Your Hands Have Made Some Good Mistakes: Part 2

your hands have made some good mistakes: part 2

Embroidery

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: Bucky is begrudgingly settling into life with his new babysitter roommate. When you make a painful mistake, Bucky gets his first glimpse of the real you— and at the same time, his defenses begin to fall. You see him for the first time without his gloves, and your reaction isn’t what he expects.

Part 2 of 25 Chapter Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, friendly fluff, some angsty memories, slight gore (descriptions of a cut that needs stitches), grumpy!bucky, extra sensitive vibranium arm, more awkwardness, are these… feelings???

Word Count: 5.8k

Series Masterlist My Masterlist ao3: dewystars

⬅️ Part 1 - The Babysitter

To Bucky’s surprise, it was still light out when he returned to the apartment that evening. With no windows in the basement gym, it was easy to lose track of time, and he hadn’t climbed off the treadmill until his legs shook so violently he had to wobble over to a bench and sit down. He cursed when he saw the time on his phone and showered off as quickly as he could before taking the elevator back up to the fourteenth floor.

“Hey, roomie. Where ya been all day?” You didn’t move from where you were reclined on the couch, wrapped in an oversized sweater with a book in your hands. The light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated your page, rendering the lamp on the table next to you unnecessary. Bucky’s eyes caught on the scenery outside, far too visible for nine o'clock at night.

Bucky pushed the apartment door shut, the biometric lock clicking behind him. “Uh. Gym,” he managed to get out, still staring out the window. The light was too eerie. Something about it was wrong— his memories came back patchwork, more of a feeling than a conscious thought. The faded sunlight of summers spent in the tundra, the temperatures rising enough to make him sweat in his tactical suit. He shivered with a chill not entirely caused by the cool air in the apartment, his hands clenching at his sides.

“All day? Seriously?” You turned to look at him with your eyebrows raised playfully, only to find Bucky staring unseeingly at the windows, every muscle in his body tense. “Solstice,” you murmured. “Isn’t it nice, all the extra light?” You cocked your head to the side, your worried eyes asking questions that you chose not to verbalize. Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m guessing the gym doesn’t have windows?” you asked gently. Bucky shook his head, his shoulders softening, eyes coming back into focus. Solstice. That was all. “That’s dedication, man. All day down there in the dark—”

“I mean, what else am I supposed to do?” he interrupted, a bit sharper than he intended. His therapist always recommended working out when he felt unmoored, as if she didn’t know that he regularly spent an hour or two lifting and sparring with his friends on a good day. She called it a ‘healthy coping mechanism,” and it turned out she was right— he usually did feel better after spending a couple hours in the gym. He wasn’t entirely sure it was healthy, though. Even with his enhanced healing, he was working through bandages at an alarming rate. It had become a regular occurrence for his knuckles to tear open, for the skin on his palm to blister and pop, and for his feet to bleed through his socks in his shoes.

You laughed. “Okay, maybe you are certifiable after all.” Bucky knew you meant it jokingly but he still winced when the comment hit a little too close to home. You didn’t seem to notice as you dog-eared your page and sat up, tugging your sweater up around your shoulders. “An hour or two, sure, I get it. But all day? I can think of a million better things to do than spend all day in the gym. Look at me, Barnes. Literally a million.” He focused his unimpressed gaze on you, and you shivered and wrapped your sweater tighter.

“Yeah? Like what? Let's hear ‘em,” he said sardonically, his eyes narrowed. Who were you to judge how he spent his days?

“Well,” you began dramatically. “Read a book.” You shook the book in your hand for emphasis. It was a nondescript paperback with a blue bicycle on the cover, the pages worn as if it had been read before.

Bucky walked up to the couch and tapped the novel that he had left on the end table, a bookmark placed a third of the way through. He had bought the whole box set from that little hole-in-the-wall secondhand bookstore Steve had taken him to a couple weeks ago— the entire Lord of the Rings series, including The Hobbit. Steve laughed when Bucky re-read The Hobbit in one sitting as soon as they got home. Bucky was surprised by how much of the story he remembered— the first time he read it felt like a lifetime ago. For most people, it technically was a lifetime ago, and he wanted to refresh his memory now that he had a whole series to dig into. “Okay, got it,” he said. “Go on. No, really, I’m waiting.”

You smiled through his bitterness. “Watch movies.” You nodded to the large flatscreen mounted on the wall opposite the couch.

“If you want to sit around all day and stare at a screen, you’re just as crazy as me,” he grumbled. He shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back toward the windows, fighting the urge to pace. He settled on shifting his weight back and forth inconspicuously.

“Not all day, but some mind-numbing relaxation couldn’t hurt. Do you know how many movies we have access to on these streaming apps? I bet we could leave something on twenty-four seven and not run out of material by January. Obviously we’re not gonna do that,” you added when he opened his mouth to protest. “I’m just saying.” You held eye contact, waiting.

After an uncomfortably long silence, Bucky gave in first. “Alright, what’s number three?”

“Video games,” you responded instantly. Bucky had never played a video game, something he knew was deeply unusual in this day and age. He tended to avoid them, knowing that if someone handed him a controller he wouldn’t have the slightest idea of what to do with it. You sensed his hesitation and jumped up from the couch. “It doesn’t have to be a video game,” you said quickly. “Wait here,” you told him, as if he had anywhere else to go, and hurried to your room.

“We can play board games,” you called through your open door. “I went down to the tenth floor while you were gone— found these in a cabinet.” You emerged carrying a stack of dusty games Bucky had never seen before and set them down on the coffee table with a flourish. He eyed the Monopoly box on the top of the pile, reaching out to touch it before he could stop himself. He didn’t know this particular set, but the picture on the front of the box was familiar. He had seen the game in stores before the war, when he and Steve would wander through the city and pretend to shop for all the things they couldn’t afford.

“Yeah? We can play that one,” you said, your eyes lighting up when you noticed his interest. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually finished a game, but you…” you narrowed her eyes at him, your lips pursed into a sly smile, “You seem like the competitive type. Too competitive to walk away, for sure.”

One corner of his mouth turned up slightly at that, and your reaction was immediate. Your grin was one thousand watts hitting him all at once, blinding him, nearly powerful enough to send him staggering backwards. He grabbed a deck of cards from the pile as an anchor, shuffling them distractedly as he glanced away. “You said there were a million things,” he said. “C’mon, I’m waiting.” He feigned impatience but he couldn’t look at you, not when you were looking at him like that.

“We, uh,” your eyes searched around the room for inspiration but found none. “Hmm… we could do… crafts?” you said, more of a question than a statement, your confidence in your ideas clearly faltering.

Bucky couldn’t help but snicker, his hands pausing with the cards. “You’re gonna do crafts, huh? Gonna make me something?” He huffed. “Great. Thank you. I’ll hang it on the fridge.”

You tilted your chin up and stared at Bucky, sizing him up. “Y’know, Barnes, I just might.” You crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Never been an artistic person, but you’re really encouraging me, here. And I said we are gonna do crafts, so you have to make me something, too.”

“I never agreed to that,” he said, shaking his head.

“I’m agreeing to it for you,” you said with a nonchalant shrug. Bucky’s jaw clenched and he tilted his head to the side, the deck of cards wrinkling in his hand. He opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out— he truly, truly didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to that. Before he could decide, you lit up with excitement and spoke again.

“Hang on, I have something in my bag—” You hurried off to your room again, and Bucky could hear you shuffling about in your suitcase for a while before you returned, brandishing a large book and a plastic case of embroidery floss.

“Here we go. ‘Cross Stitch for Beginners’, 1963 edition. It keeps all the ninety-year-olds in the nursing homes busy, so it should work for us, right?” Bucky bristled slightly before it hit him— you didn’t actually know how old he was. His chest tightened a bit at that, though he didn’t know why. He should be happy about it, grateful for the chance to be normal in your eyes, but all he felt was trapped.

“Just you wait. I’m going to get so good at this, you won’t believe it.” You watched him for a moment, could tell that his attention had wandered, so you continued with a gleam in your eye. “And so help me god, Barnes, I’ll stitch hearts onto all of your clothes.” His eyes snapped back to you as you dropped the kit unceremoniously on the coffee table and flopped down onto the couch. “That’d be cute, right? Maybe take down that intimidation factor a notch.”

“You’re insane,” he muttered.

You smiled that coy smile again and crossed your legs at the knee, looking up at him triumphantly. “Same as you, same as you.”

Bucky shook his head, trying to ignore how his cheeks felt warm. “Don’t touch my clothes,” he warned. “And that’s still only five things.”

“Fine, fine, let me Google some ideas,” you grumbled. You pulled your phone out of the waistband of your leggings and scrolled for a few moments while Bucky stood in front of you with his arms crossed. Waiting.

“Ah, here’s a list. Indoor activities for adults. Number one- study the Kama S… Oooh, wait. That’s not the kind of list we’re looking for.” Bucky coughed, a barely hidden laugh, while you quickly scrolled to the next page. The light in the apartment was dimming, the sun finally going down, so Bucky stepped over to the lamp and clicked it on.

“Okay, okay, here, I found a good list. This’ll be our number five- do a puzzle. And six- take a bubble bath. Another ace idea, thank you, internet.” You nodded toward your shared bathroom. “That tub in there is pretty impressive, but I don’t know how many baths I can handle in six months without my skin shriveling up and falling off. Anyways, seven- have an indoor picnic. Aw, that’s sweet, it’d be like a little date.” You looked up at Bucky and batted your eyelashes comically, coaxing another huff from him before you returned your attention to your phone. “Eight- give yourself a manicure. Yes. Have you ever had a manicure, Barnes? Don’t worry, I’ll hook you up. Nine- online shopping. On Stark’s dime, sure.” Bucky didn’t try to hide his chuckle that time. “Ten- bake something. Sure. Eleven- stretch— wait, what? That’ll take all of, like, thirty seconds.” You furrowed your brows at your phone, scrolling a bit.

“Twelve- start a fire. But we don’t have a fireplace here, so… Well, it actually doesn’t specify that it has to be in a fireplace…” A wrinkle formed between your brows as you concentrated. “Thirteen- text all your exes— okay, no, we’re done with this list.” Bucky just shook his head, finally letting himself smile. “I’ll keep researching. We’re gonna have so much to do, it’ll make your head spin. This’ll be fun, okay? Like summer camp, if summer camp was indoors and lasted for all of fall… and also winter.”

“Yeah, okay. Until you figure that out, I’m gonna keep going to the gym.”

After a week, Bucky was more comfortable than he had expected to be.

Which really wasn’t saying much. He still spent most of his days in the gym, pushing himself to the limits, feeling his anxiety drain out through his pores with his sweat. It helped. And reading helped, too. When he laid down with a book at night and submerged himself into the fantasy world, it was like his senses were turned off. He didn’t pick up on those faint but distracting sounds of you moving about the apartment, and the walls that felt so much like a prison during the day seemed to melt away. It was… nice, if he was being honest.

You mostly kept to yourself during the day, focusing on that online class you were finishing up. Your silent breakfast dance parties were an almost daily occurrence, but Bucky was able to accept them because if you were dancing, then you were cooking— and whatever guilt he felt about letting you cook for him was fading every day, hurried along by the smell of sizzling bacon and hot coffee in the morning. You didn’t cook anything particularly great, going for quantity instead of quality, which was just fine with Bucky and his super soldier metabolism. He pretended not to notice when you had to fan smoke away from the stovetop, and you always hastily added the burnt pieces to your own plate with your back turned. He swore that the next time it happened, he would speak up— he really wouldn’t mind if you gave them to him instead.

What you lacked in cooking skills, you made up for in enthusiasm. You always said good morning like you were surprised to see him, like he was a long-lost friend who just happened to wander into your apartment. That morning had been no exception.

“Barnes!” you practically sang, pulling one earbud out and waving to him as he emerged from his room. As if he wouldn’t see you. “Whatcha feeling this morning? Pancakes? There’s strawberries in the fridge, and whipped cream— or is that too much sugar for breakfast? You’re more the protein type, aren’t you?”

“It’s fine,” he said, shaking his head. “Just… whatever you want.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” you said with a wink before turning back to the stove.

As silly as it was, breakfast was quickly becoming his favorite part of the day. If nothing else, at least the food was much better than your dinners. Which, again, wasn’t saying much. It was pretty hard to fuck up breakfast, but dinner was another story.

You were cooking again that evening. Bucky had offered to help when he returned from the gym, his hair still damp from the shower, but you shooed him away. You stretched your arms across the doorway, literally blocking him from entering the kitchen.

“I have, like, one job here, and I’m getting paid way too much to not do it,” you scolded him with a smile. “Go relax for a bit.” It didn’t take much to convince him; his fatigued muscles were still recovering, and he retreated to his room to read until the scent of the garlic sauce wafting down the hall was too tempting to ignore.

“Shit,” you muttered as he wandered into the kitchen, your knife clattering to the counter. Bucky continued to the table, ignoring you at first— you probably just dropped it, clumsy as you were. But you were quiet for a second too long, and when he glanced up to see you hunched over, frozen at the sink, he nearly knocked the chair over as he hurried to your side. He peered over your shoulder to see you cradling your left hand in the other, a deep gash across your palm; the flesh had spread, blood dripping down your arm and into the drain as your hands trembled.

“Damn it, I told you to let me help—” His ears rang as a flash of anger burned through him, his hands gripping the edge of the counter— this could’ve, should’ve been avoided, if you had just let him help— but he softened when you looked up at him sheepishly, eyebrows drawn, a hint of panic in your eyes.

Despite your panic, your eyes were bright, gleaming in the light. He didn’t know why it felt important for him to notice that, but it did.

“Do you, uh,” you leaned back against the counter, struggling to get the words out while keeping your breathing steady. “Do you have any superglue?”

“...Any what?”

“Superglue,” you repeated. “I’ll just—” you mimed applying glue along the cut. “And, ta-daa.” Your voice trembled, as much as you tried to hide it. Bucky shook his head in disbelief.

“Okay, first of all, you’re insane. Actually insane." He took a deep breath. "And second, you’re wrong. That area has too much movement, glue won’t hold. It needs a couple stitches, and wrapped so you don’t move it.”

“Well, I don’t want to go to the hospital, s-so—” You tried to shrug him off but Bucky was already striding away, disappearing down the hallway. He returned with a small first aid kit, cracked it open on the countertop and dug out a suture needle and thread.

“You made fun of me for cross stitch, but look at you, taking up embroidery already— oh, we’re just gonna do this here, huh?” Your voice was louder than normal, higher pitched, your laugh brassy and nervous. Your wide eyes followed the needle in his hand.

Bucky hesitated. He hadn’t planned on showing you his vibranium arm this early, if at all. He didn’t like how it made people look at him, like he was dangerous, like he was still a weapon— the asset— didn’t like how it made them shy away from him on the street. But he wasn’t about to do first aid in his gloves; that wouldn’t be sanitary at all, and he had been trained better than that. So he turned away from you and pulled them off, tossing them onto the counter so he could wash his hands. Flesh against metal, metal against flesh— they needed to be sanitized all the same. He dried them and pulled an alcohol swab from the first aid kit to clean up your hand, your breath coming out as a hiss at the sting, your eyes squeezed shut.

“It’s okay, I’ve got ya,” he murmured as he grabbed your wrist with his left hand so you couldn’t pull away. The coolness of his metal hand against your skin made you flinch again, and your eyes flew open.

“Oh,” you gasped quietly, looking from his hand to his face and back again. “It’s—?”

“Prosthetic, yeah. Hold still,” he ordered when you tried to curl your fingers around his, so focused on wanting to touch them that you made the gash through your palm fill with blood again. He growled your name, too harshly, but you wouldn’t fucking hold still and he was trying to get the blood cleaned up enough to begin stitching. It didn’t matter how steady his metal hand was if you were resisting him the whole time. He could feel your eyes on his face but he didn’t want to look at you— he could look at your hand but not your eyes, because then he’d see your fear, and who could blame you with how his metal hand was gripping you, how he had growled at you—

“Barnes?”

“Huh?” Damn it, he did it, he looked up— but where he was expecting fear, there was nothing but softness. Wonder, perhaps. That ignited a whole new worry in him— you should be afraid, at least a little, considering he was about to sew your skin back together next to the kitchen sink—

“Y’know what I said to the last guy who wanted to give me stitches?” you asked. You’ve done this before? Bucky stared at you with his brow furrowed, and you didn’t look away. So he saw the instant your eyes changed from soft to wild, and he winced, braced himself when he saw that wicked smile— “I said fine, suture self.” You were silent for just a second before you lost it. Laughter. Maniacal laughter.

Jesus Christ, you were unhinged. Bucky leaned away from you and waited for you to calm down, for your shoulders to stop shaking and for your goddamn hand to be STILL.

He repeated your name, not even attempting to soften the growl this time. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” You shook your head so quickly that he would have laughed if he wasn’t so irritated. “Then you need to hold— fucking— still.” He yanked you up against him as you laughed, your back against his chest. With more leverage, maybe he could keep you steady, his right hand now wrapped around your wrist. The top of your head barely reached his chin, and your scent was overpowering when he inhaled. Your hair smelled like that new shampoo you had left in his shower, sweet, almost like a candy he couldn’t remember the name of. He shook the thought from his head. He needed to focus.

You sighed out your final bit of laughter, your eyes meeting his. “Phew. I’m good, I swear. Just nervous— nervous laughter—” You fought to hold in more giggles, your head lolling back against his shoulder, and Bucky groaned internally. This wasn’t going to get any easier. He had to do it, now. He tightened his grip on your wrist, prompting a gasp from you, and deftly pricked into your skin before you could protest. He had to appreciate his metal fingers at times like these— they were as steady as a surgeon, and much faster. After just a few moments he tied off the last of five stitches and wrapped your hand in gauze, more to remind you to be careful with it than anything else.

You had been blessedly silent while he stitched but now your giggles returned, from relief this time, and you gasped and laughed as you tried to catch the breath you had been holding. “Holy shit,” you said with amazement. “Are you a doctor?”

“About as much as you are a chef,” he scoffed. No, it was just basic combat medicine, something he’d learned decades before you were even born. Bucky focused on cleaning up the first aid kit, disposing of the bloody gauze and wiping down the counter. For someone who was hired to cook, this seemed like a pretty serious mistake for you to make.

“I probably shouldn’t have lied at the interview, huh?” You picked at the end of your wrap, a smile creeping to your lips again as you shook your head.

He stilled, his gaze turning to you. “You... what?”

“The interview with Ms. Potts. She asked if I was experienced with cooking. Oh, of course, it’s one of my passions… you know, preparing calories to eat so I can survive. Love that stuff.” You mocked yourself, your voice dripping in sarcasm.

“So you don’t… cook?”

“Been wingin’ it this whole time.” You flashed him that impish grin, the mischievous sparkle in your eye that chilled him to his core.

“Christ, you’re trying to poison me. I knew I shouldn’t have eaten—” he snapped the lid of the kit back on forcefully and turned to you.

“No!” you interrupted quickly. “I mean, I’ve been following recipes…sometimes. I just… don’t really like knives,” you admitted, your grimace serving as an apology.

Bucky smirked. He grabbed the bloodstained knife off the counter and flipped it into the air, catching it perfectly by the hilt on its downward rotation. “Oh, these? What’s not to like?”

Your eyes grew wide; Bucky smiled as he rolled the knife in and out of each of his fingers, never breaking eye contact. He had always enjoyed knives— the lilted weight of them, their versatility.

“Where the fuck did you learn how to do that, the circus?” you asked as you took a step back, your eyes following the knife as Bucky continued to show off. He chuckled, your surprised tone igniting the tiniest sense of pride in his chest.

He sidestepped your question. “They didn’t make me an Avenger for my personality.”

It took a second for his sentence to sink in, but when it did, you sputtered. “Wait a minute. You’re an Avenger?”

Bucky’s mouth opened and closed again, his eyebrows furrowing together as he placed the knife into the sink. “You... thought I wasn’t? What, I’m just some dude with a metal arm living at the compound? The Avengers Compound?” He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it.

“I didn’t— I mean, when you say it that way, it does make sense—”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and took a deep breath. “Let me handle dinner tonight. And maybe I should help with the chopping from now on,” he said, his voice gentler. You nodded, a sheepish smile curling your lips. Grateful.

You hopped up to sit on the counter next to where you had been preparing food, your sleeve pulled back to silently examine your new bandage. Bucky stole glances at you as he worked, keeping his eyes low. He watched you to make sure you were okay, to make sure you weren’t going into shock from blood loss. Of course. Could never be too careful. You kicked your bare legs back and forth absentmindedly as you read him the recipe off your phone. He was barely listening. There was something about you on that counter— the curve of your calves, the fading bruise on your kneecap, the slope of your thighs disappearing under your shorts— Bucky shook the thoughts from his mind. He focused on finishing his chopping, because super soldier or not, he was going to lose some fingers if he kept staring at you like he wanted to.

You ate dinner together at the small dining table, your wrapped hand resting tenderly beside your plate. Bucky had told you to keep it elevated, repeatedly, but you kept talking with your hands and forgetting, and for his own sanity he had to let it go. Maybe when it ached later, you would remember and know that he had been right.

Bucky had left his gloves off even after he put the first aid kit away. There was no point now. You hadn’t asked him any more questions, but your glances weren’t as sneaky as you thought they were; he could feel your eyes burning holes into his hands as you watched him maneuver his knife and fork. As uncomfortable as he was, he could hardly blame you. Prosthetics like his were uncommon— in fact, his was the only one. It blended in well enough when he kept it covered, the leather absorbing the soft sounds it made when he moved. But now…

He put down his silverware and held his left hand out to you, palm up. An offering, shiny and black and outlined with gold. “It’s… eye catching, I know,” he said. You looked up, guilty for being caught staring, but he only gave you a gentle nod. Permission. You reached across the table slowly, taking his hand in yours. His was much larger, but not unrealistically; it had been designed to mimic his natural hand. You stroked your fingers along each of his own, one at a time, relishing in the cool metal against your skin, but Bucky was the one who shivered. You didn’t notice; you sucked in your breath, enthralled by the faint whirring sound that occurred when you curled his fingers into a fist and relaxed them again.

Your touch on the metal was numbingly warm, a crackling fireside after he’d been out too long in the snow. Your eyes met Bucky's and he braced himself, waiting for the question he knew was coming, the one that always came when people noticed his arm. But while he tried to come up with an inconspicuous way to explain how he ended up with the most technologically advanced prosthesis in the world, he should’ve been preparing for a different question.

“Can you feel me?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you traced your fingers along the back of his hand. Along each of the plates, the gold seams that felt like they were about to pull apart from tension. He stared down at his hand and gulped, taking a second too long to answer.

“Yeah. Some. I mean, it doesn’t feel normal. But there’s something there, definitely.” He was rambling, he knew. But he had to say something, and he couldn’t tell you that your staticky touch had just sent goosebumps down his spine and a jolt through his stomach. He ran the fingers of his right hand through his hair.

“It’s almost… sensitive?” he continued, trying to describe what it was like to have near-normal sensation in his fingertips after decades of it being dulled. “I had a different arm before. A different metal one, I mean.” He looked up at you with a half smile. “It… wasn’t as good. Not as much feedback.” The way you were holding his hand in yours, your thumb massaging it gently as if it were a normal hand— the sensations were almost too much for his brain to handle. He was short circuiting. He was unprepared.

“Like, that… feels good,” he said, fighting to keep his eyes open. He wanted to shut all his other senses down so he could focus on just your touch, your fingers tapping lightly over his palm electrifying nerves all throughout his body. “The sensory input is nice,” he managed to say, an attempt to keep it technical. He tried to sigh, but it came out sounding more like a whine than he would’ve liked.

“It’s amazing,” you said, squeezing his hand softly, sending a pleasant burn through his chest and belly. “Why do you wear the gloves?”

He thought the answer to that question was obvious. “I don’t like people seeing it. Too many questions.”

“About how you got it?”

“Yeah. Don’t you want to know?”

“It’s not my story to ask for,” you said simply. “But I’ll listen if you want to tell it.”

He almost opened his mouth, ready to tell you all about his fall from the train, being turned into a weapon, and— no. Why on earth would he do that? He was being ridiculous. He needed to reel himself in.

“That’s fine,” you said, accepting his silence as an answer. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to wear the gloves. I want you to be comfortable here. It’s your home, after all.” Such kind words, and this feeling… Bucky was in over his head. His eyes met yours, and he hoped desperately that he was doing a better job at hiding whatever feeling this was than he thought. You were quiet for a moment, just watching him, touching him, but then your expression changed. From satisfied to curious, confused… then outraged. Bucky pulled his hand back, feeling a slight tingle of fear. Fear?

“Is this why the apartment is so goddamn cold all the time?!”

He had never heard you this loud, felt like he needed to take cover— he leaned back as far as he could in his chair— “Oh my god, I keep messing with the thermostat but it just goes back down, I thought it was broken— I’ve been shivering myself to sleep! Damn it, Barnes, you’re freezing me out!” Your uninjured hand pointed at him, an accusation.

Bucky stuttered, trying to come up with an excuse even though you were absolutely right. He let out a sheepish chuckle, knowing he was caught.

“Off!” you shrieked, but you were smiling when you stood up. “Take it off, now.” You slapped at the sleeve of his leather jacket, again and again, waiting for him to do something. So he did— he shrugged it off, exposing his dark t-shirt underneath and revealing that not only was his hand metal, but his entire left arm was, too.

“Is this what you want? Is this good?” he goaded, his voice rising as he pretended to return your outrage. “You like this? Or do you want me to take my shirt off, too?”

Your anger broke into laughter, tempting the corners of Bucky’s lips upward.

“Fuckin’ hell, Barnes,” you said. Your cheeks were hot, your smile a seemingly permanent fixture of your face as you shook your head. You lowered yourself back into your chair and leaned your elbow against the table, resting your forehead against your good hand.

“You owe me,” you said. “I was literally— literally— going to text Steve tomorrow to tell him the air conditioning was stuck on, and beg for help before we wake up 70 years from now in the ice.”

Bucky lost it at that. True laughter, from deep in his belly, his head thrown back. You laughed at your own joke but not nearly as much as Bucky, and you stared at him, bewildered, until he calmed down enough to speak.

“Steve— Steve fucking Rogers— is the last man you want to ask about stuff like that. Are you kidding? That idiot would have no idea— you’d be better off asking a rock—"

You held your hands up in surrender. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know! He said to contact him, specifically, with any problems! I’m just following instructions!”

“Ahh,” Bucky said, his mood dropping considerably. “He didn’t mean it like that.” You raised your eyebrows, waiting for further explanation. Bucky sighed. “He meant, like, with me… if there was a problem with me. Tell him, not any of the others.” Because he was a problem, but Steve could handle him, and Steve would cover it up, hide whatever happened.

“…Oh.” Your eyebrows were still raised, but you nodded. Accepting it. You tilted your head to the side, smiling sweetly. “But you’re not gonna give me any problems, are ya, Barnes?”

Maybe you had been poisoning him. Something that worked slow, just a pinch in each meal, waiting for it to build up in his system and knock him out. He was starting to feel the effects, he was dizzy, his heart was pounding, a sick flush rising over his face—

Poison. That had to be it.

➡️ Part 3 - Sergeant

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simpforajax

3 months ago

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simpforajax

3 months ago

★ ☄️🪽 ARMAGEDDON ! jujutsu kaisen. 呪術廻戦.

prologue ⋆ ★ what if gojo satoru was the king of curses? or nanami kento, the suave n' disdainful cult leader? ryomen sukuna, the strongest at jujutsu tech? welcome to alternate reality jujutsu kaisen.

pairings ⋆ ★ gojo, geto, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab/she+her!reader, fíngering (f), metaphysical séx, reader is called 'whóre', the most incorrect use of unlimited void ever, óral (m), consensual éxhibitiónism/voyéurísm (nanami), mentions of violence, wall séx, hate séx (choso), jealous séx, car séx (toji), ríding him to tears, córruption kink, overstím, angry séx, lore swaps in a way that would make shonen jump blacklist me forever

word count ⋆ ★ 5.1k a/n ⋆ ★ been teasing this since november last year and i lost motivation and forced myself to pick it back up and get it togetherrr 😭 my formal apologies extended to gege

GOJO SATORU ៹. the king of curses

"i h-hate you, i really, really do!" funny, isn't it? how the words that fall from your kiss-stung lips don't quite match at how you're writhing and squirming in the lap of a being that could easily snap you in two, should he so wished.

clearly, gojo satoru seems to find you, his vessel, just as amusing, for he thinks he's grown rather used to your antics. to the way that you claim to detest him, and that you'll never entertain his offers ever again. and yet here you are, always crawling back to the king of curses when the long hours of the night don't allow you to rest.

"that's possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me," gojo coos, chiming sweetly while two fingers work their way through your insides, crooking and curling to find your sweet spot. sighing as though he wasn't affected by your bare form, draped across his throne, "you know what i really admire about you? your unshakeable principles. how you say that you just can't stand me, heh, and yet, always beggin' like a whore for me."

"fuck, gojo, r-right there, –" eyes rolling to the back of your head, revealing the whites, as translucent gloss practically drips down one of the demon's four hands.

"yes, yes," gojo mutters, "i'll get to that, jus' gotta' be patient." luckily, your back is pressed against his bare chest, the muscles and flesh littered with bold, ivory markings. the very edges of ice-kissed hair tickling at your cheek as sharp fangs sink into the shell of your ear, almost tender.

each push and pull of gojo's slender, sturdy fingers between your swollen folds leaves a resounding pop! that echoes through this...well, you're not quite sure where you are. all you know is that, as gojo satoru's vessel, you're prone to sharing his domain — particularly when you're trying to sleep. frankly, you should be a little more concerned about the frequency of these metaphysical meetings, but it's hard to think of little else but how his fingers are so thick, hitting all the right spots in you.

"hey, have i ever told ya' about unlimited void?" gojo suddenly murmurs, jostling right over the nasty bulge that the king of curses packs beneath those loose robes. you tiredly droop your head back, too busy rolling your hips, so close to that dear climax that you've been chasing ever since your soul popped up in gojo's throne room. your eyes meet four blue irises, each one cunning and sharp.

"is t-this really the time for a, hah, a lesson?" you scowl, feeling gojo stiffen and curse underneath you when your pretty cunt sets a steady rhythm over his clothed shaft, "you were no help earlier today, y'know that, right? when that c-curse was –"

gojo nips at your neck, those strands of snowy hair kissing your neck once more, "you were doing just fine without me, always got somethin' to complain about, don't you, eh?" lifting your hips to hiss at the arousal that's leaking out from underneath you, pooling in his wide lap. muttering something about how a human and a lowly vessel like you should be honoured to receive a teaching from the incarnated king of curses, "now pay attention, 'cause i'm not gonna' be repeating myself. 's about t-time you learnt more about this domain."

bleary eyes cracking open to try and capture the sight of a floorless throne room, as though the night sky had been captured to form the base, flickering often as a starless, yet stormy sky, "i k-know unlimited void," you whine, "always showin' off in my head 'bout it," seething as gojo stills his fingers inside you, tutting as he presses a kiss to the nape of your neck.

two beefy arms still hold you aloft, while one has fingers buried within your cunt, and the fourth? deft, rough pads of his fingers begin rubbing soothing, tight circles over your clit, rendering most of your mind to mush, "not just a realm, sweetheart. heh, guess you could say it's a curse. at least for anyone foolish enough to find themselves trapped there –," patting your thighs gently, "present company excluded, of course."

resuming his gentle, punishing pace once more, still curling upwards where he's most eager to reach, that special spot that will see you falling apart so beautifully, "see, when most lesser beings enter, it's like – mhmm, how should i put this?" gojo's musing, voice curling melodiously behind you, slapping away your eager hand that reaches for his cock, "not yet, where was i? well, unlimited void stretches one's mind, traps ya' in an endless sea of information. trust me, yer' gonna' know every atom and particle out there."

"ah, gojo!" lashes fluttering with crystal tears that pull at the corners of your eyes, for he's hit the arrowhead right on the mark, right where your climax is poised to wash over you any second now.

but gojo's ignoring your needy cries, two fingers flexing so tense against your gummy, sticky walls, "so the mind can't really handle unlimited void, and most are just...shut down. but only when i activate it, does that make sense?" he's musing, not waiting for your answer, "yeah, it does, hah. but we are not most lesser beings, right?"

you're not even sure what on earth he's going on about, desperate to chase the orgasm that teases you, licks flames at your groin, "n-no, we're not, fuck, gojo, 'm so –"

"close?" gojo chuckles darkly, and you should have known. truly, you should have guessed that he would have never been so generous with your pleasure if he wasn't planning something. for just as you ripple with the dazed pleasure, you can feel gojo crook one finger in you, one behind the other, curling the digits just so he can mutter something you only catch when it's too late.

"unlimited void."

what follows next is earth-shattering, for you feel as though its the ultimate surrender to the king of curses, where time and space, and thought all blend together into something overwhelming perfect, rather than suffocating. your lips part, soundless as a silent cry is ripped from you, your thighs quivering atop gojo satoru's muscular lap, release absolutely spraying and gushing out from your swollen, eager folds.

you've never had a release that's quite so...clear and inviting, and you can hear gojo's amused, aroused laugh against your back, and if you didn't know better, you would assume that the king of curses is running pale claws through your hair, letting you ride out the crystalline wave of your orgasm.

"hahh, oh my – oh my god, satoru," you're probably babbling, clinging and creating a bigger mess over gojo, who just narrows all four eyes, tipped with white, long lashes. he's smiling, as though he knows something that you don't, and he looks almost pleased, "should we continue the next lesson tomorrow night?"

NANAMI KENTO ៹. the cult leader

you should have known better, you really should have been a bit smarter about all this, about flouncing into the hall where nanami had been holding court, or rather, cult. for the mats had been set up the previous day for the wealthiest benefactors to come and see the great, golden man in the flesh.

and you doubt your husband had been...pleased, when you had poked your head past the great sliding doors, clad in nothing but an open robe in swathes of rippling navy. so all those who turned their head would have caught sight of nanami kento's beautiful wife, nipples pebbled in the cool air, drawing their line of sight to the apex of your thighs. so, that's how you found yourself here, lips pursed around the fat head of the cult leader's shaft.

"she's doin' so well, isn't she?" nanami intones, gentle hand guiding the nape of your neck, loving even. well, he always was, despite the games that the two of you played. the show that he was always eager to put on, hazel eyes gazing over the gaping maws of the benefactors who could only watch, shifting on their mats as you lifted your head up with a pop!

he's chuckling to himself, running a limp hand through thick waves of amber hair, "heh, 's okay. no-one needs speak, i need to be hearing her properly." her being the slick sounds echoing from the hollows of your mouth, the lips that you used to press creamy kisses onto his cock.

"doing, mmph – doing good?" you mumble, that heavy slurp! of your tongue against the broad underside of his cock sending him to heaven and back. he's adjusting his glasses, guiding a shaky hand to the base of his cock, where golden curls coil thickly, slowly sliding his member from your pretty mouth. smearing your waiting lips with the translucent smears of pre that you've pulled from him.

"the best," nanami assures you, patting at his thick, muscular thighs for you to lay your head, "and t-they all think so too, i bet." he can see the gleam in your eyes, knows that you're enjoying this just as much as he is.

wondering at all the creative ways that he can take you right after this, perhaps splayed out on his lap for all to see, back against the teal robes snug on his chest, so the benefactors can see his cock slide between the fat folds of your cunt. tempting.

you're pursing your lips once more, wiping a stray, clingy strand of nanami's arousal from your chin, before diving back to the head task at hand. each wet, sloppy sound of your glistening lips against the fat, blushed tip of his cock has nanami's thighs shaking, quivering. determined not to whine and lose composure in front of the men who fork over billions of yen to his...temple each month.

but it's your hands that are the most dangerous, nanami concludes, for while you flatten your tongue against his tip, your fist tightens around the base of his cock, teasing gentle fingers against the folds of skin right underneath, and his mind goes absolutely blank.

shooting ropes after ropes of thick, buttery release against your lips. watching with glimmering, hazy eyes as your fingers catch the droplets of his release, reaching in between your thighs to slicken your cunt further with his climax, god, nanami truly thinks he's going to burst.

there's a faint, muffled groan from someone in the audience, and he can see the pitying, disapproving look in your eyes. for someone's broken the golden rule of silence, and well, the whole room is gonna' pay for that now. and miss out on a truly magnificent show, he'd wager. what a shame, but no big loss. he's truly extracted whatever funds they had, so these men are of no use to him now.

he gently runs slender fingers over your chin, dipping at the plush flesh of your lower lip, helping you up, "come, my love. i don't want you seeing this," pulling your open robes tighter across your heated flesh, he's guiding you to the door, past the rows of slack-jawed men. nanami kento certainly doesn't want the love of his life hearing the sounds of errant curses ripping flesh apart.

CHOSO KAMO ៹. the assassin

you not really sure what's stopping you from plunging the tip of a blade into the throbbing veins that bulge against choso kamo's neck. it would be so easy, and well, it would be fair too. you could claim self-defence too, for had the sorcerer killer not arrived to take your life?

but fate has a funny way of doing things, for there's a hazy smile playing across your lips, fingers twisting into loose strands of dark hair that fall to choso's shoulders, gasping as he rickets his hips into you, greedy as his cock drills you against the damp alley-wall.

"you're not t-that good at y'job, are ya'?" you're teasing, gasping as you can feel every inch of choso's thick shaft pressing disorderly pecks against your cervix, deeper than you really thought possible. and god, the assassin looks ruined. how ironic that you were the one who took him out instead, with nary a weapon but the one that he loved between your thighs.

the taller man's groaning, amber eyes misty, squeezing shut as dark lashes flutter across pale, blotchy skin like brush strokes on an oil canvas. "s'good, oh, f-fuck," choso's lips bloom a pretty shade of bruised pink, "yer' killing me, baby."

he's jerking his head back, partly from the sheer pleasure running through his veins, and partly due to your nails bestowing a harsher, tighter tug to the back of his head. it's got him sheepishly giggling, utterly pussydrunk on you, "sorry, bad choice of words, huh?"

whatever retort was blooming on your open lips falls apart when you feel the cherry head of choso's cock punch at you, pistoning slick smears of pre against your sweet spot, hot and heavy. he's filling you up in the most delicious way imaginable, and you take the moment to run your hands over his back. over the tight top that clings to his build like a second skin, melded into the ashen pallor of his bulging upper arms.

choso's effortlessly got you poised on one arm, jostling and cursing as his fingers loop around thick, coiled chains dangling from the spear strapped to his back. he's fumbling for a split second, throwing the weapon on the ground with little care, all so he can hold you better. cold fingers pressing against your mouth, a waiting command for you to wrap your tongue around the tip of his finger. tasting yourself, from when you had first guided his hand to the apex of your thighs.

"c-close?" choso murmurs, questioning and chasing after your lolling tongue, looking equally wrecked, as he slams the very last of his inches into you. bottoming out with a thick, sticky pop! the final push has him hitting the perfect spot to make you writhe and squirm. sealing him into a kiss this time to muffle the whine that threatens to erupt from you.

knowing that that choso's got you pinned to the wall of an alley in one of the most run-down districts of the city, where none travel save for ill intentions, and yet, anyone could still turn the corner and see exactly where the base of choso's cock meets your hips in clingy slaps of arousal and pre swirled up together.

"the f-first time i've never been able to finish the job, heh," choso muses, his tone almost gentle despite the mean way that he's delving into your walls, "don't think i can face m'boss after this, tch', o-ouh, fuck," choso's leaning into the crook of your neck, sinking pointed canines into soft skin. leaving marks that will surely bruise and bloom in shades of deep violet, when he separates his tacking, syrupy lips from the juncture of your swan-arch.

you groan, unabashed, when choso stills for a second and bestows you with a heady kiss, all before plunging right back in to you, "who would have thought i would be the o-one to bring the sorcerer killer to his k-knees?"

choso's giving you a half-lidded, lazy look, flushing a brilliant shade of blossom-pink, as though he's got all the time in the world, smoothly dragging his hand down further until its patting at your mound, "p-patience, i'll give ya', that too."

TOJI FUSHIGURO ៹. the office worker

"oh, it's you." that was your disappointed, flat intone when toji fushiguro pushed through the elevator doors after you, earlier that day. the man was the office's terminal underachiever, barely even showing up on the clock, but it was hard to complain when he proved such a delicious sight for the eyes in a rumpled black dress-shirt, rolled up to reveal glorious thick forearms dusted with faint, dark hair.

"oh, it's t-too big, toji!" and that's how you somehow ended up, practically pressed flat into the most brutal, nasty mating press in the backseat of your car. toji's large hands splayed across your thighs, legs achingly hooked over his bent form — but the ache between your legs was far more pleasurable. glossy strands of slick snapping and clinging to your skin where his thighs snapped against yours, steady at a pace that wouldn't rattle your isolated car too much in the basement lot.

"didn't think i was gon' show up today, doll?" toji groans, slowly bucking his sharp hips forward so every inch of his cock explores the walls of your pretty, pretty pussy. "that's why y'were flirtin' with that stupid –" the man's muffling back a heavy moan, "that stupid worker on the s-second floor?"

you're not quite sure how toji manages to do it. defying the laws of physics and matter to somehow reach in between the two of you, to slap around the treacly mess gathered at your pressed groins. toji's circling your throbbing clit in faux pity, all as you heave, "you're jealous? t-that's what this is, hah?"

toji's jade, sharp eyes narrow as though he's hesitant to put a name to the emotion, settling to roll and pinch at your swollen bud, hoping that you can feel every vein and fold of skin rummaging through your syrupy cunt, "n-no." but the quake in his voice gives him so brutally away, and it has you grinning. pulling toji fushiguro down for a clash of your lips against his, so that rough scar brushes against your skin, twitching almost as though toji's smiling into the kiss. what a bastard, you hate how he's ensnared you.

you hiss, pulling at soft, silky strands of raven hair, "keep it down, fushiguro –" heart racing with every ricketing motion of your poor car, swaying back and forth, tucked away in this dim little corner of the office basement lot, "s-someone could see, could fire us, hnghh', b-both."

it's clear that toji fushiguro doesn't quite share your concerns, that shark-like grin beaming in brilliant ivory, nipping at your neck, tugging the corners of your blouse with his teeth, "someone, as in – fuck, ya' got a killer grip, doll. someone, like that fucker on the second floor?"

you roll drenched hips further into toji's abdomen, feeling dark hairs tickled at the very lowest base of your own groin, "if ya' wanna be exclusive, t-toji, just say so." head thrown back for toji to bestow heated kisses all along the expanse of bared skin, tossing your employee lanyard aside.

toji punctuates his answer with a sharp tack of his hips against your clit, "yeah. exclusive, you n' me, doll." the burly man must be close for he's flushing, babbling at you as though you're undoing every stitch holding his slacks (and sanity) together, "i'd do a-anything. clean up my act for ya', show up every day jus' to see that pretty fuckin' face."

your own hazy, shaking climax washes over you, just as toji stills, pumping rope after rope of translucent, creamy cum right into you. creating an awful, sticky mess that leaves you writhing, panting toji's name into his open mouth, "do all that, f-fushiguro, and y'can have me in any way you want."

GETO SUGURU ៹. the death painting

"please," the half-curse is whining now, prattling as you run hands over the dark, cotton robes that envelop him, "dunno' what this is, but it feels so –"

you're cooing, pressing soft and slick kisses to the corner of geto's pink mouth, "feels good, suguru? i guess you could say, hmm," running nails through the dark, silky strands of the death painting's hair, "you could say it's pleasurable, right?"

geto's nodding, adam's apple bobbing as his peach-fine features flush the most beautiful shade of crimson. looking nothing like the hardened warrior with an arsenal of special-grade curses, those of his own blood, at his side. he looks positively ruined, and you can feel the curve of his bulge underneath your teasing hands, running softly over the clothed shaft in the most innocuous way possible.

"can you, ouh –" geto stutters when your lips press a searing kiss into the throbbing vein on his creamy neck, where his shaky pulse jumps in staccato, "touch it? feels s-so good, love."

you're batting your lashes, tilting your head as though you have no idea about the effect you hold over the half-curse, "what? touch, oh!" slipping your hand past the band of his loose pants, underneath the deep violet fabric cinched at his waist, "here?"

resting your hand against the very base of his abdomen, right above where he craves you most. geto's bucking his hips up desperately, hoping that you'll get the hint and move past where you've hovering, right over a thatch of raven-curls.

you thinly smile, feeling the heat of his skin sear into you, before you've even touched his muscular, broad thighs. to think that you've got quite the warrior begging underneath you, well, it's got your own thighs damply clenched together. but that's a lesson for another day, for today, you want to see geto suguru gasping in your hold.

"hmm, suguru, y'know you've gotta' be a bit more specific," your nails run dangerously against his shaft, and you won't admit this to him yet, but the sheer length is making you gulp. all before you've even laid eyes on the magnificent inches that he's packing away underneath his robes, "do y'trust me, sugu'?"

geto nods, quickly and sharply, already shivering from your touch, "of c-course, 'course, i trust you." and the admission makes your pussy flutter, the idea of having this girth packed in you, drilling into you until the two of you see stars.

you press another gentle kiss to the corner of his lips again, reaching up to free his hair from the clingy knot resting on the back of his head. marvelling as ink-dark hair pools in sleek swathes, falling to his waist, giggling as geto chases after your lips, "hah, 'm gonna make you feel so good, baby."

you gently tug his robes to the side, revealing an expanse of chiselled skin, and clear-cut muscle. giving geto a coy look as you pull out his weighty, hot shaft, searing in your hands. it's just as pretty and big as he is, crowned with an angry-red head that seems to throb and pulse in your grasp.

"fuck," geto gasps, already looking drunken from your touch, "keep doing t-that, don't stop that, please." he's addicted to the way that your fist starts gently pumping him, slowly applying more pressure as you move from base to tip. dipping your tongue to taste the first, clear drops of pre that have already escaped.

you clearly didn't account for the physiology of those with cursed blood in their veins, for geto's already making a mess. you're certain that barely no time has passed at all, but there's already slick, gooey strands painting your hand. creating loud squelches as you roll your fist, thumb pausing to flit at his weeping slit.

"hey, suguru," you're murmuring, experimentally parting your lips over his bulging tip, "what would happen if i –"

you get your answer when you're barely enveloped his shaft, thick wads of stringy cum exploding out in glossy torrents, painting your chin in slow, clingy drips of geto's seed. geto, who's twitching and flushed in your hold, ears beaming red as he gnaws at his lower lip, "baby, you shoulda', fuck, should have warned me." pausing to give you a shy look, "wanna' try again?"

RYOMEN SUKUNA ៹. the strongest

"what the fuck was that?" you've never quite seen sukuna like this, this furious. this loss of composure just didn't quite suit ryomen sukuna, the strongest sorcerer that walks the earth in this day and age (though, rumours say that he may even hold a candle against gojo satoru, the famed king of curses).

over a decade you've known the gruff man, graduated alongside him, worked and fought alongside him at jujutsu tech, and yet you've never, ever seen sukuna as he is now. not even when itadori yuuji broke his favourite mug before class.

he's blinking crimson eyes in some sorta' haze, dark lashes fluttering as his mouth hovers an inch away from yours. you're not sure what sort of lecture this is, but the throbbing in your groin is a dead giveaway that you don't mind.

a large hand is resting on the nape of your neck, as though sukuna's not sure whether to pull you away or towards him, numerous silver piercing clinking as he shakes his head, "what did i say to ya' earlier, hmm?"

"erm..." no, not your best work.

but it's truly hard to focus when sukuna looks this good, painted in the evening light that filters through the window of the abandoned classroom, long after the students have retired. toned, deceptively fierce arms pushing against the navy jujutsu uniform, rose-pink hair mussed — no thanks to that special grade that was giving the two of you a hard time not so long ago.

he's pushing closer against you, and you're catching that scent, intoxicating and heady, "wasn't a rhetorical question, woman. didn't i tell ya' one important thing?"

you realise how easy it would be to wrap a leg around his slender waist, to pull the tall man in against the two of you were pressed flat against the desk but you tamp the lecherous thoughts down, time and place, yeah? "you said...," you falter, wandering if it's worth tilting your head to brush your lips against the man, "y'said not to get in the way."

sukuna's long fingers are curling at the shell of your ear, running over a stray strand of hair that's come undone in the earlier scuffle, "mhm, good girl. and what did ya' do, then? when i was busy using dismantle n' cleave?"

you sigh, already feeling sukuna's temper roll off him in waves, "yes, i got in the way," intoning flatly, looking anywhere but the concentric rings in sukuna's eyes, "look, if you're gonna' chew me out, can you make it quick? i ended up you helpin' anyway, and i dunno' why you're so pressed about –"

sukuna presses his lips to yours, effectively shutting you up in a kiss that leaves you whimpering, moaning at the desire (and something else that you know sukuna's gonna have a hard time naming) that erupts. bruising lips meeting yours with a fierce urgency, teeth scraping, and hands pulling your own uniform to the side, as though sukuna may lay down his life if he doesn't get to feel you this close to him.

sukuna's muffling something into the kiss, calling you senseless (well, hey! not true) and oblivious (maybe) and gorgeous (true enough, that's fair). you're not sure when his large, tattooed hand managed to pry its way up to your thighs, but you gasp at the feeling of your suddenly drenched panties being torn off with little bravado. sukuna's grinning, all sharp fangs, as he tucks them away into his uniform pocket.

"fuck me." you're groaning, gasping at his thumb hooks over your clit, rubbing hot, tight circles into your most sensitive spot. you're not sure if it's exasperation or a plea colouring your words, but sukuna seems pleased, quirking a brow, "yeah? that's what you want? think it'll get ya' off the hook?"

"please fuck me," you correct yourself, reaching for the metal buckle at sukuna's hips, fulfilling that vision of hooking sukuna in. rocking him closer to your bare, dripping core so he can align his fat, heavy tip against your glistening entrance.

your eyes flit down to the very base of his cocks, where coarse, pink hair teases your flesh, and — oh. sukuna's tracking your line of sight, flushing when he sees your eyes widen, taking in the dark, tattooed ring encircling the base of his shaft.

"don't ask," sukuna grunts, ears flaming red as you giggle, nipping at your ear, "hold on f'me now, can ya' follow that instruction, at least?" the man truly thinks he may lose it, right then and there, watching how your puffy folds bulge around the head of his cock. how it's you, the woman that he's been in love with for ten years, giving him a dazed, lopsided smile when he finally, finally slides it in.

"fuuuck," sukuna groans, pale-pink hair tickling at your forehead as he leans in, "yer' taking me well, heh. not too big for ya'?" he's grinning, even when you swat a droopy hand at him, clenching hard around his girth, "don't flatter yourself."

but it's only when he starts rocking his hips back and forth, imprinting his cock right against your walls, that sukuna begins to lose his mind, losing all sense of other duties and responsibilities. thoughts of the report that he has to submit to the fuckass higher ups, the quizzes he has to grade for the dumb, little first years, oh god, the bills he has to pay. poof! gone, vanquished by the sticky-sweet hold of your intoxicating cunt.

"wanted this for sooo long, woman," sukuna grunts, "you got no idea, wanted you," he punctuates his words with a sharp tack of his hips, "only you. always you, only one for me, heh. i'd take out anyone who says otherwise." and your sweet, pretty whimpers in his ear only make him all the more desperate, ready to slam bullseye on that sweet spot. thank god, classes are over for the day and the campus is empty, for he's got you allll to himself now.

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simpforajax

3 months ago

direct, concise, unapologetic, succinct, compelling

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simpforajax

3 months ago

SHIU KONG FIC RECS // mdni!

sucking shiu off in his car - @/screampied

watch yourself take me - @/webism

fwb shiu - @/shegetsburned

edging - @/ultravioletrayz

shhhh, beware of the footsteps! - @/cumironi (multi, has shiu)

porn star shiu - @/webism

in the car - @/pepperyduck

candy crus(h)er! - @/screampied

one more, just one more - @/obsesssedblerd

shiu knows how to use it - @/lazyjellyfish300

back seat - @/nanivinsmoke

somethin stupid like I love you - @/shegetsburned

bimbo - @/tojisun

rush - @/tripleyeeet

no body rides for free - @/barleyo

ceo shiu kong - @-kishibe-kisser

sugar daddy shiu - @/dog-bimbo

shiu drabble - @/dog-bimbo

darlin, can I be your favorite? - @/screampied

you wanna watch? - @/nanaslutt

cold case, hot detective - @/yuujispinkhair

lemonade - @/blueparadis

cartwheel on the dick - @/screampied (multi, has shiu)

the way shiu doms you - @/cinnamorollcrybaby

I DONT OWN ANY OF THESE FICS!! // CREDS TO THE WRITERS!! <3

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simpforajax

11 months ago

want to see him and let him dick me down but to scared to even have a phone call with him

Gentle Giant

° Viktor often teases you about your height and muscular build, calling you his "gentle giant." He secretly loves how safe he feels around you, even though he’d never admit it outright.

° While Viktor isn’t a fan of overly protective behavior, he finds it endearing when you instinctively shield him in crowded or chaotic situations. He always assures you he’s fine, but there’s a soft smile on his face every time.

° Viktor adores the way you’re always mindful of your strength when you’re around him. Whether it’s helping him sit down or just holding his hand, your tenderness makes his heart flutter.

° You often find Viktor hunched over his workbench late at night. Knowing his tendency to overwork himself, you bring him food and make sure he takes breaks. Sometimes, you carry him to bed when he refuses to stop working—he grumbles about it but secretly loves being pampered

° Viktor isn’t one for grand gestures, but he shows his affection through small acts, like adjusting your collar, brushing stray lint off your clothes, or leaning against you when he’s tired.

° He loves to make use of your height, often asking you to grab books or tools from high shelves. He smirks and says, “One of the many reasons I keep you around.”

° You’re very attentive when Viktor’s leg pains flare up, often giving him massages or helping him stretch. He’s reluctant to accept help but eventually gives in, sighing in relief as your strong hands ease the tension.

° One night, when Viktor was feeling particularly stressed, you coaxed him into dancing with you. He was reluctant at first, but your gentle insistence won him over.

Some spicy headcanons coming up

Viktor finds your size both intimidating and irresistibly alluring. When you stand close to him, towering over him with your broad shoulders and muscular frame, he pretends to be unimpressed—but the way his golden eyes flicker up to meet yours gives him away. He’ll smirk knowingly when you lean down to whisper something in his ear, acting as if it doesn’t affect him, but his flushed cheeks say otherwise.

Viktor uses his cane in ways that surprise you. Sometimes he’ll hook it around your wrist or the back of your leg, pulling you closer with a smug grin. Other times, he’ll tap it against your thigh just to see you glance down at him, his expression a mix of amusement and anticipation. He enjoys playing with the dynamic of you towering over him but being completely at his mercy when he’s in one of his moods.

Viktor to me is a wild guy hidden under his “vanilla” persona

Tilt his chin up and grip his hips as you rut against him and hes LEAKING, lip (ha and tip) trembling and soft gasps as he ruts back into you

Talk dirty while he's tinkering and he'll shortcircuit, ears flushing and hands trembling while you walk away and laugh

Oh my God fuck him while you hold him against a wall!! Strong arms holding his form up while you POUND into him, his head shoved into your neck as you ravish him

Missionary is obviously his favorite (he loves seeing you on top on him) but if he's feeling bolder, “face off” is his go to, tieing your hands to a chair while he sits on your lap and rides you (for a guy with a bad leg he gots some rythm🙏)

Or if it's a more romantic moment like an anniversary, “the chairman” is mostly performed, you sitting at the edge of the bed, Viktor with his back to you, sitting on your lap, your head leaving bites and hickeys on his neck while his head is tossed over your shoulder, him moaning softly in your ear 🙏

Jealousy sex, bending him over a desk, your arms pulling his behind himself and holding them in place behind his back while you POUND into him, his cries to hold onto something, to kiss you, to say sorry going to deaf ears

…Marathon and pregnancy sex, he knows guys can't get pregnant but being filled with your cum all plugged up with your fingers has him feeling for a kid, maybe you give him what he wants, whatever the pretty boy wants he'll get (adopting a orphaned newborn and raising him/her together)

HE WHIMPERS!!! ITS SO OBVIOUS

…..slight choking him in bed, never enough to hurt him obviously but putting a tiny amount of pressure on his neck….he's on the brink of Cumming

Okay I'm done here onto the short fic

The soft clatter of metal tools and the quiet hum of a whirring machine filled the dimly lit workshop. Viktor sat hunched over his desk, his cane resting nearby as his sharp eyes inspected a half-assembled mechanism. He had been at this for hours—probably the entire day—completely lost in his work.

Leaning against the doorway, you crossed your arms and watched him with a fond smile. Viktor was tireless when it came to his inventions, but his habit of forgetting to eat, sleep, or even stretch concerned you. You cleared your throat gently, hoping not to startle him.

“Still at it?” you asked, your deep voice breaking the quiet hum of the room.

Viktor glanced up, his golden eyes momentarily meeting yours before flicking back to his work. “I’m close to a breakthrough,” he muttered, though the weariness in his tone betrayed him.

You stepped inside, your large frame dwarfing the small, cluttered space. Picking up a stray wrench from the floor, you placed it back on the workbench before leaning down slightly to get a better look at him. “When was the last time you ate, Viktor?”

He sighed, setting his tools down. “I ate...recently.”

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You’re a terrible liar.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, letting out a long sigh. “I suppose I’ve lost track of time again,” he admitted.

Shaking your head, you crouched down to his level, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Come on. You need a break. I’ll make us something to eat.”

“I don’t—” Viktor began, but you silenced him with a pointed look. He rolled his eyes, though there was no real resistance in him. “Fine. But only a short break.”

---

In the kitchen, Viktor leaned against the counter, watching as you moved around. Your broad shoulders and tall frame seemed almost out of place in the small space, yet your movements were surprisingly graceful. He couldn’t help but smile as he noticed the care you took in everything you did, from chopping vegetables to stirring the soup on the stove.

“You know,” Viktor said, his tone light, “it’s a bit unfair how you manage to make everything look so effortless.”

You chuckled, glancing over your shoulder. “It’s not effortless. I just don’t let you see me struggle.”

Viktor’s lips twitched into a smile. “That’s even more infuriating.”

Once the meal was ready, you set two bowls of soup on the table and gestured for Viktor to sit. He obliged, though not without a playful grumble about being “strong enough" As the two of you ate, the tension in Viktor’s shoulders began to ease, and he found himself leaning into the comforting warmth of your presence.

---

Later that evening, after you had convinced him to rest, Viktor sat beside you on the couch, his head resting against your chest. The rain outside tapped softly against the window, creating a soothing rhythm that filled the quiet room.

“You’re too good to me,” Viktor murmured, his voice muffled against your shirt.

You wrapped an arm around him, your hand gently tracing circles on his back. “You deserve it,” you replied simply.

He looked up at you, his golden eyes soft and filled with something that made your heart ache in the best way. “I hope you know I feel the same,” he said quietly.

You leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. “I do.”

In that moment, with Viktor curled up against you and the rain lulling you both into a peaceful haze, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

---

Hi! I Hope Your Having A Great Day But I Would Love To Request Headcannons Or Maybe A Fic About Viktor

HE LOOKS SO CUTE HERE AHHHHHH!!!!! NEED ME A VIKTOR 😭

TYSM for the request!! Hope you like this

685 notes View Post

simpforajax

4 months ago

Yes pls. I need more katsuki biting

bf! katsuki would DEFINITELY be the type to bite on your shoulders.

the first time it happened was when you both were tangled together on the couch, the room dimly lit by the flicker of the tv premiering a corny rom-com film katsuki deemed was "cringe and unrealistic."

katsuki had pulled you close, his arm slung lazily over your waist. as you shifted to get comfortable, his lips brushed against your bare shoulder. what started as gentle kisses suddenly turned into a playful bite.

"katsuki... did you just bite me?"

his crimson eyes held a hint of mischief as he grinned at you, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly.

"maybe. gonna do something about it, sweets?"

"... no."

"mhm, thats what i thought."

after that night, whenever you two were close—whether you were cooking together in the kitchen, cuddled up together on the couch, or having the most brain-melting sex —it became a habit for him.

katsuki’s lips would always find your shoulder, his teeth grazing the curve of your skin. it wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t soft either. it was a lingering, claiming touch that sent shivers down your spine every time.

it wasn’t just physical; there was something possessive in the way katsuki did it. he never said it outright, but you could feel it in the way his teeth lingered. it was oddly intimate, like he was claiming a piece of you that no one else could see.

"katsuki!" you whine as you feel his teeth sink into you, eyes rolled to back of your head as he thrusts inside of you.

"what, you don't like it?" he teased, his breath hot against your neck, kissing the spot he previously bit.

"i-it's weird! why do you do it, 'nyway...?" you gasp, his hands gripping your hips tighter.

"dunno. 'cause it feels good. 'cause i can," he grunts, his movements becoming rougher. "plus, the way you react... it's kinda hot."

"how?"

he pulled back slightly, his eyes roaming over your flushed face and he gave you a lazy smile.

"the way you squirm. the little gasps you make. the way your breath hitches when i do it... it's hot."

"perv."

he chuckled at your response, his arm tightening around your waist. "maybe," he murmured against your skin, his lips finding their way back to your neck."but i'm your perv."

"fuck," tears pool at your eyes, clinging onto him. "katsuki, gonna.."

"yeah? cum for me baby, c'mon," he breathes as he slams you down on his cock, his thrusts becoming sloppier and more eratic as he chases both of your release.

katsuki bites into your shoulder again, the pressure of his teeth on your sensitive skin driving you mad. your body trembles in response, the sensation of pain and pleasure mixing together as the intoxicating smell of sex floods your nose.

afterward, he pulls away from your shoulder, his lips immediately finding yours in a deep, passionate kiss. the bite might have been intense, but the kiss that follows is tender, his lips moving against yours with an affectionate yet sure touch.

the kiss slowly breaks, but his lips linger close to yours. he gazes at you intently, his eyes searching your face for any signs of discomfort or doubt. he wants to make sure you're okay, that the bite didn't go too far.

"you okay?" katsuki looks at you as if you're his entire world. he reaches up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"yeah," you nod, still trying to catch your breath as you recover from the aftershocks of pleasure.

"good," he hums, his voice gruff but tinged with a hint of affection. he can't resist the urge and leans in again, his teeth sinking once more into the tender skin of your shoulder. he immediately kisses the spot afterward, his lips gentle against the reddened skin.

it's his love language. its his way of telling you that you're unequivocally his.

a/n: real self indulgent. happy holidays everyone 💜💜💜