#best show on tv right now for SURE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

heesimp · 5 months ago

Text

tasty (heeseung)

summary: it’s not your week and it doesn’t seem like the semester will ease up on you as time flies by, but your best friend is here to help in more ways than one.

word count: 5.6K

notes: based off of this request. thank you anon! I probably won’t open a taglist at this time but I’ll let you know if I do when I post other fics. XX

warnings: reader touches herself, porn mentions, vibrator mention, phone sex, oral (f. receiving), dirty talking, mentions of heeseung with other girls, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex.

“You sure you don’t want to go out with us?”

Your co-workers stare at you while you try to push down any simmer irritation. They’re not to blame, but pestering you to go out to a bar and get drunk when all you want to do is go home, is making you even more irritated. They mean no harm and look at you with sorry eyes.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you tell them. Luckily for you, they nod and accept your decline. “Thanks for the invite though.”

“Well if you change your mind, you know where to find us.”

In typical twenty-something-year-old fashion, certain days feel longer than most. Today is no exception. It’s hard to navigate the woes of landing on your feet when you’re wrapped up in midterm projects and trying to have a social life without throwing yourself off balance. When the semester started, you were nothing other than a happy-go-lucky, fourth-year university student who was excited to finish college and take the first step towards “real life.” Unfortunately for you, your days would get tough before you’d see it to the finish line.

The ride back to your apartment isn’t long by any means but the traffic from your job at a convenience store was met with rush hour. The bus took much longer than usual but you always anticipate that when you’re scheduled until 5pm. Everybody’s going home at the same time and even public transportation falls victim to the hustle and bustle of corporate life.

On your way home, you can’t help but linger on the inconveniences of the recent past. Midterms have snuck up on you like they do every year and no amount of studying into the night could ever prepare you for the stress that comes with obsessing over good grades for five separate classes. It kills you that no two tests weigh the same and preparing for projects feels like you’re signing a death sentence. You’ve barely seen your friends aside from in passing and haven’t had any time to take care of yourself and have fun.

It feels as though you’ve lost all motivation because school and work has sucked the energy right out of you. Even your best friend, Lee Heeseung, has started to soften up around you because he can tell how stressed you are. If anything, the amount of unread texts from him and your absence in his physical life is a telltale sign that school is kicking your ass, but he knows you always bounce back. You know you will too, but right now it feels like it’ll take too long to get there.

The first thing you do is take all of your clothes off and settle them in the dirty hamper and take a shower, cleaning off the grime from a long day outside of your bedroom. Your hair is clean and your skin feels silk to the touch when you step out and dry yourself. It takes a great deal of effort to follow through on your skincare routine and tidy up your room so that it doesn’t feel like an overwhelming mess the more you look at it. Today sucked. There’s no doubt about that.

Eventually, the clock turns into a late hour after you’ve had dinner and a sweet treat to make up for the awfully long and boring day you had. The week drains on you and you’re looking forward to the weekend because that means you don’t have to work. After settling in bed with the television on, you try your best to let your worries escape you and focus on what’s in front of you.

Whether the show is too boring or you’re too worked up, you don’t know. The TV is long forgotten as you aimlessly scroll through your phone and start pushing your thighs together and clench around absolutely nothing when you log into a Twitter account you don’t post on. It must be out of habit to act like this when you see the familiar username because it’s where you keep your porn stash for when you need to get off. There’s everything you could ever want–short videos, photos, and links to other websites that always gets you off. The long day has made you think about how you need at least a single win in order for this week to not completely suck. Bringing yourself to orgasm might be the way to do it.

You spread your legs underneath the covers and take a finger to tease up your slit that’s covered by your panties and hold your phone in your free hand, using your thumb to scroll past the plethora of videos that turn you on. It’s all about finding the right one, and seeing big dicks and wet pussies makes you worked up. You start to forget about the week and consider that a good start.

Moving your finger against your covered pussy always makes you wet. You imagine it’s someone else teasing you the way you like it and pretend you don’t need to move a muscle to get off. Swiping the tips of your fingers back and forth makes you soak through the pathetic fabric anyway, and the excitement of your arousal makes you gush right onto your panties.

You scroll through them one by one and pull your panties to the side to feel just how wet you’ve become and moan quietly as the feeling of your slicked up walls. Pushing a finger inside, the welcomed sensation is exactly what you needed after a hard week. You add two, then three, and pump them in and out of you with your legs bent towards your chest. It should be an easy orgasm.

Except, it isn’t. Three of your own fingers isn’t enough.

At this rate, you don’t know how long you’ve been rutting your hips but what you do know is that you can’t seem to get yourself off with just your fingers. Pulling them out makes you wince at the loss and you force yourself off of your bed to find your trusty vibrator that has always served you when you need to get off quickly. You dig for it in the depths of your drawers but, to your dismay, the device is uncharged. You’re far too worked up to wait for it to become usable. You crawl into your bed again and angrily look through your phone at the porn in your bookmarks and try to get yourself back to that state of euphoria when you started touching yourself, but knowing too much is bothering you is preventing you from letting go.

Your room echoes as you groan in frustration when your eyes land on a photo on your desk. It’s a picture of you and Heeseung that Jay took when the three of you hung out together after you first moved into this apartment. The two of them helped move boxes and furniture, and you rewarded them with a free meal from the noodle shop across the street. Heeseung sits next to you with his thighs pressed against yours because of the small table but neither of you really cared.

That’s the thing, though. Heeseung isn’t shy about physical touch with you or anyone else. He’s the kind of guy girls feel comfortable around with just a few words spoken and you’ve always envied the way Heeseung can talk his way through anything. People love him, girls want to fuck him, and guys want to be like him. There’s a part of you that wishes you could exude the same aura that your best friend does but, unlike him, you cower at any chance of interaction and can’t seem to get anyone to be interested in you the way you’re interested in them. Heeseung has heard your fair share of love debacles whereas it seems like romance is presented to him with the snap of a finger.

It isn’t that you haven’t had experiences with sex and dating, but they haven’t been worthwhile. So far, nobody has been memorable enough to keep in your backpocket for days like this, when you need a hot and erotic memory to come in an instant. It feels impossible to find guys who know what they’re doing when a woman is presented in front of them. Guys are so lucky because it takes next to nothing to get them hard and get them off.

And like, your best friend has had his fair share of hookup stories that leave you wetter than a goddamn fountain. He’s not shy about skimping the details because he’s seen you cry snot since kindergarten and you’ve seen him eat shit on bicycles since elementary school. Sex isn’t off the table. You just don’t have anything to contribute and he doesn’t judge you for it. You aren’t really keen on telling him about all of the bad experiences you’ve had when he talks about how mind blowing sex for him is. Part of you is envious that your best friend has never had one bad day of sex in his life. Allegedly.

Still, this frustration bubbles up and there’s nothing you can do to quell the way you feel. Perhaps it’s a mix of general life stress and the events leading up to this very moment. The entire day felt like a test to your patience as minor inconveniences piled up on top of one another before your breaking point. You thought your vibrator sitting uncharged was your last straw but it seems like your mind isn’t clear enough to focus on getting off. You recall a few unread text messages from Heeseung and open your shared text thread with him and watch all of the funny TikTok videos and tweets he sends you. You’re missing him right now.

Heeseung answers after one ring.

“Back from the dead, I see. What’s up?”

You huff. “Nothing.” You hear him laughing from the other line. The faint sound of his keyboard clicking echoes in your ears.

“Can’t be nothing. You always call me when you need to tell me something.”

“Not true.”

“Y/N, you and I both know you prefer to talk on the phone when you have something important you need to say so neither of us ends up sending long voice memos.” Okay, he’s got you there. “So begs the question: What’s up?”

“Well I called you because I’m bored. Happy?”

Heeseung laughs again. You’re sure he can hear your disdain. “It’s a good thing I know how to deal with your attitude, huh? Since you’re bored, I’ll have you know you’re calling me while I’m playing with the guys.”

“What, no girl to hook up with?”

“Not tonight, princess.”

“How sad.”

“If you must know why, I had a pretty long day at work but I’m fine now. Jake’s ass keeps dying so that’s pretty funny.” You don’t say anything, not right away. Not when you realize you called him in a haste and that you’re naked except for a tank stop and dainty white socks. The realization makes your cheeks heat up as you think about it, even though Heeseung can’t see what you’re wearing. “You good? You’re unusually quiet, especially when you give me attitude.” That makes you roll your eyes.

“You know, it’s unfair that all you have to do to get off is brush your hand against your dick.”

“Where’s this coming from? You don’t really talk about sex. Is everything alright?”

“It’s unfair!” He hears you groan in frustration. You’re somewhat annoyed he’s still typing away on his gaming keyboard.

“Y/N…Are you okay? What’s gotten into you?”

That question alone seems to ease your mind a little as your irritation bubbles over the surface. You couldn’t stop yourself from talking even if you tried. You tell Heeseung everything, good and bad, and he won’t relent until he knows you’re okay. But even this is treading into new territory. It isn’t that you haven’t noticed just how attractive your best friend has gotten since you met him for the first time as kids, but it’s the first time you’ve ever acknowledged it while talking to him.

“I can’t get myself off.”

Your voice is barely above a whisper. You don’t hear the sound of his keyboard anymore.

“What?”

“Heeseung…”

“No, say it again.”

Suddenly, you’re starting to regret calling him to complain about something like this. You feel like you might as well be diving into the depths of your secrets.

“I can’t get myself off.” He hears you whisper it into the phone.

“Did I hear you correct? You can’t get yourself off?” Heeseung curses under his breath and his hands have stopped typing on his keyboard completely. Frustration pushes tears to the rim of your eyes.

“I can’t.” Your voice wavers like you’re about to choke a sob. “I just want to cum, Heeseung.”

You don’t see it, but he disconnects his video game connection without consulting his friends. He sits back in his seat and brings the phone off speaker mode and pushes it to his ear. “Y/N…Have you been touching yourself?”

“Yes. I don’t know why but I’m in this mental block and I can’t focus on anything. Nothing is helping.”

He chokes. “What do you mean?”

“My vibrator is dead and I’ve been using three fingers but it’s not helping!”

Heeseung sits quietly on the other line. “Are you touching yourself now?”

“No,” you sigh. “I’ve been at it for an hour and I can’t finish.”

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You must be so wet.”

“Not anymore.” You say it through your teeth, too upset that your high has ebbed away.

“You should start touching yourself again.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Touch yourself and make your pussy all wet.” It’s concerning how much you like hearing your best friend talk to you like this. But you do, putting your phone on speaker and putting it on the mattress beneath you with your hand caressing your pussy. You don’t know if it’s you, Heeseung, or the notion that you’re crossing a bridge, but your spine starts to tingle. Your touch is as light as a feather.

“Are you doing it?”

“Yeah,” you admit.

“How does it feel?”

“Really good…”

“How good?”

“Feels like someone else is touching me,” you tell Heeseung. “If I close my eyes, I can pretend it’s someone else.”

“It’s not enough, is it?”

“No, Hee. I just…I’m so frustrated.”

“Yeah, baby?” He’ll address that nickname later. “Why are you frustrated?”

“School and work are stressing me out and nobody in my group projects lifts a finger. I feel so alone in this.”

“But you aren’t alone. You have me, remember?” You get wetter the more he talks. It feels wrong to be turned on by Heeseung’s voice but you can't help it. He’s talking to you like he hears the way your voice quivers and how badly you need somebody to take away all of your pain, and perhaps you feel comforted because you know Heesueng will do just that and always had. Your fingers rub your wetness around your bare mound the more you think about it, pushing aside any guilt or awkwardness you initially felt.

“When have I ever not been there for you? Never, baby. Including this.”

“This?”

He chuckles. “Yeah. Helping you cum.”

“Hee, don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s true. Best friends help each other cum.”

“How are you gonna help me do that?”

It’s silent on the other line for a long pause and your heart starts to sink when you think you might’ve crossed a line. Is he uncomfortable? Does he want to hang up and forget about this? Will he ever look at you the same way after tonight?

“Keep touching yourself. I’m coming over.”

Your eyes widen. “N-Now?”

“Yes, now. I live five minutes from you. I’ll be over soon.”

The thought of Heeseung coming over makes you impossibly wet. It’s been so long since you’ve let anybody touch you the way you’d like after failed hook ups that left you unsatisfied. Your bedroom suddenly feels warmer and your arousal keeps your fingers slick the more you rub against your pussy. It makes your toes clench and you’re starting to get excited again.

“Please hurry, Hee. My fingers are starting to get sore.”

“I’ll be there in two. Don’t hang up.”

“F-Fuck,” you whimper silently. Heeseung’s phone picks up your moan and you hear him let out a low groan when he turns his engine on.

“You have the sexiest moans. I wanna hear them while you get yourself off, okay? Can you do that for me?”

You rub your pussy faster. “Yes, Hee. Fuck, I’m so wet. This feels so good.”

“Be a good baby and play with your clit a little for me, hm? Get her all nice and prepped.”

You do as he says, moving the pads of your fingers in circular motions around your engorged nub when he tells you. Your eyes close shut when that jolt of pleasure makes your body jerk and arch off of the bed and that loud sound emitting from the back of your throat makes Heeseung hum in approval.

“Juuust like that. Fuck, you sounds even better than I imagined. You’re a vocal one, huh?”

“Only when it feels really good.”

“Yeah? Do you feel really good?”

You lick your lips. “It would feel better if you were here.” Heeseung laughs.

“I’m here and I’ve got your spare key. Keep fucking yourself for me.”

The call ends there. You hear the door opening and part of you considers using your blanket to cover yourself up because in all of the years you’ve been friends with Heeseung, he has never seen you this indecent. It feels a bit humiliating to know your best friend will find you with your fingers rubbing against yourself while your hips chase that delicious pleasure but ultimately, you can’t find it in yourself to care too deeply about that.

Heeseung’s footsteps alert you to his presence and you’re pleasantly surprised to see him standing in the threshold of your bedroom after he’s opened your doorknob. His black hair covers his eyes as he catches his breath, and it looks like he ran up the two floors just to get to your apartment quicker than an elevator could take him. He’s hesitant when he walks inside until his eyes lock with yours. Your next moan comes from deep within your chest and Heeseung wastes absolutely no time.

He lands on his knees and pulls your body towards the edge of the bed. Your scent invades his olfactory senses as he looks down below you, pushing your feeble hand away to admire the mess you’ve made of yourself. It should feel embarrassing to have your best friend look at you like this, but it doesn’t. Your heart beats faster the more Heeseung’s eyes scan your wet pussy and before you know it, his mouth latches onto you.

The feeling of someone’s tongue shoved deep within you is a feeling you haven’t experienced in a long time. Heeseung kneads your thighs with his hands as he keeps you in place and the pace he sets makes your body feel like it might as well be up in space.

You hear stories all the time about Heeseung hooking up with other girls whether it be from himself or others. Girls love to pretend to be your friend to get close to him and love to talk about these kinds of things with you because they assume you’re getting in on the action too, only to leave the conversation perplexed when you tell them you and Heeseung have never gotten involved like that. But now, with every bit of information about how he slurps pussy like he needs it to live, you’re starting to wonder why you never asked him to do this before tonight.

“Tasty,” he mutters after a beat of silence. Your hand comes to grip his hair for stability when he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks on it while rubbing his tongue against your pleasure point. “How come you never told me you taste so good?”

“You never asked.”

He laughs against your pussy. “Still got some attitude, huh?”

“What are you gonna do about it?” He looks up at you like he’s weighing a challenge.

“If you were any other girl, I’d pull out every time you’re about to cum. I’d have you begging for that shit. If you were somebody else, I’d stuff your mouth with my cock until you learn how to obey.” He licks up your pussy once more before adding two of his fingers inside, moaning at your smooth and wet walls as he pumps them inside of you. “But you’re my best friend and you’ve had a hard week. I’m gonna make you cum.”

If a thousand suns exploding feels like Heeseung’s tongue and fingers working in tandem with each other, then this is a feeling you never want to forget. They work separately but it feels like he’s pushing you closer and closer to the finish line the more he pays attention to your clit and g-spot at the same time, pressing on that little button the more you whine and aimlessly beg for him to let you cum. You can barely register your own voice moaning because the pressure is too much against your ears. Heeseung’s fingers plunge in and out of you at a pace that is somewhere between gentle and brutal, giving you enough force to take your mind off of the stress from the week to focus on your pussy being pleasured.

You screw your eyes shut when you can feel that coil unraveling. Heeseung seems to notice that too because of the string of moans you let out when he pushes his fingers against your sweet spot. His mouth licks and licks as his hand pushes your wetness right against his tongue and it doesn’t take very long for him to taste your cum.

Heeseung’s head disappears between your legs and he’s barely able to move his hand because of how tight your thighs are against his ears. He’s always loved your thighs and legs, and loves them even more now that he knows what it feels like when you suffocate him as he licks up your delicious cum. You ease up on him when he pries them away to free his hand from the uncomfortable position and uses both hands to keep your legs apart as he licks up the remnants of your cum and helps you ride out your orgasm until your chest falls against the mattress.

He wipes the back of his hands before giving your slit a gentle kiss. “You’re so sexy when you cum.”

“I can’t believe I let you do that.”

“Why?”

You watch him crawl up your body between your spread legs. “Because…”

“Because?”

“You’re my best friend and we’ve seen each other through everything. Don’t you think this is a little, I don’t know, weird?”

“No.” Heeseung shakes his head and dips below to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Not weird. In fact, I’d argue we should do this more often.”

You frown. “I don’t intend to be somebody you keep on a roster, Lee. You can keep that shit to yourself, but thank you for helping me cum.” Heeseung laughs against your mouth until you feel his lips ghost right over yours.

“There won’t be other girls involved if we fuck, Y/N. I’m not heartless like that. Everybody else knows I’m in it for sex and nothing else, but it’s like you said. You’re my best friend. I won’t make you feel like you’re just somebody I can hit up.”

“So this would be like…friends with benefits?”

“We can work out the semantics later.” He lets his lips touch yours and when you don’t object, Heeseung opens your mouth with his own and you taste the saltiness of your cum on his lips. You clench around nothing when you hear your mouths smacking together in the quiet of your bedroom.

It feels…good. It doesn’t feel out of place, even though this is the first time you’ve kissed Heeseung. You haven’t thought about it much either, but somehow his lips fit perfectly in yours and his soft hands holding your body in his adds to your arousal. You feel safe with him at this moment and it’s the first time you’ve ever had sex with somebody who hasn’t made you feel like an afterthought. Your mind feels a bit foggy but you know you like this feeling and don’t want him to stop. Still, you have your worries.

“This won’t be weird, will it?”

“No, baby. In fact, all you had to do was ask me to drop the other girls and I would’ve.” You roll your eyes.

“Sounds like you’re in love with me, or something.”

Heeseung pulls away and smiles down at you. “Yeah. Or something.” You ignore the way your heart flutters and realize his bulge is poking your bare pussy.

“You’re hard.”

“So you’ve noticed.”

You pinch his bicep. “You get hard eating pussy?”

“Well yeah because it’s pussy, but it’s also you.” You start to talk but Heeseung silences you with a kiss. “Are you satisfied now that I’ve made you cum?”

His vulgar words make you shy underneath his gaze all of a sudden. It’s a new feeling and you’re not quite sure how to navigate it, especially with the way he’s staring down at you with a raised eyebrow. Heeseung is still your best friend who gives you shit for everything. You suppose you’re grateful that he’s not changing who he is just because he knows what you look like naked.

“You know what? Actually, I don’t think I’m satisfied.”

Heeseung grins wickedly and pulls his body off of your chest to take his shirt off, his chiseled muscles on display for you to look at. He grabs your hand and places it on his abdomen. “Oh yeah? What else can I do for you, princess?”

You take your fingernails on his skin and feel his abs move beneath you. “I think I need you inside me too.”

“Were my mouth and fingers not enough?” You shake your head. Heeseung tuts as he gets off of the bed to step out of his pants and boxers, revealing a long and thick cock you’ve only ever heard about. It’s dripping with precum and you can’t stop your pussy from clenching or your mouth from drooling.

You watch him get back on the bed one knee at a time before he’s hovering over you again, pulling your body to the position he wants as your legs spread before him. He looks down at his cock and tugs on it twice before letting his tip rest against your clit.

“Need some of my cock?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Who knew my best friend has such a tight pussy. Makes me wonder why I even bothered with other girls in the first place.” You seem to like hearing that. He brings his fingers to push the head of his cock inside of you before sinking halfway in, allowing you to adjust to his size as you squeeze him. “Oh yeah, honey. This pussy’s gonna make me cum hard, I already know that.”

Heeseung holds your legs open and pushes his hips into you slowly. The drag feels so good with how warm he’s made you and you can feel him throbbing with every pass. You hold onto your breasts for stability, which seems to turn him on even more because he’s pushing your legs towards your chest and pushing into you with all of his might.

You’re able to see him from where you lie. His eyebrows concentrate as he squeezes his eyes shut and sweat lines his forehead the more he thrusts inside of you. He sits up on his knees to angle his dick inside of you better and moans when you let out a strangled groan. The clench is so tight and amazing, and Heeseung can’t fathom why he’s never fucked you before tonight.

“Sexy pussy,” he grunts, looking down at your abused hole as he thrusts into it. He brings his thumb to your clit and you yelp when he starts to rub it. “So wet and fuckable.”

“Fuck me,” you manage to choke.

And truthfully, you like Heeseung plowing into you at the pace he’s set. He’s not too fast but not too slow and you can feel him hit your cervix every single time. It’s no wonder girls were always lining up to have sex with him. Heeseung knows what he’s doing with his dick and you’re finding that out now.

“You want me to fuck you?”

You nod pathetically. “Please fuck me.”

“How hard?” You bite your lip and shake your head at the humiliation of begging for him but Heeseung tuts and smacks your clit with his hand. “I said, how hard?”

“So hard that I feel you in my stomach!”

“Atta girl. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Heeseung slips out of you and pulls you up on your hands and knees, beckoning your back in a deep arch. He plants both of his feet on the mattress and bends until he’s sinking his cock back down inside of your pussy, letting your mixed wetness coat him again.

He thrusts himself as his mouth hangs open. Heeseung grips your waist with both hands and squeezes you hard to balance himself as he throws his head back at the phenomenal sensation of your walls pulling him in every time he tries to pull out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head when you feel his balls against you and clutch into your bedsheets.

“Your balls are slapping against my pussy and it feels really good,” you manage to get out without stuttering. Heeseung feels you clench around him again and emphasizes his thrusts until the sound of his balls makes your ears vibrate.

“Feels good when it hits your clit, doesn’t it?”

“So good, fuck!”

Heeseung speeds his thrusts and relishes in your string of moans the more his tip nudges your g-spot. “Can you cum, baby? Cum around my cock like I know you want to. You’ve earned it after this week. Cum for me. Won’t you let me feel that?”

“Fuck, fuck, I’m cumming, Hee! I’m fucking cumming!”

“Yeahhh. Oh your cum is so good. Doing so well, making your pussy creamy all over me like that. Cum for me.”

And it feels so good that you follow his command. The orgasm Heeseung’s cock brings you feels like a physical manifestation of letting go of your worries and enjoying the present moment. Despite your legs and pussy aching, this feels an awful lot like freedom because your own mind isn’t caged by the inability to get yourself off.

You don’t think, you can’t think. You’ve reached a point of nirvana that’s made your mind completely blank with the exception of your orgasm and the feeling of your best friend fucking right inside of you. His cock, so hard and warm, somehow feels so perfect lodged inside of you.

Heeseung cock twitches and you feel it the more he pounds into you. He looks down and moans at the sight of his cock becoming white with your cum with every pointed thrust and doesn’t remember the last time he truly enjoyed himself to the point of being able to forget about everything except the person he’s with. Sex with other girls is incredible but there comes a point where he realizes that they’re using him just as much as he’s using them. But you, his best friend since he can remember, give him some kind of peace that he’s never felt before. This is more than just a quick fuck, even if neither of you address it.

“Your pussy’s gonna make me cum,” he moans through a choked grunt. “You feel so good baby, fuck.”

Heeseung pulls out of your hole just enough to rest his tip against you. His warm cum floods against your folds and your body jerks at the way he twitches against you, but his hands keep hold of your hips to place you exactly where he wants you. He looks down to watch his cum spill from his slit and paint your pussy like the artwork that it is.

When he’s finished cumming, Heeseung leans back against his knees to spread you apart by gripping your asscheeks. “Would you look at that?”

“Stop looking…”

He chuckles. “Why, baby? Your pussy’s so pretty with my cum on it.”

You look back at him. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He nods at you before pulling away to scour your room until he finds a box of tissues on your nightstand and grabs a few to clean you up to the best of his ability before cleaning himself up too.

Overcome with a wave of tiredness, your body feels much more relaxed once you’ve slipped underneath the covers as Heeseung throws away the dirty tissues. He turns around when he hears the blankets ruffling and resists the urge to coo at you when you’ve tucked it underneath your chin.

“Looks like you needed one good fuck to relax, hm?”

You blush. “Shut up.”

“No can do, Y/N.”

“I…”

Heeseung leans down towards you and tilts his head. “You what?”

You avert his gaze. “I liked it when you called me baby.”

“Yeah?” He pushes some of your hair back as you yawn. “I can do that.”

“Are you gonna go home?”

“Not if you let me stay the night.” You don't have it in you to talk back to him after all he’s done for you. Instead, you open the covers as Heeseung puts his boxers back on and watch him smile before climbing in next to you. “Come here.” He tucks your body on his chest and you’re too tired to argue with him.

His heartbeat puts you to sleep.

tagging: @zara2318 @markmato @heechwe @horijiro @ggumjilgeong-yjn @porunarefuu @leov3rse. :)

#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #lee heeseung smut #enha smut #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enha hard hours #enhypen hard hours #enha hard thoughts #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung #tasty

2K notes · View notes

neigepomme · 1 month ago

Text

˙ ✩°˖ ✈️ forehead kisses / caleb x reader

synopsis; caleb likes it when you kiss his forehead.

🍎 pomme's notes - mom please i want my own caleb

⋆ 500 words / fluff / reader is gender neutral / 2nd person

caleb's favorite place to get kissed is his forehead.

of course, he loves kissing your lips! god knows that if he could, he'd spend his lifetime kissing them until they're raw and swollen. but for him, he finds it especially precious when you kiss his forehead, despite the height gap.

he loves coming home to you after a difficult day, where he had to teach new recruits why he was the colonel or where he had stacks on stacks on stacks of paperwork to be filed. his entire body, usually flexed and ready to move at any risk he encounters, finally relaxing when he enters your shared apartment.

the smell of your perfume floating around, the warmth of the lights in the kitchen as you cook something for the both of you, the tv playing your favorite show and you half listening, too focused on making sure the curry doesn't burn and stick at the bottom of the pan.

caleb finally relaxes, letting go of all tension he didn't even know he held in. seeing you carefree makes all of his days, even the hard ones, worth it. when you hear his keys getting dropped on the tray by the door, you whip your head around and give him the brightest smile.

his knees almost buckle upon seeing how sweet you look. his angel. the sun could only wish to look as warm as you do, he thinks. clearly weary and tired, he tries his best to reciprocate your smile.

"hi baby."

when you finally reach out to him and wrap your arms around his neck, he immediately wraps his even tighter around your waist. leaning down to give you access to his face, he laughs softly when you pepper kisses over and around his lips. pulling back to admire your handiwork with a satisfied smile, you push his bangs back and press one last kiss on his forehead, and he could melt right then and there.

"hi, handsome.. i missed you today."

when you grab his coat for him and push him towards the bathroom, claiming that i got a warm bath ready for you! everything's under control! i can cook too, dummy, he allows himself to be bossed around by you. life with you has been so blissful so far. caleb sometimes has to pinch himself to remember that you're not a dream, that you're very real and as in love with him as he is with you.

walking back towards the kitchen, shirtless with a towel around his neck, he sits down with a small "oof." when you slide the plate of warm curry and rice towards him, he smiles once again.

"you're too good to me, you know?"

you hum and grab onto his face, turning him towards you. grabbing his towel and softly drying his hair for him, you lean down and kiss his forehead yet again.

"mmh i don't know if i'm too good. i think i'm just perfect for you, as you are for me, caleb."

yeah. caleb loves when you kiss his forehead, because it reminds him that he's allowed to be cared for by you.

🍎 pomme's final notes - i'm gnawing on my fist i want my own caleb NOW!!!! GIVE HIM TO ME!!!!!!

#⋆ pomme writes #caleb x reader #caleb #love and deepspace #lads #caleb x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads caleb #⋆ neigepomme

1K notes · View notes

authorscurse · 2 months ago

Text

No one understood why you chose Ryomen Sukuna as your boyfriend out of everyone you could have chosen instead. Not even your family, friends, or coworkers knew why.

You are the kind of girl who loved having ribbons in her hair and made sure it matched with the color of your outfit. The kind of girl who watched and read about soft and romantic lovestories that could only exist in books and movies. The kind of girl who wouldn't have fallen for the notorious Ryomen Sukuna!

"Do you think he blackmailed her to be his girlfriend?"

"Do you think he paid her?"

"He probably threatened her,"

No, no, and no! Sukuna never did any of that!

"I just fell for him, that's it," you always answered whenever someone asked. And still, no one understood it. Not until they saw the way Sukuna treated you.

You had a bad habit of biting your nails, sometimes you never knew you were actually biting your nails until someone pointed it out.

One time you decided to visit your parents with Sukuna just because they were staying at your grandparents house while they were in the city.

You sat with your parents in the living room watching whatever was on the TV and that's when Sukuna noticed something from the corner of his eye. You were slowly bringing up your fingers to your mouth, ready to bite.

Instead of loudly pointing it out and embarrass you, he immediately took your hand in his to prevent you from biting them. The action was small and barely noticeable but your parents noticed.

You were known to always ribbons in your hair no matter the occasion and you made sure the color and theme of your bow matched your outfit.

While out with your friends, your boyfriend and theirs followed closely behind while you girls roamed around the mall choosing what to buy.

"Kuna, look!" You showed Sukuna a beautiful red silk dress that had a slit that would sit at your right thigh. Your friends watched as Sukuna nodded and grabbed the dress from your hand and placed it inside your basket without any comment.

When it was time to check out, a matching red ribbon was inside your basket that you never picked up or placed inside it. Your eyes widen and showed Sukuna, "did you get that?" You asked even if you already knew the answer. Sukuna clicked his tongue while giving the cashier his credit card. "'Course I did, who else would've put it there if you didn't?" He responded.

You only smiled sweetly before placing a kiss in his cheek. Of course you both had eyes watching you closely, despite the Sukuna's sassy reply his actions was sweet and small, but your friends noticed.

You loved the raining, but you get sick so easily so Sukuna hated (not really) having to take care of you while you were sick after you disobeyed his orders of not playing in the rain. It was raining when Sukuna picked you up at your office's exit.

He had you raincoat under his arm and he helped you get it on you. "Kuna," you started but before you can utter the words Sukuna already knew what you'll be asking.

"No," he cut you off, pulling the strings of your raincoat to fully cover you. "But Kuna—" you reasoned but Sukuna was not having it. "You'll get whiny and teary eyed when you get sick and I'll have to deal with all of it," Sukuna says buttoning up the last button on your raincoat. "Please," you begged, you pulled off your best puppy eyes and Sukuna tried to resist but the longer you stared at him the shorter his resistance held on.

Sukuna could only sigh and watch you smile widely while taking the hood of your raincoat and ran. Sukuna sighs loudly and trailed behind you. The next day, Sukuna called your office to tell them you were sick from what? Playing in the rain.

The whole day Sukuna took care of you, clearly the opposite of what he said to you a day prior. After getting better, you walked back to work all well and energised.

"I'm okay now. My boyfriend took great care of me," you told everyone who asked how you were doing. Your coworkers noticed that you were much more cheerful than before. You think your coworkers wouldn't notice, but they did.

Again, no one really understood why you love Ryomen Sukuna so much. But you did. The subtly actions, the concern and care under the sassy tone, and of course the actions hidden behind closed doors.

Others just really need to look closely to see why you love Ryomen Sukuna so much.

2K notes · View notes

xhyjin · 3 months ago

Text

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who really didn’t think the date through, as he now has to figure out who will watch yuji during the weekend. if the scenario were different, he would’ve asked you, but since you’re the one he’s taking out, he can’t. he thinks he should cancel it and plan it out better but doesn’t want you to think he’s careless or impulsive, so he plans a romantic dinner at home. that way, he can still keep his word and watch yuji at the same time.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who thinks a romantic date at home is a dinner in his backyard, decorated with fairy lights, flowers that yuji picked from the garden as the centerpiece, and the most expensive wine sukuna could afford. to say he wasn’t nervous would be a lie. he spent a good 30 minutes purging his closet because he wasn’t sure if wearing a suit was too much or not. yuji sat on his bed, watching his uncle/dad show him potential outfit choices, facepalming and shaking his head at every single one until sukuna finally decided to wear the suit.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who hasn’t felt this nervous in his life at all. he sits on the couch with yuji as they watch spongebob, his heart pounding as he glances at the clock above the tv. biting his nails nervously, he starts to think you won’t show up. just as those thoughts begin to consume him, the doorbell rings. both his and yuji’s heads shoot up as they look at each other before he gets off the couch and makes his way to the door, silently praying that wearing a suit wasn’t too much. but when he opens the door and sees you standing there in a pink sundress, he swears he’s fallen in love at the mere sight of you. quickly clearing his throat, he greets you. “glad you could make it,” he says, trying his best to maintain his usual nonchalant and snarky attitude. but the way you’re smiling at him—it could melt an iceberg, let alone him.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who is about to say something else as he walks behind you while you make your way into the house when yuji runs up to you and hugs your lower legs. “ms. l/n!” he says excitedly. sukuna watches the scene in front of him with heart eyes, feeling a warmth he hasn’t felt in a long time. the way yuji loves you fills him with so much happiness, especially knowing how much you’ve been there for them during these hard times. yuji grabs your hand and tells you to close your eyes before eagerly dragging you to the backyard. you follow his lead, curious but not expecting much. when you open your eyes, you’re met with the sight of a beautiful backyard, dimly lit with fairy lights. you can’t help but gasp as you take it all in, your heart swelling with surprise and admiration.

“you did all of this?” you ask, turning to sukuna. he stands there with a smug but proud look on his face, clearly pleased with himself.

“sure did,” he says, making his way toward you and placing a hand on your lower back. “right this way,” he adds, his voice smooth as he guides you to the table set up in the middle of the backyard.

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who takes a seat in front of you, watching as you admire his backyard. “wow, sukuna, i honestly didn’t expect all of this,” you admit, a small smile spreading across your face as you glance around. yuji runs back into the house, only to return moments later with a piece of paper in his hands.

“what? you didn’t think i was a romantic guy?” sukuna teases, his tone light. before you can respond, yuji interrupts, holding up the paper proudly.

“this is the menu!” he announces, placing it in front of you. the “menu” is just scribbles, but as yuji’s teacher, you can easily make out the words.

“wow, spaghetti with house-made sauce?!” you exclaim, pretending to be amazed, and yuji giggles, his face lighting up with pride.

sukuna leans in slightly, his expression half curious, half amused. “you can actually read that little brat’s writing?” he asks, clearly impressed.

rolling your eyes playfully, you respond, “yes, and don’t call him that.”

sukuna chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “whatever you say,” he replies, standing up moments later. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have to help the head chef. he’s particularly short,” he jokes, smirking as he walks off. his comment earns a giggle from you, and you nod, settling back in your seat as sukuna follows yuji into the house to get the so called spaghetti with house-made sauce

next door neighbour dilfsukuna! who spends the rest of the night completely captivated by you. he notices everything-the way you pick up your fork, the way your lips part as you take a bite, the way you chew so delicately, and the way you cover your mouth with your hand when speaking or laughing. his gaze lingers on your eyes and lips, and he catches you shyly avoiding his stare, which only makes you more endearing to him. he's utterly mesmerized and determined to kiss you at least once before the night is over.

as midnight approaches, you help sukuna tuck yuji into bed, the little boy fighting sleep because he doesn't want to miss any more time with his favorite teacher.

"i'll see you on monday, yuji," you say softly to him. his sleepy eyes light up as his uncle carries him on his hip.

"you promise?" yuji asks, sticking his pinky out toward you.

you chuckle and intertwine your pinky with his. "yes, yuji, i promise," you say, following sukuna as he walks into the house with yuji in his arms. after tucking him in, you both quietly leave the room, making your way to the front door.

"i had a really good time, sukuna," you say shyly, absentmindedly twirling a strand of your hair between your fingers. sukuna smiles at the sight of you, looking so cute and beautiful.

"i had a good time too," he says, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone as he steps closer. "y/n," he says your name softly, almost like a whisper.

you look up at him with doe eyes and nod.

"yes, sukuna?"

"may i kiss you?" he asks, his cheeks flushing a faint pink, matching the hue of his hair.

you involuntarily gasp but quickly catch your composure, nodding as your gaze drops to his lips. sukuna leans in, one hand gently resting on your waist while the other cradles your cheek.

"have i ever mentioned how beautiful you are?" he murmurs, his forehead pressing against yours. before you can answer, he closes the gap, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that is both soft and rough, filled with unspoken feelings. his hand on your cheek slides to your waist, pulling you closer as your arms wrap around his neck.

after what feels like an eternity, he pulls back slightly, his lips hovering mere inches from yours as you both catch your breath.

"i'd love to see you again," he says, his voice hopeful, his eyes searching yours.

"it's a date then," you reply with a smile, your heart racing as you look into his eyes.

should i just turn this into a fic? ><

2K notes · View notes

lightseoul · 3 months ago

Text

a/n. currently watching single's inferno s4 and this is how it's going. inspired by that exchange between dong ho and a rin. specifically, dong ho's smile during. what the hell am i talking about. (0.9k)

“you really didn’t have to drive me all the way here, you know.”

you plop down on the spot right next to bakugou, who wordlessly takes the mug of tea you’re offering with a half-hearted glare.

“then decline the next time,” is his snarky retort.

you playfully roll your eyes, burrowing further into the plush cushion of your sofa beneath you, hands cupping your own beverage. “you say that as if you’ll let me commute this late.”

a tsk. “it’s called having a heart of gold, you idiot.”

you hum noncommittally, gaze fixed on the tv in front of you. “camie sure does think you have one, huh?”

when he doesn’t say anything for a beat, you chance a peek at the man, and sure enough, he’s looking at you like you just shat yourself. “hah?”

“camie?” you repeat, hoping the creeping embarrassment isn’t showing on your face. “the girl who—”

“i know who she is,” he spews defensively, before raising an eyebrow. “what about her?”

“you seem to go way back, based on how she regarded you tonight,” you quickly explain.

he stares at you for a second, as if trying to figure out why the hell you’re talking about utsushimi camie of all people, ultimately settling with a lazy shrug. “i guess? we ran into each other a few times back in ua.”

and when you don’t immediately respond: “why?”

“nothing,” you supply, before: “i mean, i could tell she’s generally a bubbly and outgoing person just from dinner, but the way she behaved around you was…how should i say—different, i guess?”

the pro-hero lets out a grunt, which is bakugou katsuki for keep going.

so you do. “for one, she seemed eager to sit beside you, even though yoarashi-san was the one to arrange the hangout, and i think you mentioned in passing once that she thinks shouto’s attractive.”

unsurprisingly, that grants you a side-eye. you backtrack.

“not that a girl wanting to sit beside you is unfathomable, but—”

“the fuck are you getting at, dumbass?”

you huff. “i’ll get there if you just let me talk!”

he shoots you another glare, before tossing you a curt nod. “fine.”

you fight back the urge to punch his arm. “as i was saying,” you enunciate, “there was something…remarkable about how she was acting.”

“how so?”

you ponder for a moment, not minding how the question just now was too sarcastic for your taste. “well, i didn’t really see her arrive because i was at the restroom, but she seemed to deflate when i came back and took my seat beside you. almost as if she was eyeing the spot.”

“you’re fucking imagining things.”

“okay, gaslighter. anyway, it wasn’t just that. her mood went back up a notch when you introduced me—so reluctantly it was embarrassing, by the way—as your best friend.”

he scoffs. “you’re the one who tagged along.”

“shouto invited me, you dickhead.” you frown, “when he called you this afternoon and i said hi, remember? he said you could bring me with you.”

“he was just being polite, that pretty boy.”

“and you’re being a fucking downer,” you quip, before crossing your arms in front of your chest like a petulant child. “i don’t know what camie sees in you.”

“hah?”

“see?” you exclaim, flinging your arms in frustration, “you’re not getting it because you’re not letting me finish. i have no idea how you didn’t notice, but her body was facing you the entire evening! she kept redirecting the conversation to you, too, asking you all sorts of questions.”

you’re not looking at him anymore, eyes darting all over the place as you continue. “and her giggles, man, you weren’t even being funny, but she was laughing like you had keke palmer’s humor, or something.”

“i don’t know if you’re feigning ignorance or just flat-out oblivious, which i doubt you are, but seriously, man,” you rasp, “i can’t believe i’m the one who has to do this, but open your eyes. the girl likes you. and—are you smiling?”

you cut yourself off, the jarring sight of bakugou grinning at you erasing every viable thought in your brain.

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the guy is fucking amused.

you scowl at him. “the fuck are you smiling about?”

“nothin’,” he claims, although his lips are still pulled taut to the sides.

you shoot him a deadpan look, which causes him to let out a soft chuckle.

he shakes his head, shifting in his seat. “it’s just—i don’t know…”

“don’t know what?” you ask, brows furrowed.

“don’t know how you picked up on all this shit.”

your response is instantaneous. “it’s called having eyes, you idiot.”

if he’s even marginally annoyed at your semi-quoting him, he doesn’t let it show. instead, you can only watch in bewilderment as a faint tinge of pink starts to color his cheeks.

“yeah, well, i didn’t even notice any of that.”

“how?”

a glower.

“because i was just looking at you, dipshit.”

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 feel free to drop an ask, too—i'd love to chat with you. have a nice day!

tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon @napbatata @k0z3me @h0ngh0ngh0ng @honeyoru @yoongiwithglasses @hellokitty-doll @lilsebnem @tetsuukuroo @crangrapel0ver @syrhra @qyuin

1K notes · View notes

marblehazel · 4 months ago

Text

Sitter

dbf!Joel Miller x f!reader

You’re spending spring break alone at home while your father is five thousand miles away when all of sudden, you fall sick. Enter Joel Miller: your father’s buddy, sent by him to check on you.

Tags: Explicit MDNI, no outbreak, age gap, no mother in the picture but your father has a named girlfriend (sorry), no bra household, dry humping, footjob while watching SpongeBob, oral (m and f receiving)

Word count: 6.8k

“Dad,” your voice is hoarse like it has just come out from a dying goose, and you spend the next five seconds trying to clear your throat.

“So like, I’m… sick, kinda, but it’s not really bad, so—” A train of coughs that feels like they are going to tear your lungs apart. “—sorry about that. It’s nothing. Don’t worry too much, don’t even think about it. I just wanted to let you know.” Another coughing fit. “Okay. Have fun, I love you.”

You click your phone screen and let the voicemail find its way to your father’s ancient block of telecommunication. It’s 11 p.m. for you, 5 a.m. in Tuscany, you calculate with your fingers. You might be wrong. Either way, your father is probably asleep. He had been away for a couple of days with his girlfriend Amy for her nephew's wedding. And they plan to spend another week there, because it’s their anniversary, and Amy had always wanted to go to Italy.

“Will you be okay?” your father asked, apologetic. He leaned onto your bedroom door’s frame while you were unpacking your backpack.

“Yeah, Dad, what am I, eight? Go.” you laughed lightheartedly.

“It’s just you came down here from school and then I go, you know. I wish you’d said yes and come with us.”

“And third-wheeling you and Amy for ten days?” you giggled. “Dad, it’s okay. Come on. We’ll still have the weekend together when you come back.”

You heard Amy call for your father from downstairs, followed by a question about his dress shirt. You grinned, gesturing for him to go.

“Me and Amy will make sure the fridge is full, okay?” he says, voice fading as he steps down the stairs. You shook your head. You’ve survived on dry ramens and day-old coffees in college. You would be okay. Right?

Loud buzzer sound. The game show on the TV you put on to distract yourself from the fever is not doing a good job. You try to focus, but the noises coming out of it sound muffled, and the colors are just so bright and saturated that they make your head spin. You click on mute before slamming the remote on the coffee table, and it lands safely on some crumpled Kleenex. A thermometer is sitting next to the box, the tiny display screen blank. It’s broken, and you make a mental note to scold your father for always keeping faulty things around the house as if he’s going to fix them. A few bottles of pills you fished out of your father’s medicine cabinet to at least ease your aching muscles are toppled next to a half-empty Nyquil Nighttime Relief bottle with its cap screwed but crooked.

You second-guess your decision to let your father know that you’re unwell. But again, he hates surprises, so letting him know that he might find your rotting corpse in front of his TV when he gets back is, perhaps, doing him a favor.

It’s dark in the living room, and the leather couch is sticking to your sweaty leg. You should probably put sweatpants and a hoodie on instead of biker shorts and a stretched out shirt that looks more like a rag than a proper clothing item. But climbing the stairs now? No, thank you.

You shift your body, trying to find the best position to fall asleep in since the wrong angle seems to block your nasal passage. A groan leaves your throat when you can’t pull the fleece blanket to cover your body. You find out you are sitting on both ends of it. To hell with it.

You blink slowly. The Nyquil seems to start working. Can’t sneeze or cough if you’re knocked out, you think. You close your eyes, the colors from the TV somehow find their way in and flash washed-out red, white, yellow behind your eyelids. You’re too tired to reach for the remote.

Maybe you’ll feel better when you wake up.

You jolt when something cold makes contact with your forehead. Within microseconds, you yeet the thing away hysterically, hitting yourself in the process. The thing flies and lands on the wooden floor with a wet, thwap sound.

“Easy, easy,”

If it was just a little bit not so sudden and confusing and designed to constrict your blood vessels until your organs fail, you would have yelped. You nearly snap your neck trying to find the source of the voice, and your tense shoulders fall as quickly as they were raised when you notice the familiar face belonging to a broad frame standing next to the couch.

It’s Joel Miller.

Of course it’s him. Your father likely has him on speed dial.

He and your father go way back. Went to the same school, crushed on the same girls, hit the same bong, and so on. They were even in a band together. Your father has pictures of them from years ago, with greasy hair, earrings, bass and drumsticks in their hands. Cringe.

Well, just your father. Not Joel though.

You haven’t seen him in like, what, a year? And yet he looks good as ever. Well, Joel has always looked good his whole life. When you saw the pictures of him from high school you thought, Oh Fuck, I Would Totally Have A Crush On This Guy. And then you had to sit in silence and ponder, because, well, you are having a crush on this guy. Sort of. Maybe.

He bends over to pick up the thing you just yeeted on the floor, which is apparently a washcloth, and dunk it in a basin on the side table, which is now clean from all the stuff that was previously there.

“Joel,” you chirp. “Hi.”

“Hey.” he smiles as he squeezes the washcloth. Beads of water come trickling down his knuckles back to the basin, gleaming in front of the still-turned-on TV. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. What time is this?” you straighten up, rummaging around the blanket to find your phone to no avail.

“One-thirty. Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Your old man asked me to check on you." He folds the cloth in two and dab it before stepping closer and pressing it against your forehead, nice and cold. His other hand supports your head from the back, basically cradling your skull.

“Your front door was unlocked when I came in.” says Joel, as if you are capable of digesting any kind of information at the moment. “You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “And sorry my Dad made you come here. You didn’t have to, it’s not so bad.”

“Come on, it’s only a ten minute drive. ‘S okay. I checked your forehead. Not too bad, but still a fever, y’know. You took the Nyquil?”

The thought of Joel Miller touching your forehead with his palm in the dark while you were asleep somehow makes the neurons in your brain stop interlinking for a second. Were you sleeping with your mouth open the whole time? You knew you did fall asleep that way since you couldn’t breathe through your nose. Man.

“I did.” you nod, shaking the thought away. You feel your lungs tighten, though. Another coughing fit incoming.

“Good,” Joel presses his hand to your forehead again as if trying to make sure the wet washcloth is properly glued onto your face. The soft pressure disrupts your composure and you cough like a machine gun submerged in a container full of Elmer’s glue, hacking up thick mucus up your throat. Joel leaves your side with hurried steps and, within seconds, somehow has a paper cup under your chin for you to spit into.

You try to grab the cup, flustered, but he doesn’t let go and instead helps you sit up straight, patting your back.

“Spit.” he says as you wheeze with phlegm in your mouth like an imbecile. You awkwardly grab his wrist for support and spit the mucus out into the cup. Soon you’ll realize how foolish it is to grab someone’s wrist using the same hand you used to cover your mouth while coughing. The string of saliva takes a ridiculously long time to break free from your lips, but Joel is unfazed. He takes a glance at the mucus, likely checking the color and consistency.

“Thanks,” you blink rapidly, still processing.

“You wanna go to urgent care?” Joel asks.

“Nu-uh,” you shake your head. “I’m okay, I promise. I feel a lot better already.”

“It’s probably just a bug,” he pats your back again before walking to the kitchen to dispose of the cup. “How long has it been going on?”

You wait until he comes back because you don’t think you can speak loud enough for him to be able to hear you from the kitchen without tearing your throat apart. Joel thinks you didn’t hear him the first time and is about to repeat his question when you say, “Uh, it got progressively worse last night.” you realize how serious that sounds and quickly add, “But not like, worse worse. I mean, compared to,”

“And before that?”

“Just a scratchy throat.”

He looks like he’s mentally taking notes with arms folded in front of his stomach. It’s the first time that night you take a full look at him under the glow of the muted TV. You can’t really make the colors out, but he’s wearing a dark t-shirt under an unbuttoned flannel shirt and jeans. He’s keeping his beard kind of thin compared to the last time you saw him, but still the same, well-tended mustache that makes a strong presence over his lips. You can’t help but notice the graying strands of hair that stick out among his dark, messy hair, complimenting him so well. You are pretty sure the ratio between light to dark hair has been shooting up this year. You like it.

And his eyes. They’re rich, and dark, and the fact that he furrows half of the time that it creates permanent dents between his eyebrows just makes him ridiculously hotter.

The mucus factory must be working overtime tonight because you can feel the slight slippery feeling of lubrication where you’re sitting. Fucking stupid, you think, read the room.

All of sudden, a lightning flashes, lighting up your surroundings before the grumbling roar of thunder follows through. For a second, you can make out the shapes and silhouettes of everything in the room like a photograph. Joel fits rightly in the left third of this main piece in your mind exhibition. You wish you could take screenshots with your eyes and keep it to admire later.

Joel glances out the window. Heat lightning reveals the blobs of clouds outside, and the strong wind is starting to blow debris to rattle the windows. He shifts his focus on you again. “Did you eat?”

“I’m okay,” you shrug. Storm is coming, Joel better go home before it gets worse.

He chuckles. “Yes or no?”

That chuckle tickles something deep inside of you. You smile shyly. “Yes, Joel. I’m okay.”

Joel stares at you, and you are pretty sure he senses that you did not, in fact, eat dinner. “I’m starvin’, actually,” he gets up and takes his flannel shirt off, and then tosses it on the couch before making his way towards the kitchen. You scream internally at the sight of his biceps like a deranged fangirl.

“Mind if I take a look in the fridge?” he yells while opening the fridge door. Just being polite. He knows your father will let him dismantle the house and take the pieces home if he wants to.

You free the tangled blanket from around your legs, only noticing now how under your old, sweat-dampened, Marlin Club shirt, your nipples are as erect as fireman’s poles. Was it the temperature, Joel, or both, you can’t conclude.

Joel whistles when he finds that the fridge is full. He grabs a can of beer and pops it open, studying the contents of the fridge and thinking of what he can cook for you as he gulps the beer down.

You follow him to the kitchen, jump to sit on the kitchen island as Joel grabs some produce off the fridge and sets them next to you. He looks at you, blinks a couple of times, then occupies himself with the food cabinet over the counter. You try to be helpful by unwrapping the basil and cherry tomatoes.

“So, how’s school?” Joel breaks the silence as he washes his hands. “And don’t just say okay, please.”

“You got me there,” you laugh. “Nothing really amusing, really.”

Then a few more superficial, classic-catching-up questions while you both prepare the pesto. Joel asks about the trip to Italy, how your father mentioned proposing to Amy soon, what do you think about that. You ask about his brother Tommy, work, and the average cost to renovate a room, to which Joel answers in detail really nicely. Then come the usual do-you-remember-when stories, melting down the strange and awkward atmosphere between the two of you. Laughters fill up the room. It’s fun and familiar.

“Did you remember when you used to call me Uncle Joel?” Joel sneers as he tosses a pan to the sink. “You used to be so nice and polite.”

“I was like six!” You snorted. “And you can’t even pay me to call you that again, Joel.”

Then, the once-your-pops-and-I anecdotes. You’ve heard some of them from your own father’s mouth, but you still listen to Joel’s versions eagerly anyway.

At one point, you start to cough again so Joel instructs you to just sit down on the counter. You don’t complain—it means you can just sit back and watch him from the back and imagine how it would feel to run your fingers through his hair.

When Joel stirs the pasta with the pesto sauce, the weather has gone full-blown insane out there.

“You should stay the night,” you try to sound as nonchalant as possible. His presence is sending arrays of erroneous signals to your reproductive organs, which will most likely result badly if he stays, but how can you let him drive home in this kind of weather?

Joel hands you a fork and pushes a plate of fusilli for you to eat. “Eh, we’ll see,” he shrugs. “I don’t mind drivin’ through a storm, but I can’t just leave you alone if you don’t feel well.”

“Dad told me you got a folded chair smashed through your windshield last summer.” You take a bite, the thick sauce coats your tastebuds and you groan in satisfaction, even though you can’t really taste it to the fullest because of your stuffy nose.

“Oh, yeah, that.” Joel chuckles. “I was lucky it aimed for the shotgun.”

He eats standing up across you, one elbow on the counter. When you both finish the meal, he takes your plate and starts washing the dishes. You tell him to do it later, and then offer your help, and he says no to both. You insist on drying the dishes anyway, standing side by side with him.

After the very late dinner, the two of you retreat to the living room. Joel asks you to take some medication again and you decline, stating that you feel better already.

“Headstrong, ain’t ya?” Joel sighs. “Okay, sleep then. Wanna sleep in your bed?”

“Not really sleepy,” you shake your head. “Feel free to take Dad’s bed, by the way. You have work in the morning, right?”

“Nah, I’m alright by the couch.” Joel scoots to make room for his legs and lies on his back, groaning like every other old person when they finally get to be horizontal. His feet are dangling on one side, his head on the opposite armrest. You take the old recliner that doesn’t even recline anymore near Joel’s feet, facing both the TV and Joel at an angle.

The TV is still on, showing the same game show but already on a later season. You unmute it and watch it together with Joel for five minutes before you realize that none of you has laughed yet, and you ask Joel if he wants to watch a movie instead. He says why not.

You open a streaming service and browse for movies on the home page. Joel probably likes action and other classic old man genre types. You pretend to read some of the summaries and see if Joel perks up at one of them, but he doesn’t seem to really care about the TV.

“I don’t know what to watch,” you admit. “Do you wanna pick the movie?”

Truth is, Joel can’t give a single shit about no goddamn movie. He’s been distracted by so many thoughts in his mind. But he gestures for you to scroll back up anyway. “Let’s see the trending ones.”

You stop at a tally of newly released and currently popular films at the top of the page, giving Joel a chance to read about them before moving to the next one.

“This one looks excitin’.” Joel points at the screen. The poster shows a man in classic Viking attire, staring intently at the viewer with striking blue eyes. Some kind of pelt is draped over his shoulders. His hands are on top of each other, resting on a sword handle, the blade facing the earth. Dried mud and blood are splattered over his face and armor. The Conquest, it says. You don’t recognize the actors listed. The summary says something about revenge, passion, blood, power, blah blah. You click play.

The movie opens with a battle scene. The movie looks like it runs out of lighting budget, and you need to squint to be able to tell what they are actually doing. Nothing can be heard except grunts and blades clashing. You look over at Joel to see his expression, but he’s looking at you. He quickly averts his gaze back to the screen.

Twenty minutes pass, and none of you are really paying attention to the plot. Not until the main guy enters a wooden tub filled with steaming hot water with his asscheeks out, and then a woman enters the scene with nothing but a thin white veil covering her body. She drops the cloth and joins him. The warm light from the torches is highlighting her breasts.

“Woah,” you look at Joel again, but he says nothing, but you can see his Adam’s apple moving awkwardly.

They kiss, and he grabs her bosom with his humongous palms and knead them. Then he buries his face between them, with the woman kissing the top of his head. After what feels like a millenia, he lifts her lower half from the water, and then puts her down to sit on the edge of the tub before performing cunnilingus. She moans.

You start to feel a pool of heat brewing inside of you. This feels invasive of their privacy, somehow, with no soundtrack added, just fire crackling and water splashing and erotic moaning.

Joel clears his throat. “Uh, maybe we shouldn’t watch this,”

“You’re the one who picked the movie.” you say, eyes fixated on the screen.

“Well, it didn’t say nothin’ about eatin’ a lady out in the summary.”

He reaches for the remote and turns the TV off, leaving only the sound of rain hitting your window in your eardrums.

“Hey,” you whine. “That’s not nice. I didn’t say yes.”

“It’s late. Go to sleep.” Joel folds his arms over his chest, partly staying warm, partly because he’s so flustered he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He then closes his eyes, knowing damn well he’s far from feeling tired let alone fall asleep.

“We’re both adults anyways,” you mutter, but Joel doesn’t move. He’s probably actually tired.

Your gaze is affixed on him. He surely doesn’t look like he’s sleeping in peace right now but he’s still handsome nonetheless. His old shirt is a tad bit too tight around his biceps. You can see the protruding veins beautifully decorating his arms and hands. His legs are slightly crossing with one ankle on top of another, and his breath is steady. He’s gorgeous.

In your wildest dreams, you would jump to straddle Joel, and he would grab your hips and fuck you to death. Is it bad that your immune system is fighting one of the worst battles in your life, and yet your number one priority is somehow to get laid, by this man specifically? It’s both excruciating and foolish.

The movie you just saw doesn’t help, either. In fact, it makes everything worse. Your mind keeps wandering back to it, the way the man eats the woman out, and then back to Joel, imagining the top of his head would look like when he eats you out. Fuck. You know that if you don’t get to touch this man in the next 30 minutes, you are either going to combust or burn everything in the vicinity.

You close your eyes, try to do the mindfulness practice you once saw in a magazine. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. You repeat “Release me from this earthly desire” in your head like a rookie buddhist wizard trying to cast a spell with a broken wand. You ball your fists in your lap so hard the joints start to hurt.

It’s not working.

Your mind keeps wandering back to different scenarios, different positions, different spots around the house. Low grunts, fingertips pressing your sides, tongue between your lips…

You can’t do it anymore. You need release. You need to at least be able to feel something, a little reward for your throbbing clit. Trying your best to be as casual as possible, you pull your folded legs closer to your body, your left heel even closer to your biker-short-covered cunt, and shift your body weight on it.

The pleasure that has been building up there bursts like a balloon. You sigh.

There are two things that Joel is not: young, and oblivious.

Oh, he is totally aware of what’s happening. You are not doing a good job trying to be subtle. From the non-stop staring, to the constant fidgeting, to the borderline sexual sighs, to the hard nipples, Joel knows you are going through something that is completely different from just being ill.

And he totally understands. He’s been there, done that. There was a time when his back wasn’t hurting and his face hadn’t been ‘graced’ with crow’s feet and age spots yet, when his hormones were at all-time high and his blood liked nothing more than flowing to his cock recklessly at the slightest inducement. He understands what you are going through.

So when you start grinding yourself onto your left heel followed by soft moans, he is not exactly surprised, just mostly in awe of your debauched audacity.

That is too much, even for him. He clears his throat, hoping you’d catch the hint and stop for good. But you don’t, and your eyes are closed and your eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, and your hips are moving slowly, sensually, chasing something, the sight of it stirs something up in his guts.

It is vulgar, and most importantly indecent in every way, but Joel can feel his own arousal creeping up no matter how hard he tries to convince himself that it is not happening.

He calls your name. Your body responds faster than the critically thinking part of your brain and you stop like you just got cursed by Medusa.

You can physically feel your heart drop to your ass. Your neck moves stiffly to find his eyes like a broken animatronic. “Yeah?” you croak.

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doin’?”

You blink. Deny? Act stupid? Admit? Deny, deny. Wait, deny? No, act stupid.

“What… Do you mean?” you say, and you realize that you chose the dialogue option that actually sounds the dumbest.

Joel clicks his tongue. “Might as well hump me if you want it that much.”

Wait, what? Your eyes light up. “Really?”

Joel stares at you in genuine perplexity before lifting one hand up to massage his temples. He takes a deep breath, and in the softest way possible—like telling a puppy she can’t eat electronic parts—sighs, “No.”

“Oh,” you cover your mouth. “I thought you meant—“

“Yeah, yeah. My bad.” he sighs again, sounding significantly more frustrated. He then uses his hands to support himself to a sitting position, composing himself.

Silence. You don’t dare to look at Joel, but your cunt keeps pulsing like a metal detector. You understand that the beeping—desire—will not die down unless you get the valuable artefact from the bronze age—Joel—in your hand. Is this time to be bold and brash?

“Joel,” you call, and you can swear that was not a sober decision, but the stage curtains have been pulled back, and you are pushed to the stage to play your part.

“Hm?”

“What if… I hump you anyway?” you stand up, and your knees are slightly buckling but you act tough and bold regardless.

Joel’s jaws opens and stays slightly agape for a while before he says, “That fever is really messin’ with your brain, huh? Sit down.”

“You’re bricked up, Joel.” you accuse. You don’t actually know for sure since Joel keeps a hand on his lap to cover his crotch, but Joel gulps. Gotcha.

“Unrelated to you.” he hisses in defense.

You scoff.

“Joel, please,” you grouse, voice cracking and desperate. “I want this so bad.” you whisper as you take slow, threatening steps towards Joel until your crotch is not even an inch away from his knee. “I want you so bad.”

“This ain’t right, kid.” Joel puts a hand on the outer side of your arm, and it’s worth pointing out that he’s shaking. “You know that.”

Joel doesn’t tell you that he’s battling demons in his head, and he’s currently losing. A million impulses are catapulting burning boulders onto the gate of his conscience, and all he got is one bleeding, sickly troop with a chipped wooden sword. But he puts his best stern expression despite the fact that his body is betraying him.

He could leave now. Push you away. Clear his head. Come back later. Or not come back at all.

But he knows he doesn’t want to. He can hear his blood rushing and his heart singing battle cry. Not to mention his cock, hard and nearly burns a hole through his jeans.

A long pause. You want to push him further, but you know you don’t need to. The black marlin printed on your shirt does a worthless attempt at distracting Joel from your hard nipples, putting him into a trance.

Joel takes a deep breath. He knows he has lost. “You can help yourself, that’s all,” he nods, more trying to convince himself rather than talking to you. “Just to make you shut up and get rest. That’s it.”

That’s an unenthusiastic barf-colored green light, but it is a green light nonetheless.

You put your hands on Joel’s shoulder before putting your left knee next to his right leg and lower yourself down onto his thigh, while your other knee rests in front of his crotch and presses onto his raging hard-on. Your cunt pulsates in pleasure upon contact, and you let out a gasp. Joel anxiously places his hands on your sides to keep you steady, one thumb ‘accidentally’ brushing your nipple, earning a whine. You lock gaze with him, and start moving.

The friction sends buzzes up your head. You make each grind count, and every single one feels like heaven despite the layers of fabric between your cunt and his beefy thigh. Moans and Joel’s name spill from your lips indeliberately, and he tightens his grip on your body until his fingertips turn white as if you would fly away with a gust of wind if he doesn’t. If you weren’t so absorbed in your own pleasure, you would’ve noticed how shallow and rapid Joel’s breath has become. It turns him on watching you getting off because of him, using him, how your eyelids flutter and your pupils are having a hard time staying in place.

Joel wants to break free from his denim, badly. While he consciously thought, planned, and stated that he’s doing what he’s doing only for your satisfaction and be done with it, it isn’t exactly nice having your kneecap pushing button-flies shaped caves on his crotch repeatedly. Especially not when his cock, which probably has its own brain, has been begging to be taken care of, too.

You, on the other side, are having the best time of your life. As your climax is building up in your south region, you smile at Joel, who smiles back. His hand leaves your ribs briefly to brush the hair that is sticking to your sweaty forehead away from your face.

“That feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod weakly. “So good, Joel, so good,”

For a moment there you consider kissing him. His face is merely two inches away from you, and he looks ravishing, all sweaty and blushing. And how you just want to have your tongue inside his mouth, his lips all over yours sloppily. But that feels like overstepping boundaries, like a whole uncharted area you can’t cross, spreading the flu aside. You opt to put your chin on his shoulder instead, trying to focus on your orgasm.

“I want to see your face,” Joel says in your ear, his beard grazing your cheek. Takes you three whole seconds to process that, and when you do, it tingles your core. Before you can answer, he continues, “You’re so beautiful like this.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze with flushing cheeks. You don’t know what to say, and maybe you don’t have to. You continue to be dumbfounded when Joel stops your motion and helps you to stand up.

“Hold on,” he says as he undoes the buttons of his jeans. “I need to take these off.”

He quickly kicks the jeans off his legs, revealing a dark gray boxer briefs under. A wet patch adorns the bulge right in the center. He then manspreads and gestures for you to come back onto him, to which you comply. “C’mere,” he says, “I need to feel you on me.”

You straddle him, positioning your cunt right on his cock, and on everybody and their mother, it feels good. No, it feels right. Joel lets out a groan that cuts into a gasp when you start to grind. “Fuck, yeah,” he grabs your ass, helping you settle on a rhythm.

The contour of Joel’s cock, albeit still covered by the fabric of his boxer briefs, touches every last nerve ending of your cunt in such a different way that his thigh did. You pick your pace up, getting the pleasure to build up again.

“Joel, I’m gonna come,” you moan, voice quivering. You rake your fingers through his hair, your noses almost touching.

“Keep going, baby,” he says through a smile. “Don’t hold back. You sound so pretty.”

The encouragement is shooting up fireworks in your lower belly, and you start making more sounds. You’re close. So close.

“Makin’ me so hard all night, you,”

You whimper as you come, hips convulsing. Time slows down, and it feels like your cunt is pulled towards a strong gravitational force within your own body as you are sinking down a quicksand, all while pleasure forces your brain to reboot itself.

“That’s it, that’s it. There you go. You’re so good.”

Joel holds the back of your head while you’re laying on his chest, limp. When you pull yourself away from him, he presses a palm to your cheek, smiling. “Attagirl.”

When you finally gather yourself, you pull away from Joel, leaving a huge wet spot on where you just had your cunt on, and scoot to the spot next to him on the couch. You are about to lean onto his shoulder when he stands up and picks his jeans up from the floor. He sees the wet trail of arousal you left on the fabric in the thigh area and snickers.

“Damn, kid, you’re practically a snail,” he points to it. “Poor thing.”

You wince. “What are you doing?”

“Puttin’ my pants on?” he answers in the exact same tone, fixing the position of his boxer briefs.

“But you haven’t even come yet!” you protest. “What the fuck? Take them off!”

“That’s not what I agreed to, remember? I help you come so you’ll shut up and sleep. You’ve come, now shut up, and go to sleep.” he lays it out like basic math while you press the base of your palms onto your eyelids, confounded.

“You’re a sick person,” you shake your head, and then point to his crotch. “You’re literally still hard.”

“That has nothin’ to do with anythin’.”

You stare at the open space, like you’re trying to break the fourth wall in a sitcom. Can you believe this guy?

“Joel, your line is ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ Now let’s start again from the top.”

Joel, who’s struggling trying to fit his bulge back in the jeans without hurting it, stops fussing with his button-fly shortly to push your head back—softly—to the couch. “Sleep,” he drags his palm over your face to close your eyelids.

“Joooooel,”

“Your line is ‘Yes, Joel, good night.’”

“Yes, Uncle Joel, good night, Uncle Joel,” you mock as you swiftly jump from the couch and pull his jeans down to his ankle and force him to step out of it. You hear Joel yelling hey, hey, hey as he tries to simultaneously fight you and not hurt you. You throw the pair of pants across the room with all your might and it lands with a loud thud.

“What are your pants made of, steel?”

“What is wrong with you?” he takes a step to fetch it, but you stand up and push him back to the couch. Joel is for sure going easy on you, because if he wanted to, he could definitely launch you through the walls. Instead, he just accepts his fate and stares at the ceiling, defeated.

“Nobody sleeps with jeans on, Joel,” you reach for the TV remote again. “Now let’s watch something again and then sleep.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again.”

“We’re not watching the viking movie again,” you repeat. “We’re watching SpongeBob.”

Joel groans.

“What, you don’t like SpongeBob?”

“Not my era,” Joel says. “I watched Gumby. Tom and Jerry. The Muppet Show.”

“No wonder you act like the heckling old guys.”

“I don’t, but, sure,”

“Oh, you’re more like the eagle. So serious all the time.”

Joel rolls his eyes. You play the first episode of the first season of SpongeBob Squarepants, and the familiar intro begins. You take a look at Joel in the corner of your eyes, how he has one of his forearm on the top of his head, bicep almost as thick as his head. The other hand is resting on his thigh, and you can tell that he’s at least still half-hard. You wonder how he looks under those boxer briefs.

On the screen, Squidward and Mr. Krabs are climbing a post with a sea of raging anchovies under them. Joel’s lips slightly turn upward. Ha, eat that, Mr. Old Cartoon Head.

You shift so that you’re on your back, legs resting on Joel’s lap. He gives you a look, but doesn’t say anything. Minutes later, totally absorbed with SpongeBob pestering his neighbor with a reef blower, he has a hand on your ankle, caressing it without much thought.

They would have written about you in a Greek tragedy the way you’re consumed by greed and lust. When your toes stroke Joel’s bulge, totally by accident and not precalculated at all, you pretend like you’re captivated by the TV. It’s hard and you can definitely discern the ridge of possible veins and the head of his cock.

Joel exhales, sounding so done and tired. “I know you were going to do this,”

But he doesn’t push you away. And that excites you.

You don’t say anything or look away from the screen, but you keep rubbing the outline of his cock, which is now more visible and grows slightly larger, with the space between your big and index toe. Your brain automatically puts the ice clinking in a vase while SpongeBob is getting dry under Sandy’s treedome as background noise to amplify Joel’s restrained grunts.

You like this. You like having Joel wrapped around your finger. Soon after, you withdraw your legs and sit up, causing him to open his eyes over the sudden halt.

You stare at him, bold. “Would you like my mouth?”

Joel nods.

You don’t even wait for a second. Joel helps you take off his boxer briefs, the length of his hard-on springs out like jack-in-the-box. You admire how it looks, how the tip is totally sticky and glistening, before lowering your tongue. Joal lets out a sound akin to a whimper as you let your saliva ooze down the underside of his cock and quickly retrieve it into your mouth using your tongue. He tastes slightly salty, like sweat. And if you could smell better you’d see how hypnotizing his scent is, like calling you to stick his cock down your throat until the world collapses.

“That’s it,” Joel says, out of breath. His cock is now grazing the soft wall of your cheek, and he wonders how experienced you actually are because you definitely don’t act like an amateur. You use one elbow to support yourself, the other one taking turns massaging his balls and the base of his cock.

The only downside of this is that Joel can’t really look at your face. He craves the sight of you, how your lips are wrapped around his cock, and how your cheek is bulging like a squirrel full of him. One of his hands crawls up your back under your shirt, rubbing it before it finds a new target: your breasts. He kneads on one, thumb flicking the bud. You can’t help but moan and take him deeper, sending vibrations from your throat to his cock.

Joel knows he won’t last much longer, and he would very much like to keep this thing going as long as possible. So he asks you to stop, averting your disappointment by lifting up your shirt and sucking on one nipple. He’s surprisingly tender with it, taking his time. You reach a hand to his cock again, trying to at least get him off with your hand, but he pulls your wrists back and locks them on your sides.

“Joel,” you whine. “Fuck me. Please.”

“No can do,” Joel answers as his lips are trailing down to your stomach, where he peppers kisses all over. You scoot backwards and like reading your mind, he tugs the hem of your shorts down to your ankle before yanking it away, revealing your throbbing, desperate cunt. He then dives down, nose pressing against your mound as his tongue explores the new treasure island.

Just like in the movie.

You try to grab on something, anything, but the leather couch does nothing but squeaks, and Joel instinctively laces his fingers with yours. The view of the top of your head is exactly how you imagined it would be. The moans released from your lips are rather loud, especially when Joel creates a suction cup with his lips right on your clit.

“Joel, Joel,” you grasp his hands with all your might. “This is fucking unfair, I’m so— I’m gonna—”

Before you get to finish your sentence, your body already decides that it’s time for another release. Your heels are planted firmly against the couch as your hips lift to the air, and Joel lets go. He kneels before your cunt, pumps himself to oblivion and comes all over you before you get to collect yourself, staining your stomach and breasts. Later you’ll realize that the first spurt went a little bit rogue and landed on your hair.

“Fuck you, man,” you complain, sticking out a middle finger at him. “I was supposed to make you come.”

Joel rests his head on the couch armrest, eyes closed. “You did.”

“I meant technically,” you attempt to nudge him with your leg, but he dodges and stands up to grab the washcloth he used to compress you with earlier. He then wipes your stomach and breasts with it, the cold water making you squirm.

“What now?” you ask when he hands you your clothes.

“Sleep. It’s four in the mornin’.” he says as he puts his stained, sticky, wet boxer briefs on and sits on the recliner. So you can’t drive me mad anymore, he says.

You whine, but you realize that your eyelids are actually very heavy. “Blowjob first time in the morning?” you offer before letting yourself drift off.

“Thought you were s’pposed to be sick.” Joel shakes his head. But he grins.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #dbf!joel #dbf!joel x reader #dbf!joel miller x reader #tlou #the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #dbf!joel miller

2K notes · View notes

pankomako · 2 years ago

Text

dude not me thinking about post-gang war arc gang's bay aughghgh the character design ideas i have are so GOOOODDD

#at this point i feel like i just SHOULD make gang's bay a tv show when i can #but also that depends if i can get the necessary people on it. mainly being boat (which i dont think will be too hard?)#(but that also depends if he would be interested in so much as being a voice actor)#(and that's like the bare minimum i'd need from him. i'd hope he also wants to do more of the development as well)#(which i mean it seems right up his alley? he seems to like creating characters n stories for an audience right)#but anyway it may actually be higher priority to me than bwob at this point. as much as i still love the idea of it #im just SO invested in gang's bay now #i think the main thing is that the ocs ive made for gang's bay i've developed to the point of them actually feeling real to me #and like people i could talk to. and there are SO many stories i could tell with them #meanwhile boardwalk is meant to be smth a little more like a recent disney cartoon: a sort of blend between episodic and serialized #where it kind of starts as more of a sitcom but builds up to a big dramatic save-the-world type plot leaving everything changed for better #at this point gang's bay also kinda does that but on a smaller scale conflict-wise but is far more flexible #in that a LOT could happen before and after the fact. it's still at its core a sitcom #but it's still allowed to have a sort of story progression between the gang war and the characters changing & finding their life partners #gang's bay also has SO many more themes than bwob does at this point #bwob is supposed to be an allegory for acceptance of queer individuals or even any type of diversity #meanwhile in gangs bay there's friendship and trust and the meaning of masculinity and growing up and overcoming addiction and trauma and-#there's just SO much at this point dude. if any show SHOULD run for like 10 seasons or more it's gang's bay #honestly im not even sure where it would end at this point. either way if it were a show it'd probably be the best adult cartoon out there #UGHHHH im so hyperfixated on this cant you tell

0 notes

biblicallyaccuratemeat · 3 months ago

Text

A Firm Hand

MDNI!!!

A/N: I posted this on ao3 a little bit ago, so I figure why not post it here too! Beta read by @teaflavoredwitch Bucky Barnes x female reader, past Steve Rogers x reader implied/referenced, cheating, alcohol, kind of dub con if you squint, p in v sex, dom!Bucky, protective Bucky, dirty talk, kitchen sex, spanking, fingering, drunk sex, size kink, friends to lovers, angst and porn, shamelessly self-indulgent

Word Count: 5.3k

Steve Rogers is a jackass.

Captain fucking America, mister cherry pie and morals, was a self-righteous prick. Bucky had never felt more pissed off at Steve in his one hundred plus years of living than he does right now. You curled up in his bed, bawling your eyes out and practically chugging some cheap magnum bottle of whiskey.

Steve, who apparently didn’t believe in too much of a good thing, when he decided to stick his patriotic dick in Sharon Carter of all people. Of course, you found out. Steve was a terrible liar despite having the balls to actually cheat on you. You don’t know why you immediately go to Bucky, but you do. In the year you’ve been dating Steve, you became rapidly closer with the former Winter Soldier. Perhaps it was the forced proximity, or maybe you were just kindred spirits.

Bucky, of course, falls for you. Hard and fast like an idiot. Forced to pine after his best friend’s girl as if his life wasn’t already a fucking sob story. Always the dutiful friend, listening to you vent about the pitfalls of your relationship with Steve and trying to offer sound advice. Bucky learns to tame the green eyed monster inside him, finding contentment as your friend and confidant.

When you show up on his doorstep at eight o’clock on a Saturday night, he knows Steve fucked up. He knows it without you even having to say a word, because he knew this would happen. He knew, on some level, that Steve didn’t deserve you. Not that Bucky deserved you either, god knows he was even less deserving. But you went to him, so that has to mean something, right?

The intensifying of your sobs pull Bucky out of his reverie, head snapping in your direction again. Some commercial blares on his shitty little TV in the corner of his bedroom, Even the Nights Are Better playing in the background on some allergy medicine ad.

“T-this was our song!” You wail, burying your face in a pillow as your body shudders with the force of your sobs. The bottle of whiskey remains clutched in your hand. If it weren’t for your inconsolable state, Bucky might’ve been impressed and slightly turned on at the way you chug the whiskey. A woman after his own heart.

Bucky grimaces, perched next to you, stock still, “Okay, dollface, I think that’s enough whiskey.”

He feels awkward and stilted, like his skin is on too fucking tight and the room is too warm. He feels way too self-aware, he’s tuned in to every little sniffle and hiccup.

Seriously, fuck Steve for this. Not only for breaking your heart, but also creating the perfect storm. You, vulnerable and drunk in his fucking bed of all places. A wet dream come to life, if he’s being honest.

He needs to get the whiskey from you. He practically has to pry it out of your hands, amber liquid sloshing inside the nearly empty bottle. Fuck. He should have cut you off way earlier. He grabs the remote, clicking the mute button, “Honey, let’s take some deep breaths, yeah?”

Bucky tries to smile reassuringly but it’s tight and stretches over his teeth in a weird way that makes him look more machine than man. You peer over the edge of the pillow smushed against your face, doe eyes blinking owlishly at him, “Deep breaths?” You echo, incredulously, “You want me to take deep breaths when I walk in on my boyfriend tongue deep in that blonde bitch? Are you fucking for real, Bucky?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes rapidly, like a fish out of water. He sure fucking feels like one, incredibly out of his depths. He’s not equipped for this, a tornado of hormones and heartbreak. His stupid silence somehow seems to agitate you even further, angelic features twisting and morphing through every stage of grief in a matter of seconds.

Your anguish quickly gives way to fury, chucking the pillow across the room, “Has he always been like this? Huh?”

Bucky blinks taken aback, “What? Steve?” He sighs, running a hand through shortly cropped hair, “No, doll, he hasn’t always been like this. I’ve known Steve since we were kids, and he’s never been a saint but he’s not usually an inconsiderate, lying, cheating asshole either.” Bucky’s voice is hard and contemptuous.

Bucky takes your dainty hand in his, squeezing reassuringly, “Hating Steve isn’t going to make this better. It’s not going to erase the pain he caused,” He pauses, pursing his lips as he tries to find the right words, “You gotta let yourself feel this, dollface. Feel the anger, feel the hurt, the betrayal. Don’t suppress it, because that’s just gonna make it fester.”

His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together. Bucky silently attempts to work through his own feelings on the matter. On one hand, his never wavering loyalty to Steve, his brother in arms and every sense of the word. On the other hand is you. Heartbroken, far too lovely for his comfort and the odd, delicate bond between you two. Bucky swallows, his mouth filled with a metallic taste as he fights down the ever growing urge to hunt Steve down and beat him within an inch of his life.

He realizes you’re staring at him, gaze hard, “Why didn’t you warn me?” You ask in a quiet, hollow tone that makes Bucky feel like his heart is going to shrivel up in his chest.

Running a hand down his face, Bucky huffs, “Warn you?” He echoes, “Honey, I… I didn’t know.” He implores, clenching his fists in his lap, “I swear to God, if I had known he was being such a fucking prick, I would’ve put a stop to it, I would’ve beaten the information out of him myself.”

“You didn’t know?!” You throw your hands up in the air, gesturing wildly, “You didn’t have a single fucking inkling? I don’t believe that for a second, Bucky,” You hiss, movements jerky and agitated as you tousle your hair, “You didn’t think to say, “Hey doll,”” You begin to mimic Bucky’s voice, “‘You’re about to date the goddamn devil!’”

Holding his hands up in a placating gesture, Bucky scoots back. Your accusation stings, hitting a nerve he hadn’t known was exposed, “Hey, hold on just a damn minute,” He says, his voice rising in defense, “I’m not fucking psychic, dollface. I knew Steve could be an inconsiderate ass sometimes, but I didn’t know he was straight up cheating on you.”

Bucky scoffs, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through his veins, “I’m not going to apologize for not knowing what my so-called best friend was up to behind your back. That’s not fucking fair.”

His gaze softens slightly, his voice lowering to a more conciliatory tone, “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t see the signs earlier. I’m sorry you got hurt. But don’t think for a second that I would’ve ever encouraged you to be with someone who would treat you like this. You mean too damn much to me for that.”

You’re still pissed, of course. Feeling self-destructive, though Bucky’s heartfelt declaration hits deep. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, a feral kind of rage filling you, “Oh yeah? Well… you’re… You’re an ass!” You shout, a half-hearted insult. You weren’t really trying, you just wanted to burn bridges. You push yourself out of the bed, stomping out of the room. Slamming the door for good measure, the sound echoing through the apartment like a gunshot. Storming into the kitchen, you begin digging through Bucky’s sparse cabinets for more liquor.

Bucky stared after you, stunned and hurt by your somewhat childish outburst. Your accusations burned like salt in a fresh wound. He stood there for a moment, anger and confusion warring within him. Then, with a fierce scowl, he stalked after you, his long strides quickly closing the distance between his bedroom and the kitchen.

The floorboards creak under his heavy footsteps as he follows the path down the hallway. When he reaches the kitchen, he grabs the doorframe, leaning in. “Hey, wait a fucking minute.” He all but growls, his voice a deep, dangerous rumble. “I know you’re hurting, but you don’t get to just accuse me of being an ass and then stomp away like a fucking toddler.”

He steps further into the kitchen, a breath away from crowding you against the counter, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Steve being a prick, but I won’t accept you throwing blame at me when I'm trying my goddamn hardest to be here for you!”

Bucky leans back against the counter, scoffing, “We both know you’re better than this, sweetheart. Don’t let Steve’s mistakes make you forget that. I’m not the enemy.”

You snatch a bottle of vodka out of the cabinet, there’s no more than a few sips left. You down it in one go, sighing tiredly, “I don’t need you to be here for me. I don’t need you to fix me, Bucky. I’m not some little dolly for you to glue back together. You don’t need to make your fucking amends with me.”

Bucky’s expression hardens, snatching the bottle from your hands, “Watch your fucking tone,” He whispers, cornering you against the counter. There’s a glimmer in his eyes, you see it. The Winter Soldier lurking in the back of his psyche. It sends a perverse thrill down your spine.

“I’m not trying to fix you. You’re not some damn doll, I know that. I’ve always known that.” He pauses, taking a deep breath, “I’m here as your friend, to listen, to support you. But I won’t allow you to take your anger out on me, honey.”

You’ve never been good at knowing when to quit, it’s never been your strong suit. Now is not an exception, you double down on your brattiness.

“Don’t tell me to watch my fucking tone, I’m not a child.” You hiss, scowling up at him. He towers over you, all muscle and man. Damn him for being so fucking tall, built like a skyscraper. You damn near have to be on your tiptoes at this point, it’s ridiculous.

He grasps your chin hard, cheeks smushing up and lips forced into a pout, “Watch it, little girl,” He murmurs lowly, licking his lips, “You can be mad. You can scream and shout and curse until you’re blue in the face. But you don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Those sapphire eyes flashed with a mixture of anger, frustration, and a hint of something else, something that made your insides feel molten and heady.

“I’ve taken a lot of shit for the people I love. I’ve been beaten, tortured, and turned into a fucking weapon. But damn if I’m going to stand here and take your anger when all I’m trying to do is be here for you.” Slowly, deliberately, he leans in closer until his breath is hot against your pursed lips, “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re angry. But I won’t let you push me away, dollface. I won’t let you be self-destructive.” His voice drops to a fervent whisper, “You fucking try me, sweetheart. I’ve dealt with terrorist threats and mad titans. Fuck, I’ve been a terrorist. You think a little thing like you is going to scare me off?”

Bucky’s hand snakes around to the back of your neck. You whirl around, the world spinning, and he pushes you face first into the hardwood. You all but shriek in surprise, eyes comically wide. Your left cheek squished on the cool flooring, shoulders pinned down. Your knees prop your ass up in the air, curving your spine into a sharp arch. He has you right where he wants you, submissively positioned. An offering, your perky backside up in the air invitingly. Your body betrays you, a fucking shiver of pleasure wracking through you. You can feel your cunt leaking eagerly at Bucky’s manhandling.

You wonder if he realizes the effect this is having on you. All thoughts of Steve and his betrayal fly from your mind as your pussy throbs in time with your rapid heartbeat. Shame and arousal burn your cheeks, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to will away your body’s traitorous reaction.

This is Bucky. This is fucking Bucky. Steve’s best friend, your weird friend-ish acquaintance. You know him because of Steve. This is a bad idea, horrible. You need to put a stop to this immediately before you actually let him have his way with you on the kitchen floor. Because you’re heartbroken, you’re pissed, and you’re far wetter than you’ve been in months. You’re too vulnerable and fucked up, not to mention drunk to make a sound decision right now. And you know, you fucking know if Bucky asked to rail you within an inch of your life… You’d say yes.

So, “Bucky, uh,” You begin to protest meekly, all the fire and spit on your tongue moments ago evaporating.

The hand that is now pressing down in the middle of your back and pinning your sternum to the ground increases in pressure fractionally. A silent warning of the consequences of pushing back even further.

The words die on your tongue, you focus your gaze on a piece of lint by your face and huff.

But then, slowly, deliberately he brings his hand down on your upturned ass. Delivering a sharp smack that echoes through the room. A surprised shriek of indignation rips from your throat, equal parts horrified and aroused. The stinging pain radiates across your tender flesh, a stark contrast to the coolness of the floor beneath you. “What in the fuck are you doing?” You demand angrily, scowl deepening.

“Keep testing me, honey, and I’ll show you exactly what happens to bratty little girls who don’t listen,” Bucky punctuates his words with another sharp smack to your ass, watching as the flesh and fat jiggle and redden beneath his organic palm.

He drapes his muscular torso across your back, leaning over your bent form. His breath is hot against your ear, his body a heavy, unyielding weight pressing down on you. It’s a comforting contrast from the rough treatment your butt is receiving, like a warm weighted blanket.

Despite your best efforts to stay quiet, a tiny breathless noise escapes your throat. Halfway between a moan and a squeak, the flush staining your cheeks darkens further. You bite your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, simultaneously mortified and turned on.

Momentarily caught off guard, the super soldier freezes, his vibranium hand resting on the curve of your hip. A look of shock and disbelief crosses his handsome features. He had expected anger, perhaps even more fighting back, but never in a million years did he think you would react so unabashedly with desire.

For a moment, Bucky simply stares down at you, taking in the pretty flush of your cheeks, the way your lips parted around that sinful little noise. His cock, hard and heavy, strains through his jeans and presses into the curve of your ass. That all-consuming hunger that HYDRA tortured out of his system returns with a fucking vengeance. His blood sings in his veins at your little noises and rushes to his dick.

A low, strangled groan escapes his throat as Bucky tries desperately to grasp at the last vestiges of self-control. His hand digs into the fat of your hip, squeezing and kneading almost unconsciously, “Fuck, honey…” He murmurs, his tone ragged with the overwhelming heat consuming you both, “Are you… are you getting off on this?”

Bucky moves impossibly closer, chapped lips brushing against the shell of your ear, “‘Cause if you are, honey… I’ll fucking wreck you and I won’t be held responsible for it.”

“Shut up,” You whine weakly, your shame and arousal fighting for dominance. Despite your half-hearted protest, you arch your spine deeper. You’re soaked, you know it. Embarrassingly soaked, probably through your fucking sweatpants at this point. Your cunt aches, feeling too empty. Bucky’s dark promise of wrecking you? Fuck if it doesn’t make you clench around nothing, needy and debauched. He’s barely touched you and you’re sure if he so much as brushes past your clit, you’ll cum harder than you ever have in your life.

Bucky’s eyes darken with lust as you arch your back, presenting your ass to him like a cat in heat. A low, approving growl rumbles deep in his throat. The hand on your hip slides back to palm the globe of your ass, sinking into the fatty flesh. You hope it bruises, god you want him to mark you. You want that vibranium arm to rip you into pretty little chunks and remake you into something new. Something Steve’s never touched, never kissed, never held.

“Shut up? Honey, the way you’re acting, you don’t want me to shut up,” He taunts, his voice a deep, seductive murmur.

That rips a pathetic whimper from your throat, eyes fluttering shut, “I’m too drunk for this.”

Bucky hums, “Yeah? You’re a big girl, you know how to say stop.”

You shudder, all but melting beneath him, “I’m too sad for this.”

Smack!

This time Bucky’s metal arm meets your ass cheek, you jolt, gasping. You’re panting openly against the hardwood, eyes screwed shut and blushing like a virgin. The intoxicating mixture of stinging pain and molten pleasure are far more powerful than the whiskey in your belly.

The former Winter Soldier all but rips your sweatpants down, bunching them around your knees. The cool air against your newly exposed skin makes you shudder, a perverse shiver racing down your spine. The rough, calloused pads of Bucky’s fingers dig into the tender flesh of your ass cheek, kneading and squeezing the malleable muscle possessively, “Fuck, baby, look at this ass… you’re fucking perfect,” He groans approvingly, hips rocking forward to grind his clothed erection against you, “Steve was a goddamn fool to ever even look at another woman.”

Without warning, he brings down his palm hard against your bare ass, the sharp crack of skin against skin filling the otherwise silent apartment. The biting ache blossoms across your nerves, quickly followed by a rush of heat and traitorous surge of arousal, “Maybe this is what you need, honey. You need to be manhandled, huh? I gotta slap that bratty attitude of yours outta your ass?” Bucky coos mockingly, dragging his blunt nails down the rapidly reddening skin.

You breathe shallowly, fuck it feels like you’re barely breathing as is. This is a side of Bucky you’d never dreamt of seeing, not even in your wildest dreams. He was always so stoic, quiet. It was like you were friends with a brick wall that used to be a sleeper agent. But this? Domineering, taunting, merciless Bucky? You were fucking drenched.

You hum in agreement, wiggling your ass back, too far gone now. Any sense of decorum or boundaries flies out of your little bird brain. All you know is Bucky’s punishing hand and his rock hard dick pressing against you.

He shifts, maneuvering your wrists to hold them firmly over your head with one large hand. He brings the other down on your backside in a series of sharp, biting slaps. A red handprint blooms across your skin, a brand. The pain gives way to a dizzying liquid heat that has you squirming and whining under him.

“Fuck, listen to you… making all those pretty little noises for me,” He pants, hips grinding slowly against the curve of your butt. Bucky was throbbing in his pants, achingly hard and straining angrily in the confines of his jeans, “Keep making those noises and I’ll bust in my fucking pants, honey.”

You can feel it now, how soaked you are. The cotton gusset of your panties clings to your puffy lips like a second skin. The evidence of your arousal is impossible to miss, the dark spot growing rapidly with each slap and taunting murmur. You rub your thighs together needfully, desperate for some kind of relief. Bucky’s gaze narrows in on your needy display, grinning wolfishly, “Fuck, honey, you’re absolutely soaked through,” His lips brush against your ear as he speaks, rolling his hips teasingly into your backside, “Is this what you need, doll? To be put in your place, spanked until you’re a needy, desperate little thing?”

Holding your wrists firmly above your head, his vibranium hand slides around your hip, fingertips brushing teasingly along the sticky fabric of your underwear. The material clings to your swollen, aching folds.

“You leaking just for me, honey?” Bucky murmurs, nipping at your ear. He brushes the edge of his nail across the swollen bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. It’s so light that you almost don’t feel it, but you do and you sob in relief at the slightest touch. Your legs tremble, threatening to give out under you.

Bucky continues his maddeningly light caresses, “So fucking wet and ready for me…”

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, cool vibranium meeting feverish, swollen flesh. It swells and throbs under his ministrations. His fingers continue their unhurried exploration of your pussy, a single digit circling your entrance. You feel it push in slowly, sinking in one knuckle at a time. Your pussy flutters and clenches around the invading pressure, eager to be filled.

“This is what you needed all along, isn’t it honey? To be touched like this, to have someone take control and make this needy cunt drip?” He slides a second finger knuckle-deep into your dripping hole, pumping them in and out of your clinging heat as his other hand delivers harsh, biting strikes to your backside, “That’s it, honey, fucking take it.”

The thought of Steve’s vanilla, lackluster lovemaking paled in comparison to the passionate, almost feral way Bucky was claiming your body now. And his dick wasn’t even out yet. He could feel every inch of your silken skin trembling and quaking with need, your breathy cries and whimpering music to his ears. The tender, almost gentlemanly approach Steve usually had taken with you had left you wanting, craving something far more intense and fulfilling.

Bucky eases his fingers out and peels your panties from your sticky cunt, shucking the fabric to bunch it around your knees with your sweatpants. He reaches out once more, his calloused palm cupping the warm, plush flesh of your ass. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin, could feel the way your muscles clenched and trembled beneath his touch. His fingers sank into the giving flesh, squeezing.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I think I’ll die,” You whisper, needy with shame burning your cheeks. And in that moment, it may as well have been true. To drive the point home, you wriggle your ass back against his groin, a clear invitation.

Bucky groaned, the sound torn from deep in his chest. His cock throbs and jumps at your needy words, desperate to be balls deep in your tight cunt. Faintly, he realizes he should hesitate, take a moment to think this through. But the way you presented yourself so wantonly to him made every logical thought fly out the window. He couldn’t resist, not you, not like this.

His hands flew to his belt, working it open with shaking hands. He quickly shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs, freeing his aching cock. It sprang up, long, thick, and flushed a deep, angry red. The swollen head was leaking pre-cum, a bead of moisture rolling down the shaft. He wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself a few times, before shifting closer to you. Bucky sweeps the tip of his cock through your folds, from hole to clit, coating himself in your sticky slickness.

You gape at his dick, eyes wide as you peer over your shoulder. He’s fucking huge, because of course he is. Thick and girthy, this is going to hurt, you realize. And though that should deter you, or at the very least make you anxious, it only makes you wetter.

“Fuck,” You whisper, struggling to form a coherent thought, “You’re fucking huge. That’s… that can’t fit. It’s physically impossible.”

The bastard smirks, rubbing the small of your back, “Oh, it’ll fit, honey. I’ll make sure of that.”

You already feel your inner muscles tensing up, trying to force out something that isn’t even breaching you yet. A high-pitched keening noise rips from your throat as the bulbous tip sinks into your wet heat.

Bucky shudders as he feels your tight little cunt clenching and fluttering around just the swollen head of his cock. Fuck, you were so goddamn small, so fucking tight. He could feel every inch of your silky walls squeezing him, trying to push his thick tip out of your needy hole. It took every ounce of control not to just slam forward and bury himself to the hilt in your scorching heat.

He grit his teeth, his breath coming out in a low growl as he forced himself to hold still, to wait for your okay before he fucked into you. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, holding you in place as he fought for some semblance of restraint. Where was all that goddamn self-discipline that HYDRA beat into him? His dick was barely inside you and he was already a slave to your nubile body.

He rocked his hips slightly, just barely, letting you feel the thick, spongy head of his cock kiss your entrance with each shallow thrust. “Tell me to move, honey.” Bucky pants, sounding utterly wrecked, “Let me move.”

All you can offer is a small, pathetic whine in response.

That’s all the confirmation Bucky needs. He starts to move then, his hips rocking in shallow little thrusts as he eases inch after inch of his monstrous dick inside you. His grip tightens on your hips, digging into the plush flesh of your ass as he keeps you in place for each teasing thrust of his cock.

“God, honey, I’m gonna fuck this needy hole just like you want,” He growls, sweat beading on his forehead from the effort of holding back, “Gonna rub this thick fucking tip all over this slutty pussy until you’re dripping and begging for my cock. Fuck… you’re so goddamn tight. Squeezing my cock so fucking hard.”

“W-we shouldn’t be doing this,” You gasp, screwing your eyes shut against the onslaught of sensations. You’re already feeling overstimulated, too warm and too full. Part of you screams to crawl away from the excruciating sensation of being impaled on such a thick cock. You try your best to breathe through it, willing your body to relax. Your cunt weeps, rivulets of slick dripping down and around Bucky’s dick. You feel the little droplets running down your thighs, mixing with your sweat.

Bucky hisses through clenched teeth as he feels your arousal dripping obscenely down his length, your thighs trembling. He loops an arm around your hips, holding you up as he watches the way his dick is swallowed up by your tight hole. He could see you struggling, hear the conflict in your whimper, the way you whispered this was wrong even as your body screamed for his touch. He knew he should listen to the voice in both your heads telling him to stop, to pull away before they crossed a line from which there could be no return… but fuck, he was so goddamn close to the edge already.

His hips rocked faster, fucking his cock in and out of your clutching heat with rough, rapid thrusts. A wet, obscene symphony of squelching and skin slapping against skin fills the room, mixing with his labored breathing and low, strained grunts of pleasure.

“We… fuck.. We shouldn’t…” He repeated your words dumbly, but even as he said it, his cock kept moving. You could feel the tip kissing your cervix with each throbbing, leaking thrust. “But fuck, honey, you feel too good… too goddamn good. We can’t stop now,” Bucky leans forward, pressing his chest against your back, his lips brushing down the side of your neck, “Fuck, gonna make this pretty cunt mine. Fill it up real good, honey.”

“Oh, god,” You gasp, a fresh wave of arousal flooding through you at his words. Your toes curl, fingernails scraping across the floor, “I want that, please. Wreck me.”

The desperate, pleading tone of your voice shatters the remnants of Bucky’s already frayed control. His eyes roll back at your words, groaning. He feels your velvet walls clench and ripple around his throbbing dick, grasping him like a hot fist. Without warning, his hand slides from your hip to your dripping sex, rough fingers finding your swollen, aching clit.

He teases the sensitive bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles around it with the pad of his thumb as he fucks into you hard and fast. His hips rock faster in tandem with the finger on your clit, each thrust pushing a gush of your juices around his cock and down your thighs.

You feel like you’re on fire, every nerve alight and singing Bucky’s name. You bite down on your fist, attempting to hold back the shrieks of pleasure bubbling up in your chest, “Right there, god, please!” You squeal, trembling with the burning need to cum, “God, don’t stop. Please don’t fucking stop, right there.”

Your whiny, wanton moans bring Bucky’s climax hurtling at him like a freight train. He ducks his head down, sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder and shudders. The feeling of your slick little cunt gripping his dick was maddening, and the needy, desperate sounds spilling from your lips were pushing him closer to the edge, “Fuck, honey. Just like that, keep screaming for me. Gonna blow my load in this hot little cunt.”

You whine in response, Bucky’s rough treatment of your clit sending you careening over the edge. Your cunt clamps down violently, slick release gushing out of your hole. Lips parting in a silent scream, you shudder, shattering beneath him. Bucky lets out a guttural moan, his voice raw with pleasure as you cum hard on his cock. A puddle of sticky wetness forms between your legs on the floor, dripping down the fat of your thighs. Bucky can feel his own orgasm building fast and hard, his shaft throbbing and pulsing as he caresses your clit through your aftershocks.

“Yes, fuck! That’s it, honey. Soak me, pretty girl, gonna- fuck!” He grunts, his hips slamming forward and burying his thick cock to the hilt in your spasming pussy with one hard thrust. He groans long and low as your sex milks him for all he’s worth, his hot seed flooding your insides.

Bucky shudders, hips jerking as he empties his heavy balls inside you, thick ropes of pearlescent cum coating your fluttering walls. He presses his hips tight to your ass, grinding against you. That’s enough for your legs to quit on you. His eyes widen as your legs tremble and then give out, your body going boneless and pliant in his arms. He tightens his grip on your hips, hauling you back up onto your knees. Bucky’s heart races, a wild bird in his ribcage, as he struggles to catch his breath in the aftermath of his intense orgasm.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, he eases his softening cock out of your well-used hole. A river of his thick cum oozes out after him, dripping down your inner thighs, joining the puddle of slick on the floor. Bucky can’t help but feel satisfaction at how fucked-out you look, sporting his bite mark on your shoulder. His hands slide around to cup the soft swell of your belly, his palms splayed across the gentle curve. He could feel the heat of your skin, the way it flushed and erupted in little goosebumps from his touch. His gaze heavy-lidded, dark with lingering lust as he murmurs in your ear, “We can’t do this again, right honey?”

#fanfic #fanfiction #marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan #callie's masterlist

776 notes · View notes

ohwowimlonley · 1 year ago

Note

more public sex with james please 🙏🙏

No :)

Everyone is piled onto one large L shaped sofa in James’ living room, despite there being plenty of other seats available. James says it’s because you get the best view of the TV from where you are, but you’re convinced it’s some kind of ploy.

Sirius is sat to the left of you, James to your right and Remus to his right. There’s a pink sherpa blanket over your thighs, one that you’d offeredto the boys on either side of you, but they’d both refused, with Sirius claiming that he doesn’t need a blanket to watch a horror movie, and James saying he’d let you know if he gets too cold.

In all honesty, you’re not at all interested in the movie playing on the TV screen, despite the fact that you were allowed to pick the movie, one you knew would scare the life out of Sirius and Remus.

James’ thigh has been pressed to yours for the past fifteen minutes, and even through the expensive matierial of the blanket you can feel the heat that he’s somehow always radiating. It’s distracting, really, the way he touches you just oh so casually, like there’s no intention behind it at all. But you know better. There’s no way that he just so happens to repeatedly brush his hand slightly too high when stroking your thigh over the top of the blanket.

Quickly, but as nonchalantly as possible, you throw the blanket over his lap too, and swing your right leg over his knees. He’s suggested doing this sort of thing before; touching eachother in front of the boys, and you’ve always been eager but too apprehensive to actually try it yet.

“You sure about this?” James knows what you want. Somehow, he can always just tell. His hand is already underneath your skirt, on the brink of prodding the waistband of your panties. His lips are on your earlobe, breath fanning all the way down your neck and giving you goosebumps, “we can just go upstairs, you know the boys won’t mind,”

You don’t trust your voice. If you try to speak now, the sound that will come out will be nowhere near appropriate, so you just nod, slow and meek, and keep your eyes flitting to the boys on either side of you.

Your subtleties last not even a minute. The second James’ calloused fingers make contact with your clit, you let out a low, warbling whinge. All three marauder boys look at eachother and snicker. You don’t care about them knowing any more, you just smush your cheek against your boyfriend’s muscled pec.

“Needy, s’she?” Sirius has that toothy grin on, one that all the marauders know to be his ‘thinking dirty thoughts’ smile, “Moony can sort that out, y’know?”

You prove his point only moments later by grinding yourself against James’ fingers. He slips them over your slit, up, down, up, down, and finally allows them to circle around your empty, aching hole. A simply unholy sound leaves your mouth when he slips a finger inside, all the way in until his palm brushes your clit.

“Let them have their fun, pads,” Remus tuts, stretching his gangly arm around you and James to flick him on the shoulder, “you’re havin’ fun with Prongsie, aren’t you pet?”

“Yeah,” it’s barely even understandable, the high pitched preen you let out, but the boys always get you. James leans down, nosing alond your jawline and letting his teeth drag on the topmost part of your neck. He takes out his finger, and replaces it with two of them.

“Gonna show the boys how pretty you sound when you cum, love?” His fingers speed up, tapping against your gummy walls and grinding against your sweet spot. His other hand reaches round and tugs experimentally on the blanket still covering your modesty. He only removes it for the boys to see when you nod frantically against his chest.

“Already? Not even been five minutes, sweetness,” Sirius teases, eyes widening when he sees your pussy contract at his words.

“I think she just likes the attention,” James curls his fingers, using his knees to spread your legs further apart to show you off to his friends, “s’that it, honey? Y’want the boys to watch you get all desperate for my fingers? Want one of them to have a turn next?”

You choke back a sob as you finally cum around James’ fingers, barely even hearing the boys’ gasps of wonder as you gush creamyness around the rim of your puffy hole.

“So,” Remus clears his throat, “my turn?”

4K notes · View notes

viaxslz · 7 months ago

Text

₊ ✦‎ . . . ₊ 𓈀 🫧 SKZ WHEN THEY WANT KISSES

享受 ! .°. ݁₊ 𐙚 gn!reader, cw: pet name, this has been in my drafts for a while,not proofread :P

CHAN

Chan would just straight up tell you. Bud doesn’t waste anytime and just goes straight to the point. “Hey y/n can you please give me a kiss?” He blurted out, out of nowhere. “But didn’t you—“ he cut you off by placing his lips on yours.

LEE KNOW

His lips would be puckered like a duck whenever you’re near him. But you’re too oblivious to get the hint causing him to get more needy. “Come on y/n just give me a kiss already” he whined, almost on the verge of giving up. “Oh! Is that why you’ve been acting like a duck??” You giggled placing a kiss on his cheeks just to tease him. “Hey! Not my cheeks my lips!” He grumbled pulling you closer, placing the kiss on your lips by himself.

CHANGBIN

“Come on babe, don’t you think I deserve a kiss? I’ve been the best boyfriend today. I literally did whatever you asked for” Changbin pouted following you around the house like a lost puppy. “No you ate my ice cream that specifically said DO NOT touch!” Your rolled your eyes as you continued to judge the channels showing on the tv. A small smile tugged the corner of your lips as you tried to avoid eye contact with Changbin. You finally gave up and pecked his lips.

HYUNJIN

“Don’t forget to call me if you maybe burn the house!” You added, opening the door to leave. “Ah!” Hyunjin stopped you by grabbing your arms. “???” You gave him a questioning look. “You’re forgetting something princess” he smirked leaning closer. “No I’m sure I carried everything” you responded with a skeptical look. “Nope!” He shook his head pointing his index finger towards his lips. You sighed with a chuckle, leaning in closer to close the gap between the both of you.

HAN

Han furrowed his eyebrows as you instantly rejected his attempt to kiss you. He tackled you down to the couch licking the back of your ears causing you to squirm under him. “Hannie stop it tickles” you giggled trying to break free from his grip. “Nuh uh. Not until you give me a kiss” he added leaning over to your ear once more. “Alright, alright I’ll give you a kiss!” You gave in. Han smiled with satisfaction as he pulled away, puckering his lips towards you excepting a kiss on his lips.

FELIX

“Mmm my lips are so dry right now” Felix pouted as he watched you apply your chapstick. “Then use this” you handed him your chapstick not bothering to spare him a glance. “No I don’t want your chapstick” he pushed your hand away. “I want your lips on mine” he smirked gently using his hand to turn your head. “Wha—“ he cut you off by placing a soft and tender kiss on your lips.

SEUNGMIN

Seungmin definitely wouldn’t tell you how desperately he wants your kiss. So he’ll just find an excuse. “Hold on y/n there’s something on your face” he spoke softly tugging you closer to him. He placed one hand on your waist the other cupping your jaw as he pretend to analyze your face. With no warnings he leaned in closer pecking your lips. “You could’ve just told me you wanted a kiss you know” you spoke playfully rolling your eyes.

JEONGIN

“You’ve been awfully quiet today” you pointed out, glancing over at your shoulders from the kitchen. “Well maybe it’s because someone didn’t give me any kiss today” he grumbled folding his arms over his chest. “Innie what are you saying?” You raised an eyebrow at him. “What I’m saying is, I want a kiss” he responded walking closer to you. “Now kiss me!” He demanded puckering his lips towards you.

PERM TAGLIST 📌🔖 ──── @the-sea-called-history02 @oc3anfloor

2K notes · View notes

hairmetal666 · 7 months ago

Text

Steve has done interviews before. Like, a lot of interviews. YouTube, podcasts, print, TV stuff. Not as a brag, or anything, just. He's been an influencer for a long time, for better or worse, and it's part of the deal.

Usually, he's comfortable in front of the camera. Usually, he's poised and well-spoken. But today, this time, sweat pools under his arms and beads along his hairline, the lights beating down on him in a harsh glare.

"Steve Harrington," Murray Bauman crosses his legs, smiles big for the cameras. "It's been a while."

He smiles too, tries to seem like he's not about to have a panic attack. "I've been a little busy."

Murray laughs and it's then that Steve understands how screwed he really is. Murray's show, it's all glitz and glamour on the surface; mixed drinks and hijinks until the celebrity guests lose their inhibitions, admitting things they probably wanted to keep secret.

It's just that, before, Steve didn't have any salacious rumors to worry about, and now--

"You've had a rough year, Steve, yeah?"

"Not my best, for sure." He leans back, tries to seem calm, unbothered.

"I was sorry to hear about your divorce. I think that announcement really took a lot of people by surprise."

His hands clench, but he manages not to shift or bounce his leg. "Thanks for, uh. Yeah. We were also sorry it didn't work out."

Murray nods, face full of sympathy. "You and Nancy, you'd been together since high school? That's almost--what? 15 years?"

"It's--" he clears his throat. "About that long." Steve takes a sip of the drink next to him, an apple martini that's both too sweet and too strong.

"Am I right to assume that you didn't see it coming?"

And isn't that a question? Sure, now in hindsight, he can see the fractures that lead to the end, but six months ago did he--it's all so--what if all along--

"All marriages have rough patches," is what he says. "We just couldn't come out of ours as a couple."

"Do you know what I've found really remarkable about this phase of your life? The content and tone of your videos in the midst of the maelstrom of rumors and gossip didn't change at all. 'Your kids' as you call them, are still as bright and vibrant as ever. You're laughing, dancing, cooking, having a great time."

"I needed that--that normalcy you know? And the kids, they're such an important part of my life, having them around helped."

"Including Nancy's brother, Mike?"

Steve laughs and it's not fake. "Totally including Mike. My relationship with Nancy has nothing to do with my relationship with him."

"He's kind of an antagonist--would you say?--in your videos, though."

"We have conflict sometimes, but it's never serious. We know how to play it up for laughs."

"So, nothing's changed between you?"

"Not at all."

"The cheating rumors." Murray's smile is soft, but all the air still leaves the room.

"What about them?" It's more combative than he means, but--

"Did Nancy cheat on you with Jonathan Byers?"

He swallows and it hurts. She did cheat, is the thing. It's not public information, still only speculation, but--

"You can't believe everything you read, Murray."

"So, she didn't cheat?" There's a glow to Murray's eyes that tells Steve he already knows the answer.

"Like, I said before, marriages are hard. We spent a lot of time apart because of our jobs. It took a toll."

"And she was traveling with Jonathan, yes? He's been her photographer for the past decade, from what I understand."

"They were co-workers, but we're all close. And those rumors didn't help our relationship, for sure. It's--not easy to hear that a bunch of people think your wife and close friend may be having an affair, that people 'ship' them. Even when it's not true, it creates--"

"Tension? Distrust?"

"Both, probably." He takes another drink as he nods. "After a while you do start to wonder if there's truth to it, and you're too ignorant or too--too trusting to see it."

"And it eroded the relationship."

"It certainly didn't help." He takes another drink.

"And how about your relationship with Jonathan's brother, Will. Has that been impacted?"

"Of course not. Never. Whatever happens between Nancy, Jonathan, and I, it has nothing to do with the kids. They know that.

"You talked about it."

"Yes. Extensively."

"I know there's often speculation on the relationship you have with them; if you're really close or it's all for the cameras."

"Murray." He leans forward. "We've talked about this before. I met Dustin through Mike, and the whole group followed. I've known them all since they were 8 years old. They're--I mean, not to be cliche, but they're my family." He sips the last bit of martini.

"And where does Eddie Munson fit into that family?"

The question shouldn't be a surprise, but he almost does a spit take, has to fight to keep it together.

"Eddie?"

"Yes." Murray's smile is chilling. "Your close friend Eddie Munson. Musician. Plays Dungeons and Dragons on YouTube. You made out with him in a music video. Ringing any bells?"

"I'm familiar with Eddie," his grin is rigid. "I don't know what that has to do with my marriage ending."

"Well, the rumors weren't all about Nancy, were they?"

"Eddie and I have--we became mutuals online years and years ago. I used one of his songs in a video and the kids are obsessed with his dnd stuff, so. We've become close."

"Friends?"

"Isn't that implied?"

"After that music video, I don't think so."

Steve rolls his eyes, lets the irritation show for the first time. "He asked me to be in his video. There's nothing scandalous about it."

"What's your relationship with Eddie right now?"

"Like I said, friends."

"Do you want it to be more than that?"

"Eddie's really important to me."

"Is that all?"

"Not really sure what you want me to say here, Murray."

"You were married to a woman for years, but now there are questions about your sexuality."

He grits his teeth. "My sexuality isn't anyone's business aside my own. People can say shit on Twitter all they want, that doesn't mean they know me. But--the end of my marriage--it definitely gave me the space for self-discovery, I guess? In a way I hadn't had before."

"And is Eddie a part of that self-discovery?"

"Yeah, as one of my closest friends, he is."

"Do you have feelings for him?"

"That's--that's not--I'm going through a divorce. My focus isn't on starting another relationship right now."

"You, famously, tattooed your initials on the inside of his thigh during an Instagram live. That's pretty intimate."

"We were just having a little fun."

"Huh. That seems like more than 'a little fun' to me. So, how's Eddie doing with the increased attention?"

It takes Steve a second to track the change of subject, mind still stuck on the tattoo, on how the ink had looked on Eddie's pale skin.

"It's hard." Steve eventually answers. "Of course he enjoys bringing his music and dnd to a wider audience, but the focus on his personal life is--it's a lot."

"Well, he should have thought about before letting you tattoo him for your 850,000 followers. Does he want a relationship with you?"

His throat is dry, burning, he wishes he had more martini. He wishes he'd never taken a sip. "You'd have to ask him. I'm just taking it day by day, you know? That's what I need right now."

"We're getting to the end of our time, but you know I have to ask. Your best friend, Robin Buckley, she very famously unfollowed both Nancy and Jonathan on all social media when news broke about your divorce. Can you tell us why she unfollowed them?"

"I have no control over Robin's accounts. I didn't even know she followed Jonathan ever, and she and Nancy have a relationship outside of me, you know? I can't say what happened between them."

"She's been in your videos with Eddie. She like him?"

"Very much. It's kind of annoying actually. They keep ganging up on me."

"Much to everyone's delight, I'm sure. So, what can we expect from the newly single Steve Harrington?"

"There are a couple things in the works, but only time will tell."

---

He walks through his front door an hour later, and Eddie's sitting on the couch, playing a soft melody on an acoustic guitar. He stops when he sees Steve, setting the guitar aside, and standing.

"How'd it go, baby?" He asks. His soft smile is so beautiful, Steve gets a lump in his throat.

"As expected." He crosses the space between them, lets Eddie pull him close.

"He ask about us?" Eddie's breath tickles his ear.

"Of course."

"And you--"

"I want--it should be just for us. We should be able to announce when we're ready. Not when Murray-fucking-Bauman asks."

Eddie kisses him, then, sweet and slow, making him lose his breath.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll be right by your side."

"You sure? All my mess--"

"Is mine too. Afraid you're stuck with me for the long haul, Steve Harrington."

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #fluff #angst #secret relationship #influencer steve harrington #musician eddie munson #referenced cheating but it's jonathan and nancy #celebrity interview #this is another ficlet inspired by something that happened on real housewives #iykyk #yes murray is andy cohen #and yes this is a stand-in for wwhl #what if steve is a momtok influencer though #this might be part of a longer thing soon!

1K notes · View notes