#please try not to set him on fire

[torchickentacos]

I always forget that the red things on flygon's eyes are just a lens/eyecap/covering of sorts and not its actual eye. in my mind he's always just looking at you with his big ol' eyes like this. he wants to know if you have any games on your phone. he sees all. knows all.

[hmslusitania]

I just re-encountered my journal entries from election night 2016 and subsequent inauguration night 2017, and

And my god. Ive become inured to that level of existential despair. But the fact that I’ve lived through events where that’s normal is so!!!!!!!! Absolutely fucked

[fragrantpines]

I have a lot mixed feelings about the second part of the event.

[lxnarphase]

𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !

❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k

❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk

❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!

the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.

after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.

you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.

it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.

there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?

well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.

you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.

it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.

has...has he always looked that handsome?

he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.

"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.

"mm."

slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door

"good."

dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.

he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.

you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.

once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.

his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.

modest, yet sensual.

"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...

you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.

"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"

it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.

a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...

it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.

"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"

such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.

It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.

but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.

the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.

his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.

calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.

even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.

"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.

the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.

neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.

sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?

they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.

'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.

however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.

"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.

"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.

he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."

with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.

you were this aroused just from...talking?

the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.

you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!

you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.

but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!

a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.

if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.

no true man of god would do such a thing.

"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."

giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.

something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.

so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.

a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.

he's so fucked.

"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.

the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.

this is what it felt like?

this is what he waited for?

fuck, it felt...it felt so good.

too good.

for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.

little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.

his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.

no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.

the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.

meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.

the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.

the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.

"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.

“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.

but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.

nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.

look at her.

those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.

so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.

"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"

messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.

he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.

how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?

doesn't she know she's giving into lust?

doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?

"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.

nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.

but he's lying to himself.

he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.

the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.

"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."

he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.

his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.

you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.

“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”

be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.

his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.

the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.

fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.

but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.

breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.

with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.

this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.

"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.

"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.

his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."

a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,

"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.

if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.

"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."

he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.

"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.

his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.

nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.

"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."

that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.

it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.

no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.

the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.

you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.

"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.

he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.

"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."

with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.

the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.

your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.

not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.

"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.

you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.

"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.

no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—

"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.

"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"

with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.

it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.

a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.

oh.

you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...

his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.

it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.

"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."

but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.

"k-kento, that's nasty!"

all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.

clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.

but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.

"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.

his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?

"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."

may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[cuntphoric]

you’ve been skipping class, flunking labs, and now you’re in his office with a bad throbbing ache between your legs and an even badder grade

you don’t even bother knocking when you walk into his office, because he’s the one who told you to “come in after hours if you want to fix this."

he’s lounging behind his desk like he always is, legs spread wide, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a sliver of his chest. those ridiculous black sunglasses are perched low on his nose, and when he sees you he smiles.

“look who finally showed up,” he sighed, gesturing lazily to the stack of unfinished lab reports on his desk. “thought you’d given up.”

you shift awkwardly, heart pounding that you swore that felt like . “i just.. didn’t know what to say.”

“good thing you’re not here to talk, then,” he murmurs, pushing his glasses back up. “you’ve been slacking all semester. skipping lectures, half assing labs.. think i wouldn’t notice?”

you try to look apologetic, but it’s hard to think when he stands up and walks toward you, all tall, slow, and hot as hell. he stops when he’s just behind you, so close you can feel the heat of him against your back.

he stops just behind you. doesn’t touch. doesn’t even breathe too loud. but he’s there. close enough to set your skin on fire.

“so,” he says, voice lower now, almost lazy. “what are you gonna do to make up for it?”

you swallow hard. it’s too quiet in the room, and his words feel like a trap you’re already tangled in. “i don’t know,” you mumble, not trusting yourself to meet his eyes. “whatever you think is fair..”

he lets that hang for a second. then laughs softly. “you’re asking me to decide what’s fair?” his breath brushes your neck now, and you feel it—finally, his fingers ghosting over your hip like he’s testing how far you’ll let him go. “baby, that’s dangerous.”

you say nothing. can’t. your pulse is screaming under your skin.

he leans closer, like he’s about to bite out something cruel, but he doesn’t. just murmurs, “you walk in here after weeks of disappearing and tell me whatever i think is fair? you sure you wanna give me that kind of control?”

“i’m here, aren’t i?” you whisper.

his hand finally settles on your waist, grounding, a little too firm. “yeah,” he says. “you are.”

but he doesn’t move. doesn’t do anything, not yet. just lets the tension stretch and snap in the silence, dragging it out because he wants you to squirm.

“bend over the desk,” he says quieter now, “just so we can talk.”

you hesitate this time. you know what he’s capable of when you’re like this - open, stupid with need, desperate for something rough to erase the guilt of failing repeatedly pooling in your chest. but still, you lean forward, hands braced, chest against the desk’s cold edge.

he stands behind you but doesn’t touch. just talks.

“do you even know what you want?” he asks, tone unreadable. “or are you just hoping i’ll figure it out for you?”

your mouth is dry. “i want to fix it.”

he hums. “no, you want to get fucked and pretend that fixes it.”

your breath catches.

“you think showing up wet and pathetic is the same as putting in work?” he presses a hand between your shoulder blades, not to hold you down, but just feel you. “you think that’s gonna cut it?” he sighs.

can this man just do something—

oh. and then—then—you hear the belt.

you don’t hesitate. your hands brace against the cool wood as you feel him behind you, tugging at your waistband, baring you like you’re some toy he gets to play with when the lab’s closed.

and then you hear it. the soft click of his belt.

“count for me,” he says.

the first strike is loud and hot and sharp, making your hips jerk forward and your breath catch in your throat.

“one,” you gasp.

“you can take more than that, right?” he murmurs, and god, he sounds pleased.

he spanks you again, then again, harsh and slow, pausing just enough to let the sting settle before the next. by the seventh you’re trembling, thighs pressed tight, skin burning.

by the twelfth you’re dripping, trying not to grind against the desk to get some- any kind of friction. he leans forward, pressing a kiss just under your ear, voice thick.

“look at you,” he breathes. “all shaky already. i haven’t even fucked you yet.”

when he finally pulls his cock out, he drags the tip along your slit just to pull a reaction out of you and then he pushes in, all at once, no warning, making your body jolt forward as he buries himself deep.

he fucks you like he’s trying to drill the periodic table into your spine—slow at first, grinding deep, then picking up pace until the desk creaks under you. one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip, dragging you back onto him like he owns you.

“gonna fix that grade right here,” he pants. “maybe if i fuck you dumb enough, you’ll stop skipping class.”

you’re crying out now, clenching around him, brain static.

“f-fuck—professor—”

he groans, hips stuttering as he slams into you harder, until your legs give and your moans turn into needy whines. and when he comes, it’s with a low growl and a handful of your hair in his fist, cock buried so deep it feels like he’s made a mark inside.

you stay there, folded over the desk, skin warm and used, every nerve fried and twitching. the world’s gone fuzzy around the edges, and your thighs are trembling, stuck between the aftershock and the hot cum inside.

he slides out antagonizingly slow. his hands stay on your hips a second longer than they need to, thumbs brushing over the marks he left. then he leans in, and you feel the scratch of his stubble as he kisses the base of your spine—soft and mocking.

his voice is a low purr when he speaks.

“look at you,” he murmurs. “can’t even stand up straight.”

you groan, forehead still pressed to the desk, too gone to argue.

he pulls your panties back up with a tenderness that doesn’t match anything that just happened, then palms your ass one last time that felt too smug.

“extra credit approved,” he says, and when you glance back, he’s buttoning his shirt as if he didn’t just rearrange your guts.

the belt’s still hanging loose around his hips. his smile’s a little crooked. and he’s already reaching for a red pen.

[iydiamartinx]

UNEXPECTED GUESTS IV

jason x reader, platonic!damian wayne, ft. batfam

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto & @omi-resources word count: 2k synopsis: Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls. a/n: Here it is! The final part! Hope Y'all enjoyed! Also I hope I got everyone who asked to be on the tag list, if I missed you I am so sorry!

Bruce lifted a brow at the sound of heavy footsteps and the sight of Jason sauntering into the manor kitchen, a duffle bag slung over one shoulder like he owned the place.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, pausing mid-bite, fork suspended halfway to his mouth.

Jason didn’t break stride. “Gee, thanks for the warm welcome,” he drawled, dropping the duffle beside a chair with a solid thud.

Bruce sighed, setting down his utensils. “That’s not what I meant. It’s just you have your own place.”

Jason shrugged, nonchalant. “Maybe I just felt like spending some quality time with dear old Dad.”

Bruce’s gaze narrowed, eyes flicking over him like a scanner calibrating for irregularities. Jason was calm. Casual. Civil. Voluntarily in the manor. Something was wrong.

Jason would rather set himself on fire than willingly spend an evening under Bruce’s roof. He was being too… not-Jason. Polite, even. Pleasant. 

Clone? Possibly. Cyborg? Wouldn’t be the first time. A mind-wiped doppelgänger sent to spy on the family?

Then it hit him.

He paused in growing horror…

Did he finally kill the Joker?

Was that why he was in a good mood?

Bruce stared at him. Jason just blinked back innocently, which only made it worse.

No, something was definitely wrong.

“He’s lying,” came a voice from the doorway, smooth and amused.

Dick entered, mug of tea in hand and an unbothered grin on his face. “It’s because everyone’s crashing at his place.”

Now that he mentioned it, the manor had been suspiciously quiet lately.

Bruce glanced between them. “Why?”

Jason froze, his posture stiffening like someone expecting a sniper shot. His eyes flicked to Dick, silently warning him to shut up.

Dick, of course, did not. If anything, his grin widened.

Bruce’s gaze sharpened. “Why?” he repeated.

Jason shot Dick a glare, the kind that promised swift and bloody vengeance, but the little shit was immune. He grinned wider, practically radiating delight.

“Oh, because of his girlfriend,” Dick said, drawing out the word with far too much delight.

It had been unspoken—agreed upon, even—that whatever chaos was unfolding at Jason’s apartment stayed there. The last thing he needed was his personal life dragged into the manor spotlight and have Bruce interrogating his girlfriend. He was already hanging on to his sanity by the thinnest of threads.

But Dick had two fatal weaknesses: an insatiable love for family bonding… and a disturbing amount of joy in watching Jason suffer.

“You should see him at home,” Dick went on, far too pleased with himself. “Total domestic bliss. Folding laundry. Cooking dinner. It’s like watching a lion try to do ballet.”

“Shut the fuck up, dickhead,” Jason snapped, his voice a low snarl.

Bruce paused, fork halfway to his mouth.

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a Batarang.

Very slowly—deliberately—Bruce looked up. His eyes locked on Jason.

Jason had a what?

Before anyone could speak, Alfred appeared beside Dick with the poise of a man who had seen war, death, and teenage Bruce Wayne at his most dramatic—and had emerged utterly unshaken.

“Master Jason is bringing her for dinner, of course,” Alfred said, smooth as ever, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Master Jason is not!” Jason barked, visibly horrified.

Alfred raised a brow. 

Finding out you’d been invited to dinner at Wayne Manor wasn’t exactly a shock. If anything, you’d been expecting it. Most of the family already knew you—had dropped by Jason’s place uninvited enough times that introductions were inevitable. It was only a matter of time before Bruce caught wind of your existence too.

What surprised you more was how not nervous you felt.

Jason, on the other hand, looked like he was mentally preparing for battle.

As the iron gates of Wayne Manor creaked open, you watched him through the passenger-side mirror. Your six-foot-two, weapons-grade boyfriend was pacing beside the car like a man about to face execution. His hair was a mess—freshly wrecked from his own anxious hands—and while the tousled look worked unfairly well for him, it didn’t do much to hide the storm brewing behind his eyes.

“Just… don’t let them suck you into anything,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the universe. “Don’t be too funny. Or too smart.”

You arched a brow. “So… you want me to be dislikable?”

“What? No! I mean—maybe? I don’t know!” he snapped, throwing his arms up. “If you are, maybe they’ll finally stop showing up at my place uninvited. But I don’t want them to hate you either.”

He paused, then groaned. “God. Don’t mention cinnamon rolls. Damian’s still holding a grudge because I ate the last batch.”

You laughed. “Of course he is.”

Jason stopped pacing only long enough to glare at the front door like it personally offended him. “Just… don’t be nervous. We’ll be in and out. Quick and painless.”

You blinked slowly. “Jason. I’m not nervous. You’re the one spiraling.”

By this point, you weren’t even sure he realized what he was saying anymore. He was just venting aloud—burning nervous energy like a fuse inching toward a powder keg.

With a soft breath of amusement, you stepped into his path, catching his hand in yours before he could wear a trench into the manor’s immaculate brickwork.

“Babe,” you said, gently squeezing his fingers. “I’m fine. I got this. You’re the only one falling apart here.”

So you reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw before leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It was brief—grounding—but it worked. His shoulders dropped an inch, the rigid line of his jaw easing ever so slightly.

When you pulled back, you were already smiling. You laced your fingers through his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Ready?” you asked.

Jason exhaled, long and slow, like he was about to walk into enemy territory. Which, for him, wasn’t entirely inaccurate.

“Fuck no.”

Alfred greeted you at the door with the warmth of a man welcoming a long-lost friend.

“Miss Y/N,” he said, voice smooth with genuine affection. “We’re delighted to have you.”

You barely had time to smile before Damian appeared—materialized really—at your side.

“You’re sitting next to me.”

You blinked. “Hello to you too,” you said dryly.

He didn’t acknowledge it. His attention was already on the dining table as he pulled out a chair for you with the gravity of someone bestowing a great honour.

 “What? No! That’s my girlfriend, demon spawn.” Jason snapped. 

Damian didn’t even flinch. He turned to Jason with a droll look, sharp and effortless. “And I pity her for that fact every day.”

You muffled a snort behind your hand and slid gracefully into the offered seat.

“Thank you, Damian,” you said, smoothing your napkin onto your lap with a smirk. Then, with mock innocence, you patted the open chair on your other side. “There’s still one free spot left.”

Jason moved toward it—clearly ready to reclaim his territory—only for Dick to slide in smoothly at the last second.

“Y/N!” Dick beamed, overly bright, already leaning his elbow on the back of your chair like he belonged there.

Jason’s jaw ticked. “Oh no you don’t, Dickhead.”

With all the grace of a man well-versed in brotherly warfare, he hauled Dick up by the collar and dragged him out of the seat with zero ceremony.

“Hey!” Dick protested, arms flailing like a cat being relocated. But Jason was already dropping into the seat beside you, triumphant.

Dick slunk across the table with a wounded pout, muttering something about uncalled-for violence.

You raised a brow at your boyfriend. “You know we practically live together. You see me every day.”

Jason scowled. “So do these assholes. They break into my apartment every day.”

Damian arched a brow from your other side, utterly unbothered. “Careful, Todd. Green isn’t your color.”

Dinner was… everything Jason feared.

Tim asked how you two met—twice—just to watch Jason twitch with increasing irritation.

Stephanie demanded relationship details with the energy of a late-night talk show host, bouncing in her seat as she eagerly listened to answer her questions.

Cass watched you in silence, head tilted with a quiet, steady kind of approval. She didn’t need words. She’d already decided she liked you.

And Dick?

Dick was the worst.

He had a seemingly endless supply of Jason’s most humiliating childhood stories, and he recited them with theatrical flair, smirking each time your laughter made Jason’s eye twitch.

Meanwhile, Bruce sat at the head of the table like a statue carved from shadow and marble. He didn’t speak much—hardly at all, in fact—he mostly just watched. His gaze never drifted far from you, sharp and evaluating, like he was measuring you against an invisible checklist. Determining whether you were worthy of his son.

Eventually, between the second course and murmured side conversations, Bruce set down his glass with a soft clink against the china.

“Y/N.”

Jason stiffened like someone had pulled a gun on him. You felt it in the sharp shift of his knee against yours beneath the table. Without looking, you placed a calming hand there.

Jason’s fork paused mid-air. “Bruce…”

You didn’t flinch. You turned to meet his gaze, calmly. “Yes?”

Bruce didn’t blink. “You’ve been with Jason for how long?”

“Almost a year,” you answered easily. “Give or take a few near-death experiences.”

Dick leaned back in his chair with a grin. “That’s basically a vow renewal in this family.”

Bruce continued, tone even. “And you know.”

It wasn’t phrased like a question. You nodded anyway. “Didn’t take long.”

“You stayed.”

“I did.”

Jason muttered, “Why does this feel like a background check with extra judgment?”

Bruce studied you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. “You’re aware of the risks.”

“I’ve had them explained,” you said dryly. “Repeatedly. With charts.”

Tim snorted into his drink. “Please tell me one of them was color-coded.”

“That was mine,” Damian muttered, arms crossed.

That earned the smallest twitch at the corner of Bruce’s mouth. It wasn’t often anyone got Damian’s seal of approval. 

Bruce went quiet for a moment, and the weight of his silence settled over the table. He studied you like a strategist surveying a battlefield.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re either incredibly brave… or incredibly foolish.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Probably both. It’s part of the application process, right?”

Cass smiled behind her teacup. Steph stared at you with wide, glittering eyes and whispered to Jason, “Marry her.”

At that, something flickered in Bruce’s expression—approval, maybe. Something harder to name. Something deeper.

He nodded once, almost to himself. “You’ll be here for Sunday dinners moving forward.”

Jason nearly choked on his drink. “Are you serious?”

You ignored him, smiling sweetly. “Of course.”

“Babe!”

You patted his thigh. “Ignore him. We’ll be there.”

Dick leaned over, grinning at Jason’s dramatics. “Wow. He likes her more than he likes you.”

Bruce didn’t answer.

Which, of course, meant: yes.

After dinner, Alfred insisted on tea.

Damian insisted on sitting next to you again—claimed it was “for tactical proximity,” though he was clearly just making sure no one else got the seat first.

Stephanie suggested you move into the manor under the guise of “Jason’s health,” citing stress levels and his lack of basic nutrition, and how beneficial it would be for the two of you two live here. Cass offered you her bedroom if the “shoebox you’re living in” ever became unbearable. Tim asked if you could cook, already planning meal rotations. And Dick—of course—invited you to game night next week with a wink and a warning: “Lose to Damian at your own risk.”

Jason looked like he was developing a migraine.

He sat beside you on the long couch in the grand living room, shoulders hunched like a man awaiting trial. Laughter echoed around the walls—walls he used to call cold and empty. 

Now they rang with bickering, teasing, warmth.

You nudged him gently with your elbow, barely hiding your smile. “Still want to fake my death and move to the Alps?”

Jason glanced at you.

Then at Damian, practically glued to your side like an emotionally constipated barnacle.

Then at Tim, who was deep in concentration trying to download your favorite show onto the Batcomputer, muttering about file formats and codec errors.

Then at Bruce—stoic, silent Bruce—watching his family with a small, unmistakable smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jason sighed. A long, suffering sound, that was too dramatic to be sincere.

“…Yes.”

← Previous Chapter

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[cumironi]

A BRAT IS ALL I WANT ！

TOJI FUSHIGURO has a breeding kink, and you’ll be damned if you give into it! but in reality, he just wants to start a family with you.

warning. husband! toji fushiguro, breeding kink, ōral ( m! receiving ), fingering, nipple-playing, dirty talk, pet names, name-calling.

wc. 4,5k | in this megumi wasn't born yet.

sure, you loved being toji fushiguro's wife. however, he sure knows how to get your nerves screaming. your birth control switched out for ibuprofen, holes in condoms, fucking you raw in your sleep even!

“c’mon baby.. i want a brat…”

toji drawls, so sexy and arrogant. you absolutely fume, straddling his lap as he gives you that big, scarred, smile. he has a breeding kink, and you’ll be damned if you give into it!

“let me fuck you raw again, baby…”

you glare at him defiantly, hands on your hips as you straddle his lap. “absolutely not, toji! we've been over this. i'm not ready for a kid right now.”

he just grins up at you cockily, large hands gripping your waist. “aw c'mon babe, don't be like that. you know you love feeling my cum flood your tight little pussy.” is thumbs rub circles on your lower belly. “and i know you'll look so damn hot all round and glowing with my baby growing inside you."

you scowl and try to wriggle off his lap but he holds you firmly in place, erection pressing insistently against your ass. “unhand me, you brute!” you demand haughtily, “i won't be bred against my will!”

his eyes gleam with mischief and lust, hands tightening around your waist as he chuckles deeply. “oh, but darling... i think you're enjoying this way more than you let on,” he teases, nipping lightly at your earlobe.

his fingers trail down towards your thighs, deftly slipping under the hem of your skirt to tease along your inner thigh. “besides, who said anything about doing it against your will? i just wanna see those pretty tits swell up with milk and feel our son kicking inside ya...”

with a swift movement, he flips you onto your back on the couch before you can react, pinning you beneath his heavy frame. his breath is warm against your neck as he whispers huskily, “now why don't we make ourselves comfortable while we discuss this further?”

“you're such an infuriating man!” you huff indignantly, squirming underneath him despite yourself. “fine then, if i have to do this, you better make it worth my while!”

your hands reach up to claw at his chest, nails digging into the hard muscle there as you push against him. the firmness of his body pressed against yours sends shivers through your spine. “show me what else you can do besides getting me pregnant...”

he smirks down at you, clearly pleased with your response. “is that so?” he murmurs seductively, trailing kisses along your jawline until he reaches your lips.

his tongue slips past them in a dominant sweep that leaves no room for argument. one hand moves from your hip to cup one of your breasts over the fabric of your shirt, thumb rubbing over the hardened nipple through the material.

“you've got quite the mouth on you when you're angry,” he growls approvingly before pulling away slightly to admire his handiwork— the flush spreading across your cheeks and chest. “but don’t worry baby... i plan on showing you plenty tonight.”

your breath catches in your throat as he continues his assault on your senses. you arch up into his touch, nipples pebbling harder against the palm of his hand.

“arrogant bastard...” you gasp out between moans, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity despite the heat pooling between your legs.

but it’s futile— every brush of his skin against yours sets fire to your veins and makes your heart race faster. the sight of him looming above you like this, so powerful yet so gentle at times... it drives you wild.

“just remember this next time you decide to play doctor without consent,” you manage to say through gritted teeth before biting down on your lip hard enough to taste blood. he chuckles darkly at your words, but doesn't stop what he's doing. instead, his other hand slides down from your waist to grip your thigh tightly.

“oh, i'll remember alright,” he promises huskily before leaning down to capture another kiss from you.

his free hand slips beneath your shirt to find bare skin, tracing up along your ribcage until he reaches your breast once more. this time though, there's no barrier between them— only soft flesh meeting rough fingertips.

“feel good?” he asks teasingly as he rolls your nipple between two fingers causing sparks to shoot straight down to your core. the sensation of his touch on your bare skin sends shockwaves through you. a low whimper escapes from deep within your throat as he teases your sensitive nipple.

“too good,” you admit breathlessly, tilting your head back against the cushioned couch back. your hips instinctively buck upwards seeking friction against nothing but air. the need for something— anything— to fill that empty ache gnawing at you becomes almost unbearable.

“just because i say yes doesn't mean you get to take advantage of me,” you pant out weakly, trying desperately to keep hold of whatever shred of control left over. but with each stroke of his fingers over your heated flesh, it feels less like a warning and more like an invitation into pleasureland.

a wicked grin spreads across his face at your words. “take advantage? me?” he questions mockingly, though there's a glint of amusement in his eyes.

slowly, deliberately, he starts to slide downwards— kissing and licking a path along your collarbone before dipping lower still until he reaches the swell of your breasts. “i think we both know who's really in charge here,” he rumbles against your skin, hot breath ghosting over one hardened peak, “and it ain't you.”

without warning, he takes the sensitive bud into his mouth and sucks hard— tongue swirling around it torturously slow while his hand continues its ministrations on the other side.

a sharp cry tears itself from your lips as waves of pleasure crash over you. his mouth on your breast feels incredible; too much so for comfort. your fingers tangle into his hair, holding him close against you. despite everything you’ve been saying, it’s clear that you’re losing ground fast.

“don't stop...” you breathe out heavily, unable to deny him anymore.

even though part of you knows this isn't fair— that he's manipulating things to get exactly what he wants— another part relishes in being taken care of like this. and god help you, but it feels amazing.

“oh, fuck! just please...”

he hums in approval against your breast, the vibration sending jolts of electricity straight to your core. “that's it, sweetheart,” he coaxes, releasing your nipple with a wet pop before moving to lavish attention on its twin. “just let go and enjoy it. you know you love when i take charge.”

his hands roam your body possessively, palming your curves and squeezing roughly enough to leave marks. when he finally pulls back to gaze down at you, his expression is pure sin— dark eyes blazing with hunger and dominance.

“now, where were we?” he muses, voice dripping with promise as he starts to unbutton his shirt— revealing chiseled abs and a scattering of scars. “why don't you show me just how grateful you are for my attention?” he suggests, fingers already working to undo his belt buckle.

the sight of him undressing, even partially, sends a surge of arousal coursing through your veins. your breath hitches in anticipation as he leans closer again. “like this?” you ask, reaching out to trace a finger down his chest, feeling the ridges of muscles ripple beneath your touch.

your hand dips lower, brushing against the bulge straining against his pants. a smirk curls your lips at the feel of him throbbing beneath your fingertips. “or maybe like this?” you whisper suggestively, giving his hardness a firm squeeze through the fabric. his bulge feels heavy on your palm.

he lets out a low groan at your touch, hips jerking forward involuntarily as you fondle him through his pants. “that's it, baby,” he encourages, his own hands coming up to cup your breasts again, kneading them roughly. “get me nice and hard for you.”

with a swift motion, he frees himself from his trousers, allowing his thick cock to spring forth. it stands proud and erect, the tip glistening with pre-cum. “now why don't you put that clever mouth of yours to good use?” he commands, stroking himself slowly as he watches you with hungry eyes.

“lick it clean first, then take me deep inside that sweet little throat of yours. show me how much you want to be bred by me, my love.” the sight of his impressive erection makes your mouth water. with shaky hands, you reach out to wrap your fingers around his shaft. he's warm and solid in your grasp— a tangible proof of his arousal. you can't resist leaning in to lap at the precum beading at the tip, savoring the salty-sweet flavor.

leaning forward, you press a lingering kiss onto the head of his cock before taking it into your mouth. the salty-sweet flavor explodes on your tongue as you start to suck gently. “mmm, tastes good,” you murmur appreciatively before wrapping your lips around the head of his cock and sucking gently.

as you begin to bob your head, taking him deeper into your warm, wet mouth with each pass, you feel yourself getting lost in the sensation. his musky scent fills your nostrils, and the weight of him on your tongue is intoxicating.

you hollow your cheeks and suck harder, determined to please him. your hand comes up to fondle his heavy balls, rolling them in your palm as you work his shaft with increasing enthusiasm.

you bob your head back and forth, taking as much of him as possible into your warm cavernous space. each stroke sends tremors rippling through your body making it difficult to concentrate on anything else besides pleasing him right now.

a low, guttural moan escapes his lips as you take him deeper, the sound vibrating through you as you suck. his fingers tangle in your hair, guiding your movements.

“fucking hell, just like that,” he growls, thrusting shallowly into your mouth as you work him over, “such a good little cocksucker, aren't you?”

he rocks his hips in time with your bobbing head, fucking your face with increasing urgency. the sight of your lips stretched tight around his girth, the way your cheeks hollow with each suck, is almost too much to bear. “you're going to make me cum so hard down your throat if you keep this up,” he warns, voice strained with pleasure. “ready to swallow every drop like a good girl?” his pace quickens, driving himself deeper with each thrust.

your nose presses against his pubic bone as he hits the back of your throat, the pressure building with each thrust. tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity, but you don't dare pull away.

“mmph!” you gag slightly as he bottoms out, but quickly recover, relaxing your throat to take him even deeper. the vibrations of your muffled moans add to the sensations as you continue to suck and lick at his shaft.

your free hand slides up his abdomen to tease his nipples, pinching and rolling them between your fingers as you service him. the dual stimulation of your mouth and hands pushes you closer to the edge, your own arousal building rapidly.

you look up at him through tear-filled eyes, watching his face contort in pleasure as you work him over. his hips buck wildly, driven by instinct alone as you manage to take him impossibly deep. the sight of those full lips wrapped tightly around his cock, trembling from effort and pleasure— it's all too much.

“oh fuck, right there...” he grunts out, eyes locked onto yours, “that's it, swallow every inch.”

with a final powerful thrust, he buries himself to the hilt in your throat. he holds there for a moment longer than necessary, letting you adjust before beginning to move again.

“gonna fill you up soon,” he whispers hoarsely, his control slipping as ecstasy floods through him. his strokes become erratic as he teeters on the brink of release.

“just... just a bit more, my l-love...”

the feeling of him pulsing against your tongue is exquisite, his impending climax evident in the way his cock throbs and twitches in your mouth. you double your efforts, sucking harder and faster as you sense his orgasm approaching.

your throat constricts around him rhythmically as you swallow, milking his shaft for all it's worth. drool escapes from the corners of your stretched lips, dripping down your chin and onto your heaving breasts.

you can feel your own arousal building to a fever pitch, your core clenching around nothing as you imagine him filling you up with his seed. the thought alone nearly pushes you over the edge. but you hold off, determined to make him come first. you want to taste his essence, to feel him pulse and twitch in your mouth as he finds his release.

with a guttural groan, he slams home one last time, holding you in place as his cock erupts in your mouth. thick ropes of hot cum coat your tongue, flooding your senses with the intense flavor of his release.

“fuuuckkk!” he bellows, eyes rolling back in bliss as he rides out his orgasm. his grip on your hair tightens, not painful but insistent, keeping you still as he empties himself into your eager mouth. wave after wave of his seed pulses across your taste buds, each spurt a testament to his pleasure. finally, with a shuddering gasp, he stills, his cock softening slightly within the confines of your lips.

“swallow it all, baby,” he orders, voice husky with satisfaction, “every last drop belongs to you now.”

you eagerly swallow every last drop of his cum, savoring the taste as it coats your tongue and slips down your throat. his seed is potent and rich, leaving an unmistakable warmth spreading throughout your belly.

reluctantly releasing him from your mouth, you sit back on your heels, panting heavily. your lips are swollen and bruised from their vigorous use, a satisfied smile curving them despite the discomfort.

you reach up to wipe away some of the drool trickling down your chin, smearing it over your cleavage instead. looking up at him through half-lidded eyes filled with lust and satisfaction, “did i do okay?”

he looks down at you, chest heaving with each breath as he fights to regain his composure. a satisfied smirk plays on his lips as he takes in the sight of you, flushed and disheveled.

“you always did, baby,” he replies, voice rough with residual pleasure, “best damn blowjob i've ever had.” he reaches out to run a finger along your jawline, tracing the path of a single tear that has managed to escape. his touch is surprisingly gentle given the intensity of what just transpired.

“but we're not done yet,“ he adds with a predatory gleam in his eye, “it's my turn to breed you now.” without waiting for further response, he pulls you towards him until you're straddling his lap once more. his cock is already starting to stir again, eager for another round. you wrap your arms around him, smiling so beautifully just like how you are, his sweet, sweet little wife.

feeling your arms encircle him, toji lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest. his hands roam over your body, taking delight in the softness of your skin beneath his calloused palms.

“i'm glad you're mine,” he murmurs into your ear, nipping gently at the lobe, “i plan on making you feel very well taken care of.” his hands slide lower, pulling your hips flush against his growing erection. the sensation makes him groan in anticipation.

“so let's get started, shall we?”

you giggle softly, leaning in to press your lips to his in a tender kiss. as you pull back, you whisper, “i love being yours, toji. show me how much.” emboldened by your words, you begin to grind against him, your slick heat coating his length through the fabric of your underwear. the friction sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you, stoking the flames of desire even higher.

he captures your lips again in a searing kiss, tongue delving deep to claim every inch of your mouth. when you break apart, panting, he grips your hips firmly and begins to rock you against him, the motion deliberate and slow.

“that's it, ride my cock,” he commands, voice thick with need, “let me feel that sweet pussy of yours rubbing against me.” his hands slide under your shirt, palming your breasts roughly as he continues to grind you against his hardness. the sensation is maddening, each pass sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

“fuck, you're soaked,” he growls, breaking the kiss to trail biting kisses down your neck, “can't wait to bury myself inside you and fill you up.”

you moan loudly, the sensation of his hard cock pressing against your clit driving you wild. you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into his grasp as he tweaks and rolls your sensitive nipples. you can hardly stand it anymore; the need to have him inside you is overwhelming. you start to move faster against him, desperate for more contact.

“oh god, toji,” you whimper, looking into his eyes, “please, i need you... need you to fuck me.”

hearing your plea, toji's restraint snaps. with a swift movement, he stands up, carrying you effortlessly in his arms. he strides towards the bed, laying you down upon it with surprising gentleness considering the urgency of his actions.

“you'll get exactly what you ask for,” he promises, yanking down your panties with a rough tug. his gaze falls upon your glistening folds, wet and ready for him.

positioning himself between your thighs, he lines up his throbbing member at your entrance. without another word, he plunges deep inside you, stretching and filling you completely. “fucking perfect,” he grunts out, beginning to set a punishing pace. each thrust drives him deeper, hitting spots within you that make stars burst behind your eyelids.

a loud cry tears itself from your throat as he fills you entirely, stretching your walls deliciously. the sensation is overwhelming, causing your entire body to shake.

“oh, t-toji, baby..” you plead desperately, wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him even deeper if possible. every stroke hits just right, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scratching lightly over his skin as you cling to him for support. you can't help but buck up to meet each of his powerful thrusts, desperate to take everything he offers.

he growls in approval, loving the way you claw at him as he pounds into your willing body. the sound of your cries and the sight of your breasts bouncing with each forceful thrust only spur him on.

“look at me,” he demands, his voice thick with lust, “want to see those pretty eyes when i breed you.” his hands grip your hips tightly, anchoring you to him while he drives into you mercilessly. the slap of flesh echoes around the room, punctuating the symphony of moans and groans.

as he watches your face contort with pleasure, toji leans down to capture a nipple between his teeth, nibbling harshly before soothing it with a flick of his tongue. you obey instantly, meeting his gaze with wide, lust-filled eyes. the combination of his commanding presence and the raw pleasure he's giving you leaves you breathless.

“oh fuck, toji...” your voice trails off into a series of broken whimpers as he teases your nipple. the dual sensations of his cock pounding into you and his teeth grazing your sensitive bud send shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.

your inner walls clench around him involuntarily, trying to milk him for all he's worth. but it's clear that you're far from finished; there's still so much more you want from this dominant man.

feeling your walls flutter around him, toji can't hold back a satisfied grunt. he releases your breast with a pop, watching as a bead of blood appears where he'd been sucking. “good girl,” he praises, slapping your thigh lightly for emphasis, “keep coming for me.”

with renewed vigor, he starts slamming into you harder than before. each thrust goes deeper than the last, aimed directly at that spot inside you that makes stars dance across your vision. the bed creaks under their combined weight as he picks up speed, driven by pure instinct and carnal desire.

the sharp sting of pain from his bite quickly gives way to intense pleasure as he pounds into you relentlessly. your body bows off the mattress with each brutal thrust, helpless to resist the onslaught of sensation.

“o-oh god, oh god!“ you whimpering, your voice hoarse from crying out in ecstasy. your mind blanks, consumed solely by the primal urge to be filled, claimed, bred. you lock your ankles behind his back, using every ounce of strength to pull him impossibly deeper. your hips rise to meet his, creating a frenzied rhythm that threatens to shatter you completely.

the feeling of you wrapping yourself around him, urging him on, pushes roji closer to the edge. he feels your body tensing beneath him, signaling that you’re nearing your climax. “that's it,” he encourages through gritted teeth, “come for me, show me how much you love being fucked by your husband.”

his thrusts become erratic as he chases his own release. the thought of filling you with his seed fuels his arousal further. “going to breed you so good,” he vows before capturing your lips once more in a bruising kiss. the intensity of his words coupled with the relentless pace of his thrusts sends you spiraling into oblivion. a scream rips from your throat as your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave.

“i'm cumming!“ you cry out, your body convulsing around his cock as waves of pleasure rip through you. your juices coat his shaft, slickening the path for him to find his own release. your inner muscles clench and unclench rhythmically, milking him for all he’s worth. you can barely form coherent thoughts; all that remains is raw, animalistic pleasure.

feeling your pussy spasm around him triggers toji's own climax. with a guttural roar, he buries himself to the hilt and unleashes a torrent of hot semen deep inside you. “take it all, my wife,” he growls, his hips jerking erratically as he pumps you full of his essence. the sensation of his cum flooding your womb sends shivers down his spine.”

as the final pulses of his orgasm subside, toji collapses onto you, his heavy chest heaving against your own. he nuzzles into the crook of your neck, marking you with gentle bites and whispers of praise. panting heavily, you bask in the afterglow of your intense coupling. feeling toji's warm seed fill you to the brim brings a sense of satisfaction and completion.

“handsome,” you murmur contentedly, running your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. embracing the intimacy of the moment, you wrap your arms around him, holding him close as he recovers. your bodies remain joined, the evidence of his claim still dripping from your entwined forms.

toji hums in pleasure at your touch, nuzzling deeper into your embrace. he presses a soft kiss to your pulse point, savoring the taste of your skin.

“mmm, you're beautiful too, the most beautiful,” he murmurs, slowly rolling you to your sides. even in this position, he remains buried inside you, his softening cock still nestled in your warmth. gently, he begins to rock against you, stirring the mix of his cum and your juices within your shared depths. he action sends pleasant tingles through both of you, prolonging the intimate connection.

“this was perfect,” he says, his voice low and satisfied, “just what we both needed.”

your body responds eagerly to his movements, each subtle shift reigniting the embers of pleasure within you. you let out a blissful sigh, enjoying the lazy rhythm you've fallen into. “it was...more than perfect,” you agree, a smile curving your lips despite the exhaustion settling in. the tender affection mixed with the lingering heat of your lovemaking leaves you feeling cherished and utterly fulfilled.

as the minutes stretch on, you find yourself reluctant to break away from this sweet, languid closeness. it's moments like these that make you realize just how deeply you adore your husband— in every way imaginable.

toji gazes at you adoringly, taking in the blissful expression on your face. he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead, his touch feather-light and reverent.

“i love seeing you like this,” he confesses softly, “satisfied and happy in my arms.” he pauses, his expression turning thoughtful. “i think it's time we started planning our family, don't you? we could have a few more little ones running around, keeping us busy and on our toes.”

the suggestion is made with a playful glint in his eye, but there's an underlying seriousness to his words. toji wants to build a life filled with love, passion, and children— and he intends to start that process soon. at the mention of starting a family, your heart swells with joy. the idea of carrying another child conceived in such passionate, loving circumstances fills you with excitement.

“you know i've always wanted that,” you reply, leaning up to press a gentle kiss to his lips, “a house full of laughter and love...and maybe some mischief too, maybe later,”

the prospect of growing their family together stirs something deep within you. not just physical attraction, but emotional commitment— a bond forged not only between lovers but also parents-to-be. “but for now,” you continue, tracing idle patterns on his chest, “let's just enjoy this moment. our private paradise.”

hearing your agreement, toji smirks, his eyes sparkling with delight. he captures your wandering hand and brings it to his lips for a kiss.

“a private paradise sounds ideal,” he agrees, nipping gently at your fingertips, “but i suppose we should get moving eventually.” despite his words, there's no urgency in his tone. Instead, he seems content to simply stay here with you— lost in each other's company until reality comes knocking.

“but first,” he adds, pulling you closer until your breasts press against his chest, “i need to make sure you're thoroughly satisfied.”

a soft chuckle escapes your lips at his declaration. the idea of being thoroughly satisfied by your husband is quite appealing indeed. “oh, i think i am,” you purr, rubbing your thighs together to alleviate the residual ache left by their earlier activities, “but if you insist...“

you arch your back slightly, pressing even harder against him. the sensation of his semi-hard member still nestled inside you sends delightful sparks of pleasure coursing through your veins. “just one more round?” you tease, batting your eyelashes playfully.

toji's smirk widens at your teasing words, his dark eyes gleaming with lustful intent. he rolls you onto your back, positioning himself above you with a predatory grace.

“one more round it is then,” he declares, beginning to move again, leaning closer to kiss your forehead. his renewed thrusts are slow and deliberate, designed to draw out every last drop of pleasure from both of you.

each stroke sends jolts of pleasure radiating throughout your body. the combination of his weight pressing down on you and the steady rhythm of his hips driving into yours creates an intoxicating blend of sensations.

“and when we're done,” he promises huskily, “we'll start planning our future...together.”

[buckysleftbicep]

exit wounds 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, choking, hairpulling, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, possessiveness, dom!bucky, angst

summary: after you put yourself in danger once again during a mission, bucky finally snaps.

word count: 3.2k

author's note: hello my loves, i hope you enjoy this fic! also, i am currently looking through all the requests i've received and am excited to say i got started on a few! so please, keep sending them, fresh ideas always helps me write better! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

want him so badly

The storm broke before the mission did.

Rain pelted the shattered rooftops, thunder cracked above as you darted through the ruined alleyways of Bucharest, your pulse hammering in your ears. The objective was simple, get in, extract the intel, get out.

“Left. Take the left,” Bucky’s voice crackled through your comms, taut with command.

“I see the target,” you shot back, breathless. “I’m going in.”

“You go in alone, and I swear to god—”

You cut the line.

Not because you were being reckless. You knew what you were doing. You had spent hours upon hours studying the building’s layout, the guards’ rotations, and the window of opportunity that was already closing.

You didn’t need him barking orders in your ear. And you especially didn’t need your boyfriend second-guessing you when you were this close to securing the objective.

But then, behind you—boots pounded on wet concrete, close, fast, and furious.

“Fuck—(y/n)!”

Too late.

The intel was secured. The flash drive sat warm in the lining of your suit, pressed against your sternum. On paper, the mission was a success.

But the cost?

Three injured agents. A building engulfed in fire. And Bucky’s silence on the jet ride towards the nearest safehouse, the tension was thick enough to choke on. He hadn’t looked at you once.

Not when you handed Val the drive. Not when she nodded coolly and dismissed you without a word of praise. Not when the soft hydraulic hiss of the safehouse doors opened and when the rest of the team shuffled in like ghosts.

Now it was just the two of you. The others had scattered quietly, retreating to their temporary rooms for the night. The rain still dripped from your suit's collar, blood clung dry beneath your fingernails, and the silence between you and Bucky pulsed like a second heartbeat.

You peeled your damp tactical vest from your shoulders and tossed it onto the table. Every breath you took felt too loud in the stillness. Your skin was still buzzed with leftover adrenaline and heat, you didn't know if it was from the mission of the confrontation you knew was about to come.

You heard the final set of footsteps retreat, then the soft click of the outer door.

Still, you didn’t turn around.

“I had it,” you said calmly, your voice flat but controlled. “You didn’t need to come after me.”

He didn’t respond at first.

But you could feel him. The tension radiated off him like heat off an engine block. You didn’t need to look to know his jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You could already feel his glare burning through your back almost as if it was trying to set you aflame.

You met his eyes—cerulean, but sharper than usual. Tense. Controlled.

“I got the drive, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the fucking point,” he snapped, the steel in his voice sharp now. “Three agents could’ve died (y/n). You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” you bit out. “And I wasn’t going to.”

His mouth twisted, his chest heaving once before he spoke again, voice splintering. “You think I give a shit about your stats? Your little field heroics?” His voice cracked then, just slightly.

“You think I want to scrape you off the concrete one day just because you were too stubborn to follow the damn protocol?”

You barked a bitter laugh. "Funny. You’ve been quiet up until now.”

He moved fast.

One moment, he was across the room. The next, he was inches from you, towering, taut with anger, fist clenched so tight you could see the veins straining in his forearm.

“You wanna say that again?” he asked, low and dangerous.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to flinch. “I said—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t test me tonight.”

“Why not?” you hissed. “You’ve been dying to explode since we landed Bucky. Go ahead. Yell. Blame me. Do what you always do when you don’t get your damn way—”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t move.

He just looked at you. And somehow, that was worse.

The silence that followed crackled with heat. His jaw tensed, eyes burning into yours like he was holding back with everything he had.

Then, slow and deliberate, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His body radiated heat, tension rolling off him in waves.

“You think this is about me?” he whispered, dangerously quiet now.

“You think I give a fuck if I look bad in the debrief? I don’t care about orders, (y/n). I care about you. And you made the call without backup, without thinking. Again."

“I knew what I was doing,” you murmured, but it came out thinner now.

“And if you were wrong?” he snapped. His breath hit your cheek—damp, hot, ragged. “If I hadn’t gone in after you?”

You couldn’t answer. Because you didn’t know.

And suddenly the room felt too small. Too close. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it wanted out.

He was so close you could smell the rain still clinging to his skin, see the soaked-through fabric of his black shirt clinging to every line of muscle. His hair was still damp, curling around his jaw as his chest rose and fell with heavy, measured breaths.

He looked frayed at the edges, barely holding it together, and burning with fury.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, voice rough. “You think I care about the mission? You think I care about what Val thinks?”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I was just… I needed to prove I could handle it.”

He took another step forward. “To who?”

You blinked.

“To Val? The team?” He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Or to me?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your silence said enough.

Bucky’s hand came up, not fast, not aggressive, but deliberate. It hovered near your jaw, then gently ghosted along the column of your throat. Two fingers settled over your pulse, barely there. Feeling it. Reading you.

“You think I don’t see you?” he murmured. “Think I don’t know what you’re trying to prove every time you run headfirst into danger like you have nothing to lose?”

“You don’t have to be reckless to be worthy of standing next to me,” he said, and something broke in his voice then. Softer. Almost broken. “You already are.”

Your breath stuttered.

You hadn’t meant to move. You hadn’t even noticed your body leaning forward until your chest brushed his. Until you felt the ragged breath he caught against your cheek, until your eyes met his, and everything stopped.

He looked at you like he was drowning in everything he hadn’t said, rage, fear, hunger, all of it right there in his eyes, barely held back.

His thumb brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up. His touch was light, barely there, but it felt like the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“You keep pushing me,” he said, voice low and quiet, the kind of quiet that carried weight.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Always testing. Always toeing the line.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. A slow ache bloomed between your thighs, the kind that only got worse when you held his gaze.

“And what if I’m doing it on purpose?” you murmured. “What if I want you to snap?”

Something shifted behind his gaze, a flicker of heat barely restrained, and the air between you crackled like a live wire. His jaw flexed, his body unmoving, and then, the corner of his mouth lifted. Slow, measured, anything but kind.

“You really want to see what happens when I do?” he gritted out

“Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you.”

You didn’t get a second to breathe.

His hand clamped around your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firm enough to remind you who was in control as he shoved you backward.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and then—without warning, he turned you. One arm braced across your shoulders, the other sliding between your thighs. You barely had time to gasp before he was behind you, chest flush to your back, hips grinding into your ass.

His body pinned you in place, unforgiving and close, and suddenly there was no space, no air, nothing except the burn of him against you and the way your body reacted, fast, instinctive and shameless.

“You want to push me?” Bucky snarled, the words like gravel dragged through his teeth. “Then take it. Don’t you fucking run from it now.”

Your pulse throbbed wildly beneath his fingers. He felt it—you knew he did—because he smiled against your neck. It wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a man barely containing the storm underneath, teeth bared like a wolf on a leash.

You tried to turn your head, to spit something sharp, something defiant, but his metal hand was there in an instant, pinning your cheek to the wall with a ruthless kind of tenderness. Cold vibranium fingers spread across your jaw, holding you still like he was lining up a shot.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” he growled. “You don’t get to talk back. Not after the fucking stunt you pulled.”

Then—he tore your suit open.

The front zipper split with a vicious rip, teeth dragging down your sternum, and then the fabric was shoved roughly off your shoulders. Your bra came into view, your skin prickling in the open air, exposed and vulnerable and throbbing with anticipation.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, and your body reacted instantly, arching toward him, heat coiling low in your belly, wetness pooling between your thighs before you could even think to stop it.

It was humiliating how fast he had you soaked.

“Fucking wet,” he hissed, voice sharp with satisfaction. His flesh hand slid down the front of your suit. Two fingers pressed through your panties and straight into your slit, finding you hot, drenched and needy. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. All that mouth and you still want me this bad?”

You moaned—shameless, high-pitched and he growled like it offended him.

“Pathetic.”

Your suit hit the ground in a heap, shoved down carelessly around your boots. He didn’t bother to strip you completely, he didn’t need to. He just yanked them down far enough to spread your thighs apart, leaving you open, exposed, and trembling.

Then you heard it—the heavy clink of his belt, the hiss of his zipper. Your body jolted at the sound.

“Look at you,” he muttered, low and mean. “Begging to be fucked like a slut after risking your life like a dumb little brat.” The words hit you hard and god, they made your pussy throb.

You clenched around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs, and the worst part was how much you loved it. How much you needed more, needed him.

Your breath stuttered, your hips tilting back instinctively, shameless in how fast you were unraveling for him. You didn’t care what he called you. As long as he didn’t stop. As long as he fucked you like he meant every filthy word.

He pumped his cock once—twice—right behind you. You could feel it already, flushed and hard and heavy, the tip brushing the curve of your ass as he lined himself up.

“You wanted this,” Bucky rasped, voice dragging low and dark. “You pushed me on purpose. You knew exactly what would happen.”

You whimpered, cheeks burning.

And then he laughed, low and cruel and knowing.

“You like it when I’m like this, don’t you?”

His cock dragged through your folds—slick with your arousal, bumping your clit before dipping lower, teasing your entrance with maddening pressure. You nearly sobbed.

“Y-yes… I like it,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs trembled. “I wanted it. I wanted this. W-wanted you like this.”

He slammed into you.

You cry out, the stretch splitting you wide open in one unrelenting thrust. No warning. No mercy. Your nails scraped against the wall as your body spasmed around him, pussy clenching instinctively around the thick length now buried to the hilt.

“Oh my fucking—”

He slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Be quiet,” he gritted out, breath hot on your ear. “They’ll hear you.”

You moaned into his palm, the sound muffled and desperate, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as he began to move—long, deep thrusts that rocked your entire body.

Each snap of his hips sent you forward, your chest jolting against the cold wall with every brutal push. Your legs shook beneath you, barely able to hold you up under the weight of him, his rhythm, his heat, the relentless way he claimed every inch of your body.

His cock hit every spot inside you—deep, relentless, perfect in its punishment. Each thrust drove you harder into the wall, your palms flattened against the cold surface, fingers splayed like you were holding on for dear life.

The air was thick with the sound of slick skin and broken moans, the wet slap of him pounding into you again and again until all you could do was whimper, body shaking, needing more.

He was ruthless.

“You feel that?” he grunted, fucking into you harder. “You feel how deep I am? Fuck, princess, your pussy’s squeezing me.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back. Everything was too much. Not enough.

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear.

“You gonna come already? Just from this? From getting fucked like you’re made for it?”

You tried to speak, tried to form a word, a plea, anything but your mouth refused to work. All that came out was a desperate, broken moan, choked off by the force of him inside you.

Every muscle in your body was strung tight, overwhelmed, aching, begging for release, but all you could do was let the sound of your need echo in the space between you, raw and strung out and wordless.

He let go of your mouth and slapped your ass—hard.

“Say it,” he snarled. “Tell me how badly you want to come.”

“I, god—I need it,” you choked. “Please, need your cock, need you to—”

He pulled out. Completely.

You cry, voice raw with frustration.

Bucky laughed, voice thick with dominance.

“Look at you. Falling apart already. And I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you could respond, he seized your wrists and twisted them behind your back, pinning them there easily with his hand. The cool press of vibranium against your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising in shallow gasps.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he drove back into you—harder, deeper, with a force that knocked a strangled sound from your throat and sent sparks ricocheting through your core.

Your body jolted. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. His flesh hand wrapped around your waist, fingers finding your clit again—rubbing tight, relentless circles in time with each brutal thrust.

You were unravelling, your legs burned and your body trembled. You were a babbling, incoherent mess as your orgasm built again—rising like a fucking tsunami.

“Don’t you dare come,” he growled. You tried. Fuck, you tried.

But he was everywhere—his cock driving into that sweet spot deep inside you with ruthless precision, his fingers working your clit in tight, relentless circles that had you trembling. His voice, low and filthy, poured into your ear like sin itself, each word pushing you closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Say who owns you.”

You sobbed.

“You do, Bucky! You do—”

“Good fucking girl.”

And then he snapped his hips again, slamming into you so deep you felt it in your throat.

You came with a strangled cry, body seizing as pleasure tore through you like a live wire. Your cunt clenched around him in tight, desperate pulses, milking every inch as wetness spilled down your thighs, slicking his cock and coating both of you in heat and ruin.

You slumped forward, forehead pressed to the wall, barely able to hold yourself upright as your orgasm wracked through you.

But he didn’t stop, he kept going—kept fucking you through it like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.

You sobbed, body trembling uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he snarled. “Take it. Cry if you want princess, I’m not stopping.”

Your knees gave out, barely holding you upright and then the second wave hit. He slammed into you hard, tearing through your body before you had a chance to catch your breath.

You clenched around him again, tighter this time, a cry ripping from your throat as you came all over his cock. Everything blurred, your vision, your thoughts, until all that was left was the sharp pulse of pleasure and the rough sound of him still moving behind you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered, pounding into you with short, broken thrusts. “Stuff you full, just like you deserve. Let it drip down those pretty thighs. Let everyone see who fucked you like this.”

He groaned—loud, rough—and then shuddered, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. You felt the warmth of it, the pulse of his release, the way his entire body seemed to collapse into yours.

The only sound was your wrecked breathing, the whine of your body, and the soft drip of his cum sliding down your thighs.

You were trembling, undone in every possible way—mind blank, body limp, pleasure still echoing through your nerves. Your knees wouldn’t hold you, but he didn’t let you fall. His arms were around you instantly, strong and steady, pulling you into his chest like he could anchor you there, like he needed to.

His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling against your back. His lips pressed to your temple, slow and soft, and you felt the way he lingered, like he was grounding himself, too.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to speak. Tears still clung to your lashes, not from pain, not even from the intensity, but from the overwhelming ache in your chest.

He kissed your temple again. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” he murmured.

You blinked, surprised by the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t angry. Not now.

“I can’t—” he swallowed, brow pressed to yours. “I know you’re capable, I know you’re smart. But I can’t watch you walk into something like that again.”

Your throat tightened.

“I thought I could handle it,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “No. No more of that. If something happened to you out there—”

He cut himself off. Pulled you closer. One hand cradled the back of your head. The other still wrapped around your waist, like he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

“You don’t get to scare the shit out of me like that,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve lost so much—and, fuck, I can’t lose you too.”

He looked away, just for a second, like the words hurt to say.

“I wouldn’t survive it.”

You nuzzled into his chest, heart hammering. His scent, his warmth, the rasp of his voice in your ear, it was all too much and not enough.

“I’m sorry,” you said, small and hoarse.

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. He just held you tighter, kissed the top of your head.

“I know”

requests are open!

[pedroscurls]

let me show you (one-shot)

summary: joel comes home and shows you (and mainly himself) that age is nothing but a number.

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader content warnings: EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ ONLY MDNI), established relationship, age gap (joel's in his 50s, reader's 30), unprotected p in v (be safe folks!), oral sex (m and f receiving), fingering, mating press (i feel like this is joel's go-to), doggystyle, cowgirl, multiple creampies (oops), light manhandling, light marking, no use of y/n. word count: 5.5k a/n: so happy to take part at @yxtkiwiyxt's other "never have i ever" challenge for her one year writing anniversary!!! congrats on one year, kiwi - you're such a talented writer that it's so crazy to me that you've only been writing one year! can't wait to see what other stories you create - you got a lifelong fan in me and i'll read everything and everything you write 🫶. i chose joel miller and got the prompt: never have i ever had sex more than 3 times in one night. this is just complete filth, so please heed the warnings and most of all, enjoy <3

The entire drive home, Joel is seething. Hands gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turn white. Jaw clenching so hard that he’s sure he’ll end up cracking a tooth or two. He isn’t even sure why he’s so angry, why some other man’s words have such an effect on him. 

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” 

The frustration radiates through his entire body, tense and tight. The age gap had been something he was wary of in the beginning, but you had always been the one to reassure him that age didn’t matter to you. He tries to hold onto what you would tell him—how safe he makes you feel, the way being in his arms brings you comfort. 

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” 

He had fired that man the moment it left his lips. Tommy had to hold Joel back, and could see the way his older brother’s eyes darkened with rage. His personal life was off limits. You were off limits. After firing him, Tommy had convinced Joel to go home, that he needed the rest of the day to just cool off.��

And now, as he pulls into the driveway, Joel can’t help but hear those man’s words echo in his mind. 

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” 

He climbs out of his truck and storms inside. He knows you’re already home, knows that you’re probably deep in papers that need grading, knows that you’re going to be surprised to see him home so early… 

But Joel is determined—he’s suddenly on a mission to prove to himself that age is nothing but a number. 

He drops his keys in the bowl near the door, kicks off his boots and walks upstairs to your office. The door is slightly ajar and he gently kicks it open with his foot. You look up at him and the look of surprise flashes across your face before a large grin lines your lips. 

“You’re home,” you set your pen down and stand up from your chair. “Everything okay at work?” 

Joel just grunts in response, takes three large strides in your direction before he’s standing in front of you. “Need you,” he growls, his hand coming up to brush your hair away from your face and past your shoulder. He leans in, presses a soft kiss on your jawline and down the side of your neck. 

“Joel,” you whimper, moving your hands to rest on his hips. “Baby, hold on—What happened?” 

“Nothin’,” he mumbles, teeth grazing your pulse point. He hears you let out a whimper and it only fuels him further. Only he could pull those sounds out of you. Age gap, be damned. 

You try to push him away to figure out what’s truly going on, but he just wraps his arms around your frame and pulls you flush against him. Joel turns you so you’re leaning against the edge of your desk, your hands moving to his broad chest. 

“Joel—”

He pulls back and looks into your eyes. You can visibly see that there’s something bothering him. His gaze is dark, brows slightly furrowed, eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched. “Think you can stop grading for one afternoon, baby?” 

“Can you first tell me what’s going on?”

“Nothin’ goin’ on,” he lies, hoisting you up onto the edge of your desk. Joel immediately moves your legs apart as he steps in to stand between them. Slowly, his hands move along your thighs, gaze moving along your frame. There’s a hunger in his eyes, clear determination that you can’t put your finger on. 

“You’re lying. You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” 

Joel grunts and moves a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly along your soft skin. “Just wanted to get home to be with my girl, that a bad thing?” 

“Not at all,” you answer. “But something’s clearly bothering you and—”

“Ain’t nothin’ botherin’ me, darlin’,” he interrupts. “Now, can you stop talkin’ so I can kiss you, hm?” 

“Me talking never stopped you before–”

Joel grunts in reply and leans in to press his lips firmly against your own. Immediately, your hands card through his hair, gasping when you feel the urgency of the kiss. His hands roam your body, already sliding them underneath your shirt. The way his lips move against yours—hurried and desperate—catches you off guard and you’re finding it incredibly difficult to keep up. You part your lips, slowly trying to pull away from him to truly get to the root cause for his sudden behavior, but he doesn’t let you. 

Instead, his large hands grip your hips, tug you to the edge of your desk so that his jean-covered bulge presses firmly to your already throbbing core. Joel’s lips move effortlessly against your own, tongue darting out to flick against your own. You whimper against him and he growls in response, pulling back only slightly to nibble on your lower lip—this action alone causes your legs to wrap around his waist and pull him even further into you. 

“Joel,” you mumble breathlessly, gently tugging on his hair to pull back from him. You’re breathing heavy, lips swollen, eyes dark when you finally look at him. 

“Gonna spend the rest of night showing you how much I love you,” he promises, rolling his hips against you. 

“Baby,” you moan out quietly. “You always show me how much you love me.”

“Hm,” he answers. “Not enough. Never enough.” 

“Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing happened at work?” 

Joel shakes his head once. “No, now can we stop talkin’ about work?” 

You nod and slowly move away from the desk to stand in front of him. You take his hand, play with his fingers before lacing them together with your own. “So, just me and you tonight?” 

Joel nods, “just me and you, baby.” He stares at you for a moment and all of a sudden, the man’s words from earlier comes back—serving as a reminder of why he had been upset in the first place. 

He releases your hand and tosses you over his shoulder. Joel hears you let out a quiet gasp of surprise, but he begins making his way out of your office and down the hall to the bedroom. It doesn’t take him long, but he can feel the strain in the center of his jeans when your hands begin to roam his body. 

Once inside the room, he tosses you onto the mattress. You prop yourself up on your forearms, but Joel—once again—tugs you to the edge of the bed. He wastes no time in hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulling them down your legs with your panties, tossing the articles of clothing carelessly to the side. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself. He parts your legs and licks his lips eagerly, your sex glistening with your own arousal. 

Joel reaches down to undo his belt, followed by his zipper and button on his jeans. He pushes them down his legs, kicks them off to the side, and reaches for the ends of his shirt to lift over his head. Now clad in only his boxer briefs, Joel watches you remove your shirt as well, lying back on your forearms once you’re completely bare and naked for him. 

He reaches down and squeezes the length of himself, hardening even further at his touch. Joel leans over you, hand pressed on the mattress near your head as his free hand comes to settle between your legs. His fingers begin to make quick work, gathering your arousal on his fingertips as he teases your opening. 

“Always this wet for me, aren’t ya?” He whispers, leaning down so that his lips hover near your ear. Joel hears you let out a gasp when he slides in the tip of his middle finger—your walls welcoming him almost immediately. 

“J—Joel,” you moan, eyes fluttering. Joel slides his middle finger further into your depths, down to his knuckle, before he pulls it out completely. His entire digit is glistening and he brings it up to his lips, licking and sucking your arousal off his finger. 

“Christ,” he groans. “Can never get enough of you.” Then, Joel settles onto his knees in between your legs. He presses soft and light kisses on your inner thigh, gently nipping along the way. Though, once his lips hover near where you need him the most, he lets out the most animalistic growl you’ve ever heard. 

You sit up on your forearms, eyes glazing over and beginning to flutter when you feel him lick a stripe along the length of your sex. He keeps his eyes solely focused on you, one hand moving up your body to push you to lie back down. 

“Just relax,” he whispers. “I got you, baby. Always got you.” 

You finally fall onto your back when his lips move towards your clit, tongue flicking against you repeatedly. Your hands move to his hair immediately, pulling and tugging as he applies more pressure. 

Joel knows he could do this for the rest of his life if he could. He ruts against the mattress—your sweet taste only fueling him further. He grunts against you when you pull and tug on his hair and he can feel your arousal drip down his chin. He moves his hands to your legs, holding them apart as he pulls back to look down at you. 

“Look at you,” he says with a low groan. “Lyin’ there lookin’ so pretty.” Joel doesn’t let you get a word in because he leans back down, grips your thighs, and moves his lips to your sex. 

Your back arches—the burn of his beard scratching against your inner thighs, the way his tongue expertly moves in and out of you. A loud moan escapes your lips when you feel his thumb slowly begin to rub circles into your clit. You know you’re close, can feel the pressure building and building. When your eyes lock with Joel’s, you see the corners of his lips lift—the man is fucking grinning. 

He pulls away, but before you can whine in protest, he slides two fingers past your folds. Your hands move from his hair to the sheets, gripping it tightly as you feel him expertly begin to move his fingers in and out of your depths. You’re so wet, the sounds of his fingers squelching with each thrust into you mixes in with your moans. Joel knows—he always knows when you’re close. 

As he pumps his fingers in and out of you, Joel leans down and latches his lips around your clit. It’s just what you need to be pushed over the edge. 

Your back arches in the air, legs attempting to close and squeeze around his head—unintentionally—as your body trembles with pleasure. He slows his movements, pulling back and away from you. His fingers easily slide out of you—your arousal already staining the sheets of the mattress. 

You’re breathing heavily when you finally look in his direction. You can see your arousal glistening on his chin, over his beard. You watch him push his boxers down, his manhood springing at attention. Clearing your throat, you slowly turn on to your abdomen as he stands upright. Before he could even say anything, you reach out and wrap your hands gently around the base of his length.

You glance up at him—there’s just something in the way he’s standing above you that causes a shiver to run through you. He reaches down, gently pushes your hair away from your face, thumb brushing against your jawline. 

“So pretty, baby,” he whispers. His eyes flutter for a moment when you slowly begin to stroke the base of his manhood. When you lean forward to wrap your lips around his tip, Joel moves his hand from your cheek to the back of your head as a low groan escapes his lips. 

You hum in approval, feeling his hand slowly push your head down against him. You get the hint—moving one hand from his base to rest on his hip as you take more of him into your mouth. Your tongue swirls around him as your other hand strokes what your mouth can’t take. 

When you glance up at him, Joel’s head is tilted back—neck outstretched, veins more prominent, broad chest heaving up and down, and his lower lip pulled between his teeth. He always looked so beautiful like this. 

Suddenly, you feel his fingers curl into your hair and pull you away from his slickened length—it glistens with your saliva. 

You whine in protest, trying to lean forward to wrap your lips back around his throbbing manhood, but he clicks his tongue and holds you away from him. 

“Not gonna last if you keep that up,” he admits honestly. “And tonight, I want you as many times as I can.” 

“Joel,” you bite your lower lip, hands moving up his chest. “Once is enough and—”

He shakes his head and pushes you onto your back. His strong arm wraps around your waist and slides you further up onto the mattress as he settles himself between your legs. Joel stares into your eyes and with his free hand, grasps his length to run his tip along the length of your sex. He gathers your arousal around his tip, growling lowly to himself as he notches himself at your entrance. 

“Not tonight it isn’t,” he finally answers, pushing fully into you in one long and deep stroke. Joel groans when your walls envelope him—warm, wet, tight. He always loves it when he thrusts into you for the first time because it serves as a reminder of how perfectly you were made for him. He sees the way your face contorts into pleasure—mouth slightly agape and brows furrowed with a quiet whimper escaping your lips; he finds it so cute how you always try to hold back your sounds of pleasure. 

“J—Joel,” you moan, hands moving to come up to rest on his broad shoulders. 

Something in him snaps and there’s a primal urge that courses through his veins as he stares down at you. Joel takes your hands from his shoulders, gently placing a soft kiss on your knuckles, before he grabs your legs and places them over his shoulders instead. At the new position, he feels himself slide further into your depths and it only urges him further. He pushes into you, his own hands resting at either side of you as he pulls out to his tip only to thrust back into you. 

You’re folded in half—body beginning to tremble already as he picks up the pace in his thrusts. You had a very healthy sex life with Joel, but this time… this time it feels so different. It feels like he’s on a mission to prove something to himself. 

The sound of his skin smacking against yours echo the walls of the bedroom, your moans increasingly becoming louder and louder. Your hands move to his lower abdomen in an attempt to push him away because you feel the pressure creep up once more. He growls in response and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head. 

“Close huh, baby?,” he growls.

“Joel, p—please,” you whimper, toes curling. You can’t move—hands pressed into the mattress, legs thrown over his shoulders, and his entire body pressing into you. It’s by far the most intimate position you’ve ever experienced and the way he’s slamming into you pushes you over the edge. 

“Joel!” You moan loudly, walls already clenching around him as your body trembles once another orgasm takes over your entire frame. 

“Fuck,” Joel groans, releasing your wrists to rest his own large hands on your hips. His own thrusts begin to falter as he feels his release begin to creep up quickly. He tries to think of something else, tries to make this last longer, but the way you’re tightening around him just pushes him over. 

He slams into you once, twice, three times before he releases into you. Joel lets out a guttural groan, the hands on your hips tightening its grip as he slowly rolls his hips into you. Slowly, Joel moves your legs from his shoulders to instead wrap around his waist loosely and he looks down between your bodies to see his spend trickling out of you once he pulls out. 

You’re breathing heavily, staring up at him with a dazed look on your face. You gently reach up to touch his cheek, feel him lean into the pit of your palm as he stares deeply into your eyes. “Where did that come from?”

Joel shrugs and gently pecks your lips. “Just wanted you, baby.” Slowly, he pulls away from you and stands from the bed to grab a wet and warm towel to wipe his release from between your legs. He watches you shiver against his touch, eyes fluttering when the towel brushes against your most sensitive areas and he smirks. 

“Joel,” you whimper. 

“Sorry,” he grins proudly. Once you’re cleaned up, he sets the towel in the laundry basket and then falls back onto the bed with you. You lie on your side and he comes up behind you, arm draped over your midsection as he brings you flush against him. He peppers light kisses along the back of your bare shoulder. “Love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you too,” you tilt your head back against his shoulder and shut your eyes. “Made me tired,” you whisper, voice trailing off. “Didn’t even have dinner yet.”

He chuckles and shuts his eyes, holding you close. “How about we take a short nap and then I’ll feed you, hm? That sound like a plan?”

“Yes,” you reply with a small smile, turning your head just enough to press a soft kiss onto his cheek. “Maybe you should come home early more often,” you giggle.

Joel’s jaw tightens as the man’s words echo in his mind again. He doesn’t reply—just holds you closer to him and feels you relax in his embrace. 

Joel awakes almost an hour later—you’re still leaning back against him and his arm is still wrapped around you from behind. He can hear your quiet breathing, takes a peek in your direction to see you peacefully asleep. He feels you shift back against him and he’s suddenly aware of the lack of clothing that you both are wearing. 

His mind drifts momentarily, remembering the events that unfolded just an hour ago. He can still feel the anger bubbling within him, can still hear that man’s voice echo in his mind.

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” 

His arm remains draped over your waist and his large hand soon encompasses your breast, thumb brushing against your nipple. He hears you let out a quiet moan and Joel can feel his lower half begin to stir. He’s surprised that after an hour, he can feel himself getting hard all over again.

Slowly, Joel presses himself firmly against you from behind and moves his lips along the side of your neck. As he begins to pepper light kisses on your skin, his hand begins to massage your breast into the pit of his palm. He hears your breathing quicken and quietly—in that sweet voice of yours—you say his name. 

“Joel,” you whimper. 

“Shh,” he whispers, teeth grazing your earlobe. Joel releases his hold on you and gently moves you to lie on your abdomen. He quickly moves to hover above you, his legs placed on either side of you. His large hands move to your backside, spreading your cheeks apart as he lets out a low growl at the sight of you. “Can’t get enough of you,” Joel growls. 

He grasps his hardening length, tugs on it twice before he presses his tip into your slit. Slowly, Joel pushes his hips forward—you’re already so wet and gripping the head of manhood as he pushes himself further into you. 

Your hand reaches back for him, trying to press against his lower abdomen to stop him from pushing any further. You’re already so sensitive—walls quivering as he grabs both your wrists to hold against your lower back. With one stroke, Joel fills you to the brim and he feels you begin to squirm against him.

“Joel!” you exclaim, eyes falling shut as you press your forehead against the mattress. He feels so much bigger like this and when he pulls his hips back—your walls sliding along his length—only to slide back into you, it causes a loud moan to escape your lips. 

“H—-how?” you mumble, feeling his hand release your wrists only to grip your hips, pulling you to prop yourself up on all fours. 

Joel doesn’t reply, the man’s words echoing in his mind with each thrust.

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” — thrust.

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” — thrust.

“Aren’t you old enough to be her father?” — thrust.

Your hands grip the sheets so tight because Joel’s never been this rough before. With each thrust, Joel’s jaw tightens. He grips the back of your neck and pushes you face down onto the mattress as he slams into you repeatedly from behind. His skin slaps against your own and you can feel the tight grip he has around your hips—knowing that there’s going to be bruises there later. 

“J—Joel!” you moan into the mattress, pushing back against him as you feel yourself begin to reach yet another orgasm. Your walls begin to tremble, can feel a rush of wetness between your legs and the pleasure racking through your entire body. 

“Fuck,” he finally moans—your walls tightening around his length in a tight grip. Joel leans over you, hand moving from the back of your neck to grab a fistful of your hair to lift your head off the mattress. He breathes heavily into your ear as his thrusts begin to falter. “Come for me,” he demands, thrusting into you that your body jerks forward. 

“I—I can’t,” you whimper. Your entire body is on fire and you’re so close to the edge, but you’re holding back… and Joel knows because his eyes narrow at your words and he leans down to gently bite down on the side of your neck.

“I said,” he groans, delivering yet another hard thrust. “Come for me.” 

With his free hand, Joel reaches down and begins to circle your clit. It’s just the right amount of pressure for you to reach your peak. Your toes curl and your eyes shut tight as a loud moan escapes your lips. Joel smirks proudly, releasing his hold on your hair as he grips your hip instead. 

Joel delivers one, two, three thrusts before he releases into you. His eyes fall shut, head tilted back as he tries to catch his breath, slowing his thrusts as your walls continue to milk every last drop. When he finally pulls out, Joel opens his eyes to watch his release slowly drip out of you and onto your inner thighs. 

He bites his lower lip and falls back onto the bed next to you, lying on his back as he glances over at you. 

“Well,” you whisper, looking over at him. “That was something.”

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks with soft eyes—his big, brown, puppy eyes staring at you with concern now that his mind is clear. 

“Would you hate me if I said it wasn’t enough?” you tease, leaning over to peck his lips. “You promised me food and instead…”

“You were just so…” Joel bites his lower lip, his gaze raking over your frame with lust-filled eyes. “Inviting.” 

“Maybe I should sleep naked more often,” you grin, standing up from the bed to walk towards the bathroom to clean yourself up. 

“If you do that, ain’t nothin’ gonna get done,” he chuckles. Joel stands up as well, walking after you as he wraps his arms around you from behind. “What does my girl want to eat?” 

“Can you order a pizza?” you smile, wiping his release from between your legs. You toss the tissue into the trash and then lean back against him, head resting against his chest. 

“Of course, baby,” he smiles, turning his head to kiss your temple. 

You take note of the marks on your hips and the darkening spot on the side of your neck. You bite your lower lip and slowly turn in Joel’s arms, staring up at him as your arms wrap around his neck. “Gonna have these marks on me for a few days at least.”

Joel arches a brow, eyes glancing down at the mark on your neck before his gaze lowers to your hips. He blushes and rests his forehead against your own. “Sorry, baby.” 

“Don’t be,” you smile, hands playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I like it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, small smile lining his lips. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m all yours, so let’s let the entire world know,” you tease. 

“Naughty,” Joel chuckles. 

“Only for you.”

Joel growls, hand moving to grasp your backside. “I like the sound of that.” 

“Mmm,” you smile. “I don’t think I can go another round,” you say honestly. “I’m sensitive all over and I’m hungry.”

Joel leans in, pecks your lips lightly as he pulls away slowly. “Maybe you just need some food because I am determined to have you one more time before we call it a night.”

“One more time?” you ask, eyes widening. “We’ve already had sex twice in the last hour or so and—”

“Then we’ll eat dinner and I’ll have you again,” Joel interrupts with a grin. “Don’t put anythin’ on. I’ll have pizza delivered.”

“You want me to walk around like this?” 

“Yes,” Joel growls. 

“Yes, sir,” you smile innocently. 

About thirty minutes later, you and Joel are in the kitchen with an opened box of pizza. He’s dressed only in a pair of boxers, but you’re completely naked—just like he said you should be. You’re sitting on the edge of the kitchen island with a slice of pizza in hand, humming contentedly as you take a bite. 

“Good?” Joel asks with a grin, his own slice of pizza in his hand. 

“Very,” you smile, finishing your first slice of pizza in record time. You see Joel arch a brow and you just roll your eyes playfully. “I gained an appetite.”

Joel chuckles to himself and moves to stand between your legs. “You did, huh? Why’s that?” 

“I came like three times already, baby,” you tell him, reaching for another slice of pizza. “I really don’t think I can do any more than that. I’m already—My body’s just so sensitive.” 

“Oh?” he asks, eyes looking at you from top to bottom. He moves his hands to your thighs and gently spreads them apart, looking between your legs to see your sex glistening. “How come you’re wet then, hm?” 

“Joel…” you whisper, setting the slice of pizza down as you wipe your hands with a paper towel. “I’m just—I’m always wet whenever I’m around you.”

“That so?” 

You nod, feeling his finger run along the length of your sex, gathering your arousal. You let out a quiet whimper, a shiver running down your body at the sensation. “Joel, baby…” 

“Always so ready for me, ain’t you?”

You nod, biting your lower lip. “Joel,” you repeat. “I—If we have sex one more time, I won’t last long and—”

“Shh,” he interrupts. “Let me just take care of you, baby.” Joel lifts you off the counter and sets you down onto your feet. He leads you to the couch in the living room where he takes a seat and shimmies out of his boxers, kicking them carelessly off to the side. He can already feel himself getting hard as he grasps his length and begins to stroke himself to full mast. “Come on, baby,” he urges, pointing to his lap with his chin. 

You nod and straddle his lap as your hands move to his shoulders. You slowly lower your hips to feel the tip of his manhood brush against you. Gasping, you lift your hips and stare into his eyes. Joel’s gaze darkens and he moves a hand to your hip, gripping it tightly as he pushes you onto him. Your walls—so wet—encompasses him tightly and he tilts his head back against the couch, a low groan escaping his lips. 

Joel feels so deep like this and you begin to roll your hips forward and backward. The hair at his base brushes against your clit and your body begins to tremble already. Your hips move so slowly because that’s all you can take right now, but Joel… It’s not enough for him. Even with your fingernails digging into his shoulders, gripping it so tight, Joel needs more. 

He moves his hands underneath you and lifts you slightly off his lap—just enough to give him space to begin thrusting upwards. Joel growls to himself as he looks up at you, your breasts bouncing as he thrusts upwards. 

“Joel!” you moan loudly, wrapping your arms around him as you press your front against him—holding onto him tightly. “Baby, please…”

“You feel so good around me, baby,” Joel whispers into your hair, eyes falling shut. “Always so wet for me, always so tight… Fuck, you were made for me.”

“J—Joel,” you whimper, feeling his hands move to your hips instead as you roll your hips against his own. You keep your tight hold onto him, gasping quietly as you feel your walls begin to tremble yet again. 

“Yes,” he groans, arms wrapping around your waist to guide you forward and backward on his lap. Joel knows he won’t be able to last either—he’s surprised that he was even able to recover so quickly in the span of two hours to do this three times. 

“Love seein’ you like this,” he says quietly, feeling your arms unwrap itself around his shoulders. Joel feels your hands move to rest on his shoulders as you ride him like your life depended on it. “Fuckin’ beautiful,” he grins, eyes scanning your face before his gaze lowers to your naked frame. 

“Joel, baby… I—” 

“I know,” he whispers. “Let go for me, darlin’. I got you.”

“Fuck!” you moan, head tilting back as you move your hips forward and backward quickly. Your body shakes with pleasure as the tightness builds and builds until you can no longer take it. You collapse into Joel, breathing heavily. 

Joel groans to himself as he grips your hips, guiding you along his length as he chases his own release. It doesn’t take long because when you whisper his name, he feels the tightness in the pit of his stomach break until he releases into you for the final time that night. 

Joel rests his forehead against your own, feeling himself soften while still inside of you and he makes no move in lifting you off his lap. Even as he feels his seed trickle down to the hair at his base, Joel keeps you seated on his lap, strong arms embracing you. 

“Thank god it’s the weekend tomorrow,” you whisper with a quiet giggle. 

“Why’s that?” he asks with a small smile. 

“Because I’m sure that I’d have trouble walking,” you answer. 

“You’re good for my ego,” he chuckles. 

“Where did all of that come from?” you ask honestly. 

Joel shrugs, staring into your eyes. “Nowhere.” 

“You’re lying.”

He sighs and finally asks, “Does our age gap bother you?” 

“What?” 

“I’m old enough to be your father–”

“I don’t care,” you interrupt him. “Our age gap means nothing to me…” 

“But it should, shouldn’t it?” 

“A bit too late for that, don’t you think?” You shake your head, lifting your left hand in the air and taking his left hand in your other one, showcasing both of your wedding rings. “We’re married now, baby. We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Some– Some asshole made a comment and it just got to me,” Joel sighs. 

“Did this happen at work?”

“Yeah,” he answers truthfully. “Fired him and Tommy had to stop me from doin’ somethin’ stupid and I just—” he sighs. 

“Well, you just proved that age is nothing but a number, Joel. We had sex three times in the last two hours… And I’ve never had sex more than three times in one night so…”

Joel lets a small smile line his lips. “Never, huh?” 

You shake your head. “You’d be the first.” 

“And your last,” Joel finishes. “I’m sorry it got me,” he sighs. “I don’t usually care what other people have to say about our relationship, but for some reason… This just got to me.”

“If our gap bothered me, I wouldn’t have married you,” you say quietly, hands coming up to gently brush his hair away from his face. “I love you. All of you.” 

“Even if I’m some old man?”

“An old man wouldn’t have been able to do what we just did,” you smile. 

He chuckles and gently pecks your lips. “Love you so much, darlin’.” 

“I love you too, Joel.” Slowly, you stand from his lap with a quiet whimper as you extend a hand out for him. “What do you say we take a shower and then spend the rest of the night cuddling?”

Joel smiles lovingly in your direction and stands from the couch, taking your hand. “That sounds like a great way to end the night, baby.” 

[spite-and-waffles]

(alt included)

Link to Video. (Please help Panda make money.)

Video description and transcript under the cut.

Description: TikTok video by The Panda Redd. Re-enactment of final scene of Under the Hood. All roles played by Panda (a tall, well-built young white man with a mohawk, wearing a grey hoodie). Setting is a dark basement lit only by a hanging light bulb.

Transcript.

Jason: (holding gun on Bruce) "Bruce, I forgive you for not saving me."

Batman: (glares silently)

Jason: "But why? Why on God's Earth—" (hits Joker across the face)

Joker (tied to a chair): *cackles*

Jason: "—is HE still alive??"

Joker: "AHAHAHAHAHHAHA!"

Batman:

Batman: "I'm sorry, d'you want me to be serious here or—?"

Jason: (in disbelief) "YES, Bruce! I want you to be serious right now! If he had done what he did to me to you, I would've done nothing but search the earth for this pile of death-worshipping garbage!"

Joker: "I love you too, Sugar Plum."

Batman: (holds hands up) "Okay, yeah, I get that, totally, I get that. Um. Have you tried?"

Jason: "Excuse you?"

Batman: "Have you tried to kill him yet?"

Jason: (to Joker) "Is he being serious?"

Joker: (also confused) "I'm gonna be honest with you, Junior. I don't know."

Jason: "Got it. Great." (turns back to Batman) "What the fuck does THAT mean?"

Batman: "Okay, so no, you haven't. Cool. Do it."

Jason:

Jason: (lowers gun) "What."

Batman: "Do it, cap his ass. Shoot him."

Joker: (finally rattled) "I'm gonna go with Junior here, and say...what??"

Jason: "You want me to shoot him?"

Batman: "I want someone to shoot him! Give me the gun, I'll do it!"

Jason: (mutters, brain blue screening) "What is going on right now? This should a lot harder than it is."

Batman: "C'mon, son! You decapitated like eleven people three days ago! Fuckin' do it!"

Joker: (turns to Jason quizzically) "This has gotta be some sort of test, ri—"

(BANG! Jason fires. Joker lands on the floor lifeless, eyes still open.)

Jason: "There, you happy? Jesus. Was that so hard? All of this time and it was THAT easy!"

Jason: "What the fuck is that supposed to—" (looks down at floor where the Joker was lying)

Batman: "I don't know what you're talking about 'easy'. There's nothing there." (nods at floor)

Floor: (is devoid of Joker)

Jason: (stares)

Floor: (continues to be sans anything but carpet)

Jason: "What the fuck?"

Batman: "Yeah."

Jason: "WHAT THE FUCK?"

Batman: "Take as long as you need with this."

Jason: (looking around frantically) "I just shot him! He hit the floor! What the f—" (turns back to the floor)

Floor: (is just vibin')

Jason: "Where the fuck did he go??"

Batman: "See that shit? That shit right there happens every fucking time!"

Jason: "There's not even a blood stain! It's just gone!"

Batman: "Yeah, like two days after you died, I chased him into a helicopter where he got shot like six times. The helicopter exploded and crashed into the ocean. And his body was gone before Superman could find it."

Jason: "Oh my God. I don't understand how this is even fucking possible!"

Batman: "He's like a cryptid! I don't fucking get it!"

Joker: (disembodied laughter) "AHAHAHAHA HAHAHA!"

Jason: (freaked out, turning in circles trying to find him) "Oh my God!"

Batman: "THAT OMINOUS SHIT HAPPENS TOO! I DON'T KNOW, DUDE!"

Jason: "Dude. Fuck whatever's going on here, that's some fucking bullshit."

Batman: "Thank you! Finally someone gets it!"

[ditzyrafe]

rafe x needy!reader? they’ve already gone at it once but she cannot get enough… she feels like she physically can’t stop

if you’re not comfortable with writing this then just ignore it!! :) thank youu

— bf!rafe fucking needy!reader

warnings — p in v, thigh riding, petnames, reader being needy, lewd language

the tangled sheets are damp beneath you, clinging uncomfortably to your overheated skin. rafe lies beside you, chest rising and falling heavily, eyes closed, looking utterly spent. you just came, a shuddering, messy climax that should have left you satiated, maybe even borderline numb after the hours you've already spent fucking each other.

but it didn't.

rafe sighs, shifting slightly, his arm brushing against yours. even that fleeting contact sends a jolt through you. without thinking, you reach out, fingers tracing the line of sweat down his ribs, sliding lower toward his limp cock.

he cracks an eye open, looking at you through heavy lids, a mixture of exhaustion and faint surprise on his face. "jesus, baby," he murmurs, his voice rough, thick with sleep and exertion. "still going? thought that last round finally killed you."

you shake your head silently, unable to articulate the relentless need clawing at you. you shift closer, lifting yourself off the bed before lowering your core to his thigh, seeking the familiar heat and hardness, even though you know he must be soft now, spent. your hand finds him, closing around his length. he stirs slightly under your touch.

"baby, come on," rafe sighs, trying to gently push your hand away. "m'fucking exhausted, let's go to bed, yeah?"

"no," you whisper the word desperate, raw. you push his hand away, resuming your ministrations with more urgency, needing to feel him harden again. "please, rafey. i need more." it feels shameful, this relentless craving, but you need this. your body feels hollow, aching, incomplete without him filling you up.

"fuck, you're relentless," he murmurs, but he stops resisting your touch. his cock begins to stir, thickening slowly under your insistent hand. he reaches out, pulling you on top of him, settling you onto his hips. even half-hard, the pressure against your entrance is agonisingly good.

"ride me, baby" he commands softly, his hands finding your waist, guiding your initial desperate movements. "ride this fuckin' cock."

you obey instantly, grinding down, using your own slickness and desperate friction to coax him back to full hardness. it doesn't take long. the need radiating off you seems to fuel him, bypassing his exhaustion. he watches you, hands gripping your hips tightly, letting you set the pace this time.

you lift your hips high, then slam back down onto his cock, seeking the deepest penetration possible. sweat beads on your forehead, dripping down between your breasts, mirroring the sheen on his own skin. your hair sticks to your temples, your breathing coming in ragged, almost panicked gasps. it's not just pleasure driving you; it's something closer to desperation, a physical craving that borders on pain.

"easy, doll," rafe murmurs, his voice still rough but losing some of its earlier exhaustion, replaced by a growing intensity as he watches you unravel above him. his thumb snakes to your clit, rubbing slow circles lazily. "you’re gonna tire yourself out."

but you can't slow down. the friction feels good, incredible even, but it's not enough. it doesn't touch that core ache. you whine softly, a frustrated sound, leaning forward, bracing your hands on his chest, trying to find a better angle, a deeper connection. his muscles tense beneath your palms.

he groans low in his throat, his own control starting to fray under your relentless assault. his hips begin to lift off the mattress, meeting your downward thrusts, adding his power to yours. the shift is subtle but significant. he's no longer just letting you ride; he's participating, drawn back into the fire by your sheer, consuming need.

"fuck, you feel so good," he grits out, his eyes darkening as he watches your face contort with effort and building pleasure. "pussy's so fuckin' tight and warm… y'gonna cum for me, angel?"

"f-fuck yes, mmhhh," you cry out, riding him impossibly harder, faster.

"that's it," rafe encourages, his voice strained now, hands gripping your hips tighter, almost bruisingly. "cum f'me again. show me how much y'need this cock."

his words, combined with the powerful thrust of his hips meeting yours, finally tip you over. the orgasm hit with staggering force, more intense than any of the previous ones, fuelled by hours of build-up and sheer desperation. it rips through you, stealing your breath, making you cry out loud, a raw, keening sound. your body convulses violently around him, clamping down hard, milking every last drop of him.

he roars beneath you, his own release triggered by the intensity of yours, coating your walls with his warm seed. you collapse onto his chest, utterly boneless this time, trembling uncontrollably, spent in a way that feels deeper, more complete than before. his arms wrap around you, holding you tight against his slick, heaving chest. for a long moment, the only sound is the harsh rasp of your combined breathing. the ache is still there, a faint echo beneath the overwhelming tide of release.

"such a needy girl today, weren't you?"

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© written by ditzyrafe — do not steal or claim as ur own, stealing will result in me blocking u, any resemblance to any other story is simply coincidental!

[nochepsicodelica]

"Gentle," you murmur, lips curled softly in amusement as you watch Toji plant kisses all over your bare thighs. "Geeentle," you repeat, when he starts inching closer to the inner part of your thigh. Then you see it, the hyper focus he holds on the plush area of your legs. You watch as he prepares to strike, his mouth widening while he starts leaning in closer.

"Gentle, gentle, gentle-- Wait, Toji-!" You blurt, needlessly, since he didn't make any attempt to slow down once he set his plan in motion. Your laughter interrupts the stillness of the once calm room, while Toji is just there with his teeth, harshly, sunken into your thigh. It's warm, it's wet, but most of all, it stings.

After relaxing his jaw, his grip on your delicate skin loosens, and he pulls away, before taking his sweet time to admire his newly created masterpiece. He rubs the temporary impression he left on you, eliciting an expected but still mildly unpleasant soreness with every press and drag of his fingertips.

"That was a good one, huh?" Toji murmurs, a smug grin on his face as he leans in to leave a much gentler brush of his lips on the "affected" area.

You scoff and roll your eyes, but agree nonetheless. He doesn't need to know that, though. "Pshhh, it was alright. I'm not missing a chunk out of my leg or anything, so..."

"Mm..." he hums, like he got your message loud and clear. "Let me try that again, then."

"Wait, no, please! No! Oh god, please, no! Please don't," you cry out, like you're auditioning for the most dramatic TV series. He laughs at the way your legs shuffle before he can get another good bite on you.

"I didn't even do anything and you're already crying," he says, unfazed but stilled entertained, as usual. He's used to your dramatics, by now.

"Ahh! That's what you say to me every night."

"Damn right," he says, proudly, in agreement, reciprocating your menacing grin. "You're chicken, baby," he fires, dropping the grin almost instantly.

"You're chicken, baby," you sling back, turning his insult on him.

"If you let me get another bite in, I'll take it back," he says, bringing your legs back to where they rested before, carefully, so that you don't pull away again.

"But, but, but-"

"But, but, buuuuuut," he mocks, sounding like a mosquito and snickering when you deadpan.

"You're not funny," you say, your voice icy. It's hard to stay serious in the moment, considering how ridiculous the whole situation is.

"Look at you. You wanna laugh. Aaaand your lips are twitching. They're starting to curl."

"Stop narrating my movements, damn it," you chide, giving into the laugh he witnessed slowly unfolding.

Chomp.

Your laughter doubles down, and you swear you feel the breaths coming from his own chuckle on your skin.

"Oww," you wail, pushing at his head to try and shake him off, but he's like a dog with an object it refuses to let go of. "Toji, i'm gonna scream in three... two..."

He loosens his hold on your skin, pulling away completely to avoid setting off the siren that is you, his very lovely lady.

"Don't," he strictly instructs.

"Hm, maybe I should do it, anyway. I'm in so much pain."

"Is that a threat, baby?" Toji asks, scarred side of his lips curling. He watches you shrug in response, followed by a sassy tilt of your head, as if to say, 'what are you gonna do about it?'

"Be good."

"Be nice," you retort.

You both just stare at each other for a couple seconds, eyes never separating from each other. It's a brief moment between lovers who enjoy these little showdowns and how they almost always immediately come to an end when both of you inevitably crack.

Starting with you...

Your lips being tightly pressed together does nothing to suppress the loud snicker that cuts through the silence you both created. Toji follows almost instantly, unable to hold back his own entertained grin as he leans down to leave gentle, soothing kisses on the new impression he made on your thigh.

"You're nutso," you say, nothing but love in your tone, as you delicately run your fingers through his hair.

"You love it," he responds, caressing your thighs in his warm hands as he continues to soothe your tender skin with his lips.

[eowynstwin]

anatidae - conception, i.

After several happy years together, Ghost and Soap finally convince you to have their child. - ghoap x reader. audhd reader. reader has a nickname. established relationship. polyamory. baby fever. manipulative Soap. smut. breeding kink. anal sex. top Soap. bottom Ghost. sex as manipulation. - Masterlist. Ao3

Eventually, they convince you.

It is impossible to tell who your daughter’s father is for two reasons:

One, when she opens her tiny eyes, one is blue, and one is brown. Complete heterochromia, unlikely to change.

And two—with every passing day, she looks more and more like you.

Four years old; roly-poly with baby fat, little legs and arms she doesn’t quite know what to do with yet. She fills the spaces in your plural household that you did not know were empty until she found them, with her curiosity, her laughter, her boundless appetite for each minute of every day.

She’s smart. Very smart, quick not only to learn but to apply her lessons to new contexts. She sleeps through the night almost every night since the three of you brought her home, turns her nose up at nothing you offer her to eat, never wanders far from you or her fathers at the park or the store.

She’s perfect—even though she has not yet uttered a single word.

Your baby. Your Lizzie.

And actually, it’s Soap’s idea.

His eldest sister’s middle child is turning six, so the three of you pile into his car on a warm Saturday morning to make the drive to the suburbs. The MacTavish-Donnelly household overflows with children in party hats and benevolently bored parents when Ghost pulls the old Jeep up to the curb, boxing some unfortunate van in the driveway, and your trepidation is visible the moment your shoes hit the pavement.

Being your partner has uncovered a new layer of perception for Soap and Ghost; they see and hear things they previously would have ignored, because with the way you move through the world you can ignore nothing.

You described it once having a live wire for every nerve ending; everything, everywhere, screams at you all the time.

So when you pause on the sidewalk when you see a trike in the front yard, and a few adults holding punch cups on the stoop chatting, Soap knows why he hears the wrapping paper around the present in your hands crinkle, your grip tightening.

He throws an arm around your shoulder and brings his lips to your ear. “You got your wee earplugs, aye, Ducky?”

“Yes,” you whisper nervously.

You sway into him at his touch—it’s grounding, you’ve explained. It keeps you from floating away, expanding outward to try to figure out everything happening around you. Nothing beyond the sphere he and Ghost make matters so much.

He kisses the soft spot of your jaw. Ghost comes up to your other side and pulls your hand up into the crook of his arm. “We can set the place on fire, if need be.”

“Don’t burn my sister’s house down, please, LT.”

“Sink fire. Set off the alarms, that’s all.”

You give a little sniff of laughter, and, thus fortified, the three of you advance.

There’s Twister in the living room next to a table piled high with a rainbow of gifts, children tumbling around each other on the mat and laughing while music plays on the telly. Pastel streamers and balloons festoon everything (the middle child being celebrated should grow up without any proverbial complexes, Soap thinks), and confetti is abundant on the carpeted floor like a piñata molted on its way through.

There are the usual stares as they walk through the house. Soap is used to it—likes to flaunt it even, sometimes—and Ghost has never given a shit what anyone thinks. But you seem to shrink even further between them as you feel watched, curious eyes wondering if the mousy little thing between them really arrived with two men.

Luckily, they find Mary in the kitchen, and even despite how obviously harried she is, wisps of hair flying around a lopsided ponytail, Soap’s sister brightens when she sees them.

“Johnny!” she exclaims, swooping him into a hug he’ll never get too big to fall into. “And Simon and Duck! Thank goodness, we’re about to cut the cake and we might need crowd control.”

“Mary,” grunts Ghost.

“Hello Mary,” you say.

Mary releases Soap and smiles very kindly at you. Out of all his siblings, she’s been the most fond of you from the start—probably, he thinks, because she sees something to nurture in you.

At that moment, two of Mary’s children and three of Soap’s nieces and nephews, including the birthday boy, rush in to glom around Soap’s legs, and after the choruses of “Uncle Johnny!” collide with him, they backwash toward Ghost, who always has candy in the many pockets of his utility pants for them to scavenge.

Soap’s family has accommodated you well, though—they flow around you like water, barely touching, and you take the opportunity to give Mary your own hug.

“We’re doing crafts in the backyard, Duck, I thought you might like that,” his sister says, patting your back.

You pull away and give her a smile. It’s one of Soap’s favorites; small and mysterious, and completely genuine. The one that means you’re very pleased, and you don’t feel pressured to show it.

“Yes,” you say, and you vanish outside to sit with the quiet ones.

Ghost allows himself to be dragged off by the rowdier kids, leaving Soap to lean against the kitchen counter and smile at his sister; when when she lifts a cup to sip at some punch, he taps her belly with two fingers.

He’d felt it when she hugged him. A little firmness, hidden by the weight she’s never managed to lose after three pregnancies, and the loose shirt she’s likely wearing to hide the growing bump.

“Number four,” he murmurs.

Jealousy, a thin, sharp garrote, tightens in a spool around his stomach, but it’s an old feeling—one he’s learned how to ignore, until it stops aching.

(Compromise—sacrifice. It’s how a relationship between three people sustains itself. Everyone in his plurality has given something up, or learned to live with something else, or adopted new practices they might otherwise have never picked up. It’s a solid, even foundation, and the last thing Soap wants to do is take a hammer to it.)

His sister’s face softens with warmth. The glow of it suffuses the stiff lines of her posture, gentling the anxiety that has fizzed in the way she stands.

“Our last one,” she says quietly. “We haven’t told anyone yet.”

“Planned?”

“No. God! Could you imagine? Mum and Dad are crazy enough.”

Soap smiles. “We turned out alright.”

Mary runs her hand over her stomach, quick but loving. “Yeah, we did. Remember me though? Swore I’d never become her, and look at me now.”

A house full of toys shoved into every corner; sippy cups in a wire drain basket by the sink. The long hem of her tunic shirt creased by tugging hands. The jamb of one door anointed with three different colors of sharpie, hatch marks measuring years of rapid growth.

Light, and warmth, and color.

“You’re happy, though,” he says.

“I am.” She aims a little grin into her cup—an expression he’s seen her make more often with every consecutive pregnancy.

A secretive curve of her lips. Tranquil, with the familiarity of some hidden insight, as if Mary can see facets of happiness that—to Johnny—remain a mystery.

“I always thought this would be you, you know,” she says. “If you married a girl, I mean. Then you and Simon got together, and I figured not, but…”

Soap settles his crossed arms lightly on his chest, sucking one cheek between his teeth. He sets his gaze on the rainbow of letter magnets on her fridge, spelling out the names of her children. “You know her. It wouldnae—wouldnae be a good idea.”

Mary nods. “And she doesn’t want any?”

“No. Neither of ‘em do.”

He feels his sister’s eyes on him. Probing, in only the way a mother of three’s can be—though even before having children, she’s always been able to see through him in a way no one else ever has.

“I dunno abou’ that,” she says eventually.

When he looks up at her, her gaze is angled elsewhere—toward the sliding glass of the back door, where a table piled high with cheap craft paints and canvas board and grubby jars of water are attended by the clan introverts. You’re the only adult sitting with them, happy not to be bothered—

But a little one comes shyly up to you, a messy painting clutched between two paint-smeared hands.

It’s Mary’s youngest, Angus—and her shyest. He comes to stand beside you with his shoulders hunched, eyes big and trepidatious as he waits for you to catch sight of him.

Soap watches you greet the lad when you notice him. The expression on your face doesn’t change; you always speak to the children the same way you speak to adults, no exaggeration, no upward pitch. Angus stretches his arms out to present his creation.

You look at the canvas when it’s offered to you, and then in a smooth motion you slide out of your chair to crouch down to the boy’s level. As Soap watches, you cross you legs and invite him to sit in your lap, and then, with as serious an expression as you might have at a gallery showing, you begin pointing at different places on the painting. One arm is wrapped loosely around little Angus’ belly, holding the child to you like a stuffed toy.

One side of the canvas is in Angus’ hand; the other is in yours.

He can’t hear what you’re saying, as he watches your mouth move, but Angus positively glows with the obvious praise you’re giving him. When he turns to look up at you, you give him your mysterious little smile—

Something hot blooms in Soap’s chest.

Then there’s a shriek of laughter in the living room, and when Soap turns to look, he sees Ghost on the Twister mat, huge body set in an arch, feet on green, hands on red.

He’s going to bitch later about his back or his knees, Soap can already hear it ringing in his ears—but right now Ghost holds position as kids crawl underneath him or do their best to clamber over him like climbing a mountain. Then, suddenly, Ghost collapses with one of their nephews worming over his belly, throwing his arms around the kid and hauling him over his shoulder.

“Bloody mountain goats, I look like a jungle gym to you?” he barks, baring his teeth in a mock-snarl. Though at home he’ll have it on as often as not, he never wears his mask around the children.

Ghost surges up to spin the boy around, and the other kids crow with laughter and demands for a turn of their own.

“Watch the lamps!” Mary cries out, undercutting her warning with a laugh. “You’re as bad as the wee ones, Simon!”

The heat in his chest billows. St. Elmo’s fire catches in his alveoli, flash-burns the lining of his lungs inward to cloak his heart in a white blaze. Heat sears his neck upward to flood across his face.

He thinks of you, belly round, breasts heavy. Ghost with a baby in his arms, a tiny thing made tinier by the bulk of his huge frame. A toddler clinging to your leg, face tipped up to look at you with adoring eyes, or napping at midday, thumb in mouth, on Soap’s chest.

It takes his breath away. The kitchen sways around him, the earth’s center of gravity shifting. A fissure crack the casket of his want.

Mary catches his eye with a knowing grin.

He starts with Ghost.

You’re going to be the harder sell. Early in the relationship, the three of you had sat down to discuss this, and you had been unequivocal—no kids. You did not want children, and you did not want to be pregnant.

It was a sensory nightmare, you’d explained. The thought of sticky hands reaching out constantly to touch you, and shrill, high voices shouting and screaming, with no knob to turn down the volume, made you shudder with fear. Piles of toys to trip over, when your balance is medium on a good day, and no moment to sit down in silence without the risk of it being interrupted by some little goblin’s insatiable demands.

Put that way, Soap could see your point. He remembers his parents’ most exhausted days, dealing with no less than five children in the house and seven for birthdays and holidays. That kind of exhaustion would weigh on anyone, but for you, it would be a different beast entirely.

And Ghost was in accord—both for your sake, and his own. By then, he had told you and Soap about the Sonoran desert, Sparks and Washington, burning down his own house with four bodies still warm inside it—one smaller than the pool of blood it lay in.

He did not want to bring something into the world so easily taken out of it.

Soap could see that too. Certain moments in the field live permanently now in the folds of his brain, bloody and ugly and grisly in the way most people only encounter through fiction. Too real to him now not to look at his nieces and nephews sometimes with dread tearing up his gut.

Soap was outvoted. Moreover, he was convinced. So he kept his desires to himself.

But that evening after the party, he can’t stop thinking about it. A little bundle with his eyes, and your mouth, and Simon’s nose. Little hands curling around his fingers. A high chair at their dinner table, right next to his place. Bedtime stories. Halloween costumes. Friday night movies, like his Dad used to set up for him and his brother and sisters, popcorn fights during action scenes and falling asleep in piles on the floor.

Soap has always wanted children. Always. He thought he could give that up, being with you and Ghost—what’s between the three of you is rare, precious, more than worth having even by itself. He loves the life he has with his little family, and he wouldn’t change it.

But expansion isn’t exactly change, is it?

The more he thinks about it, the more right it feels. The more he can already feel the weight of his child in his arms. And he knows it would make the two of you happy, even despite the trepidation you and Ghost share. Neither he nor you grew up in happy homes overflowing with love—it’s natural that neither of you can see the potential of it.

But Soap did. Soap can.

He doesn’t mind being the visionary. He’s more than willing to lead the charge. He can do the work of opening his partners’ eyes—

And he’s not above fighting dirty to do it.

It starts with getting Ghost on his back. You’re out one night teaching an evening class (bento dinner in hand, an extra square of chocolate Soap snuck in at the last moment), so the next few hours are just for them, and Soap takes possession of every minute.

It’s always a sight. Ghost is the biggest man Soap has ever been with—and to have that huge body below him, fatty muscle red and quivering, hips rolling with a needy cant as Soap slowly drags his cock in and out of him, is something that never fails to take his breath away.

He massages his hands up and down Ghost’s chest, cupping his heavy pecs and thumbing his nipples as the big man’s eyes sink closed and his bitten mouth drops open. Between them, his cock, blustery red and standing straight up, twitches every time Soap pushes in, dripping clear and messy all over his stomach.

Ghost’s hands are vice-tight on Soap’s hips, but he doesn’t urge him to speed up, doesn’t snarl at him to get on with it, like he usually might. No—Soap set the mood just right, backing Ghost into the bedroom with soft kisses up his neck and softer hands wandering up his shirt. It’s honey-sweet and slow as dripping molasses, with Ghost hot and tight around him, their groaning breaths mingling as they hang there together in the moment.

Watching Ghost’s belly jump with pleasure, Soap says—breathlessly, as if letting it slip out—“I wanna get her pregnant, Simon.”

It’s only supposed to test the waters. Take Ghost’s temperature, see where his head’s at. Soap is ready for anything—for Simon to freeze, to glare at him, even to shove him away.

But instead—

“Fffffuck,” Ghost growls, chest expanding, stomach going concave as he heaves a deep breath in.

His brows screw together, upper lip curling, and he draws so tight around Soap that he has the delirious notion that Ghost is going to pull his cock clean off. If Ghost had been blushing before, he’s positively blazing now, red blooming bright across his face and chest and all the way up to the tips of his ears.

Soap knows immediately what’s happening—Ghost is on the razor’s edge of coming.

And all it took were those six little words.

“Yeah?” he presses, blending the long thrusts he’s kept steady until now into a few short, quick ones. “Yeah? You like that idea? Her all big with our baby, Si, something we put in her? Us?”

Ghost pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, throwing his head back. “Fuck—Johnny—” he snarls.

“Did y’see her with the wee ones?” Johnny croons, pressing the heels of his hands into Ghost’s stomach. “She’d be so good with a baby, Ghost, I know it. Our baby.”

Ghost starts panting, hard, grunting like an animal with every exhale. He’s never especially talkative during sex, unless it’s to give instruction or bark an order, but now it seems that language has completely abandoned him, as he tries to get Johnny to fuck him faster with the roll of his hips, trying to thrust his cock into the open air.

As if you’re already there, already taking him, and Ghost is trying to get himself as deep inside you as he can.

Johnny wraps one hand around it, sliding his fist loosely up and down. He can practically feel Ghost’s heartbeat plunging through every raised vein. If Johnny had the flexibility, he’d bend down right now just to get it in his mouth, but as it is he contents himself with getting Ghost’s precum all over his palm and licking it off with his tongue.

“Probably take a few tries,” says Soap, closing his hand back around Ghost’s cock. “Though with two of us, probably not long. Not if we go one right after the other, every time we can, aye?”

He pauses to spit on the red, exposed crown, circled round by thumb and fingers, so he can lube up his grip. Ghost’s dense, heavy thighs shake around his hips, as Soap thrusts his cock as deep as he can and slides his hand down to Ghost’s base. He mimics the squeeze of Ghost’s ass around him—the tightness of your cunt swallowing him up—as he jacks him off, up and down at the same time he pulls in and out.

“Fuck,” Ghost breathes, “Johnny, you—Johnny—”

“Sounds good, doesnae?” Soap says. “Gettin’ her between us, not stoppin’ ‘til somethin’ takes.”

“Fuck!” Ghost shouts, and then he’s gone, balls drawing up, a stream of white jetting out so hard it lands on his chest, right in the valley of his swelling pecs. Soap fucks him through it with his hand, and slams his hips hard against Ghost’s as as he chases his own end—

“Just—like—this,” Soap growls, tether snapping, and he empties himself as deep as he can into Ghost, cock pulsing as ecstasy pours up and down his stomach. He swears he can feel every drop of cum leaving him, and worries wildly that there won’t be enough left for you later, as the intensity of his orgasm seems to empty his balls of every last reserve.

He holds himself still for a moment after, still buried in his partner, nerves alight with an ecstasy so bright and so fervent that it’s sharp enough to cut him to the bone.

He feels very present. Anchored and secure in this place and time. At home, Soap struggles often with the feeling of being tugged in a hundred different directions, all at once, myriad urges to see, do, and act all clamoring at him for attention. It’s something that keeps him alive in the field—that keeps him thriving on deployment, really—but constantly on his toes when he’s home, all safe and sound.

Always searching, it feels like. Always looking for something he needs, and almost never finding it. The feeling quietens when Ghost curls his hand around the back of his neck, or you lean your head in close to his to kiss him or to speak.

Now—it’s silent.

A father. He’s going to be a father.

Panting heavily, Ghost finds his voice—at least, enough of it to start laughing.

“Spoiled brat, you are,” he chuckles in his steel-edged tenor. “You know that? Spoiled.”

Soap grins at him, caressing one thigh. “Your fault.”

“Mm,” Ghost hums, having long known that he’ll give Soap whatever he wants. The hard cut of his mouth is pulled into a wry smile. “She ain’t gonna fold so easy, Johnny.”

Soap pulls out of his partner, and crawls up to lay next to him. “I know. S’what I like abou’ her, after all.”

Ghost hums again. He lifts one arm to wrap around Soap’s shoulders, drawing him close, idly tapping his fingers on his tricep.

“You’re gonna have to get a desk job,” he says.

His tone is thoughtful, but Soap knows the words to be absolute.

Once you’d agreed to be theirs, Ghost had retired. It had surprised Soap and you both, but Ghost treated it as the most natural thing in the world. And it didn’t take very long, after the dust settled, for Soap to see why—you needed care, more than Soap had realized, and for Ghost, that need superseded any of his desire to remain in the field.

And Ghost was good at caring for you. It seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing: remembering what you liked to eat, helping you with your stretches, using the special brushes you had to wake your nerves up every morning. Putting together a schedule and keeping you on it, making sure you got to work on time and bringing you home at the end of every day.

And as you began to flourish in receiving his care, so too did Ghost flourish in giving it.

The hard edges of him softened. The sharp tones of his voice blunted. Soap saw Ghost become a steadier version of himself than he’d ever seen before—and he saw you blossom with a happiness that, at the inception of their odd relationship, had only begun to bud.

“Lookin’ after her is one thing,” continues Ghost. “I’m alright bein’ the hardass, ‘cause you make up for where I’m shit. But a kid’s different, Johnny. You don’t get to come and go as you like with a kid. It’s all, or nothin.’”

And Soap has to be honest with himself—a corner of his stomach clenches. There is a clarity in the smell of oil and gun smoke that he’s failed to find anywhere else.

But it does not dim the sunlight shining in his chest.

He knew it would happen someday, to old age if not a bullet. So to a baby?

Better than he really could have hoped.

He swings one leg over Ghost’s hips, and pushes himself up to straddle his partner. Ghost smirks beneath him, hands rounding the curves of his waist, sliding backward to palm Soap’s ass before traveling further down to squeeze his thighs.

“Gonna be fun, LT,” Soap agrees, grinning. “I hear pregnancy makes you horny as hell.”

“Bloody fucking hell, Soap,” Ghost snorts, lifting up to one elbow and dragging him down by the neck for a kiss.

next chapter early access

author's notes: y'all wore me down. I'm writing baby fic. What has the world come to

[hanniebaeee]

My Muse

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI

Genre: Best friends to lovers, fluff, smut

Summary: Hyunjin is in love with you. His best friend. His muse. But you're totally unaware of his feelings for you, and until you've actually pushed him to the edge and all his self control shatters.

a/n: So sick with fever, and totally craving Jinnie 😅 So here we go 🤭 Forgive any mistakes, I'll edit it again soon.

It had been a long day. It usually was when you and Hyunjin took to painting in his studio - two easels facing away from each other, soft music humming from the Bluetooth speaker - it was your thing.

After having worked for more hours than healthy,  you and Hyunjin were tidying up the mess of paint tubes and brushes scattered across the table.

You grabbed a damp cloth to wipe down the table, bending over slightly to reach a stubborn paint splatter, and Hyunjin, who had casually turned around to put the little box of paints away, froze. His eyes lingered on the soft curve of your lower back, exposed as your top rode up. 

Hyunjin gripped at the paintbrush in his hand, knuckles white, taking a step back. He knew he shouldn't. You were his best friend. But you were also his… everything. 

Hyunjin was in love with you. He has been for the longest time. But you? Sweet, wide eyed and totally clueless. Sometimes he did things that screamed romantic love, like how he'd grab your arm, pulling you into a slow dance in the living room - lights dim and slow music playing. But you'd giggle and make jokes and yeah. He would deflate like a sad balloon, wishing that for once you'd understand.

It had started rather innocently. His heart fluttering softly, his insides feeling warm and fuzzy. But that had grown into a far worse condition - like him picturing pinning you against the table, kissing every inch of you, and more…so much more.

“Hyune, you’re slacking,” you teased, turning to face him with a playful grin, completely unaware of the storm raging inside him. You flicked the cloth at him, a light, flirty gesture that sent a few drops of water his way, and he dodged, laughing. 

“Slacking? I’m just… admiring your cleaning skills,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes dark, lingering on the way you’re standing, hips cocked, one hand twirling a strand of your hair. You don’t notice, because to you, this is just Hyunjin - your dramatic, artsy best friend who’s always been a little extra. But to him, every move you make is a test of his sanity.

“Oh, please,” you laughed, stepping closer to flick the cloth at him again, this time hitting his arm. “You’re just lazy!”

You were so close now, close enough that he could smell your perfume, see the flecks of paint on your fingers, and his control was actively slipping. He grabbed your wrist to stop the next flick, his grip gentle but firm, and the contact sent a jolt through you, though you don't overthink.

“Lazy? Me?” he said, his voice dropping, a husky edge to it that you didn’t quite register.

He pulled you closer, just a fraction, and you stumbled, laughing, your free hand landing on his chest to steady yourself. His t-shirt was a little damp, because obviously he was sweating, his warmth seeping through, and you were so unaware that you didn’t realize how your touch was setting him on fire.

“Hyune, let go,” you giggled, trying to tug your wrist free, but he held on, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. You playfully shoved at his chest with your other hand, your fingers brushing his collarbone, he let out a low, barely audible groan.

You laughed as you twisted out of his grip and spun around, grabbing a paint roller to “threaten” him with. You waved it dramatically, pretending to chase him, and he played along, backing up with a grin, but his eyes were wild - pupils blown - and his jeans were getting uncomfortably tight.

“Come on, Hyune, fight back!” you said, laughing as you lunged forward, the roller grazing his arm, leaving a streak of blue paint. He caught the roller, pulling it - and you - closer, and suddenly you were chest-to-chest, your breath hitching at the sudden proximity, though you still thought it was all fun and games.

“Careful, muse,” he said, his voice low and rough, and you blinked up at him, still smiling. “You’re playing with fire.”

He was trying to warn you, but you just laughed, thinking he’s being dramatic, and you booped his nose with a paint-stained finger, leaving a blue dot.

“Fire? You’re more like a sparkler,” you teased, and that did it.

The combination of your touch, your smile, the way your body was pressed against his - it was too much. Hyunjin’s control snapped like a frayed thread, and he stepped back abruptly, his face flushed, his breathing uneven.

“Fuck, I…I need a sec,” he stammered, and before you could ask what was wrong, he was bolting toward the bathroom, his long legs carrying him out of the studio in record time. You stood there, confused, the roller still in your hand, paint dripping onto the floor.

“Hyune?” you called after him, frowning. “You okay?”

You dropped the roller on the table and ran after him, standing out is the bathroom door, worry flaring. 

Inside the bathroom, Hyunjin leaned against the door, his chest heaving.

“Get it together, Hwang,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair, but his body had betrayed him, the bulge in his jeans painfully evident.

He has been imagining you - your laugh, your skin, the way you’d feel under him - for years now, and that playful moment had literally pushed him over the edge. He was so in love with you it hurt, but his desire was in overdrive, picturing you on that table, paint smeared across your body, his hands everywhere.

He splashed cold water on his face, trying to calm down, but it was of no use. He was too far gone, his thoughts filthy, his need for you overwhelming. He glanced at the mirror, his reflection showing a man on the verge - flushed cheeks, wild eyes, hair a mess.

“She doesn’t even know, you fool,” he groaned, gripping the sink.

He considered taking care of the problem right there, his hand hovering over his waistband, because if he went back out like this, he wasn't sure he could keep pretending to be just your friend.

Outside the bathroom door, you stood still, a little worried, a little confused. You tried calling out to him, but all you heard was the water running, and so you walked back to the studio, giving him some space. 

You started cleaning up again, humming to the music, completely unaware that your best friend was in the bathroom, fighting a losing battle. 

When he finally emerged, his hair was damp, his face still flushed, but he had pulled himself together - just barely.

“Sorry, uh… got paint in my eye,” he lied, his voice a little too high, but you buy it (because you’re you, sweet and trusting). 

“Poor baby,” you said, genuinely concerned as you reached up to check his face, your fingers brushing his cheek.

He tensed, his eyes fluttering shut for a second, and you frowned. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough, stepping back to put some distance between you. “Just… stings a little.”

His poor heart raced, and he knew he was one playful touch away from confessing everything - or doing something he couldn't take back.

The next weekend you were back for your regular painting session. The week had been crazy. Hyunjin had dodged all your calls for coffee runs. Or your midnight cake cravings - he usually took you out any time of the day or night for satisfy your craving (even though his own craving remained sadly unfulfilled). 

He looked normal enough as you both set up your easels and dug through the paint box, choosing your colours. Normal enough. And you definitely sensed something in the way he was standing way too far away from you.

“You ok, Hyune?” You asked, setting down your things and facing him. 

“Uh huh. Good.” He said, not meeting your eyes.

“You do understand that I know you enough to know when you're not ok, right?”

“It's nothing,”

“Hyunjin. I swear I'll leave if you're gonna act like an ass -” You walked up to him, looking way too fierce for a tiny human being. “Tell me what's going on.” 

Hyunjin didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight, his breathing uneven and he wouldn't look at you. When you reached up to turn his face towards you, your fingers brushing his skin, something in him snapped.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, so low you barely caught it. “I'm in love with you. Ok? Have been for the past ten years and I'm sick of having to pretend like it's all ok when it's not!”

You stared at him, completely shocked, but also totally confused. 

“Why didn't you say anything?” Was your only question. 

He literally had nothing to say to your wide eyed surprised, cute face. He took in a deep breath and said something along the lines of, “I swear to God-”

And he just stood there taking in deep breaths and you stood watching him. And then he said, “I'm going to kiss you.”

And before you could even blink, he was on you, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips crashed into yours, desperate and hungry, nothing like the gentle, playful Hyunjin you were used to.

You gasped against his mouth, your hands instinctively gripping his shirt, caught off guard by the intensity.

“Hyun-” you managed, your voice a squeak, but he cut you off, kissing you deeper, his tongue sweeping against yours. Your poor brain struggled to catch up - you’d never seen him like this, never thought of him as anything but your sweet best friend - but the way his hands roamed your body, sliding under your crop top - it made your heart race.

“Been holding back too fucking long,” he growled against your lips, his voice rough, laced with a desperation that sent a shiver through you. “Tell me to stop. I'll stop and I'll not hold it against you, I promise. But, but be honest-”

You were definitely not gonna ask him to stop. Not after that, not after years of him making your heart flutter madly. So you cupped his cheeks and pulled him into a kiss again. 

He whined, one hand cupping your face, the other slipping under your top, his fingers grazing the bare skin of your waist, then higher, teasing the edge of your bra. His lips trailed down your neck, hot and urgent, his teeth grazing your skin. 

You were trembling, a mix of nerves and something new, something electric, as his hands pushed your crop top up, exposing your chest.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he murmured, his voice almost a whine as he pulled your bra down, his lips finding your nipple, wrapping around it with a slow, deliberate suck that makes you gasp. You’d never felt anything like this before - your experience was practically nonexistent (because you were so hung up on your best friend) and the sensation was overwhelming - your body arching into him as your hands clutched his hair.

“Hyunjin!” you squeaked, your voice high and panicked, but there was no stopping him now. His tongue flicked against you, his lips sucking harder, and the heat pooling in your core was so intense it was dizzying. You were falling apart and you finally understood - he wasn't just your best friend. He has been wanting you, craving you, and you’ve been too naive to see it.

He groaned against your skin, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he switched to your other breast, his lips and tongue relentless.

“Been dreaming about this,” he mumbled, his voice muffled, “about you, every fucking night.”

His hands slid lower, cupping your ass through your jeans, and you whimpered, your head tipping back against the wall as your body betrayed you, responding to every filthy move he made.

“Hyun, I…I didn’t know,” you managed, your voice trembling, and he pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips glossy, his eyes blown with lust but still soft, still your Hyunjin.

“How could you not know?” he said, his voice laced with a desperate kind of affection. “I’m fucking obsessed with you. Always have been.”

He kissed you again, hard and you just melted into him, your hands tugging at his shirt.

He pushed you back against the table, the paint tubes scattering as he lifted you onto it, his hands quick and sure as they worked your jeans open. You were panting, your mind racing - part of you was still freaking out, still processing that this was your Hyunjin, but the way his fingers slid against your folds, teasing through your underwear, makes your thoughts scatter.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groaned, and you blushed, embarrassed, because you didn’t even realize how much you wanted this.

“Hyun, I’ve never -” you started, but he shushed you with another kiss, his fingers slipping past the fabric, finding you with a precision that made you moan, loud and unfiltered.

Every touch felt new and intense, and he was watching you like you were a masterpiece, his eyes drinking in every reaction.

“I’ve got you, my muse,” he murmured, his voice thick with need as he kneeled, pulling your jeans and underwear down in one swift motion. You were exposed, vulnerable, and he was kissing down your stomach, his lips hot and gentle, until he was between your thighs. 

Your eyes met and he whispered a soft, “Relax,” before his tongue flicked against your clit in a way that made your vision blur. You cried out, hands gripping the table's edge, your body trembling as he worked you with a hunger that was both shocking and intoxicating.

“Hyunjin, oh my god,” you whimpered as he slipped a finger in, and he hummed in response, the sound vibrating against you, pushing you closer to the edge. Your body shook as he devoured you with so much love and need, like you were the most precious thing in the world. You felt him nibbling on your clit gently as his another slipped in and it didn't take you long to come crashing down with a cry. Your hand tugged at his hair as he kept going, drawing it all out until you were a shaking mess.

He wasn't done, though. He stood, his jeans barely holding him together, and you could see the evidence of how much he wanted you, his bulge straining against the fabric. He was panting, his face flushed, his hair a mess.

“I need you,” he said, his voice raw, no trace of negotiation left. “I need you so bad.”

You nodded, still dazed - you were pliant, trusting, even as your heart raced. He pulled you closer, kissing you so hard as he fumbled with his jeans, freeing himself, and you gasped at the sight, your nerves flaring again.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, his lips on yours, his hands guiding you. “I’ll go slow, tell me anytime you want me to stop, ok?”

You nodded again, watching him pull open a drawer on the table and fishing in it for a condom. You narrowed your eyes as he put it on (making a mental note to ask him why he had condoms in his studio). 

He just gave you a sheepish grin before lining himself at your entrance and pushing in. He was slow at first, careful - making sure that you were ok. You obviously winced at the sudden breach - and gripped his arms tight, a little shaky gasp leaving your lips.

He stilled, studying your face for any signs of discomfort. And you just shook your head and said, “I'm ready,”

“Ok,” He breathed, and started to move, his thrusts deep and steady.

But then, a moan from you had him moving faster, his face buried in your neck. You were clinging to him, as he whispered how much he wanted this, his lips finding your nipple again as he moved, sucking hard enough to make you moan.

It was too much, too fast, and you were falling apart again, your body tightening around him, drawing a choked groan from his throat as he followed. His release had him collapse against you, both of you panting, paint cans clattering to the floor as the table shook. 

For a moment, it was just you two, the studio silent except for your ragged breaths. He pulled back, his eyes soft now, searching yours.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his voice gentle again, though his hands were still possessive on your hips.

You nodded, still processing, your cheeks burning as it finally hit you - your best friend just fucked you senseless, and he has been wanting you this whole time.

“I… I didn’t know,” you said, your voice small, and he laughed softly, kissing your forehead.

“Now you do,” he said, his smile tender but still a little wicked.

“Mhm…” You hummed, but your eyes met again. “So… are we gonna talk about why you have condoms in your studio?”

“About that -”

“You perv!”

“It was for you! Only you! I swear!”

You smiled seeing his flustered face and how he was getting worked up, while still inside you. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah…”

Divider: @strangergraphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @hwangjoanna @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120 @silly250 @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

[gutsby]

Stuck

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel gets nominated to play Santa Claus for Jackson’s holiday festivities. Of course, you’re into that.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected piv. Breeding kink. Age gap. Santa Claus kink (it’s brief). F!Oral. Omitting one tag to avoid spoiling the ending—please read at your own risk.

Note: Kinda inspired by Otis Redding’s Try a Little Tenderness

Word count: 5.5k

“Give your old man a kiss before he leaves?”

The invitation shouldn’t have made you as wet as it did. But it had. And Joel just grinned, lips twitching beneath his big fake beard and palms pulling you toward his body.

The kiss had had to be wholesome and quick. Before long, he’d be surrounded by a sea of eager, wide-eyed, and awe-stricken children in the middle of Jackson’s town square, and what sort of example would you be setting if you were the girl caught kissing Santa Claus?

It wouldn’t rally much confidence in Father Christmas, if either of you had had to guess. You let him go. With a soft, innocuous tug of his belt buckle and a pat on his padded belly, you’d promised to be extra good while he was gone and leave more than just milk and cookies out for him later. Joel had blinked twice, and in the glint of one look, you could tell he’d wanted to say much more.

But then Tommy, dressed as an elf and scowling like Ebenezer Scrooge, had tugged him off your porch.

“You can get those cookies later, Nick. Let’s go.”

And that had been the last you’d seen of the pair before you’d snuck off to see Maria about Joel’s secret gift.

Now, two hours later in the glow of a roaring fire and near-unbearable excitement, you were perched on the sofa. Sitting with your knees tucked underneath you and a glass of milk, a tray of cookies, and a small, rectangular box tied with a bow set beside you on the coffee table.

You really hoped Joel would like his present.

You also guessed it wouldn’t hurt that you were currently half-naked in a ruby red satin teddy for his return home.

As soon as you heard the creak of the front door, you straightened up. You watched a body shuffle in, head bowed and shaking snow off his sprayed-white locks. Joel looked perfectly ancient in his present get-up: thick black boots, velvet crimson pantsuit, chest-length beard, and lopsided hat. He looked haggard and adorable, too. You could tell by the way he kicked off his shoes and left them stranded by the door he was absolutely drained by the events of that night—dealing with every kid in town under the age of ten likely hadn’t been his first choice.

But now he was here. Joel had been so preoccupied with getting off his boots that he hadn’t even seen you on the couch, and the instant his gaze landed on you, it froze.

“Baby…” he groaned.

His whole face softened, like he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him then, and his arms stretched out for you.

He looked childlike, almost, with the way he lumbered over. His limbs were heavy, and they felt that way coming to crash over your cowered frame on the sofa. You leapt back and squealed, only to feel two big palms grab you by the hips and pin you underneath him. Joel’s breaths were warm, and his eyes were alight with rapt intrigue.

“This all for me?” he asked, sliding his hands down your thighs and in between them. He cursed feeling the heat.

You had to bite back a laugh at how silly this looked—Santa Clause, a staple of your childhood, prying your legs apart and all but drooling at the sight inside. Pawing at your legs, then at your hips, then at the band of your panties beneath the tulle hemline of your teddy. It felt fun in a depraved sort of way. You felt naughty, like you might not want to share Joel’s gift with him until after all the fun was over. But, deep down, you weren’t that cruel.

“Don’t you wanna see your gift? Have your milk and cookies?” you asked sweetly, just narrowly managing to slide an arm out from underneath Joel’s weight and pointing to the assortment of goodies on the table.

Joel looked that way briefly, but then his gaze was back on you. Its warmth was smoldering. Darkening in time.

“Later. Santa’s got a bone to pick with you first.”

You squealed again as fingers hooked in your panties.

“But— but— you’ll really like this gift, Joel. Really.”

“Yeah? Already got one for you right here, kiddo.”

In a crass, graceless sort of gesture, Joel removed one hand from you to grab his crotch, and shake it firmly—‘Got a good seven inches of this gift to share, sugar’—and from there, you had no choice but to acquiesce. If Joel really didn’t mind putting off his gift for yours, at first, that was on him. You leaned back to get comfy.

“If you insist.” The smile you flashed him was coy.

Knowing, as your underwear was slid down your legs and Joel nestled in between them on the couch. You propped your head on a pillow and watched, feeling another small wave of sick nostalgia wash over your senses; Joel was still fully dressed as Kris Kringle stripping you naked.

He’d just moved to pull off the white beard, tied snug with a string, when you reached down and stopped him.

“Leave it,” you said, voice quavering with the threat of a giggle. This was insane. “Leave the beard. Leave all of it.”

Joel flashed you a look with a brow cocked up, confused.

“You want me to eat you out as Santa Clause?” he asked.

He grinned, and you almost laughed again. His expression was still puzzled—mixed with arousal, the look suited him well—and before he could say another word, you just nodded. Shimmied your red panties the rest of the way down and kicked them off at your feet.

But when Joel reached for your legs to pull you closer to him, you slipped off the couch. Your limp, shimmering frock that barely covered the globes of your ass underneath it brushed the bare skin as you darted off.

You’d meant it to be playful. Joel couldn’t brush aside gift-giving and get his way quite that easily. You stood on your own two feet, pivoting back to face him before starting to make your way toward the stairs. You waved.

“Okay. Give me a minute. If you’re giving me my present now, I need to get the rest of yours ready. It’s…upstairs.”

Joel’s—or Santa’s—whole face dropped. He stood.

“That wasn’t the deal, kiddo. You before me.”

He was already pacing after you, slowly at first; then, when your feet reached the first step, he broke off in a run. You screamed, and tried to tear your way up the rest of the stairs, but before more than four thuds had sounded on the wood, you were being thrust back in Joel’s arms—hoisted off your feet, and carried to the living room without another breath or pause from him. You kicked your feet, pretended to be indignant, and were smiling to yourself, inwardly, the whole time. He would really be kicking himself for this later, you knew.

“Gonna be a good little girl for Santa and stay put now?” he huffed, setting you down on your feet. Rather than heading for the couch, he’d placed you on the rug by the warmth of the fireplace and the winking lights of the Christmas tree, where he knew you felt coziest. And, in the glow of both, he could drink the view in completely.

You dropped to the floor where you knew he wanted you.

Still smiling. Fighting a laugh: “Yes, daddy. I’ll be good.”

Joel laid you back. Spread your legs. Tugged your butt right where he wanted it beside the fire and slotted his torso in between your thighs. Your body was practically humming with anticipation as he brought his head lower.

The fluffy white bobble at the end of his hat swung in front of his face, preventing his mouth from sinking in.

He groaned.

“Fuckin’ kids.” He batted the thing out of his way.

“Been toyin’ with my hat and beard all goddamn night. You’d think I was a…a jungle gym to those little hellions,” Joel added with an edge of taut frustration to his voice.

You knew he’d liked the ‘hellion’ antics, whether he was willing to admit it or not. He’d pretend to be pissed at the kids for being kids, but deep down, he was always more than willing to oblige. He’d practically volunteered to take on the role of Santa before the ballot had even been cast for who’d get to play the Big Red Man for the festivities.

He was your old man. A softie at heart.

Hard in other places, but that was just how you liked it.

He spread your legs with both of his hands and practically moaned at what lay before him now.

You were wet. Glistening. In the light of the fireplace and the evergreen behind him, he could see it all too clearly: how pretty and slick and shiny you were along your slit. You’d been patient awaiting his return, and he could tell. Though you were dripping nectar through your folds, you hadn’t smeared one drop with your fingers—you sat like a gleaming, unwrapped present for the man to devour.

And maybe it felt wrong, all swollen and stiff beneath his costume pants and his hair dusted white to make him look even older than he was—about 1,700 years, give or take, instead of fifty-nine—but the look in his eyes said he wanted it all. He felt raw, and needy, and debased.

You liked seeing Joel this way. You liked feeling wrong.

It was what most of Jackson thought of you, anyway. What had taken Tommy, Maria, and the closest of your friends the longest time to accept, nearly all of your neighbors still thought was pretty strange: how Joel was decades your senior and you two were dating—happily. What they were liable to think when the news of you trying for a baby spread in town was anyone’s guess.

Joel seemed to forget all that as his head sank lower. He forked two of his big, meaty fingers in the shape of a ‘V’ and pushed your folds apart in just the way you liked, and he breathed out slow, warm puffs of air over your cunt. You shuddered, and you waited for his tongue.

“Baby…” he trailed off again.

“Yeah?” Your voice was tight.

A beat of silence passed.

“I’m…probably gonna need to take off the beard.”

You breathed out a soft, reflexive laugh, and you didn’t protest. Joel tugged down the big, white, wiry clump of hair from his face and let his other, shorter one surface.

This one wasn’t white, but it was a handsome black and grey, with a lot more of a silver sheen to its these days. You smiled as Joel drew closer, and that smile only faltered a little as the man kissed your inner thigh.

He did the same to the other leg. He dragged his mouth down the skin toward your center and let his lips part a little. He kissed you again, this time at the top of your mound. It made an extra low, almost lewd sort of sound. He rubbed his nose against your lower belly, and the contrast of the weathered texture to your own was stark.

Joel was old. He looked it even more with his hair painted white and his mouth hovering over your slit.

“She been good this year?” he hummed, peering up.

Before you could answer, Joel’s tongue slid out, and he drew a fat, wet line over the seam of your pussy. Your hips jolted in response, and his free hand held you down.

“She tastes good,” he went on in the most casual tone.

Then, without further warning, his jaw slackened some more and he started lapping at the tender flesh beneath it. He dragged his tongue through the thick, stringy mess and closed his eyes, like he was savoring the taste. His lips curled, and he kissed you again—this time, it closed around your clit, and he suckled you gently. With the first wet pop and a sickening squelch from his mouth, your eyes nearly rolled back in your head; Joel’s opened again as he flashed you a shit-eating grin between your legs.

“She’s been real good for me this year, hasn’t she, hon?” And he squeezed your leg to indicate he wanted a reply.

You tried to answer, but it came out garbled and weak:

“So good, daddy. So— so—”

Oh.

Joel’s fingers moved from their forked position to push his index inside your weeping hole. At the same time, the tip of his tongue flicked delicately against your clit. The two parts of him moved in tandem, and from the feeling of both, you had to bite your lip to keep from letting out a cry. Your hand reached down to grab his hair, but all it could find was that goddamn Santa hat. Joel snickered.

With his lips, tongue, and finger still working your needy cunt, he couldn’t help but smile as you cast the hat aside

“Damn thing,” you cursed, fingers lacing through his hair.

“Language, young lady,” Joel murmured.

Like he was one to talk.

You made a fist with the chalky white locks and rutted your hips the tiniest bit, too flush with pleasure to give a single fuck what words came out of your mouth, and from the way Joel grinned and slid a second finger inside, you had only to guess he didn’t mind either.

He could pretend, though. He licked a little harder, then:

“She’s gonna be sweet for her old man, isn’t she?”

“Y— yes, she is.”

“Nice and polite before she gets this cock?”

“I promise.”

Appearing satisfied with this response, or else simply wanting to bring you to the edge and make you cum on his tongue, Joel wedged his fingers even deeper, then curled them. He brushed the soft, fleshy wall in a beckoning motion and, at the same time, sucked your nub between his lips. He felt you tense, heard you moan, and likely sensed there was no better time for his tongue to dart out again. Just as he released your clit from its airtight kiss, he was back licking circles on the tender, swollen thing, eyes flitting up to yours to hold their gaze.

“Daddy,” you whimpered.

When his fingers curled another time, you cried out.

Your brain was on the fritz; your heels were digging in the rug, stomach tight as it had ever been, and your hands seemed to move with a mind of their own. One was gripping Joel’s hair, giving you leverage to cant your hips against his face, and the other was palming your breast through the thin lace fabric of your teddy. You craved stimulation—couldn’t breathe without the feel of something on you, and in you, as you were about to cum.

Joel nodded his soft approval. He watched you fondle yourself and seemed enthralled, even from where he lay.

“That’s it, baby. Touch yourself while daddy licks your pussy. Lemme see how good she’s feelin’, sweetheart.”

His words were all the propulsion you needed and more. You pinched your nipple through the fabric, whined at the pleasure wrought by your fingers and by Joel’s simultaneously, and felt an even deeper twist in your gut. You grip constricted in his hair; you didn’t need to speak.

“She’s right there, isn’t she? I know that feels nice, baby,” Joel groaned, voice low, “Gonna cum for daddy now?”

You whined. You gripped tighter. Your body needed this.

“C’mon, hon. Let me have it. Cum on daddy’s tongue.”

Two more strokes of his tongue, a gentle thrust of his fingers, and the brush of your own touch across taut, pebbled flesh was enough. The next second had you clamping down on Joel’s hand and giving him all you possibly could, lips parted and spilling a feverish, shrill whine while your orgasm washed over you. Your toes curled into the rug, and Joel pressed your hips down as his tongue fucked you through it. He licked and sucked and coaxed your needy walls again and again; he felt you tremble, and he let your wet essence soak him through.

By the time you were done, his face was glistening.

He lifted his head from between your legs, gaze wild and lips shiny with your full release. He licked them, elated.

“All good, hon?”

“Amazing.”

You let out a shaky breath and pet his hair. Joel smiled.

“Wanna go upstairs? Be a little comfier in the bed, I bet,” he offered, slowly starting to rise, before wincing. Then when his knees audibly cracked, “Your old man needs it.”

You had no doubt about that. You sat up and smiled, and let him lift you to your feet along with him. Another snap.

“Aw, hell,” Joel hissed, shaking his head.

You wrapped an arm around his waist before pacing another step. He leaned a little into you, though not too much, and you couldn’t help but flash him an arch look.

“Did your wishlist include new kneecaps, by chance?”

“No ma’am. Just stronger hands to spank with.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat, grinning down at you.

You would’ve returned with something equally cheeky and light, had you not remembered that thing close by.

“Wait, wait—your present!”

Joel eyed the square box as you retrieved it. His eyes flashed with curiosity before you reappeared under his arm and helped him start up the stairs. He walked, and let out a soft groan, and when you’d made it halfway up, he shook his head at you again. It was slow but emphatic

“Gotta finish your gift first, sweetheart,” he murmured.

And, try as you might to get an inch of give after that, you sensed fighting Joel’s generosity was futile by then. You knew him well enough to guess that he’d only be satisfied receiving his present once yours had been properly secured with another orgasm, and his spend dribbled in big, thick rivers down the insides of your legs.

You heaved a sigh and smiled, walking slowly with him.

Joel, if you only knew.

Despite his best efforts, the man still couldn’t work out how he’d ever gotten so lucky to find something like this—someone like you. As his hips worked their way up to a near-desperate pace, bordering on frenzied as he fucked into you, Joel decided that he wouldn’t bother guessing.

He’d accept this for what it was: a gift he didn’t deserve.

The two of you hadn’t even gotten around to the business of unwrapping your presents yet, and Joel already knew that he had it all just looking down at you.

With your back arched and your hands making fists in the sheets beside your head, wet and glistening cunt accepting each one of his thrusts and squeezing him tight on every stroke, Joel had to steel himself just feeling how good you were, knowing how well you fit him in every way, and sensing this was as close to replete happiness as he’d ever get. He couldn’t ask for more.

Even without a baby, he knew things would be okay.

The two of you had been trying for months now, wholly without success of yet. There had been the night he’d bought a blue pill and fucked you four times in one day, and you’d told him at the end of it all that your period was late. But then you’d bled the next morning, and your hopes, for the present moment, had been dashed away.

No pregnancy hopes since then had amounted to anything else, and at length, you’d agreed not to let it get your spirits down—or try not to, anyway. You’d fuck as often as you could, but you wouldn’t let the thought of wanting a baby make the process less fun for you now.

That didn’t mean Joel couldn’t remind you every now and then what you were hoping the endgame would be.

Presently, he leaned over your prone body on the bed and pressed his lips to your ear. He ground his hips against your ass so his cock wedged itself all the way in to the hilt, and when the tip was just threatening to graze the edge of your cervix, he dropped a kiss on your cheek.

“Want me to put a baby right here?” He spoke gently.

Your walls clenched around him involuntarily, and your head reared back to fall against his shoulder. Joel took this as his opportunity to start peppering more kisses. He knew how much you liked the dirty talk while he was deep inside, talking about how much he wanted to blow his load and knock you up. It was a melting point for you both, and he sensed that you wouldn’t last long after it.

He had your head tilted to his, your lips spilling moan after moan as his dick plunged further inside and your eyes struggling to stay open. They flitted between his, and they gave him a hopeful look. You managed a smile.

“Right…right there, daddy,” you whimpered out.

Another sound escaped your mouth and flooded his, and Joel couldn’t help it: he kissed you, and he fucked in deeper. He couldn’t have wanted this more if he tried.

His forehead was slick with sweat, as was yours. Your bodies were grinding together—Joel’s soft, warm belly filling the concave space where your spine curved down, and he rutted repeatedly into you, like an animal in heat.

His face was right beside yours as his teeth gritted out:

“My sweet girl want a baby in her for Christmas, that it?”

Again, you whined and rolled your hips against his, nodding your head, and the look in your eyes was wild.

“Baby—please. Please fuck your baby in me, Joel.”

Joel could do more than that. Much more. Ask him for twins, triplets, or however many kids you could’ve wanted, and he would’ve given it to you then.

He wished it were that simple, and he could’ve knocked you up and made you happy a long time ago, but sadly, that hadn’t been in the cards for you two. Joel shortly brushed that thought away, not wanting to lose his momentum or delay the oncoming orgasm about to rattle your body underneath him. He kissed your shoulder this time, thrusting with his stiff, wet cock in just the way you liked, and in seconds, he got what he wanted—what you needed, clearly, as your muscles seized and your lips let out a sharp, shrill cry in response.

Joel held you to him as long as he could. He felt you melt into the bed and only held your body tighter, rutting his hips at their relentless pace to keep your pleasure alive. He heard you whine, tell him to cum inside me, daddy, please, and from that point on, he sensed he’d have to slow a little. It couldn’t be helped. When he came, he had to pin you down and fill you completely—take his time working his spend inside your needy, pulsing cunt, and when he was done, just keep you there. Let you feel him. It was a satisfaction unlike any other for you both, and it was one he’d come to love these last few months. He stilled inside you, feeling his cum coating every inch of your walls around him, and he grinned. You let out a sigh.

“So I…I made the ‘Nice’ list, Mr. Clause?” you panted.

Joel’s head dropped to yours in a short, rumbling laugh.

His dick twitched inside you, and his belly growled a bit. He definitely should’ve taken you up on those cookies.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’d say we’re square,” he breathed back.

How long you laid like that was anyone’s guess. Joel didn’t bother keeping track of the seconds or the minutes spent splayed out over your body; he only sensed when he was starting to go soft and you wriggled your hips underneath. He shifted and let you flip around.

His cock now completely out and a smile touching your lips as you turned to face him, your gaze flitted to his.

“Can you go get me one of your shirts, please?”

You were also both stark naked, thanks to the lightning-quick stripdown you’d both done the second you’d made it to the bedroom. Though Joel was sleepy, he knew the routine: get you a shirt, get him a clean pair of boxers, and get the two of you off to sleep. It’d been a long day.

“Yes, dear,” he answered dutifully.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose before rising. He padded his slow, heavy feet over to the dresser at the opposite end of the room, and he opened the top drawer.

“Second one, please. With the flannels,” you called out.

Okay.

Joel snagged a pair of underwear for himself, then went to the next drawer to get you a flannel to wear, since the scorching heat of your house evidently wasn’t enough to keep you warm. He smiled to himself, about to crack a wiseass comment about you being cold-blooded or something, when the man was obliged to stop. He took one look inside, dropped his boxers, and paused a spell.

When Joel started again, it wasn’t to speak—he just turned and lifted the first thing he saw in the drawer.

“Wha—oh, shoot. I was supposed to wrap that,” you said swiftly, wincing as he held it. Still smiling at him, though.

“Seems a little small to be a gift for me, don’t you think?”

In his grasp was a miniature onesie. Beneath it, in the drawer you’d directed him to, there had been at least four more just like it. All soft, pastel-colored, and small.

Your smile stretched even wider as you shook your head.

“It’s from Maria and Tommy. More of a…future present, for the two of us,” you shrugged, pushing to sit up in bed.

Joel eyed you a moment. He wasn’t sure what to say.

On your face, he saw hope and excitement etched bright. Like you were fine to keep waiting on this ‘future,’ no matter the duration. One glimpse of that and Joel felt a lump the size of his fist in his throat. He walked over.

And it had to be the last thing you wanted to see, surely—him setting the onesie down, dropping beside you in bed, then fumbling gracelessly, uselessly, to hold you.

Feeling every bit the remorseful, too-old man who couldn’t give you what you wanted. He wanted it, too.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he blurted out, unthinking. He pulled you to his chest; within his own, his heart was pounding, “I know…I know it’s taking us awhile. That’s my fault—”

“Joel.”

“My cum’s as old as dust and that’s probably why—”

“You don’t—”

“—you aren’t pregnant yet. I know it’s frustrating for—”

“Seriously, Joel—”

“—you to deal with. All of that disappointment, I mean—”

“JOEL.”

“What?”

His pulse was still thudding away. You blinked once.

Then, in a slow but deliberate path, your gaze trailed over to the nightstand. Joel’s followed after in similar fashion.

“You still haven’t opened your present,” you said. Stern.

It wasn’t the tone Joel had been expecting to hear at all.

And when you handed him the box, he felt his blood pressure spike. Absently, he thought that couldn’t be safe for a man his age. He couldn’t even tell what it held, and still, the prospect of it had him anxious beyond words. He turned it over; something rattled inside.

‘Go on, Joel.’ Your voice coaxed him gentler then.

And he did, though his fingers trembled some.

The weight in his grip could’ve been an ounce, a pound, or a ton, and his hands would’ve shaken all the same. Joel felt a current pulse through him as he slid the lid off.

Then he just stared.

His eyes widened.

“That’s…”

“Exactly what I have been trying to give you all night!” You laughed. The sound was light, not derisive or cruel.

When he looked up to you, your cheeks were as full and high as he’d seen them all day—you were smiling so big.

That made him think that this wasn’t a joke. Or a dream.

Surely his brain couldn’t have contrived both the most perfect, blinding smile on your face and a slim, white, pink-capped little stick with a ‘+’ on the screen at once.

It still hadn’t hit him completely, though, so he blinked.

“Really?” His voice was hoarse. Vacillating.

“Really.” Yours was more certain. Happy.

And, while the truth of it was slow to seep in, Joel knew he couldn’t waste another moment. He didn’t think—just pulled you in and squeezed you to him as tight as a vice. He couldn’t think—the rush of his blood in his ears and the puffs of your breath and the clatter of that positive pregnancy test in its box, discarded, were all too much.

As soon as he squeezed, your next breath was a sob.

“I meant to tell you, Joel. I meant to. I’m…I’m sorry.”

Your confession came out muffled against his chest, though Joel heard it all with total clarity. In a blink, he had you drawn back a little, just so he could hold your face and search your gaze with his own in a wide look.

Before he could even speak, he saw the tears welling up, as if coming from nowhere. You were still trying to smile.

“It’s been weeks. Since…since my period. I just—” With a wince that could’ve shredded Joel’s insides in two, you went on, “—I couldn’t stand disappointing you again.”

The same way he’d felt. Why you couldn’t tell him.

“Baby, hey, no— no. No, no, no. Please don’t say that.”

It was all Joel could do to keep his own emotions at bay.

“After the last time, and the— and the way you looked so happy at the thought of being a dad, I…I…had to be sure. Maria got me a test, and we triple-checked.” You sniffled.

Moving to wipe at tears as if any of this was your fault. Joel’s thumbs only grew more fervent in their path to smear the moisture away, and his head kept shaking back and forth—‘No, sweetheart, that’s not on you. Don’t even think that. Come here.’—as he tried to be a comfort. He couldn’t be happier. He hoped you were too. While tears engulfed his hands, he hoped you would be.

Even if his bones were old and his knees were weaker than he wanted them to be; even if you couldn’t count on two hands how many years stretched out between you and the decades made it seem like forever to the people in town. Even if this baby was the first, and last, you had.

Joel just wanted you happy.

It was all he could ask to have.

“We’re gonna be parents,” you said, half in awe.

You blinked harder and more tears slid down, but the look behind them was brighter. Your eyes were on his.

“We’re gonna be parents,” Joel repeated, “You and me.”

Then he pinched your puffy, wet cheeks, pictured a baby that looked the tiniest bit like you, and he had to lean in. He kissed slower than he meant to—had to savor you.

A baby.

His baby.

Your eyes were a little wider when he pulled away.

“Happy with your present, daddy?” you teased.

Joel blinked, and he thought of the dozen-odd boxes he had laid out under the tree downstairs—all for you to unwrap in the morning—and he realized then that you had him soundly beat in the gift department that year. Though none of what he’d bought could even hope to hold a candle to what you’d given him tonight, there were still ways to try and make it up. Say thank you.

“I love my present. And I love you.” Joel answered softly.

And just as you smiled, were about to slide back under the covers and tell him you loved him just as much, he grabbed your ankle. Started to lower himself after you.

Your eyes widened more.

“Joel Miller.”

His smirk widened right back.

“One more present before bed?”

You might’ve rolled your eyes, but you let him climb over you just the same. You felt his weight shift over yours, sensed a familiar stir in the depths of your body, and peered up to meet a matching smile you knew you’d find.

Joel was beaming from ear to ear like this was the luckiest day he’d lived to see. Like he couldn’t wait to show how glad he was to be a dad—over and over again.

“Just wanna make sure we made it…stick, y’know?”

He was grinning now. Gently laying you down.

You sighed, smiled, and spread your legs.

“Too late. You’re stuck with me, Miller.”

“Yeah? I like the sound of that.”

“What?”

“Stuck.”

[zreamy]

please touch, please do it

freaky gym rat bf sunghoon except it's possible that yn is the bigger freak here......

pairing ✩ park sunghoon x fem!reader

genres: smut, pwp 🫩 (with a bit of plot..)

warnings: minors dni, freak shit, he loves her to the point of invention, sunghoon uses every pet name in the book.. and ik u can be a misandrist and still love ur man.. i'm proof, i love jake !

word count: 2,945 (do not get used to this)

author's note: ......unless jake posts a freak ass picture.. i’m not writing anything like this again 😭 i just want to say thank you to sunghoon for posting these pictures and thank you asahicore for encouraging me..

You’ve never been so glad that your past self has no way to know about the woman you’ve become—because if Little Miss Man Hater saw you now? She’d gut you. 

You are absolutely sick with love. Nauseous with adoration. Ill with warmth and affection and desire. 

And all for a man. 

It’s getting out of hand, this girlfriend thing. This attachment to Sunghoon. Like part of you is being cleaved off, hacked away at, every time he leaves your side. It’s been seventy-three minutes since he went to gym, and already, you’re cuddling your pillow, and sending him a text. 

You: Hi baby how’s your workout

Five quiet minutes tick by before he replies.

Hoonie: Arm day princess, my shit’s on fire lowkey

Hoonie: I miss you :( 

Hoonie: How’s home?

His princess — the one he misses — squeals into the pillow, feet kicking as butterflies tumble in your stomach. It takes a little while, but you manage to hold it together for long enough to take a selfie. You tug the lace neckline of your camisole down so your cleavage peeks out, and push your arms together—nature’s push-up bra. I miss you more, you write back, grinning when he heart-reacts to the photo, a string of heart-eye emojis following.

Hoonie: My beautiful baby 

Hoonie: You’re so perfect

Hoonie: My dream come true

Even the old you would crumble at that, surely. You’d have to be completely and utterly heartless not to be moved by sweet Sunghoon and the things he says. 

The picture he sends you, both pictures he sends you, stop your heart in your chest, force a gasp. 

He’s in the gym, drenched in pale overhead light, his white vest hugging every inch of the effort you now feel compelled to thank him for. His muscles are surreal, carved out and flushed. His thick, veiny arm glossy with sweat. He’s gorgeous—that’s the problem. Not just hot, but downright, drop dead gorgeous. In a way that makes your breath snag in your throat, turns your brain into mush. Sets back feminism and wide-spread misandry by at least a hundred years. 

Your past self is rolling in her pre-Sunghoon grave. 

You: ???

You: Dude I’m gonna suck that dick off the bone omg do not come here after your workout ok go straight home and think about whatever the fuck you just sent to me.

You: I’m literally gonna nut to this forever

Clicking on the photo again, you stare. Staring until the screen dims and your breath catches. Without a second thought you tug your underwear off, dark lace forgotten about between your fitted sheet and duvet. Instinctively, your thighs part for your right hand, a sigh of relief at the feeling of your fingers grazing your slit. A featherlight touch, barely there. You’re trying to savour this, taking in every single detail. Eyes catching on the sharp angle of his jaw, his smirking lips, the straight slope of his nose. Composure slips, quickly, when you let yourself fuzz at the edges, fingers quickening, breath stuttering. Vision blurring in and out of focus as your body chases, and chases. 

And then he replies.  

Hoonie: 😰

Hoonie: I’m not dude, I’m baby..

Hoonie: Fucking gooner

Embarrassment engulfs you. Wraps you up in its fiery clutch, tight and unforgiving. How humiliating, to be known so well. At once, you yank your hand from between your thighs like you’ve been burnt, and get up from the bed, scrambling for the nearest pair of shorts. It would be nice to be clothed if you run into Minjeong or her girlfriend in the middle of your walk of shame. 

You don’t. 

From the tap, cold water shocks you back into your body, settles you as you wash your hands. And wash them again just in case. Exhaling deeply, you dry your hands on the plush towel and lean against the sink to reply to Sunghoon. 

You: Calling me a gooner after sending that freaky fucking photo is crazy work

You: YOU’RE THE GOONER

You: Come over. 

You: Don’t shower..

Hoonie: 😂😂😂

Hoonie: I’m On my way! Princess don’t start without me

As soon as you heart-react to his text, there’s a knock at the front door. Sunghoon, somehow. Vest and hair still damp like he stepped straight out of the photo and into your flat. With how quickly he got here, you’re not convinced he didn’t. 

“Hey, beautiful. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” he says, breathless. 

“Waiting? It’s been, like, thirty seconds since I told you to come over.”

“That’s thirty seconds too long.” He grins, wide and boyish. “I shouldn’t have left at all.” 

You can’t resist any longer, getting on your tiptoes and looping your arms around his neck, body arching up against his as you kiss him. “I know,” you mumble against his soft lips. 

Sunghoon’s tongue slips into your mouth and over yours. Slow. Deep. Taking his time. He always takes his time with you. His sweat-slick skin slides over yours, big hands cupping your ass, pressing you into him. Grip tight, like he plans for your bodies to spill into one another, to merge into one. If only, you think. There’s no ignoring him—you couldn’t if you tried. You don’t want to. Long and thick and stiff between you, straining against his sweatpants. 

It’s a bit much for the hallway, maybe, especially with your flatmate home and having company, but he’s Sunghoon, and he’s been away, and you can’t help it. As if reading your mind, he picks you up off your feet with no strain, humming when you wrap your legs around his svelte waist. Graceful as ever, he steps out of his shoes and walks the two of you to your bedroom, lips attached the whole way. 

Safe between the four walls of your room, you pull away, speaking only when Sunghoon sits on the end of your bed. “I want..” Words escape you at the sight of him. Lips wet, parted, deep red and swollen. Cheeks flushed the same shade. Slow breaths puffing his chest and pushing it back down. “I want..” you try again, but come up with nothing. 

Holding you tight in his lap, he looks up at you. Eyes on yours, dark and insistent. “What do you want, princess?” he asks in a low voice, gentle. “Tell me what you want.”

Beneath you, his thighs are thick and solid. Big like all the rest of him. He is discipline and patience personified, all bulging muscle and taut skin. All yours.

“Just want you.”

“Always such a sweet girl, huh?” he coos, letting his hand slip up your thigh, humming when he finds the wet spot on your shorts. “You want me here, don’t you, baby?”

You nod, hips bucking towards his touch. “Need it,” you mumble, cheeks on fire. 

It’s embarrassing how much you need it. Need him. Even after all this time, he still has you wrapped around his thick finger. 

“Want my mouth? My fingers?” 

Want everything, you think, but don’t say. 

At your silence, Sunghoon leans in, lips finding your collarbone. Kissing and licking and sucking the skin there. A whimper tumbles out of you when his teeth sink into your flesh, just the way you like—just enough to sting. His thumb slips into your shorts, unsticking the soft cotton from your dripping core and finds your clit quickly. 

You shudder on his thighs as he grazes your slit, dragging a slow strip back up to your pulsing clit. Pressing wet circles over it as he kisses a trail up to your ear. He sucks your earlobe into his mouth, biting. “No panties?” he mumbles, your skin muffling the question. 

Relieved, needy, you sigh, sinking into his hold. “Touched myself before you got here. When you sent those photos,” you admit.

Those photos. Where to start? Sweat-damp white tank clinging to his ever-expanding chest. Veins pressing against his skin. Smirk on his face knowing you’d like what you saw. Those biceps. Flexed. Massive. Glistening. 

A huffed laugh hits your ear as he sits up. His lips curve into a smile, half-proud, half-smirk. “My dirty girl,” he says. “So good and all for me. Such a lucky guy, aren’t I?” 

You feel insane when he praises you, hearing those words from him, such filth from such a pretty mouth. Carnal need overtakes you, forces your hips towards his, craving friction. Craving him. A staggered gasp from your parted lips at the feel of him, hard and throbbing against you, the manifestation of how badly he wants this, wants you. 

Taking your flushed cheek in his large palm, Sunghoon’s thumb strokes your cheek, and he slows down on your clit. “I’m all yours, baby. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

Your heart does a leap in your chest, hammering wildly. “Arms,” you say dumbly, fingers digging into his triceps. “Want your arms.” 

Arching a thick brow at you, he repeats, incredulous, “You want my arms?” Confusion paints his handsome face as he takes his hand from your shorts. 

You hum, chewing on your bottom lip as you slowly drag your nail up to his shoulder. His breath gets caught, chest shuddering under your touch. “I want to ride your huge arm.” Even as the words come out, you have no idea what that would even look like. How it would feel. All you know is that you want it, and you want it now. 

“Alright, bunny,” he starts, a faint smile on his lips as he tilts his head. “I’m not sure I can give you that.”  

Heat curls around your stomach at the nickname. “You said anything..” Pouting, you trail off. 

“I did, didn’t I?” Sunghoon brings his pussy-glazed thumb to your lips. “Suck, baby,” he mumbles, leaning on his palm as you take his wrist in your hands, tongue swirling his fingertip.

“Such a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Such a perfect girl.”

Watching through half-lidded eyes, he groans when you take his whole finger in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you suck your heady taste from him. “Mm. That’s it, baby, Just like that.”

Bobbing your head, you hold his gaze. Every inch of you aches with want, burns with need to replace his finger with his cock. Until his lips quirk into a crooked smile, a breathy laugh slipping out of him.

Eyes wide, you pull his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop. A thick string of spit still binding you to it when you ask, “What is it?” 

“Do you trust me?” His voice is a low rumble. 

Scorching heat laps at the base of your spine as you nod. “Mm.”

Sunghoon’s smile turns wicked. He is the picture of lust. Of all things indecorous. You’re almost scared of what he’s going to say next. 

“I know how we can do it.”

“Do what?” 

Patting your thigh, he mumbles a simple command. “Up, baby.” His eyes trail your body when you stand, not a sliver of your skin unseen by him. “Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so beautiful.”

Shy, you turn your face from him, catching his reflection in the mirror. Catching the swift movement of his palm over his lap, his cock.

“This’ll only take a minute, alright? I’ll be quick.”

Sunghoon stands up when you nod, both hands on his waist while looking down at the bed like it’s a puzzle to be solved. True to his word, he sits on the floor and settles with his side against the bed frame in one fluid, deliberate movement. He raises his left arm, bending it at the elbow and resting it on the mattress beside him—bicep flexed and thick and waiting. 

And immediately, it clicks. 

“Sit, baby,” he says gently, before you have the chance to speak. “I want to see you ride what’s yours.”

You’re frozen in place, jaw dropping as you look down at him. Your Sunghoon. Pouty lips and mussed hair. Adoration in his big brown eyes. He reaches up, hands on your thighs, and pulls you towards him, one slow, awestruck step at a time. 

Sunghoon tugs at your shorts. “Let’s get these off, yeah?” he asks, brows raised. 

He pulls them down when you nod, and you step out of them when they hit the floor. Arm on the bed again, he mumbles, careful, baby, as you step over his legs and kneel on the mattress. With his arm between your thighs, you catch his expression. Slow blinking eyes stuck on you. Teeth digging into his bottom lip. You could cum right then and there at the sight alone—it’s a wonder that you don’t. Sunghoon nods, ever so slightly, but it’s enough to make you sink onto him, sticky and so wet against his warm skin. At the contact, you both shudder, a gasp from you and a groan from him as he curls his fist against the duvet. 

You roll your hips, slow and experimental. Once. Twice. Stomach turning at the slick grind of skin on muscle, clit catching over and over on the thickest part of him. You’re already shaking. Whining. It doesn’t help when he tenses, lifting his arm a little so you can grind down into the curve of him even harder. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles, a fucked out and wrecked look on his face just watching you. Gaze following your throbbing core and the mess you’re making. “There you go, bunny. That’s it.”

You nod. That’s it. Moaning as you speed up, rhythm growing erratic. Heat washes over you, spreading from the inside out, coating every fibre of your being. How did anything exist before this? And how will anything exist when it’s over? 

To steady yourself, you grab a fistful of Sunghoon’s long hair, relishing the way he winces when your nails graze his scalp. A grunt from deep in his chest. He talks you through it, gentle as always, coaxing you towards your release one praise at a time. His sweet girl. His baby. 

“Look at you using me like this,” he breathes. Through squinted eyes you see his tongue slip out to wet his lips, your heart racing in response. “Take it,” he says, your name sweet from his mouth. “I’m yours. All yours.”

The only word you can say is his name, crying out over and over on trembling thighs. White-hot pleasure courses through you, growing unbearable, tearing you apart with every movement. Every slip of your cunt on his bulging veins and coiled muscle. You can’t hold back any longer, can’t keep it in. That searing heat. Sharp. Blinding. Ripping through you, splitting you apart right there on his arm. Arched back. Twitching hips. Clutching his shoulder with both hands, your head falls forward as his palm holds your hip, guiding you. 

“Don’t need to hold it, okay?” he murmurs, flexing again like he knows exactly what you need. “I’ve got you, princess. Let go for me.” 

And you do. 

A moan tears from your chest, raw and high and broken, as an endless wave of pleasure crashes over you. Bone-deep and tingling. Every inch of your body set alight as you ride out your orgasm with curled toes and wildly bucking hips. It takes a while to pass, leaving you stunned and silent when you finally manage to stop moving. 

Spent and starry-eyed, the only sound in the room is your breathing—shaky, desperate. You let yourself fall backwards, sinking into the mattress, whole body still trembling, pussy still quivering. 

“You okay, baby?” 

Nodding, you lean up on your elbows. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Just.. Fuck.” 

Sunghoon’s eyes are wide, pupils blown as he pants. “You were perfect. Did so well.” The words come out quietly, gaze stuck on his arm, the mess you left behind. With a thick finger, he grazes through it, bringing it to his mouth for a taste. A full-body flush sets you ablaze at the sight, a satisfied groan filling the room as his eyes screw shut, brows furrowing. 

“Taste so good,” he says, words garbled around his finger. “Always taste so good.”

Wasting no time, he wipes up the rest, pressing four fingers on his tongue as his eyes flick up, catching yours. He looks like he’s about one second away from eating you alive. 

And you’re not wrong. 

Sunghoon wraps his arms around your thighs, pulling you towards the end of the bed. Towards his mouth. Unwavering, his gaze doesn’t leave the spot between your legs. “Let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?” His breath fans your wet core.

Squirming against the mattress, you shake your head. “Not now, Hoonie. I think.. I think I’ll die if you do that now.” 

At this, his eyes meet yours. “Aw, bunny,” he coos, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, biting your soft flesh until you whine. With his tongue, he soothes the stinging spot. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?” 

Dazed, you let out a breath, chuckling. “No, baby. I don’t think so,” you whisper, arms outstretched. 

You wrap your legs around his waist when he crawls over you, pulling him down and digging your face into the crook of his neck. Over and over, he kisses the top of your head, each one softer than the last. “My sweet girl. I love you, baby,” he murmurs into your hair. “So, so much.” 

Tuckered out, you nod slowly, letting his heady scent consume you. “I know,” you tell him, meaning it. “And I love you.”

Sunghoon rolls onto his back, holding you into his chest, fingers stroking your hair. The last thing you hear before you fall asleep is the steady rhythm of his heartbeat matching yours.

© zreamy (2025), all rights reserved. do not repost, translate, or plagiarise my work. do let me know your thoughts !

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