#moving all the snakes into that room for way way more space and the room they're in now will just be for the tarantulas and other reptiles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yameoto · 3 months ago

Text

caitvi fuckgirls x virgin!reader

femmepussy (cait) + butchcock (vi) = deflowering you

tw; sorority!caitlyn & fratbro!vi bc i succumbed to lust, virgin!reader, voyeurism, masturbation, pussyeating, pussyfucking, praise, mild agegap (senior!caitvi x freshman!reader). wc; 2.2k

they’re no strangers to bringing girls home. they’ve refined it to an art. or at least, caitlyn has. vi is still prone to flash a wink with a drink clasped in hand, and a sleazy (though it looks more sultry, on her), “my girlfriend and i saw you from across the bar, and..” when she’s feeling real lazy.

it still works, of course. of course it does. who wouldn’t want to get in-between the most legendary couple on campus? fraternity president and sorority president, all at once—college politics aside—it’s anybody’s wet dream.

tonight, it’s your turn. if the two pairs of hands wandering up your body downstairs, we’re anything to go by—and the matching smirks curving their lips as you were led gently away from the party and into one of the rooms above (door, plastered with a VI, to leave no room for argument. the frathouse always did throw the grandest ragers).

caitlyn leans against the doorway, tongue prodding the inside of her cheek as she eyes down the both of you, shamelessly. the room is plastered with posters you think your dad might've liked when he was sixteen, and countless football trophies and college memorabilia. not that analysing vi's room decor is exactly what's on your mind, right now—not when you're splayed back in the middle of a double-size bed, sheets crumpled under you, with aforementioned room owner sprawled in the space between your legs, her girlfriend steadily approaching, from the side.

"shit. you're just a lil' baby, huh?" vi's eyes are lidded as she plays with the hem of your shorts, pink hair all ruffled. her big hands swallow the span of your thighs, and she grins, lazy, at the sight.

"vi. don't be crass," caitlyn chastises, like her gaze isn't practically stripping you down with laser-focus. she honest to god licks her lips; because—who wouldn’t? pretty girl on a pretty girl, laid out like a pair of perfect presents, upon the bed. "you'll scare the poor girl."

"oh, c'mon, cait." vi grins, "i know the thought of defiling a freshie gets you wetter than a supersoaker."

this is all moving so fucking fast, you almost feel dizzy. can't breathe, because—well—holy fucking shit. as if your ramping discomfort is sensed, a calloused hand rests on your shoulder, and the tension melts away.

"you can't get better than us," vi soothes, in her smug, infinite wisdom. "just relax, sweetheart. we'll take good care of you." her hands are already snaking under, before a little tutting noise halts her movements. vi's head snaps up, like a puppy to a clicker, the beginnings of a despairing frown marring her pretty features. caitlyn’s smirk is gloating.

"take an off-side, darling. i found this one, first."

vi's jaw drops, shooting upwards in incredulity. "what? but—"

caitlyn shoots her girlfriend a sharp warning glare that sends a jolt of lighting straight to your cunt, and vi wilts like a curling petal, sulking all the way to the couch on the opposite-end to the bed. she collapses, legs swinging wide in the most egregiously delectable manspread of all time. the position shows off the most insane boner you've ever had the pleasure of seeing. the tent spears upwards like a fucking skyscraper, towering up at the crotch of vi's jeans as it's if attempting to burst free from its restraints.

then, vi's fly comes loose, and the veined girth of her cock slaps out in all its glory, bouncing against her toned abdomen and smearing a trail of slick behind. thick, hot-pink hairs crawl upwards from its base to just under her belly button. the aftermath of pre-cum glosses over locks, glistening under the dim lights.

oh, god. this is better than porn.

"see that? that's all for you." caitlyn purrs, and the red flushes to the tips of your ears, blood roaring. you don't even realise you've let out a whine, thighs shifting subconsciously, when vi grunts out a low, "fuck," and palms her dick.

caitlyn's tongue wraps around the swollen nub of your clit, and all of a sudden, you know exactly why people say caitlyn's tongue is like silver. she works, languidly, at first. heat licks up your thighs, and out of the blurry corners of your vision, you can see vi's hand wrap around her cock. caitlyn laves up the nooks and crannies of your folds in little flicks, gaze gossamer as the ferocity of her eyes pin you down.

plush lips barely graze your cunt, and humiliatingly, a garbled moan wrenches from your throat, body snapping taut with the force of an elastic band, caitlyn freezes, and you're made intimately aware of just how wet you are, and you've done nothing but squirm a little as they simply take their positions.

"don't be embarrassed, lovely," cailyn laughs, when your thighs quiver like they're about to squeeze shut—keeping you spread open, with the press of a palm, nails grazing up your abdomen. "it's flattering."

what caitlyn finds, in the first fifteen seconds of eating you out, is that you are extremely fucking sensitive. by the nth jerk of the knee, and those delicious, strangled whimpers that stream out of your pretty panting mouth; she has to ask.

"is this your first time?”

"why?" your hands are fisted into the sheets, knuckles bled white. "is it bad? am i bein’ bad?”

oh, caitlyn's always been a sucker for the whimpering type.

“no, darling,” she coos, nosing up the wet headiness of your pussy, pupils edging out the sharp, cerulean blue of her irises because, oh, she can’t let you realise just how wet you’ve just made her. a virgin. she can feel her already-damp panties, become renewed with a gush of slick as she slides her hands up your thighs, groin subtly grinding through her clothes and against the edge of the mattress because—fuck.

"fuck, i'm so hard," vi whines, a little desperate as she makes the widest puppy-eyes from the sofa, cock drooping in her hand as it pumps out an insane amount of pre like it's nobody's business. her knee has been jostling up and down like it's about to jackhammer a hole in the carpet. she's teetering on the precipice of simply exploding all over the two of you, eyes glazed over as her teeth grit in the effort to restrain herself. because if she cums; caitlyn won't let her fuck you, and call it the alcohol, her dick, or pure, dumb horniness; but there is literally nothing she wants more on this earth, right now—than to bury her cock inside of you and fuck you to oblivion.

caitlyn, however, is playing your pretty virgin pussy like a fiddle. you thrash, back, on the sheets, slew of broken moans torn from your lips. she’s drunk on lust. god, the way you tremble under her, bundle of nerves reacting to each and every one of her barest licks with the harshest gasps or clamp of your thighs. you’d have her wrapped in a headlock, by now, if it weren’t for the force in which she’s a splayed you open—right for vi’s prying eyes, as the older girl furiously fists her cock, frustration burning in her gut at being forced to only look, but barred to touch.

"cupcake," vi pleads, as both you and caitlyn's gazes turn on her. yours, baleful and uncomprehending, hips canting uselessly to chase after caitlyn's retreating mouth. she hushes your whimper (but coos all the same).

"i'm dyin', here," vi moans, and with the flushed tint of her cheeks and sweat glistening in the creased furrows of her brow; hand quivering around her dick—she almost looks like she is. caitlyn laughs, and your pussy throbs when hot breath gusts against your clit.

caitlyn sighs, exaggerated. the both of you can see the smug glint to her eyes, at the way she's worked both her babies, up. (and what a slip of the mind, that is? not an hour in the bedroom, and she's already calling you her baby. their baby.) she lifts up from between your legs, with one last kiss planted directly onto the deliciously glossy wetness of your swollen clit (yes, you shake), before coaxing vi forwards.

vi lunges forwards, like a starved lion thrown it's first scrap of meat, and suddenly the silken fingers dragging up your thighs and the soft lips kissing teasingly along your folds—is replaced by a desperate, fervid nuzzling and slobbering, as vi mouths desperately up your legs.

"i gotta—" she mumbles into your cunt, hands spreading you so wide they almost hurt. "i need—baby—please. i gotta be in you. i gotta— y'pussy smells so good. looks so pretty an' wet an'—" her growls are practically gibberish. caitlyn snorts. she, too, is partial to seeing vi a drooling mess.

you don't have much mental space, to do more than nod, heart thudding out of your chest. distantly, you hear a groaned "fuck, yes!" from underneath you, though any further processing that (surprisingly adorable) comment—is wrenched away by the vi is clambering on top to mount you, flat of her dick sliding along your folds. you both gasp, your chest lurching upwards—before caitlyn's manicured hand pushes you right back down.

"relax," she coos, as vi's weight sinks on top of your thighs, "it'll be easier, that way." vi is practically trembling in an attempt not to just ram herself into you. her head brushes against your core, and it feels like water. vi moans, almost buckling in anticipation. "can i please—"

you think maybe caitlyn nods her head, or gives some other indication of affirmation; because you can't see anything but spinning stars in your vision the second vi pushes, into you.

you're forced to turn your head, biting into the sheets to stifle what you're sure would be screams—until caitlyn gently takes your head, and shifts it to bury between her thighs. the heat from caitlyn’s core is distracting and tempting and has you drooling, though completely useless to do anything but pant and moan and mewl, helplessly into it, as vi‘s cock plows into you with a fullness you’ve never felt before.

“careful with her, baby.”

“i’m trying,” vi huffs through gritted teeth, her own eyes burning because her head is whirling with entirely unhelpful thoughts, like, holy shit, is she the first one to use your tight little hole like this? and oh, fuck, am i good? am i hurting her? this is her first time. shit. and then, just oh, fuck.

you unravel, midway around the girth of vi's cock. you spam, upwards, mangled croon resonating up and into caitlyn’s cunt, hips bucking up and unintentionally slamming vi hilt-deep, and like a seismic chain-reaction; both of them cry out at once. vi, at the sensation of being completely sucked into the tight, wonderful clench of your pussy, submerged completely in the all-encompassing heat as your orgasm shatters your body and mind into what feels like a million little peaces. caitlyn, can't not cum, with the taste of you still glazing her tongue and the way you cry out, into the sloppy slick of her folds and reverberating to her core. it's not just that, though. it's the way you babble, squirming uselessly as your eyes roll into your head and your lashes flutter like the prettiest thing, mouth lolling open around caitlyn's creaming cunt. it takes, a moment, for the three of you to recover. vi is slumped into your chest, cock still twitching as her head kisses your burning insides. caitlyn's legs have fallen limp. it's only when they start to move, vi shakily, reluctantly, sliding out from your cunt—and caitlyn's thighs, loosening from your shoulders—that you protest.

"wait," you rasp, eyes all glossy as you peer up at them through teary lashes, and fuck, for a moment they think; jesus christ. you might just be the most precious thing in the world. "i— i wanna try." you declare, pushing up weakly on your elbows.

"you want to try?"

"wanna make you feel good," you slur, into her thighs, and unbidden, caitlyn feels a whole new gush of heat rush through and slick your pink-dusted cheeks in an entirely new type of sheen.

"..i always did like the ones with a little initiative."

and when you burrow yourself into caitlyn’s cunt, trying to mimic the motions she’d done before to get you feeling as if you were floating on cloud nine; her fingers card through your hair, and vi rocks her hips, still into you, catching her breath as she nuzzles into your collar.

“..feel so good, baby. doin’ so well.” she pants, thumb running up the curves of your body, eyes lifting to fix caitlyn with starry eyes and caitlyn can’t help but swallow, her fingers quivering as you swirl your tongue like a good little pupil and she arches her head back, satisfied “ah,” shuddering though her. and they realise, then, that they’re kind of fucking besotted.

“can we keep her?” vi murmurs, and you’re so deep in caitlyn’s pussy that you almost miss it. caitlyn’s lips curl upwards, head in a daze, as her grip tightens in your hair—loathe to let you go.

“god, please.”

#yam talks #arcane #caitvi #caitvi x reader #caitvi smut #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman smut #caitlyn kiramman drabble #vi x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi smut #vi arcane smut #vi x caitlyn #arcane x reader #arcane smut #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn smut #trans!vi

5K notes · View notes

gloomwitchwrites · 7 months ago

Note

I'm in a roll....

The 141 in grey sweatpants. 🥵

You're in a roll? Me too. A brioche roll. Or maybe a Hawaiian roll. Or rolled inside one of Price's many cigars. Kidding (not really). I knew what you meant.

And grey sweatpants...yes please! I am salivating over here. Literally drooling. And it's only grey sweatpants. No shirts. No shoes. Just sweatpants and muscle. (my god I need to go touch grass).

These are...spicy. How could they not be? It's our favorite men in nothing but grey sweatpants.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): established relationship, suggestive themes, swearing, invitations for sex, dirty thoughts, sexual situations, married life, fade to black

Word Count: 2k

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“It’s bedtime. Bath. Pajamas. Teeth.”

“But Dad! Lucy and I—”

“Bed.” You grin into your glass as John ushers the children out of the living room. “Come on you two. I want to kiss your mother.”

“Ew. Gross!” the kids screech in unison.

The trio disappears down the hallway. You hear water running and the laughter of your children. John eventually emerges thirty minutes later. He runs his hand over the top of his head, sighing heavily.

When he enters the living room and notices you, he grins mischievously. His body is on full display. Broad chest with a lovely dusting of dark hair that trails downward to disappear beneath the band of his grey sweatpants. John is all thick muscle. A wall of strength. You’ve always loved that about him. How he seems to take up so much space or the way he crushes you with his body when he goes in for a snuggle.

John plops down on the sofa beside you. The moment his ass hits the cushion, John grabs for you. You giggle, playfully pushing at your husband as his weight tips you back, pinning you to the sofa.

“The kids,” you protest with a whisper.

“They’re sleeping,” he replies just as softly, keeping you pressed beneath him.

John goes in for a kiss. It is sweet. Slow. Deep. Completely indulgent. There is so much of him. And his scent is everywhere. It fills your lungs. Makes you weak.

Your lips part and John slips his tongue inside. You start to soften, to lean into his kisses. Each is salt-laced passion. A tease for later. He might have you pinned against the couch, and his tongue down your throat, but John will move this behind a locked door.

As John goes in for another kiss, the sound of a door unlatching comes from the hall. John freezes and you go still beneath him.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters.

Pushing up to a more seated position, John addresses the offender with a raised voice. “You best be in bed.”

There’s a gentle squeak, and then a door closing.

John sinks back down, resting his forehead against yours. He sighs heavily, and you give him a quick kiss. He returns it, and then snakes an arm under your back. He hauls you up and into his lap. You straddle him, hands pressed against his firm chest.

Through the sweatpants, you can feel his hardness pressing against your thigh. John’s hands roam downward to cup your buttocks, squeezing.

“Ready to take this elsewhere?” he asks, grinding his hips upward.

You have to stifle a moan.

“Please, John.”

With a light slap to your ass, he lifts you off his lap and onto your feet. The ground is solid. Steady. But then John’s hands return, and then you’re away, being guided down the hall to your bedroom.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

You snuggle into the couch and crack open your paperback book.

Everything is in order. You have a glass of wine, a bowl of snacks, the tableside lamp on, and a cozy blanket. It’s late, but it’s officially the weekend. There will be plenty of time to relax.

“Reading out here?”

You glance up, and find Kyle in the entrance of the hallway, leaning against the wall. He’s shirtless. Without shoes. Just him, his freshly showered skin, and a pair of grey sweatpants. Kyle absently scratches at his chiseled stomach, head slightly tilted as he waits for your answer.

You can’t help but focus in on every line of muscle.

“Babe,” he prompts, laughing.

“Sorry?” you reply, blinking.

Kyle laughs again, the sound sweet. He strides forward, coming to a stop beside the sofa. He taps the side of his mouth. “Got some drool.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you giggle, checking with a quick wipe with the back of your hand.

Kyle’s smile is infectious. You can’t help but match it.

“Can I join you?” he asks, already lifting the blanket.

“You’re not going out with the boys?”

Kyle shakes his head. With one hand he lifts the blanket, and with the other he grabs your legs and lifts. He slides in, and drapes your legs over his lap before returning the blanket to drape over your body. Keeping one hand under the blanket, Kyle rests his hand on your inner thigh. It stirs heat in your core.

“Tomorrow,” he yawns. “Simon has a sick kid.”

“Bummer.”

Kyle shrugs, draping his over arm over the back of the couch. His hand on your thigh is a brand, and it’s only made worse when he starts massaging.

“Is it a spicy one?” asks Kyle, nodding toward your book.

Yes.

“Maybe,” you say slowly.

Kyle smirks, and then the book is out of your hand.

“Kyle!” You reach for it, but he twists, blocking your forward momentum.

He examines the pages in front of him. Heat rushes into your cheeks. As he reads, his eyes widen.

Kyle’s mouth drops open.

“What?” you prompt. You try to snag the book but he blocks you.

He glances at you. “Are you aware of where he’s putting that gun?”

“It’s fictional.”

“When you ask me to recreate things—”

“Kyle—”

“—is this what you’re talking about?” His gaze goes from you to the book and then to you again. “I’m down for a lot of things, love, but I’m not sure I’m down for that.”

Pushing off from the couch, you snatch the book out of Kyle’s hands. He surrenders it easily, a smile on his perfect face. The blanket is a crumbled mess beside him, but that’s not what you’re focused on.

The grey sweatpants have shifted, exposing more of the deep v of his pelvis. But it’s not just that. Kyle is hard. That is very clear.

He leans against the back of the couch, throwing both arms out to rest over the top. Flexing his hips, Kyle puts himself on display.

“I’ve got something else I can put inside you.”

John "Soap" MacTavish

A delighted shriek comes from the kitchen.

Johnny emerges, completely unbothered even with the two children in his arms. He has the oldest child, who just turned five, sideways and tucked under one arm. The boy has a wicked smile of his face even as he wiggles, trying to free himself from his father’s grasp. It’s fruitless.

The other child, a boy of three, keeps shrieking with delight even as Johnny lifts him into the air by his ankle. He is upside down, arms flailing, his brown hair hanging below him.

Johnny doesn’t even blink. Doesn’t even break a sweat. He carries the two of them like it’s nothing.

He’s almost completely naked except for a pair of grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. They show off the deep v of his pelvis, and the dusting of dark hair that spreads over his chest and descends downward. You’ve touched that chest so many times. You know it as well as you know yourself.

Johnny’s gaze is on the television, watching the football match. The kids still shriek and playfully claw at him. But he remains unbothered.

Sitting there on the sofa, you consider that a third kid might not be so bad. You’d give him a small army if he asked.

Johnny glances away from the television, and when his gaze lands on you, it is entirely knowing. Heat curls in your belly, and his smile widens.

“Found these gremlins digging in the pantry,” he says, indicating the kids by hoisting the three-year old higher into the air and squeezing the other tighter against him.

Both kids giggle manically.

“After brushing their teeth.” Johnny tuts. “What’s to be done?”

Both children continue to giggle, not answering their father.

“Sounds like it’s time for bed,” you muse.

The children groan.

“But I’m not tired,” moans the five-year old.

“Too bad,” laughs Johnny. “Come on.”

He doesn’t put them down. He carries them like that all the way to their bedroom. Even from your spot on the sofa, you can hear their manic giggling. After a while, it quiets down, and Johnny emerges from the hall.

Instead of sitting down on the couch next to you, he grabs the remote and shuts off the television.

“Not interested in the game?” you ask.

“Nope. Want something else.”

His sultry smile tells you enough.

Slowly, he approaches, coming to a stop in front of you. He offers his hand, and you take it. With little effort, Johnny brings you to your feet, and hauls you close. Your free hand immediately rises, pressing against his chiseled stomach.

“What is it that you want?” you murmur, already knowing the answer.

His hardness presses against your belly, his voice going low and gravelly as he speaks. “I’d like to spend some time between those gorgeous thighs.”

“Doing what?”

“Whatever I very well please.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

This is agony. A terrible joke.

Simon is right there. Sweaty. Shirtless. In nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants.

He’s completely in the zone. Heavy metal blares through the stereo’s speakers, drowning out the sound of his gloved fists striking the punching bag. Morning light pours in from the open window, giving Simon an ethereal glow.

You watch from the doorway, chewing on your bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to pounce on him. Simon is all muscle, and not in a gym rat way. He is thick everywhere. You want to lick the sweat from his skin, to drop to your knees before him, and tug those grey sweatpants down.

You know what you’d find. And it sounds delicious.

But he is in the zone. And you won’t disturb him.

Pushing down the naughty thoughts, you start to turn away, to return to the kitchen and find something to eat for breakfast.

The music abruptly cuts off.

“See something you like, love?”

Simon’s raspy voice draws you back to the room. With one hand on the doorframe, you meet his gaze, and promptly melt into the floor. He has a cocky grin on his face, and his shoulders heave slightly from exhaustion.

You lick your lips. “Always,” you reply, fingers digging into the wood.

Simon’s gaze scans you. You feel exposed, like he can see through your clothes. It’s knowing. Amused.

“What is it?” you prompt, staring just as hard as he is.

Simon removes one glove and then the other. He tosses them to the side, never taking his eyes off you.

“Come here,” he says.

You don’t move.

Simon arches a single eyebrow. Instead of repeating himself, he gestures with one finger, indicating that he wants you to come to him.

Heat rushes from your cheeks down to your toes. Slowly, you peel yourself away from the door, heading for him. Simon’s natural swagger is alluring, and those sweatpants sit so low.

Just one tug. That’s all it would take. And you’d be able to take him in your mouth.

As you approach, Simon reaches out, grabbing your waist, tugging you close to him. You instinctually hook your finger in the waistband of his grey sweatpants.

Simon smirks.

You inhale deeply, savoring the manly musk of him.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“Not for breakfast,” you sigh.

“For something else then?”

You nod.

Simon leans in but doesn’t kiss you. He holds back slightly, lips curved into a hint of a smile. “Want to hear what I have in mind?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

Simon presses his thumb on your bottom lip. “I can fill that mouth.” His thumb drops away from your lips, and trails over your chin before brushing over your stomach. “And belly.”

His gaze stays on you. “What do you think of that, love?”

taglist:

@km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@enarien @saoirse06 @ferns-fics @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett

@ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat @ninman82

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@haven-1307 @voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @spicyspicyliving @keiva1000

@littlemisscriesherselftosleep @statixx-x @umno-yeah @blackhawkfanatic @talooolaaloolla

@sadlonelybagel @kadeeesworld @iloveslasher @sammysinger04 @dakotakazansky

@suhmie @jaggersinclair @jackrabbitem @lxblm @beebeechaos

@no-oneelsebutnsu @kidd3ath @certainlygay @thewulf @lovely-ateez

@taysarchive @gingergirl06 @eternallyvenus @smileykiddie08 @vrb8im

3K notes · View notes

autistic-shaiapouf · 2 years ago

Text

Making final moving preps in taking all my posters and comms and such off the walls and peeling off the glue dots and it's making me so sad

#blank white walls... took the trans flag down U_U gonna have to rearrange all my shit 😫 nothing is set up the same way in the new space #i was arranging all my stuff in accordance with what furniture was already there and now. now it's concurrent almost #the flag came down but the wings are still up.. granted they're held up with clips on plastic hangers and there's no #glue dots or command strips or hooks to deal with but. i think those will be the last thing i move #because i need some sort of symbolism to grasp onto and this makes it more meaningful to me #actually. when i fled my parents' house the wings were one of the first things i took and now that I'm moving on my own terms #they're the final piece. they'll be the first thing i put up in my new room #I'll be stuck without the bookshelf for a bit and need to find out where I'm putting the animals I'm petsitting #but this is the final stretch. almost done. grand finale. etc.#gonna suck to need the bookshelf moved + have to keep popping in for the snake but. I'll find a way #shai speaks

1 note · View note

vampzity · 30 days ago

Text

all eyes on her | H.JS

★ DAY TWO: VOYEURISM WITH HAN ★

pairing: roommate! han jisung x f! reader

han has been your roommate for a year now, and you’re both been very good about each others privacy. but he’d never thought he’d catch you in such a vulnerable state.. or get off to it himself.

[warnings]: MDNI 18+!!, voyuerism, masturbation (fingering & jacking off), breast fondling, use of toys (a dildo), slight cursing? creampie mentioned, han’s a bit of a perv & sub, face riding, any other warnings i missed.

word count: 2.1k

Han walked into the apartment, knocking off his shoes tiredly. He had a long day of lectures and stupid meetings on campus and just wanted to lay in bed for the rest of the day.

It was quiet in the home, an odd feeling when it was of course a shared space between you and him. He placed his bag on the couch, being as quiet as he could assuming that you might’ve had the same thought he did and took a nap.

Han walked into the hallway, stopping by your door. A black laced pair of bra and panties hung against the door knob. His face burned red, knowing that this wasn’t something you normally did especially with a guy in the shared space. He hesitated for a moment, looking around to see if you were playing a cruel prank on him. But to his surprise, it seemed like a harmless mistake.

His hand reached out for the lingerie before his mind could even think of what to do. The lace danced on his fingers, making his cock twitch at the thought of you in them. The way your breast would perk up in them and the way your pussy would sit just right in them.

Just right ontop of him.

He brought the lingerie to his nose, taking a long breath. Your sweet vanilla perfume trailed on the fabrics, your cunt just dying to be tasted. Han was always a respectful roommate, and you two were good friends but unbeknownst to you, he had the hugest crush on you. To anyone else, it might’ve been obvious but you were a bit oblivious, assuming that he was just overly kind toward you.

Han scratched his head, placing your lingerie back on the door knob. He began to walk off, stopping as odd sounds filled his ears. He leaned against your door, hearing small whimpers and moans coming from what he assumed was you. Your voice was sweet and sultry, making him feel as if you were the pied piper and he was the snake.

His dick twitched underneath his sweatpants, practically throbbing at hearing you. He wondered what you were doing, how you were doing such a thing to yourself and why you were doing it alone. He could help you, in fact, Han would be more than grateful to help you let out your sexual frustrations.

He picked up the lingerie once again, holding it tightly in his hands as he opened your door just a bit, feeling relief as your moans drowned out the sound of the twisting and turning. He peeked into the dimly lit room, catching you sprawled on your bed. Lucky for him, the door was in the corner of your room while your headboard was against the same wall, leaving him with a perfect view of you without getting caught.

You were in your bathrobe— of course it was wide open, and you laid in it. Your whimpers were louder now that the door was open, making the boner in Han’s pants strengthen. He watched as you squeezed your breasts, your other hand moving at a quick pace against your cunt. The noises were like music to his ears, the sound of your slick enough to make him go crazy. You were so stuck in your own world, you could barely hear anything else around you.

At least that’s what he thought.

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to spy on lady?”

Han froze, his eyes meeting yours as you wrapped your robe around your body. His face was now a deep red, watching as you made your way toward him with a tightly fitted robe now on you completely. You looked down at the lingerie in his hand, giggling as you grabbed onto his hand.

“Oh look, you found it!” You took the lingerie from him, giving him a sly look. “I’ve been looking for this everywhere, thank you Hannie.”

He nodded, a look of confusion painted across his face. You walked back to your bed, placing it on the end as you sat down. Han stood there in disbelief, unsure of what to do or even say. You weren’t mad? It didn’t seem like it, in fact you seemed unusually nonchalant about it.

Wouldn’t a girl be offended or feel uncomfortable that a man— let alone their roommate was watching them?

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to— well I guess it seems that way? I was just, I was walking by and I saw, no I heard— ugh.” He ran his fingers through his hair, avoiding any eye contact with you. “I’ll just leave you alone, I swear this won’t happen again— well, I know it should’ve never happened in the first place,”

“Han.”

He met your eyes, a reassuring smile on your face as you motioned him to you. He closed the door, walking to you and standing in front of your bed. You grabbed his hand, undoing your robe and placing his hand on your now exposed breast. Han felt his cheeks and ears glisten red as the warmth of your body met his own, the soft feeling of your skin in his hand.

“Well don’t be shy now, touch me.”

He looked up at you, eyes widening at your statement. You repositioned yourself, now sitting on your knees with your legs open just slightly. You slipped your hand between your thighs, being met with the warmth and wetness between your folds. You moved your hands over your clit, moaning softly as your cunt ached to be touched. Han watched as your head fell back, the sounds now louder than before as you were right in front of him.

His cock twitched beneath his sweatpants, still in shock at what was unfolding in front of him. He squeezed your breast softly, his other hand coming up to cup the other. You whimpered as his thumb toyed with your nipple, the pace becoming quicker against your sensitive bud.

Han was hard, so fucking hard. He couldn’t control it— who would when you were practically drowning in lust right in front of him.

“Hannie.”

You looked up at him, a soft doe look in your eyes that could’ve made him fall to his knees at whatever you asked. You continued to toy with your clit, your whimpers growing while his hands fondled at your chest.

“Gonna cum,” You fingered yourself softly, your other hand rubbing your bud in circles as you felt your high approaching. Han watched you in all your glory, his hands holding your tits softly. He watched your pace fasten, your chest rise and fall quickly as it all rushed over you. He didn’t know what to think; he never thought he’d be watching you in such a vulnerable state like this.

You let out a deep moan, your voice feeling like candy to his ears as the whimpers slowly trailed afterwards. You pulled your fingers from between your legs, your other hand holding his chin.

“Wanna taste, Hannie?” His eyes lit up like a dog seeing a bone, nodding his head as you smiled. You knew Han was soft-hearted, but sexually? It came as a small shock to you seeing how he practically worshipped you without any romantic title.

“Needy, huh? Open.”

Han followed without hesitation, opening his mouth slightly as you brought your fingers to his tongue. He sucked on your fingers softly, your juices coating his tongue. It was sweet, he’s dreamt of the day he could taste you, even feel you on the tip of his tongue. This was as close as he could get to you and he was perfectly fine with that. He would do anything you wanted, anything you asked for if it meant that you’d let him have a taste at you.

“Mm, wanna watch some more, Hannie?”

He quickly nodded, watching as you brought over your desk chair for him to sit at. You pulled your robe off while he sat down, letting it drop to the floor as you crawled back into your bed. Han’s face was basically a tomato at this point, seeming as if there was actual steam coming out of his ears from how heated he got.

You pulled out something from your drawer, giving Han a quick glance before showing it to him. It was a toy, a dildo at that. It wasn’t too big or small, but just the right size for you. You positioned it under you, sitting ontop as small moans escaped you.

His mind raced with the thoughts of him stuffing you full with his cock. How it would feel to have you clenching around him as you struggled to take in his length. Han was practically leaking at this point, desperate to get off as he watched you and within seconds, his sweatpants met the ground. He held his member in his hand, the aching making him throw his head back as he stroked it softly.

Your hands squeezed the comforter as you rode the toy, pants leaving your body as it pressed against your sweet spot. Han stroke himself to your rhythm, imagining it was you ontop of him.

“So good.” you mumbled.

Han met your gaze, watching as your tits jumped when you fastened your pace. It was such a beautiful sight to him; one he could’ve only thought of in his dreams. You leaned back a bit, your hands keeping you still behind you. Spreading your legs a bit more, his mouth nearly dropped. There it was in all its glory and it was so pretty to him. He had a front row seat, watching as the toy slipped in and out of your soaking core. It was a creamy sound, small drops leaking out of you.

“Hannie,” you moaned softly, groping your tits harshly as you continued to ride.

His small whimpers filled your ears, his eyes fixated on you as he stroked himself quickly. He was aching, begging, desperately trying to hold himself back from falling apart right there in front of you and it only made you weak. You brought your hand to your folds, running it over your clit.

“Hannie, gonna cum.”

Your movements got faster with every hit against your sweet spot. You felt a small tingle at your core, the moans escaping you only growing louder.

“Please watch me cum, Hannie.” You met his reddened face, obediently nodding his head.

“Am I pretty like this, Hannie? Tell me I’m pretty.”

His thumb rubbed the tip of his cock, watching you throw tour head back in pleasure as you bounced happily against the toy.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty baby.”

His strokes fastened again to your pace, watching as you creamed all over the toy. You began to whimper his name— once, twice, a third time, over and over. You couldn’t hold it in anymore, and you felt so hot with Han watching your every move. You pulled the dildo out of you, legs shaking as you continued to abuse your clit.

“Taste me, Hannie.”

Without any hesitation, Han quickly pulled up his pants and climbed under your hovering body, letting you sit against his face. You rubbed your clit against his nose, his tongue lapping at your juices. You moaned out his name, hands tugging at his hair. His nose brushed against you, harder, faster as you felt your high coming and this time you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“Cum— fuck, Hannie, I’m… oh my god.” With a final thrust you came undone a top of him. Han held your thighs down with his arms, tonguing your core softly.

You met eye contact with him, whimpers escaping you as you realized he wasn’t done with you. This was a moment he’s waited— no, dreamt of. To feel your body, to taste your soft skin. It wasn’t something he was willing to give up so easily and you knew that. He grabbed your hips, moving them against his face as his lips wrapped around your swollen bud.

“Hannie, please.. fuck.”

Your sweet moans were all he wanted. He just wanted to make you feel good, give you something that you simply couldn’t fufill on your own. He sucked on your pussy, your sweet juices filling his mouth as your hands raked through his hair.

“You’re so good to me Hannie. Don’t stop..”

You moved your hips with the rhythm of his tongue, panting like a dog as he abused you. You were practically suffocating him at this point, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to make you happy, give you what you deserved. He adored you, and he was willing to do anything it took to prove it to you.

back to valentine’s masterlist

a/n: this is definitely one of my favs from the event that i’ve written hehe

taglist: @dvrktvnnel @scarfac3 @jjongibears @h4untedgrl @rvereri @joonezra @yyaurii @hwasddeongbyeoli @mingtinysworld @tiredlittlevirgo @honeyhwaaa @evidive @inniesfanblog @bluesungology

★ comment to be added to the taglist or fill out the form here!

#—♡vampzity #—♡︎vamp’s hard hours #—♡︎vamp’s valentines #stray kids #stray kids smut #han jisung #han jisung x reader #skz han #stray kids x reader

930 notes · View notes

makeitmakesomesense · 2 months ago

Text

Starry Night

Natasha Romanoff x Jealous!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: Day 10: I've merged a very fun request from a lovely anon with the @taylorswiftmicrofic prompt for the 10th of January, which is 'religion'.

Your linked hands swung absentmindedly in the space between you.

Natasha’s head tilted as she observed the painting.

After a moment, you felt her attention inevitably turn back to you. You tried to focus on the brushstrokes, the colours, something. At least this one wasn’t about religion.

‘What do you think?’ She prompted.

‘I like the stars.’ You said carefully.

Natasha’s lip twitched.

‘That’s good. Given it’s A Starry Night.’ She rasped dryly.

You nodded, pretending to keep staring at the painting. Natasha brought your hand to her lips and held it there for a moment.

Your focus turned readily to her. It was much more enjoyable anyway, watching her look at the paintings.

‘What do you think?’

Natasha glanced back at you. Her eyes crinkled with a more hesitant smile.

‘I love it.’ She admitted.

You leaned forward and kissed her cheek, ignoring the bustling crowds of tourists around you.

You stayed together, lost in the tiny moment, until a short woman elbowed her way in front of you to take a photo of the painting.

Natasha’s eyes were full of mirth as she pulled you back to the centre of the room. Her arms snaked around your waist as she stood behind you.

‘What do you want to look at next?’ She asked softly, her head resting on your shoulder.

You chewed your lip and tried to decide. The paintings all looked the same to you.

This trip was already perfect without the art. It had been Natasha’s idea. A tentative gift for your one year anniversary. A long weekend spent in Paris.

It was strange to live, for even the briefest of moments, as if you weren’t part of the Avengers team. Your life had become something unrecognisable in the time that you’d been part of it.

Now, here in Paris, you’d never seen Natasha so relaxed, so completely herself.

The very first evening, she’d disappeared out of the apartment almost as soon as you’d set your luggage down. She’d returned within minutes, holding all the components for a charcuterie board and a bottle of ridiculously expensive wine.

You’d wanted to unpack and get organised after the long flight but Natasha had insisted that you join her on the balcony. You’d sat together for hours, sharing food and drink and staring out at a nighttime view that didn’t seem real.

You’d understood the magic then. Slow kisses that heated the chilled night air. The sparkling lights of the city reflected back in Natasha’s eyes.

Nothing in any gallery could beat that.

‘You choose.’ You told Natasha, leaning back in her arms as you surveyed the gallery room. ‘I always like your choices best anyway.’

Natasha hummed to herself, trying to decide. You let yourself focus only on her. The constant thrum of people wandering around the room created an almost overwhelming level of background noise.

At last, Natasha nodded over to another painting, one with two women watching each other in bed.

You smiled before you could help it, remembering that morning.

‘Okay.’ You agreed.

Suddenly, you felt Natasha stiffen behind you. Then, after a moment, you felt her purposefully relax. You were immediately on high alert. You scanned the room with a new intention, trying your best to identify any threat.

Your attention caught immediately on a woman across the room. Her stare was entirely focused on your girlfriend.

‘Is everything okay?’ You asked tensely, staring at the woman whose focus refused to flicker from Natasha’s face.

Natasha moved easily from behind you to by your side. She looked distracted but her smile was reassuring.

‘Yes.’ She promised. ‘I know her. Let me go say hello.’

You watched her walk away from you over to the strange woman. The beautiful Parisian woman. The upsettingly beautiful Parisian woman.

You watched Natasha kiss her cheeks and hug her. You watched their obvious delight at reconnecting. You watched the disgustingly beautiful Parisian woman reach up to touch a piece of Natasha’s hair, you watched her mouth form a comment about its new length and colour. You watched Natasha smile shyly.

You felt small and then you felt angry. You felt an instinct lock your body in place.

It took a minute for Natasha to look over to you. She took a few steps back in your direction, not quite closing the distance.

‘There’s this wine.’ She started, clearly excited. ‘I’ve been looking for it all weekend. Elodie knows this place that sells it. It’s right around the corner’

You kept your expression neutral. You hated that Elodie was obviously looking over at you.

‘Do you mind if we-?’ Natasha trailed off, gesturing between herself and the woman who you were going to make a voodoo doll of later.

You nodded, throat tight.

Natasha kissed your cheek.

‘Stay, enjoy the art. I’ll be back before you notice I’m gone.’ She promised, an excited glint in her eye.

You watched Natasha’s hand brush Elodie’s back as they walked out together.

When you were finally alone in a sea of strangers, you let the feelings wash over you in quick succession.

Jealousy. Hurt. Anger.

Your fingernails dug into your palm as the feelings simmered.

Who the fuck was Elodie?

You walked blindly past the remaining masterpieces and headed for the exit.

Natasha caught a hold of you in the foyer. She looked startled to see you there.

She nodded back to the endless gallery rooms and gave you a curious smile.

‘Have you seen it all already?’ She teased lightly.

‘Mmhm’ You hummed tightly. ‘Let’s go back to the apartment.’

Your sharp tone set off the first alarm bells. You watched the realisation dawn on Natasha’s face, the slight widening of her eyes.

You didn’t give her a chance to speak. You walked out the building and headed towards your apartment.

Natasha kept pace at your side. You could feel her nervous glances towards you. Her hesitating indecision to say something.

Something about your stony expression kept her quiet.

By the time you’d reached the apartment, after climbing the endless winding staircase inside the building’s courtyard, the unspoken tension was almost at a boiling point.

Natasha’s tote bag clinked occasionally as her new purchase bumped against her keys. Your jaw tightened every time you heard it.

You opened the door and walked straight to the kitchenette. Natasha followed cautiously behind you.

It occurred to you then that you’d never had a proper fight before. Never had a reason to be really angry. More than a year had gone by in relative peace.

Until Elodie.

You opened the fridge door violently and pulled out the ingredients for lunch automatically.

You could feel Natasha hovering in your blind spot.

You hooked a dining chair with your foot and pulled it out from the table.

‘Sit.’ You directed tightly. ‘I’ll make us some lunch.’

Natasha sat with the obedience of a hostage victim.

You arranged the jars of beurre de cacahuètes and confiture next to the wooden chopping board and placed the bread that Natasha had bought fresh that morning on top of it. You yanked open the cutlery drawer and retrieved the large bread knife.

You felt Natasha wince behind you. You ignored her as you started sawing at the bread.

‘So.’ You said loudly. ‘How do you know Elodie?’

Natasha’s hesitation this time was blatant.

‘Uh.’ You heard her stall for time. You sawed quickly through your first slice and tossed it onto the waiting plate. ‘From a long time ago.’

‘Mmhm.’ You hummed again, eyes trained on the moving knife. ‘And you knew each other well.’

You didn’t frame it as a question but Natasha answered anyway.

‘...Yes.’

‘Very well.’ You said under your breath, tossing another brutalised slice of bread onto the plate.

‘...Yes.’ Natasha said with obvious alarm as you began to hack at the loaf again.

‘Lucky Elodie.’ You muttered bitterly. ‘I bet you’ve got wonderful memories of Paris together. Did you drink that wine on a balcony with her? What sort of name is Elodie anyway? I mean that’s practically too French. I mean come on. It’s like a Russian girl being called-’

‘Natasha.’ Natasha supplied.

You kept moving your knife thoughtlessly.

‘Exactly. Whatever.’ You cut yourself off into abrupt silence as you stewed internally on things you really shouldn’t say aloud.

‘Y/N.’ Natasha called out carefully.

‘What?’ You snapped.

‘Love. You’re sawing the chopping board in half.’ You froze and stared down at the small pile of sawdust mixing with the breadcrumbs. You yanked the knife abruptly out of the wooden board and placed it down on top of it. You stared for a long moment at the counter. You couldn’t escape the truth of it. The fear that ached behind everything.

‘Did you take her to see those paintings before?’ You asked at last in a small voice. ‘Before me?’

‘Love.’ Natasha said quietly again in a low voice that always made your insides go warm. You heard her move closer and felt her arms wrap around you, tentatively. You let your back press against her.

‘Before you.’ She murmured slowly, and you felt each word vibrate through you. ‘I know it’s not that simple. But before you nothing really mattered.’

Her lips touched your neck and you let your eyes close. You thought about her and you. About the 400 nights you’d spent together. About the sleepy mornings and the date nights and the future plans.

You thought about the painting you’d seen of the two women watching each other in bed.

‘Before you.’ Natasha whispered again. ‘There was art and good food and fancy wine.’ Natasha’s hand trailed lightly down your front and the back up. Your head tilted back and Natasha dragged her finger along your exposed neck.

You thought about the starry night reflected back to you in Natasha’s eyes.

Your body shuddered as Natasha’s fingernails tapped gently over your trachea.

All you could hear were her soft breaths and your shallow ones. ‘Before you. I wasn’t me.’

. .

Requests are still very welcome for future January fics. More info in the pinned post if you're interested in requesting. <3

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you

521 notes · View notes

thebarneschronicles · 1 month ago

Text

Closer To Home III

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 8.9k

Synopsis: Snowed in with Bucky Barnes, you find comfort in playful banter, lingering touches, and the quiet intimacy of a morning spent wrapped in each other. But beneath the teasing smiles and warmth of shared laughter, something deeper stirs—something neither of you are ready to name. When a visit to his empty apartment reveals just how much he still struggles to believe he deserves more, your carefully guarded feelings come crashing down. And as walls crumble, as confessions slip through the cracks, Bucky begins to understand: maybe, just maybe, he was always meant to find home in you.

Trigger Warnings: Smut (duh); A lot of dirty talk; Discussions of Hydra & their experiments; Emotional breakdowns; Angst, banter, and all the feels.

Closer To Home Masterlist

Author’s Note: I can’t tell you how much I love writing these two. This chapter has it all: smut, banter, angst, and a whole lot of feelings bubbling to the surface. Things are shifting between them, and I have a feeling neither of them are ready for what comes next… Let me know what you think—I love hearing your thoughts! B xx

When you woke the next morning, the first thing you noticed was the soreness. It was everywhere—radiating from the stickiness still lingering between your thighs, stretching to your hips, and even tingling faintly in your shoulders. It wasn’t unpleasant, though; it was the kind of ache that came from being touched, held, and claimed in ways you hadn’t realized you craved. It was a reminder of how thoroughly Bucky had made you his.

The second thing you noticed was a dawning realization—this was going to be a problem. Not just the sex with Bucky Barnes, though that alone was a problem worth having. It was everything about him.

Sleeping with Bucky Barnes. Waking up with Bucky Barnes. Breathing the same air as Bucky Barnes.

It was as if your body and mind had conspired in perfect unison, conditioning you in a single night to crave him in a way that felt intoxicating. The realization hit you like a jolt —he wasn’t just someone you wanted. He was someone you needed. Somewhere along the way, he had slipped past your defenses, carved out a space in your heart so large it felt as if it had always been his to claim.

He’d stirred feelings in you that you couldn’t yet name, sensations so profound they defied words. But beyond the fire he lit in your veins, there was something far more disarming—he made you feel safe. Truly, deeply safe in a way you hadn’t ever felt with anyone.

With his arm draped over you and the steady, reassuring rhythm of his breathing beneath your cheek, your body had surrendered in a way it never had before. Tension melted from your muscles, your mind quieted, and you slept. Not just sleep—rest. The kind that seeped into your bones, filling the cracks of exhaustion.

The third thing you noticed was that Bucky was already awake. His hand traced slow, idle patterns on your back. His gaze was fixed on something on the ceiling, his expression unreadable in the soft, muted light filtering through your frost-dusted window.

Your legs were tangled with his beneath the sheets, your body half-sprawled over his chest. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep on him like this, but he didn’t seem to mind—if anything, the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly against the line of your spine told you he didn’t want you to move.

The chill in the room was undeniable, the frosty patterns snaking along the glass a stark reminder of the bitter cold outside. Yet none of it touched you. His warmth, it was overwhelming in a way that stole the breath from your lungs and left you dizzy. Every inch of you seemed to respond, like a live wire humming with his presence. Your thoughts, your senses, your very being seemed to narrow until all that remained was him—Bucky. He was all you could feel, all you could think about, all you could want.

You didn’t want to break the fragile peace of this moment. But the heaviness in your chest, the sheer weight of your feelings, made you sigh softly as you shifted, propping yourself up just enough to meet his gaze.

His eyes flicked down, catching yours, a faint, lazy smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Morning, doll,” he murmured, voice low and scratchy, rough in a way that made your insides twist deliciously.

Your heart squeezed painfully at the sound, the sight of him. The depth of your feelings was already too much, inexplicable tears prickling at your eyes as you studied him.

“Shh,” you mumbled, pressing your fingers lightly to his lips. His stubble grazed your fingertips as you trailed them down, and you couldn’t resist scratching the roughness of his jaw. Leaning down, you nuzzled against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. You heard the way his breath caught at the touch, the subtle hitch that made a small, satisfied smile bloom on your lips. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze again. “Let me just… watch you for a bit.”

“That’s creepy,” he said, laughing softly, the sound rumbling beneath you as his fingers found your waist and pinched playfully.

“It’s romantic,” you countered, wriggling against him with a huff. Your fingers wandered over his temple, brushing his hair back and smoothing your thumb over the arc of his brow. “You look so different in the morning.”

His brows furrowed, a small frown forming that made you grin. “Different how?”

“Don’t worry, Buck,” you said softly, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek, savoring the faint scratch of stubble. “You’re still just as handsome as when you’re trying to scare people off.”

That earned you a laugh, a real one, and you basked in the sound. It distracted him from the truth you weren’t ready to admit—that in this moment, he looked… almost at peace.

You weren’t sure if it was just this morning, or if it was something that happened often when he let himself stay still. But here, tangled in the sheets, with his body pressed to yours, he seemed lighter somehow. Like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him, like the ghosts of his past weren’t pressing into his shoulders. For once, it felt like he wasn’t fighting so hard to hold himself together. He was just here, fully present, almost entirely yours.

Reaching over him, you grabbed your phone from the nightstand to check the time. Barely 8 a.m. The storm that had been picking up since last night wasn’t letting up. The forecast confirmed it, showing a steady fall of snow predicted over the next few days. Your teeth caught your bottom lip as concern crept across your face.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky asked, pulling you back down to rest fully against him. His hand brushed through your hair, tucking the strands behind your ear.

“The storm,” you said, turning the phone toward him. “It’s getting worse. Supposed to dump a few inches—everything’ll probably shut down for a bit.”

“A few inches, huh?” His lips twitched, and there was a glint of mischief in his eyes that immediately had you narrowing yours.

Your jaw dropped. “Did you just make a dick joke?”

Bucky smirked, his hand sliding to your hip. “What? You walked straight into that one, doll.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you huffed, pushing yourself upright to straddle him, tugging the sheets up to cover your bare chest. “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I actually had it in you, darling.”

“Oh my god!” you burst out, laughing so hard you had to cover your mouth with your hand. “You have sex once and now you’re cracking dick jokes? What happened to my brooding soldier?”

“Maybe you fucked it out of me,” he replied, deadpan, though his eyes gleamed with pure amusement.

“Bucky!”

A dramatic groan escaped you as you buried your face in your hands, the warmth of Bucky’s body beneath you sending an undeniable thrill up your spine. His low chuckle rumbled through his chest, and you felt it everywhere, the sound curling around you like a vice. Even as you tried to maintain your composure, peeking at him through your fingers, you couldn’t help the smirk tugging at your lips.

“I think I liked you better when you were all grumpy and broody,” you teased, though the way your voice wavered with a poorly hidden laugh betrayed you. “Maybe you’ve been hanging around Sam too much.”

His reaction was immediate—his head dropped back to the pillow, a deep, exaggerated sigh escaping him. His jaw tightened, eyes rolling as though he’d just been betrayed in the worst way. “Please, don’t talk about Sam while you’re sitting naked on top of me.”

Your laughter bubbled up, full and unrestrained. You gave his shoulders a playful squeeze, feeling the tension there, the way he was trying—failing—not to react to the feel of your soft thighs against his hips, the way you hovered over his bare stomach.

“Did I just kill the mood?” you asked, mischief lacing your words as you pushed back and rolled your hips experimentally.

Bucky’s hands twitched at your waist, his fingers digging in just enough to make your breath hitch. His eyes dragged back to you, a dangerous glint flashing beneath the lazy sweep of his lashes.

“You did,” he admitted, but his voice had gone rougher, lower—betraying him completely.

“Mm.” You hummed, playful, challenging. “You sure?”

With deliberate slowness, you let the sheets fall away, leaving yourself bare under the soft light. His gaze followed the movement, his lips parting slightly as his eyes darkened, locked onto the bare curve of your breasts like he couldn’t decide whether to admire or devour.

His hands slid up your ribcage, strong and reverent, until they cupped your breasts with a kind of aching intent. He hadn’t looked away, hadn’t even blinked.

“Eyes up here, soldier,” you murmured, covering his hands with yours.

His gaze locked with yours, a flicker of defiance sparking in his blue eyes. “Can you blame me?” he rasped, his voice rougher now as his thumbs brushed against your skin.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider it, though the corner of your mouth twitched in amusement. “Hmm, I guess I’ll allow it. For now.”

“For now,” he echoed, a smirk tugging at his lips. His hands slid back down to your waist, his grip firm. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad about that Sam comment.”

“Really hard, huh?” you teased, leaning down just enough so your lips were a whisper away from his. “Careful, Buck. You’re starting to sound downright cheerful this morning. People might start to think you’re going soft.”

“Soft?�� In one swift motion, Bucky sat up, his arms wrapping around your back to pull you flush against him. The sudden movement made you gasp as your hands flew to his shoulders for balance and he lined you up to where you could feel his cock, the length pressing against your bare folds with unrelenting, delicious pressure. “Nothing soft about me…”

The playful banter faded, replaced by an electric tension that filled the air between you. He tugged at the sheets until they pooled at your hips, and you felt the weight of his gaze as it slowly traveled down your body. His eyes caught on the faint marks he’d left on your skin the night before.

Every curve, every detail seemed to captivate him, and he finally settled where your bare cunt hovered just above him, his cock twitching in response.

“Fuck, doll,” Bucky breathed. His hands, guided by yours, bracketed your hips with a tenderness that betrayed the hunger in his eyes.

“Yes, James?” you replied, your tone teasing but softened with affection as you shifted against him, just enough to feel the glide of his cock between your already wet slit.

“You gonna ride me?” His voice was thick with longing, but his gaze was steady, not demanding, just full of raw, unfiltered want.

You tilted your head, a playful smile curling at your lips. “Are you asking, or telling me?”

His thumbs traced slow, lazy circles on your skin, the weight of his gaze never leaving your face. “Don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he murmured, the words dripping with something more than just permission.

“And if I do?” you interrupted, voice barely a whisper as you leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

His hands slid up your sides, pulling you a fraction closer. “Then I can already tell it’ll be my favorite thing in the world…”

The heat in his voice made your pulse quicken. Brushing a soft kiss along his jaw, taking your time, you savored the closeness before you whispered, “Good answer, Sergeant Barnes.”

A groan escaped his lips when your hand slid between your bodies, guiding him to your entrance. The sound sent a thrill through you, and you couldn't help but let out a soft laugh, shifting your hips slowly, teasing his tip. His grip tightened instinctively, his cock twitching in response to the playful movement.

When you finally pressed down, sinking onto him, you both gasped. The sensitivity from the night before and the lingering haze of sleep made everything feel heightened, more intense. As you took him inch by inch, you searched for his eyes, only to find them closed, the look on his face completely blissed out.

There was no frown, no furrowed brow—just the soft, unguarded pleasure that made his features seem almost tender. It was the first time you’d seen him so completely relaxed, so free of the tension that usually weighed on him. The quiet vulnerability was almost as intoxicating as the physical connection between you, and you let the moment stretch, savoring every inch of the way he filled you.

“Can you lay back for me, baby?” you whispered, your voice thick with want, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his bottom lip before pulling back just enough to watch his reaction. "Please?"

His breath was uneven, his lips still parted from where you'd stolen his next words. You saw it—the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the way his fingers tightened against your skin like he needed the anchor, the way his thighs locked as if ready to push up, to meet you, to regain control. He wanted to guide this, to lead where the two of you went, to hold onto the illusion of dominance.

You shook your head slowly, smoothing your hands up the rigid planes of his chest, applying just the slightest pressure. "Let me," you coaxed, barely above a whisper. "Let me take care of you."

Bucky’s jaw clenched. His hands, strong and capable, held fast to your back, his fingers digging in like he wasn’t sure how to let go.

“Hey,” you soothed, cupping his jaw with both hands, your thumbs stroking the stubble-dusted skin. "Do you trust me?"

He exhaled sharply through his nose, a muscle in his jaw ticking. "It’s not that, I—” He hesitated, his gaze flickering over your face like he was searching for something, anything to latch onto. “We can do it together."

The words hung between you, weighted with meaning and the unspoken fears of a man who had spent too much of his life being used, controlled, forced into submission. You weren’t asking for that. You would never ask for that.

“I want to do this for you," you said softly, shifting slightly in his lap, watching how his lashes fluttered when you did. Bucky blinked, then, slowly, he nodded.

Relief washed over you, warm and heady, as you urged him down, your hands pressing firmly against his chest until his back met the mattress. His fingers dragged down your spine before settling against your hips, a silent plea for something to hold onto.

You rolled forward deliberately, watching the way his body responded to you, how his jaw clenched and his stomach tensed, how his hands flexed against your thighs as if struggling with the instinct to take control. You knew it was difficult for him to relinquish power, to simply be and let you guide him, but you wanted to show him—prove to him—that with you, he could.

“How do you like it?” you murmured, leaning forward. You shifted your hips, adjusting the rhythm, the angle, teasing a reaction from him. "Tell me, baby."

Bucky swallowed hard, his grip tightening briefly before he forced himself to relax, hands falling idle at his sides. “Shit, doll, just like t-that,” he rasped, his voice rough with restraint.

Guiding his hands to your body, settling one at your hip, the other on the small of your back. “Hold onto me,” you whispered.

His fingers twitched, then slid lower, gripping the soft flesh of your ass, possessive, grounding. The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. He was holding on, just like you asked, but now you could feel it—the way he was fighting himself, the way he was trying to let go without completely losing himself.

“That’s it,” you praised, breath hitching as you rode him, slow, deliberate, making sure he felt every inch of your walls as you glided up and down, tip to base. "Don't let go. Hold onto me while I ride your pretty cock."

Bucky groaned, his hands digging into your flesh, the possessive touch making your own movements falter for a moment. He could break you if he wanted to. He could flip you over, take control, make you beg instead. But he didn't. “Look at me,” you pleaded, your voice thick. Your hands framed his face, trembling slightly as your fingers brushed the stubble along his jaw. “Come on, James. I need you to see this. Look at how good we are together… how perfect we fit.”

He resisted for a heartbeat, his lashes fluttering, before giving in to the pull of your voice. Slowly, his eyes opened, heavy-lidded and smoldering, the blue now darkened with need. Those eyes drank you in, devouring every curve, every sway of your body above him. He took in the way your skin gleamed with a thin sheen of sweat, the way you moved, as though his body had been carved to match yours.

“Fuck…” The word spilled from his lips like a prayer, barely more than a shuddered exhale. His chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath more ragged than the last. “I’ll… shit, I’ll cum if you keep this up. Can’t believe how well you take me.”

A breathless laugh escaped you, shaky but teasing, despite the heat pooling low in your belly. “Maybe that’s because I was made for you,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with intent.

The effect was immediate. His jaw tightened, his thighs flexed beneath you, and you felt him throb inside you, his reaction sending sparks through your own body. His hands tightened on your hips, guiding your movements now, as if he couldn’t help himself.

“You like that, don’t you?” you teased again, though your voice wavered, betraying how much control you were starting to lose. “The thought of having my body made just for yours?”

Bucky groaned, low and guttural, his head tipping back against the pillows. The muscles in his neck strained, and the sound he made was somewhere between pain and pleasure. “Don’t say shit like that,” he ground out, his fingers sliding up to spread across your lower back. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

His hand trailed lower, his thumb brushing over your clit with just enough pressure to make you gasp, your body jolting involuntarily. “James…” you whispered in warning, your voice breaking on the syllable, and your hand shot out to brace against the mattress beside his head, desperate for some semblance of balance.

“You hear that?” His voice was husky, his tone laced with awe and hunger as his thumb traced slow, devastating circles. “I can hear how wet you are for me. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat washing over you, your stomach tightening. But even as your body betrayed you, you shook your head stubbornly, refusing to let him win so easily. “S-Stop,” you stammered, though your resolve was already crumbling.

“I’m serious, James,” you protested, leaning forward until your chest brushed against his. The shift made him press impossibly deeper inside you, and the both of you let out simultaneous groans, your eyes rolling back rolled your eyes at the sensation. “This is for you,” you managed, though the words were barely audible over the sound of your erratic breathing.

“For us,” he corrected, his voice strained and rough.

Lips grazing the shell of his ear, each word trembling with intimacy and raw emotion, your voice softened, dropping to a tone meant only for him. “I want you to have whatever you need from me. Anything that makes you feel good. Do you understand?”

The silence between you stretched taut, broken only by the ragged pull of his breath. His hands, large and steady, now trembled slightly where they held you, as though he was warring with the weight of your words. And then, like a dam breaking, he gave in. His face buried itself in the crook of your neck, his lips pressing fevered, desperate kisses along your skin—, whispered agreements to surrender, to let go, to take what you offered so willingly.

Then, low and hoarse, his voice broke through the haze. “Can you—fuck—can you pick up the pace?” It was him, asking for what he wanted for once, and the need behind it made it feel like a plea. “Just like that,” he praised, his breath hitching as you moved faster, your body gliding up and down his shaft. “A bit quicker, good girl.”

The words hit you like a physical force, leaving you trembling. You obeyed instinctively, riding him harder, faster, and with more abandon, each movement drawing a new sound from his throat, each one unraveling you further.

“Keep going, love,” he urged, and your nails dug into his bicep, leaving crescents in his skin as your body burned hotter at the sound of the endearment. Love. That word. The way he said it, so casual yet so loaded, made your heart skip a beat. He needed to stop calling you that before you completely lost it.

“You’re so warm, so slick…” His voice was wrecked now, each word strung together. “Barely had any trouble taking me, didn’t you?”

You couldn’t hold the moan that escaped your lips, muffled only by your mouth finding his shoulder as pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. You felt him twitch inside you, and the knowledge of how close he was only drove you harder, desperate to tip him over the edge.

“Bucky, fuck,” you gasped, your voice breaking as tears prickled at the corners of your eyes. The effort of holding back, of teetering so close to release without falling, was too much. “I need you to cum,” you cried, your voice raw with desperation.

If he didn’t—if you didn’t—you knew you’d lose yourself, unravel completely under the weight of this unbearable tension. You couldn’t bear the thought of him holding back, couldn’t stand another moment without the relief you both so desperately needed.

His hands gripped you tighter, his nails biting into your skin as his control finally snapped. His hips thrust up to meet yours, hard and deliberate, and his voice came out in a broken groan. “Keep going, don’t stop—please.”

The “please” broke you, shattered whatever thread of composure you’d been clinging to. You cried out, your body moving frantically now, chasing the release. When it finally came, when his body tensed and you felt the warmth of him spill inside you, you fell with him, a tangle of limbs and gasping breaths and whispered names.

For a moment, the world stilled. All that existed was the way he held you, his hands splayed wide across your back, anchoring you to him as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. His lips pressed soft, lazy kisses against your hair, his breathing still uneven.

“You must be a dream…” he murmured at last, his voice laced with awe, as though the thought had just escaped without permission. “I don’t even think I could create something as good as this…”

Your heart clenched at his confession, the weight of his words stealing the breath from your lungs. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you closed them tightly, desperate to keep your composure. The emotions crashing over you were too immense, too raw to be captured by words.

Instead, you leaned into him, pressing closer, letting the curve of your body against his speak for you. It was effortless, the way you fit together, like two halves of the same whole finally finding their place. His arms tightened around you in response, pulling you closer, as though he needed the connection as much as you did—maybe more.

The rhythmic sound of his breathing began to slow, each exhale softer than the last. You stayed there, suspended in the quiet, the world outside fading to nothing. Before the knot in your throat could fully unravel, before you could even whisper the words you felt so deeply, he was asleep. –

Bucky was still fast asleep when you slipped out of bed, his breathing deep and steady in the quiet of the room. Your legs ached in that delicious, lingering way that made you flush just thinking about the night before… and this morning. Your hair was a tangled mess, the kind only a long, hot shower could fix.

The water was scalding against your skin, steam curling around you in thick clouds. When you stepped out, you took your time applying moisturizer—something you did every morning, but today, you lingered a little longer, smoothing your hands over your skin with a care that felt indulgent. It wasn’t lost on you that you were paying extra attention, almost as if… as if you wanted to feel soft under his touch again.

God, you were in trouble.

By the time you finished drying your hair, the apartment was still blanketed in the rare hush of a snowstorm, the city outside subdued under layers of white. Even the usual hum of traffic and sirens seemed to have been swallowed up by, leaving you in an unusual sort of peace.

You met your own gaze in the fogged-up mirror, and for a moment, you barely recognized yourself. Your eyes were bright, cheeks still flushed from the heat of the shower—or maybe something else entirely—and there was a smile you couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard you tried. It was kind of ridiculous, how easily you had fallen into this thing with Bucky. How completely and utterly infatuated you’d become in such a short time.

But honestly, could you blame yourself? The man was… dreamy, for lack of a better word.

Shaking your head at your own reflection, you reached for the henley you’d stolen from the floor, the fabric soft and worn against your fingers. It still smelled like him and slipping it over your head felt like wrapping yourself in his warmth. You paired it with a fresh set of panties and some thick socks, padding out into the living room in search of something to fill the sudden hunger gnawing at you.

Somehow, you found yourself in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients with more enthusiasm than you expected. Maybe it was the restless energy still buzzing in your veins from the morning’s activities. Maybe it was the cold, the way it made you crave something warm and hearty.

Or maybe—if you were being honest with yourself—it had everything to do with the man currently sleeping soundly in your bed, his presence lingering in every corner of the apartment, wrapping around you like an invisible thread.

The soft sizzle of eggs in the pan and the low hum of the kettle were the only sounds breaking the peaceful quiet. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee curled through the air. You smiled to yourself as you moved through the kitchen, arranging a spread that was far more elaborate than necessary—fluffy pancakes, perfectly crisp bacon, fresh fruit sliced with more care than anyone really needed.

Maybe it was the coziness of the morning, the lingering heat of the shower still clinging to your skin, or maybe it was the memory of last night—the way Bucky’s hands had explored, the way his lips had left traces of him all over you—that had you feeling so... content. Settled.

And that thought alone sent a flicker of unease through your chest.

Because contentment was dangerous. It was heavy with expectations and unspoken promises, and you weren’t entirely sure how much Bucky was willing to give you—how far he’d let you in before pushing you away. He’d given up control for a few minutes, but what if that was his line?

The thought of that conversation—the one where you'd have to define whatever this was—loomed over you like a dark cloud. Sooner or later, it would have to happen. And you weren’t looking forward to facing whatever truths might come out of it.

Your knife hesitated mid-slice through a ripe strawberry, lost in the swirl of your thoughts, when the soft creak of the bedroom door pulled you back to reality. You turned, and there he was.

Bucky stood in the doorway, shirtless, clad only in his dark briefs, his broad frame filling the space with an effortless kind of dominance. Sleep still clung to him in the tousle of his hair, the crease of the pillow on his cheek, and the soft squint of his eyes as he blinked at you.

“So that’s where my shirt’s gone,” he murmured, voice still thick with sleep, rough in that way that sent a shiver down your spine.

A grin tugged at your lips as you grabbed a mug from the counter, pouring him a cup of coffee. “Do you mind?” you asked sheepishly, holding the mug out as he padded across the kitchen, slumping against the island with a lazy sort of grace. “I can give it back, I have plenty o—”

“You keep it,” Bucky interrupted, his lips curling faintly as he took the coffee from your hands. His eyes flickered over you, slow and appreciative, the oversized henley hanging off your frame in a way that had his jaw tightening just slightly. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but he reached out, his vibranium arm wrapping around your waist with ease, tugging you closer until your front was flush against his. The coolness of his metal fingers pressed against the small of your back, holding you there, while his other hand brought the coffee to his lips for a sip.

You sighed, arms looping around his bare torso as you nuzzled into the crook of his neck. Pressing a soft kiss to his jaw, you felt his grip tighten, his thumb stroking absentmindedly over your hip in a way that made your stomach flip.

“If you keep manhandling me like this,” you murmured against his skin, lips grazing his neck as you trailed soft kisses along his shoulder, “we’re never getting out of this apartment.”

Bucky hummed, a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest, and you felt his smirk against your hair.

“Exactly my plan, darling.”

You laughed, the sound muffled against his chest as you squeezed yourself closer, your cheek resting against the warmth of his skin. You let yourself admire him, tracing the strong lines of muscle beneath smooth skin, your fingers ghosting over the battle scars that told stories you’d never fully know. Each one was a reminder of the life he’d lived before you, the wars he’d fought—both the ones the world knew about and the ones you suspected still haunted him in the quiet moments.

God, he was so Bucky. It was almost too much—the way he filled the space around you, the way he was. The thought made your chest ache.

“As much as I’d love that,” you murmured, tilting your head up to meet his eyes, your lips brushing against his collarbone, “we need to get you some clothes.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and mild offense. “Don’t you have enough to steal?”

“Not even close.” You grinned, and his head dipped slightly, shaking with a soft huff of laughter.

His blue eyes studied you, something lazy and dangerous behind them. “What do we need clothes for, exactly?”

“For you.” Your fingers splayed against his ribs, enjoying the way he tensed slightly beneath your touch. “To stay here. I can wash these for you,” you gestured vaguely to his current state of undress, “but I doubt you want to spend the whole week in jeans and a leather jacket.”

“A week?” His brows lifted, the tease obvious in his voice, making your heart stumble.

Before you could think of a clever response, he drained the last of his coffee, the mug settling onto the counter with a soft clink. Then his hands—one warm, one cool—cupped your cheeks, holding you in place. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, his touch featherlight but commanding all the same.

“Are you keeping me hostage, my love?”

The words hit you like a sucker punch, the unexpected weight of them stealing the air from your lungs. My love. It wasn’t the first time he’d used a pet name, but this one—this one was new. It felt different. It held weight. Promise.

Your lips parted on instinct, a small, sharp inhale betraying you. His gaze locked you in place, left you rooted to the spot, utterly helpless under the sheer gravity of him. Your eyes searched his, wide and pleading, silently begging him to kiss you. To put you out of your misery.

Bucky’s lips curled, just barely, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. And he did—of course he did. Because he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, teasingly close but not enough.

“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmured against your lips.

Your fingers curled into his sides. “And whose fault is that?”

“Yours. Definitely yours.”

You closed the distance between you with a desperation that felt all-consuming, your lips crashing against his like an addict chasing their next fix—eager, hungry, completely and utterly lost in the way he tasted.

Your fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, nails biting softly into his skin as your nose bumped his in your search for more. “What are you doing to me?” you whined, voice breathless and aching, chasing his lips even as he tilted your head, guiding you deeper into him.

He let you have him, let you take your fill, and it was a long, dizzying minute before you could even think about pulling away. When you did, your forehead rested against his chin.

“What were you saying, doll?” Bucky murmured against your mouth, his grip firm at the nape of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair in a way that made your knees weak.

“Clothes,” you managed to say, gulping down air and pushing lightly against his chest. “We need to get you clothes.”

His lips curved at the corners, and he didn’t loosen his hold. “For what?” he drawled, pulling you closer when you tried—half-heartedly—to create distance, his bare chest radiating warmth against your own.

“For you to stay here.” You bit your lip, trying to fight the way your body naturally leaned into him. “The city’s shutting down, Bucky. We’re all working from home for the next few days. There’ll be no missions.”

He hummed, the vibration of it rumbling against your skin, completely unconcerned. “Didn’t you get the text?” you added, hoping some logic would break through the haze clouding both your minds.

“Haven’t had time to look at my phone,” he confessed, his lips brushing along your jaw, down the sensitive column of your neck, each kiss melting your resolve a little more.

You groaned, tugging lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck, though there was no real force behind it—no real will to stop him. “Bucky, come on,” you pleaded, though your head lolled back of its own accord, giving him even more space to continue his assault.

“I made you food,” you gasped, trying to ground yourself.

“You did,” he murmured, his mouth moving lower, a smile evident in his voice.

“I made you coffee.”

“You did,” he echoed, his vibranium hand slipping under the hem of his stolen shirt, cool against the heat of your skin.

“I made you pancakes—” Your words cut off with a sharp gasp as his tongue flicked over the sensitive spot just below your jaw, and your toes curled against the cold kitchen floor. A shiver shot down your spine, leaving you trembling in his hold. “Fuck. Okay, okay, we need to stop.”

Bucky hummed again, nipping playfully at your skin, and you felt the smirk forming against your throat. “Do we, though?”

You groaned, half in frustration, half in bliss. “Yes,” you insisted, even as your hands betrayed you, gripping his biceps tightly. “Before the food gets cold.”

He sighed dramatically, finally pulling back enough to meet your eyes, his face so unfairly handsome it almost had you giving in all over again. “Fine,” he grumbled, but the mischief in his eyes told you this wasn’t over.

You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest and trying—failing—not to smile. “Go put some pants on, Barnes.”

–

Breakfast passed with only minor interruptions—most of them your fault. You couldn’t resist stealing a kiss when a smudge of syrup clung to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, and he had grumbled something about “food theft” while pulling you into another kiss that tasted like maple and coffee. It was slow, sweet, and enough to make you forget the cold world outside for a moment.

But reality crept back in, and soon he was leaving you in the kitchen, disappearing into the bathroom with a parting kiss to your temple. The sound of the shower running filled the space, leaving you alone with your thoughts—the worst possible company, if you were being honest.

By the time he stepped out, fresh and dressed in yesterday’s clothes, you had already decided you weren’t going to let him face the snow alone.

“Stay here, doll,” he’d said, tugging on his jacket. “It’s freezing out.”

“I’m coming with you,” you shot back, folding your arms in defiance.

Bucky sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was preparing for a battle he knew he’d lose. “I’ll be quick.”

“No.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “You’re not coming with me,” Bucky said firmly as he pulled his jacket on, his tone brooking no argument. “It’s freezing out there, and the sidewalks are a mess. It’s not safe.”

You crossed your arms, meeting his stubbornness with your own. “if it’s safe for you, then it’s safe for me. You’re not facing that alone. Not a chance.”

“Doll—”

“I’m coming, and that’s final.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk to his place, a few blocks away, was brutal. Snow crunched underfoot as the two of you trudged through the white-covered streets, your gloved hand slipping into his halfway through the walk. He didn’t say anything, but his grip tightened around yours. When you finally reached his building, your breath came out in small clouds, your cheeks and nose tingling from the cold. You followed him up the stairs to his apartment, still catching your breath as he unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Stepping inside, you were struck by how little had changed since the first time you’d been there—a fleeting late-night visit to drop off mission files. The same barebones setup greeted you: a modest TV, a makeshift bed on the floor with neatly folded blankets, a stack of plates drying on the counter, a chair. The bedroom door was ajar, offering a glimpse of a near-empty space that seemed more like a glorified storage space than a place to rest. The place wasn’t just bare; it was lifeless.

Bucky dropped his keys onto the counter, glancing at you before pressing a kiss to your forehead. “There’s some drinks in the fridge if you want anything,” he murmured, his lips lingering against your skin for a second too long. “I’ll just grab some things.”

You nodded absentmindedly, your eyes sweeping across the barren room. The walls were empty, a pale expanse of nothingness, save for a few nicks and scratches that told stories no one had been invited to hear. The furniture—minimal and purely functional—felt more like it belonged in a holding cell than in someone’s home. A tangle of emotions tightened in your chest, a dull ache that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with him.

It wasn’t just the absence of warmth, the lack of personal touches, or the refusal to claim this space as his own that hurt. It was what all of it represented. Bucky didn’t think he deserved any of it—not the cozy clutter of a home, not the comfort of a safe space, not the smallest token of belonging… not the comfort of you. That unyielding part of him, buried so deep it seemed untouchable, still whispered lies born of decades of torment. Lies that told him he was unworthy, that he was irredeemable, that the horrors he endured were somehow his burden to bear forever.

You knew better. You’d read the files. You’d combed through the blood-soaked history of the Winter Soldier, every mission meticulously documented, every coup orchestrated, every life taken with cold precision. You’d seen the names of dictators he’d helped rise to power and the innocents whose lives were stolen in the process. But those files didn’t just tell the story of what he’d done; they told the story of what had been done to him.

You knew about the experiments, the torture, the relentless breaking and rebuilding of a man until there was nothing left but a weapon. You knew about the years he spent frozen, locked in an icy limbo while the world turned without him. His friends and family grew older, grieved him, moved on. He had been robbed not only of his agency but of his life—again and again, piece by piece, memory by memory.

And yet, standing here in this hollow space that he refused to call a home, you felt the weight of it all pressing on your chest. It wasn’t just the sadness of what he had endured but the injustice of what he continued to carry. It broke your heart in ways you couldn’t articulate, shattered it all over again every time you caught a glimpse of this man—so lost, so burdened—who couldn’t see the good you saw in him.

The sound escaped before you could stop it—a raw, choked sob that ripped free from your chest, surprising even you. It was as if all the care and grief and pain you had been holding inside had suddenly coalesced into that single, involuntary noise. Your throat felt impossibly tight, like those damned files had transformed into invisible fists, squeezing the air from your lungs. Grief welled up for the man Bucky could have been, for the life he might have lived if fate had been kinder, and it crushed you.

You clapped a trembling hand over your mouth, desperate to smother the sound, but it was too late. He was there, moving faster than you could compose yourself, his presence a solid, grounding warmth behind you. His hands hovered just above your shoulders, hesitant but close enough.

“What happened?” His voice was soft but taut, worry stretching every word thin.

You shook your head quickly, trying to pull yourself together as your free hand swiped at the fat tears trailing down your cheeks. “I’m fine,” you lied, your voice cracking. “Really, I’m okay. You should—go back to packing.” You managed a shaky, watery smile, blinking furiously against the torrent threatening to spill again. “Do you need help with anything?”

But then you saw his face. The worry etched into his features, the slight furrow of his brow, the way his lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know where to start. It was too much.

Whatever fragile grip you’d managed to find shattered in an instant. Your face crumpled, your chest heaving with a heartbroken sob that tore through the room. Your hands shot up instinctively, covering your face as though you could hide the sheer weight of your emotions from him.

“No, no, no,” you stammered through the tears, shaking your head. This wasn’t his burden to bear. Not after everything he’d already endured. Not when the weight of his past was already crushing him. He didn’t need your pain, your hurt for him, added to his. He didn’t deserve that.

Bucky didn’t move away. He didn’t retreat to the safety of distance or let the awkwardness of your emotions push him back. Instead, he stepped closer, his hands finally landing on your shoulders, firm and grounding. “Hey,” he said softly, the word more of an anchor than a question. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head again, your fingers clutching your face as though you could physically hold yourself together. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to see this. I just—” Your voice broke, and you sucked in a shuddering breath.

“Why shouldn’t I see it?” He frowned, thumb brushing against the skin of your neck, the gesture so gentle it urged a new wave of tears, making you reach out to grip his jacket, the cold from the outside still lingering on the fabric. “Because you don’t need this,” you hiccupped, swallowing down another wracking sob. “You know I know... everything", your voice broke then and your hands tightened into fists, pulling him closer still. "I know what they did to you, everything, every time they broke you and built you up again, I know, and I-- it's not pity, I promise you it's not. I just... I l-- care. I care about you so much and you're so good, Bucky. I can't believe you've gone through all of that and you're still so good." He opened his mouth to respond, his lips twitching into a small, humorless smile. “Maybe I’m not,” he said, trying to laugh, trying to disarm you with that wry, self-deprecating edge you hated.

You practically climbed him, wrapping your arms around his neck in a grip so tight it would’ve choked any other man. But not him. Not your Bucky. “Don’t joke about this,” you pleaded, shaking your head against him, standing on your tiptoes and using every ounce of your strength and weight to pull him down toward you. Your lips pressed wet, frantic kisses to his temple, his cheek, his nose, and finally his lips, your tears soaking into his skin. “Don’t you dare joke about this.” His breath hitched, a tremor you felt more than saw, and his hands faltered as they lifted to your back. They hovered there, caught in a limbo of indecision, as though he couldn’t decide if it was best to hold you closer or push you away.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t need this—me falling apart on you. Not after everything you’ve carried, Bucky. More than anyone ever should. And now I’m here, breaking... and you shouldn’t have to deal with that, too.”

“Stop,” he murmured, his voice low but steady, a quiet strength anchoring you in a way only he could. His hands pressed to your back with gentle insistence, grounding you, pulling you back from the edge. “Kinda nice to have someone grieve for me, you know?” His lips quirked in the faintest, almost disbelieving curve—a smile too fragile to hold. “I’ve felt like it’s just been me. Alone. For so long. After Steve—” His voice broke, a hitch that was barely audible but cracked through the air between you. “After Steve, I didn’t think anyone would ever… care. Not like that. Don’t get me wrong, he’s my best friend. I love the guy. But I’ve always wondered if that’s the only kind of care I’d ever get from people. Like it’s more duty than choice.”

His confession twisted the knife of emotion deeper. A fresh wave of sobs welled up, breaking free as the raw vulnerability of his words settled into the hollow places inside you, making you ache for him in ways that felt almost unbearable.

“No,” you whispered fiercely, your head shaking against his. “It’s not duty. It’s not obligation. I care about you because of who you are, Bucky. Not who you were, not what you’ve been through, not because you need saving or because I feel sorry for you. It’s because you’re good. Whether you believe it or not, you are so good.”

His lips parted, an objection forming on his tongue, but you surged forward, pulling him into a kiss that silenced everything else. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was desperate. It was a kiss that carried the weight of everything you couldn’t yet say aloud. Grief. Hope. Love. A promise that he wasn’t alone and never would be, not because someone felt they had to be there, but because they chose to.

He froze, stunned for a breathless moment, before surrendering. His hands slid down from your back to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He held you like you were the only steady thing in a world that kept tilting and shifting beneath his feet.

When you finally pulled back, tears streaked your cheeks, unchecked and raw, and his thumb brushed against your jawline, wiping them away. His eyes searched yours, filled with an unspoken vulnerability. “I…” he started, but the words died in his throat.

You wanted to ask him to tell you everything that churned behind those stormy blue eyes. You wanted to dive headfirst into the hurricane of his thoughts, to feel the raw chaos of the emotions he kept so carefully hidden. You longed to strip away the armor he wore, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between you but the fragile truth of him.

More than anything, you wanted to carve out a home in the spaces where others had turned away. You wanted to fill the voids they left behind, to prove that for you, there was no “something better.” There never could be. Because this—he—was everything.

Instead, for his sake—and maybe a little for yours—you forced a shaky laugh and tried to lighten the mood. “This is why you need a bed in here,” you joked weakly, your voice cracking under emotions you couldn’t quite suppress.

His lips twitched, and the faintest hint of a smile broke through the storm. “Because crying and having sex is a great idea?” His tone carried a teasing edge, but you could hear his quiet relief.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, hiccupping through your tears. “Have you never heard of tears of pleasure?”

His brow furrowed, the expression so unguarded and boyish that it tugged something deep inside you. “...No?”

“Guess you haven’t tried hard enough, then,” you quipped, your voice lighter but still trembling. Vulnerability lingered just beneath the surface, too close to keep hidden.

He shook his head, exhaling a disbelieving laugh. “I can’t believe you’re joking right now.”

He tilted your chin up with his thumbs then, fingers buried on the back of your hair and his lips found yours. It wasn’t soft, wasn’t careful. His hands slipped and framed your face as if he could hold all of you in his palms, as if he was trying to tell you what he couldn’t say. And when you clung to him, your arms around his neck, your fingers threading through his hair, it felt like trying to tether yourself to something real in a world that kept slipping away.

Then his hands slid to your thighs, gripping firmly, and before you knew it, he lifted you with an ease that made your head swim. Your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively and you felt his strength beneath your fingers.

“If I don’t joke,” you murmured against his lips, your voice trembling with your confession, “I’m gonna say a lot of things I shouldn’t.”

His steps faltered, and he paused, holding you there, his forehead brushing yours. “Like what?” he asked, a dangerous invitation.

“You don’t want to know,” you whispered, shaking your head. You kissed him again, feverish and desperate, trying to drown the words that threatened to spill out—the words that had been clawing at your throat for weeks. “Not yet. God, not yet.”

He resumed, carrying you toward the makeshift bed of blankets. He knelt with you, settling you down as gently as if you were made of glass. His eyes bore into yours, a storm of curiosity and hesitation swirling within them.

“But what if I do?” His voice was barely above a whisper. The steel blue pinned you in place, raw and searching, like he was trying to unearth the pieces of you you’d been holding tightly to your chest.

“Bucky, don’t,” you choked out as tears spilled anew. “I’m scared enough already. I’ve shown you too much—I’ve said way too much.” You let out a shaky laugh, more bitter than amused. “I’m terrified you’ll run out that door the second I look away. Don’t make me say it. Please don’t.”

His grip tightened, his forehead falling against yours as his weight settled between your legs, making you inhale sharply at the sensation. His breath ghosted against your lips, steady and grounding, as his voice came soft but resolute. “What do you need, then? Tell me, doll.”

“Just kiss me,” you pleaded, fingers dragging over the stubble on his jaw, thumb brushing over his bottom lip, eyes searching his like you couldn’t decide where to look, how to touch. “Keep my mouth shut, will you?” Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your legs tightening around his waist. “Do it until I forget my name.”

He let out a breath and you saw the glassiness in his eyes, your own emotion reflected on his as he turned to press a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “As long as you don’t forget mine,” his voice soft and reverent, as though the thought of you forgetting him was too much to bear. Leaning down until all of his weight was on yours, his tongue slipped into your mouth with a possessive stroke that sent heat pooling in your center.

“I could never,” you breathed, words mumbled, arching up when his hand found its way under your shirt to find soft, warm skin. “I could never forget you, James.”

#bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x reader smut #bucky fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fan fiction #marvel fanfic

907 notes · View notes

hivemuthur · 1 month ago

Note

Eee sorry about the vague request lol. I'm thinking maybe reader is unknowingly giving someone else a lil too much attention at a house party or something like that and Vik gets jealous and pouty about it and reader makes it up to him 👀👀

Clearly im not great at wording requests lol, I hope this makes sense

Hi! I love you, so after I've written the first part of smut for this, I went to pray to the smut fairy and she gave me more smut :v @rennethen we thank you, we bow to you. And yes, there is no other point to this story than smut, because we had a lot of emotional stuff happening on this blog in the last couple of days :')

Eat Me

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! Viktor is jealous, therefore: smut, also dom!Viktor

word count: 3,3K

—

“Yes, I suppose you could say that,” you laughed sheepishly at—what was his name again? Mark? Maurice? Never mind, you politely laughed at his joke. Somewhere in the middle of this conversation, you had felt Viktor’s hand slip off the small of your back as he walked away to have a chat with Jayce. You could swear you heard a sigh accompanying the action, but the number of people talking at you simultaneously was too great to stir your mind to focus on one thing.

You looked around the room; the party had visibly dispersed into small groups— a few people splayed on the floor, talking in hushed voices; a smoking gang squished on the small balcony; a not-very-promising-looking queue to the bathroom; very loud voices coming from the kitchen, where some groundbreaking conversations were definitely taking place. Exactly opposite you and Mark—or Maurice—Viktor stood leaning on the doorframe, a glass hanging limply from his hand. He seemed very determined not to glance in your direction, no matter how many smiles you tried to send him.

You remained unalarmed until it was Mark’s—or Maurice’s—hand travelling to the small of your back, his mouth closing in on your ear to whisper, “So… can I get your number?”

At that point, Viktor scoffed and retreated into the corridor, out of your sight. You shifted uncomfortably, sliding yourself away from the intruder’s touch, and squeaked, “Eh, sorry, I don’t think… I don’t think my boyfriend would be happy about it, you know?”

Mark—or Maurice—raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, saying, “Forgive me, I didn’t know. Enjoy the party.” He patted you on the shoulder, his touch immediately shifting from seductive to friendly, his eyes moving from your cleavage to your face, and began snaking deeper into the room, leaving you alone and a little stunned by the windowsill. Huh, that obvious.

You downed your drink and left the glass behind, ready to find the lost boyfriend. You searched Jayce’s cramped apartment room by room, people trying to pull you in for a drink occasionally slowing your progress. Jayce, already moderately drunk and flushed from all the hands invading his personal space, pointed you toward his study. The door was ajar, and a faint glimmer of light was coming from inside.

“Hello?” You peeked your head through the door, only to see Viktor slumped behind Jayce’s desk, engrossed in a book. He didn’t look up at you and only threw you a dry, “Hello,” in return.

“Tired of the crowd, hmm?” you hummed after slipping inside and leaning over the desk opposite him. Your fingers tapped on the wood, awaiting a reply, only to be given the cold shoulder in the form of a quiet, dismissive hum. “Well, do you want to go home?” you tried again, inching your fingers to sneak under his sleeves, and Viktor shuddered.

“Home? No, I am quite content where I am. Also—” he paused as his eyes landed on your hands before retreating further into the chair to avoid your touch. “You seemed quite content with where you were as well,” he retorted, flipping to the next page.

“I’m not sure I quite follow?” You gave him a puzzled look, hoping he saw at least a glimpse of it from the corner of his eye. “Viktor?” you asked, splaying yourself all the way across the desk to pluck the book from his hands. “Why are you not looking at me?”

He sighed, his hands frozen in the air exactly where the book had been a second ago, and finally did look at you, at which point you started to wish he hadn’t.

“You were in quite stimulating company, no? Has Gregory abandoned you that you decided to pay me a visit?” Ah, yes, Gregory, not Mark or Maurice. He gave you a cold stare and an unforgiving smirk, and you choked on a snort.

“Excuse me? Viktor, are you being jealous?” You were now both leaning over the desk, playing a game of stares. Viktor blinked first but made it look like he had won.

“From where I was standing—and I will add that it was many different angles I got to observe—he was quite ready to eat you all right up,” he cocked his head to the side and left you to deal with the statement.

“Eat me? We were just talking,” you said, pointing your finger between the two of you to accentuate that, up until some point, Viktor had also been a part of the conversation. Realising the new round of the staring game had just begun, you relented, “Still—that’s completely irrelevant, as the only person I would wish to eat me is you.”

“That’s very unfortunate then, given that I seem to have lost my appetite.” Viktor took the opening and squeezed it dry. He picked up the book, opened it to a random page, and pretended to sink back into reading.

You straightened, taken aback by this... ridiculous display of mistrust. A smile played under your nose as you circled around the desk, turned the chair to make Viktor face you, and leaned in to touch his mouth with yours. “Are you sure I can’t even interest you in a snack?” you murmured against his lips, placing a lingering kiss there.

Viktor didn’t move, and soon you felt the handle of his cane poking at your stomach, beckoning you away. You shot him a questioning look and moved the cane aside with your hand, only for it to return to where it was, his eyes still fixed on the book. “I said, I am not hungry,” he said, his tone feigning exhaustion.

“Really? Are you telling me you would rather read—” you paused to take the book away and glance at the cover, “Jayce’s journal, rather than quit this pointless display of sulk and spend some time with me?” You held it expectantly in your hand, bemused.

“Yes. And give it back now.” He leaned forward, his hand reaching for the tome, only for you to swing it behind your back and move your body so your face met his.

“What will I get in return?” you asked sweetly, your breath ghosting his cheek. But Viktor wouldn’t give in. He shifted away, gluing his spine to the chair’s backrest.

“How about freedom to roam the party as you please, with whomever you please? Ah, right, apologies—it seems you already took that opportunity,” he mused, his tone almost annoyed as he kept his hand extended, expecting the stolen good to be returned.

“Viktor—” you scolded, growing more and more impatient. The book dropped to the desk with a thump, and before Viktor could reach for it, you straddled his lap, ignoring all the huffs of protest and palms trying to push you away. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your face to his, whispering into his ear, your voice needy and keen, “What I want is my man to stop sulking. I can apologize, if you let me.”

Viktor hesitated until his hands rested on your hips, the rest of him still frozen in place. “I’m listening,” he muttered, causing a satisfied smirk to bloom on your lips.

You took the cue and slid your palms flat onto his chest, tugging at his collar. “Well, how would you like your apology to be served, mister?” You licked at the seam of his mouth and sucked on the crown of his upper lip. Viktor allowed it but still wouldn’t engage much, keeping his façade of a man who was hurt. Your tongue travelled down to his jaw, then up to the pulse point below his ear. Finally, you were rewarded with a shudder and a sigh. “Hmm, that seems to be working, no?”

“I’d say your little stunt requires some more remorse to be shown for me to forgive you entirely, my girl,” he murmured, his hands squeezing your hips in tandem with a grunt coming out of his mouth.

“Remorse, huh? I might know one universal way to repent,” you said, sliding off him to the floor, your knees resting on the carpet between his feet, your fingers already tugging at the buckle of his belt. “I’ve heard begging on one’s knees can work wonders.”

He uttered a quiet fuck along with your name, eyes fixed on yours, as you beckoned him to lift his hips, allowing you to slide his pants down his legs. His thumb brushed on your lower lip as he gave you a thoughtful look. “Show me. How sorry you are.”

You smiled and propped your hands on his hips, as you leaned in to tease him. His cock was still soft, twitching slightly under your breath. You began to place lingering kisses across his length, all the way from his balls to the tip, not moving it from the crease of his hip where it rested. Then, you flipped it to the other side with your nose and proceeded to do the same, from the top to bottom, watching it harden after each peck.

Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into your hair, as he pressed his hips into your face and rasped, “I will have to see some more initiative if you want me to believe you.”

You immediately responded with opening your mouth and letting him drag his half-hard length on it, his cock now splayed between your mouth, side of your nose, the tip resting somewhere around your eyebrow, smearing your own spit all over your face. Viktor’s brows pinched together, his lips parted into a toothy smile as he sat back down. “Good,” was the only praise you got so far, and you felt yourself aching for an addition of girl next to it.

Your kisses deepened, more passionate and lingering on the base, your tongue reaching down to his perineum, releasing a startled chuckle somewhere from the depth of his chest. You cocked your head, taking the side of his cock between your lips and started dragging it leisurely up and down, pausing to tease a sensitive spot below the head with the tip of your tongue.

Viktor remained still, his hand resting tangled into your hair, the other gripping the arm rest tightly as his eyes followed your every movement. You glanced up to meet his gaze—blown pupils, cheeks already flushed, lips shining from constant licking. Pleased with the view, you took him in your hand and patted the head of his cock on your flattened tongue, baring your teeth in a smile when his eyes rolled back, and he gave you a quiet ah sound as a reward.

“I feel like you are enjoying it far too much for a proper atonement,” he smirked. Before you could respond, he gripped your hair tighter, motioning your head to rest on his lap, as he slid himself inside your mouth. You groaned against him, grabbing his forearm and he only tsk-ed at you. “Bad girl. Tongue out, breathe through your nose,” he commanded, and you immediately obliged.

He fucked your throat steadily, retreating right before you were about to gag, soft praises falling from his lips. He watched himself appearing and disappearing between your lips and the hand that was previously whitening at the armrest travelled to cup your face and caress your cheek. You closed your eyes at the touch and let the drool roll out of your mouth onto his thigh, your breath heavy through your nose as you tried to even out its rhythm with the one of his thrusts.

He retreated to rub himself all over your face, smearing your makeup in the process. “So pretty like this,” he cooed, stroking your hair. “Are you sorry?”

You nodded, looking at him from under glued eyelashes. And Viktor looked so in love you couldn’t help a smile forcing itself onto your lips.

“Let’s apologize some more, are you ready?” he asked hoarsely, already lining himself against your mouth. Wordlessly, you opened, splaying your tongue out, coating your teeth with your lips to avoid any accidental scratches. He pushed himself deeper, tickling your uvula, while plugging your nose with his fingers and holding you in position.

“Are you sorry?” He leaned in to whisper into your ear, and you nodded, as much as you could. Obediently, you stayed for as long as your breath allowed you to, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes, before patting his thigh three times, and Viktor released you with a loud groan, spit glistening on his length.

“Good girl,” he breathed, and you felt something perking up inside you as you reached back out for him to suck on his head. He leaned in the chair, granting a few languid rolls of his hips into your mouth, whispering quiet praises when you gagged yourself on his cock. Undying affection seeping from his eyes, from his touch, pumped air into your lungs, when your nose couldn’t.

“Will you be a good girl and eat me up?” he asked, feeling the lance of lust twisting his guts, his movements speeding up, his breath hitching and you mumbled something sounding like a yes against his thrusts.

His body curled in, hands cupping your face, thumbs digging into your cheeks, wiping your tears away. You felt him hitting the back of your throat a couple of times, drool leaking out with each movement in and out, before his stomach tensed up and he coated the inside of your mouth with his cum, distantly whispering “Yes, yes, good girl.”

You swallowed the salt of him, not letting him out, making sure to lick down every last drop. Viktor shuddered, suddenly overstimulated, and gently pulled you up to sit back on his lap. The thin layer of your knickers so wet it almost disappeared as your cunt pressed on his softening cock. He licked his thumb to clean the smears of mascara cascading down your cheeks and murmured, “You did very well. I forgive you,” before kissing you on the mouth lovingly.

A giggle forced itself out of you, as you wrapped your arms around him and nuzzled your face into his neck. “Were you really so upset?” You asked quietly, tracing your fingers up and down his chest.

“Of course not,” he chuckled, massaging the nape of your neck. “I wanted to see how willing you would be to apologize though.”

“You are such a bastard,” you smacked his chest and bit his neck, making him wiggle and wince underneath you. “Now you have to apologize to me.”

“If you accept apologies delivered while laying on my stomach, I am willing,” he stated with a shit-eating grin. His expression softened, when he asked, “How are you feeling?”

“Well, tricked!” you exclaimed, narrowing your eyes at him. “I’m alright. Pleasantly full, I might add,” you added with a smirk and placed a peck on his lips. “You?”

“Eh, quite alright myself. Pleasantly devoured, though slightly hungry,” he mused, nipping at your lip, before deepening the kiss. You felt breathless again, his hands sneaking under your shirt, when you mustered some strength to pull away and breathe into his mouth, “I might have something to eat for you when we get home.”

“Or—” Viktor cocked his head, eyeing your knees with a knowing smile.

“Or… what?” You arched your brow, knowing exactly where this was going. Viktor licked his lips.

“What if I am too hungry to wait? Would you accept my apology now?” He asked and his smirk deepened as he tapped your hip three times signalling you to stand up. “And maybe lock the door? For a good measure. Unless, of course, it was a part of your little plan.” His eyes feigned innocence as he played idly with the hem of your skirt, and you could feel your face flush red. Of course, the door was still ajar.

“R-right,” you stuttered sheepishly and went to lock it, your legs wonky. You almost skipped coming back to where Viktor’s finger was pointing on the desk. He let you in between him on a chair and the edge of the wood and pushed his palms flat underneath your skirt to yank your knickers down to your ankles. You shuddered at the sensation of the material ungluing itself from you.

“Up,” he commanded and once you were seated, he leaned down to pick up your underwear, sniff it obscenely to finally put it in his pocket. Your eyes were so transfixed on the action, that the touch of his hands under your knees startled you, as he scooted the chair closer to the desk and hooked them over his shoulders.

And then he paused, eyes staring at your weeping cunt, his breaths deep and steady as he inhaled your scent. “To think you would let this waste and make me wait until we get home deserves a punishment in itself, I might say,” he murmured and the hot air coming from his mouth fanned your skin. His flat palm travelled up from your navel to your stomach, pressing you to lay down.

He didn’t wait for your spine to meet the desk fully, so when he dived in, the back of your head hit the wood with a quiet thump. His tongue stroke a rapid lick along your seam before coming to your clit with a chuckled hum of approval. A very vocal moan pushed itself past your mouth and you were grateful to your past self for closing that door. Soon your voice pitched higher as you breathed an incomprehensive, “Ah, Viktor,” while trying to bring your hips closer to his face, but his grip on you rendered it utterly impossible. His licks, fast and precise, caused your thighs to shake on his shoulders.

His hand slid from pressing on your stomach down to your navel, his thumb brushing your clit, when he asked hoarsely, “And what do we say to a Gregory, next time we meet him, hm?”

Completely confused and frustrated at the sudden change you managed to rasp, “Who?” and Viktor chuckled warmly, straight into you. “Good girl.”

His tongue slid down to your entrance, giving you shallow thrusts, while his thumb rubbed even circles on your clit, keeping the previous pace. Another thump of your head, fingers whitening at the edge of the desk as you tried desperately to move underneath him.

He began to deepen his movements, pressing his face hungrily into your cunt. Feeling your walls closing down on his tongue and mouth, his thumb picked up the pace. And you felt it so strongly, the orgasm wrenched out of you, built up by the last hour of apologizing on your knees. You felt it down to your toes, your heels digging into Viktor’s ribs as he hummed into you, drinking you all up, and keeping your thighs hooked with his arms. Only when you patted his shoulders blindly, he released you, placing one last kiss on your pubic bone.

You pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes, exhaling shakily, your chest heaving. You heard him getting up, allowing your legs to hang limply from the edge of the desk, as he circled around it, and took your jaw in his hand. He leaned in to give you a sweet kiss on the mouth and asked, “Am I forgiven?”

“Yes. Am I?” you murmured against his lips, and he smiled again.

“Not sure. You might want to check again at home.”

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #requests

635 notes · View notes

hazelfoureyes · 10 months ago

Text

The Big Part (2)

Part 1

Alastor x Recently deflowered fem reader

Alastor had said he saved something for the next night after taking your virginity, and after what felt like a month and more of waiting, the next night finally came. As did Alastor. Multiple times.

「warnings/promises: smut, p in v, creampie, demon Alastor, Alastor isn’t so nice tonight cuz he’s ready to bust a nut babe sorry, cervix hulk smashed, drooling, lotsa cum, sex with the lights on, pretzel reader, curiosity killed the pussy cat, dom Alastor, organs shifted, it’s 2am so my proofreading may be shit」

Part 2

The Big Part: Bigger and Wetter

minors dni pls thank you bbs

Were you a whore? Or one of those sex addicted nymphos?

Ever since Alastor slid out of you and left you alone you could still feel him. A phantom limb of sorts, nestled between your legs and sunk to the hilt.

Was that normal? You couldn’t be sure. Not that you could ask anyone. Once again, same dilemma, Husk would groan and shoo you away. Angel would just start describing all of the dicks he wished he still felt.

More pressing, somehow, was the fact Alastor had scheduled to return tonight. Same time. You had no idea what time you’d been shadow portalled into your room the previous night.

To be safe, you returned to your room as soon as nightfall came. What if he came and you hadn’t been there? What if he never came back at all?

Despite your best efforts, you hadn’t seen him since he, you buried your head in your hands to hide from no one, deflowered you. What a silly word. You’d be a mess of damp pedals and scattered pollen had you been a flower.

Biology of plants aside, the word pollen brought to mind the ‘first’ you’d be treated to soon. You crossed your legs, the idea of making Alastor cum was exciting enough. But to feel it? You couldn’t imagine.

But you wanted to.

Scooting back onto the bed, you settled under the covers. Maybe that craving would be cured with a little imagination. With embarrassing speed, you slipped your hand into your pants and down to your core. You were already so wet just from thinking about Alastor. Nearly pathetic levels of aroused, panties soaked. Kicking off your pants and underwear, you let your fingers feel at your entrance for the first time since Alastor pulled out. You didn’t feel different to the touch. But there was a throbbing ache inside you.

Your nondominant hand snaked around your thigh. One finger, then two, you remembered his hips against your body. The way he told you to make yourself orgasm.

It wasn’t enough. You managed a third finger. Your free hand came to your clit. He’d just been there. Less than 24 hours before, you and he occupied the same space.

The hunger didn’t ebb. It wasn’t the size, or the speed, your newly greedy cunt wanted someone. Maybe fingers would never again be enough to satisfy you. Had Alastor knowingly cursed you to a lifelong addiction? You could almost hear him, smirk in his voice, “Missing me that much already?”

Your hand flew from your body, pitched knees caving in. You thought your heart might squeeze through the confines of your ribs from fright. As you looked over the blanket, there stood Alastor leaning on his microphone. His eyes were sharp, moving from your face to your lap and back.

“It’s a little rude to start the festivities before all the guests have arrived.” His hand gripped the blanket and yanked it off of you and the bed entirely. Exposed, your hands came back down to hide yourself which only made the deer demon laugh. “Darling, what’s there to hide?”

His shadow slithered up the wall behind him, voice crackling as an old radio filter cut through, “I’ve done more than look at you already.”

That somehow didn’t make it any less embarrassing. More so, as you thought about it. He’d done so much more than look. Alastor had been inside you.

When you didn’t say anything, he put one knee onto your bed and leaned forward. He used his microphone to slot between your legs and spread them open, “Remove your hands.”

You didn’t immediately respond.

“Oh, sorry,” a glow from his eyes as his head tilted unnaturally, “I suppose I wasn’t clear. That wasn’t a request, dear. If we’re going to do this you’re going to have to do as you’re told.” The tone of his voice paired with his changing eyes made you tremble. Your hands slipped up your stomach as you let him take in the sight of your glistening lips, already wet from your lazy fingering. “Good girl.”

He watched you clench and you swore you saw him swallow hard in response. A hum, “I’ll save that for tomorrow. Now!” He clapped, microphone flashing out of existence, “I believe we have a date. A new first for the taking.”

He was particularly excited about this one. Taking your virginity was definitely an amusing trophy but the idea of seeding your still virginal womb brought a twisted smile to his face. First in life and death to mark you from the inside.

Alastor had spent all day avoiding you. He was quite worried just the sight of your hips swaying as you moved down the hall would incite him to take hold and bend you over the nearest surface. He hadn’t had sex in quite a while before your offer, but this little advent calendar of firsts you had so easily agreed to was triggering unusual reactions from him. His mind was plagued with all the ways he could change you. All of the sounds you’d offer him exclusive first rights to enjoying. All of the little flashes of fear and embarrassment you’d display as he claimed new parts of your body with his own.

Already hard and throbbing in his pants, he knew he wouldn’t last too long. But luckily he had every intention of drowning your pussy so that wouldn’t be an issue.

You watched his half lidded eyes scan over your body, tongue swiping over his lips. A fox in the hen house.

“You’ve already prepared I see! How considerate.” He inched closer. One hand removing his belt and pulling his leaking cock out in a scene you were happy to repeat, his other hand came to your entrance. Three fingers pushed into you, longer and thicker than your own. Immediately your expression shifted from embarrassed to debauched. That burn of his stretch was reminding you of how much he opened you up the night before.

You hadn’t realized you’d closed your eyes until they popped open in response to an unexpected sound. A lusty sigh coming from Alastor, his hand gripping the base of his member tightly as he finger fucked you. Being unsure what he was doing didn’t stop you from gripping his fingers tighter. Did it feel good for him to hold so tightly at himself? You clamped down again, his fingers stilling. Finally his eyes left your lap to meet your stare, following your line of sight to his hand around his cock.

“Perhaps,” his fingers pulled out, “You aren’t the only one eager to continue yesterday’s games.”

Games. You wouldn’t call any of this a game. But you were happy to play along if it meant that ache would soon be calmed.

A pick up in your heart rate as he began undressing.

“Why today? Why get naked today?” A sharp look made you shrink, “I’m not complaining just…curious.”

A roll of his eyes, “I don’t want to stain my pants.”

Your eyes closed, needing a moment to calm down. What did that mean. Stain? With what??

You’d seen porn before, you weren’t completely naive. How much exactly would he…you opened your eyes, his face close to yours.

Mind blank. Skull entirely hollow as a clawed finger traced down your cheek. Gentle. Uncharacteristically gentle. Frighteningly gentle.

His nose grazed yours, hand tilting your face slightly so his mouth could ghost over yours without hitting against your nose. His smile open and letting his hot breath roll over your lips and chin.

Your eyes screwed shut, gasping sharply as you were taken by surprise by his sudden and complete entrance into you. Alastor had gotten close to drink in your expression when he entered you. He bottomed out in one move, a soft slap of his body hitting into yours. His sharp and predatory expression softening with the feeling of you surrounding him entirely. He hadn’t expected to react that way so he had no time to try and steel against the pleasured response.

An honest and open moment between you both, before his usual unbothered demeanor returned.

“Much easier than before, right, dear?”

You could almost feel his grin on your skin. The ache dulled but didn’t leave you. Without thinking your hips rolled against him, itching for the friction your body craved.

Alastor was entirely taken aback. Whimpering virgin turned hungry doe. His hands came to your hips and held you still, genuinely making you whimper.

“Now now, you’re getting ahead of yourself.” his nails dug into your flesh.

Hitched breath, clenching now around the firm but yielding length spreading you open at the center. His head fell down slightly as shadows grew up the walls. Little prongs stretching out before his hips pushed against you. No drawback, just a deeper press. Your delicate but hungry organ moved with his intrusion and pulled a gasp from you.

Black dripped from his lips as sharp teeth cut against his grin before his eyes came up to meet yours, “Do you want me to take more of your first experiences?”

Voice heavy as it hit the air between you, the murmur of a waiting audience crisp and distant behind his tone.

You nodded. Of course you did. After the previous night you were desperate to feel everything you’d been missing out on.

His hips rolled into yours, pushing your stomach up with his length.

A moan, delayed as your senses were struggling to understand the still novel sensations.

“Say it.”

Not a request.

“I want you-.”

“Alastor.”

“I want you, Alastor, to take more firsts.”

His hips rolled again, that infamous grin reaching his ears. “Use your manners, my little doe.”

Another involuntary spasm around him, “Please.”

As if he was prepared for your answer, because he was, because he knew there was no other answer, his body was ready with a snap of his hips. “Perhaps I was too accommodating last night?” Another languid and punishing roll of his hips that started at his chest, allowing his entire length to slip out of you before just as easily pushing back in. Your eyes slid shut, mind fractured as it focused on the claws pressing into your flesh, on the still slight burn of your opening stretching at his widest part, at his voice making your body shiver.

A tiny part of you thought you may actually die if he didn’t pick up the pace.

He considered trying to keep his release at bay, but knew he’d have time to enjoy you as many times as he wanted. Your unspoken wish granted, his speed jumping from lazy and considered to determined and frantic. The warmth you provided, the slick wetness he coaxed out of you, all of it was thickening the fog of his mind. Finding an even rhythm to pull back the tension of his orgasm, you found yourself scrambling under him. The goal was definitely different now than the prior night, and as your eyes opened you could see he had clenched his shut. You knew what was coming, and though you weren’t actively trying to cum you still found a building pressure in your gut.

When your legs began to kick up to make some distance between his cock and your cervix, the pace so deep and rushed your body was feeling overstimulated already, his hands grabbed both ankles and pressed them as far up as your muscles could stretch. Your knees nearly pressed into your shoulders, raptured groans escaping you when you could feel all you’d done was allow him deeper access to you.

“Al-ah!” His name was too long, much like the other part of him choking you up now. Helpless to stop it, panicked by the feeling, you felt tears forming as your orgasm was truly forced out of you. You saw white as you trembled, crying out little pleas for him to let up the stimulation but he wasn’t listening anymore. His ears were pressed to his skull and ringing, heartbeat pounding in his head and down his cock.

What a help you were, squeezing him like your body needed his release as badly as he wanted to give it. You felt the heat of his seed filling you before his hips slowed, not stopping but pulling out more and more with every thrust until he was finishing on your lower lips.

His clawed thumb wiped the dripping liquid up and down your folds. Dirty. But dirtied by him, before anyone else. Alastor watched the way your hole twitched and wanted to devour you.

A moment finally of relief for your nerves, you tried to stop the way your pussy was twitching and working his cum deeper inside. You were surprised how hot you found it, a strange swelling of your pride at your body making him cum and a deep satisfaction at feeling that warm liquid coating your walls. Oh no, another addiction? Something else your fingers could never do…

You felt sleepy, emotionally rocked and physically spent, you sighed dramatically, “Alastor-,”

His other hand released your ankle but instead of pulling away, he gripped your hips and rolled you to your stomach.

A second of panicked confusion. “What are you doing?” You lifted yourself up on your elbows and looked back. Wide and creaking antlers loomed over you, eyes black and pupils red looking straight through you. Hungry.

Something possessed you, not quite fear. Something even more base than that took in the demonic Alastor and felt compelled to raise your hips. “Alastor?” A little purposeful clenching, semen slipping past your still untouched clit and dribbling down your thighs and stomach as your head lowered back to the bed.

Following an order you hadn’t been given yet was easy when his eyes were locked on your core. You whined, a new position meant a new angle so you held tightly to one of your pillows in anticipation.

Your face pressed into the pillow as his body rubbed against yours. The hands on your thighs scratching upwards, “Words, sweetheart.” Deeper than before, scratchy and strained.

Biting your lip you considered just spontaneously combusting and turning to ash, but you wanted to feel more, you needed to see what else he could offer. Curiosity, pussy cats, a joke you couldn’t find the functioning neurons to piece together as you struggled to squeak out, “Are you done, Alastor? Or, I can k-keep going.” The heat of your blush threatened to follow through with the combustion, face burning with embarrassment for saying something so needy.

He knew you could. Lubed and softened, Alastor’s dick pressed into you and sank in with ease. That was the only response you received. Your body, for the first time ever, felt like it was made to take him. Everything felt swollen and sensitive as his still hard member pulled and pushed at your walls. The kind of sounds people paid to hear were filling the room, your moans long and deep now. The wet slap of his balls against your pussy sounded so sharp against the rounded breaths you seemed to sigh out.

Despite his sudden increase in size, your body gave way easily. Rutting into you, Alastor felt like a lesser creature. How rarely he dropped the more complicated facets of being an overlord and just let the demon in him dictate his moves. You were a different feast entirely to the lowly shark sinners he so easily took apart some time ago. A different kind hunger being satiated and stoked again in a lustful cycle.

It felt like you were molded to him, forgetting his shape and learning it anew every time he buried himself into you. Looking down through the sharp contrast his demon form offered he could see himself being taken in deeper than before. He regretted suddenly not looking for the bulge he surely made earlier in your stomach as he had the night before.

Your body had bones, you were sure of it, but you collapsed like jelly into the mattress. Alastor’s hips followed yours down, never missing a beat as he continued a bruising force. Your mind was swimming as your brain was 80% pleasure reception and 20% breathing deep enough to stay conscious. Heart beat dictated by the pitch of his breath.

Drool soaked into your pillow, cum dripping down onto your blankets. Sweat slick body rocking into the bed as you felt a pulse at your clit. The electricity a response to your thoughts, your realization you were a cocksleeve for the cruelest overlord in recent memory. Was this an achievement? It felt like one. Another, louder moan from you as his breaths turned to growls.

The blankets were ripped as his clawed hands balled into fists around you.

What an education you were receiving. What a thorough teacher Alastor was for you. Your body already responding so well to your new lessons.

A daring move that got you scolded earlier but you pushed your ass back up into his body to greet him. This time Alastor was happy for it, the softness of your ass shaking as he humped down into your wet heat. Soft flesh he wanted to grip and bruise and scratch but he kept enough of himself to remember you were breakable.

Too new still for a lesson on pain. No, right, he was supposed to be offering you the new sensations of being seeded.

Your hips were fucked off the bed as his speed quickened, your back bending uncomfortably. You bit into the corner of the pillow, needing to do something with the static ricocheting inside your body. A flicker of the lights you had forgotten were still on was the only warning before both of his hands came to press between your shoulders and pin you down. A set of three thrusts, each deeper than the last as he came a second time.

Your legs kicked up again, hitting lightly at the back of his legs as he reached a new depth, twinge of pain deep in your center as he pressed.

With a sigh, all of the air left your lungs. His hands slid down your back with a tickle, holding your cheeks open so he could watch himself pull out of you entirely.

Voice and body back to normal, Alastor patted softly at your thighs, “Thoroughly fucked now, dear. I’d say your pesky virginity has been completely and utterly taken.”

You couldn’t reply, brain going quiet as a blissed out sleep creeped up your spine.

“Happy to be of service, do come find me when you’re ready for my help again.” Was all you heard before his laugh was fading away. Either into the darkness of your dreams or into his own shadow, you couldn’t be sure. You were out cold before that laughter went quiet.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , , @fizzled-phoenix , @phobophobular , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk , @bontensbabygirl

#alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin alastor #fanfiction

1K notes · View notes

gtgbabie0 · 2 months ago

Text

-Vi x Wife!Reader

Synopsis: {A cozy, snowy morning with Vi and your daughter}

For my other works my Masterlist is here <3

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

“Mm, five more minutes,” Vi mutters from behind you, the words whispered into the nape of your neck with one arm draped over your waist and the other stuffed under your pillow. She had said the same thing about ten minutes ago and still wasn’t ready to let you go from her warm embrace.

You chuckle softly, the sound slightly muffled into the silken fabric of the pillows, which brings a smile to Vi’s lips— her rough palm moving to rest over the curve of your hip, rubbing soothingly in a not-so-subtle attempt to keep you in bed and pressed up against her.

“I gotta prepare bottles, she’ll be awake soon.” You tell her with a tender voice, melting back into her chest as her hand gently caresses over your tummy, slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt you’re wearing.

Your daughter had a very specific routine that the pair of you had already grown accustomed to after many sleepless nights and teary breakdowns—all of which Vi had soothed you down through.

“Mhm, can’t have her screaming the house down.” Vi sighs, pressing a gentle kiss to the space behind your ear as you hum in agreement. Yeah, you both had learned a while back not to sleep in when you got woken up by Harper’s cries one fatal morning.

With that you’re pushing yourself up, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to wake your bones up. A small sigh escapes you as Vi’s hand rubs your back slowly— admiring the way the low morning sun casts a muted light through the room and over your pretty face from behind the curtains and it takes everything in her not to pull you back down into her arms.

“You’re so pretty, my pretty girl.” She drawls, a sleep-laden tone with a certain roughness that shoots a slight shiver down your spine— and the fact that she was still trailing her fingertips along the small of your back certainly didn’t help.

She sits up, immediately pressing her nose into the back of your neck with a small hum as she breaths you in deeply— you could feel her smile against your skin. “Violet.” You warn her, though your resolve is weaker than sugar paper when it comes to her and the way her lips feel along your bare shoulders.

“Mhm?” She hums, running the tip of her nose along your jaw.

“It’s already half nine—”

“Alright, alright, I’ll go make a start on the coffee,” Vi announces, with a playfully dramatic groan, bumping her shoulder into yours softly.

“Mm, thank you. I’ll wake up sleeping beauty.” You turn to face her, leaning into her hand as she brushes a lock of hair behind your ear.

“M'kay gorgeous.” She smirks, pressing a kiss to your cheek then another and another and another until they get slobbery and you have to physically push her away with a giggle.

The homely scent of coffee fills the house with wisps of some festive candle— spiced berries and cinnamon or something like that— Vi had picked out the last time you went shopping, she has a knack for picking the best smells at the cost of her completely forgetting the shopping list and becoming distracted by everything.

You were standing by the window, admiring the white fluffiness that has coated the shrubbery and pavement— ice frosted over the windows in intricate swirls. Harper was cuddled up in your arms, in that ridiculous reindeer onesie that was a little too big for her— one of Vi’s marvellous finds as you wait for her bottle to finish warming up.

“Wow, she’s a chatterbox this morning.” Vi chuckles warmly, standing up behind you with a hand splayed across the small of your back— snaking around to settle on your hip, her other reaches to twirl a curl of Harper’s hair around her finger as she continues to blabber nonsense and blows raspberries up at you.

“I think she wants to go out in the snow.” You smile, turning your head to the side to look at Vi as your daughter fists at the fabric of your shirt— still making nonsensical noises.

Your wife catches the glint in your eyes, the way they sparkle up with a playfulness she’s grown to adore— it gives away your real intentions.

“Yeah, does she now, or is this just you using our daughter as an excuse to go play out in the snow?” You nod at her words, a sheepish giggle bubbling up from you, as she pulls you into her, kissing your temple. “You big child.” She adds, giving your warm cheek another peck.

Vi couldn’t lie, it did look tempting as much as she hated the cold and the way the winter air always made her nose run— she’d endure just about anything to see you and Harper smile.

“We’ll take her out after breakfast,” Vi promises, glancing over to the snowy scenery outside— her soft lips ghosting over your jaw as she speaks. A small hushed, celebratory “yes” escapes your lips in response as you bounce Harper in your arms excitedly and your daughter shares your elation in complete unawareness.

The sound of the bottle warmer pinging causes Harper to let out a tiny squeal, her eyes going all wide and glossy as if she knew exactly what the noise meant, food— and you had no doubt that she did.

“C’mere peanut, give momma’s back a break.” Vi coos softly, taking Harper from your arms— “Go get something to eat, I’ll feed her.”

You smile at her in appreciation, a tender look settling over your face as you watch your little one nuzzle into Vi’s shoulder. Her tiny hands fisting into your wife’s hair in fascination with colour to which she gently tries to pry them away, persuading her daughter with a delicious bottle of warm milk— she happily takes it.

You pop some bread into the toaster, knowing that the pair of you really shouldn't eat cinnamon rolls for the fourth morning in a row— despite how Christmassy you felt, Vi had a “figure to maintain”

The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree paint a pretty glow through the living space and into the attached dining room— decorations stretched across the ceiling in colours of reds, golds and greens an endearing tackiness to them that made it feel oh so cosy.

Your socked foot rubs against Vi’s ankle as the pair of you sit at the table— a mix of strawberry and peach jam toast and coffee between you whilst Vi feeds Harper, who is staring up at the ceiling decks with wide curious eyes that flicker around, the festive tunes on the radio were clearly intriguing her.

“Love you,” Vi winks, pushing her foot against your own beneath the table as you take a big bite of jammy toast— you swear she does this on purpose, waiting until your mouth is full before talking to you just to watch you flush and panic.

“Mhm, love you too.” You finally manage to get out, wiping the corners of your mouth as a warm smile stretches over your face at the sight of her leaning down to press a kiss against Harper's forehead— what a tender way to spend your mornings.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾

449 notes · View notes

earthtooz · 11 months ago

Text

ratio is jealous bc im weak to him being jealous om, gn!reader but they wear a dress, fluff !!

“darling, this is a serious matter and i expect you to treat it as such,” veritas scolds as his face hovers inches away from yours, his body keeping yours captive against the softness of your shared bed.

“serious? well i think you seriously need to get over it. i spent a lot on that dress and i’ve been looking forward to wearing it to the gala all fortnight,” you scold, trying to look stern with the man hovering above you. “even if you don’t like it, i’m wearing it.”

“don’t like it?" he parrots, utterly appalled. "you’ve got the wrong idea. on the contrary, i think i like it too much.”

your hand snakes up to pinch his heavily defined deltoid. “then what’s the problem?”

“because others will love it just as much as i do.” there’s distaste in his voice when he tells you that, and the way his eyebrows furrow are similar to that of when a student asks him a question that he deems ridiculous.

"sure thing," you roll your eyes at his statement, clearly not believing him, and it vexes him that you are not aware of your ability to capture the attention of bystanders just by entering a room. veritas has witnessed it himself a multitude of times before he had become yours.

the scholar would seethe an envious green whilst keeping an eye on everyone who'd approach you, absolutely burning with jealousy because he was not the sole man of your attention. he'd lament over who he'd become, who you made him become whilst glaring at anyone who came near.

then, you'd smile at him and the fury he felt prior melts away because none of them could ever compete against someone as esteemed as the veritas ratio for your affections.

he's grateful that you saw through those idiots and chose him to be your partner in the end, but aeons, that has not done anything to cure his temper. years of treading the liminal space between friends and something more for too long can make any individual antsy.

"either way, i'm wearing the dress."

"fine. then i should forewarn you that you may find me overbearing tonight, and to not blame me for it."

his arms that were holding up his weight slip when your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him closer to you. veritas feels a little lighter when you litter kisses on his cheeks. "no need to be jealous, ratio, i'm all yours."

(true to his word, he does not part from you that evening, acting as an accessory to your outfit. he clings to you, hand never leaving your skin, always moving from your wrist to your waist to your shoulder. you can’t stray from him for more than an arm's length because you’re always tug back towards him before you can get too far, and then he'd follow you to your destination.

outsiders may observe and call him clingy, but judging by the carefree smile on your face and the way you’d beam at your lover every time he would pull you back to him, it doesn’t seem to bother you too much.)

#earthtooz: honkai star rail #dr ratio x reader #Ratio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #veritas ratio x reader #i want him

2K notes · View notes

too-much-tma-stuff · 1 year ago

Text

Finally Getting Help (prt 7)

Masterpost

Danny was very happy to be dragged around by Damian being introduced to all of his pets, first outside to the barn to meet Bat Cow and his ducks, and the giant weird dragon creature which was so cute!! It was all over Danny too, obviously liked him. Danny had a feeling if he woke up from nightmares or couldn’t sleep he would end up finding his way back to the barn to cuddle up with these animals. At this time of year it would probably be a bit cold and night but the cold never really bothered him and Goliath was warm.

Then back into the house to meet all of the pets, the dogs, and snakes, and Alfred the cat, and finally a second cat and her kittens.

“This one is just a foster,” Damian said, sitting on the bed with his legs crossed in a half lotus as Danny sat on the floor next to the box the mama cat was in with her four little ones. Danny felt like he might cry, it was so cute! The mama was a little wary of him but he was easing her way into her trust and good graces.

“Mhm?” Danny sounded, he was listening but he was scared to move since the mama cat was sniffling his fingers.

“I found her while she was heavily pregnant, feral cats usually have kittens in spring, at this time of year they would have been too vulnerable outside. I’ll rehome them when they’re old enough,” Damian explained. “I was glad I got her to trust me enough that I could be present and make sure nothing went wrong while she had the babies.”

Danny held his breath as he tried to pet the cat. The quiet stretching between them until he felt ready to talk without scaring the cat. “Am I your next pregnant stray,” Danny joked.

Damian gave him a guarded look over. “... I have been told humans don’t like being compared to animals,” He said bluntly, and Danny laughed.

“Ya most don’t. But you take very good care of your animals, when you’re making this comparison, I’m guessing what you’re trying to say is that you’ll do what you can do be here for me and make sure I have what I need for me and the babies to be healthy and safe?” Danny said, giving Damian a fond smile.

“Yes,” Damian said stiffly. This was why he usually preferred animals, they could read his intentions and didn’t require him to say such embarrassingly vulnerable things. At least Danny was saying them for him so he just had to agree.

Danny finished petting the cat and moved to sit next to Damian on the bed. “It’s okay Damian, I really appreciate that. I know handling these emotions can be hard, they feel too big for our bodies and they’re hard to express. I’ll let you in on a secret though, they’re more easy to express physically, and I’m not made of glass just because I’m pregnant. We should spar later.”

“Are you formally trained?” Damian asked stiffly.

“My mother was an expert martial artist and she taught me, but I’m very strong too. I promise you won’t hurt me Damian,” He promised, bumping his shoulder against the kid’s and giving him a smile.

“Alright, I will go easy on you.” Damian promised, just as stiffly.

“Until I prove you can’t afford to,” Danny joked and Damian scoffed and shoved Danny’s shoulder. “But really, thank you Damian. It means a lot that you and your family are willing to stick your necks out for me like this.” He sighed, if he didn’t know better he might have wished his parents had been the ones to protect and support him like this, but wishes were dangerous things.

“This family is made entirely of strays, tragedy is a prerequisite. You’ll fit right in,” Damian promised before getting up from the bed, apparently that was enough emotion. “Do you want to train now?” he asked looking back at Danny.

“Sure, I assume this being the home of the bats and birds there’s some sort of training space?” Danny asked getting up from the bed.

“Yes. This way,” Damian agreed and trotted out of the room with Danny on his heels, making sure to close the door behind him so none of the kittens could wander out.

--------

Jason took off his helmet and dropped it on the couch with a sigh of relief before wandering back into the kitchen to grab a drink. So what if he was technically still too young for it? He’d done a lot worse just in the last 24 hours then half a glass of scotch. He had been off grid for a couple of days on a mission and had just gotten home. He was exhausted and half of him wanted to have his drink and go to bed, leaving his phone off for another day so he could get a proper rest.

But he had responsibilities, both to his gang, his turf, and more recently even to his family, so he turned it back on and grimaced when more than a dozen notifications popped up in a row. Damn, something big must have happened while he was gone. Why could there never be just a quiet day around here?!

He opened the most recent message from Bruce that just said; ‘can you call me when you have the chance?’ which made him sigh. But at the same time, it wasn’t urgent, it was ‘when he had a chance’ not immediately or anger about him not answering sooner. So knowing that he scrolled back down to the oldest message so he could get a feel of what was going on.

Cas, 28 hours ago: New brother! 🤗

Oh, well that was a very good start to the context, it seemed that Bruce was in the process of adopting some other poor schmuck. Well, hopefully they’d do better by it then Jason had. And explained why Bruce wanted him to call, he always worried now how Jason would react to new siblings, as if he wasn’t well over that. He’d only been mad about Tim at first but he wasn’t even Really mad at Tim anymore! Ya he felt the urge to attack him regularly, but only the same way Jason did with everyone else in the family now.

Tim 22 hours ago: I’ve got a favour to ask, or maybe a tip for you depending on how much you want to kill someone right now. Vlad Masters brought a pregnant 16 year old to the gala last night. Apparently he’s the baby daddy.

Oh that had Jason seeing green, his lips pulling back in a silent snarl. That man was good as dead, especially when Jason paused to google him and saw someone who must have been old enough to be the kids Father, if not even grandfather judging by the gray hair!

Tim 19 hours ago: Don’t rush in! Turns out he’s got superpowers of the magical variety. You’re going to have to prepare for this one, and talk to Danny.

Danny must be the new kid then, the pregnant 16 year old Bruce was no doubt making quick steps to at least foster. Where were the kid’s parents in this?

Tana 16 hours ago: Please make sure your wards are set up and you have that anti-possession charm we gave you. There is a situation still developing.

Huh, well, good to know both that she was involved and what sort of powers they might be dealing with.

Tim 8 hours ago: We have the parents in custody but didn’t have the resources to hold Masters. Danny and his sister are staying at the manor for now. You’ll like her, tough-as-nails red head.

Jason rolled his eyes, he dated one amazon and now everyone thinks the only people he’s into are tough ladies! He likes tough boys too god damn it! Why doesn’t no one get after Dickie about this?! (He knows they do.)

The last text from the family before Bruce’s was one from Damian, which was rare.

Damian: Hello Todd, you should know before you meet him that Danny has also previously died and come back. I believe you and he are quite similar and I do not know if that will mean you get along well or if you will repel one another. You should know that if you hurt him there will be consequences.

Well wasn’t that just the cutest! Demon brat didn’t usually get attached to new people so soon.

He texted Bruce back: No I will Not call you. But I can be bribed to come for dinner tomorrow if Alfred makes lasagna.

He checked the messages he had from his lieutenants about business and replied to the ones that needed it. Then the ones from his friends. He was just about to turn his phone off again when he got a text back from Bruce.

Bruce: Done, we’ll see you tomorrow. I’m sorry Jay.

Well that was ominous. Jason sighed and turned off his phone, setting it down on the coffee table and heading to bed. He needed to fucking sleep. Whatever the hell Bruce was sorry for could wait until tomorrow.

--------

Bruce had asked Jasmine for a copy of her slideshow, and Tim for a copy of his notes and updated the files on Danny, Jasmin, Damian, and Jason. He always felt a bit odd about the files he had on his own children, but they were important! Both because his memory wasn’t infallible and he needed to remember all this, and because if he needed to tell someone about his children quickly it was good to have all that already typed out and ready.

Not he was just sitting at the Bat-Computer, staring at the cover picture of the slide show. All of them were so young, and all dead or irrevocably changed by the actions of adults around them. His goal, all their goals, had always been to make a safer world for children, and everyone but especially children. And every time he was confronted with the abject failure to protect a child it tore at his heart. If he found who had blocked them from contacting the JL he was going to have very strong words with them.

“You can’t save every child Master Bruce,” Alfred said making Bruce jump. He must have been staring at the computer for longer then he realized, to not notice the butler’s approach. “There are billions of people on the planet, you cannot catch every single one, especially the clever ones who hide it well. They’re responsible for the harm they cause, not you for not being able to stop it.”

They’d had this conversation before when Bruce got too hanged up on the people he’d failed. He knew that wallowing didn’t do any good, and depression got in the way of action, but he couldn’t always help it. As hyper-logical as he tried to be to compensate, he was still human, and seeing these things would always hurt.

“It’s not just Danny and Jazz,” Bruce said, rubbing his face. “It’s Jason too, I’m trying to figure out how… how what Jazz said about liminals and ghost changes how I feel about him. She says they can look like their immoral but it’s always amoral, following their obsession. I feel like I failed him that this is how he came back. And I blamed him so much, and put him down so much. She said their obsessions have to be supported, if they don’t indulge in their obsessions they die.

“No wonder he’s reacted so negatively every time I talked to him about this revenge quest, this thing that he’s doing. Now that I know I wonder if we can compromise, if we can’t then what? I don’t know if I can blame him at all for what he’s doing, but I know what he’s doing is wrong. I don’t know what to do Alfred.” Bruce said, rubbing his face hard.

“Well, it sounds to me you’re putting the cart before the horse Master Bruce. You haven’t even spoken to him about it yet, and you haven’t slept in more than 24 hours. Sleep, then talk to him, then you’ll know how worried to actually be,” Alfred advised.

“You’re right, as usual,” Bruce chuckled and got up, shutting down the bat computer. “What would I do without you,” He chuckled, patting Alfred’s shoulder affectionately.

“I’m sure you’d be just fine,” Alfred said, in a tone that made it clear he was just being polite and a playful twinkle in his eyes that made Bruce laugh.

“Thank you Alfie. Let’s all get some rest.”

#alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #danny phantom #jasmine fenton #dc x dp #fanfiction #finally getting help au #trans!danny #Danny is pregnant #damian wayne #casandra cain #implied sa #the fentons are bad parents #jason todd #eventual dead on main

1K notes · View notes

roguelov · 2 years ago

Text

Birthmark

Summary: Miguel discovered something he never noticed before on you: a birthmark, one specifically on your lower back side. At a single glance, a primal feeling started to burn inside of him. And there was only one way to satiate him.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Reader: Afab (no fem pronouns used)

Warnings: SMUT (unprotected sex, doggy style, fingering, pull out/cumming on backside, voyeurism, manhandling, possessiveness, minor blood), some fluff, established relationship

MINORS DNI/18+ ONLY

The world drifted away, lost and nearly forgotten, as music poured out of your headphones. The soft luminance of the sun peered through the windows, wishing to greet everyone, to kiss their cheeks with its warm light on this early weekend morning. The simple apartment space was filled with an assortment of things - both the necessary to the unnecessary but well loved trinkets - to call it a shared home.

You weaved around the living room, delicately walking to not to disturb your sleeping partner in the bedroom a short distance away. It was one of those days, a day of waking up and wanting to clean the place. It wasn’t exactly dirty per se, but it was dusty and needed a little more care.

Off in the bedroom, behind the cracked door with the blinds still shut, a body laid sprawled out on the bed - the body of an overworked Miguel. The steady rise and fall of his chest stuttered. The even rhythm broke as consciousness slowly took hold. It wasn’t any noise that disturbed him. No. It was the lack of presence. It was the lack of your warmth, the lack of your arms wrapped around his waist, the lack of your soft breathing against his skin.

He craved it - needed it to always have a well rested night of sleep.

A low exhausted groan tumbled off his lips as he rolled over. He pushed himself up, and hunched forward on the edge of the bed. He sighed loudly. He rubbed the back of his neck at a small stiff ache. The world and all of its sensations slowly poured over him. The first to return was sound. His ears perked up. Out in the living room, you sang quietly under your breath.

A smile cracked onto his tired face.

Standing up, and stretching a bit, he shuffled out of the bedroom. He opened the door, and the world greeted him. Basking in the sunlight, you glowed this morning. He leaned into the doorway, watching you with a loving, tender gaze.

The living room was cluttered with cleaning supplies: a vacuum with its long cords snaking around, a duster tossed onto the table along with a rag and cleaning spray, and lastly an unlit candle for later to fill the air with such sweet aromas. Unaware of Miguel’s presence, you continued to sing softly and only a few words at a time. You moved around with a certain grace, you were guided by the music and bounced to the beat as you cleaned.

Miguel’s smile grew.

How did you become a part of his life? He almost didn’t deserve you, or so he believed. You were a beacon of light and life.

Of love.

He chuckled once, unable to contain his joy.

Still lost in your task, you bent forward, picking up a blanket randomly tossed onto the floor from the night before.

Instantly, Miguel’s laughter seized. Confusion, and something else, settled into his chest.

What -

You, however, stood upright again. His eyes narrowed trying to comprehend what he saw. He definitely saw something, he knew he did. But, what exactly was it? Well, technically he saw two things; two things which made his chest clench and his heart skip just a tad faster. Firstly, you weren’t wearing any underwear underneath your plain cotton shorts. But, there was something else. Something he never noticed before.

And he was intrigued and determined to know.

Walking up behind you, he placed a hand on your hip. You jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. Dropping the blanket, you spun around only for your minor panic to dissipate. You laughed and smiled at him. Your headphone slid off your head and dangled around your neck.

“Well, good morning to you too,” you cheekily said.

“What was that?”

Your face scrunched in confusion. “What was what?”

Miguel’s lips thinned. He turned his head, almost grumbling. His skin started to flush, and he strangely felt embarrassed. A little odd given the few months you had now been living together. “I … I saw something … like - like …”

You raised an eyebrow. Twisting your around, you searched over your body and clothes. “What? Is there a stain somewhere? A hole? A tear?”

“No,” he groaned, rolling his eyes more so at himself. Why couldn’t he say it? “Something here.”

He tentatively reached over. With a single finger, he very gently grazed over one of your bottom cheeks. Your eyes instantly dropped down to his finger. You blinked, still baffled by his odd behavior. You didn’t see a stain, it was just your shorts. Then it clicked. Realization flooded over your features, smoothing out the confused crease between your brows.

You cocked your head, trying to bite back your growing amusement, “Are you talking about my birthmark?”

“Birthmark?” He repeated, confused.

“Yeah, my birthmark.” You chuckled. “I thought you had seen it before, or I at least told you about it.”

Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. He couldn’t recall, but this certainly all felt like news to him.

“I don’t remember,” he mumbled.

“Well, yeah it’s always been there.” You picked up the blanket again. You kept your back to him as you refolded it. “I swore I told you before, it’s why I can’t wear certain things out. If I wear cotton shorts and they ride up, you’ll probably see it. The same goes for certain swimsuit bottoms. And if I wear white bottoms then there is a chance you’ll see it through depending on the fabric.”

As you started to move around again, placing the blanket into a basket beside the couch, Miguel’s eyes dropped. It was as if he was trying to burn a hole through your shorts to see it again - to see it properly.

Something was stirring inside of him, something he didn’t quite fully understand yet. He stepped forward. He wanted to see it, he needed to see it. His hands grabbed your hips, stopping you in place.

You jokingly rolled your eyes and smiled to yourself. He was certainly handsy this morning.

Was it handsy, or needy? Needy, yes. But, it wasn’t in the sweet innocent way you initially assumed. He wasn’t needy in the way he always wanted to close by, or comforted by having you in his grasp.

Oh no, you greatly miscalculated.

You snorted, “Can I help you -“

A gasp left your lips. Miguel had forcibly grabbed the bottom fabric of your shorts and yanked it up. His eyes immediately locked onto the birthmark - the very obvious birthmark that was nearly centered on your one cheek.

There it was. Plain as day.

You twisted your upper body, and quickly latched a hand around his wrist. Now, it was your turn to get flustered and embarrassed. “Okay, okay, you saw it, can you let go now?”

His eyes flickered up.

Oh. Oh no.

Your breath hitched, and your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach.

His usual crimson eyes - the color of crisp ripe apples in the height of a chilly autumn, or the color of a bright lush rose given in secret to a lover - was gone. His pupils were blown wide, the darkness overtaking the lovely shade of red. They were black like the shirt of a priest who you should be praying with; they were black like the night where no one can see what sins were unfolding.

His thumb pressed firmly into your ass, into your birthmark.

“Miguel,” you whispered softly as your heart ticked faster and faster.

He dropped his head, nuzzling his face into your neck. His lips slowly brushed over your neck. You shivered. Ever so slowly, your initial surprise melted away. You lolled your head to the side, granting him more access. He always had this effect on you. One look, one touch, and soon you were putty in his hands.

Oh, he was losing himself. He didn’t know why, but this discovery riled him up. Maybe because this was like a secret, a secret only he was privy to.

His lovely little secret.

He groaned softly. His heart beat faster as he fell into this near animalistic passion - a primal frenzy. His talons slowly came out. He couldn’t - and wouldn’t - hold himself back any longer. One of his talons scraped over the birthmark.

You gasped at the minor spark of pain.

He smirked, and began to teasingly kiss your neck. A pepper of butterfly kisses that quickly shifted to heated opened mouth attacks as he bit and sucked on your now sensitive skin. He cupped your ass, giving it a rough, hard squeeze.

“Mine,” he murmured lowly into your neck.

One word.

One simple word.

And hell - all those forbidden yet heavenly sins locked away - was unleashed.

It happened all so quickly. He yanked you towards his chest. Lips collided. Tongues swirled together, drawing out beautiful sounds from each of you. Hands roamed over every curve and muscle. You were desperate for each other. You both always stoked such burning desires, such all consuming fires.

The next thing you knew, your shorts were pulled down and kicked aside along with Miguel’s sweatpants. You were immediately bent over the couch as Miguel finally slipped his cock inside your dripping folds.

You tried to hold back the obnoxiously loud cry of pleasure. Your forehead buried into your folded arms, which was supported by the backside of the couch. Your nails dug crescent shapes along your biceps.

Miguel sighed, tipping his head forward. He was panting heavily, unable to control him. God, you always drove him into such a state. He couldn’t think, he could only drown himself in the overwhelming and wondrous sensation of you. His hands happily - and downright couldn’t resist - kneaded and played with your ass. He squeezed harshly, and watched as your pliable fat pooled between his needy fingers.

Good lord.

He soon swore a string of curses under his breath in Spanish. He wanted to roll his eyes back. He wanted to completely lose himself. But, he also wanted to watch. So, he did. He watched hungrily as he pounded into you. Most importantly, he watched his thumb continue to dig fiercely into your birthmark.

A moan hummed in the back of your throat.

His eyes sparkled with such sinful delight. It was like a secret button. His secret button. His talon teasingly traced the shape of it. Then his thumb pushed further into your birthmark, enjoying the sounds you were making. He shuddered. Fueled by your responsiveness, he felt his fangs elongate as he moaned. Oh, he wanted to bite it, he wanted to mark it. Dare he say, he wanted to carve his initial into it.

His.

All his.

He gripped your hips harshly, digging his talons into your skin. Small pricks of blood swelled up under his deathly grip. Bruises and sores would most definitely appear later. He picked up his pace. It was sloppy and ruthless. The sounds were so loud, and so delightful: his hips slapping into your ass, his thick cock pummeling into you, his low groans mixing with your more high pitched ones.

“Fuck,” you mumbled, letting out a muffled whine. You buried your face into your arms, trying to silence how loud you were becoming. Desperate and needy, you soon grinded back into him, meeting his pace.

Miguel hissed, “Ah, cariño, nuevamente. Again, do that again.”

You obeyed without hesitation. You pushed back into him, moaning as his cock stretched you further. Your walls greedily clamped around him, sending him into a frenzy.

He moaned, and nearly slumped forward. He paced one hand on the backside of the couch, keeping himself upright. While, his other hand wrapped firmly around your hips. His hot breath fanned over your sweaty neck. Growling, he was furiously humping into you.

Your eyes rolled back. Fuck. You loved when he was like this, when he used you. You loved when he let himself go. And the best and worst thing was you wouldn’t last much longer. He was deliciously relentless.

You moaned, “Miguel -“

“I know,” he gritted his teeth. His voice rumbled near your ear. You shivered. Your walls fluttered around him. You were quickly nearing your end. And he knew it. “Let go, please. Oh, please, let me feel it.”

He uprighted himself, and gripped your hips again. You tried to match his pace, you tried to keep up, but you couldn’t. He mercilessly pounded into you. He moved your hips for you, he knew what you wanted and needed.

And that was it.

In a few more thrust, you cried out, gushing around him. Miguel swiftly pulled out. You whined. Yet, two of his fingers quickly plunged back inside. Your disappointment melted away as you moaned out again. Your mind went fuzzy in absolute pleasure. He kept pumping into you, overworking you. You squirmed as your legs began to shake.

“Miguel,” you mumbled, almost like a sob.

“Shhh, I know, I got you.”

With his other hand, he started to pump himself. Feeling you around his fingers, hearing your whines and delightful wet noises of his fingers slipping in and out of you, seeing your body shake with overstimulation, he spilled all over your backside.

“Fuck, Miguel,” you weakly hissed out.

He laughed once, a short breathy laugh. He pulled out his fingers. He paused for a moment, admiring your juices covering his fingers: the way it dripped down, the way it glistened in the light, and oh the way could feel his mouth water at the thought of tasting it.

And he had a little idea. An idea which had been stirring since the beginning.

He wiped his fingers clean over your ass, directly over your birthmark.

You groaned softly, still slumped forward over the couch. You focused more on trying to catch your fleeting breath. Your body still buzzed from the wondrous aftermath. Sighing deeply, you closed your eyes, thinking it was finally over.

Until something swiped across your ass. Specifically, Miguel’s tongue. Miguel licked up once, and cleaned up yours and his cum over your birthmark. He moaned at the taste. And, for an extra measure he teasingly, and gentle as he fangs would let him, nipped the birthmark.

Your body jolted at the sensation. A loud, almost pornographic, moan fell over your lips. “Jesus Christ,” you hissed.

He chuckled.

Miguel carefully stood you up, and turned you around. With still shaky legs, you completely fell into his chest exhausted. He wrapped an arm around your waist to support you. His smile softened, seeing the state he had brought you to. With his free hand, he gently cupped your cheek, and placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

You hummed softly, and gave him a tired lopsided smile.

“Let’s clean you up,” Miguel whispered. His finger traced down your cheek, and along your jaw. He tipped your chin up. His lips brushed over yours again. His sweetness then vanished. A devious smirk crossed on his lips. His hand fell from your waist, and squeezed your ass again. “I’m still not done with you yet.”

#spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #spiderverse #atsv #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara x afab!reader #miguel o’hara smut #afab!reader #smut #idk man Miguel just being an ass guy

4K notes · View notes

oimitocat · 4 months ago

Text

RIDE YOUR RHYTHM | OS

lee heesung x m!reader

3 & 1 trope + fluff + nsfw + hair pulling + slight choking + biting + riding + praise kink + cock warming + overstimulation + idol au!

a/n; the long awaited fic (do hope you enjoy)

when a group is successful two things happen- their company sabotages their rising fame by lowering their content or they overwork them.

to both you and heesung’s dismay there has been no time to yourselves. you have tried. you both have.

“yah, why are they staring at you so much?” you huff as you lean in to him during a fansign.

he looks at you with big, innocent eyes. “hm?”

“i get it you’re pretty but only i can eye you like that.”

he snorts, “eh? like what?” he smiles.

“like you’re mine.”

heesung rolls his eyes, “y/n, be for real.”

“i am-“

“hey, we gotta go do our choreography,” ni-ki taps your shoulder.

ugh. as much as you love being an idol and having fans, you also wish you could have a longer break between your schedules. seriously, at some point you felt like the only time you could see him was between waking up and going into the van to start of a busy day. interactions for the audience isn’t always authentic, so you felt STARVED.

“wanna sleep with you,” you groan as you crawl into his bed.

he scoots over, smiling to himself when you snuggle up behind him. your arms over his waist. you pepper his exposed nape with a small kiss. he smiles. you suppose this is a way to be with him when schedules get too busy.

you wake up hours later, he’s stirring in his sleep. you grab your phone and look at the time, it’s been four hours since you’ve fallen asleep. it’s 4 AM.

“sung?” you mumble, he grunts. “you okay? you’re moving a lot baby.”

“mmmhmm,” he turns over and snuggles into your chest.

you smile and place a kiss on his forehead. you close your eyes again, hoping to regain sleep. your schedule for the day is absolute madness and even just a wink more of sleep is all you want-

“n/n…”

“mm?”

you open one eye only and see his bambi eyes looking up at you. the lamp in his room is on, giving a nice glow on his skin. the two of you were too sleepy to turn it off last night. he’s tired, you can tell. yet, his hand snakes up your chest and around your neck.

you close your eyes, smiling. “heesung…”

“just a kiss…” he whispers, scooting up to peck your lips.

you giggle, kissing him deeper. it’s tender, of course, you’re enjoying the moment. he’s the one that initiates, both arms snaked around your neck already. the way his fingers card through your hair elicits a moan out of you. you always enjoy the movement in your hair, especially from him.

your hands are already down on his hips— you hear the front door open.

“mmmffff,” you groan, shoving your face into the pillow when your manager starts knocking on everyone’s door to get up.

heesung sighs, closing his eyes out of sadness.

the second time is when you’re rushing to get in the shower. you chose to sleep five more minutes and now you’re behind schedule. heesung was already showering and naturally, he makes space for you to join him. it’s normal, yet his cute eyes just enticed you to kiss him and kiss him and-

“y/n we have to go, we’re late.” he says sternly, yet smiling.

“i just want to kiss you, i can’t do that outside the dorms.” you argue.

he pours shampoo in his hand and yanks you down by the ear. “well let’s hope we come home early. now tilt your head so i can wash your hair.”

and you grumble and let him do just that. when later comes it’s too late to even acknowledge each other. you’re drained and so is he. still, you sleep with him in the same bed, always alternating from your bed or his bed every other day. it’s a tiring schedule. overwhelming.

“hyung…” jay whispers to you one evening.

you were getting your hair done. the stylist was frustrated, they were short staffed this morning and running behind. of course, they quickly managed to get more stylists on the floor to get back on track but still. the pressure was in the air.

“hm?” you open one eye and look at him.

“uhm, can you come real quick?”

“i’m still working on his hair, could it wait two more minutes?” the stylist asks.

jay gives you a look. you nod, it can wait two more minutes. yet, as soon as she’s done you excuse yourself and follow jay. everyone is running around, cameras everywhere— a hectic photo session for the new album.

“hey, sung,” you take him in your arms and kiss his head.

jay leaves you to it. heesung heaves into your chest.

“i’m so tired,” he cries. “how can i look alive in the stupid photos if i feel like i’ll pass out any minute.” he lifts up his head and looks at you with teary eyes, “we had two hours of sleep y/n.”

you nod, listening to his grievances. it’s best to always let him cry it out. he’s frustrated, tired, exhausted. all of you are.

“make me feel better,” he begs.

“heesung i can’t baby, we’re-“

“y/n,” he tugs at your shirt.

you sigh, you won’t go too far. a quick make out session. that’s all you can offer now. you know he’s pent up, you are as well.

“guys, seriously?” jungwon sigh, staring at you.

“he started it,” you mumble.

jungwon rolls his eyes, “well everyone is called for the group photoshoot. let’s go.” he eyes heesung, “hyung… try to get a touch up…” he says gently.

doesn’t matter how tired the two of you are, everyone knows jungwon carries the brunt of it more.

the third time is when the two of you were alone in the dorms. everyone else had separate promotions. heesung had one too, but until later. the two of you had time to yourselves after so long.

from watching a show, to making out on the couch. heesung’s stuttering breaths as you kissed down his jaw, eliciting soft moans from him. he melted into the couch at your touches, enjoying the feeling. it’s been so long since you’ve touched him like this.

the two of you were hungry.

“oh,” heesung breathes out, closing his eyes in bliss when you palm the tent in his joggers. you keep trailing kisses down, raising his shirt with your other hand in order to kiss down his stomach.

you feel him twitch under your palm and you reach the hem of his joggers. his fingers come to card through your hair—

all hands fly off of each other when the padlock beeps. heesung sits up alongside you, wide eyes looking at who comes inside the door.

“please don’t be naked- OH GOOD!” jay gasps.

jake laughs as he follows suit. “sorry guys, jay forgot something. oh, by the way, heesung hyung-“

heesung groans, flopping down on the couch, bitter. he still listens to jake talk, but he’s giving y/n a sour look. you laugh, adoring how upset he is.

“jake just shut up,” you tease while leaning down to kiss heesung gently.

in the end, jay couldn’t find what he needed and took up all the time you and heesung could have had to yourselves. it’s frustrating but the two of you cope better.

the new album comes out. their sleep schedule is back to being horrible. you find yourself sleeping in the van more than sleeping in the dorms. you keep having to use eyedrops to tame the visibility of your lack of sleep. the month feels like hell.

yet, once all is said and done. there’s a pause. a short moment where everyone is given a two day break. two days afterwards it’s off to do some promotions in the states.

“you have to be quiet, everyone else is sleeping.”

you raise a brow, “shouldn’t i be telling you that?”

heesung sticks his tongue out teasingly at you before kicking off his boxers. you chuckle at his cuteness, sitting up slightly on the pillows. the good thing is your room is the farthest from everyone else. still, your noise has to be kept moderately low.

“where’s the lube?” heesung asks, patting the sheets.

“uh-“ you find it and pop open the cap. “you sure you wanna ride me? last time you gave up and made me do all the work-“

“shut up,” heesung cups your mouth with his hand.

you snort and shake your head. he takes the lube bottle and pour some onto your fingers. you smile as he kisses your temple before adjusting himself on your lap. you bring your lubed up fingers under his weight and work on easing him open. it’s been way too long since any of you two had done anything, of course you need to work each other up a bit.

his fingers grip your shoulders as he balanced himself. you now smear some lube over you hardened dick, minutes after opening him up. he lowers himself down slowly when your tip aligns to his hole.

“there you go,” you say softly, enjoying the warmth that engulfs you.

heesung lets out a small breath when he’s fully seated. “ah, fuck…” he eyes you, a bit shy.

“you okay?”

“it’s been so long,” heesung giggles, pecking your lips between his words, “i feel so full…” you smile, hands on his thighs.

“i can do all the work baby, i know you’re tired,” you reason while placing gentle kisses on his neck.

he hums, moving his hips slowly. “i can do it… second round is all you.”

you snort, “oh so we’re going at it?”

“only if you want,” he says, finding a nice pace and going with it. “i definitely want.”

you grin, hands moving to the back of his waist, gripping his ass. you litter his collarbone with kisses, nibbling and licking as he rides you. your breathing becomes erratic after a while, as one of his hands comes up to card through your hair.

he tugs your hair back, making you look up at him. his hair is already sticking to his forehead as he sweats. he smiles breathlessly at you and you smile back, enjoying how good he feels. he keeps a strong grip on your hair, making you wince every now and then but he pecks your lips just as he does it, knowing well what he’s doing.

“hah…” he whines as he gets close to his orgasm, hips moving faster.

knowing he’s getting tired, you grip him and move him. you pant, feeling your own orgasm built up. “fuck, keep doing that,” you groan.

heesung swallows, tilting his head back. taking notice of his exposed neck, you kiss and kiss. he’s sensitive in a certain area and you moan when his walls flutter around you from the sensitivity. his noises go high pitched, breathless and barely audible. his body speaks out to you more and you know he’s on the edge. you tip him over it by biting the juncture of his neck.

he trembles, choking on his cry. you feel his cum spilling over your stomach as well as his. it’s so hot. you move his hips a bit more, feeling him twitch.

“hah…” you raise your head, looking up at him.

his chest heaves and you feel his legs tighten by your sides. you grin, lifting him off your lap and pulling out only to flip him over and shove him into the sheets. his hips are raised, back arching beautifully.

“so pretty,” you say as you push back inside of him.

he moans softly into the sheets. you start at a gentle pace, still recovering over your previous orgasm. the two of you like going at it without recovery periods to see how much you can handle. it’s fun.

heesung gets overstimulated fast. even as you glide your hand over his back, shoving his face into the sheets and limiting his oxygen, he gets overwhelmed pretty fast. you love pushing him, making him twitch and whine. you enjoy getting out those pretty noises from him— and both just his noises.

“what baby?” you ask as you keep pounding into him, rough and brutal. “feel good?”

“nngh,” heesung clutches at the sheets beneath him, “slow down-“

“but you’re doing so good, baby,” you say, grabbing his hips and keeping him still. “taking me so well.”

heesung’s walls flutter around you again. you grin, enjoying when he does that.

“don’t you wanna be good?” you ask, as you pull out again. “flip over.”

heesung whines before obeying. he lays on his back and sighs. his legs spread and you smile.

“good boy,” you push inside.

you glide your fingers over his half hard girth, he makes a face, turning his head and shoving it into the sheets. he makes a noise of protest as you tease his tip with the pad of your thumb. he’s sensitive, yet leaking. he’s hardening under your touch and you feel absolutely mean as you take your hand away. you lean over him, caging him under your frame.

you thrust into him, watching how his face scrunches up in pleasure. his legs around your waist, hooked by his ankles. his arms above his head, clinging to the pillow and sheets. he looks beautiful, fucked out with his head wet and a mess. you hoist yourself up in one arm bringing the on you freed up and placing your hand on his neck. he takes a sharp breath, knowing damn well your intention. the simple fact your hand is on his neck is enough for him to cum on the spot— but he doesn’t.

he brings a hand down and puts it behind your head. he brings you down, kissing you. your fingers twitch before pressing down to choke him slightly. it’s so good, heesung whimpers into your mouth. he pants as your hips stutter.

when you spill inside him again, he cums. his eyes roll back and his mouth falls open. you grip his throat, still moving your hips as you come down from your high.

“ugh,” he gasps when you let go of his neck. “idiot.”

“me?” you laugh, brushing aside his wet bangs. “what did i do.”

heesung says nothing, looking away.

“that’s what i thought.” you argue playfully and kiss his nose.

you pull out and start to clean up. it’s a lazy effort but you focus more on heesung. you take some wipes from the desk and clean him up. by the time your in the bed again, hugging him from behind, he comments on how he wants you inside. you comply, never finding it in your to deny him. you’re sensitive and make a small noise as you push inside him.

“wanna watch a movie?” heesung asks as he snuggles back into you.

you caress his hip, staring at the phone. “we’re going to fall asleep.”

he shrugs, “and? it’ll be the best sleep we’ve had in a while for sure.”

you smile, pressing a kiss into his shoulder. “okay baby, whatever you want.”

#kpop x male reader #x male reader #kpop x reader #kpop x top male reader #x male top reader #kpop oneshots #sub!kpop #sub!idol #sub!enhypen #lee heesung x reader #lee heesung smut #heesung x reader #enhypen x male reader #enhypen oneshots #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen x y/n #enhypen

511 notes · View notes