it mixed with the soapy water.

“Dirty, dirty girl.”

You spent the following afternoon in your room, going through lectures, though you were hardly paying attention to them. With your cheek resting on your palm, your eyes kept drifting to the open window that gave you a perfect, convenient view of the house right across the street.

Bucky’s house.

The driveway was empty, and the lights inside were off. The blinds were pulled open though, and you could see Alpine—the little cat he mentioned—loafing on the windowsill and staring back at you.

In that moment, the two of you were exactly the same.

Just waiting for Bucky to come home.

The silence of your bedroom was overtaken by the rumble of a truck engine. Sitting up and peeking out the window, you recognized Steve’s battered pickup truck turning into the driveway before the engine cut out.

Steve climbed out of the driver’s seat, looking as exhausted as ever, but he had still shown up for you.

You smiled, racing down the stairs to meet him outside. In the driveway, it was clear that his shift at Hydra’s mechanic shop had done a number on him. His navy blue collared shirt was stained with sweat and motor oil, with dark streaks smeared across his jaw and down the length of his thick forearms.

“Steve,” you breathed with a smile. “Thought you forgot about me.”

Steve shut the door, the truck shaking from the force. “Could never forget about you. Work was just running me late.” He reached for his tools in the flatbed with a tired groan. “How’s your car holding up? Been using it since we had lunch yesterday?”

Your face warmed at the question.

Using it wouldn’t be the right term for it, you thought.

“Not really,” you said, trying to hide the bashful expression on your face.

“Still making that weird creaking noise?” he asked, walking over to the front and popping the hood.

You bit your lip and nodded. “Yep.”

Steve stood over the engine, glancing at wires and mechanical parts that were completely foreign to you.

“How’s it looking?” you asked, hovering over his shoulder.

He didn’t look back as he lifted a straining wire with his pointer finger, examining it closely. “Looks like she’s been through it.”

You had to bite back a snort. You would’ve complimented him on his sense of humor—if only he had known any better.

“Thanks for doing this, Steve,” you said, giving him a pat on his sweaty back. “My dad’s going to be real grateful.”

Steve nodded. “How are you and that neighbor doing?” He still kept his focus on the wires, his voice casual and unassuming. “You two didn’t screw each other after my warning yesterday, right?”

You were so glad he was focused on the engine—the face you made would’ve given it all away.

“What kind of girl do you think I am?” you scoffed playfully, crossing your arms defensively.

Steve glanced up at you with a chuckle. “A good one, I hope.” He brought his tools to the edge of the car, rummaging through the kit. “You two exchanged numbers yet?”

“Do I have to?” you shrugged. “He lives right across the street.”

Steve tilted his head, agreeing. “You make a good point.” He looked back at the engine. “When are you going to introduce me to the guy?”

You leaned against the car with a roll of your eyes. “Steve, you’re sounding an awful lot like my dad. And why are you in such a rush to meet him, anyway?”

Steve shrugged, pulling a wire stripper out of his toolbox before setting it back down on the ground. “I’m your best friend, alright? It’d give any man peace of mind to know what kind of person you’re talking to. Hand me a wrench, would you?”

Crouching, you dug into his toolbox until you found something that resembled a wrench. You handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, taking the tool from your hand. His brows furrowed as he wrestled with a stubborn bolt, the muscles in his forearms and biceps flexed hard, giving you an up close and personal view of a working man.

After the filthy things Bucky hissed in your ear yesterday, you couldn’t help but stare. Bet he’d ask to join in, wouldn’t he? Would you let him? Even worse was the memory of what you cried out in response. You both can take turns using me!

You wanted to slap yourself for the secondhand embarrassment you were giving yourself.

You wouldn’t consider it—no, you couldn’t. Steve was the person you grew up with, the one who fended off your bullies in kindergarten. Steve was the one who drove you to school every morning in high school. Steve was the one who took you to prom when no one else did.

Steve was family.

But as he stood there, covered in motor oil and sweat, you finally understood why a man like Bucky would be jealous over you hanging out with a man like Steve Rogers.

The wrench slipped, clattering against the frame of the car before hitting the driveway with a noise that made you flinch.

“Shit,” he cursed under his breath. He bent down to pick it up. He stood up straight—reminding you all over again of just how big he was compared to you—and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

While you were having filthy thoughts about your best friend, he was standing there in an increasingly sour mood. Between the long shift at Hydra’s and the oppressive heat of the bright afternoon sun, he looked completely spent.

You didn’t know the first thing about wire strippers or engine blocks, and you felt useless just hovering over his shoulder.

“I’m going to go make you a lemonade,” you said, giving his shoulder another supportive pat. “I’ll be back, okay?”

Steve didn’t say anything. He just gave a single, firm nod to let you know he heard you.

As you retreated inside, a car that Steve didn’t recognize pulled up to Bucky’s driveway.

It was a sleek, black convertible sports car. Steve couldn’t help but clench his jaw at the sight of it. Of course Bucky drove a sports car.

He stood no chance against his rundown pickup.

Bucky stepped out of the vehicle, running a hand through his hair. As he turned to glance at your driveway, expecting to see you, his blue eyes landed on Steve instead.

For all that talk about wanting to meet him, Steve really only cared to do it if you were there, bridging the gap. So for now, until you returned with his lemonade—which he was sure would make Bucky jealous—Steve tried to keep himself too occupied to notice him.

But he kept catching movement in his peripheral vision. Then another. Then another. A stupid, persistent movement that wouldn’t go away, like a goddamn fly.

Steve finally lifted his head and saw Bucky still in his driveway, waving.

Waving?

At what?

Steve turned around, expecting to see you standing right behind him with the lemonade, but you weren’t. The porch remained empty—meaning Bucky was waving at him.

“Need any help there?” Bucky called out from across the street, resting his hands on his hips.

Steve pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “I’m good!” he called back. Short, straight to the point, and friendly enough.

He looked back down at the engine, but it didn’t take long before a bright spark jumped from the terminal with a loud popping sound. Steve jolted back with a hiss, snapping his hand away from the burn. “Shit!”

Across the street, Bucky was already making his way over with a smug grin that Steve caught—and one he especially wanted to wipe off.

Jesus. Where were you?

“Here,” Bucky finally reached him, occupying the small space between the car’s engine and where Steve was standing. “Let me help you with that.”

Before Steve could fight for his spot, Bucky was leaning over the hood, adjusting the wires in a way that made Steve—the man wearing an actual mechanic’s uniform—feel like a fool.

Steve stepped up to the hood, propping his arm against it as he looked the man over. “So, you’re the new neighbor that moved in not too long ago, right?” He already knew the answer, but this was at least him trying for short conversation.

Bucky looked up at Steve, his eyes slowly tracing over his uniform. Steve felt his eyebrow twitch.

Was Bucky silently insulting him?

“Yup,” Bucky drawled with the pop of the p. “And you must be my pretty neighbor’s best friend. The one she always talks about.”

It was getting harder by the second for Steve to go along with this. Bucky acted like the very frat boys at Jensen that Steve had warned you to avoid at all costs—and this man was in his mid-thirties, for crying out loud.

“Yeah. That’s me,” Steve mumbled.

Bucky stood up straight, extending his hand for a shake. “Bucky.”

Steve was wary, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at the offered hand before finally reaching out to take it.

“Steve,” he replied with a firm grip.

Bucky stared at Steve for a moment longer—as if studying him—before looking back down at the engine with a huff of laughter. “You know, for a guy who works at a mechanic shop, you’re struggling pretty bad with a simple alternator issue.” He bent over the engine again, examining it. “Are you trying to actually fix the car, or just trying to impress your lady friend?”

Steve let out a dry laugh as he pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. “It’s been a long day, alright? I’ve been dealing with different cars all day, the sun is giving me a headache, and now I’ve got my best friend’s neighbor to worry about—”

He stopped himself before he could spill too much, but Bucky caught it anyway. He chuckled, the corners of his eyes wrinkling as he looked up at Steve from where he was bent over. “You’re worrying about me?”

Steve swallowed hard, trying to play it off. “I mean, I’m just looking out for her. New guy in the neighborhood, it’s just a habit.”

Bucky hummed, a small, knowing grin resting on his lips as he turned back to the engine block.

He leaned further under the hood of the old sixties station wagon, his fingers moving towards the distributor cap and the fraying ignition wire Steve had been struggling with. Bucky repositioned the stubborn ceramic boot, adjusting the distributor to ensure the connection wouldn’t spark again.

He wiped his hands on his thighs as he stood up straight.

“Since it’s an older model, you’re going to need to buy a specific point and condenser set for a sixties Ford wagon. But this should hold her over for now.” Bucky looked over at Steve. “You got a piece of paper so I can write down the part number you need?”

Steve blinked, surprised and undeniably impressed by how easily Bucky had handled it.

“Oh. Y-yeah, hold on—” He dug into his back pocket and pulled out a small, worn notepad and a pen, handing them over.

Bucky took them, resting the pad against the car’s fender as he scribbled down the specifications. Steve glanced up, watching you through the kitchen window where you were completely oblivious, still focused on making the lemonade.

Surprisingly, he actually liked the guy. Despite the age difference, he could see potential in Bucky. He was handsome, owned his own house, drove a nice car, and was clearly respectful and handy. He was exactly the type of man your parents wouldn’t pass out at the sight of.

He was a good man for you—regrettably so.

Bucky finished writing, flipping the notepad shut and handing it back to Steve along with the pen. “Here you go.”

Steve smiled, and this time it was polite and genuine.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “It was nice meeting you, Bucky.” He held up the notepad with a slight nod. “She’ll appreciate this. I’ll tell her you said hi.”

Bucky’s smile widened just slightly. He glanced over his shoulder, catching your silhouette through the kitchen window where you were still occupied with the lemons. His gaze lingered on you for a split second before he looked back at Steve, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky said smoothly, giving Steve a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Remember, I’m right across the street if you ever need help.”

He gave a parting nod before turning on his heel, brushing past Steve to head back to his side of the street.

Steve watched Bucky disappear past his front door. By the time the door clicked shut, you had finally stepped out onto the porch with two glasses of lemonade in your hands. Perfect timing.

“Sorry I took so long,” you said breathlessly, walking down the steps and handing him a glass. “It’s been a minute since I last made it from scratch, so…”

“You just missed him.”

You raised a brow in confusion. “Sorry?”

Steve brought the cold glass to his lips, taking a long sip of the tart drink before nodding towards the house across the road.

“Bucky.” He let out a satisfied exhale, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm. “He was just here—helping me with your car, actually.”

Your eyes went wide, your head snapping towards Bucky’s house—though he was nowhere to be found. You reached up, trying to smooth down your hair.

“He was? Is he coming back?” You asked, sounding too excited for your own good.

Steve shrugged, taking another sip. “Probably not. Seemed like he had other things to do.”

You looked at Steve, your eyes narrowing skeptically.

Steve caught your look and let out a soft laugh, adjusting the cold glass against his palm. “What?”

“So…” you teased, swaying back and forth subtly. “I assume you two talked for a bit then? How was he? What do you think of him?”

Steve shrugged again, a genuine smile breaking through the tired expression he had on before. “Alright, alright. You know what? He’s not a bad guy. He actually helped me fix your car. I like him.” He handed you back the empty glass, flipping through the crumpled pages to find the note Bucky had left. “He even told me what part we needed to order to get this thing fixed up and working again—”

He froze in the middle of his sentence. His eyes went wide, staring at the page as his words got lost in his mind.

You raised a brow, confused with Steve’s sudden change in demeanor. “Well? What part is it? Is it expensive?”

When he didn’t answer, you took it upon yourself to step closer and peek your head over his arm to look at the notepad. What you saw made your breath hitch, and your own eyes went wide.

There was no part number.

Written in bold handwriting, on the paper was a phone number, Bucky’s phone number, followed by a little message in black ink.

you’re gonna have to call me if you want that part number. xoxo, buck.

Your jaw hung so loose, a fly could’ve flown in at any moment. Steve didn’t know what to say either—if anything, he was standing there frozen, waiting for you to say something first.

“Oh my god,” was all that managed to leave your mouth. You looked up at Steve, your wide eyes meeting his. “Is Bucky…?”

Steve, poor Steve, who remained completely oblivious to the fact that you and Bucky had fucked just yesterday on this very driveway, only felt confusion and secondhand guilt.

He glanced across the street at the sleek, clean Mazda resting in Bucky's driveway, specifically staring at the custom vanity license plate on the back that read ‘BIGBUCK.’

Steve swallowed hard, his cheeks flushing with a rosy shade of pink. Though, he could easily excuse it for the sun.

“Of course,” he mumbled to himself. “He drives a Miata.”

if you were curious to know why a mazda miata specifically, you can thank r/askgaybros for that when i was conducting my research.

if you've made it this far, as always thank you so much for taking the time to read my work. interactions are always appreciated, I love reading every bit of them!

I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.

There were a few things you could respect Steve Rogers for.

He always seemed to know what was best for the team, he had a good head on his shoulders, and he always tried to find a way to resolve conflict with the least amount of bloodshed possible. He was a respectable man—respectable enough for people like you to follow him into hell.

But there were also plenty of things you disliked about him.

Namely, once he had a plan, he stuck to it whether the people around him agreed or not. Unfortunately for you, his current plan involved you babysitting the world’s most wanted Hydra assassin.

And that was the Winter Soldier.

“What!” you barked in disbelief, throwing your hands in the air. “No! I am not watching him. I’m coming with you—”

Steve was already gearing up—wearing the suit he stole from the Smithsonian and strapping on his shield last.

“No,” he replied, sharp and firm. “Trust me, it’s better if you stay put. If I show up with Buck by my side, it’s not gonna look good.”

Steve motioned towards Bucky, who just stood there looking about as useful and clueless as a bag of bricks.

The kicked puppy look on his face almost made you feel bad for him. Almost. Because if it weren’t for him, and your own stubborn loyalty to Steve, nobody would be in this mess in the first place.

“Look, you’re going to talk to Stark, right? Nat’s with him. Let me come. I can talk to her while you work things out with Stark, and maybe we can figure out a better solution—”

“We shouldn’t even consider talking to Nat. She’s in deep with Tony and the Accords. And besides, I don’t trust—” Steve cut himself off, his lips pressing into a thin line as his eyes flickered between you and Bucky. “Never mind.”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “Don’t trust what?”

The tension in the parking garage turned uncomfortable really fast.

No one dared speak or move—it felt like a bunch of kids walking in on Mom and Dad arguing and refusing to pick sides. Even though you already knew what he was going to say, you kept your eyes fixed on Steve with a silent threat for him to continue.

Steve sighed and stepped forward, mentally cursing himself for letting the words slip.

“You Widows—they’re known to be deceptive,” Steve explained as calmly and gently as he could, though it didn’t help.

“I just… can’t risk you talking to Natasha. It’s too dangerous.”

Offended wasn’t even the right word for it.

Everyone in this line of work—including you, especially you — knew about the Black Widows and their reputation. You were a group of young girls broken down and rebuilt into perfect chameleons. Widows were trained to whisper sweet nothings into a victim’s ear, only to hold a blade to their throat, slit it without remorse, and go about the rest of their day as if nothing had happened.

Steve wasn’t wrong, but the hypocrisy of his logic made you feel sour.

He didn’t trust your background, yet in the very same breath, he was willing to leave you entirely alone with Bucky—his best friend, and the only piece of his past he had left. If you were truly so deceptive, so inherently untrustworthy, what was stopping you from turning Bucky over to Stark the second Steve cleared this garage?

You wanted to cry. You had been loyal to Steve, standing by his side while the rest of the team split up and tore at each other’s throats—and this was how he repaid you? By humiliating you in front of everyone?

But you’d die before you let a single tear fall in front of Steve, or anyone else for that matter.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tightened your jaw until your teeth hurt and forced your gaze away.

“Fine.”

You were going to protect his precious best friend—not out of submission, but to shove his own prejudice right back down his throat. You would prove to him, definitively, that you could be trusted.

“I’ll watch over him,” you added, trying to keep cool. “I’ll keep my comms open, too—just in case you want to pop in and check if he’s still alive.”

Steve returned your sarcasm with a relieved exhale. “Thank you—”

“Don’t mention it,” you cut him off, waving a hand dismissively as you walked past Bucky—who was standing there looking like a child of divorce. You headed for your motorcycle.

“Are you coming, Barnes?”

Before joining you at the bike, Bucky walked over to Steve with a fond look in his eyes. They shared the same brotherly hug they'd been exchanging since they reunited. Steve mumbled something into his shoulder—probably reassurance that everything was going to be okay—before finally sending him off to you.

You rolled your eyes, slipping your helmet on to block them out.

As everyone else cleared out of the garage, Bucky walked over to your bike. You handed him a helmet, and he started strapping it on.

“Should I drive?” He asked.

You blinked at him, your face going blank despite him not being able to see it.

“I’m sorry?”

“I’ve been hiding in Bucharest for a while,” Bucky explained. “I know some discreet spots where they won’t find us.”

Even though neither of you could see the other’s expression, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Bucky was testing your competence—and on top of everything that had led to this moment, especially that little conversation with Steve, your patience was wearing dangerously thin.

“Barnes, I assure you that whatever spot you’re thinking of, a SWAT team is already sweeping it.” You revved the engine. “Get on.”

Bucky muffled a deep sigh inside his helmet. Based on his stiff posture, you thought he might argue, but he finally conceded, swinging his long leg over the back of the seat.

As you gripped the handlebars, you waited for him to hold on, but nothing happened.

Glancing at your side mirrors, you saw him awkwardly plant his hands at the edge of his seat, leaning back as far away from you as the space would allow.

“I’m gonna need you to hold on,” you ordered without looking back.

Bucky hesitated, not moving an inch.

Annoyed, you killed the revving engine for a second and glared at him over your shoulder. “Do you want to fall off?”

Bucky still didn’t budge. He kept his posture uncomfortably stiff, his eyes boring down at the empty space between his hips and the arch of your back.

“I’ll be fine right here.”

You couldn’t believe the gall of this guy. You had been tasked with something that was supposed to be so simple—tedious, sure, but easy enough—yet he was making your job twice as difficult. You glared at him through your visor, your voice strict even through the muffle of your headgear.

“Steve entrusted me to look after you. If he finds out on the evening news that his most wanted best friend fell off the back of my motorcycle and got captured by the government, then he’s never going to talk to me again. And everyone who is risking their lives for you did it all for nothing because you chose to be stubborn. Now, I am not going to repeat myself. Hold. On. To. Me.”

You couldn’t make out his expression, but slowly and reluctantly, he leaned forward and wrapped his thick arms around your waist.

“Tighter,” you commanded.

From the short time Bucky had known you, he already knew there was no point in arguing.

He let out a sigh into his helmet and wrapped his arms around you just a little tighter than before—but still kept his hold loose and, well… as respectful as he could manage.

“Bucky, I need you to hold me tighter,” you urged again.

It had already been a good five minutes since everyone left—and here you were, stuck with the man who, if caught, could risk your life and your position, all because he refused to hold onto you properly.

To you, this was nothing but a nuisance.

But for Bucky…

Bucky was holding onto every thread and reminder left from the forties of what it meant to be a respectful man. Especially since it had been so long since he’d not only been this close to a woman, but held one.

“Tighter!” you shrieked, patience finally snapping.

“Fuck, you know what? Fine!” he snapped back, adjusting his hips so that his chest was pressed up right against your back, wrapping his strong arms around you tightly enough to make you gasp.

“Is that tight enough for you?”

“Perfect,” you croaked sarcastically.

Without giving him another second to respond, you kicked the bike into gear and finally steered it out of the garage.

You were determined to keep your pride intact. His broad chest was pressed up against your back, trapping your body heat until your leather jacket felt burning hot against your skin. His metal arm was a hard band across your midsection, while his flesh arm gripped you still.

You were so small compared to him. He could easily take over—yet here he was, being your obedient puppy.

“Where are you taking me?” Bucky shouted over the rush of wind as the two of you whipped through the busy streets of Bucharest.

“To an amusement park,” you shouted back. “Don’t you want to ride a roller coaster?”

Bucky let out a tired sigh.

You managed to find sanctuary at an abandoned, overgrown rooftop greenhouse. Located on the very outskirts of Bucharest, it was far enough from the city center to avoid suspicion, but still close enough to keep your comms within range of Steve.

You paced the rooftop, feeling restless as your mind overworked with what Steve and the rest of the team could be doing right now.

Were they already fighting? Would Stark actually listen to reason and put all of this to rest?

Letting out a defeated sigh, you kicked a stray pebble, watching it skid across the concrete of the rooftop.

“This is ridiculous,” you mumbled to yourself. “Stuck on babysitting duty when I should be out there.”

Lifting your head, your eyes locked onto Bucky. He was standing dangerously close to the edge of the roof, peering down at the distant streets below.

“Hey!” you barked, pointing a finger at him like a mother scolding a child. “Step away from the edge! You’re going to fall.”

“I’m just keeping a lookout,” Bucky mumbled, his back still facing you as he refused to step away from the edge.

“You’re just making my job harder than it already is,” you argued, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

You pointed aggressively to the dusty wooden crate tucked against the brick wall.

“Just go sit over there or something.”

Bucky’s brow twitched the same time his patience snapped. He turned around to finally face you, his jaw clenched so tight his molars were crying for help.

“Would you stop talking to me like I’m a child?” he snapped, stepping away from the edge—not because you had ordered him to, but to match your hostile stance as he stalked toward you. “I’m sorry you got stuck with the shitty job of watching over me, but I can handle myself just fine, thanks.”

His defensive outburst made you raise a brow.

“Oh, really? You can handle yourself just fine?” you crossed your arms and scoffed. “Is that why the entire global government is hunting you down right now? Is that why Steve had to throw away his entire reputation just to keep you out of a cage? Because you’ve got it all handled?”

Bucky’s chest heaved, his fingers curling into tight fists at his sides.

The mention of Steve’s sacrifice definitely hit a nerve, you could see the guilt in his eyes.

A part of you wished you hadn’t said it at all, and you were just about ready swallow your pride and apologize, until…

“You’re from the Red Room,” he said, stepping closer. An involuntary shudder went down your spine. “You’ve done terrible things in the past—just as I have. You know exactly what it’s like to have someone like Steve bend over backwards for lowlifes like us.”

You didn’t realize just how close he was standing until his hot breath hit your face, only shortening your temper.

“We don’t ask for the help, yet they do it for us anyway,” Bucky’s voice graveled into a whisper. “Don’t talk down to me like you don’t know what it’s like. When in fact, you’re worse—”

You were already seeing red before he could even finish his sentence.

You quickly unsheathed a pocket knife from your belt and lunged at him, aiming straight for his throat just as a threat to silence him.

“You don’t know a damn thing about me!”

But Bucky was faster.

He brought his metal forearm up just in time to block the blade, making an ugly scraping sound. He twisted his wrist to disarm you, but your grip on the knife was tight. While one arm was held captive by his, you used your other to try and deliver a punch—which he also dodged.

You resorted to your legs, bucking them up to deliver hard kicks to his stomach. He grunted after each hit your leg managed to put out, but his hands moved quickly to grab the collar of your jacket and hurl you backwards to the nearest wall.

You cried out, face scrunching into a wince as your back slammed into hard brick.

The impact made you drop your knife. Bucky pressed his heavy body right against yours, aggressively tucking his legs between your thighs so you couldn’t use the space to swing your knees at him again.

“I can’t believe this is who Steve decided to trust me with,” he hissed in your face.

“Get off of me!” you yelled, squirming beneath his body.

“You drew your knife at me,” Bucky roared back. “Maybe Steve was right. All you Widows have a tendency to break your vows whenever things go even remotely south for you—”

You weren’t going to sit there and take his insults. Gritting your teeth with a brace, you pulled your head back and slammed your forehead directly into his face.

Bucky groaned out in pain, his grip on you loosening as he stumbled back with a hand to his face. Seizing the small window of opportunity, you shoved his chest away and dove towards the floor, reaching for the dropped pocket knife.

Before your fingers could even brush the hilt, his large hands grabbed you from behind and slammed you right back into the brick wall again.

You let out a breathless gasp as your face was forcefully squished up against the brick.

Bucky’s flesh hand came to the back of your head, pushing your skull firmly against the wall to keep your vision pinned away from him. At the same time, his metal hand gathered both your wrists behind your back, locking your two arms prone.

“Let go of me!”

You started to violently squirm and writhe, trying to buck your back against him—to tire him out, but Bucky moved his entire lower body to seal the space. His hips pressed tightly up against your bottom, his chest to your back, pinning you completely helpless as you were left trapped between him and the wall.

“No. I don’t care if you’re Steve’s friend, or if Steve respects you,” Bucky hissed, his breath right at your ear. “If I find my life in danger—after finally being free from Hydra, I’ll kill anyone who gets in my way. Even you.”

Bucky’s chest was heaving against your back.

He was angry.

He hated how much a woman like you could get under his skin with just a few sarcastic words and petty jabs.

One moment he was flustered just holding onto your waist during the bike ride, and now, he had you pinned up against the wall, your life completely in his hands.

You grit your teeth. “Dammit, Barnes—”

“—do you hear me? Hello? Anyone copy?”

You and Bucky froze. His eyes went wide as he leaned his head down toward the earpiece tucked just behind your earlobe where Steve’s voice was emitting. You glared at Bucky through the corner of your eye.

“Steve’s calling for me. I can’t answer it unless you let me go.”

“Status check. Code Blue-Alpha. Repeat, Code Blue-Alpha. Do you copy?”

Bucky was hesitant.

He didn’t want to let you go—afraid that you might actually threaten his life again the second he backed off.

Instead of releasing you, his metal hand kept the tight grip on both your wrists, while his flesh hand finally let your head free. Shifting his body closer, his finger reached around to press the button on your earpiece, activating the channel and allowing you to speak.

“Steve,” you breathed, catching your breath. “I’m here.”

“There you are!” Steve let out a relieved, staticky sigh through the comms. “How are things over there? Are you two alright?”

You and Bucky side eyed each other.

The situation was ridiculous—the two of you were still tangled in each other’s limbs, bodies pressed tight against one another, chests heaving in sync as the adrenaline from the fight slowly began to die down.

“We’re fine,” you lied. “Your boyfriend’s still alive.”

Bucky huffed a disbelieving laugh right against your ear. He didn’t say it out loud, but you could already hear his thoughts. This fucking woman.

Steve wasn’t laughing, however. His voice was serious.

“Listen to me carefully. We just got word that there are traps set up around the highest points of Bucharest. They’re wired to release an airborne toxin—specifically meant to target the biology of a super soldier.”

You watched Bucky’s eyes. His brows furrowed, concentrating on Steve’s voice as his grip on your wrists loosened slightly.

“They’re trying to smoke him out,” you reasoned. “What about the regular civilians? Will it affect them?”

“No. Just us. I’m already wearing a rebreather mask on my end,” Steve continued with a rasp. It sounded like he was running from something. “But Bucky doesn’t have one. You need to keep him inside and be extremely careful.”

There was a cold knot forming in the pit of your stomach.

Steve was thinking about Bucky, and Bucky was thinking about himself, but neither of them knew your full medical history—how could they?

During your time in the Red Room, they had pumped your veins full of a biochemical serum. It wasn’t the exact super soldier formula that created Captain America, but it was a heavily modified variation meant to enhance your physical abilities, speed up your healing, and maximize your strength.

It was what made you into a Widow. And right now, you had no idea if that same chemical footprint was enough to trigger the airborne toxin.

“Steve,” you swallowed hard, your voice shaking with worry. “How is Natasha doing? Is she with you?”

If Natasha was fine, then maybe you would be, too.

Behind you, Bucky must have sensed the sudden spike of panic in your posture. He took a step back and finally released his tight grip on your wrists—relinquishing his hold over your body.

He inhaled a deep breath to steady himself, but stopped midway, choking as if something had gotten stuck in his lungs. His chest hitched. He sniffed the air again, letting out a harsh, hacking cough in return.

“Fuck—” Bucky choked out, his hand flying to his throat.

You spun around, catching the way Bucky stumbled blindly against a wooden crate. Your heart started to race in a panic.

“Steve?” you called into the earpiece, your eyes scanning the rooftop for any signs of the trap he had just mentioned over comms. “Steve, do you copy?”

There was no answer.

The static on the other end had cut out completely. Steve had already ended the line to focus on his own escape—either that, or his comms had been jammed. You tapped the button behind your earlobe again desperately, but there was nothing.

“Steve! Respond!”

Bucky called your name from where he held himself against the crate—a sound that was broken, small, and almost whiny.

“Bucky!” you cried out, abandoning the comm line completely and focusing entirely on the man you were tasked to protect. “Are you okay?”

“Hot,” he winced, letting out a deep groan. “It feels... hot.”

You knelt by his side, the palm of your hand flying to his forehead to check his temperature. Your eyes widened at how warm he had suddenly become. He wasn’t nearly this hot when he had you pressed up against the wall just mere seconds ago.

“Fuck. Did the toxins get to you already? But how! We’re on the outskirts—”

Bucky lazily raised a finger just past your head. You whipped your head around, squinting past the sunlight that pierced the clouds.

There, you saw a hazy, almost pollen like fog beginning to drift from across the rooftop building far from you.

“Shit,” you cursed, wrapping your arm around his waist and positioning his heavy arm over your shoulders to help him up.

“Come on, we’ve gotta hide you somewhere. You’re too weak to run if you get caught.”

You tried lifting him up, but he was too heavy to carry just on your own. You groaned beneath him, using every bit of your strength to try and keep him steady.

While you struggled, Bucky’s breathing grew heavier. His eyes were half lidded and unfocused—he could barely keep them open.

“Stay with me, Bucky,” you murmured against him with a grunt, dragging your feet to get him inside the greenhouse.

It was a glass enclosure, but the walls were muddied with dirt and the plants were overgrown enough to provide decent cover. It wasn’t as indoors as you’d like, but it was the closest place you could take him with your current strength.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered down to you, letting out a heavy sigh.

“I think… I need to sit.”

Suddenly, he felt like he was suffocating in his own clothes. The breeze in Bucharest was cool, but his body felt like it was burning up from the inside. What was even worse was your touch—having your body pressed up against his made him react in ways he never thought he would.

Or at least, not anytime soon.

You stumbled over an overgrown branch, losing your balance and your grip on Bucky.

“Shit—I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

Bucky lay on the ground, adjusting his body so that he was flat on his back. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest, the organ trying to tear its way out. His vision and mind went hazy, and his flesh hand was clammy.

The tension was even worse whenever he looked at you. His pupils would dilate the second his eyes landed on your body, his breath getting stuck in his throat.

You knelt down, trying to get your hands under his arms to haul him back up, but Bucky flinched away with a sharp hiss.

“No,” he rasped. “Don’t… don’t touch me.”

You furrowed your brows. You had no idea what kind of side effects the airborne toxins had been released—Steve hadn’t specified. But right now, you couldn’t afford to stand around and ponder it. You groaned, trying to lift him up one more time, but your body suddenly felt even weaker than before.

Your knees buckled as a strange aroma began to drift into your nose. It was a musky, almost tangy smell filling the deep pockets of your lungs.

“W-what the hell…?”

Bucky’s chest rose and fell heavily from where he lay on the floor, his dark, half lidded eyes meeting yours. “Do you feel it, too?”

Meeting Bucky’s eyes in this state was the worst thing you could have possibly done.

Suddenly, the greenhouse felt smaller—a glass enclosure closing in on the two of you. Your body felt molten, and you wanted nothing more than to strip your clothes off.

Grunting, you began to pull down the zipper of your jacket, and Bucky inhaled sharply.

“Hey—what… what are you doing?”

“It’s hot,” you breathed, your head spinning. “Need to take my jacket off.”

The heat inside your own skin was hurting, but for Bucky, it was absolute torture.

The super soldier serum in his veins processed the toxin at an accelerated rate, making his flesh feel like it was working overtime. His blood was rushing—hot and heavy—pooling lower until he was completely and unapologetically hard under his pants.

He wanted to rip his own clothes off. He just hoped you wouldn’t notice the tent poking between his legs—or maybe a dark part of him did, and he wanted you to offer to take care of it.

Fuck. What was he thinking?

But it wasn’t like you were thinking straight, either. Abandoning your jacket, you were left in just a tank top that clung tightly to your chest, offering Bucky a full view of your tits. You knelt right back down beside him, your hands clumsily reaching for his shoulders to lift him up again.

This was going bad for Bucky.

Too close.

Too close. Too close. Too close.

Bucky caught your scent—a natural floral and feminine smell mixed with an underlying musk of sweat that made his head spin with an overwhelmingly dangerous amount of desire.

“Stop,” Bucky choked out, his voice dropping deep and dangerous.

His right hand shot out, wrapping tightly around your bare wrist, while his metal hand gripped your hip to keep you from leaning any closer.

“Don’t... don’t do this. Get away from me right now.”

“Bucky,” you panted. “I need you to get up for me.”

“I can’t,” he groaned, letting his head fall back against the floor. “I mean it. Move away… or I swear to God, I won’t be able to control myself—”

Your gaze drifted down his body, your eyes widening at the prominent bulge waiting for you between his large, strong legs.

It throbbed and twitched beneath his pants, growing harder and more unbearable by the second.

This position was too compromising—too vulnerable, and far too dangerous for you both.

Bucky had no strength to get up on his own, and you could feel your own body betraying you by the second. You would have to relieve this for him now, or it would be doom for you both.

“Goddammit,” you cursed, bracing yourself mentally.

You moved to cradle Bucky between your thighs, mounting his lap while he was pinned weak to the floor.

His eyelids flew open, and he used all the strength left in his body to lift his head and stare up at you, bewildered and off guard.

“What the hell are you doing—!”

“We need to take care of this,” you muttered, grinding your hips tight and firm against his, making him let out a groan.

“We need to fix your problem before they find us. They set up that trap not too far from this building. There’s a chance they’re already scouting it out. It’s only a matter of time—”

Bucky’s eyes were filled with hungry lust as he stared at the point where your hips were rubbing against his. He was so hard it fucking hurt. He didn’t dare touch you—because if his hands made contact with your waist, with that warm, smooth skin just beneath your tank top that was begging to be licked, he would probably embarrass himself and cum in his pants right then and there.

“Shit—wait. Hold on. I—fuck.”

You reached for his zipper, tugging it down, and the sudden movement made his hips buck up against yours.

“Now’s not the time to talk, Barnes,” you panted, the toxin blurring your thoughts. “We need to take care of this now, or we’ll be in deep trouble. And Steve’ll have my head—”

“Fuck, shit. Wait—! I’ve never…”

You were losing your patience. You stopped your hands, glaring down at him. “Never what, Barnes?”

His face burned an embarrassing shade of red. He refused to look at you, his eyes suddenly far more interested in the overgrown plants next to him than your face.

“I’ve never had… sex,” he admitted quietly, swallowing hard.

Oh.

Oh.

Bucky was a virgin?

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

You felt incredibly foolish straddling him with your hands still hovering over his open zipper.

You felt shameful—you felt like a harlot, throwing yourself onto him and thinking you could resolve this entire crisis just by getting him off with a few strokes. You felt dirty, humiliated, and deeply guilty.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammered, quickly scrambling off his lap.

Your legs felt like jelly—a testament to the toxin fully taking hold of your own system.

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I didn’t know. I mean, that doesn’t excuse it, but—”

“No,” Bucky rasped, his hand catching your wrist before you could back away entirely.

His grip on you was so tight and dominant, it felt like a pickaxe slowly chipping away at your remaining resolve.

“Don’t go,” he broke out, his voice a desperate, tortured rasp. “Please. Keep going. It hurts. I need you to relieve it.”

If he had said that to reassure you, you felt anything but. In fact, you felt even guiltier because of how broken and desperate he sounded.

“Bucky, I can’t.”

His brows knitted together tightly, his face twisting unpleasantly—he was upset.

“Why the hell not?”

“Because—”

“Because what!” he barked back, rolling onto his side to give you his full attention. You tried really hard not to look at the outline of his hard cock pressing against his pants. “You threw yourself onto me. You promised Steve you’d take care of me—so you’re going to come back here and finish it.”

“Bucky, I’m not going to be your first!” you yelled out, and that finally stunned him into silence.

Your chest was heaving with a frustration you didn’t even know how to name.

With confusion and a flash of embarrassment taking over his gaze, his fingers finally loosened, releasing your wrist reluctantly.

“I’m sorry,” you said, much softer this time. “I’m sorry. Just… if you need a minute to take care of it yourself, I’ll be over there—” you pointed to the far end of the greenhouse “—I’ll keep watch.”

“And what about you?” he asked, his dark eyes trailing down your body in a way that did absolutely nothing to help your situation. “Don’t you need to take care of yourself, too? You feel it, don’t you? That… primal need.”

You pressed your lips tight and tore your gaze away, not trusting yourself to look at his pained, desperate expression. You couldn’t look at the way his body was open and inviting you back in, or the way his voice went so coarse when he said the word need.

“I’ll be fine.”

You were not fine. And Bucky certainly wasn’t, either.

You tried to keep your concentration focused outside the greenhouse, forcing your hazy eyes to stare through the glass panes to keep watch. But your gaze kept betraying you, drifting right back to the corner to watch Bucky where he sat propped up against a wooden crate, his legs spread wide.

His chest was still rising and falling heavily, his long hair damp with sweat and falling over his darkened eyes.

You had told him to take care of his business, but he hadn’t made a single move since you stepped away from him. Your own urges were becoming impossible to control, too. You found yourself squeezing your thighs tightly together, trying to find any form of friction, any relief from the ache that had been building up ever since the toxin first wafted into your lungs.

It didn’t help that you could feel Bucky’s eyes on you, watching you from behind, tracing your silhouette.

It felt telepathic—as if his silent gaze was speaking directly to your body, knowing you wanted exactly what he was desperately craving too.

No. You couldn’t go to him.

If you walked up to him right now, neither of you would have any control left, and you would both submit to the drug completely.

He was a virgin. You couldn’t take something so precious from him. He had already been through a lifetime of torture and lost autonomy. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you took his first time over a stupid, weaponized toxin.

Sex was meant to be reserved for someone special—and you were far from it.

“Bucky,” you finally called out, still refusing to turn around and look at him. “Are you okay back there?”

“…No,” he muttered with a thick rasp. “Come here.”

You sucked in a breath.

Every instinct in your brain was telling you stay exactly where you were, but your body was entirely out of your control now.

Your feet dragged you across the dirty floor until you were standing over him again.

You dropped to your knees in front of him with a sigh. Trying to frame it as purely medical check, you lifted a hand and pressed your palm flat against his forehead to check his temperature once more.

He was still burning up, but the fever felt even worse.

Every hot breath he exhaled hit your exposed collarbones, and the way he was sitting—legs spread wide with you kneeling directly between them—made you feel like a mouse being lured into a trap.

Realizing just how dangerous this proximity was, you swallowed hard and began to pull your hand away. But Bucky didn’t let you. His fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist to hold you back. He let his heavy eyelids flutter shut and slowly leaned his head into your touch, rubbing his stubbled cheek right against your warm, open palm.

“Stay,” Bucky pleaded as he his metal hand came to hold your hip. “Stay here. I need you.”

A breathless groan rumbled warmly into your palm. You froze, your eyes locked onto him as you watched the lethal super soldier—the very man who had pinned you up against the wall just minutes ago—unravel helplessly right in front of you.

As he held you there, you felt an unbearable heat trickle between your legs.

Your cunt pulsed, and you squeezed your thighs tightly together to soothe the desperate ache spreading through your lower body.

The friction was a temporary fix, but the tight grind of your thighs only made you ache for more.

Bucky nuzzled his face deeper into your palm, inhaling your scent like a dying man catching a breath of fresh air.

Then, his parted lips pressed a soft, wet kiss against the center of your hand. And another one. Then another, right against the inner skin of your wrist.

“Bucky… what are you—”

“Please,” Bucky whispered against your skin, looking up at you through his dark, thick lashes.

His eyes were dilated, the blue completely washed out by a lust that made you burn from the inside out.

“I need you.”

“You… You don’t know what you’re saying,” you muttered, shaking your head in a desperate attempt to find your reason.

Bucky held your hand tighter, refusing to give you any chance to escape.

“Please, don’t go. Fuck—I need you so bad, it hurts,” he choked out. “This ache won’t go away until you help me take care of it.”

His eyes never left yours. Under normal circumstances, every confession leaving his lips should have left him feeling deeply ashamed or embarrassed. But right now, he didn’t care. His body was on fire, and your touch was only stroking each and every flame.

“I know I’m a virgin, but I don’t care—and you shouldn’t, either,” Bucky rasped.

His large hand covered yours, forcing your palm down his chest—slick and damp with sweat—until he guided your hand directly over the heavy erection waiting for you beneath his pants.

“I can make you feel so good. I can fix this for both of us. Please.” He begged.

You let out a shudder as his large hand swallowed yours, guiding your palm to slide up and down against the length of his cock. Even through the denim, you could feel him throb and harden rapidly beneath your touch, his breathing turning incredibly shallow and fast.

“It hurts so bad,” he groaned, his eyes unhinged by the toxin. “Doesn’t it hurt you, too?”

You looked down, biting your lip hard at the sight of Bucky’s thick bulge pressing directly against your fingers. He twitched beneath your touch.

There was nothing you wanted more than to finish the job you had started earlier—to finish unzipping his pants, sink right down onto him, and show him exactly what it felt like to be inside a woman for the very first time.

But you couldn’t.

Not like this.

“Bucky, I can’t—” you whispered so softly, it sounded like a whine. “I can’t be your first.”

Bucky trembled a sigh, his head falling back against the wooden crate. But he didn’t let go of your wrist. He began to subtly shift his weight, rocking his hips up in a tilt that forced his thick length to slide right against your captive palm.

“Why not?” he murmured, deep and gravelly. “You don’t think… you don’t think I’d do a good job?”

His question was so innocent, though the very thing he was doing wasn’t. He kept grinding his clothed cock into your hand—seeking pleasure from just your palm—and you felt yourself going insane.

“No, it’s not that,” you tried to pull your hand back, but he held you tight, using your trapped hand for his own pleasure. “Sex is supposed to be something that you save. And your virginity is something you give away to someone special. Not… not a casual teammate—not someone like me—”

Bucky interrupted you with a groan, his hips bucking up higher against your palm. All of your words went in one ear and out the other. The only thing he could process right now was how good your hand felt—and how much better it would feel if he sunk into something tight, wet, and warm.

Like your mouth… or your…

“I don’t care about any of that,” he choked out.

His hips rolled into your palm with a needy jerk.

“I need this. I need you. I’d be more than happy to give it to you. Fuck—I’ll give it to you so good. You’re the one I want. I need you—”

Bucky’s mouth dropped into an o shape, a sharp hiss of breath filling his lungs as his hips bucked uncontrollably. His eyes never left yours as he suddenly started spilling in his pants. A warm, thick liquid began to seep through his jeans, leaving your fingers sticky with his seed and musk.

You couldn’t believe it.

Bucky had just finished right in his pants.

“Bucky…”

His face was unreadable.

His head was tilted back against the crate, his eyes boring into yours through heavy lids and long lashes. He was breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath while letting his cum shamelessly pool in the tight space of his pants.

You figured he’d pull your hand away any second now—that finally releasing all that pent up frustration would make him feel well enough to move to a safer location.

You tried not to point it out to save him from the embarrassment. And most importantly, you tried not to give in to the intense sensation of his warm spunk right beneath your fingertips.

“You should be feeling better now, right? We should keep moving—”

With his grip on your wrist tightening, he hauled you forward until you collapsed back to the ground. Two strong arms wrapped completely around your body, caging you flush against his chest.

Your knees—already so weak—forced you to straddle his lap. Your hands flew to his broad shoulders for balance as you found yourself perched directly over his ruined pants.

“Hey—what are you—!”

Bucky nuzzled his face straight into the crook of your neck, his hot, erratic breaths turning into open mouthed kisses against your skin.

“More,” he begged, the deep vibration of his voice tickling you. “S’not enough. I need more.”

Your breath hitched when his hands started to roam over your body. His fingers tickled beneath the hem of your tank top, the metal fingers cooling your skin and making you gasp out loud from the sudden cold.

No.

I won’t let this happen.

I refuse to be Bucky’s first.

But despite your emotional turmoil, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Not with the way his hands were roaming around your body, claiming every inch of you as his through touch alone. Not with the way he was looking at you, his mouth parted with desperation.

And especially not when he had just let himself spill in his jeans from nothing but your touch and closeness.

“I know you feel it too,” Bucky rasped against your neck. “I know you’re wet down there, begging to be touched. Begging to be filled. I can fix you, baby. Just let me take care of you, please.”

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with wide puppy blue eyes that made your heart ache and your pussy clench.

“Can I kiss you?”

You searched his gaze, breathless. “You want to kiss me?”

His metal hand left your waist, slowly crawling up your spine until his fingers tangled firmly in the hair at the back of your head, keeping your eyes pinned to his. His pupils were completely blown out, his gaze demanding an answer right now.

You should have said no. You should have pushed his chest, reminded him of the drug, and scrambled away to safety.

He was a virgin, sure. But with the way he was looking at you while holding you tight—you felt like you were going to be ravaged.

But your resolve was already a fragile thing. And with the way he was looking at you, you knew you were in too deep. Your body was hurting—aching for him in the exact same ways he was aching for you. The only way you two could fix it was each other.

You pressed your lips hard against his, and Bucky let out a rough, needy sound into your mouth.

His grip tightened in your hair, pulling you deeper into the kiss.

The fever burned through your veins, and the way his tongue danced with yours only made the fire burn hotter. He was tasting you, broken whimpers tearing from his lips with every slick slide of his tongue. Saliva mixed together, leaving you both completely breathless, your lips and limbs tangled.

You rolled your hips back, grinding yourself deeper against Bucky’s pelvis.

His cock twitched inside his jeans, poking hard against you. You didn’t know how—but he felt even bigger and harder than he had before.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he panted against your mouth. “Fuck, I can’t—I need to feel you. Need to be inside you.”

His hands scrambled down to your waist, his fingers fumbling with the button of your pants. He popped it open with a rough tug—threatening to break the button itself—as his knuckles brushed against your hot skin.

Bucky groaned at the sight.

The lace of your panties was poking through the opening, damp with sweat and your scent. He inhaled deeply, and you wondered just how much his heightened senses were actually taking you in.

When he let out a satisfied sigh, you knew he could smell everything.

“Look at you,” he praised, his eyes tracing the curves of your body. “You’re so beautiful. It makes me want to ruin you.”

You chuckled—a sound that came out raspy and sultry without your intention, making Bucky’s cock twitch beneath you.

“Quite a bold statement for someone who’s never had sex before,” you teased, your hands trailing slowly down his chest.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He accepted your challenge, gripping the waistband of your unzipped pants and yanking them down your thighs.

The moment your bare skin was exposed to the cool air, Bucky wasted no time traveling his eyes down the expanse of your legs. Catching his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from drooling like a madman, his gaze raked over the inner and outer curves of your thighs. His mouth went dry at the sight of the little wet spot that had collected near your clit.

His large hands slid up your thighs and behind you, squeezing your ass firmly in his rough palms.

“So fucking beautiful,” he growled, his thumb swiping over your clit, smearing your own juice all over the lace.

“Fuck—you’ve been dripping all this time. You need this just as bad as I do, and you’ve been holding back?”

You swallowed hard. “It’s not too late. We don’t have to—oh!”

You cried out once his fingers slipped past the hem of your panties. His fingers dipped between your folds, collecting your arousal with embarrassing wet noises as he tried to rub at your clit.

“No, Bucky… it’s right here—” You grabbed his forearm, guiding him to the right spot, and arched your back with a sharp cry when he started rubbing deep circles against the sensitive bud.

“Oh my god,” you gasped.

This was the pleasure you were looking for—but it wasn’t nearly enough.

There was an empty ache deep inside you that was begging to be filled. But you weren’t going to demand that of him just yet, in case he changed his mind.

A lazy, boyish smile tugged at his lips as he watched you come undone from his fingers.

“Yeah?” he huffed out a breath. “That feel good, baby?”

“Yes—don’t stop, please,” you cried helplessly.

His other hand lifted your tank top up and over your head, quickly unhooking your bra to fully reveal your tits. With a low grunt, he leaned forward, capturing one of your perky nipples into the wet warmth of his mouth.

You moaned loudly, your hand flying to the back of his head and giving his hair a hard, desperate tug. He liked that a lot, moaning against your skin in pleasure.

Bucky’s tongue swirled around your nipple, licking and sucking until you were arching off his lap at his mercy.

He was making a beautiful mess of you, switching between both buds and letting his mouth worship your body. His rough stubble tickled your chest while his fingers continued their clumsy work down below, sliding through your slick folds and rubbing messy circles right against your clit.

The wet, squelching sounds of his fingers moving against your soaking flesh filled the greenhouse—the filth of it only making you wetter and causing the toxin to course even harder.

He suddenly pulled his mouth away from your chest, a string of saliva connecting his lips to your skin, and finally looked up at you.

His lips and chin were slick and shining from giving your breasts such sloppy, adoring kisses.

“I need to be inside you,” he pleaded. “Please… I need to put it in. I need to stuff you so full of me, baby. Please, let me fuck you.”

Your eyes searched Bucky’s.

He looked like an even bigger mess than before. He looked and sounded utterly helpless, his chest rising and falling heavily, his face tight with an expression that made it look like he was physically hurting.

Even though he had just come in his pants moments ago, he needed so much more.

You knew that once you gave in to him completely, there would be no holding back for either of you. He would have to live with the fact that you would be his first.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bucky slowly slipped his hand out of your panties, bringing his fingers up to his lips and licking the juices clean. “You’re scared, but I’m not. I know what I want, and what I want right now is you.”

Bucky gripped your waist, raising you off his lap and pinning you flat against the ground.

He slipped his large body directly between your legs, his strong thighs forcing yours wide open as he covered your frame with his.

Your hair was messy across the dirt floor, framing your face as you laid beneath him breathless. The toxin was taking over control of your body—every single nerve demanding to be touched by the man between your legs.

You felt like you were in heat, consumed by a fever that only Bucky could cure.

His eyes fell over your body, tracing your tits and stomach, his gaze locking onto the way your panties—already a soaked mess—looked like they were begging to be torn away by his teeth.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his hands making quick work of your underwear.

With a harsh tug and a sharp tearing sound, the fabric gave away.

“I’m so sorry for what I’m about to do to you.”

Your panties didn’t even make it past your knees before tearing clean off your thighs. You winced slightly.

It was dizzying to think about how you had found the strength to fight Bucky earlier, only to now be reduced to a breathless, aching mess over a piece of torn fabric.

Bucky leaned back on his heels, unbuckling his belt and shoving open his unzipped, stained denim jeans.

The moment he pulled his cock free, it sprang forward then back—the tip slapping against his abdomen.

He was thick, his cock fully engorged and begging to be wrapped in something tight and warm. Pre-cum glistened at the tip, trailing down his shaft and mixing with the creamy white essence from his earlier release.

His eyes were glued to your soaking center, legs spread wide and inviting. His jaw slacked as he lazily pumped himself at the shaft, prepping his cock for your warm embrace.

He claimed he was a virgin, but the way he was looking at you with such a hungry look in his eyes made you think otherwise.

“Bucky,” you breathed, heart racing. “Are you sure you want to do this? With… me?”

Bucky leaned over your body, using his metal elbow to prop himself up while he slapped the tip of his cock against your entrance.

You weren’t sure where he learned that from, but the dirty act left you clenching around nothing.

“The more you ask, the harder it is for me to stay in control,” he gritted through clenched teeth. “I’m just gonna have to stuff you full of my cock just to prove how much I want you.”

You craned your neck, watching Bucky rub his tip up and down your folds—smearing his pre-cum while coating his shaft in your own slick juice.

When he positioned himself right at your opening and poked gently, testing your stretch, your folds immediately parted for him. You were so wet and pliable from the toxin that you were sure he would slip right in without a fight, despite how big he was.

“Just… just enough to get rid of the side effects, okay?” you muttered, though it sounded like you were trying to convince yourself more than him.

Bucky either didn’t hear you, or maybe he did and he just chose to ignore it.

With a clench of his jaw, he slowly pushed his hips forward, his eyes glued to the spot where your cunt wrapped around the head of his cock.

The sensation was delicious. Your body was burning hot, tight, and dangerously wet. He had only sunk the tip in, but it was already the greatest thing he had ever felt in his life. His eyes rolled back as a deep groan tore in his chest.

“Ohhh…”

Despite the toxin making your body more accommodating, you were still tighter than either of you expected.

You were being stretched completely and fully as Bucky kept going, relentlessly sinking his cock all the way inside until his dark, hairy base pressed flush against your folds. He was so big, and a part of you was grateful that he had already come once before this—because right now, his entire body was shaking with an uncontrollable need.

“So goddamn tight,” he cursed, his face twisting that looked almost like pain. “I never… fuck, I never expected pussy to feel this good… Christ.”

He stilled inside you, letting your body adjust to his size. But in reality, he was the one who needed time to adjust to your tightness.

You paced your breathing. Being stretched full by him made you want to scream at him to hurry up and move, to fuck you right into the dirt floor of the greenhouse—but you couldn’t make that kind of demand of a virgin.

Since it was his first time, despite the unfortunate circumstances, you were going to guide him gently.

“Hold me here,” you murmured, taking his hands and guiding them back to your thighs. “Feel me. It’s soft, isn’t it?”

Bucky breathed hard, nodding as he held you.

“When you’re ready, just move your hips nice and slow. Take your time.”

His face fell into a tight scowl, as if displeased with that order.

Every single one of his base instincts was screaming at him to fuck you hard and fast—to claim every surface of your pussy with his cock.

“F—fine,” he reluctantly agreed, his voice strained. He gripped your thighs tightly, spreading you open as he began rocking his hips back and forth.

His eyes were glossy with desire, transfixed by the sight of his cock disappearing in and out of your body.

A thick, creamy white ring was forming around the base of his shaft, staining the unruly dark curls that sat at his pelvis.

Every time he pulled out, he made sure to sink back in even deeper, rolling his hips forward until the tip of his cock kissed your cervix.

Your eyes rolled back, your hands clutching his broad shoulders as he buried himself inside you.

“Fuck… just like that,” you moaned. “Keep going.”

“Does… does that feel good?” He swallowed hard, fingers digging deeper into your thigh.

You nodded fast. “So good—I don’t want you to stop. Please, don’t stop.”

Your breathless plea made him scowl , a frustrated snarl leaving his lips.

“This is torture.” He groaned.

You furrowed your brows, looking at his angry expression in concern. Torture? That wasn’t what sex was supposed to feel like. The last thing you wanted to do was hurt him.

“Bucky,” you said, pressing your hand against his sweating chest. “If this is hurting you, we need to stop right now. Pull out of me—”

You gasped as his metal hand circled tight around your wrist, prying it away from his chest and pinning it over your head. He slammed you back to the floor, his large body shadowing yours as his face hovered.

His dark eyes bored deeply into yours—and you felt like if you so much as looked away, he might take it as a threat.

“No, I can’t—I can’t do slow,” he growled. “The drug in my veins, it’s like it's yelling at me to take what I want. And what I want is to fuck you until you cry.”

Your breath left your lungs as Bucky slammed his hips forward, burying himself inside you.

He pulled out halfway before fucking right back in, a broken gasp leaving your lips as you arched your back against the floor from the pleasure. You hadn’t expected him to fuck you this hard—being a virgin and all—but you couldn’t complain.

You had been craving to be taken like this since the moment the drug first entered your system.

“Oh my god—!” You cried out, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“Ah—fuck, you’re so tight,” Bucky cried out.