#easy seated forward fold

[rowarn]

simon smoking while u ride him ):

afab!reader, blowjob, throat fucking tbh, simons a tease, alcohol (he was drinking), cum facial, cum eating i'm so sorry, u ride him while he smokes yeah — MDNI

the empty glass of bourbon sat on the night table, the leftover ice slowly melting into a watery puddle at the bottom.

but cleaning up the glass was at the very back of both your minds, you truly couldn't think of anything else except the stretch of your throat around his hard, heavy cock.

precum mixed with the bourbon that still lingered on your lips from when you kissed him.

simon almost always had a drink before bed, something to help slow his mind and relax him. tonight, however, he just looked too good to resist.

shirtless, legs spread as he leaned back against the headboard. you had greedily palmed at him and kissed him until you felt him chub up against his thigh.

you were swallowing him down before either of you knew it. with the alcohol coursing through his veins, he was much looser and louder than he usually was. he tilted back with his pretty, brown eyes rolled back in his head when you messily swirled your tongue around the head.

you were drooling but you didn't care, spit dribbling down his length and dripping down to his balls.

a strong hand gripped the back of your head and you heard him let out a low chuckle, "you wanted to suck my cock, love, go ahead and take it all."

you relaxed your throat and let him push your head down at the same time that he jerked his hips up, sheathing himself in your throat. you gagged, reflexively trying to pull back but his firm grip kept you there.

"easy, darlin'," he coos, "just relax and breathe, it's alright."

you blink away the tears that gather in your eyes from gagging, not caring that they fall down your cheeks and mix with the spit coating your lips and chin. you glance up at him through wet lashes to see his lip tucked between his teeth and his chest heaving from the pleasure before you suddenly swallowed around him.

his back arched a bit before he let out a choked moan, "oh fuck!"

he held you down around his cock, writhing and moaning brokenly as you swallowed and sucked him before he suddenly releases you and lets you come back up. you don't stay detached from his cock for long before you're taking him back in comfortably, moving your head up and down, slurping and moaning around his length as you stroked the rest of him with your hand.

cupping his balls, you gently roll them in your hands before his hand suddenly slaps down against the bed with a cry of pleasure.

"fuck, fuck!" he whines, tugging your mouth off of him.

you continue to stroke him through his orgasm, flinching when his cum splatters over you, dripping down your neck and chest. you lick a stray drop off your lips and release your hold on his cock, watching as he twitches and pants through the aftershocks.

but his hard on doesn't flag in the slightest, still twitching and hard against his stomach. you straddle his waist, dragging your dripping folds along the messy length of him.

gripping the base, you hold the tip against your entrance and slowly begin to sink down. your eyes are locked onto the way he disappears inside you, the stretch stinging and making you whine.

the click of a lighter is what finally drags your gaze away from the lewd image of his cock stuffing you full. you look up in time to see him toss the lighter haphazardly somewhere in the bed before he takes a long drag of his cigarette.

"s-simon..." you whine, feeling your cheeks burn at the sight of him leaning back so casually, just smoking as if you weren't sitting on his cock all wet and needy.

"go on, love," he smirks crookedly at you, "use that cock, sweetheart."

you clench around him, finally fully seated with every single inch buried inside you. you can feel him throb, lidded eyes focused completely on you as he takes another drag, blowing the smoke away from you.

you lean forward and pull him in for another kiss, the familiar taste of bourbon and cigarettes making you whimper. your hips slowly move, grinding back and forth to stir his cock within your walls as you get lost in the kiss.

his free hand grips your hip, kneading and stroking the skin there in encouragement. when you pull back, he dips his head down and drags his tongue through the mess of his cum on your chest and up your neck, collecting it in a puddle on his tongue before he's kissing you again.

the lewd sight of him eating his own cum has you gripping his shoulders for stability before you slowly begin to bounce on him - still locked in the kiss, tasting the bitterness of his cum on your tongue as well.

he pulls back to take a drag of his cigarette again, reaching over to the table to tap the ash away, gaze never leaving you as you bounce yourself on his cock.

"f-fuck, simon!" you squeal when you angle your hips just right and he hits that gooey spot inside that makes you gush messily around him.

"fuck, that's good," he groans, eyes rolling back at the same time he lets his head fall back against the headboard, "usin' that cock so well, sweet one."

you bring one hand down and find your clit, circling and tapping your fingers against the tender little bud as you continue to rock your hips. your thighs are burning and you're panting like you've run a marathon but you can't stop when your orgasm is so close.

simon sits there, cigarette almost done, offering no assistance even though you know he can tell you're starting to struggle.

"cum for me, love," he coos, "let me feel it."

your head drops to his shoulder as your orgasm finally crests. you fuck your self on his cock through it all, every twitch and clench and tremor. you cry out his name, eyes rolling back as you drool on his shoulder.

you come to slow roll before stopping completely, still completely seated on his cock before you lean back to look at him.

he loves that dazed, cumdrunk look on your face and can't resist grinning, taking one last drag of his cigarette before putting the bud out in the ashtray.

"that looked like a good one," he teases, "startin' to think you don't really need me to do anythin' to make you cum your little heart out."

"please, si," you whine, rocking your hips minutely once again as the urge to get truly fucked by him grows.

"nah, love," he pecks your lips when you pout, "why don't you use this cock again and cum nice and pretty so i can really watch."

[vivwritesfics]

Madly

Best friends to lovers. Angst

Thirteen year olds were dicks, and not very creative.

She stood there with her father, trying to listen to his words of encouragement. Second place is good! he tried to reassure her. First is worst.

It worked on her when she was a kid, worked when she was just a child getting into the world of karting. But she wasn't a kid now. She was a teenager, and she was angry for her loss.

Max smiled at her like he didn't just cost her the win. Asshole. She scowled at him and he frowned. But then it made sense in Max's mind. Her dad must have been berating her like his dad would have if he hadn't won.

He just wanted to be her friend, as simple as that. He sucked in a breath and approached. "Good drive today," he said and held his hand out towards her. But she was glaring down at his hand until he pulled it away.

She had nothing to say to him, the way she was looking at him with her arms folded over her chest made that clear.

"You guys know why she lost, right?" Came a new voice, a familiar voice that got on her every last nerve. She turned and glared at the boy who said it. "Because she's got no balls."

Her eyebrows went up. What the fuck, she mimed to Max.

The kid who had said it had finished fifth, not even standing on the little podium they had during karting. Two drivers finished between her and him, and the comment had her utterly thrown.

"She's got bigger balls than you," Max threw out.

The boys laughed as they walked away.

"Assface," she spat, hatred in her voice as she walked back over to her father.

***

The road to Formula One hadn't been easy. She wasn't there yet, side lined as a reserve driver for Red Bull. Still, she was in a better position than most.

She sat on Max's side of the garage, wearing her usual Red Bull shirt as he spoke to GP. There she waited for him, wearing her AlphaTauri hat (yes, the old AlphaTauri team hat).

Max glanced around, saw her sitting there, and strode over. "Hey, Big Balls," he said and she stuck her tongue out at him. He pulled her AlphaTauri hat from her head and replaced it with his own.

"Hey, Assface," she replied and stuck her tongue out at him. "You feel like letting me drive today?"

"Not a chance."

Her fist met his shoulder, but Max hardly felt it. His hand came to rest on her knee. "Your time will come, Balls," he said gently. A smile stretched across his freckled lip.

She'd been there by his side since he started in F1, driving in the Toro Rosso. It had been difficult to support him around her F3 schedule, but she made it work. His second year of racing in F1 she spent in F2. And his third.

In his fourth F1 season, he put her name forward to become the reserve driver. And now they spent every waking moment together, it seemed.

It came as no surprise when she let herself into Max's apartment in the middle of his stream. "Balls!" He shouted as he turned around, pulling the headset off of his head. "You're here!"

"I brought gin!" She shouted and took a seat behind him.

There was a good couple of minutes where Max forgot that he was on stream, too absorbed in her. Nobody could quite follow their conversation, almost like they were speaking their own little language.

When she disappeared into the kitchen to pour the both of them drinks, Max returned to his stream. He spoke into mic, answering the joking questions that were thrown his way. That was exactly how it went whenever she was on stream with him.

Leaning against him, she placed his drink down. "Where're we driving?" She asked as she sipped her drink and observed the screen.

And, suddenly, Max was climbing out of his seat. He placed his headset over her ears and took her drink from her hand. "Go on," he said and gestured for her to sit down.

That was how the night went. She and Max drank together, taking it slow until he logged off. But then they were falling onto the couch, giggling as they tried to find something to watch. It wasn't easy, the buttons on the remote getting confused.

***

Her head pounded.

She looked around, holding the blanket against her naked, cold body. The apartment she recognised, but it wasn't hers.

Fuck, she was in Max's apartment. Fuck, she was naked in his bed. Fuck, he was naked in his bed beside her.

She quickly climbed out of the bed, scrambling to pick her clothes up from the floor. What had happened after they fell onto the couch?

Max rolled over as she grabbed her top from the floor. She froze, waiting for him to stay asleep. But that was too good to be true. He just had to wake up.

His blue eyes opened, eyelashes fluttering. He groaned as he looked at her. "Balls?" He grumbled as he sat up. It took him a good minute to work out that, he too, was naked. He held the blanket tight around him as he looked at her. "Did we..."

She quickly pulled her shirt over her head. "I'll see you at the track," she mumbled and grabbed a hold of her bag.

"The race isn't until next weekend."

"I'll see you then, Max." With that, she disappeared out of the apartment.

Here's the thing, Max loved this girl. He knew it, knew just how madly he loved her. She made him laugh, made the freckle on his lip hurt as he laughed. But he loved every second of it.

He didn't remember the night before. But he woke up in the middle of the night, holding her naked body tight against him. He didn't notice then, was too tired to think it was anything weird, and quickly fell back asleep.

When she walked out of his Monaco apartment, he realised. He loved her madly, and he'd blown it. One night of too much gin and he'd blown it. He loved her madly, but there was no way she was going to love him back.

Here they were. Stuck. Spinning like a roll of tape.

[jungkookstatts]

All Over Again

[Summary]: Paternity leave has its effects on Jungkook. After his first day back at work, he can't help but show you how much he doesn't want to go back.

[Theme]: Dad!Jk, CEO!Jk, Married Couple AU, Parent's AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes. Marking, kissing, nipple play, creampie, unprotected (wrap it up y'all), dom!JK, mentions of another pregnancy, talks of pregnancy and getting pregnant, etc.

[Word Count]: 4,274

[A/N]: This is a pure result of the urge my body suddenly gets to want a child right before my period smh. Anyway, felt cute, might delete later once I am sane.

It’s been a long ass day. Jungkook’s white button-up feels stapled to his skin, his pants folding uncomfortably with every step he makes as he exits his office. A long finger comes up to his neck, digging underneath his striped tie, wiggling it a little to loosen the chokehold it has around his neck. His other hand feels bound to his briefcase, which carries so much importance in his life but yet so much burden at the same time.

It’s his first day back at work after his baby boy was born. The briefcase he holds reminds him of the duty he has to his family — of his passion and his support for you and your baby. But it also reminds him of the time it has ripped away from spending with you. He clutches it with so much strength at the thought of you, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and pressing the unlock button so hard, that he thinks he almost might just break it.

With a deep breath, he takes off his tie and tosses it in the passenger seat along with his briefcase. He’s ready to go home. That picture of you, him, and your son that you insisted on framing and Jungkook bringing to work has been a constant reminder of what he has to look forward to at the end of the day. If only his paternity leave could have been longer. You and his son are all he’s been able to think about. How you were doing, if you needed his help, if Jaemun was being feisty, how the cute crinkle on his nose resembles yours to a T.

It’s late January, and the winter air is unforgiving. He wonders if you have the heat on high enough; if Jaemun had enough blankets, or if the tip of your nose was cold like how it always is in the winter months. He can imagine you holding him close, swaddling him as you sing to him delicately. The thought makes his whole body warm, even though the air is so cold that it feels like glass is cutting against his skin.

He’s convinced he will take more time off. He’s the CEO, after all. He could take months off and it not matter. He wants to be with you always — at all times of the day to hold you and be there for you like he should be. If only the world had been that easy to where passions didn’t have a price. He got lucky, his passion having a heavy penny attached to it. But he wonders where that passion took something more valuable away from him — time. He finds himself now strapped between the choice of time and passion, and he fights the fact that he cannot choose both.

The door to your home is welcoming to his eyes as he pulls up to it. It’s not big by any means. Just homey and enough for the three of you. Even with the snow covering almost every inch of it, the reminder of how warm it is on the inside makes his drive to enter it even greater. He does so with a shiver, coming up to your shared home with a stomp of his boots to shake off the snow just before he enters.

To his surprise, he’s met with hushed music coming from the kitchen as he puts his winter coat on the hook, places his briefcase on the wooden floor, and shimmies out of his shoes. He looks at his watch first, making sure it’s not Jaemun’s nap time, to which he finds out it is. The soft music makes sense now, and he smiles when he makes his way down the hallway to the source of the noise.

The rest of the house is dark except for the kitchen-living room area that you and your baby rest in. Jaemun is peacefully sleeping in his bassinet by the couch, cuddling his dinosaur blanket, while you are by the stove, stirring something.

You look over your shoulder at the sound of familiar footsteps, and your heart immediately softens at the sight of your husband in the doorframe. He smiles back tiredly, running his hand through his hair in an exhausted attempt to pull himself together before he makes his way over to you. He looks relieved, like he’s finally received what he’s wanted all day. You’re happy to see him, knowing all too well that that’s what you’ve been waiting for all day, too.

Big, warm hands slide around your waist, a heavy chin rests on your shoulder as he kisses your cheek softly. He takes a deep breath, breathing in your presence as he releases the tension from work off his shoulders. You tend to have an instant effect on him — he missed you so much.

“You’re stirring water?” he laughs as he stares at the pot of water on the stove, unboiled, as you stir it as if it is.

“I’m trying to get it to boil quicker,” you explain with a defeated sigh. “Doesn’t seem to be working. I feel like I’ve been standing here for 20 minutes.”

He hums from behind you, taking your stirring hand and stopping your motions. You’ve never been a big cooker, but he knows you’ve been trying lately. “Just let it be, love. It’ll get there.”

You do as he says, putting the ladle down on the countertop and turning around in his embrace. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring at the tall man who holds you close against him. You’re met with a tired Jungkook who rests his forehead against yours as you play with the hairs at the back of his head.

“How was work?” you ask gently.

He groans, wrapping his hands around your waist and holding you tighter against him. It causes you to rest your cheek on his shoulder, hugging him in full.

“That bad?” you chuckle.

Your husband just sighs against your neck. “It’s too early to go back, Y/n,” he candors.

You tuck a strand of hair that fell in front of his face behind his ear. “We’re ok, Kook,” you comfort. But he only shakes his head, making the tucked strand fall out of its place again.

“I’m not,” he says. “I want to be here with you. Spend time with Jaemun before he’s suddenly 25.”

You chuckle at that. It does feel like that sometimes. It’s been three months since your son was born, but it feels like it was just yesterday that you were holding him for the first time.

You can only hold his cheek in response, running your thumb slowly against his soft skin. You feel for him, you really do. He’s such a good father. It makes your heartstrings tug and twist and pull every time you see him with your little boy. It’s only a matter of time before you have to go back to work as well. The thought makes your stomach turn, and you can completely sympathize with your husband dreading going back to work and leaving you and Jaemun.

“Your water is boiling,” he breaks you out of your daze.

“Oh,” you turn around. You smile, knowing he was right before. “I’m making pasta if that sounds ok?”

Jungkook kisses your neck in response, a gentle thing that has your tummy flipping for a second.

“You could also probably wake up our son,” you check the time on the microwave. “He’s been a little sleepy today, so I let his nap go for a little longer than usual.”

You add the pasta in and turn the water down, moving over to the greens left on the cutting board. You start chopping until your husband’s lips move lower.

“Our son,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone. The statement makes him jittery. It feels unreal still, even after nine months of waiting, and another three of actually having your little family here with him. You’re his wife, the mother of his kid, and he loves you more than anything in the world. You gave him something he can never find an equivalent to giving back to you. You gave him your heart and a family, and there’s nothing that can replace or overcome what that means to him. His soul lives for yours; it’s overwhelming what you’ve done for him. It’s overwhelming how you make him feel.

He kisses your collarbone softly once again, his heart full. You tilt your head to the side for more, and he gives it to you, kissing up your neck with slow wet kisses.

“Kook,” you exhale gently. You feel him hum against the skin just under your ear. Large palms cup your waist, his body moving closer to yours, trapping your hips against the countertop. Your knife feels loose in your hand when he bites at your skin gently, his tongue brushing over the bite mark afterward.

He stirs something within you. Something that you’ve missed terribly for the past few months. It makes your thighs tremble as he gently caresses your skin under his fingertips.

“The baby—“ you begin, but Jungkook’s motions cut you off yet again when his fingers slowly slide down your front. He’s unsure, his hand hesitating over your skin as his breath stops momentarily in thought.

“Is this okay?” He asks you genuinely. You nearly fall to your knees, dropping your knife onto the board, when his fingers put pressure over your clothed mound. It’s subtle, and much more gentle than what you’re used to with him. You know he’s being cautious, but god did you miss him. “If it’s too much, I’ll pull away.”

You shake your head.

It’s been a long time since the two of you have gotten intimate. Childbirth wasn’t easy, and your doctor just recently gave you two the “ok” for sex. The first time you tried since then wasn’t like what you’re used to with your husband. It was slow and painful, ending with a lot of apologies, embarrassment, and frustration. It’s safe to say that you have to get used to sex all over again.

“No,” you lean against him. “J-Just be gentle. I’m still a little sore.”

“Ok,” he whispers against your neck, kissing it softly. “Just relax for me, baby. I’ll make it feel good, I promise.”

You nod, loosening your nervous shoulders as your husband takes control. He stops swiftly for a second, turning the stove on the lowest setting before looking over his shoulder at his son to ensure he’s still fast asleep. Once he sees that he is, he immediately returns to you.

“So good for me,” he says, slowly circling your clit over your sweats. His other hand squeezes your waist before it moves up, sliding under your shirt and trickling over your breast. You’re wearing a soft bra today—one without an underwire—which makes it easier for him to slide his fingers under.

You whimper when he softly massages your boob, his fingers playing with your nipples gently. Your body, especially your breasts, has become 10x more sensitive since birth. You can feel everything, and everything either hurts or feels really really good. Whenever your husband seems to hold them, you’re a whimpering mess, melting like putty in his arms as he plays with you.

“Sensitive,” Jungkook smiles. His fingers rub harder against you, and you subtly buck your hips against him. His lips graze against your skin, his hair tickling your collarbone as he assaults your neck over and over again. 

“You’re so cute when you’re pregnant,” he rasps against your cheek before planting a sweet kiss upon it. “Wanna see you like that all the time. So full of me — carrying our babies.”

“Jungkook, I—” you whine, grasping onto his wrist. You’re unsure what to do with yourself, wanting him to do so much to you, but not knowing where to start.

The man behind you takes his hand away from your mound, and he chuckles when you whine in protest. But his thumbs hook on your pants and underwear, slowly pulling them down.

“Relax, baby,” he asks again. “I told you, I’m gonna take care of you. Don’t worry.”

His hand slides around your waist again, smoothing over your skin until it’s sliding between your folds. The back of your hand comes up to your mouth as your other grips the countertop for support as he plays with you.

“So wet,” he moans, feeling the effect he’s had on you with his fingers. “This all for me? I’ve barely touched you yet.”

You nod, feeling completely at the mercy of the man behind you. His other hand plays with your nipple again, and you feel another wave of euphoria go straight to your pussy.

His fingers gather your slick generously, smoothing it over your clit before circling it gently. He plays infinities over it, making your knees go weak. It’s getting harder to stay quiet, especially when he pinches your nipple gently, making you gasp at the soreness and pleasure it causes.

“K-Kook,” you whine, but he only chuckles, quickening his motions on your clit as he presses further into you. You can feel his dick strained against his work pants, and the thought of him inside you again makes you feel so needy for him. “Want you,” you pant. “Please.”

“Patience,” he shushes you, kissing your neck surely. “I haven’t even made you cum yet.”

“Wanna cum with you,” you whine in protest.

“You will,” he promises.

You gasp as he switches his finger, his thumb trading places with his middle. It circles over you just the same, except this time, it’s joined by his middle finger slowly inserting itself between your folds.

“Oh,” you exhale, feeling weak when he pumps it in and out of you slowly.

He lets himself test your reactions, seeing if the insertion is too much — if it hurts or feels uncomfortable. It doesn’t seem to be, and he slowly lets his ring finger join with his middle, causing you to roll your eyes back slightly.

“So good for me, baby,” he encourages. “Does that feel good?”

“Yes,” you reply almost immediately.

He kisses your neck. His lips leave hot, wet marks all over your skin as he curls his fingers against your g-spot. His other hand quickly comes to your waist, stabilizing you as you whimper against the back of your hand, trying your best to keep quiet.

He circles his thumb faster, his fingers circling and brushing against your g-spot in tandem with his movements. You feel your orgasm looming over you, and with a certain pressure against your clit, you’re coming undone just as he said you would all over his fingers.

“There you are,” he coaxes you. You’re a whimpering mess, and he feels his dick twitch at the sight of you falling apart on his fingers. He helps you ride out your high, his fingers very gently brushing over your clit as you come down.

Once you're calmed down, you reach around you, playing with his belt loop as you rest your head on his shoulder and look up at him. He looks back down, hesitating again knowing what you want but unsure if it’s too much for you to handle yet.

“What,” he smiles teasingly with a kiss to your forehead.

“I want you,” you candor, looking at up him with pleading eyes.

He kisses your nose. “Are you sure? You said it hurt last time.”

You nod. “Please, Koo,” you beg him.

His chest rises, and he takes a deep breath before he nods, kissing you gently as he unbuckles his belt. He places it on the counter before unzipping himself and pulling his pants down. It springs up, pressing itself against your skin gently. But he takes himself in his hands, hesitantly letting it slide down over your folds. 

“Let me know if I’m hurting you, okay?” He says, lining himself up to you with a few strokes of his cock. God, was he nervous. The last time sex hurt really bad for you, and that was just a week ago. He wonders if the prep was enough; he hopes it was, he really doesn’t want to hurt you again.

You nod, holding onto the countertop again as his tip rubs against your entrance. Your coat his cock in such slickness, even you’re surprised at how much you leak onto him. You miss your husband. You need this bad, and so does he.

“Oh, and try to stay quiet, yeah?” He says with a push of his hips. The motion has him covering your mouth with his hand, shielding your moans quickly. “The baby is still sleeping.”

His dick slips past your folds so smoothly, it has you gasping for breath at how good it feels. It’s nothing like the last time. He’s gentler, but still so so big, he fills you up just right.

“Fuck,” he whispers against your neck once he sheathes himself fully inside of you. The man behind you stills, completely overwhelmed with the feeling of you. He, too feels like he’s had to relearn sex all over again. How to please you right now that your body has changed, how to make sure that you are comfortable with his pace and size. You two haven’t had sex like this in so long, he feels overwhelmed when you feel almost too good for him to control. A part of him is embarrassed by how quickly he thinks he’s going to last. 

“How are you still so tight, hm?” he asks with a firm grip on your hip. “Y-You okay?”

You can only nod, pushing your hips down against him. The motion forces him further into you, to which both of you grunt at the feeling.

Testingly, Jungkook pulls out slowly, before pushing back into you a little quicker than before. You coat him generously, creating a motion that makes it easy for him to repeat. 

He develops a pace, fucking you against the kitchen countertop with your juices leaking all over his cock and down your thighs. The stove is on and your baby still sleeps; there are uncut vegetables in front of you and your husband still wears his work shirt. But he fucks you as if none of that matters. As if his only priority is to make sure you feel good, to let yourself go as he fuck you deep and just how you like it. 

His hand comes off from your mouth and settles on your hip. His other hand wraps around your front, holding you impossibly close against his body.

You moan softly when he bends you over slightly against the countertop, the new angle making it hard for you to stay quiet. But you push your hips against him anyway, telling him without words to go deeper.

The action causes him to moan, following your request with a snap of his hips.

“You like it that much, hm?” He grunts, cock ramming into you. “Like it when I knock you up good?”

“Y-Yes!” You whisper. “I love it so much, Koo.”

“Y-yeah?” He leans over you. A tattooed hand cups over yours, palm embracing the back of your hand as he intertwines his fingers with yours. “Gonna let me do it again?”

“Mmhm,” you squeeze his fingers. “As many times as y-you want.”

“A-Ah,” he pants, mind going into a frenzy over your words. The fact that he is yours, that you are his. That only he can hear you say that. That only he can make you feel this good. That only he has the privilege of calling you his wife. It makes his heart warm and his cock twitch. 

“God, I’m going to ruin you if you say things like that, Y/n,” he warns. But you are relentless, leaning your head back on his shoulder, giving yourself to him further. 

“W-Want you to,” you whimper. “I love you.” 

Your legs shake, completely weak from your past orgasm and your new one forming at the pit of your stomach. His cock makes you feel so full, like you’re stretched to the max capacity as he fucks you good. You know he’s close when his dick twitches inside of you after your words, which only encourages you to gain some strength and begin fucking yourself back on his cock.

“Mm, fuck,” he grips your hips tightly. “M’ gonna cum.”

He quickly reaches around you again, drawing infinities over your clit with his middle finger. His eyes roll back as your cunt naturally tightens at the feeling. Your hips jolt and the knots in your tummy slowly start to unravel themselves onto his dick as you come undone. Just as he had promised, with a final twitch, he’s cumming inside of you with hot, thick ropes filling you up with whispered exhales of your name on his lips.

He lets the two of you catch your breath, his forehead resting on your shoulder before he’s pulling out, shared cum leaking down your thighs and onto the floor. Quickly, he grabs a paper towel from the roll next to the stove and cleans you up a little.

With gentle hands, he helps you back into your sweats before he helps himself into his boxers. He still lingers behind you when he reaches a hand around you and turns the stove on a higher setting once again. 

You turn around, wrapping your hands around his neck as you pull him in for a much-needed kiss. “I love you,” you whisper against him again. His hair falls onto your skin, dark locks intertangling with yours as his fingers come up to hold your face against his. Soft lips sear over yours, telling you things that simply cannot be put into words. 

“I love you, too,” he brushes his nose against yours. “Was that okay? I didn’t hurt you?”

You pause, looking up at his dilated pupils. He looks at you like you're his world; like he's given you his heart with the full intent of never receiving it back from you. You nod, kissing him softly again. 

“You should probably wake up your son now,” you poke his cheek.

Looking at the time on the microwave, he snaps out of his daze. “Oh fuck,” he says as his fingers leave your side. You watch him leave you with a chuckle, turning back to your pasta wondering how in the world you go so lucky to marry and mother a kid to this man. You’d truly give him anything he wanted. 

***

[Bonus]

With gentle hands, so big against his baby’s frame, he picks Jaemun up in his arms, holding him against his chest. His dinosaur blanket swaddles him softly, and Jungkook does his best to make sure he’s correctly supported and held despite the extra fabric over his small frame. 

Jaemun stirs, and Jungkook places a soft kiss on his tiny head before he gets the chance to freak out and cry. The baby seems to know exactly who is holding him, and he nearly falls back asleep at the familiarity of his father’s arms. But Jungkook bounces him against his chest softly, slowly waking him up for dinnertime.

He makes his way over to you, making unnecessary airplane noises, from what you assume is Jungkook pretending to be an airplane and his son the passenger.

“You know, babies can’t laugh until they’re about 4 months,” you shake your head with a laugh.

“False,” your husband comes behind you again. “I swear he’s laughed before.”

You chuckle, taking the pan off the stove and pouring the insides into a strainer. Just the noodles are left in the strainer now, and you realize that you haven’t thought past the part of boiling the noodles. You ignore that you have no idea what kind of pasta you’re making when Jungkook rests himself against the kitchen island. 

Jaemun catches sight of you, and his arm reaches for you in Jungkook’s hold. You come over, giving him a kiss on the forehead before kissing your husband.

“Were you serious?” your husband asks you suddenly. 

“About?” you raise your eyebrow. 

“You know,” he gulps, holding Jaemun a little tighter. He rests against Jungkook's shoulder, his eyes tempting to fall back asleep again. “More kids.” 

You raise both your eyebrows again, looking at him as if he was serious. His heart beats faster when he realizes what you’re thinking, quickly rephrasing himself. 

“N-Not now, of course,” he gulps. 

You turn around, opening the fridge for some milk for Jaemun as you listen to him. You take out a pot, take the cased breast milk from earlier, and pour it in, turning on the stove afterward. 

“I just mean, like, in the future,” he explains.

There’s a long pause as you wait for the pot to heat up enough. The man behind you is weak, and you don’t know if you want to be mean and give him the blunt answer, or soften the blow. Watching how he cradles your son makes you want to go with the first choice. 

“Don’t you worry Jeon,” you start, as you stir the contents in the pot. You can hear him gulp behind you. “I planned on giving you as many babies as you want. But at least wait until Jaemun is in pre-school or something. I don’t think I can handle two infants at once.” 

You hear little from him at your answer, leaving you smirking knowing full well that you put the man behind you in a frenzy imagining the future you just laid out for him.

***

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2023]

[please-destroy]

Chin Up

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

.

When you first met Natasha, she had blue hair. 

She was awkward, limbs growing faster than she knew what to do with. Still skinny enough to be drowned by a band t-shirt that needed the sleeves rolled up. 

You were the new kid at school. You were even more awkward.

On your first day, you saw her sitting alone at lunch. The cafeteria was overwhelmingly busy, seats at every other table were being fought over. You tried to keep your chin up as you walked the length of Natasha’s otherwise empty table, sliding onto the stool across from her. 

Natasha’s head snapped up from her book at your arrival. It was a beaten up paperback, spine folded back on itself. 

‘Any good?’ You asked cheerfully, if a little desperately. Just one friend. That’s all you needed. The other children made wide berths around you in the corridors, as if you were more alien than stranger. 

Natasha seemed frustrated by your inquiry. She closed her book quickly and stuffed it back in her bag.  She stared down at her half eaten peanut butter sandwich, purposefully avoiding your nervous smile.

You didn’t know what you’d done wrong.

‘Sorry.’ You muttered, heat flaming your cheeks.

You started to bounce your leg anxiously under the table. You picked at your own sandwich. You weren’t hungry, but you didn’t want to look even weirder than you already were. 

A lump caught in your throat as you looked across the rest of the cafeteria. You felt jealous of the easy banter between the other large groups of students. You wished that it could be you. That you could fit in, just this once. 

‘Sometimes they steal my books.’ Natasha said unexpectedly. Her voice was carefully even. She tightened her loose grip on the strap of her backpack.

You glanced back out at the sea of students. Their playful banter had a mocking edge to it that you hadn’t noticed before.

‘That sucks.’ You answered fiercely. 

Natasha rolled her eyes casually, taking another bite of her sandwich and retrieving her book again. You took a deep breath, settled by her returned nonchalance.

You felt hungrier and refocused on your lunch. As you ate, you zeroed in on a group of girls across the room. They were laughing as they ripped pages slowly from another beaten up book. Your mouth opened in shock.

‘They’re the worst.’ Natasha spoke up again, casually following your gaze. Her tone was dismissive. 

You didn’t speak. You stared at your fingers as they twisted together atop the laminate table. Anxiety rolled through you.

So far, none of these kids seemed to like you. You weren't even sure that you wanted them to. The next few years of education stretched before you ominously. 

Suddenly, you felt a plastic wrapper graze your forearm. You startled and looked up. Natasha pushed the chocolate bar across the table with her fingertips.

‘My mom always packs two.’ She informed you with a shy shrug. 

One of the kids at this school liked you.

You smiled again.

‘I like your blue hair.’ You blurted as you took the chocolate bar. 

Natasha’s cheeks tinged pink. You caught the way she lifted her chin up when she next met your eyes. 

‘Thanks.’ She mumbled, awkwardly offering out her hand to shake. ‘My name’s Natasha.’ 

.

Natasha was your first friend. For a long time, she was your only one. 

Then, one day she was no one at all. 

.

You didn’t see her again until 2012. 

.

When your best friend had first gone missing, the stories that swarmed the neighbourhood were unbelievable.

There had been no warning from the family. No phone number, no forwarding address. 

The first rumour was that loan sharks were after Natasha’s Dad. 

Then, men in suits came knocking on the neighbours’ doors. The rumours shifted to something more criminal; money laundering, fraud. 

Bullies at school laughed at you. The joke was that you’d somehow scared off the second weirdest kid in school. You grieved Natasha’s disappearance alone.

You sat through classes silently, dreaming up a hundred reasons to justify why Natasha might leave you behind in a place like this.

Nothing could have been more far-fetched than the truth. 

A super spy.

You were watching the live news broadcast when New York was attacked. Everyone was. 

You stared at raw footage of an alien race invading the planet. Nothing could be more shocking, you thought. And then, you saw the Avengers.

Natasha did not look the same. 

No more awkward and gangly; no more blue hair. 

It was the familiar tilt of her chin as she stared up at a passing spacecraft that jolted your memory.

You knelt in front of your TV, trying to get closer to the impossible picture. 

Two days later, the city officials held a large press conference. It was hosted on the first floor of the new Stark Tower. Steve Rogers and Tony Stark were in attendance.

Tony Stark called her ‘Red’ off-handedly.

That’s what gave you the idea.

There was nothing else you could think to do anyway. Natasha Romanoff had the shortest Wikipedia entry you’d ever seen.

You addressed a letter to Stark Tower in the hopes it might reach her. It was beyond a long shot, but you had to try. 

It was hard to explain the national feeling of adrenaline that lingered after the attack. It almost seemed like sure fate that Natasha would reply. Aliens were real and Earth had won. Impossible odds were being beaten all the time.

It was not that easy. It took six months for you to hear a response. 

Your phone buzzed in the middle of the night with a text. 

Despite the late hour, the message was carefully constructed. 

You used to be able to read Natasha’s nervousness a mile off. When her Dad called her home early. When the teacher called her out for exceptional work in class. When you asked her favourite Christmas present and she stumbled over the answer.

‘Thanks for reaching out.’ She began, formal with her friendliness. ‘I do remember you and I appreciated your letter. We should catch up soon.’

The text sounded distant, but you felt certain that she wouldn't have sent it if she hadn’t wanted a response.

You tried to picture the woman that you’d seen on television, but all you could think of was the blue haired girl.

Despite everything that had happened. Natasha was still Natasha.

You called her. 

She answered after two rings. Vindication rippled over your skin, you were right.

‘Hi.’ Natasha breathed out.

Her voice rasped unfamiliarly.

Your heart twisted as you heard all the years that had passed. 

Natasha Romanoff was an adult now. 

‘I’ve missed you so much.’ You told her before you had time to think.

You heard her muted surprise in shallow breaths.

‘I missed you too.’ She murmured after a moment. There was a pang of emotion in her voice, you could feel it down the phone. ‘You were my best friend.’

Your stomach swooped strangely at her words.

You tried to play off the feeling. You sighed with mock dramatics.

‘Now you prefer the Hulk right?’ You teased.

‘Oh yes.’ Natasha hummed, picking up the easy pattern of your teenage conversations. ‘He’s much better company.’

You talked for twenty minutes, mixing nostalgia with light inquiries about her new life. 

Before the call ended, Natasha invited you to visit her in New York.

It was an easy answer to give. 

When you hung up the phone, you held it close to your chest for a moment. The room was beginning to grow light with the dawn outside.

.

Natasha was not an awkward teenager anymore. 

She waited for you in the entrance of Stark Tower, dressed casually in leggings and a hoodie. 

It was unnerving. She was almost familiar to you. 

Your eyes met as you entered through the glass front doors. 

Natasha hugged herself, playing with the grey fabric of her hoodie.

You remembered the nervous gesture. You wondered if she still had the habit, or if she’d just remembered it because of you.

You sensed her uncertainty as you got closer. You opened your arms for a hug and she looked grateful for the direction. 

She fit perfectly. 

Your eyes filled with tears as her arms tightened around you. 

When Natasha pulled away, she gave you a confused look. 

You shook your head, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

‘I always hoped you were okay.’ You mumbled, wiping your cheeks, embarrassed at how quickly you’d gotten emotional. ‘Fuck, I’m so glad you’re alive.’

Natasha’s eyes shuttered with a sudden blankness. She tried to shake it away too. 

‘No-one’s ever said that to me before.’ She murmured under her breath, before leading you back to the Tower’s elevators.

You pondered her words during the silent elevator ride. Natasha’s life was clearly full of danger. She was on the front line of extra-terrestrial defence. She’d fought monsters on live tv. 

You thought of the fake American Mom and Dad you’d been introduced to. You thought of the little sister, who had seemed so devoted to Natasha. 

Now no one was waiting for Natasha to come home safe. 

In the elevator you took her hand, squeezing it gently.

Natasha looked at you, eyes crinkling with simple happiness. She squeezed back. 

‘Red hair suits you.’ You commented. ‘But, I preferred the blue.’

Natasha rolled her eyes with mock exasperation. The elevator doors opened. 

.

The space was obviously built to be a common area, but it was empty now. 

Natasha led you right through the middle of it. 

You entered her room, following behind her. You stopped in the doorway, trying to take it in.

As a teenager, Natasha’s bedroom had been wall-to-wall with bright posters. In contrast, this room seemed almost clinically blank. A single piece of understated art hung on the far away wall. The bedspread was pristine white, like a hotel.

Your eyes clung to the only piece of personality in the room. A stack of CDs and a CD player lay on the hardwood floor, next to the largest window you’d ever seen. You recognised the top CD’s cover art immediately; Nevermind by Nirvana.

You looked at Natasha in surprise. It had been her favourite album when you’d last known her. 

Natasha met your gaze readily. There was a glint of defiance in the tilt of her chin. 

‘Oh, so you still have good taste.’ You grinned.

There was a pause. Natasha’s lip twitched with the start of a smile. Then, she hugged herself again.

‘I loved those songs.’ Natasha whispered, and her sudden fragility startled you. ‘It was the best time.’

Her eyes were careful, but you felt the emotion hiding in them. You moved forward again, hugging her instinctively.

‘The best time.’ You agreed quietly.

You spent the afternoon listening to the album, then another one, then another. The CDs were well played. Sometimes the disc would catch for a moment, but the song would always persevere.

You didn’t feel the need to talk. 

Natasha sprawled out on her bed, head cupped in her hands as she faced you. You sat on the windowsill next to the music, leaning your head against the side and watching her in return. 

You exchanged smiles back and forth. You exchanged memories of the songs with just a twitch of an eyebrow or the quirk of a lip. 

Natasha’s finger tapped at the side of her jaw absentmindedly. 

Eventually, time moved on. When one album finished playing, Natasha swung her legs over the side of her bed and stretched casually. You didn’t believe the nonchalance for a second, sure that such a smooth gesture must take forethought. 

‘Dinner?’ She asked and you nodded with a smile, ready and terrified to meet her roommates.

Captain America offered you a bowl of pasta.

The weirdest day of your life only got weirder. The other Avengers were sitting around watching a large flat-screen television. Natasha picked her feet up as she stepped around their legs, heading to the furthest away sofa. 

You followed behind her, muttering quiet hellos in answer to the openly curious stares of Iron Man, Hawkeye and Dr. Banner.

Natasha tucked her legs underneath her as she sat in the far corner of the sofa. 

Automatically, you followed a habit that had been established years before. You threw yourself casually into the space directly next to her. Your fork snuck over to her bowl of pasta, stealing a piece. You tasted it and grinned.

‘Yours is always better.’ You complained, watching as Natasha stuck her tongue out in response. 

You only remembered your audience when Tony Stark cleared his throat.

‘Did she tell you that she’s a ruthless assassin.’ He stated loudly, receiving a not-so-subtle elbow jab from Captain America.

‘What?’ Tony retorted, rubbing his side pointedly. ‘She’s never brought a date home before. And there must be a reason she’s called the Black Widow.’ 

You watched Natasha from the corner of your eye; the sudden embarrassment spilling over her face. The shame that lingered for a split second.

‘Not all names are literal.’ You answered bitingly, feeling an old defensive urge flaring. There had been enough bullies going after Natasha when you were at school. ‘We don’t call you Micro-Penis Man, do we?’

Hawkeye snorted with laughter, Dr. Banner’s lip twitched. 

‘Clever.’ Tony drawled sarcastically. 

You ignored him, turning back to Natasha instead. Her expression was unreadable as she searched your face. You didn’t know what she was looking for. 

You sat in silence for the rest of your meal, watching the generic movie on screen instead of engaging in more awkward conversation. More than once though, you felt the curious stares of the others lingering on you.

.

As soon as you’d both finished eating, Natasha led you back to her room. This time, the air inside felt different. You caught the loosening of her shoulders, her subtle relief at returning to her own space. She threw her hoodie on top of her bedspread.

You glanced back around the room, realising abruptly that the minimal design wasn’t meant to feel clinical. It was more reminiscent of a spa. 

You caught Natasha’s attention and gave her an encouraging smile.

‘Nice digs.’ You commented, raising your eyebrows.

Natasha laughed once, voice so much richer than you remembered. She ran her fingers through her hair. Your eyes caught on the muscles flexing in her bare arm. 

‘It’ll do.’ She shrugged teasingly. ‘It’s nicer than Ohio.’

You sniffed dramatically. ‘Less alien attacks in Ohio.’

‘Just Russian infiltration.’ Natasha countered dryly. A tension shivered through you as she finally acknowledged the unspoken. The childhood friendship that had brought you here and the lie at the centre of it. 

A burning sadness bubbled up inside you. You could taste it burning your throat. Your eyes pricked suddenly with tears. 

Natasha stared at you with confusion and something akin to fear. 

You moved toward her, watching as she resisted an urge to step further back. You took her hands in yours. You blinked and for a moment, her hair was blue.

‘I’m going to say this wrong.’ You explained ruefully, holding her wide eyed attention. Her palms were warm, soft and familiar. 

‘I’m on your side.’ You promised clumsily. ‘Even if you decide to join the aliens. Even if you don’t want it. You didn’t stop being my best friend.’

You waited for an evaluating stare, a moment of hesitation. 

Instead, you felt the soft push of Natasha’s head pressing against your shoulder. Her body moved flush against yours. Your arms slid around her back. You felt the curve of her spine beneath her clothes. The thud of her heart, hidden within a ribcage.

‘There’s a spare room ready.’ Natasha murmured at last, words muffled. ‘But maybe you can just stay in here.’

Natasha held her chin high as she took a step back, regarding you expectantly. 

A wide smile broke out on your face. 

‘A sleepover? On a school night?’ You teased, enjoying the way your acceptance brightened Natasha’s countenance too. 

.

You changed into your pyjamas in Natasha’s ensuite bathroom. You brushed your teeth and stared at yourself for a few minutes in her large mirror. 

You wondered how different you must look to her now. If she noticed all the traces of growing up laid out on your skin. 

Natasha was beginning to feel eternal. 

You left the bathroom and froze almost immediately in your tracks. 

Natasha was standing beside her bed, putting on her pyjama top. It was halfway over her head and her bare back faced you. 

You couldn’t stop your sharp intake of breath. 

Scars littered her soft curves.

Harsh, deep welts that hurt to look at. Her skin was mottled in places, coated with different shades of injury. Some scars were older, but others seemed painfully new. 

They criss-crossed into a brutal painting, brushstrokes feverishly ripped across her skin. 

A sharp sense of outrage was already burning through you. A need to fix what had already been done. 

Natasha had already pulled her top down calmly, turning to face you with steady resolve. 

‘I’m not ashamed of them.’ She said with simple directness. 

Natasha kept her chin up as you walked closer to her. You noticed the slight tremble in her jaw when you were inches from her. She held her arms still at her side and you wondered if she was resisting the urge to hug herself. Defensiveness rippled through her. A readiness to hold onto her dignity.

You had seen that stance many times before, in the high school cafeteria. 

For the first time, you realised that Natasha did not remember you like you remembered her. She could not recall the simplicity of teenage drama and stupid crushes. 

A lifetime of trauma sat between you. There was no before or after with Natasha. She’d had scars long before she’d had blue hair.

There were no words for your new understanding. Your chest squeezed with something like love or sadness.

‘I know.’ You answered her at last. You shrugged helplessly. ‘I just wish I’d been around.’

You touched Natasha’s face without thinking, a careful stroke along her cheek. Your fingers reached her hair and you touched a piece of it reverently. When you looked back to her face, Natasha’s eyes were closed. 

Your kiss was feather light. Your lips barely brushed hers. The taste of her stained your mouth anyway. You felt yourself reorientate like a compass finding North. 

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her smile was shy. You still saw the fear lingering at the edge of everything. You chose not to mind it. 

.

You slept in the same bed that night. Natasha held your arm lightly between her own. 

Her even breaths lulled you with their gentle rhythm. Loose strands of her hair tickled your clavicle. 

You stared at the ceiling and thought about intimacy. About love and friendship. 

The lingering tattoo of Natasha on your lips was spreading through your veins now.

At 3am, an alarm sounded.

Sudden and pounding, it echoed from the ceiling. A droning tempo that had you scrambling to your feet.

Natasha grabbed your arm tiredly, halting your sleepy confusion

‘Avengers alarm.’ She informed you, her voice crisp and clear. You felt like you’d barely blinked before a dressed Natasha Romanoff was walking out the door. 

All the words you wanted to say were still on your tongue. 

.

Seven hours. 

Seven hours spent pacing the common room. Watching an unhelpful news broadcast and hoping the building’s AI system might finally tell you something useful. 

Seven hours imagining the worst. Seven hours praying for her to come home. 

.

When the elevator doors opened at last, you were beside yourself. 

‘Thank God.’ You muttered as you hurried forward, pulling Natasha into a tight hug. You breathed her in. ‘Thank God.’ You repeated, more for yourself than for her.

When you let her go, Natasha took a moment to look at you properly. 

‘You waited.’ Natasha commented slowly, her gaze never wavering. 

You nodded silently, a lump caught in your throat. You couldn’t understand her expression. You didn’t have time to think

Her hand touched your waist. With one finger she reached over, tilting your chin towards her.

She licked her lips, full of intention. 

Her mouth pressed softly against yours. 

You were a compass and she was North.

.

When you fell in love with Natasha, she had red hair.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙮 - 𝙛𝙬𝙗!𝙘𝙝𝙧𝙞𝙨

cw: mentions of smoking, smut

wc: 2.5k

“you want food first?” chris asks, turning his head to look at you where you sat in his passenger seat for a moment before returning his eyes to the road.

“before I ride you?” you question, your own head popping up from looking at your phone to stare at his side profile, eyes trailing over his seemingly flawless jawline, the pout of his lips, his nose that fit his face perfectly. “fuck no, I wanna smoke, park, fuck, then you buy me food once we get snacky.”

chris let out a laugh, straight line of teeth visible from behind his lips. “okay,” he agreed with a small nod, pointing to his glove compartment. “brought you something.”

you tilt your head curiously, turning your attention to his glovebox, hand reaching out to open it. once it drops open, you let out a small gasp and grab the thin, long box wrapped with a little red bow. “what is this?” you say excitedly, pulling it into your lap, quickly pulling the bow undone.

chris peeks over at you one more time, a smile still present on his face. “just open it, dumbass.”

you listen, popping the lid off the box and gasping again, letting out a small squeal when you see what’s inside. “a new cart?!” you ask, looking back up at him to see him already watching, car stopped at a red light.

“yeah, it’s a hybrid, too,” he informs you, nodding his head towards it. “figured we could smoke that tonight.”

you grin and reach forward to pinch his cheek, shaking it aggressively to which he groaned and pushed your hand away from him. “you know me so well,” you beam, bringing your attention back to the cart, pulling it out of the box and clicking the little square button five times, watching as the little light turns on to indicate it’s ready.

“I know,” chris shrugs, starting to drive again. he’s headed towards a spot you guys have parked at a couple times, a secluded area tucked into a forest preserve that nobody really showed up at anymore, ignoring the fact that it was closed past sunset.

it doesn’t take long for you guys to get there, but despite the little time between opening the new cart and getting to your spot, you both have hit it enough times to start feeling the effects, your eyes getting heavy and body feeling lighter. “chris,” you say through a small giggle as you guys are parking, turning your body to face him in your seat.

“yeah?” he responds, throwing the car into park and pulling off his seatbelt, turning to look at you as well. your grin only widened as his attention fell on you, feeling nothing but confident under his gaze. “you are so hot,” you tell him, eyes wandering over his all black outfit, soaking in his appearance.

“y’think so?” chris says with a smirk, leaning back in his chair, his hand coming down to the side of it to mess with the buttons, starting to move himself backwards, farther away from the steering wheel. “wanna show me how hot you think I am?”

you nod slightly, pulling your own seatbelt off and climbing over to sit atop his thighs, resting comfortably in his lap as your hands came up to thread through his hair. “you’re already hard,” you mumble, eyes scanning over his face as he stared up at you through hooded, lust fill eyes. “yeah, because I can’t stop thinking about you on top of me,” chris responds, his hands landing on your thighs where they pushed your dress up slightly. “a sun dress is kind of a crazy choice.”

you laugh and nod slightly in agreement, moving your hips on top of his slightly. “I know, it’s a little cold but I wanted you to have easy access.” you reach down to prove your point, pulling the dress up over your stomach to reveal your lack of underwear, hearing chris’s breath catch in his throat.

“fuck, you’ve been in my car with no underwear all this time?” he asks, instantly bringing his hand between your legs and dragging his middle fingers between your folds, fascinated by the sight in front of him. “would’ve had you touching yourself this whole time if I knew.”

you laugh softly and grab his jaw to tilt his head up, meeting his eyes again. “i’m already gonna do all the work right now, wanted to save my energy,” you say teasingly, leaning down to close the distance between you two, pressing your lips firmly against chris’s. he immediately returned the kiss, his fingertips pressing into the skin of your thighs where they rested, other hand still touching you where you needed him the most, spreading your folds apart and pressing into your clit, eliciting a small whine that slipped through your nostrils.

both of your lips part and your tongues meet in the middle, dancing together as he pressed his fingers inside of you, letting out his own groan as he felt how wet you were. “what’s got you all wet for me, hm?” chris asks lowly, pulling away from your lips for a moment. you’re annoyed at the lack of content, but that feeling is quickly washed away when his fingers curl inside of you, pulling out another small noise from your mouth. “you,” you respond breathily, hips grinding down on chris’s hand slowly. “thinking about you.”

chris smiles lazily up at you, keeping his eyes focused on your face that was slightly above his. “me?” he implores, raising an eyebrow. “what about me?”

he’s starting to slowly fuck you with his fingers, making you more and more breathless by the seconds passing, eyelids threatening to flutter shut. “this. you inside me in any way. told you, just looking at you gets me so horny.” you’re whining now, desperate for more friction, practically riding his fingers as they pressed up against your walls. you let go of your dress and reach down to grab the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging to let him know what you want, and he quickly obliged and raises his hips for you to pull them down just to his thighs, along with his briefs, revealing his hard cock, desperate for its own attention. “can I?” you ask him, ripping your gaze from his lap to his eyes, seeing how glazed over they were.

he nods, pulling his fingers from inside you and instead rubbing circles on your clit as you moved your knees slightly to position yourself above him, slowly sinking down on him. “shit,” you gasp, feeling blissed out from him inside you and stimulating you with his fingers. “you fill me up so good.”

“yeah?” chris hums, pulling his hand away and using both to push up your dress again, bunching it over your hips for a clear view of how well you were taking him. “tell me more.”

you laugh, shaking your head at his attempt to get you to feed into his ego. “you’re so conceited,” you comment, leaning forward to press your lips together again, this time in a slower, drawn out kiss, tongues moving together as if you have all the time in the world. his hand comes up to cup your jaw and hold you close, his touch sending a shiver down your spine as you feel the wetness of his fingers on your skin, loving the way he couldn’t keep his hands off of you.

your hips still moved up and down, slow and sensual like you had promised him in the texts, soft r&b floating through his speakers in the background, only intensifying the mood in the car. it was hard to admit to yourself, and you’d never say it out loud, but sometimes being with chris felt like the world around you both had disappeared and you were the only two in existence, using each other’s bodies for your own pleasure. tonight felt no different, the way he held onto your face to keep you close, his other hand rubbing from your waist to your hip as you moved on top of him, his touch saying everything he couldn’t with his mouth pressed against yours.

you pull away from him slightly, both of your hands resting on either side of his neck, foreheads pressed together as your breath mingles between your faces, the pace of your hips slowing slightly as you look down at chris’s expression, a small smile lighting up your face. “you look good like this,” you whisper, catching his attention. “like what?” he asks in the same volume, using his hand that’s already on your face to push some hair behind your ear before resting back on your jaw again. “like this,” you say, nodding slightly. “relaxed, sitting back and letting me do all the work. holding me and making me feel all wanted and shit.”

chris lets out a small, quiet laugh and rolls his eyes, sliding his left hand around to squeeze your ass roughly. “shut up and keep doing what you’re best at, yeah? y’talk too much.”

you scoff and return the eye roll, but you pick up your hips nonetheless, rocking against him again. you switch your position slightly and lean back against the steering wheel, careful to not lean on the horn, placing one hand on the door and the other on his knee, head falling back slightly at the change in angle, giving chris a perfect view of your chest up to your throat. he’s unable to resist the temptation, his hands reaching up to pull the top of your dress down, exposing your tits to him, nipples hard from arousal. “fuuuck,” he groans at the sight, taking in your whole figure; your thighs straining on either side of him, his cock sliding in and out of you as you bounced on top of him, stomach tensing as your hips moved, tits bouncing perfectly with the action. “this is what you were made for, hm? made to take me whenever I want you. god, I wish you could see yourself.” he’s running his hands all over your body as he speaks, finally landing on your waist to help you with your movements, sensing your legs tiring out.

you pull your head back up and look down your body, watching as he disappears inside of you over and over, feeling overwhelmed at the sight. “you fill me up so well, chris, gonna make me cum,” you whine, pushing yourself back up so your chests are almost pressed together again, grabbing onto his shoulders tightly as your pace picked up, feeling your orgasm approaching. he trails his fingers back down to touch you again, pulling a string of whimpers from your lips as he helped you, the sounds of both of your moans filling the car.

“that’s it,” he praises, still circling around your clit as your body shakes, fingers digging into his skin roughly as your orgasm crashes down on you, eyes clenched shut tight. you tuck your face into his neck as you slow down, hips twitching as chris’s fingers coax you through the end of it.

“my god,” you sigh into his skin, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. your senses are overwhelmed with his cologne, a scent you’ve grown too familiar with over the past who knows how long, one that makes your heart leap when it floods your nose.

you take a few moments to relax, breathing leveling out into his neck, before you start to move again, pulling almost all the way off of him before dropping down again. he groans at the feeling, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head fall back against the headrest, focusing his mind on the way you felt around him. “you fill me up so well,” you whisper into his skin, starting to place small kisses along it, feeling goosebumps arising under your lips at the touch. “so big inside me, stretching me out so nice.” you’re feeding into his size kink to bring him closer, smiling against him as you hear a small whine leave his lips, his hands digging into your hips roughly.

“that’s it, just focus on how good i’m making you feel,” you hum, teeth nipping at his skin. leaving marks was something you both were typically against, as you were each sleeping with different people, but you always knew when he’d let you do it, and it was when he was so close, teetering on the edge of completion when he would fully surrender his body to you, let you do whatever you wanted as he creeped closer and closer. you suckled on his skin softly, but hard enough to leave a red-purple bruise on his pale skin, smiling when you pulled away and laid your eyes on it. “gonna cum for me, chris?” you ask, sitting straight up and picking up your pace, dropping your hips back onto his roughly.

“mmhmmm,” chris nods his head, keeping his eyes shut as his mouth slowly opened, teeth clenching together and sucking air through them as his eyebrows furrowed, letting you know he was close.

“cum inside me, please, chris, I need it so bad,” you whine, turning up the dramatics for his own pride, hands resting on his chest for leverage as you rode him, letting small moans and whimpers leave your mouth.

“fuck, i’m-, oh my god,” chris stutters, fingers gripping into your skin with a bruising pressure, his back pushing off the seat slightly as he groaned loudly, dick twitching inside you as he came, small whimpers slipping out with each breath, his head coming forward to rest on your bare chest. “jesus christ,” he croaks out, wrapping his arms around your waist lazily to hold you close.

you smile and press your face into his hair, hands trailing around to his back. “dunno bout you but that sounded like whimpers to me,” you say quietly, a teasing lilt in your voice.

chris groans and lands a playful, although harsh, slap on your ass, making you gasp loudly. “I do not whimper,” he mumbles into the skin on your chest, lips pressing against your cleavage, moving them to the side slightly to nip at the skin of your breast.

“ouch,” you grab him by the hair and pull him away, making him tilt his head back and look up at you, revealing his fucked out smile that spread from ear to ear. “fuck, you’re hot,” you comment, leaning down to press your lips against his roughly, groaning when his hand came up to your throat to hold you in place.

you’re kissing for a few minutes, basking in the post sex relaxation in each other’s company, chris still nestled inside you as his free hand ran over your body. he pulls his face away and uses his grip on you to push you away from him slightly, smirking at your dazed expression. “get off of me before I charge up again. i’m hungry.” he tells you, letting go of your throat, making you pout.

“I got something you can eat,” you say, moving your hips slightly.

“shut the fuck up,” chris laughs, pushing you off of him with faux aggression, unable to stop himself from admiring the way your giggles filled the space.

a/n: hey

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @rafesapprentice @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @pasteldreams @sweetshuga @pip4444chris @chriss-slut @yourebeautifulqueen @watercolorskyy @courta13 @craftycrafter26 @meg4-matt44

[whitexwolfxx310]

|| Baby Mine ||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader || Bucky x y/n

Summary: Bucky comes home from from a mission and finds you sick. You make an appointment at the medical bay expecting a routine visit only to find out some pretty surprising news.

Warnings: Unplanned pregnancy, minor talk of options pertaining to, morning sickness, a disgusting amount of fluff, and a small sprinkle of spice at the end just because I felt like it.

Word Count: 3323

A/Ns: First and foremost, I would like to apologize for my hiatus. It was not intended and I hit a writers block. With that being said, I do have a decent amount in my drafts and have been working on getting some new things out there!

I would like to say a special thank you to @lil-darhk who gave me some encouraging words that I really needed to hear & helped get me back on here. ♥️

This is a ONE SHOT. This is not part of my BBWWS. I am still working on that but this is something I have been thinking of for a while and just felt like writing about. I know that a pregnancy troupe is not for everyone. (Personally, I love it and I'm not sure if I will write it into my other storyline.) SO because of that....I give you this. I hope you all enjoy it because the idea of Daddy Bucky to me is just 🤌🏻💋

Waking up to the smell of fresh ground coffee was always a tall tale sign of Bucky being home. Missions can be unpredictable. He can be gone for a few days, to a few weeks, and sometimes even months at a time. Luckily, this time he had only been gone about a month and a half.

Excitement took over as you forego your usual procrastinating in bed stretch to run out of the bedroom. Opening the door, the aroma was heavenly- as if a coffee shop had replaced your kitchen overnight. But your eyes immediately fixed on Bucky who was wearing a smirk while plating two separate stacks of pancakes.

“Breakfast, doll?” His voice as smooth as the warm syrup flowing down from those pancake stacks.

Running and jumping to wrap your arms around his neck was your response. Bucky chuckled, holding both arms out wider so he didn’t drop the plates. He put them down gently onto the counter so that his arms would now be only consumed with you.

“I missed you too.” You don’t have to look up from being buried in his chest to know that he’s smiling, it’s in the lighthearted tone of his voice.

Leaning back slightly with his arms still holding you, he looks into your eyes and plants a petal soft kiss on your lips.

“How come you didn’t wake me up when you got in?” You frown slightly looking up at him.

He shakes his head slightly and shrugs, “You just looked so… peaceful. I couldn’t bare to wake you up. At least, not without sustenance,” Bucky laughs.

Shifting your eyes from Bucky to the pancakes and back, your lips tug in each corner. “Smart man.”

His cooking always felt like home. It was filling, delicious, and you could almost taste the love it was made it with. “Mm,” the small noise escapes low in your throat as you take the last bite. Looking across the kitchen table, Bucky is slumped in his chair, arms folded with a warm smile as he watches you. “What?” The question comes out as a half joke and half concern.

Shaking his head slightly the smile grew. “Nothing, doll. Just missed you is all.” Leaning forward, Bucky rests his elbows on the table continuing to stare a tad bit more than normal.

“You’re acting weird.” You say, adjusting in your seat feeling slightly awkward.

“So what have you been up to while I was away?” He completely ignored your statement, asking an easy and lighthearted question.

“Um..” you start, breakfast starting to feel suddenly heavy in your stomach. “I uh-“ your teeth start to clench down as you swallow hard at the pooling saliva in your mouth. “I went out with Nat-“ your brows furrowed, starting to have difficulty with getting the words out. Bucky’s face quickly contorts to concern as you continue to fight the inevitable. “and her sister for some…s-some drinks-“ the word makes you gag.

Almost as if you channeled some super soldier serum, you pushed back from the table and ran- praying that the pressure of your hand over your mouth will be enough insurance to get to the toilet. It barely was. Breakfast came back up violently, loudly as you kneeled in front of the porcelain king. Even when you thought there couldn’t possibly be anything else to throw up, your stomach wrung on itself, forcing up every last drop of bile.

Breathing heavily into the bowl, skin now glistening with cooling sweat, you realize that your hair has been pulled out of your face. Your eyesight, now no longer blurry, sees Bucky sitting next to you; his right hand holding your hair back in a make shift ponytail and his left hand on the nape of your neck, the coolness of his metal hand being your favorite thing in the world at the moment.

“I’m sorry…” your sob echoed lightly in the toilet. “I’ve never been hung over like this before,” you sit back on your knees, grabbing some tissues to wipe your mouth. You bring yourself to look up at him through hooded and puffy red eyes, feeling instantly embarrassed. Bucky gives you a small reassuring smile as his hand gently rubs up and down your back.

“I’ve had the Russians drink me under the table a few times too. C’mon…” He helps you off of the floor, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

A warm bath, some fresh comfy clothes and a plain cup of tea seemed to make the nausea subside.

“I knew I shouldn’t have drank last night,” you say, looking into the lightly steaming mug. “My stomach hasn’t felt right in a few weeks. I actually have an appointment this afternoon in the medical bay, but I didn’t know you would be home. I can cancel it-”

“What time is your appointment?” He cuts you off,

“Um,” you look towards the wall and squint at the clock. “Actually in 45 minutes,” you laugh softly at the realization.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He offers.

“And miss your debriefing? Why, Sargent Barnes, that’s highly unlike you.” Even with not feeling great you can’t help but give him shit. This is the normal

Shaking his head softly he lets out a small laugh. “Alright,” he puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “but call me if anything comes up, okay? I’m worried about you.” Bucky’s voice is soft and sincere as he leans in and plants a small kiss on your forehead. His eyes hesitate, locking on yours for a moment. Leaning back in, he presses his lips to yours. “I love you. So much,”

“Love you more, Bucky.” You smile back up at him.

Sitting on the exam table in nothing but a medical gown, you swing your legs gently back and forth while gently nibbling the tip of your thumb as you wait for the provider.

You jump at the sudden knock at the door. In walks the new physicians assistant for The Compound, a young and beautiful woman who looked like she was straight out of school.

“Hi! My names Bree and I’ll be working with you today. According to the nurse who did your intake, you’re here for-“ she scrolls through your electronic chart on a tablet, “some abdominal issues. Tell me about that,” she sits down on a stool, listening intently.

“It’s.. really not a big deal,” you start, she keeps quiet waiting for you to explain in more detail. “I don’t know,” you start to fumble with a few loose strands of hair. “I’ve just felt this sort of… heaviness? It hasn’t gone away and is just always sort of there?” Your voice is unsure, feeling self conscious as you describe this silly little symptom that you felt the need to make an appointment for. “This morning I got sick. Well, I went out drinking last night, so I’m assuming I’m a little hung over.” Your words start to sound like your rambling.

“Hmm,” Bree says in response. “When was your last period?”

“Um,” the gears start turning in your head as you try to backdate events, plans that had been interrupted because of aunt flow. “About 4 months ago?” It probably wasn’t on purpose, but you could see the clinicians eyebrow raise a centimeter in question. “It’s not what you think!” You quickly try to defend, “I’m on the pill! My periods have always been irregular which is part of the reason I’m on birth control in the first place.”

“Okay,” she responds, skeptical. “And you take the pill religiously?”

“Yes,”

“Everyday?”

“Yeah…”

“At the same time?” Bree’s eyebrow inclines just a little more.

“Well,” now she has you questioning everything that you’ve said. “I always have an alarm on my phone and try to take it the same time everyday.” That makes you feel better, justified.

“Have you been sick recently? Aside from this morning, any need for any prescriptions, antibiotics?”

“I had bronchitis, but that was… god months ago?”

“Okay,” she says flatly, “so we’ll just go ahead and do a minor work up to see if we can figure out what’s going on. The first thing I want to do though, is a pregnancy test.” Even though you could feel your face change, Bree quickly added, “Routine stuff. It’s one of the bases that we always cover early on.”

You suddenly become hyper focused on the urine sample you left on the counter top, as asked by the nurse. Bree takes out a small, flat test from a nearby drawer and uses a pipette to transfer the fluid.

It could have been 30 seconds or 20 minutes, but the idea that pregnancy was even a remote possibility has your insides feeling like they’re folding in on themselves.

“Okay so,” Bree starts, getting your attention. “The test did in fact, come out positive. Since your cycles have been irregular, I’d like to do an ultrasound to see how far along you are and then we can talk about options. Just go ahead and lay back on the table, feet in the stirrups.”

"Positive?" You repeat. "But... What? How?" It comes out breathless.

"Well, sometimes antibiotics can actually cancel out the effects of birth control. We try to advise women to not be sexually active as the body might seize the opportunity to ovulate and result in an unplanned pregnancy. How about we just take a look and go from there, okay?" Bree says just a little too cheerfully as she pats the stirrups.

Following her directions is the only thing you’re able to focus on. Going through the motions of laying down, putting your feet up and opening your legs. Bree’s voice is a murmur mixed with a high pitch ringing as you look up at the ceiling tiles, counting each spect while she sets up the portable sono machine.

“Just a little pressure,” she says, guiding the wand like probe, looking at the screen. “Okay. So, judging from the size… I’d say you’re close to about 9 weeks, give or take a bit. Do you want to hear the heartbeat?” She asks, sweetly. And it’s the first time you’re able to look at her since lying down. Bree patiently waits for your answer with a warm smile. You reluctantly nod your head.

The room fills with soft, muffled whooshing. “It’s so fast. I-is that okay? Is everything okay?” You’re searching her face for any hint of something being wrong. In return, Bree just nods gently as she keeps her smile, still examining the screen.

“A fetus’ heartbeat is a lot quicker than ours. Everything looks perfect actually. Would you… like to see?”

“Yes, please.” You didn't hesitate with your answer this time.

The screen gets tilted towards you and your eyes start darting all around looking for the baby. Your baby. At first you don't see anything. It doesn't look like photos you've seen on Instagram of pregnancy announcements. But then, in the middle of what looks like a black balloon, is a bean with limbs. In the center of this bean is a lively flicker. Bree uses her index finger to point to the screen.

"There's the fetus' arms and legs," she points to the extremities, "and here," her finger gently taps on the pulsing center, "is the heart."

The whooshing matches the pace of the flicker; lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. Hearing the heartbeat in synch with the pulsing on the screen causes your own heartbeat to match for a moment.

So this is love.

After a moment, Bree removes the probe and rips a paper from the ultrasound machine. "Here's some pictures for you," she hands them to you as you sit up on the bed. "I want to see you back here in three weeks for another check up... unless you want to discuss other options?" You shake your head. "Do you have any questions for me?"

“No, not right now.” You’re solely focused on the pictures now in your hand. Even though the image is burned into your brain, holding a physical copy has some how made it more real.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind. There was no possible way that you’re actually pregnant. Even with the new noticeable symptoms and bathroom counter littered in double pink lined tests, it still seemed so unbelievable. That’s not even the hardest part. How am I going to tell Bucky?

Just as the reality starts to set in of having to tell the other adult who is directly involved, the front door to the apartment opens.

"Hey, doll!" Bucky calls loudly from the hallway, the thumping of his boots following his voice. "Sorry that the meeting ran late. I figured we could order in tonight. What about that Thai place you like?" He waits for a response while buzzing around the kitchen, no doubt making himself coffee for the dozenth time today. "Doll?" The question echoes through the quiet apartment.

"I'm in here," you acknowledge softly from the living room couch. Bucky pokes his head out from the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief.

"There you are," he starts walking towards you. "If you tell me what you would like for dinner, I'll call it in and then-" his voice and steps stop abruptly. "Hey... you okay?"

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." You answer, obviously distracted.

"That doesn't sound too convincing," Bucky hesitated, looking you over and taking a few steps closer.

"I-I have to tell you something." Your tone is soft, scared. You’re fidgeting with the edges of your sweater sleeves.

“Is it something the doctor said?” His voice is softer now, reluctant and afraid. While his piercing, cerulean blue eyes continue to search yours for the answer, wide and terrified.

“I-“

Should I have gotten balloons? Made him open a box with one of the pregnancy tests or a cute onesie inside? Bake a damn cake?

“Y/n?!” Bucky didn’t yell but definitely had to get your attention. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?!” He pleaded. Why were the words so difficult to say? Maybe because it hasn’t been said out loud yet. Or that it’s still so shocking. Or maybe that verbalizing it will just make it that more real. You turn on your heels and run to the bathroom.

“Y/n!!” He calls after you, but you know he’ll be just a few steps behind.

Picking up a handful of the positive tests off of the vanity counter with your heartbeat pounding in your ears in combination with his heavy footsteps getting closer.

“Seriously! What is going on-“ Bucky is flustered as he steps into the entryway and stops abruptly at the sight of you facing him, holding the tests fanned out.

“I’m pregnant.” There it is. You’re holding your breath, waiting to see what he’ll say. Aside from contraceptives, you’ve never had any kind of discussions pertaining to a family.

His face softens as he takes a step forward, his eyes hyper fixated on all the double pink lines. Bucky’s chest rises and falls deeply now. “You’re… pregnant? Not sick?” He asks to clarify, being cautious.

“Morning sickness, apparently”, a small laugh escapes and it surprises you. “But other than that, I’m fine. We’re fine.”

The ‘we’re’ part catches his attention. He’s looking into your eyes once again, searching. But, for what?

“Is this… something you want? With… me?” He suddenly sounds so adolescent and anxious. Who can blame him? This took you both completely by surprise. Knowing Bucky, he would support you in whatever you wanted. Whatever decision you thought was best for you, your body, your health in every aspect, he would respect and advocate for. He is being cautious with his response to the news until he knows what your decision is.

Putting the tests down, you take both of his hands into yours and take a deep breath.

“Bucky, if you had asked me this morning, I wouldn’t have known what our future would hold. But knowing what I know now… I want this baby. I want to be a mom and for us to be a family. That being said, I know that this is something that we never talked about. If this isn’t something you want, I underst-“

You’re suddenly cut off by his lips pressing into yours. It feels like a weight has been lifted as Bucky’s arms gently wrap around you to bring you closer. Kissing becomes increasingly difficult around giggles and the obnoxiously big smiles you’re both wearing.

When your lips finally part, Bucky’s eyebrows are raised in excitement. His eyes are darting around your torso as if the news would suddenly show physical changes on your body.

“I can’t believe it…” he breathes, “I actually get the chance to be a Dad-” The word comes out almost as a choked sob. My heart.

Reaching into your back pocket, you pull out the ultrasound Bree had given to you earlier, holding it up for him to see.

"Look, our baby's first photo!"

Bucky takes the picture as gently as if someone were handing him an actual newborn baby. He just stares, probably confused as to what he was looking at similarly to you just a few hours ago.

"I know it doesn't really look like anything right now- but I go back in a few weeks and-"

"Are you kidding?" He looks up from the black and white photo to meet your eyes, a watery sheen coating his own. "This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life." Bucky says softly, as if to himself, looking back down at the picture. And he's smiling. A genuine, heartfelt smile.

That night was the closest he had ever held you in his arms. The two of you made up for lost conversations and started planning for your future and what it held as you laid in bed. Bucky talked about how he wanted to build a crib instead of buying one and was curious what the appropriate amount of time was to wait until you could both start telling everyone. Excitement was an understatement for this man.

"Can I go with you to your next appointment?" He asked, in a hopeful tone as his fingers traced along smooth, soft circles around your belly button. You giggle, wincing at one specific caress.

"Hey! That tickles! But, of course you can. You can come to all of them. I was... kinda hoping you would?" In return, your tone holds the same anticipation.

"I wouldn't miss it." Bucky's palm flattens against your belly as he places a kiss against your temple.

"Don't get used to that," You say looking down. "We're going to start growing and getting bigger any day now." You fake a frown, although there is a small part of you that isn't necessarily faking.

"Hmm." A low hum vibrates from the back of Bucky's throat as he shifts his body down along yours.

His fingertips skim the hem of your sleep shirt before pulling it up and exposing your stomach. The coolness of the air makes your abdomen tighten, but is soon replaced with petal soft kisses. "When you say 'grow', I hope you mean grow more beautiful by the day." Each firm press of his lips feels like its igniting your skin on fire with the newfound sensitivity. Your toes start to dig down into the mattress.

"Because, y/n..." Bucky repositions himself onto his knees, one now conveniently pressed in-between your legs. The pressure alone makes your heart rate spike and has you borderline panting. He hovers over you, "There isn't anything in this world I find more beautiful or more attractive than my girl carrying my child." He holds your gaze, intense and primal- more than you've ever seen.

"Do you understand?" Bucky asks with a raised brow. You nod hastily and he grins in response. "Good girl. Now, let's see if those rumors about hyper sensitivity are true. Judging by how you're writhing under me and the wet spot on my knee... I'm really going to enjoy the next few months."

If you enjoyed this, please check out my masterlist! Requests are open!

@peaches1958 @aquabrie @elsie-bells @pono-pura-vida @redbloodedgurl @almosttoopizza @beware-my-thorns @prettylittlepluviophile @annoyinglythoughtfuldestiny @calwitch @ozwriterchick @roofwitty779 @lessersole @lil-darhk @agoddoesnotplead @saranghaey @erinallene @mrsvxder @elizabeth916 @cjand10 @bucky-barnes-lover @skyf-7

[mysticmutants]

not a lot, just forever

summary: weddings were never logans thing. the sappy vows, hundreds of people watching two people profess their love for each other— so why was being at jean and scott’s wedding with you affecting him so much?

pairing: logan howlett x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: romcom themes, weddings, possibly ooc!logan

authors note: sooo this is my first fic! I have some plans for a much longer, chaptered fic but figured I should ease myself into this! please go easy on me! any tips or suggestions are welcomed. thank you if you read my loves ౨ৎ

logan had been here so long he began to question where he went wrong in his life to put him here. what primordial being he had wronged to place him where he was— sitting next to you, adjusting uncomfortably in a cheap folding chair. not only were his senses being ambushed, overwhelmed—the guests cheap perfumes, the soft classical music playing in the background, mixing with the chatter of excited guests— but being here with you, was triggering something inside of him. he wasn’t someone that enjoyed weddings. anyone who looked at him even for a fraction of a second could deduce that about him. too gruff, hardened, to enjoy such a sappy environment.

it was anxiety inducing, to say the least. he shifts in his seat, trying not to fidget too much as his eyes flick from you—sitting next to him, raving about how beautiful the venue was, how excited you were for your teammates— to his surroundings.

“not a wedding person, logan?”

you speak softly, eyes raking over his appearance as you note the way his brows pinch together a little more than usual—a telltale sign of what was going on in his mind. he shakes his head in response. “they should’ve just eloped. less hassle.” he mutters gruffly, earning a laugh from you. he feels you lean in, elbowing him gently. “be nice. it’s their big day, you know? a celebration of their love.” you exclaim, a warm grin adorning your plush lips. the sight nearly makes his heart leap out of his chest—yearning for its rightful owner, you. he huffs in response, arms crossed over his broad chest. he wants to stop talking about this, to think about anything other than this god forsaken wedding. at least when he got through the ceremony, there would be alcohol at the reception. you lean in once more, and he can smell your perfume. his breath hitches and he eyes you, hoping you didn’t catch it. “so, I’ll take it you don’t see yourself settling down, cowboy?” you inquire.

not unless it’s with you.

he doesn’t miss the way your eyes drift to his lips, and back up to his eyes, but he does brush it off as him seeing things; chalking it up to his old mind deteriorating. he scoffs, brow raising as he scans the room once more in a feeble attempt to avoid eye contact with you. “settle down? no. people like us rarely get to settle down, darlin’. you know that. wouldn’t want anyone to get tangled in my mess.” he remarks—his way of saying ‘I’m terrified to get close to anyone, for fear of them winding up kidnapped by enemies or worse; waking up with my claws in their stomach—your expression darkens at his words, lips pursed and nostrils flared.

you nod, a sheepish grin curving at your lips. “right, yeah. of course.” you chuckle. “people like us don’t get the chance at a life like that very often. all the more reason to be happy for these two.” you nod, gesturing to scott standing at the altar. “you’ll get it, too.” he grumbles, pulling at the tie on his neck. “any man would be lucky to have you. just a matter of finding the right person.” your eyes linger on him at the mention, before tearing away to gaze up at the altar again.

“well,” you start, sighing, “I don’t think that my person thinks that I’m their person. so I’m sort of at a standstill.” you admit, breathlessly. now you’ve got his attention.

he leans forward, palms on the top of his thighs. “oh? and who might this person be, doll? have you tried telling him how you feel?” he questions, trying—and failing—to come off as subtle. you grin, a small chuckle falling from your lips. “no, but only because I know better. why try when you know the answer, right? I mean.. I’ve tried, I suppose. dropped hints. but I’m beginning to question if he doesn’t realize, or if he doesn’t want to realize, you know?” you turn to him, confused on why he was suddenly so attentive; his anxiety from moments before gone. his brow raises, waiting for you to elaborate. his heart skips a beat as you lean in even closer, breath fanning across his face.

“well, my right person… he doesn’t let people in. not fully. he acts like it’s because he doesn’t care but… i think he’s scared. he wants to be loved so badly, and i can see it. he doesn’t want someone to get hurt because of him. not again.” you speak cautiously, looking at him. really looking at him.

his breath hitches in his throat as he meets your eyes. were you… talking about him? no way. he opens his mouth to speak, to counter, to confess, but he’s cut off by the wedding march beginning to play.

and he’s right back to cursing whatever god he could think of. he can’t help but grin, though, as he stands with all the other guests. his heart beats rapidly in his chest, filling it with warmth.

he turns to watch jean walk down the aisle, anticipating the end of the ceremony—wishing his mutation was to speed up time rather than his adamantium claws. for once, though, it wasn’t because he couldn’t wait to get this over with. to get to the fun part already—the part where he could drink. it was because he couldn’t wait to finally tell you how he felt. to face his fears.

maybe, for once, he didn’t mind weddings so much.

he just hoped the next one would be yours.

[nosyp]

saw uu wrote for squid games and had to request !! could you pls write for hyun ju (player 120) x fem reader smut please 🙏🙏 just smth about it being reader’s first time and it’s soft and gentle ?? if ur okay w that ofc 💕

Hehe hi!! Yesyessss i'm okay w it... i just can't guarantee a good one 😔 but i hope u enjoy anyways <3

Title = Healing Touch

Warning = smut🔞, cum eating, fingering, first time

Summary = After surviving Squid Game, you join a support group and meet Hyun Ju, a former contestant. As you grow closer, your connection deepens, leading to an intimate and healing moment between you both.

Word count = 1.3k

It had been a few days since the whole ‘squid game’ incident and you’ve recently heard about a squid game survivor group. You overheard it when you were in the bar, apparently ever since the news came out about the whole operation, some past players came forward to help make a support group. And you decided to check it out. The process of joining wasn’t too difficult, all you had to do was fill in your name, age and player number. 

The address leads you to a small alleyway. It didn’t scream ‘trap’ or anything but a feeling of paranoia struck through you as you got closer to it. The shadows loomed, but soon you're greeted by warm light spilling from a cracked door.

Inside, the atmosphere is surprisingly warm despite the eerie nature of the situation. A few folding chairs, scattered papers, and anxious smiles from the other survivors set the tone. They welcomed you like an old friend, even if your paths never crossed during the games. When the session ended, everyone stood up and went different ways. 

And that’s when you spot Hyun Ju. You swore she was player… 120? 121? You didn’t remember but she was quite the player. She won several games, it was quite impressive… not quite… very actually.

She was still sitting on the chair, despite the session already ending. She was all by herself and her posture was relaxed yet guarded, as if she were still sizing up the room. Something about her aura drew you in, perhaps it was her strength, or maybe just the faint glimmer of vulnerability she couldn’t quite hide.

Deciding to take a chance, you crossed the room and greeted her.

“Hyun Ju, right? Player 120?” you asked, hesitating for just a moment. Calling her a random player number was a huge gamble, but you were quite sure it ended with a 0.

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, her expression shifting from guarded to curious. “That’s me,” she said, her voice softer than you expected. “And you are?”

You introduced yourself, giving your name and player number. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment, as though she were trying to place you in her memory. Then, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“I remember you,” she said. “You were… quiet. But you made it pretty far.”

You nodded, unsure whether to feel flattered or exposed. “Yeah, I guess I kept my head down. But you- you were incredible. You made everything look so easy.”

Hyun Ju chuckled, a sound that felt surprisingly warm in the somber atmosphere. “Easy? Trust me, it wasn’t. But thanks.”

An awkward silence hung between you for a moment before she gestured to the empty seat next to her. “You can sit, if you want. It’s nice to talk to someone who… gets it.”

You sat down, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. The conversation flowed naturally after that, starting with shared memories of the games and gradually moving to lighter topics. You found yourself laughing at her dry humor and sharp wit, feeling a connection form between you that you hadn’t expected.

As the meeting wound down, Hyun Ju glanced at you with a thoughtful expression. “Do you… want to grab a coffee or something? I could use some normalcy, and you seem like good company.”

Surprised but pleased, you nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

She smiled, and for the first time in days, you felt a spark of hope. Maybe, just maybe, life after the games wouldn’t be so bad.

Then she suddenly brought up the topic about partners and lovers. 

“I-I actually… never had a serious relationship before,” you mention, making her perk up in surprise.

“Ehh?? Forreal?” she asks you.

“Y-yeah…” you answer.

“So… you’ve never… uhmm…?” she asks awkwardly, hand rubbing the back of her neck.

“No…” you respond, giving a light chuckle at the end in an attempt to save both of you from the awkwardness.

—

Honestly, you didn’t even know what happened but now… you were suddenly being pinned onto the wall by her. For a moment, everything froze in time. Hyun Ju's breath hovers near your skin while your heart pounded inside you as she loomed over you. The distance between you both feels electric, yet there’s a hesitance, like the air itself is waiting for something to happen.

Her hands are warm against your skin, a subtle pressure as they roam slowly over your body. Your pulse quickens, body reacting before your mind can even catch up. The proximity of her form, her breath, it’s overwhelming, and you can't help but lean into it, just slightly, as though wanting more.

Hyun Ju's voice is low, like she’s savoring the moment. "Are you sure you want this?" she asks, her lips dangerously close to your ear. Everything about her was so soft. She was so gentle with you, as if you’d break if she added just a bit more force.

There’s an unspoken understanding between you two now. Her fingers brush against your neck softly. Her lips hovering yours just a breath away, and for a moment, everything feels unreal. The world outside fades, leaving just the two of you in this… space together.

You tilt your head slightly, your lips parted in silent invitation. She doesn’t hesitate, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that’s slow at first, but with the quiet promise of more to come.

Her hands tug at the hem of your shirt and her eyes look at yours, waiting for your permission. When you finally give her the affirming nod, she takes her time on pulling your clothes off, so as to not harm you. Finally, your pants are stripped off and she gives you a warning look.

“Please tell me if it hurts…” she says. You nod in response.

Her hands start to trail down… and down… until she reaches your folds. Gently, she shoves her index finger in ever so slowly. It was starting to feel agonising… you wanted her to go a bit faster but you just bit your tongue and let her do her thing.

She pumped her fingers in and out of you, coating her finger with your wetness. 

“P-Please…” you whimper, asking for more.

Her other hand then started roaming around your body more, the heat transferring to your skin. Your body was starting to feel hot… but not in a sick way… in a desperate way. Then, she slowly slipped another finger into you. 

“A-ahh! H-Hyun Ju…” you moan. “Mmmh…!”

She started going faster, but still not fast enough to hurt you. The friction made you so close. The feeling was painful, you just wanted to release that very moment. The way her skillful fingers thrusted in and out of you felt like ecstasy. Your hand covered your mouth to minimize the moans and you… released your first orgasm. Your cum covered her fingers and she brought it up to show you.

“I-I have tissues in my bag…” you said breathlessly.

“No need…” she says before licking off your fluids.

Then her hand gently cupped your cheek, fingers brushing softly over your cheek. Slowly, she leaned in, her forehead meeting yours in a tender, lingering touch. The contact was warm, grounding, as if she was seeking comfort in the closeness. 

Your breath started to steady in the quiet space between you. For a moment, everything else faded, nothing else mattered. The world, the noise, the tension and all that existed was the warmth of her skin and the weight of her hand on your cheek. The simple, intimate gesture felt like a promise, a silent understanding, deepening the connection between you.

[rinhaler]

can I make a request pretty please?? step-brother Satoru no penetration 🤤

omg thank you for this req I had so much fun with it! I haven't written anything in so long and I'd like to say this is the start of the comeback but I don't wanna lie LOL

warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader, step brother!satoru, stepcest, virgin!reader, fingering mention, love bites, tit sucking, pussy job, photo taking ++ filming!, use of nii-chan, pet names (baby, princess, sweetheart etc.), manipulative!gojo.

words: 3.3k

“You’re lying.” Suguru says with ease, nose scrunching at the sight of his best friend grinning from ear to ear. A smirk that he knows, without a doubt, wouldn’t be on his face if he were a liar.

“I did.” he continues to smile. “She came in my room last night, said she was scared ‘cause she had a nightmare.”

“… And?”

“And, I dunno, man. She said she wanted to sleep but we were talking. Kept getting closer and closer ‘n we started making out.”

Suguru smiles, dumbfounded by the statement. He still can’t believe he’s being honest. But he looks at him, still smiling, only to say: “You made out with your little sister?”

“Don’t be weird. She’s my step sister, it ain’t the same.” he says, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly as he thinks about it. “She’s cute though, right? Think she’s a virgin, too.”

“She seems like one.” Suguru says plainly. “Come on, then. What else happened? I know you wouldn’t bring it up if you didn’t have something real to brag about.”

“… You know me well.” Satoru smirks. “… I just fingered her a little. Barely touched her ‘n she came like—”

“A virgin?” he chuckles, cutting him off as he speaks.

“Exactly.” Satoru smirks.

Suguru folds his arms and relaxes into his seat. He looks around, making sure no one is listening before he speaks again.

“Prove it.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t believe you, Satoru.” he laughs lightly, leaning forward again. “I don’t believe you fingered your little sister because it didn’t happen. She let you do that because she had a nightmare? Please. Girls like you, but not that much.”

“You know what?” he stands up, irritation evident in his tone before he laughs, too. He regains his composure, effortlessly, leaning over the table between them. “I’m not gonna chase her, I’ll let her come to me. And I’ll film it for you.”

“No, you’re not. It didn’t happen and it won’t happen.” Suguru snickers.

“We’ll see.” he says, finality in his voice before he turns to walk away. He waves without looking behind him, unaware of his best friend grinning wickedly behind his back.

“You’re too easy, Satoru.” he says to himself quietly.

He feels your eyes on him, and it’s almost constant. Your face flushes with heat each time he grants you the honour of looking back at you, a lazy, cocky grin etched on his face. You instantly look down at your feet or your hands when he does, unable to shake the events of last night out of your mind.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? You’ve been quiet all night. Are you getting sick?” your mother asks, obvious concern in her words as you sit between her legs. You’ve been letting her braid your hair over and over again for no real reason other than she finds it soothing. She stops, though, pressing the backs of her fingers to your cheek. “You’re burning up!”

“I-I’m fine.” you say, voice almost warning her to stop as Satoru can’t help but look at you again. It’s embarrassing enough to have her fuss over you in front of your older brother who is so obviously cooler than you’ll ever be. But seeing that obnoxious smirk on his face, both of you knowing the real reason you’re so flustered, makes it a million times worse.

“Did something happen, little sis? You almost look embarrassed.” Satoru grins, eyes glittering as he stares at you. You abruptly jump to your feet, body stiffening at the implication of his words.

“I said I’m fine!” you yell. “I’m gonna go to bed, g’night.” you say, hastily rushing off before anyone can stop you.

Satoru and your mother look at each other, and he acts oblivious. He pretends he can’t possibly imagine what’s gotten into you. But eventually, he smiles, standing up not long after you and heading towards the kitchen.

“I’ll get her a glass of water,” he tells your mother, placing a hand on her shoulder and offering the warmest, insincere smile he can. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Thank you, Satoru.” she smiles up at him. “You’re such a good boy.”

There’s a knock at your door not long after you get comfortable in your bed. You hope if you ignore it long enough, they’ll think you’re already asleep. But of course, you’re mindlessly scrolling through your phone trying to distract your intense thoughts.

“It’s barely been five minutes, princess.” your brother tells you from behind the door. He waits a few beats for a response, but you don’t give him one. You jolt when your door creaks open, quickly hiding your phone underneath your pillow and feigning sleep.

You hear the gentle thud of a glass hitting a coaster as he sets it down on your bedside table. He doesn’t leave after that, but he doesn’t say anything, either. He simply watches over you and you can’t help but panic. It’s like you’re being assessed, whether you’re really sleeping or not.

Your brother isn’t stupid, though. You both know that. He knows as well as you do that you’re wide awake. And yet, whatever snide comment you’re expecting him to make doesn’t come. Nothing but silence settles between the two of you. And soon enough, you wonder if he’s going to watch over you like this all night.

But instead, you hear movement. And then you are moving. Your body sinks as he places a knee on your mattress and you dip a little closer to his body as he crouches over you. His nose breathes softly against your cheek as once again, he doesn’t move or speak for a few uncomfortable beats.

“Goodnight, sis.” he whispers in your ear, and your body reflexively trembles from the vibration of his words. He always speaks so softly to you, whether he’s teasing you or being genuine. It’s a dead give away that you’re awake, so you decide to scrunch your eyes closed tighter. He chuckles softly, at that. Giving your temple a chaste kiss before pulling away.

“S-Satoru…” you say meekly, He stops when he hears you, changing his position to sit comfortably.

“Are you done playing pretend, now?” he smiles. “What is it? Look at your nii-chan if you've got something to say.”

You shuffle awkwardly as you angle your body to look at him, glistening blue eyes stare down at you while you feel your words begin to choke in your throat. It’s as if you have lumps of sand lodged in there. He tucks a stray hair out of your face and behind your ear, your eyes instinctively flutter closed. And even without being able to see, you can feel his smirk on you.

“Last night…” you start, looking at him to gauge his reaction. But his face is stoic, giving nothing away as you scramble to piece together the rest of your sentence. “It was… bad.”

“I know.” he replies. And it shocks you a little. You hadn’t expected him to say that, you thought he’d be proud. He’s been teasing you about it, after all. Making little comments and trying to make you crumble at any given moment.

“You—” you say, losing track of what you even want to say to him. “O-Okay… well, goodnight Sato—”

“Been thinking about it all day, though, haven’t you?” he grins. And there he is. This is more like what you’d expected. And soon enough, you’re burning up again. The dim light bleeding through the cracks of your door isn’t enough for him to see what he’s done to you again. But he’s sure he knows. You’re so easy to tease, after all. “Was that your first time?”

You don’t react, you roll back onto your side and fold your arms. He chuckles a little, at that. Your petulant reaction is just so cute. He smooths a heavy hand over your hair, feeling a few of the small braids still in your hair from your mother. He stands up, and you feel the mattress return to where it belongs.

“If you have another nightmare, you know where my room is. Goodnight.” he says calmly before departing.

Yeah, right. Like you’re ever gonna do that again.

Fuck.

It’s been hours since you came to bed. You slept for around an hour but now you’re wide awake. That’s always been your curse when you go to bed earlier than usual. You wake up at an ungodly hour and can’t get back to sleep until daybreaks.

You’ve spent a while reading since that usually helps you drift off. But no such luck tonight, not when Satoru is still raging through your mind.

He was right, after all. It was the first time you’ve done anything like that with a boy. And it was your step brother of all people. You’re ashamed, but you can’t get it out of your head. He’s such a good kisser. His lips are soft and his tongue played with your own so divinely.

Your pussy begins to throb as you think about the way he touched you. The way he made you cum. He had to cover your mouth so you didn’t disturb your parents. It becomes to much, and before you know it your hand slithers between your thighs. You’re eager to chase the high he gave you the previous night.

But, of course, he’s ruined you now. Your own fingers aren’t going to cut it anymore. It doesn’t feel nearly as nice as what he did. The way he alternated toying with your tits to rubbing your clit. The way he had you whimpering like a kicked puppy as his fingers plunged into your untouched walls. Your toes curled as he delved deeper to find your pressure point and abused it until your eyes crossed and you drooled all over his palm.

And you slept so soundly afterwards.

Without giving it a second thought, you throw off your duvet and get out of bed. The line has already been crossed now. What does it matter if you do it again? It’s not that bad. It’s not like you’re actually related. And it’s a nice feeling, knowing that someone as popular and cool as Satoru has taken an interest in you.

You always see girls flirting with him in the hallways while you’re with your friends at college. Even they fawn over how hot your step brother is. He’s got more than enough attention. And yet, for now, he seems the most interested in you.

As you reach his room, you knock gently on the door. It’s quiet, though you can hear the TV playing. Eventually, you hear him hum, a subtle signal for you to come in.

“Hello again.” he smiles. “Did you have another nightmare, sweetheart?”

“… Mhmm…” you nod, lying effortlessly. He pats the space on the bed beside himself and you hurry over to him. “C-Can’t stop thinking about you.”

“I know.” he says, not even looking at you as he talks. You have no idea what he’s watching, but he seems to be more fixated on it than he is on you. “But you were right. It is wrong, what we did. You can sleep here since you’re scared. Just sleeping, though.”

You freeze at his words, not expecting this response at all. Had you blown it by saying that earlier? Did you leave it too long to come to his room, giving him too much time to think and have the same realisation that you had after last night?

“… Don’t wanna sleep.” you tell him. And that, gives him cause to look at you. “That was my first time… with a boy c-can’t stop thinking about it, Satoru.”

“You’re gonna have to. It was a mistake.” he warns you. “I shouldn’t have done that with you, ‘m meant to be taking care of you and looking out for you. Took advantage—”

“No! No. I wanted you to do it.” you assure him. “All my friends like you… ‘n I pretend I don’t see it but I’ve had a crush on you since we met… so I’m glad I got to do that with you. And I wanna do it again.”

“… you’re cute. You’ve got a crush on me, hah?” he laughs lightly, pulling you closer to him. He grabs your jaw, thumb smoothing over your cheekbone as he looks between your eyes and lips. “You think I didn’t already know that, sweetheart?”

“S-Shut up.” you stutter, barely able to look at him. He forces you to, though. Piercing blue eyes stare into yours as he silently waits for an acknowledgement of what he’s about to do. And you offer it, leaning closer to him before he meets you halfway. His lips press against yours, and you feel him smile when he hears a moan accidentally leave you.

He moves you so that you’re flat against his mattress with your head in the pillows, caging you below him. You wrap your arms around him as he lowers himself to kiss you again, you moan as he pushes your legs apart so that he can hump his growing bulge against your sleep shorts.

“Satoru… touch me, please.” you beg, mewling as he bites your lower lip as he pulls away. You allow him better access to your body as he kisses your neck, sucking deeply against it to sign his name in pretty blue blooms.

“Wanna do somethin’ else, tonight.” he tells you. Your eyes open a little further as you look down at him. He grabs your vest, helping you remove it to expose your tits to him. “I wanna feel good, too.” he explains, cupping your breasts and suctioning his lips around one of your nipples.

You freeze as he speaks, but you can’t wriggle away from him.

“’m not ready to go all the way, nii-chan…” you whisper. He shushes you, quickly swirling his tongue around your other nipple before relinquishing it with an obscene pop.

“I know you aren’t, don’t worry.” he stands on his knees, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. You help move your body as he slowly peels them off you, a sodden patch in the seat of your shorts makes him smile. And it becomes more devilish as he sees the culprit at the apex of your thighs. “You’re drenched, such a good girl for nii-chan.”

“Fuck… stop it. S’embarrassing.” you tell him.

“No.” he responds, pushing your legs further apart to admire the way your tiny virgin hole clenches around nothing. You could barely take his fingers, he can’t imagine what you’d be like if he slipped you his length. “Can I take a picture? Look so pretty, baby. Don’t wanna forget it.” he asks you.

“U-Um…” you struggle. He looks at you with an intensity you’ve never felt before. And despite your better judgement arguing not to do this. You nod. For him, you can’t help it. You nod dumbly and proudly. He thinks you’re pretty. Of course you’ll let him take a photo.

It doesn’t really matter, anyway, when he’s taking snaps of your body rather than your face. You hear a vocal sound leave him that’s not quite a moan, almost a desperate grunt and he frees his cock from his sweats and begins to touch himself. His phone still in his hand as he jerks himself off over your body.

You’re none the wiser when he scrolls along his camera app and selects the video function, pressing the big red button as he focuses the camera on your pussy as he slaps his cock head on your swollen clit.

“Promise I won’t put it in, baby…” he assures you. “Gonna let me feel good with you, though, yeah?” he asks, the tacky sound of your pussy coating his tip is the loudest sound in the room, even with the TV playing in the background.

“Yeah… please. Wanna cum f’you…” you plead, jolting as he slaps his cock down on your pussy, sandwiching his cock between your folds. He slowly begins to rocks his hips, his pretty cockhead cautiously catching on your clit with each roll. You silence yourself, covering your mouth with your hand as lazy strokes become overwhelming.

“Baby… will you let me take a video of you?” he says, it’s low and guttural, somewhat out of character for your elder brother. It’s almost as if he’s losing his senses as he kisses your clit with his cock. “Won’t show anyone… promise.”

“S-Satoru… I— I dunno…” you whisper, whimpering a little as he grabs his cock and smacks it against your folds. He raises the camera, and you can’t help but look directly in the lens. “Is that on?” you ask meekly. He nods, smirking.

“Don’t make me turn it off, pretty girl. You look so good f’me, y’know? Wanna remember it forever.” he tells you. He watches as you swallow thickly, knowing what’s happening between you is becoming actual evidence. You nod, though. You want to keep being his pretty girl.

“O-Okay, Satoru…”

“No, want the camera to know who’s dick is gonna make you cum. Go ahead, look at the camera ‘n say it, baby.”

“Satoru…” you say again, but he shakes his head. Your eyes roll back as he delivers a particularly harsh thrust between your lips, rubbing so perfectly on your sensitive pearl that you squeak pathetically. “Nii-chan! Nii-chan is gonna make me— cum…”

“Goooood girl, that’s right…” he grins, lowering the camera to capture what is happening to make you sound so pitiful for him. “Nii-chan’s gonna make your pretty pussy feel good.”

Soon enough, you’re stifling yourself once again as he picks up the pace. The sticky sounds emiting from between your legs has your body heat rising. Your shimmering skin isn’t lost to the camera as you break out in a sweat. Whether it’s shame, embarrassment, arousal, or a deadly concoction of each, it doesn’t matter. The cool flickering light from the TV behind Satoru captures it all perfectly.

“You’re so shy baby, makes you even cuter.” he tells you. “You’re shakin’… gonna cum f’me?”

You nod, again, still too terrified to risk removing your hand from your mouth for fear of alerting your parents to the twisted tryst taking place in your big brother’s room.

“Love this little pussy, gonna let me fuck you one day, yeah?” he asks, but doesn’t expect an answer. He will. He’s determined. The thought of being the first to corrupt your tiny virgin slot is driving him wild. It’s evident in the way he’s bucking his hips, barely even aware to the way you’re pussy begins to clench and your toes curl.

You moan, boisterously, into your hand. And it’s the only thing that coaxes him out of his train of thought. But it’s too late to think clearly. He’s already sputtering pretty globs of cum as white as his hair on your clit and tummy. Your pussy lips decorated so sweetly in your big brother’s love as he moans and drops down from his high.

It was short, but sweet.

He’d be embarrassed if he thought you had something to compare it to.

It’s your own fault he didn’t last longer, you came first. And your pussy is made for him. He’s sure of that, now. He’s especially sure when he lowers the camera to perfectly capture your twitching hole and messy folds. Before raising it again to record your face. Hard evidence for Suguru, he needs to make sure he knows he wasn’t lying.

“Nii-chan… please.” you pout. “Promise you won’t show anyone else? S’embarrassing…”

“Awe, you think I’d do that to you?” he smirks, leaning down to kiss you. “C’mon. Who’d I even show?”

“I dunno…”

“I promise, baby. It’s our little secret.”

© 2024 rinhaler

[queenshelby]

Playing Doctor

Pairing: Tommy Shelby (Stepfather) x Reader (Stepdaughter)

Warning: DDLG, No-Plot

Requested: YES! P.s. sorry anon it took me so long!

It was your 20th birthday a few weeks ago and your stepfather, Thomas Shelby, whom you have been calling 'daddy' for some time now, insisted on having a little chat with you after everyone else had retired for the night.

Just like every other night, when you walked into his study, you noticed that it was dimly lit, the faintest glow seeping through the heavy oak furniture inside.

"Close the door, and lock it sweetheart," he ordered you as you stepped into the room and you replied with a simple "yes daddy" as you had learnt. 

He sat facing you, the chair groaning softly under his weight, hands folded on his lap. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked the seconds away with a solemnity that filled the room.

"Good girl," he murmured, a hint of a smile flickering on his lips before gesturing for you to have a seat. "Always so well behaved ."

You nodded meekly, suppressing a shiver as his eyes swept over you, taking in every detail of your appearance. 

Thomas Shelby was not an easy man to read. He held the world in a tight grip, his ruthless intelligence driving his criminal empire ever forward.

Beneath that rough exterior, though, a darkness festered, a secret that he took great care to keep hidden. His home was a castle, sealed from the outside world, and inside that castle you were his most prized possession.

"Now sweetheart, do you remember when daddy said that, after you turned twenty, there would come a day where you would have to take care of daddy's needs sometimes?" he asked , eyes searching your face.

You lowered your gaze, nodding nervously, unable to keep your voice from betraying your anxiety when you said, "Yes daddy," not knowing what this would entail.

"Good girl , I knew you'd remember," he replied with a ghost of a smile.  "Now tonight, I think, daddy just wants to play a little game with you. You like games, don't you?"

Thomas said, rising from his chair and approaching you slowly. The tension in the air was palpable as he stood over you.

"Yes daddy," you said, smiling. "What kind of game do you want to play? Do you want to play cards ?" Your question was barely audible, but he heard you nonetheless.

"No sweetheart," he said, running his fingers over your hair, playing with it. His hands then wandered down to your neck, leaving you slightly short of breath. "No cards tonight."

The way his fingers trailed up and down the nape of your neck sent shivers down your spine, making you tremble in your seat. Despite the fear creeping in, you held Thomas' gaze.

"Tonight, daddy wants to play doctor and patient," he explained, his tone softer than ever, lips curling in a smile that sent another chill down your spine.

"Doctor and patient?" You whispered, not entirely certain where he was going with this, but feeling the weight of it settle heavily on your shoulders.

"Yes, darling, you see, there are some things daddy needs to check. Just like a real doctor would," he assured you, eyes gleaming mysteriously in the dim light. "So you will pretend to be the patient, and I will be the doctor. Alright?"

Your heart began to race, your breathing shallow.

"I'm not sure if I know how to do that, daddy," you admitted, swallowing hard.

"Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll show you," he cooed, stepping closer to you until he stood right in front of you. "But first, daddy needs his good little girl to take off her pretty panties." 

You blinked, taken aback. "Right now?" you asked in a small voice, eyes wide with fear and confusion.

He nodded faintly.

Slowly, you pulled yourself up to your feet and reached under your gown to remove the only barrier between him and his exploration. You felt a shiver of embarrassment, even shame, as you dropped them on the floor before stepping out of them.

"That's a good girl," Thomas murmured approvingly, his hand reaching out to gently touch your cheek. "Now remember, darling, we are just playing a game here. Nothing more, nothing less," Thomas reassured, though the words did little to comfort you.

Despite his attempt at being gentle, there was a hint of steel in his eyes that reminded you of who exactly was in charge here. The tension in the air had grown unbearable, the oppressive silence of the room weighing heavily on your shoulders.

"Now I am going to put a towel here, so that we can be clean and comfortable," Thomas told you, pointing to the sofa in the corner of the room. He picked up a towel folded neatly on a cabinet, placing it on the bed. Then he looked at you, giving a reassuring nod before walking towards you.

You stood still, waiting for his instructions. He approached you slowly and met your eyes, his gaze piercing. With a steady hand, he guided you towards the sofa.

"Up on the towel, baby girl," he whispered impatiently. You complied, sitting on the fluffy towel, legs shut tight.

"Lean back and lift your feet up onto the couch. Then let your knees fall apart for daddy," he said. His instructions came out as if he was talking about the most normal thing in the world. 

"But daddy, you will see my private parts," you said, your voice shaky with worry.

"That's the idea sweetheart," he murmured, his voice gentle but firm. "We need to make sure you are ready down there for daddy to make you a woman."

You shuddered, but slowly lifted your feet onto the couch like he instructed. Then, you let your knees fall apart. You could feel a profound chill in the room, like it was waiting with bated breath for what would come next.

"Good girl," Thomas said soothingly, stroking your hair as he kneeled down in front of you. 

You watched as he placed a bottle of lubricant on the table next to him, along with some tissues.

"Keep your legs open for me, sweetheart," he murmured, gently shifting your legs apart.

"But daddy," you whispered, gripping the edges of the couch, as his hands made their way up your thighs.

"Shh, good girl. Daddy will just have a look inside your little hole now, okay?" He asked gently, his thumb now tracing the outline of your opening cautiously before using two fingers to open your labia.

You couldn't find words. You stared at the books lining his shelves, watching the dust particles glint in the dim light as he opened you up.

"Daddy's girl is so nice and pink inside," he commented, seemingly pleased at the sight of your insides.  "And I can see that you have been a good girl and have not been fooling around with any boys yet, haven't you sweetheart?"

"No, daddy," you replied weakly, glancing away from the intimate scene unfolding before you.

"That's good. Just like you promised me. Good girl," he said in a low voice, before leaning down even closer to you.

"And now daddy's going to put one of his fingers inside your precious little hole, okay?" Thomas murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could respond, he pressed his index finger gently against your opening and pushed it in slowly, making you gasp.

"Shh ," he urged you, his voice soft and low as if he was trying to soothe a frightened kitten. "Daddy's is going to be gentle. Promise."

You bit your lip and nodded, unable to find your voice in the turmoil of your thoughts. The feeling of his rough finger inside your slick warmth was alien, unwelcome, yet not entirely unpleasant.

Thomas's gaze remained fixed on his hand between your legs, and you could see the corners of his lips pull up in a slight smirk. "You're doing great, honey. I'm going to try and move it around a little," he said soothingly, as if trying to encourage a frightened animal.

He gently moved his finger in and out, his thumb pressing against your clitoris.

As uncomfortable as the intrusion was, something changed in you as he explored and touched you. A strange, hot sensation bloomed in your belly and spread downward with each of his movements. You felt yourself growing wetter and tried to squirm away, but Thomas held you steady.

"Shh, sweetheart, don't be scared," he whispered. "This is okay.

This is just a game," you told yourself, trying to convince yourself that the feeling in your body was not real. But the truth was, your bodies had a language of their own and the way Thomas touched you, the way he moved inside you, seemed to speak louder than any words.

"You're a natural, sweetheart," Thomas said, his voice still soothing. You swallowed the painful lump in your throat and nodded, not responding as you listened to the sounds of his finger slipping in and out of your hole.

"I am going to add another finger now, okay sweetheart?" he said, inserting his middle finger beside his index one carefully, stretching our your small opening.

Your body tensed at the sensation, but Thomas kept you calm with soothing words. "Relax, sweetheart. I know it's strange, but you need to relax so I can check everything," Thomas assured you, and you tried your best to oblige.

"It feels funny down there , daddy," you admitted, wincing slightly as his fingers probed deeper.

"That's normal, my sweet girl. You're just not used to it yet," Tommy whispered as he began to move his fingers in and out of you with more conviction. "Your body needs to get accustomed to these new sensations, to daddy's touch."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. But then, you nodded silently, closing your eyes and submitting to his touch. From the way he moved his fingers inside you, you could tell that Tommy was definitely an experienced man, which shouldn't have surprised you.

"Daddy 's fingers are quite big, aren't they?" Tommy said nonchalantly, grinning at the look on your face.

You could only blink at him, feeling an odd sort of excitement mingling with the discomfort. 

Tommy then pulled his fingers out, allowing a trail of wetness to run down your inner thigh and, suddenly, the room was heavy with tension, and he looked at you as if he were about to reveal some great secret.

"Oh look how wet you are

, baby girl. Does that feel good?" He asked in a hushed voice, like it was just between the two of you. 

"I think so daddy. It hurts a little but it feels nice and tingly too," you said as you squirmed under his gaze and the soft tugging of your thighs as he gently separated your legs a little further.

Thomas let out a low chuckle as he unbuckled his belt and began to undo his trousers.  "That's good. That is how it is supposed to feel, sweetheart," he teased, his eyes never leaving your face as he traced the outline of his penis through his briefs.

You swallowed nervously, glancing away from his growing bulge and focusing instead on the faint patterns of the tapestry that graced the wall opposite his massive wooden bed.

" Now, I want you to keep those legs open nice and wide," Thomas told you, his voice a low rumble in the dimly lit room as he pushed his trousers and underwear down to his kneed before kneeling in between your legs.

"Daddy,  I don't know about this," you said in a trembling voice, staring at the slightly curved, swollen head of his penis as he moved closer.

"It's okay sweetheart," Tommy said, smirking as he grasped his manhood and continued to approach you. "It's just another part of the game."

"Daddy is just using his special tool now to open up your little hole as it is supposed to be. That's all," he said, trying to reassure you with a gentle tone.

His manhood glistened in the soft lighting of the room, and you couldn't help but feel a knot of fear twist in your stomach as you watched him slowly guide himself towards your entrance.

"Good girl," he said once more as, finally, you felt the tip of his hardness nestled between your labia . He paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the unfamiliar feeling before slowly exhaling and pushing himself inside you just a little.

"Just a little pressure now, sweetheart. I know it hurts your cherry, but daddy will take it nice and slow," Thomas murmured as he inched further inside, drawing hushed gasps from you.

"Daddy 's little princess is doing so well," he reassured softly, with tenderness flickering across his face. With measured thrusts and slow withdraws, Thomas slowly pushed deeper into you.

You bit into your lower lip hard to wrestle back a whimper, gripping the towel beneath you as waves of discomfort danced down your spine. It felt as if your flesh were stretching tight around his shaft, an intimate intrusion that was both terrifying and mesmerizing. 

"I feel really full , daddy," you gasped, your breath hitching as he continued to slowly thrust himself in deeper, your slickness helping to ease his passage.

"I know." Thomas nodded solemnly, placing his hands gently on either side of your hips. "Daddy's special tool is almost all  the way inside you now, darling. It gets comfortable soon, I promise."

You nodded hesitantly, feeling a strange mix of apprehension and intrigue as your body started to adjust. It wasn't exactly painful anymore, more like a heavy kind of fullness that you found difficult to comprehend.

He leaned forward a little and asked, "How are you feeling now princess?"

You squeezed your eyes shut as you tried to deal with the unfamiliar sensation, before finally managing to stammer, "It's... different, daddy. I feel so full."

Thomas smiled, caressing your cheeks. "That's good , sweetheart. When daddy's inside you, it's just the two of us in our own little world."

He began to move slowly, inching farther inside you while his arms wound around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

"Now daddy will move his special tool around slowly, okay sweetheart?" he asked gently as he readjusted his position and began to rock back and forth.

"Relax and let daddy take control, just like always," he whispered soothingly in your ear, the warmth from his voice making you more at ease than before.

"O-okay daddy," you said softly, trying to keep still and relax the muscles that clenched around him.

Soon, his pace picked up and your breath came in sync with his as he penetrated you with more force, his chest heaving with exertion as he took you.

The familiar scents of leather, tobacco, and aftershave enveloped your senses as he moved deeper into you.

"Daddy isn't hurting you, baby, is he?" he growled out, his rhythm picking up as he lost himself in you.

"No, daddy. It feels . . . weird, but good too," you breathed out, letting go of the last of your reservations.

"Good," he growled out, his rhythm picking up even more rapidly.

"That's my good girl," he said before running his thumb over your clit while thrusting in and out of you.

Your breath hitched, your heartbeat spiked, and the warm sensation in your tummy blossomed once more.

"Daddy," you gasped, the feeling coursing its way through your veins as you tried to stifle your moans.

"Shh, don't worry, sweetheart. Just let it happen," Thomas assured you between breaths.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back, giving yourself over to the tide of pleasure that washed over you.

The room was hazy around the edges, and all you could focus on was the feeling of Thomas's body moving inside you, the slide of his pole in and out of your warm depths.

"Daddy,"  you murmured, unable to form a complete that could possibly convey the maelstrom of emotion and feeling tearing through you when you finally reached your climax.

The waves of pleasure were so immense and so absolutely consuming that even the word "daddy" seemed to fall short.

But for Thomas, "daddy" was the most important word of all. It was his favorite name to hear pour from your lips, and as he felt you tighten, pulse, and shudder around him in the midst of pure unbridled ecstasy, it was as if the walls of his castle had come crumbling down.

"That's my good, good girl," Tommy murmured earnestly, as he continued to thrust into your tight, wet heat, his hands sliding down your slick flesh to caress your curves, trace your shapes, and drink you in.

"Daddy is going to put some special medicine in your little hole now," he groaned, chasing his own climax now. "It will feel nice and warm when it goes in."

The room was seconds away from exploding, and you closed your eyes tightly as Tommy thrust one last time into you, the walls of your sex contracting around him as he stilled completely.

"Here you go. Fuck," he cursed as he released a torrent of  hot fluid into you.

You could feel him throbbing and pulsing inside you for a moment. It was an odd sensation, something you couldn't quite put into words. It spread through your body, muddling with the remaining echoes of your own climax.

The look on his face was indescribable. His eyes were half-lidded, lips parted in a silent cry, and the lines of stress on his face seemed to melt away for that brief moment.

He stayed there, motionless, for what felt like an eternity. The heaviness of his limbs atop you was oddly soothing.

Some part of you wanted to hold on to that moment, while another part screamed to be let go.

Thomas leaned in close, his lips brushing your cheek. "I'm going to pull out now, baby," he whispered.

You whimpered softly as he carefully slid himself out of you and felt his warm essence dribble down the insides of your thighs. 

"You're daddy's good girl, aren't you?" he murmured proudly in your ear. "Now lets check if everything went well."

He looked into your eyes as his fingers gently explored your entrance. You shivered slightly at his cold touch, both physically and emotionally as a feeling of shame washed over you. You couldn't help but feel embarrassed that moments earlier, you had welcomed this very same intrusion with pleasure.

Thomas started sliding his fingers in and out softly, observing your reaction. It wasn't long before a slight flush crept up your cheeks. "It looks perfect," he told you. "Just a tiny bit swollen." Thomas approved, smiling warmly as he tucked his fingers away before planting a tender kiss on the tip of your nose.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I wanna see what’s Ace’s family’s reaction when they found out Ace is dating reader Heheheh

I decided to have only Ace's brother present, since Mr. and Mrs. Trappola have yet to receive strong characterization.

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The Trappola brothers sat across from one another upon red velvet chairs, and you, between them. They were both intently focused on building a house of playing cards—a task that Ace had warned took “serious patience, coordination, and a gentle touch.” (You had rolled your eyes and responded, “Great. You let me know when you’ve found someone that has all that.”)

Ace carefully laid a Two of Spades down, formed a triangle with a Three of Clubs and a Four of Diamonds. His hand slowly retreated, and the triangle stayed. He expelled a sigh, directed away from the cards so as to not disturb them.

You would have clapped for him, but Ace had discouraged you before the game had even started. So instead, you tapped your index and middle fingers together. Still giving applause, but not nearly enough to rattle the house of cards.

“Your move.”

“Huh, you’ve gotten better at this,” his brother mused. He toyed with an Ace of Hearts, expertly twirling it between dexterous fingers. “Too bad. I was really looking forward to smoking you in front of your new friend.”

“In your dreams,” Ace sneered, passing you a glance. “The last thing I’d want is to look uncool in front of my partner.”

His brother drew himself up in his seat. The card in his hand, stilling. “Your partner? Since when were you two a thing?”

“Oh, you know… since a while ago,” Ace casually replied. “And honestly, I can’t really blame’m. Who wouldn’t fall for my dashing good looks and roguish charm? I’m a catch!”

His brother regarded you with an almost pitying look. “It’s not too late to change your mind,” he advised.

You burst into laughter. "I think I'm good. Ace is an idiot, but he's at least my idiot."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you've got a sense of humor. You'll need that if you're going to put up with Ace all of the time. Congrats, you passed the first test."

"Whaddya mean 'put up with' me?!" Ace protested, puffing up his cheeks. A pout--adorable, you think.

"I mean it exactly how I said it. It's practically a full-time job dealing with you," his brother replied cheekily. "You gotta prepare people for it, or else they won't know what they've signed up for."

"Oh, come on! You're making me sound way worse than I actually am."

"This, coming from the guy who ghosted his ex?" He smirked, and you could see the family resemblance in it. The slight narrowing of the eyes, the way his mouth angled. "I dunno, I was half expecting you to stay single forever after that royal screw-up, lil' bro. You're lucky you found someone willing to take you~"

Pink exploded onto Ace's cheeks. "H-Hey...!" he hissed, leaning toward his brother. "Did you seriously have to bring that up?! Have a little more tact, will ya?!"

The older Trappola grinned. "Gotcha."

You realized why.

Ace's sudden movement had sent a slight breeze against the card house. It wobbled from top to bottom--then the structure collapsed in on itself, the cards all folding into one another. Within seconds, the house was a pile on the coffee table.

Ace fell to his knees with a pathetic wail, scrambling to salvage his hard work. His brother looked on, chuckling. A card, still in his hand.

"I didn't place mine yet," he declared triumphantly, "and since you made the house fall, it's technically my win!"

"Y-You sneaky...! You taunted me on purpose!!"

"Yeah, and it worked like a charm." He flicked Ace on the forehead. "You were too busy trying to flex in front of your S/O. It was easy to take advantage of that. You always were a cocky, predictable brat."

"Grrrrr..!!"

"Ace, it's fine," you soothed him, a hand on his arm. "You did your best. It doesn't change how I feel about you."

"Tch, there you go being all sappy again... You're so lame sometimes," Ace grumbled--but he covered your hand with his. A small gesture, but a reassuring one.

"Hahah, look at you two lovebirds," his brother teased, wagging a finger at you. Then he reached out and roughly ruffled Ace's hair, despite his complaints and attempts to swat him away. "Happy for you though, lil' bro! You gotta tell me how this love story started--"

[burts-baked-bees]

Okay?

OPLA Sanji x Fem!Reader

{masterlist for OPLA Sanji ongoing story}

Tags: Slight angst to fluff, slight pining, Sanji and reader are close friends and have truama bonded, Sanji has no clue he's in love with reader the poor sap

CW: Launguage, mentions of abuse, slight WCI spoliers, mentions of drinking

“I swear I’m one shift away from throwing myself in the godforsaken ocean.” Sanji huffed angrily as he threw himself down in a nearby booth. The Baratie had cleared out for the night leaving the cooks to clean the line and the waiters to clean the dining room, but halfway through the dreaded cleanup Sanji had both metaphorically and physically thrown in the towel. The dish cloth he had been holding went flying across the room as he put his feet up on the booth he was in and groaned indignantly.

“That old shitbag won’t so much as let me breathe on the line! I’m a cook! Not a fucking waiter!” He yelled, turning his head back towards the kitchen, as if Zeff could hear his complaints.

“You think maybe it has something to do with the fact that you call him an ‘old shitbag’?” A voice came from the other side of his booth. A small smile curled his lips as he sat up some and peeked over the rounded edge of the red leather seat.

“Oh I’m sorry, did I interrupt your nap time madame?” Sanji laughed as he took in the sight of Y/n laying on her back with her eyes closed in the opposite booth. “So sorry for the inconvenience, but aren’t you meant to be cleaning tables?” He teased as Y/n cracked an eye open and glared at him.

“Aren’t you?” She asked with a sly grin, earning an eye roll and angry huff from the blonde.

“Seems the only thing I’m meant to do is slowly die from boredom in this trash heap of a restaurant.” Sanji sighed as he fell back into his seat, pulling out his lighter and messing with the lid. Y/n laughed softly before sitting up and resting her arms on the dividing seat. She placed her head atop her arms and looked at him with a mock pout.

“Awww is the best chef in the East Blue all bummed that his dad doesn't like his cooking? Again?”

Sanji snapped his lighter closed and raised a finger at Y/n, pointing aggressively at her with a snarl.

“I am the greatest chef in the East Blue. Even if that geezer can’t see it.” He stated, earning a chuckle from Y/n as she sat up and raised her hands in surrender.

“Easy now, no need to shout at a lady.” She cooed as Sanji chuckled and gave her an angry smile, hanging his head.

“How dare you throw my own principles back in my face.” He chuckled as he began fidgeting with the silver ring on his finger. Y/n sighed and rested her chin on her folded arms again, smiling softly at the mop of blonde hair in front of her. She reached over the divider and brushed some of his hair from his face, earning a soft hum from Sanji as he closed his eyes.

“I think we both know he’s only doing and saying these things because he wants the best for you. Though I’ll be the first to admit, his way of going about it is absolute shit.” She laughed as she watched his lips curl into a smile. He looked up at her, her fingers brushing against his cheek as he moved.

“Yeah, I know…” He sighed as he leaned his head back against the wall. She pulled her hand back and looked at him with sympathetic eyes. “But you're a stowaway as much as me.” Sanji joked, “And yet I’m the one being treated like a sniveling child every fucking time I step foot in that kitchen.” He huffed as he looked over at her through his bangs. She chuckled as she hung her arms over the back of his booth and cocked her head to the side.

“My dumbass thought I could be a pirate and got stuck here paying off a debt cuz’ my ship damaged the hull of this ‘trash heap of a restaurant’.” She fired back, using his own words. He opened his mouth to speak but soon closed it again as he shook his head.

“Yeah that was pretty dumb.” Sanji joked as he pulled his jacket off and tossed it to the seat beside him. Y/n gawked at him before laughing and reaching forward to hit him softly on the shoulder. He leaned away from her and shouted

“Oi! Don’t damage the goods!”

She looked at him with mocking wide eyes and barked a laugh,

“Both Patty and I would have to disagree with you on that one, lover boy.” She snarked as Sanji rolled his eyes. A calm silence filled the space as Y/n sat up on her knees and looked at Sanji. She could see something was going on inside his head, and she knew him well enough to infer that he wasn’t going to say a damn thing. She studied the way his brow furrowed and noted how his eyes seemed more gray then blue in moments like these.

There was a profound sadness in him that she had only caught glimpses of in her three years aboard this ship. A profound sadness that he had more or less shared with her one drunken night in the bar when they should have been sleeping. A profound sadness that she wished every single day she could lift from him. The two sat in silence as the ship rocked softly under them; Y/n felt compelled to speak, to do anything that might help ease his overactive mind.

“Still, knowing what I know, having Zeff treating you like this can’t be good for the ole’ psyche…”

Sanji tensed up slightly at her words and Y/n mentally kicked herself for making that insinuation. She wanted to help him, but after the words left her mouth she felt a heavy guilt fill her bones. She watched as he shut his eyes and took a deep breath before smiling ever so slightly.

“Trust me, love. I may complain like this from time to time-”

“Almost ninety-five percent of the time."

“Ooookay. Almost ninety-five percent of the time, but nothing is worse than… what I came from.” He gave her a somber smile and pulled out his lighter again, flipping the lid open and closed in an almost rhythmic pattern. She returned his sad smile and pushed her baby hairs from her forehead.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned that.” She spoke softly as she looked out at the empty dining room; the tables were cast in an eerie candle light and the china adorning the tables glimmered like stars. Sanji looked at her, as her attention was placed elsewhere, and smiled fondly. He felt a warmth rise in his chest as he took in the curve of her profile. The slope of her nose, the length of her eyelashes, the round of her cheeks. The candle light of the empty room cast dancing shadows on her face that made her look otherworldly; he felt his smile, and eyes soften as he looked at her.

“Y/n I wouldn’t have told you about my shitty past if I didn’t trust you to check in on me like this every now and again.” Sanji spoke softly as Y/n turned her gaze back to him. She was almost stunned to see the expression on his face. The look in his eyes was, most of the time, reserved for the elegant ladies that entered the restaurant day in and day out. And yet here he was looking at her like that. She brushed the fond gaze off and swayed her head back and forth while giving him an apologetic look.

“I know, but it’s still not my place to dredge up old memories of abuse when I don’t even know the full story.” She responded, playing with the ends of her uniform shirt.

Sanji smiled at her and leaned forward in his seat, one hand braced himself on the seat top while the other reached forward and pulled her towards him. Y/n closed her eyes as she felt his lips press against her forehead.

“I appreciate you checking on me. It shows that you care.” He said softly, his words muffled seeing that his lips were still connected with her forehead. She smiled softly as he placed a loud exaggerated kiss to the skin there before pulling away and holding her face in his hand. “Okay?” He asked with a huge smile. She laughed at his theatrics and moved to stand up, leaving Sanji sitting alone in his booth as he looked up at her standing form.

“Whatever you say-” She began as she reached out a hand to help him up. He took it with a laugh and allowed Y/n to pull him to his feet. “-My favorite Baratie waiter.” She finished as she dropped his hand and started walking away from him, stifling her laughter. Sanji stood there with his jaw dropped as she walked away from him, his shock soon turning into a smile as he watched her shoulders shake from holding in her laughter. He let a chuckle slip out as he pushed up his sleeves and made a beeline for her.

“How DARE!” He yelled as he grabbed her from behind and lifted her off the ground slightly laughing as she yelped and then dissolved into laughter when she broke free. She began running to a nearby table to put distance between herself and him as she pointed at him,

“Not fair!” She yelled, watching as Sanji pointed back at her.

“Don’t you dare get me started on ‘fair’!” He responded as he laughed.

____

Zeff stood in the doorway to the kitchen watching as Sanji ran around tables with that wannabe pirate waitress. He observed in silence as the pair laughed and threw dish towels at each other instead of cleaning tables.

The small boy he once knew, terrified of making connections with those around him due to some dark past he kept to himself, was smling and laughing as he chased around what could only be discribed as a friend.

A small smile curled his weathered lips as he shook his head and walked away, the sounds of youth fading into nothing.

“Not bad, little eggplant… Not bad…”

[comatosebunny09]

heel | sylus

summary: he knows without looking that you’re beside him once more. you always are. like a faithful crow perched on his shoulder, awaiting his command. he wouldn’t have it any other way. warning(s): reader is implied to be female, reader has hair, guns, mentions of violence, implied minor character death, innuendos, you’re a little unhinged and sylus is here for it, & maybe he has a thing for you, scent kink (?), mdni notes: idk what this is. i just wanted to write something about sylus having a bad-ass lapdog. inspired by that unleashed movie with jet li. might continue this. thank you for reading!

He can’t focus. Not with you smelling like that behind him.

It’s an arresting scent. Sweet, floral, nostalgic. Intertwined with your natural fragrance, it’s quite a heady mix.

He first catches wind of it when you angle yourself over the table beside him to place a case—heavy with military-grade weapons—onto its polished surface. Your warmth fades along with the aroma, the wispy tendrils of your hair grazing his neck.

Sylus finds himself chasing the smell when you ease back to rejoin the twins. He peers at you over his shoulder as if to convince himself he isn’t imagining things.

You bear a deceptively innocent smile. Acknowledge Sylus with a nod, and your eyes darken into something indistinguishable. Mischief? Admiration? Murderous intent?

You’re always itching for a good fight. Vibrating with the need to protect and maim at the drop of a hat. At the subtle tremor of Sylus’ fingers.

Sylus shakes his head to dispel the tension, smirking down at his lap and returning his attention to the table. Regains his composure, fixed on the gentleman seated across.

“Ten million,” Sylus simply states through the lazy furl of cigar smoke. Beneath the sepia-toned veil cast by the filament lights overhead.  

The portly man on the opposite side of the table harrumphs. Gradually erupts into a fit of laughter mixed with coughing and wheezing. Sylus winces. Maybe he should give the cigar a break.

As if reading Sylus’ thoughts, the gentleman does just that. Signals to one of his bodyguards—one of ten. For little old Sylus? He then snuffs out his smoke on the summoned guard’s palm, not batting an eye.

Disgusting, Sylus thinks, lips twitching with the urge to sneer. How could humans make themselves so disposable?

“Mister Sylus,” the gentleman begins, disrupting Sylus’ inner monologue. He folds his fat, liver-spotted hands on the table and leans forward until his chair creaks. “My family has worked with you for years—”

“Your point?” Sylus interjects, his brow ticking. He’s trying to keep his cool. Trying to maintain that poker face. Between this deal sapping up more time than he initially anticipated and your heavenly scent beckoning to him like ghostly tendrils curling under his chin, he’s more than a little antsy.

The gentleman clears the phlegm from his throat. Tugs on the round of his tie, disbelieving Sylus’ gall. He tries again, sitting up a little straighter.

“My point, Mister Sylus, is that ten million is a little…eh, steep.” Leaning back, the man’s lips crook into a smirk. Sylus narrows his eyes. He knows this song and dance. This fool thinks he’s already won. “Especially given that these weapons are mere prototypes—”

Sylus doesn’t have to speak. Couldn’t even if he wanted to, that fragrance once again pervading his senses like creeping mist. It’s accompanied by a swift breeze caressing his cheek. By the clack of something metallic set on the table. He knows without looking that you’re beside him.

You always are. Like a faithful crow perched on his shoulder, awaiting his command. He feels it rolling off you in waves. The vitriol, the malice.

Down, girl, Sylus thinks, eying you in his periphery. Swells with pride. Leans back in an easy slouch, crossing his legs with humor gracing his features. He pushes that bewitching smell to the backburner. There’s money to be made and a scourge to be wiped from the face of the planet.

The room had lapsed into an impenetrable silence when you slammed a pistol on the table. A show of power. A threat bleeding into a promise.

All eyes are on the shiny gleam of the revolver.

The gentleman swallows thickly, fretting with his tie, Adam’s apple bobbing. He glances between you and Sylus, and it’s comical how a bead of sweat forms on his mottled temple.

He swiftly feigns nonchalance, throwing his hands up as he cackles with his guards over his shoulder. Red-faced like it’s the funniest thing in the world. “What is this? Am I—am I really supposed to be intimidated by that?” He gestures to the revolver like it’s something of child’s play.

Another gust of air grazes Sylus’ skin. He’s bereft of the scent you carry, finding his wits scurrying back to him. Like you released him from a spell.

In an instant, you’re behind the gentleman. A deviously soft hand presses between his shoulder blades. You pitch yourself forward over his shoulder, your lips brushing the outer shell of his ear.

“No,” you whisper, and the man shirks away with a shriek pinched from his throat like he’s seen a ghost. Your accompanying giggle bodes danger. “But you should be scared a’ me.”

The click of various weapons shifting to semi surrounds you. Ten guns aimed at your back, threatening to rend you to sinew and bone. But you’re too quick. In the blink of an eye, you’re seated on the table before the gentleman, one leg crossed over the other, leant back on your hands, your head coyly cocked to the side.

You’re a cheeky little shit. Sylus wouldn’t have you any other way.

The man’s tie is suddenly between your fingers. You’re admiring the texture of it, lids lowered, lips pursed whilst you tug him forward. Your breath fans over his blanched skin, and you scrutinize his features like a curious feline. He’s petrified, his men’s weapons poised at his back.

You grin something sultry, toying with the gentleman’s tie. Gaze flits between him and his goons, signaling for him to call them off. They’ll have to riddle him with holes to get to you. Have them do the dirty work for you. Crafty little thing.

His bodyguards acquiesce when the man raises a trembling hand. Reluctantly lower their weapons, a symphony of quickened heartbeats and clenching buttholes invading the air. The man’s stricken by your beauty and otherworldly speed. He thought this would be cake. Figured he could pull one over on Onychinus’ notorious kingpin, unaware that he would drag his guard dog into the fray.

Sylus sighs, shifting in his seat. Stuffs a hand in his pocket, nothing short of amused. “And here I thought you were a smart man,” he huffs, examining his nails. “This could’ve all been so very easy.”

“But you had to make it hard,” you tack on against the swell of the gentleman’s lips. “Not that I’m complaining.”

At some point, you pilfered the man’s phone from his pocket.

You hold it to his face, unlocking it with his biometrics. His bank app has already been cued up with Sylus’ information. Your humored visage ebbs in and out of focus as the gentleman peers between you and the screen.

The man swallows again, his throat clicking. He cautions another look at your boss, silently willing him to call you off. Sylus does no such thing, instead holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Shakily, the gentleman keys in the proffered amount. Presses send, the chime of it the only sound heard in the tense atmosphere.

You look at Sylus over your shoulder. Smile sweet as sugar, and something in Sylus’ chest pulls. He nods once he’s received the transaction. Quietly praises you with a smoldering look before maneuvering to dismount his seat with a flourish of his coat. Luke and Kieran flank him without a hitch, snickering at his sides.

Sylus smiles, playfully waving his phone in the air. “Pleasure doing business with you,” he says, moving to the room’s only entry point with the twins in tow.

The man bristles, sweat coasting in rivulets down his neck. He moves to stand, but you bar him, blotting out everything from sight that isn’t you. You twist his tie around your fist, wordlessly telling him to heel. He’s already lost. Already tried to undermine the devil and failed. No sense in prolonging his sentencing.

Not that Sylus intended to let him live from the start.

“Oh, and, sweetie,” purrs Sylus, halfway through the threshold over his shoulder. Your gazes interlock for the briefest of seconds. He does so love it when you look at him like that. “Have fun.”

You need no further goading as the door slips shut with Sylus’ exit.

Your body hums with the prickle of your Evol, and a crazed smirk warps your countenance as the gentleman’s bodyguards close in.

[sturnioz]

‘PASSENGERS TREAT’ — MATTHEW STURNIOLO

pairing. matthew sturniolo x fem!reader genre. smut, fluff

word count. 1.4k

❝just keep your legs open. you can do that for me, yeah?❞

content warnings. established relationship, explicit content, oral (f receiving), fingering, hair pulling, possible exhibitionism, finger sucking,

⌜ part one ͏ ⌟ ͏

“Me?”

Your mouth suddenly runs dry, not expecting Matt to be so honest even though his indications were already clear with wanting you—wanting to taste you.

You weren’t sure why you’re so surprised given that his cock was in your mouth moments prior, the weight of him still lingering on your tongue and the pretty sounds he made still echoing in your ears.

“Yeah, you,” Matt hums, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip as he motions with his head. “Get in the back, sweetheart.”

It was a little embarrassing how fast you scrambled out of your seat to climb into the back, knocking your knees against every surface possible and even bumping your head on the roof.

Matt laughs to lighten the mood as he follows closely behind, finding a spot between your legs as you prop yourself up against the door. The position is slightly awkward and there’s something uncomfortable prodding your back, but you pay no mind to either when you feel his hands caress your thighs.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you watch Matt’s hands slide down to your shoes, fingers untying the laces and gently pulling them off your feet before he makes his way back up to grab at the waistband on your pants. 

You internally scold yourself for choosing this outfit choice as you raise your hips to help him, but it wasn’t your fault, it was neither of your faults. You didn’t expect this to happen, so why would you have worn something that gives easy access? (You wish you did, but maybe that could be a reminder for next time).

You hiss as the cold air hits your aching core, goosebumps rising to the skin and you twist around uncomfortably, causing Matt to meet your gaze with a reassuring smile.

“I’ll keep you warm,” He tells you, almost sounding like a promise. “Just keep your legs open. You can do that for me, yeah?”

Your pussy throbs at his words and you dumbly nod your head, staring at him with wide eyes as he presses a kiss to your knee before shuffling downwards. The placement in which you’re both in is a little cramped up, and you can’t help but wonder if Matt regrets offering to repay you back in the car, but all thoughts and worries get pushed to the back of your mind when Matt leans forward, his breath fanning across your skin.

A gasp fleets past your lips as Matt’s tongue pokes out, licking your slit carefully. The warm, wet muscle sends a shiver down your spine and your body tenses up, bracing yourself as your fingers dig into the seat below you. 

“Stay still.” Matt tells you, his palms flat on your thighs to keep them spread apart, and before you could nod your head in a promise to stay still, you already feel his mouth on you.

Your head leans back against the window, jaw hanging low, eyebrows knitted together in pleasure. His tongue swipes between your folds, flicking at your clit before laying a gentle kiss or two. The gesture is sweet, you think, but all sweetness gets thrown aside when his tongue trails down, dipping into your wet hole.

You cry out at the sudden action, clamping your hand over your mouth to silence any more noises you make as you warily glance outside. The parking lot isn’t empty, it still has some cars parked in various spots but there’s no sign of people. It eases you and you relax, opting to bite down on your bottom lip to rake your fingers through Matt’s hair instead.

“Matt—fuck—” You whine, toes curling at how eagerly his tongue devours you, how he presses his face further into your cunt. Your fingers tug at his strands and the groan that rumbles in his chest vibrates to your core, causing you to gasp at the feeling and buck your hips up to his face.

Your pussy is throbbing, the ache in your stomach is unbearable and you feel hot. 

One hand resting on top of Matt’s head and one pressing to the roof of the car, you really are trying your best to keep yourself grounded, not wanting to cum too quickly even though it’s clear that is exactly what Matt wants.

His gaze flicks up to meet yours from between your thighs, messy hair falling in front of his eyes as his tongue makes small circles around your clit, teasing fingers prodding where you’re desperate to have him. The way you’re reacting to him; whimpering and arching your hips closer to his face gives him satisfaction and he grins, dragging his tongue through your folds once more before flicking your sensitive bud and easing two fingers inside your tight heat.

You know you must look like a sight to see, face twisted in pleasure and biting down on your bottom lip to conceal the loud noises, fucking yourself on his fingers that curl inside of you, pressing down on your gummy walls as his mouth sucks on your clit, all while keeping his eyes locked on yours.

It’s when Matt moans against your pussy is what makes you body tense up, that band in your stomach threatening to snap and your hand curls in his locks, unable to control the noises that now escape you as he starts to pump his fingers in and out of your cunt at a fast pace, the wet, lewd noises inching you closer and closer to the edge. 

One particular flick of his tongue and curl of his fingers is what completely throws you over the edge, your legs beginning to tremble around his head as that tightness in your stomach loosens, orgasm hitting you like a wave.

Your pussy throbs, your back arches off of the seats and your head is thrown back. 

You’re a wreck.

The pleasure that overcomes you is intense and you struggle to stop the convulsions your body is going through, especially as Matt continues to work you through your orgasm as he licks your pussy. You squeal through moans, biting down on your fist while the other is weakly pushing Matt back to get him to release you.

He does after a few moments, finally allowing you to breathe and to come down from your high as he sits up on his knees, sucking his fingers clean before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. You’re watching him with wide eyes as you try to wrap your head around what just happened, but Matt’s already leaning down to capture your lips with his in a kiss.

You can taste yourself on Matt’s tongue as it dips inside your mouth, and one hand cradles your chin to tilt your head upwards to help kiss you deeper. He tilts his head to the side as he leans over you, his body fitting comfortably between your open legs but the loud shrill of his phone ringing has his shoulders slumping in defeat.

Reluctantly, Matt parts from you with a sigh, reaching between the front seats to retrieve his phone from the cup holder. With a quick glance at the caller ID, his expression twists into annoyance and he presses the screen, bringing his phone to his ear.

“What do you want?” Matt’s voice carries a hint of frustration as he brushes his hair out of his face. Instantly, you recognise Chris’ muffled voice on the other end of the line. “Yeah?... Well, actually, we were just about to leave—” Matt sighs as he’s interrupted, his fingers rubbing his forehead as Chris rambles on about something.

You observe him, blinking up curiously with a smile on your face.

When Matt meets your gaze, another sigh escapes him. “Okay, alright. See you soon… yeah, whatever, love you too, kid.” As soon as Matt hangs up the phone, you can’t help but snort in response, causing him to playfully roll his eyes and throw his phone into the front seat.

“What did Chris want?”

“Leftovers from the restaurant we just had our date at,” Matt smiles at you, his eyes gleaming with mischief. You can’t help but let out a laugh, wondering how you’ll explain to Chris that you missed the reservation to do something completely different. Matt grabs your skirt and panties, handing them over to you. “We’ll just get him McDonald’s on the way home or something, put it in a fancy box and say it's from the restaurant.”

You look at him, raising an eyebrow as you pull your underwear up your legs, “You do realise Chris will know the food is from McDonald’s, right?”

“It’s Chris, sweetheart,” Matt scoffs as he helps zip up your skirt. His eyes meet yours, a smile forming on his lips. “He’d just be happy he’s got food.”

© sturnioz

[nereidprinc3ss]

toaster waffles

in which spencer is woken up by fem!reader and their young daughter after being away on a case

fluff warnings/tags: none really, a bit of suggestiveness between spencer and reader but nothing explicit, their daughter is a genius duh, i love dad!spence so fucking much holy shit a/n: i wrote this in like thirty minutes so good luck! just needed to write dad spencer it just needed to happen idk

“No—baby, we have to let daddy sleep in,” you chide your daughter, jogging to catch her as she races down the hallway on clumsy little legs. 

“No! I wanna see daddy!” She yells—and if Spencer wasn’t awake yet, he will be now. You give in, opening the bedroom door for Ada with a fond (exasperated) sigh. 

“Daddy! Daddy wake up!” 

He blinks sleepily several times, sitting up and grinning at his daughter as she attempts to climb up onto the bed. 

“Hi, princess,” he laughs, grunting dramatically as he pulls her up onto his lap. “Oh my gosh, did you get all grown up while I was gone?”

He catches your eye as you stop at the foot of the bed, arms folded and mouthing an amused ‘I’m sorry.’ Spencer smiles and almost imperceptibly shakes his head, eyes sparkling as Ada attempts to use him as playground equipment. No apology necessary. 

“I made you breakfast!” she remembers, grabbing onto his shoulders and springing up and down on the bed. His eyes go wide. 

“You did? Where is it?”

“Oh no!” she claps her hands to her cheeks and opens her mouth wide, Home Alone style. Spencer laughs. “I forgot it!”

Then she’s wriggling off the bed and running as fast as her little feet will carry her, presumably to the kitchen. 

“You like cold toaster waffles, right?” you tease, approaching the bed and filling the now empty seat that is Spencer’s lap. His hands find your waist as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“I would go so far as to say I love them. Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. “I missed you. I forgot how hard it is when you’re gone.”

He hums, running his hand over your hair. 

“I know. Me too.” Spencer now only consults on cases, and very rarely is he actually obliged to travel with the BAU. It was never easy before, but now that you have a child, it takes more out of everyone. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do, lifting your head and meeting his soft gaze. He leans forward and captures your lips in a gentle kiss, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pulling away. “I love you. Thank you for taking care of the progeny while I was away. I know it’s not easy on your own.”

“Eh. She’s alright. She reads to me at bedtime.”

Spencer grins, eyes darting back to your lips. Several quick kisses are pressed there in succession, and it’s not exactly how he wanted to say good morning to you but that will have to wait until later. 

“Ewww!” 

Ada is at the door again, waffle in hand, making a half-disgust half-delight face before prancing back to the bed and receiving another airlift from Spencer up onto the mattress. 

“What do you mean, ew?” he asks in mock offense as her legs swing in the air. “You’re next!”

You watch in unadulterated joy as he peppers little kisses all over her face and she pretends to hate it, squealing with glee.

“Is that for me?” he asks once she’s comfortably sharing his lap with you, pointing to the forgotten waffle. She holds it up, pressing the disk against his lips. Spencer takes a bite, makes an exaggerated yum sound, and kisses her forehead once more. “Thank you. That was delicious.”

“You have to eat all of it so you’ll grow up big and strong.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll do that. Why don’t you leave it on the nightstand and go find a book we can read together?”

“Game of Thrones!”

“No!” he laughs. “That book is way too grownup for you!”

“But I read the first three pages!”

“I know you did. And Auntie Penelope is still in big trouble for that. Go get Lord of the Rings.”

Full of energy despite the early hour, Ada skitters off again to find the book. 

“She’s too smart for her own good,” you sigh, listening to her making up a song as she picks through the book shelf in the next room. 

“Intelligence is generally more nurture than nature. If we act fast we could probably stunt her IQ to just two or three standard deviations above the average.”

You giggle, straddling him as he slips his hand under your shirt to rub your back. Then you try to school your features into a serious expression.

“Not funny.”

That big, lazy grin might never fade—and you’d be happy to look at it forever. 

“You’re right. Not funny at all.”

“Hey,” you remember, grabbing his biceps. He raises his eyebrows expectantly. “I was gonna make you real breakfast. What do you want?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t. I want to. So tell me what you want.”

“Anything other than a toaster waffle.”

You snort, moving to slide off the bed. 

“We can probably make that happen.”

“Hey—" he catches your waist, pulling you closer. “Penelope is taking Ada to the park this afternoon. We’re gonna spend some time together, okay?”

After having an entire child together, you still get butterflies when he looks at you like that. 

“What if I have plans this afternoon?”

Spencer doesn’t even look mildly concerned—just tilts his head, brushes his thumb over your lips. 

“Then I’m asking you to cancel them, pretty girl. I owe you some undivided attention.”

You chew on your lip. It’s embarrassing how easily he can still fluster you. 

“Right now I have to go find out why our child is being so quiet.”

He laughs, letting you slip from his grasp for good. 

“She probably got into the Stephen King again.”

You pick up the waffle and gesture at him with it emphatically as you walk away.

“This is all your fault.”

“Mm… let’s call it a team effort.”

[usedpidemo]

Cruel flower (Jo Yuri)

“You sure you really like my dress for today?” 

For the record, this is the fifth time Yuri has asked you this question. Whether or not you disagree, your choice doesn’t matter. She’s going to show off, and for good reason.

You’re not the only one anticipating some antics on stage.

To be fair, they’re not exactly the kind of antics you’d expect, as though one makes a fool of themselves like it was part of a humiliation ritual. Yuri is much more intricate and flirty, as seen with her choice of outfit for today’s performance. It’s tasteful with a hint of sexy, yet easy on the eyes. The kind that leaves your mind questioning as to why she dresses herself like someone she’s not, even if you enjoy staring at her bewitching appearance. 

She makes your heart race in countless ways you never knew could happen.

“I mean—even if I said no, you’ve already made up your mind. So what is the point,” you tell her, covering your mouth, your gaze peering down at the garter and stocking combo completing her floral ensemble. To say they complement her would be an understatement; even by her relatively tame standards, this is a little too bold and showy for her fans.

But the thing is, it’s not her normal audience she’s performing for. Thousands of fans are lined up all over the convention floor, mainly to see their more popular favorites. Not helping matters is that she’s one of the rare handful of soloists, the number which you can count with just your fingers, which typically don’t generate as much interest as an average group. Right from the start, she’s fighting an uphill battle, and this is her one of the limited opportunities to steal everyone’s hearts and attention, especially on a bigger platform.

Yuri turns around from the mirror, having put on the finishing touches of her makeup, facing you with a dour, mocking pout. “You’re no fun.”

Indifferent, you brush her off. Her contemptuous responses are part of the package, something that encompasses your daily routine. The less you entertain her, the better and the wiser you are, especially during these more serious times. You’ve learned that you find yourself less likely to fall in danger when you don’t give Yuri even the smallest of openings.

Unfortunately, it’s a lesson you have to be reminded of more often. 

“But you gotta admit, I look really good, right?” she questions you, as if you haven’t been ogling her from the moment she presented herself to you in just her lingerie, garter and stockings. The dress is just the cherry on top of what you consider near perfection. 

It’s intentional trolling at this point.

“I don’t know,” you tell her, hiding no hint of sarcasm. “Could use a little less”—you suddenly stammer—”You know—”

“Could use a little less what, babe?” Yuri approaches you, seated on the couch, pressing her palms on your knees, smirking, plotting. The thin layer of dress sweeps forward, revealing some cleavage and her necklace. She’s all up in your face, her lips nibbling on the ridge of your ear, her neck flashing a still fresh hickey from earlier in the day, her hot breath sending chills down your spine—her favorite form of showing affection. 

If you had any less restraint, you’d take her on this very couch, rip off her clothes and fuck her on said mattress in every position imaginable. Forget the crowd, much less the fact that you’re in a backstage room, where the walls are paper thin, so much so that even the slightest sounds can be heard from the outside. No matter how you spin it, there’s always clear and present danger waiting for the most inopportune time to strike. This is how Yuri gets you: by putting you both in the most uncomfortable situations possible, career be damned. It isn’t due to a heightened sense of thrill under duress, but it’s just the way she is. Insatiable. 

As easy it would be to fold right then and there, you make it a point to keep her in check, much to her disappointment. In a way, you’re kind of her unofficial co-manager, except you just so happen to share the same bed with her.

“No,” you tell her, holding face, holding her by the wrists, rising from the couch and leading her against the makeup table. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Fuck you,” she replies, not hiding her frustration. She matches your stern glare with of her own, but she comes off as more of a spoiled child than an actual threat. There’s more charm to find than seriousness in Yuri’s cutesy features. “You really are no fun at all, asshole.”

Releasing your grip on her hands, you make a concerted effort to fix up her loose dress, then leave a peck on the cheek. All while you admire the little details that complete her look. You can’t help but kiss her softly, inadvertently calming her down. Undoubtedly, she’s pretty, but she’s even more special today. 

“It’s only a what? Thirty minute set? It’ll go by in a breeze,” you tell her, as if she hasn’t been going through the festival circuit just the other month. On her part, it feels way longer since she performed in public, and that’s in no small part to her spending all her spare time with you more than anything or anyone else—to the point of being overly attached. 

Yuri sighs, rolling her eyes, hating the notion of being away from you for more than a few minutes. She makes one last hail mary effort to lead you on by wrapping a leg around yours, but you immediately catch on and put her in place. She’s so visibly miffed, that it’s easy to feel any sort of sympathy for her, but you know this little devil is going to exploit your kindness and bury you in the process. 

“Please,” she pleads in her softest tone, ready to drop to her knees on command. “I don’t even need you to fuck me like a whore, but—please—let me suck your cock instead. Let me take a warm load down my throat and I’ll be good to go.”

Try as hard as she can, the idea passes through one ear and comes out the other. You don’t budge. Not in the slightest. 

“Please, babe—promise I’ll let you use me anyway you want.” Right on cue, Yuri sheds tears, eyes wide and bargaining. “I’ll let you tie me up and tease me with your toys like the bad girl that I am. Just give me this one thing. Please.”

Still, nothing she does changes your mind. You even toy with the fact she’s needy as hell. “Didn’t you just call me an asshole, asshole? Why would I let you suck my cock, let alone shove it anywhere near you or inside you?”

Her facade immediately disappears in place of self-defense. “Oh come on. I call you asshole all the time, asshole. Since you like that word so much, here: asshole, asshole, asshole. I bet it’s because it reminds you of how much you love using my—”

Unamused, you interrupt Yuri by backing her against the table again, imposing your superior stature over the frankly petite idol. She doesn’t look intimidated, and for good reason: you won’t do a damn thing to hurt her. Despite the clear assertion of power, it’s actually the opposite—she recognizes that you’re falling into her hand and gets off on bothering you.

“Go on. What are you gonna do? Spank my ass? I bet you’d love to do that to me now, do you?” Yuri’s chuckling, grinning wickedly through every word, knowing your attempts at punishing her only serve to derive her pleasure instead. Either way, it’s a lose-lose situation. Fold and risk your frisky relationship to the public at your expense, or only delay the inevitable and continue to be tormented at every chance she gets. The trouble never ends.

You end up backing away and leaving her alone in the room. You remember; it’s a miracle. “Just—act normal,” you tell her, sounding defeated as you open the door. 

—————

For the most part, she does. 

Yuri is a natural performer, as usual. She never really needed you to begin with. You found her like this. Any sign of weakness or doubt is virtually unrecognizable.

Being near the front has its benefits. For one, you’re merely a stone’s throw away from Yuri, meaning you don’t have to strain your eyes or constantly turn to the screen. No LED panel can truly display Yuri’s in all their glory. It also means when her earpiece randomly stops functioning, you’re a few inches away when she decides to entertain the fans with typical fanservice: giving high-fives, completing hearts, partaking in pictures, and so on. While everyone around you has their phones and lightsticks raised, you’re just watching along, basking in the moment, watching your girl do the thing she loves the most, besides doing you.

Yuri passes by your section, and immediately recognizes you on sight in the midst of the crowd. She throws a wink and a kiss in your direction—much to everyone else’s delight, but not yours. Apart from that one scene, there isn’t much fanfare or anything fanciful that you haven’t already seen from her. After only five songs, she bids farewell to the audience. 

Minutes later, you reunite with her backstage at her assigned dressing room. 

“Well well,” says Yuri, waiting by her lonesome at the makeup desk as you enter, sounding self-indulgent. “I did it, babe. Wasn’t so hard.”

Of course. Yuri can keep herself in control; she just chooses not to. It’s hardly a surprise to anyone, especially you.

“Were you expecting a cookie?” you comment, making sure her head doesn’t leave orbit. 

“Don’t be such a bitch,” she retorts, pouting her lips, irked at your remark. “Just say I did a good job. Being kind costs nothing.”

“And being an asshole also costs zero,” you retaliate, never letting up on the sarcasm. “Good job.”

“And? You’re missing one more thing.”

You raise an eyebrow, growing slightly crabby. “What? Isn’t a simple good job already enough?”

“C’mon.” Yuri steps forward with all the confidence in the world. The change of attitude in the room is sudden, abrupt. One quick shove sends you stumbling back onto the couch. Before you’re able to react, she straddles herself on your lap, having all of the leverage. “You know I gotta get my reward after every performance, babe.”

No matter where you turn, you end up back at square one: against Yuri. Her hands lead your wandering gaze toward hers. “God, Yuri, no—”

She shushes you, places a finger between your lips, shaking her head in disapproval. “I did my part. It’s only right that you have to return the favor. That’s the rules.”

“What rules?”

Yuri laughs. Shoots you this inviting, alluring look that’s asking—begging—for trouble. A perfect encapsulation of who she is whenever you’re alone together. Her fingers begin to pick through the buttons of your dress shirt, your countenance slowly unraveling as dread and danger clouds your mental functions. No amount of ignorance can save you. You’re trapped. 

There’s your answer.

As if that wasn’t enough, the finger between your lips is now replaced with hers. A kiss. Deep. Tender. Passionate. She’s engrossed in the moment, cupping your face to pull you down with her, forcing you into submission. There’s no escape. Whatever resolve you have left she gradually weakens, until you eventually close your eyes and reciprocate those feelings back at her, too. 

It’s a good thing you locked the door beforehand, as if you knew this was going to happen. 

You’re stuck in this fervent position for what feels like an eternity, when in reality, it’s only been a couple of minutes. Despite the precarious state you’re in, there’s something sincere when it comes to Yuri. Probably because she’s the only person on this planet with a face that could look innocent while clearly committing the act. Still, she’s up to no good, and she has you exactly where she wants you to be.

She pulls away from the kiss, her eyes glazed, her lips melding in the shape of a moan, even though you’re still clothed—for now. 

“Jesus, Yul, we really should—”

A second kiss interrupts your desperate plea. Yuri doesn’t want to hear any part of it. She knows what she wants. No amount of resistance will deny her this opportunity. She finishes unbuttoning the last of your shirt, slipping it off before throwing it aside, caressing your bare shoulders. All this while shaking her head. 

Pulling away from your lips again, she slips one of her dress straps down her shoulder. “I don’t fucking care. I want you now.”

Clambering off your lap, Yuri tugs at the hem of your pants, jutting your hips forward. You can only watch helplessly while she strains her lanky arms, unzipping your trousers, pulling on them again and again until they pool around your ankles and shoes. Her eyes fixate on your groin, gleaming at the welcome sight: a growing bulge beneath your boxers.

“How long have you been hard for me, hm?” She swipes at your erection a handful of times, each touch eliciting an airy groan from your lips. Biting on her lower lip, the sensation arouses her even further. “Did I dress a little too sexy for you today?”

If you could talk at that moment, you would say yes. The entire time you’ve been watching her on stage, your primary focus was her outfit over everything, including her soulful voice. As flattering as the simple but sexy ensemble was on its own, it’s even hotter in motion. It reminds you of when you first met in a similar place. Instead of thousands in attendance, it was only a handful of patrons at a small bar. And out of the dozens she could have ended the night with, it happened to be you. From the moment you laid your eyes on each other and exchanged smiles, you knew there was never going back.

You’re aimlessly pulling at strings, hoping to find a way out, a miracle. Instead, you’re digging your grave even further. The other strap falls down, pulling the rest of her dress along with it. Not of her own volition, with the culprit being your own hand. There’s nothing worth saving at this point, not even yourself. 

What a way to surrender. You haven’t answered her question formally, yet she understands what you were going to say.

Yuri leans forward, her attitude as bold as it's ever been. Despite her pretty smile, the hint of cleavage right in front of you sweeps away your gaze. Every part of her is a sight for sore eyes. She shudders, closes her eyes, slowly grinds herself against your throbbing bulge, finding your place beneath her even more suffocating. You can only sink back on the couch, moan along and let her neediness weigh you down. 

As the garment slips further down down her lithe frame, landing at the waist, you bury your head against Yuri’s neck. Romantic as it may look, it’s anything but. She keens against your ear, her nails scratching at your nape—all while you clamp down on her collarbones. Her whines sound needy, wanton, shameless. Her voice echoes beyond the four corners of this room, removing any pretense to any innocent soul passing by. Conveniently, music from the main stage is loud enough to cover your little act.

Maybe she really had it planned out all along.

While Yuri remains preoccupied by her senses betraying her, you reposition her away from you towards the table. You never let up on the passionate kisses and bite marks till her creamy, pale skin glows a deep shade of red. Then you twiddle with the zipper on her corset, sharply yanking it down, almost snapping the clasp in your haste to undress her. Fortunately, you manage to push the rest of her lingerie down to her waist, enough to where you can feel her bare figure with your hands. 

Asserting your control—something you should have had the entire time—you lay Yuri face down on the sofa, clambering yourself on top of the powerless idol. Manhandling her is as easy as breathing; she folds at the slightest push and prefers to be used as a means of personal release.

Reaching from behind, you rest a hand on her chest. You squeeze; she yelps. The feeling of her nub held between your palm while drawing out little, saccharine noises from her dirty lips scratches that sweet spot in your brain perfectly. It’s an addicting sensation you can’t get enough of. She is unable to fight back, her nails digging deep into the fabric of the couch, desperate to hang on, only to find herself going weak at the knees.

More and more, you find yourself losing control, becoming more ravenous. You quickly shed your boxers,  pushing them down as far as your knees, your struggling cock freed from its restraints. Your noises are turning more primal: less human, more animalistic, as your grip on Yuri tightens. You lay her body flat on the couch, make use of what little space is left, before digging between her legs to strip the panties beneath her skirt.

Part of you wants to slip a finger or two in there and play with her clit. It’s inconsequential, if not a small diversion from what really matters. Until you remember just how far off the beaten path you’ve already gone. If you don’t fuck her right then and there, you just might lose it.

Pressing the head of your cock along her lips, you come to a predictable conclusion: she’s soaking wet. Wet enough to raise some deep concerns. Your breaths tense up as you slowly enter and the walls pulse around you; the gap between you and her couldn’t be any narrower. 

The groan you release as you bury yourself to the hilt is worth a thousand reliefs. Nothing is as satisfying as that first entry into Yuri’s tight, suffocating pussy. Every single time. 

“Oh—fuck—” you blurt, immediately overwhelmed by the rapid surge of heat. In response, she lets out this sharp, echoey moan, stretching her head ever so slightly forward as she endures the stabbing sensation. The feeling doesn’t last long; you pull back, her walls pulsating against your cock, only to plunge right back in.

The little discomfort soon dissipates for pleasure. Yuri’s so intoxicatingly tight, so hot when you fill her with your cock. That’s why despite the uncomfortable scenarios she puts you in, you always fold, because you feel right at home in her cunt. It would be a disservice to take her like some dainty, delicate doll. And you wonder why she’s always so needy.

Spreading her thighs wider, you fuck her, slowly foregoing the comfort of a slow grind in favor of a erratic, torrid pace. Each thrust you deliver is hard, emphatic strokes, as if to prove two points: that you don’t take lightly to her antics, and that you will always overpower her. You shouldn’t be deriving any joy from this, but you’re loving every second using her as she wanted: as an outlet for your frustration. 

As for Yuri, she’s just as pathetic and helpless as always. Reduced to a heaping pile of moans and mewls. Her national position. Her favorite position. You should be wondering just how incredibly manipulative and conniving she is, getting you to act out for a little miscreant like her, when she should have known her place by now. Ultimately, there’s no point; there’s nothing that will get her to change her wicked ways, and every consequence only serves as her motivation to push you even further. 

The sounds filling the room are almost indistinguishable. Whether it’s the supposed thumping on the door or skin against skin, you don’t know. You’re twisting her dark hair around your finger, and her keen and shriek are one and the same. Meanwhile, your other hand can’t decide between her waist and her ass, both sensitive and satisfying to the touch. You’re both too engrossed in each other’s pleasure to care about anything other than the relentless collision of your bodies. At this point, you’re certain it is, in fact, a knock on the outside, but it will eventually disappear. They all do. 

Yuri is shaking, violently trembling, gripping to the couch’s handles, desperate for air. ‘More—harder—fuck me—’ she begs in repetition, every word spilling like a prayer. It’s amazing how she holds up against you. You wonder if her goal is to be seen like this—to be recognized as the fucktoy and brat she is. You can only contain her for so long; it’s only a matter of time before it blows out of proportion. That’s the thrill of the chase—to avoid being found and to escape with an inch of your life.

Your grip around her hair reaches a fever pitch, your teeth gritted and your breath heaving. You want to say you’re close, but that’s basically asking for trouble. Still, you can’t bear it any longer. “So close, Yuri. I’m gonna cum—”

“Fucking do it. Cum all over me. Inside me. Anywhere you want,” is her response, with you pressing her down on the couch out of fear any more filth from her lips will upend you quicker, when in reality, you were already in the process of falling apart. As far as vulgarity goes, it is among her tamest. You’re delaying the inevitable by only a few precious moments.

Then she cums. Unannounced, out of the blue. For all you know, she could have been screaming into the void the way her cries are muffled by the sofa.

Her juices flood your cock, almost making you snap in return. The feeling overwhelms you beyond definition; it takes every last bit of resolve not to break down right then and there. With a sharp draw from her warmth, her slick leaks from her cunt, spills down to the couch. Coating every inch of your shaft, the suffocating heat of her pussy pulls you right back in, and that final thrust sends you over the edge.

All that pent-up want and tension, unglued in an instant. 

Ignore that you let out this hoarse, powerful grunt from the depth of your lungs as you fill Yuri’s cunt with every last drop you have, as if you haven’t been fucking her multiple times a day for the last two weeks. The spillage on her skirt and dress doesn’t matter; as long as she feels every last speck of your cum inside her. You find solace on her shoulders, pushing your throbbing cock deep into her cunt over and over as you blast fleck after fleck that seemingly never ends. 

Eventually, you crash down on the other side of the couch, opposite where Yuri’s face rests. Taking a minute to catch your breath, you get a glimpse of your handiwork: your cum continuously spewing from her sopping cunt, down to the now soiled linen, the damage long-lasting, if not permanent. Had you torn the dress and skirt concealing her inner thighs, the signs wouldn’t have been any more obvious.

It takes a little longer than normal for you to gather your bearings. After all, you were straining your legs in a crowded room an hour before this little escapade. But you’ve been through worse—way worse.

When you finally regain some of your strength, you grab the still exhausted Yuri by the waist and bring her in front of the dressing room mirror. Her bare chest is in clear view, with her dress all crumpled up at the midsection; it’s going to require more than a simple fix. 

“Look what you made me do, you fucking brat,” you hiss, giving Yuri a thunderous slap on her ass. She sees it as not a punishment, but as a reward for pushing you far beyond your comfort zone.

She can barely move a muscle, but is able to respond in spaced out breaths. “Told you it was better than the bedroom.”

You respond with another spank. Then another. A few more. More than you can count. Each hit as thunderous as the clap of her cunt. You know it’s not going to stop her; she knows you can do nothing else.

Her hands cling to the desk, her breaths still heavy, while you slowly rip through the skirt, foregoing any logic. You catch a peek of even more of your handiwork, her ass burning with the same fiery red as the rest of her shapely body. 

Spreading her supple cheeks, you line your cock between her pussy and her legs, resting your head forward beside hers. Grabbing Yuri by the hair, you tilt her face down, moaning against her ear as your bodies entangle together. “Fuck you, Yuri. Sincerely, fuck you, fuck you. Fuck. You.”

With half an eye opened, you catch a glimpse of your reflection, and it’s as messy as you expect. Yuri’s mouth is spread in a deep, wide ‘O’ shape, still riding a prolonged high, while your fingers are all over her. On her breasts. In and out of her hair. The image is arousing enough that you instinctively push your bodies forward. You can feel your cock hardening again.

But right as you get into a rhythm, a knock on the door again snaps you from your shared daze. 

“Well? Bodyguard, you better go and get that,” she says with a slight smirk, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. 

You throw your head back, groaning in despair. “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, much to her delight and laughter. 

Yuri shimmies from your clasp, picking up pieces of her now ruined dress before walking to the bathroom, while you hike across the room to gather your wear. If there’s one thing about sex with her, it’s how filthy it gets. Clothes scatter everywhere, she’s loud enough to draw attention, and despite everything, it’s hot and messy in all the right ways. You end up fucking her in positions you never thought you’d ever try.

You barely make yourself presentable as you pick up the door, only to be greeted by a blonde beauty on the other side. Her dress immediately stands out; it’s simpler in both design and color (a plain black all over), yet so daring, it makes Yuri seem conservative by comparison. She knows what her best assets are and how she’ll flaunt them for all to see.

What also sticks out is her natural accent. “Hey. Don’t mind if I ask, but is Yuri around?”

With the narrowest of turns, you manage to ascertain her presence, or lack thereof. “You barely missed her, Somi. She just left.”

“Did she tell you where she went?”

“No idea.” 

Somi pouts. It’s a familiar look. “But I just heard her voice here. It was really loud!” 

“You just gotta text her. I seriously don’t know where she went off.”

Her eyes wander down to your ragged appearance, a stark contrast to your blunt tone. The loose belt, the partially unbuttoned shirt, the rolled up sleeves of varying folds. It’s a disaster of epic proportions, and you can barely hold it together. “You sure nothing’s happened in there?” she asks, hiding the littlest of grins. “You look kinda rough.”

“I’ll be fine. Just had to deal with”—you pause, a moment stretched out longer than it should have any right being—“some stuff.”

“Right.” Her eyes peek into the back, even with your best efforts to gently block her view, only to find nothing and no one. She considers her options, before saying, “Surely I can just wait till she comes back? I mean, you’re her bodyguard—”

“I don’t think that’s a great idea.” You shut her down immediately. “When she returns, I’ll let her know you were looking for her.”

There’s that trick again: a loose strap sliding down her shoulder. Her hand is glued to the doorpost, unwilling to move, expression undeterred. “I’ll just wait here. We still have a final goodbye to do for the fans. Don’t worry. I just really need to talk to her.”

Her friendly smile turns into a mischievous grin.

It’s deja vu.

—————

The goodbye never comes. 

Some poor random idol has to take Somi’s MC job at the eleventh hour because she’s nowhere to be found. Despite security’s best efforts, she couldn’t be seen, and neither is Jo Yuri, for the last sighting of the two is them leaving the venue by themselves, one after the other. Apart from a handful of disappointed fans, their absence can be hardly felt by everyone else. 

Not a soul knows where they went—and they never will find out, nor will they ever care. Only you may have the smallest of clues, for you are buried between two pairs of legs, preoccupied with eating out pussy while your hands squeeze on a couple sets of breasts in the cover of a hotel room.

—————

(A/N: HE HAS RISEN, BABYGIRL! *IRIS INTENSIFIES*)

(For real, what a trip these last two months have been. I'm feeling conflicted about it all. I could easily have published like five to seven fics in that time period, but no! Life gets in the way sometimes, and let's just say it gave me roadworks that stretched on for miles on end. I already told you about the flu/cough arc, and it's all in the past now. Like I said, college has started up for me, and this could be my final academic year before I have to deal with thesis/internship shit before eventually graduating, so I really am on borrowed time. I really should have used my time better when I was healthy, but it is what it is.)

(I really wish this was longer, considering the gap between the last fic. Writing these past two months has been hell, like I had writers' block on steroids, if that even is a thing. I fucking scrapped two fics, including one that was 7000 words in before I made the executive decision to restart the entire work from scratch. I don't know. I'm very perfectionist about the process. Writing is hard, man. Everyone's been killing it lately (including some incredible returns) and I don't know where my place belongs in this. But what matters is that you've been waiting for me and giving me best wishes during some really challenging times. With only four months left to go, let's finish the year on a high. Got nothing else meaningful to say, Yuri's KCON outfit is just really fucking hot. This would feel wrong if I didn't mention Box somewhere, so shoutout's to them XD Thank you for reading!)