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wisecura · 7 months ago

Text

You Did What?

Kouhai Satoru Gojo x f!Senpai-Reader (age gap) 5k

an: this is apart of a request I got not too long ago for an arranged marriage with an age gap for my star bby Gojo. The second one is coming out very soon for the reversal (he's a bit older than you).

summary: Satoru Gojo was your over-the-top, unbearable, yet strangely endearing kouhai back in school. Maybe you were just a little too sweet to him, though, because now he's showing up at your door with a marriage proposal in hand.

MINORS DNI AFTER THIS POINT.

warnings: obsessive behaviors, noncon/dubcon, arranged marriage, power play, domineering subby, possessive behavior, small jealousy, implied stalking, fingering, popped cherries, he's a good boy, age gap, usage of the word 'little' (might be a lil belittling), minors DNI, not entirely heavily proofread

Life in Tokyo had been nothing short of abysmal.

Between the tiny, overpriced shoebox apartments and the always-packed streets, it wasn’t exactly the dream you'd had in mind. But hey, at least everything you needed was within walking distance.

And yeah, you were always zipping out of town for work, trying to carve out your spot in the pecking order. Just 22, rocking your first real job and your own place, but your social life?

Nonexistent.

You could whine about it, but what's the point?

Whenever you caught up with old classmates, you’d play it cool, telling them you were out living it up, just so they wouldn’t worry. Pretty sure they were spinning the same tales to you. In your line of work, there’s not much room to be anything but selfless.

You kept in touch with a few underclassmen, especially the clingiest of them all—Satoru Gojo. Normally, you wouldn’t bother, you were several classes ahead of him, after all. He only graduated last summer, turned 19 in the winter, and then took over as the head of the Gojo clan that next summer.

But ever since you graduated, he’s been all over your lock screen, bombarding you with texts. A quiet day meant only getting 12 messages. In high school, he was just as clingy, but at least back then, he could just hang around you in person instead of blowing up your phone.

You’d think he’d have outgrown this by now, but nope—by noon today, you’ve already racked up 7 messages from him. It’s kind of cute, sometimes. But let’s be real, trying to get a boyfriend with Satoru always on your tail? Yeah, good luck with that.

The rain had been pounding relentlessly all evening, its steady drumming against the windows filling your tiny Tokyo apartment with a soothing rhythm. Wrapped in a blanket on the couch, you were finally relaxing when your phone buzzed for what felt like the hundredth time tonight.

You glanced at the screen. Another text from him. And another, and another-

Gojo: What are you up to?

Gojo: You never answered my last message. Did you fall asleep?

Gojo: Or maybe you’re ignoring me...again.

Gojo: That hurts, you know. I thought we were close.

With a sigh, you set the phone face down. Satoru Gojo, your overly attached kouhai from high school, had been this way since the day you met—clingy, needy, and always too much. He had always claimed you were the only one who could "handle" him.

And sure, you had a soft spot for him, maybe more than you should. But on days like today, his relentless need for attention was just too much. The knock at your door was abrupt, loud, and insistent, snapping you out of your thoughts. You stared at the door, hesitating, then your phone buzzed once more.

Gojo: I’m outside. Open up.

With a sigh, you dragged yourself off the couch. When you swung the door open, there stood Satoru, soaked to the bone. His normally fluffy white hair was slicked to his forehead, and water dripped from his clothes onto your floor.

“Satoru,” you exclaimed, startled. “What the hell are you doing? Why are you soaked?”

He waved a hand dismissively, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. You blinked at him. You should’ve expect this, but honestly he'd never been this forward.

“You’re soaked! You're gonna catch a cold, you idiot.”

“Would you take care of me if I did?” he asked with a grin, but his voice somewhat off, was missing its usual upbeat playfulness. He took the towel you handed him but made no move to dry himself off, seemingly content to let you fret over him.

As you scanned him for any signs of injury, he watched you with an intensity that said he might just enjoy this concern a bit too much. Maybe he was hurt? But knowing him, that seemed unlikely—

“Seriously, Satoru, what are you doing here?” crossing your arms.

He flopped onto your couch as if he owned the place, his damp clothes leaving a wet spot. "Just wanted to see you," he said, his gaze flitting to yours before darting away.

“You’ve been texting me all day. You could’ve just waited for me to reply.”

He pouted, leaning back with a dramatic sigh. “You’re so mean to me. Do you really think I'm that annoying?”

You rolled your eyes. “You can be.”

"Rude," giving you a mock-offended look. Then, after a pause, "You've been busy, though...haven't you? Out a lot lately."

You froze, your mind racing to last week. Have you been out a lot? But then you remembered a few days back, when you’d gone on a casual date with someone. It hadn’t been anything serious, but you definitely hadn’t mentioned it to Satoru. Given his flair for the dramatic, he’d likely make a big deal out of it. How did he know you'd been out?

"Work," you said cautiously, watching his expression carefully. “Work,” he echoed, tilting his head as if considering your answer. “That’s it? No fun? No...extracurricular activities?”

“Extracurricular activities?”

“You know,” his tone light but his eyes pinning you, somewhat pouty. “Going out. Meeting people. Spending time with a special someone.”

Your stomach churned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He hummed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his damp hair falling into his eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, senpai. You always have been.”

“I’m not lying,” you said firmly, feeling your palms clam up.

“Really?” He grinned, but there was no humor in it. “Then why is it that I heard you’ve been seeing someone?” Your heart skipped a beat. “Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter, is it true?” You hesitated for a moment too long. “It is, isn’t it?” his voice dropping.

“It’s not a big deal,” you said quickly, not sure why you felt the need to explain yourself. “It was just one date. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened? So you went out with someone and didn’t think to tell me?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because I care about you,” he said, rising abruptly. “Because I thought we were close.”

“We are, but that doesn’t mean I owe you every detail of my personal life,” you shot back. He took a step closer, his damp shoes squeaking against the floor. “It’s not about owing me. It’s about the fact that you’re mine.”

Your eyes widened, stunned those words even fell out of his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” his voice was trembling now—nervousness? borderline hysteria? Those possessive words had never spilled from his plush lips before, so you were left grappling with their sudden weight. “I’ve always been yours, senpai. And you’ve always been mine. We're best friends. We're the closest. I don’t care what you think. I don’t care what anyone else says. You’re mine.”

“Satoru, you’re being ridiculous,” you said, trying to step back, but he matched your movement, closing the distance.

“Am I?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and desperate. “You have no idea what it’s like. Having your best friend ignore you. Watching you go out with someone else. It’s killing me.”

Watching? “Satoru, you’re not thinking clearly—”

“I’ve never been more clear,”

“Satoru.” Your mind raced, and you felt the need to put some distance between the two of you. Despite his obvious advantages in strength and size, he'd never given you reason to feel wary—until now. It felt like a mistake letting him into your home. “I...I think you should leave. We need some space, Satoru.” You couldn’t help but fold into yourself, the weight of the conversation draining you.

He paused, the room swallowed in a heavy silence. No words. No breaths. No footsteps. When you dared to look up, his face was crumpled, on the verge of tears. Surprising you even more.

"You’re...telling me to leave?" His voice came out softer than before, soothing yet tinged with desperation. "Why?"

Before you could muster an answer, he dropped to his knees in front of you, crawling closer as you backed up until you were pressed against the wall. He starred up at you, an urgency you've never seen from him before, pressing in on you. His hands gripped your waist tightly, his eyes—wide and pleading like a lost kicked puppy—locked onto yours.

"Please," he whispered, his gaze swimming with tears. tears. "Don’t make me leave. Don’t let someone else take you away from me. I’ll do anything. Just let me stay. Don't push me away."

"Satoru, get up," you said, your voice quivering, fingers trembling as you tried to push him away by pressing on his head. Yet, no matter how much you pushed, his hold remained firm, his strength undeniable. He was soaking the front of your clothes, and it felt very much like an overgrown puppy, coming in from outside.

"No," he murmured, burying his face against your stomach. "Not until you promise. Not until you say I can stay. Until you promise not to go out with anyone else."

“This is insane,” you managed, your hands unintentionally tangling in his soft, albeit wet hair. It was softer than you imagined. Focus—

He suddenly pulled you down with him, his grip unrelenting as you found yourself sinking to your knees in front of him. Now, he was so close, his face just inches from yours, towering over you, his expression a tangled web of desperation and a darker, unspoken plea. Your back was flush against the wall and you weren't sure what he was planning next.

"If you leave me," he said softly, his voice trembling, eyes wild and somewhat dazed. You weren't sure how space equated to you leaving him. You could see him frantically trying to piece the situation back together, the stakes seeming far more catastrophic than the words tumbling from his lips. "I'll make sure you regret it..." His confidence seemed to swell as he caught your wide-eyed stare, "You know I can-You know what I'm capable of."

Your blood ran cold. “Satoru...” a warning

"I don’t want to hurt you," he continued, tears now streaming down his face. He looked pathetic, begging there on his knees, letting out small hiccups with each terrifying sentence after the other. "But I can’t lose you. I can’t share you. Please, senpai. Just say yes. Tell me you won’t shut me out."

"Satoru, this is too much. You're overreacting. I just need some space—"

"Marry me." His eyes lost their frantic sheen, sharpening as they fixed on yours. His tone was firm, non-negotiable. "I’ll make you happy. I’ll give you everything.”

The rain outside roared, its sound blending with the rapid pounding of your heart. His request blindsided you, his words enveloping you, a suffocating, inescapable grip. He couldn't be serious. You two weren't even dating.

"Satoru, we aren't even dati—"

"That doesn't matter. I've always loved you. Even way back then. You've always been the only one on my mind." You gaped at him, stunned by the raw intensity of emotion from someone usually so untouchable. "I-I cant imagine being with anyone else, I need you." He whimpered, pushing into you like the overgrown puppy he was, overly excited to see their master. His head rested against your chest, looking up at you with a pout.

"I've been so good. I've waited so long. I-if anything, I deserve some praise." His words stumbled out, and there it was—the mighty Satoru Gojo, stuttering. He waited for a response, your mouth hanging open at the sheer audacity of this man. The whiplash hitting you quicker than the words. He looked so pitiful.

"P-please, please praise me," he said, a little more desperately, anxious under your flabbergasted stare.

You were definitely outmatched here. You've always had a soft spot for the blue-eyed sorcerer. It was one of the many reasons you gave him as much leeway as you did. As your hand gently came up to his hair, petting him, he practically purred under the touch, his eyes melting with affection. "I knew it."

"Satoru..." you began softly, and as if he could read your mind, knowing you were about to protest, he interrupted. "I'll do whatever you want. Be whoever you want."—"Sato—" "I'll buy you anything, we can go anywhere, live anywhere. I can support you, you won’t need to stay in this shitty apartment anymore—" "Wait a—" "I love you. I love you so much, I couldn’t stand that man touching you, please don’t ever do that again," his face twisted in pain at the mere thought. Your hands reached for his cheeks, gently coaxing his gaze back to you.

"Satoru, calm down." you tried to reason, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm not sure if jumping into a marriage is the best idea right now. We need to talk about this more," you insisted, trying to temper the urgency in his eyes. "A marriage isn't just a contract—it's a lifetime commitment. I'm not sure if we're ready for that yet. You haven't even asked me out yet-"

But Satoru was relentless, his desperation clear. "I've already drafted the papers," he confessed, his tone suggesting he’d been planning this for some time. "I can send a formal request to the higher-ups—whenever I want."

The threat remained unspoken yet unmistakable—a solid recommendation from him, the new head of the Gojo clan—in need of an heir, would be near impossible to refuse without severe consequences. The reality of your situation weighed heavily on you. It was as if it was already decided. But why you?

"Satoru, listen to me," you pleaded, searching for some sign of understanding in his intense gaze. "What do you think this marriage would be? What do you even want from this?"

"You," he answered quickly, eagerness palpable. "Ill give you a life where you don't have to worry about money or security. I can give you a house, anywhere you want. Paris, New York, Tokyo—you name it." he's hugging you tighter at each insistence. "Satoru—"

"Luxuries, travel, whatever you want—designer clothes, fancy cars... I'm going to spoil you rotten," he whispered, his voice dripping with certainty, as if it were all already fated to be, the only concern being what next. "And it's not just about the material things—I mean, I'll be there too. Always. Anytime you call, I'll be there."

"You can't do that, Satoru," you countered, feeling the walls closing in as he all but confirmed he would shirk his very important responsibilities if you so asked.

"I will, if its for you. Please, baby. please." You can't deny the way your heart picked up at the unfamiliar pet name. It sent your heart racing, and your cheeks flushed—a reaction he caught and savored, his eyes lighting up, his head tilted, giving him a perfect view of your pretty red cheeks. His grip on you seemed to trail, his hands rubbing your sides.

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" you questioned, your voice tinged with both disbelief and a creeping unease as Satoru nudged closer.

"Absolutely...my little wife," he murmured, his voice quivering with a concocted vulnerability as he slipped between your legs, still soaking wet. His presence was close, too close, his body heat mingling uncomfortably with yours. Your heart stutter again at the term.

"Satoru, that’s...that’s too much," you breathed out, feeling his hands settle on your hips, his grip firm yet gentle, as if claiming his place. He's pulling you impossibly closer, his hips between your own. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't turning you on, much to your own surprise. He was shocking you at every turn.

"Isn’t it better when it’s just the two of us?" he continued, his voice a needy whisper that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand. He leaned in, his breath warm against your neck, lips brushing your skin with feather-like kisses that trailed up towards your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "No distractions, no one else around. Just me and...my sweet little wife."

His words were laden with possessive desire as he continued his trail of soft kisses, now accompanied by long wet licks that striped across your neck. Your arms found their way around his muscular neck, and your legs instinctively clenched at his sides. His words making you dizzy.

"Y-you think you can make decisions for both of us like that?" you attempted to steady your voice, but it wavered under his touch and the tender assault of his lips.

"’m just trying to secure our happiness together," he insisted, his voice a whisper against your skin, full of confidence—yet pleading. "I know you care about me, deep down. You wouldn’t want to see me hurt, would you, wife?"

Those big eyes begging for your approval, especially when he sensed you might push back. A lovesick puppy.

"Satoru, listen—we really need to talk about boundaries," you insisted, trying to anchor the conversation despite the intoxicating closeness and the persuasive touch of his lips, which fluttered dangerously along the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Boundaries," he repeated, his voice a soft whimper, contemplative, as if he was trying to wrap his mind around the concept. His breath was warm against your skin, his lips pausing as if savoring the very idea. "Okay, we can talk boundaries...as long as they include me being this close." His tone deepened, desperately straining as he pressed closer, grinding into your achy cunt. The soft groan that slipped from him vibrated against your neck, coaxing a surprised whimper from your lips—a sound sweeter than he had ever imagined.

His eyes locked onto yours, reveling in every reaction he elicited from you. Though you weren't married yet, your body seemed to resonate perfectly with his touch, as if it knew him well. The marriage contract had been prepared long in advance, drafted the moment he graduated high school. He had always known you were the one for him. You were, in his eyes, made for him.

He didn't ease up, grinding his length into your clothed pussy, clawing out any reactions he could get, and feeding you his own. And lord was this man vocal.

You wouldn't have believed it if anyone told you—Satoru Gojo, revered as the strongest sorcerer of his generation, the prestigious heir to the Gojo clan, and the youngest prodigy to grace the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, reduced to a puddle of neediness. The type of man that screams top energy, is now rutting against you faster now—helplessly, a begging mess, calling you his "little wife" in a breathy, lovesick plea, so so desperate and clingy.

But you couldn't say anything about it, your leaky pussy was proof enough that you were no better. And the fact that you were so adamant that you weren't interested only moments ago only served to feed his ego.

"What boundaries did my little wife want to set?" His voice confident-damn near arrogantly possessive, as he all but solidified his hold over you, only for you to squirm under his words. He didn't seem to like that as he bit down on your collarbone, earning a sharp gasp from your panting lips.

Before you could wrap your head around the question, he pushed your legs up to your chest, thick fingers digging into the squish of your thighs, instantly knocking the air from your lungs. A mean mating press, and all he needed now was to fuck into you like he meant it. "Satoru—ha—hang on."

But oh-no he wasn't about to hang on, his hips delivered another punishing thrust in between your spread legs, leaving you stuttering out. Your hands that had been wrapped around his neck were now biting into the unfairly smooth expanse of his broad shoulders, leaving behind marks that would surely leave people staring.

Leaning close, his breath hot against your ear, he whispered, a shiver tracing down your spine, crunched up beneath him, "What was my little wife so worried about?" Your eyes proved to him that you were already gone, smothered by his thrusts, and if he were to remove your shorts, you were sure you'd be leaking a pool onto the floor. He cooed softly, his voice a mix of teasing and assurance, "I'll be a good boy. Now tell me, haah—what boundaries did you want to set?"

Beneath him, you trembled, each of your senses heightened by his proximity and the sheer intensity of his gaze, which now swept over you, taking in every reaction before meeting your eyes with a piercing look. "C'mon, pretty girl, tell me, tellme. tellme—" he urged, punctuating each plea with another deep thrust against your clothed cunt.

“Satoru—please—” you managed between labored breaths, each word as shaky as your body.

“Ooh! Hang on—I've got one—" You could feel his breath on your neck, voice dipping a more taunting note. "how about remaining faithful," His grip on you was aggressive and domineering, yet his tone carried a playful lilt. "See, now that's an easy one," You couldn't stop the whimper that rolled from your lips, each thrust forward sent a sharp press into your clit.

You couldn't make a solid thought if your life depended on it. The room spun a little, your mind foggy with need. You felt dangerously close to agreeing to just about anything he proposed, just to keep him moving.

"S-Satoru, please, don't stop," shameless. absolutely shameless.

“Haah, oh—my sweet little wife—‘m just trying to have a conversation—” He groaned as your nails dug deeper into his shoulders, a raw, primal groan rips out, sending shivers down your spine. “Aah, a conversation you wanted. So tell me what I can do for you.”

You can't move an inch as he slows his momentum down, leaving you reeling. You're panicking at the loss, eyes shooting wide as he firmly presses into you. "Or maybe," You felt the heat of his cock pressed against you, "how about a boundary that ensures every day starts with you under me like this?" Satoru's voice was husky, almost choked with his own arousal as he maintained that exasperatingly slow grind, each movement calculated to keep you right on the edge.

You couldn't muster a response, your mind was too clouded with the intoxicating blend of pleasure and frustration, gripping at him to keep going. His smirk was audible in his voice as he continued. "Hmm, not enough? What about...we never sleep apart, huh? Always tangled up like this—sounds perfect, right, wifey? Or do you prefer senpai?"

You felt yourself clench around nothing as you let out a string of needy huffs, eyes drunken, intoxicated on his heat. "And I think," he paused, his breath against your ear, "we should always say goodnight like this...no...we should always say goodnight with me deep inside this pretty pussy, claiming you as mine over and over. No more goodnights through phone screens, just this—"

One hand trails down between your legs, drifting across your sorely sensitive skin, before reaching the warmth beneath your shorts. You feel yourself buck up, but his grip on your other thigh has you restrained. He glides his large fingers along the edges, before dipping into under the fabric, finding his salvation, immediately. "Ahh-shit, you're soaked, baby," His voice was dense with pleasure, a hint of awe, a mix of wonder and satisfaction.

"Do these boundaries work for you?" he teased, fully aware that you were beyond the point of coherent speech, your responses physical, instinctive—your body arching towards him, desperately seeking to close the gap he controlled so teasingly.

His laughter, low and satisfied, resonated through the charged air between you, feeling as tangible as another stroke of his fingers. "I’ll take that as a yes," he murmured before finally relenting to the desperate pace your body craved, driving his fingers into you with a fervor that wiped all thoughts but his name from your mind.

Stretching, and so so thick, yet you so desperately craved for his fingers to curl into your sweet spot, your mewls and moans saturating the air, the debauched sounds from your leaky cunt dragging his eyes to watch as your juices coated his hand.

His eyes were locked on your squirming, messy form. Noticing every movement, learning and adapting his thrust to the motions that drew the most from you. Once he hit that sweet spot, you were out.

To him—this was a dream. A fantasy he'd always had, way back when he first met you.

Now you were soaking your shorts, so he did what any good husband would do and took them off of you. He marveled at the sight of your pretty cunt, glistening, slick pooling from you at a rapid pace. Calling to him. You looked so fucking tasty.

But he wanted more. So much more.

He wanted to fill his pretty little wife, full. Withdrawing his fingers (earning him a small growl from you), he pressed his hips forward, the fabric of his clothes barely containing him as he rubbed against you, his need clear and urgent. His fingers, dipping into his mouth, your taste dissolving onto his tongue, he moaned—"Baby, can I fill you up?" begging, voice guttural, raw, groveling, as he pulled himself free from the confines of his pants, stroking himself with a single hand. You strained to look at him, your legs blocking your view, but when you caught sight of it you nearly drooled. His plea was nothing short of a godsend at this moment, everything you were wanting and more, and that cock looked more than fucking delicious. Big and thick enough to rock your shit.

"Please, please I want more,—ngh—'

He lined himself up at your entrance, poking his fat tip an inch past your slit. The stretch was already a bit much, you really hadn't gotten much action, recently. Toys never cut it.

And just that tip had Satoru's mouth dropping open as he slid himself further, watching the magic act that was his disappearing cock into your tight heat. You deliriously blubbered incomprehensible sounds, begging to be filled, but he seemed so happy with taking his sweet time, savoring every second—every inch.

Once you were completely filled, he stilled for a moment, wearing you like a little cockwarmer, the stretch made you feral as you continue clawing his forearms, pathetically, words dripping from your lips frantically asking bawling at him to go faster.

"Ah, you take me so well." He hissed out, starring down at you with an almost obsessive gaze. "Gimme a second, baby, I needa minute, shit-s'feels sooooo good." He slouches into you, body shaky.

Your breathing is unsteady as he presses into the back of your cervix, poking through your belly. "Ah y'know, you're my first baby, saved myself all for you. All for this moment—" His words slewed together in a stupor, bucking slightly into you. Your eyes widen as you're about to comment, but he stops you with one quick ram of his hips, your head lolling back, mouth dangling open. The dude's fucking huge, hot as all hell, and you're the one who popped his cherry?

You feed into each other as he picks up his pace, clinging to you like a second skin, hips ramming into you with a speed that seemed unreal. Each thrust splitting you open like the very first, you just couldn't get used to him. He moans loudly into your ear, breathing becoming more and more labored as he reaches down to play with your clit.

"A-Ah shit—fuck, I'm gonna cum," his voice frustrated, wanting to last all night with you, but your tight cunt deemed otherwise. His fingers dug deeper into your skin, large welts already forming, "shit-shit, aah fuuuuckk-" spilling his load deep inside your womb, head pulled back, blissed out, twitching into you.

You can't help the way your mind stills, he pumped you full—theres so much, that his gooey cum spills out around the edges, trailing down between your crack, "aah shit baby." He seemed embarrassed, a flushed look on his face as he looked away and back shyly.

He thrust back in, his eyes locked on the way his cum oozed out around him, letting out his own whine. Your breathing stutters when he pushed back inside, your abused cervix aching. You hadn't cum, but damn were you close, and damn if you weren't sore. He rubs your nub again, feeling you clench around him, letting out a hiss, clearly overstimulated.

"You're losin' so much, wifey, how're you ever gonna be full when you're so wasteful," his eyes never leave your cunt, as he swirls his thumb over your clit, as you're left clawing to get away from him, the obsessed focus on your clit just too much. But you're still pinned. And he's still not done yet.

"S'ok baby, 'll give you more, yea?" He's mumbling the words, lost in the meal spread out in front of him. "Want you to cum all over my cock this time. Think you can do that for me?" He doesn't wait for a response as he's hardening up once again, and you think his stamina is fucking impeccable. His own words, nasty for a beginner, but only serving to egg him on.

Once again he's picking back the brutal pace, his cum mixing with the thin pool of your syrupy slick, the loud squelches back in full force. He's lost again, his head buried in your neck now, leaving large dark purple hickies, a hand clenching that back of your neck, devouring you like a fucking rotisserie chicken. You do him one better, your claws sinking deep into his back, each thrust blanking your mind as his fingers continue at your clit.

He angles his dick upwards—just slightly, grazing that upper spot that has you seeing stars, you're pants come out frantic now, pussy clamping, so so close to release. "Cum for me baby? Gonna coat this cock? Mark me up, baby—mark up your husband—" His words have you finishing, an electric current zapping through you, leaving you lit like a live wire. His fingers are punishing, a reminder of his words, his words a reminder of your place in his life, and you find yourself over-satiated.

Squirming to get him to stop, then begging when it he ignored it. Your pleas fell on deaf ears, his thrusts seeking his second release into your tight little pussy, your little begs only speeding him up as he let out another guttural moan, teeth sinking into the crook of your neck, no doubt breaking skin. His cum, hot, burning—as you gushed around him, your pussy pulsating at every movement. His heaving never let up as he kept himself buried deep inside of you.

"Fuck, I love you so much."

come home

2K notes · View notes

emisluvr · 9 days ago

Note

OMG I'm literally (s)creaming because of the recent teaser for your jake fic I'm actually going insane, maybe you could write something where Jake and reader are subs like he's fucking her in missionary and they both are just super subby and moaning a lot, no pressure bby! If you don't get to it it's fine! Don't push yourself! 🫶

ahh so happy you liked it !! and thank you sm for being so patient <3

✧ tw. smut (18+ mdni!), unprotected sex, mommy kink, praise, jake and reader are both subby asf

"mmph.. fuck, mommy," jake whined, voice high and breathy as he buried his face in your neck, cock buried so deep inside you as he slowly thrusted in and out.

you were just as wrecked as he was—whimpering beneath him, clutching at his shoulders with glossy eyes and parted lips. your gummy walls clenched around him so tightly, so warm and wet.

"j-jakey.. feels s' good," you moaned, back slightly arching off the bed as his thrusts quickened a bit.

"feels good for you?" he gasped, lifting his head to look at you. his eyes were glassy, lips swollen from kissing, and his voice was cracking from all the pathetic whimpers he'd tried to suppress. "feels good for mommy?"

you nodded quickly, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. "m-mhmm, so full.."

his tip pressed into your sweet spot over and over, cries escaping your lips as he buried his sweaty face back in your neck, savouring every second of the way your pussy felt wrapped around his cock.

"can't take it," he whined. "s'too good.. mommy, i can't—"

"baby, m'gonna cum—can’t hold it.." you whispered, hands tugging at his soft hair as the knot in your stomach grew tighter.

"wanna cum with you.. please, mommy," he breathed out, hand sliding down to rub your clit in circles.

with a shaky moan and a sob of his name, you came. your legs trembled around his waist, pussy clenching so hard around his cock it made him spill his milky spurts inside you with a cry.

#enhypen smut #sim jaeyun smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen jake smut #enhypen x reader #jake x reader #enha smut #enhypen imagines #enha fanfic

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thevillainswhore · 2 years ago

Text

New Tricks

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead

What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular.

Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.

Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky

Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne

Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗

These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them 😌 for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️

New Tricks Masterlist

I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door.

“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time, when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.

Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck.

The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again.

Excellent, you inwardly sigh.

“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level. “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.”

Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck. Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”

His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?”

No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind.

“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.”

The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes.

“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.”

You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation.

Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic.

“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?”

Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–”

You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.

Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”

Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning.

“What the shit–“

The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?”

In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!”

Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.”

The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.

The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all.

And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?”

Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids.

“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”

Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed.

“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.”

It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone.

You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?”

You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“

“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over.

Had he been listening that whole time?

Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky may have made was a burden you did not want to bear, and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”

Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.”

The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.

With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.

“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”

The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”

Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump.

You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose. “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”

With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off.

Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips.

Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door.

With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”

Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.

Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”

You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?”

The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”

You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.”

Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf.

The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?”

“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”

You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”

“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom.

Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”

“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you.

A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.

The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence.

Though, it is short lived.

Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand.

A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works.

“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off.

You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before…

“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”

A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious.

His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you.

“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”

The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats.

Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?”

You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”

The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet.

Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.

“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”

“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.

Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company.

This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence.

Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone.

“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content.

“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”

“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets.

“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.

The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.

“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.

Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.

That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself.

“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?”

You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV.

“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.”

The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.”

Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.”

Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”

“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.”

You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”

Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it.

Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”

Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”

“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!”

He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?”

“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.

“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”

His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night.

There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus.

Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”

Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing.

“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”

“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”

“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”

A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.”

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.”

His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face.

Okay, you think privately, so what?

Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt.

If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”

“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”

Now that catches you off guard.

Bucky… is a virgin?

Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match.

Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression.

“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”

No other words come to mind.

When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts.

You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully.

The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him.

Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession.

It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands, and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty.

From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer.

Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past. And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket.

What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?

To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs.

Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees.

“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.

The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical.

You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.”

“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting.

You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”

He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“

“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”

“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.

“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”

You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.

“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through.

Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek.

This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance.

You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.

He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”

“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap.

That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth.

There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves.

Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face.

“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.

There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek.

“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.

Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”

The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes.

Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.

“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session.

Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.

You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.

“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension.

A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time.

Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.

The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close.

But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard.

The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly.

Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before.

You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another.

It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you.

And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–”

To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.

Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries.

You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.

The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss.

You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move.

Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous.

It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”

Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”

Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.

“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.”

You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin.

The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet.

The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.

Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.

“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”

“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”

You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”

The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn.

“Wha– Fuck!”

You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it.

The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.

Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release.

You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle.

Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.

Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck.

You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently.

“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”

Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him.

You can’t have that, though.

Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go.

It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in.

You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?”

Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.”

“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.

You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.”

The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Something snaps within him.

The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure.

To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop.

“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”

“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!”

“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed.

“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”

The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat.

The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”

Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness.

After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material.

Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”

“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.

The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”

Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”

“But–” Bucky tries.

“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”

His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”

The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces.

It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”

You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands.

And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair.

You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.

“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.”

You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only–

“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala.

“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”

But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?”

That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes.

You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”

Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away.

With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”

The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky.

“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”

“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”

You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”

The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall. “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”

A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive.

“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.”

That meant only one person was responsible.

Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.

Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night.

I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake.

Love ya squirt,

Your big bro.

“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.

P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x

Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again.

“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”

Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain.

Part Two, Part Three

8K notes · View notes

cameronsbabydoll · 28 days ago

Text

petty prayers

jewish!rafe x jewish!reader

cw: explicit smut (oral f. receiving), married sex, mild dom!reader/subby!rafe dynamic, possessiveness, light praise, jealousy, emotionally charged intimacy, rich people drama, event planning stress, rafe worships reader like a religion

a/n: this fic is for my bby @rafesgreasycurtainbangs for her birthday! divider by @yuppijin

you’ve been awake since 5 a.m.

not because you had to be—because shelly rosenberg called. again. in tears. something about the party favors being a “disgrace to the occasion.” something about the lavender being too blue. you sit up in bed and fight the urge to scream into your hermès pillow.

across the bed, rafe groans.

“it’s shelly,” you hiss, silencing your phone and rubbing your eyes. “she says if her name on the seating card is spelled wrong, she’s suing.”

“she should sue her plastic surgeon first,” rafe mumbles into the pillow.

you stifle a laugh. you’re mad, not heartless.

still, by 7 a.m., the penthouse is buzzing. the planner is coming by with the new centerpieces. your glam girl is coming early to trial your look for the saturday dinner. and rafe—rafe, the love of your life, your husband of ten years, the father of your gorgeous, overachieving children—is pissing you off.

“you said you’d finalize the security deposit with the hotel,” you say, arms crossed, toe tapping against the marble. “that was two days ago.”

he doesn’t even look up from the espresso machine. “and i did. i wired them yesterday.”

you blink. “you didn’t tell me.”

he turns around with your oat milk latte. “i didn’t realize i had to report to you.”

you take the coffee from his hand, eyes narrowed. “i’m the one dealing with shelly and the kosher chef and your mother, rafe.”

“and you’re doing great,” he says, leaning in to kiss you.

you dodge him expertly.

he sighs. “baby—”

“don’t baby me right now. i swear to god, if your mother critiques the menu one more time—”

“it’s not a wedding,” he says. “it’s jacob’s bar mitzvah. not the met gala.”

you gape. “it’s more important than the met gala.”

rafe grins. “you know you’re crazy, right?”

“i’m passionate.”

“you’re terrifying.”

you sip your latte and storm off in your robe, calling the planner for the third time that morning, practically growling into the phone, “the champagne tower isn’t optional.”

by the time saturday rolls around, you’re fine. mostly. your dress fits perfectly. your daughter looks angelic. jacob—sweet jacob—beams at you before he’s pulled into a circle of friends from school, and you feel a twinge of pride. you made this happen. the flowers, the lighting, the exact shade of navy in the cocktail napkins—it’s all you.

then you see her.

rafe’s talking to a mom. she’s laughing a little too hard. her hand is on his forearm. his forearm. the audacity.

you don't even flinch. you just smile from across the room, sip your champagne, and wait for him to notice.

he doesn’t. not right away.

but you make sure he knows.

you won’t sit next to him during candle lighting. you pretend not to hear him when he calls your name. you let shelly sit between you instead—and you know exactly what you’re doing.

later, after the kids are finally in bed, the gifts counted and texts from your friends rolling in ("this party was insane", "dying over your dress", "how does rafe still look like that??"), you're in the bathroom doing your skincare. face lit up by the hollywood bulbs, silk slip clinging to your hips, diamond tennis bracelet glittering in the mirror. you dab on your serum. ignore the way he’s leaning in the doorframe behind you.

“you’re mad,” he says quietly.

you don’t answer.

he pushes off the frame, pads closer. “i wasn’t flirting.”

you snort. “sure.”

“she asked about the valet. that’s it.”

“well she was drooling.”

“you’re the only one i care about.”

you shrug. apply eye cream. keep your chin high.

then—his hands on your hips.

you glance at him in the mirror. he’s watching you like you’re his whole world.

“you gonna stay mad?” he murmurs, mouth against your ear. “or are you gonna let me make it up to you?”

you raise a brow.

he smiles, drops to his knees behind you.

“rafe—”

“let me make it up to you,” he repeats, voice thick, hands already sliding up your thighs. “c’mon, baby. you wore this for me.”

you glare down at him like he’s pathetic.

it’s mean. you know it’s mean. but it’s also fun.

“you think i wore this for you?” you murmur, voice low, sweet like poison.

rafe nods immediately. he’s already on his knees, already got his hands pushing your robe up around your hips like he’s starving. “yes,” he says, “you always do.”

you tilt your head. dab one more dot of cream under your eye. “and you think that makes up for ignoring me all night? letting her touch you like you’re—”

“she wasn’t—”

you cut him off with a look.

he shuts up instantly. lips parting. eyes wide and obedient.

you watch him in the mirror, how pretty he looks when he’s guilty. his expensive button-down’s wrinkled, hair still a little messy from the party, jaw tight like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’ll give him.

good.

you lift yourself up onto the marble vanity, crossing one leg over the other slowly, letting the silk of your robe slide open just enough for him to see the lace beneath. you watch the way his eyes follow the motion like it’s instinct.

like he’s trained.

because he is.

"say you're sorry," you say softly.

he licks his lips. “i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

“for not telling you about the wire,” he says immediately. then, quieter, “for letting her touch me. for not being next to you all night like i should’ve been.”

you hum. “you’re not gonna do it again?”

“no.”

“you’re not gonna let another woman touch what’s mine?”

rafe actually whines. “never.”

you uncross your legs. hook your finger through the lace of your panties. “then make it up to me.”

he’s got your panties off in one breathless tug.

he kisses up your thigh first, slow and reverent, like it’s a privilege to be this close. like it’s something he doesn’t get to do often, even though you both know you let him eat you out like a starved man every time you’re even slightly mad.

he moans the second his mouth finds you, nose pressed against your skin, fingers gripping your thighs like he’s scared you’ll pull away.

but you don’t. you just lean back against the mirror, tilt your head and sigh like you’re being generous.

“you’re lucky i’m letting you,” you mutter.

he nods into you. tongue eager, messy, perfect. he doesn’t even try to make it slow—he’s greedy. hungry. like he’s been thinking about it all day, since that morning argument in the kitchen.

“god, you’re such a freak,” you breathe, hips shifting against his face. “look at you.”

he loves it. you can feel how hard he is even though he’s still fully dressed, suit pants tight over his thighs, his belt digging into the tile as he kneels.

“don’t stop,” you gasp, threading your fingers through his hair. “you better not stop.”

he groans into your pussy and keeps going, tongue working in perfect, practiced rhythm. one hand moves to your stomach, then your chest, just to feel you. to make sure you’re really there. like he needs the contact to survive.

“fuck, rafe—” you cry out when he sucks just right, your thighs clenching around his ears. “right there. stay there—don’t stop—”

he nods frantically, hands tightening on your waist.

when you come, you nearly break the mirror.

legs trembling, head thrown back, hand clutching his hair like you’re anchoring yourself. he doesn’t stop even after, keeps licking you through it like he’s got something to prove.

because he does.

he finally pulls back with your slick all over his chin, lips shiny, panting like he just ran a marathon.

you sit there in your robe, still glowing, watching him catch his breath on the floor.

“did i make it up to you?” he asks, voice raspy, eyes desperate.

you smirk. stretch out your legs, toes brushing his chest.

“almost,” you say.

he groans.

“but don’t worry,” you whisper, leaning forward, brushing his jaw with your thumb. “you’ll get another chance tomorrow.”

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iqxatlantic · 5 months ago

Note

hey can you please write about reader giving nagi a handjob while he's playing but as revenge because he's been ignoring reader for his games so reader doesn't let him cum unless he wins the round but he can't focus on the game because of the pleasure he's feeling!! hoping for a kinda subby nagi if that's alright <3

YES YES OMG ANON BBY I SEE IT AHJWJSAJ delicious plot hehe!

"i'm about to show you, baby slow down!"

ft. nagi seishiro . ooc! nagi ? . somewhat sub! nagi heh . aged up! characters . established-relationships . fem! reader . nsfw . smut . handjobs . cockwarming in the end ? . nagi's kinda a dick rn . use of mommy ig... . unreliable narrator.. :^

wc: 0.5k

cw: this might be dub-con idk tho

"my girlfriend's always harassing me whenever i'm tryna play a game.. what a hassle," nagi started off. his friends giggled on vc. "she's a nice person, you'll get used to it."

a few rounds of horror games, nagi was carrying hard. (heh hard like him :x) horror games were yea, a hassle. but, not a hassle to him. unlike his friends, nagi didn't really scream. shit, he was so lazy he didn't even wanna be fazed.

this round in particular though... "g-good god..." the man whined, spasming a little. "you good, nagi?" bachira asked. "is the horror finally getting to you?" your softer, smaller hands pumping at his cock :p

it started off slow, nagi didn't really notice at first. slow and steady wins the race right? but after a few more minutes of getting ignored, you fastened the pace.

you locked eyes with nagi. your lips curling into a smirk. "sei, what're your friends g'na think when they realize that when you're receiving a handjob with little to no lubrication at all?" you began. "your cock was leaking so much pre — it was like you wanted me to do this!" you continued to yap, face now no longer in a cocky demeanor but, in a pouty expression now.

"[n-name]," the grey eyed man moaned out. your expression, your hands... the stimulation was getting to him. "w-wait guys- oooh..." nagi tried to get out, his voice now strained. "nagi, you weren't even screaming are you good?" isagi asked. screaming? nah this guy was CREAMING.

"y-yep, i'm good," he stuttered out. "i jus' need a few minutes off real qui.." his voice trailed off as he muted himself. his hand released the mouse as his calloused fingers wrapped around your hand. nagi began thrusting into your hand.

his shaft was absolutely tearing up, just like the man. tears leaked from his eyes while there was a bit of semen leaking out of his tip LOL.

"[name], s-slow down.. [name], i-i.." he couldn't even get the words out as he scrunched his eye shut. "sei, yknow you dont deserve this at all.. all you've done was ignore me n shit this whole week..." you frowned. nagi knew he was coming close, hell he WAS going to come.

"i'm sorry mommy, i didn' mean t'- god! please, i'm sorry!" he apologized. the stimulation actually got to nagi as he came. his precious n delicious come leaked out as he let out the most gorgeous moan you've ever heard during the whole time you two were together.

your eyes kinda widened. nagi had this flushed, fucked out expression. he was panting like crazy. "[name], i'm so sorry.." he sobbed.

"what happened to emotions being a hassle, seishiro?" you teased. his sweatpants n boxers were to his knees LOL. nagi slid down your shorts n panties. "please let me feel your warm cunt, ma'am.. please use me f' your pleasure, pretty.." nagi mumbled. most genuine mumble omd...

"my bad guys, i'm back." nagi grunted after unmuting. nagi had a little bit of struggle seeing the PC screen with his gorgeous partner's warm n tight walls clenching against his shaft. let's just say, nagi wasn't the best player after LOL.

— ©iqxatlantic / isaisliterallyhim, 2025

tags! : @twijaxx ♡, @kyvkc

a/n : errr... idk man i came back from training w my corps i j wrote this and threw it .. kinda late night post so uhwhhdaj sorry for the unreadabler englush i tried ok ygs i j went thru a breakup pls give me credit for trying. nyways, nagi ohf wakkk hes so hot omg.. i need that 190 cm man in me omgmgmjddkkwjd anyhow i hope ygs enjoyed hehe

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riboism · 5 months ago

Text

frankenstein

》 pairing: frankenstein! s.mg x mortician! fem reader

》 wc: 4.0k

》 plot: in the wake of her husband’s tragic death, a grieving woman defies nature itself to bring him back. but the man she resurrects is not the same one she lost. his memories are wiped, his mind fragile, his body stitched together by her own desperate hands. as he relearns the world through her guidance, he begins to question the life she has confined him to and the strangeness of his appearance, unaware of the terrible truth she cannot bear to tell him.

》 content tags: frankenstein! mingi, mortuary school student! reader, story takes place in the 1800s, reader is low key manipulative but it’s okay because she’s still in grief, insecure mingi MY SHAAYYLAAA, smut, oneshot, angst, subby bby mingi, body worship, blowjob, riding, multiple orgasms, creampie, very sweet love making :(, this is for the REAL freaks, morally gray area warning, mentions of scars and stitches, this is heavily inspired by the movie Poor Things (2023).

》 song: frankenstein by rina sawayama

You were itching to go home. The streets were quiet, the cool night air nipping at your skin as you hurried along the cobbled path. But it wasn’t the cold winds that urged your hurried steps; You worried about Mingi. You knew he didn’t like it when you were away from him for too long. He’d grow lonely and bored, and each time you returned home late, you would find him sulking in your room, curled up in the corner, his silence like a quiet punishment. He never voiced his grievances out loud, but his sulking made his feelings clear.

Perhaps you had only yourself to blame. You spent too many hours in the library at the university, fingers ink-stained as you skimmed over anatomy texts and alchemical treatises. You should have been home with him, tending to the life you had so desperately clawed back from the grave.

At last, you reached the old manor. Fumbling with the iron key, you locked each of the heavy bolts behind you, securing the house as if the world itself might try to pry open the secrets hidden within. The wooden stairs creaked beneath your hurried steps as you made your way upstairs.

“Miiingii,” you called in a playful tone as you pushed open the door to your bedroom.

You found him lying on the bed, facing away from you. His back was stiff like a wall shutting you out.

“Mingi?” you tried again, softer this time. You crossed the room, settling onto the bed beside him. The mattress dipped under your weight, but he didn’t stir. Your fingers wove into his silky, dark strands, still holding on to the scent of lavender oil from the rinse you had given him the night before.

“I’m home,” you whispered.

You waited for him to turn toward you, but his body remained still.

You leaned closer, brushing your lips over his ear. “Dear, what’s wrong? Look, I brought you something special.” You rattled the small paper-wrapped bundle in your hands. “Figs, fresh from the market.”

His only response was a slow, quiet sigh.

You scooted even closer, resting your chin lightly on his shoulder. “Won’t you let me see you?” You pouted. “I missed you all day. You used to meet me at the door before I could even set down my books.”

Before, he would pull you into his arms the moment you stepped inside, clinging to you as if afraid you might vanish. His unrestrained affection had been overwhelming at times, but now, you almost longed for it. Now, he was different. More withdrawn. More aware. It almost scared you.

This wasn’t the Mingi you had first fallen in love with. That Mingi had been strong, independent, a force of nature. He was your guardian angel, your protector, the one who made you feel safe and loved in a cruel, heartless world. When he was taken from you, the emptiness was unbearable. Life without him was an unfathomable reality you refused to accept.

In your grief, you buried yourself in your books, drowning in theories, alchemical formulas, and desperate calculations that defied both God and nature. You searched for a way—any way—to bring him back. And in the end, you succeeded. But what returned wasn’t truly Mingi.

His body was whole, his limbs moved as they once had, but the man you knew was gone. His memories had been erased, his mind an empty slate, his gaze void of any recognition. He was like a newborn, unable to walk, to speak, to feed himself. And so, you taught him. Day by day, step by step, you guided him through life once more, as if he had been born again.

He clung to you and depended on you for everything. It was exhausting at times, but every time he looked at you, something inside you softened. He was here. He was with you. That was all that mattered. Or so you thought.

Now, looking back, you realize how much simpler things had been when he was still learning, when his world revolved only around you. He was different now. He had grown. He devoured your books, and pored over your notes, his mind hungry for knowledge. With every page he turned, every lesson he absorbed, he grew more aware. His mind was sharp, restless, and full of thoughts and questions. Questions you couldn’t bring yourself to answer.

Who was he?

What had happened to him?

Why wouldn’t you let him leave the manor?

You knew the truth was closing in. Soon, he would figure it out. But still, you tried to keep it from him for as long as you could. Because once he knew, you’d lose him forever.

You leaned in closer, nuzzling into the curve of his shoulder and neck. “Please say something,” You whined into his cool skin. “You’re making me sad.”

For a moment, he laid still, not letting your words tempt him. But soon, he gave in to your whines, sighing deeply before shifting onto his back.

You smiled, relief washing over you as you looked at him. Even now, with shadows cast across his face from the flickering gaslight, his features brought you warmth, chasing away the cold that bit at you all night.

“There you are,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. Mingi lay motionless, his eyes wide open, lips refusing to move with yours. You pulled away slightly, your brows drawing together. “What’s the matter?”

Mingi lowered his eyes, hiding from your gaze. “You said you’d be back before sunset. It’s past eleven.”

Your shoulders sagged, guilt settling heavily in your chest. You reached for his hand, but he didn’t take it.

“Oh, love, I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice soft with regret. “Professor kept me longer than I expected. He needed my help with a post-mortem examination, an elderly man. His family wanted a full report before burial. By the time we were finished, I rushed to the library to work on my essay. I didn’t mean to stay out so late.”

Mingi said nothing, but the way his jaw tensed told you he was still upset. His fingers idly twisted at the hem of the blanket, his mind working through his thoughts.

You placed your fingers under his chin, tilting his face toward you, forcing him to meet your eyes. “I’m sorry, my love” you whispered, sincerely. “Please don’t be upset.”

His lips parted slightly, hesitating as if the words were too difficult to push out. Finally, he spoke.

“Why don’t you let me come with you to your lectures?”

Your heart clenched. You pressed your lips together, bracing yourself. “Mingi, we went over this—”

“I feel so lonely in this big, empty house,” he interrupted, his voice quieter now, but still laced with frustration. “Why can’t we at least take a stroll outside? Just once?”

You hesitated. The room was so quiet you could hear the soft creaking of the wooden beams overhead, the wind whispering through the cracks in the window.

He faced you now, his eyes dark and full with a heavy sadness. “Are you that ashamed of me?”

He spoke so quietly, yet his words struck you harder than any shout ever could. You steadied yourself as you spoke. “Ashamed of you?” You asked. “Why on Earth would I be ashamed of you, Mingi?”

“Because I’m a hideous monster!” he roared, his voice breaking. “My complexion is pale and gray, my body stitched together like some grotesque experiment gone wrong! I look like the creatures in those horrible Brothers Grimm tales!” He panted, his chest rising and falling unevenly. His gaze met yours, filled with raw, agonizing pain. “You’re ashamed to be seen with me. That’s why you keep me locked in here. Just admit it!”

Before you could reach for him, he shoved himself upright, his sudden movement forcing you back. His shoulders shook as he sucked in a ragged breath, but it did little to steady him. He turned away, his back to you, his head bowed as his body shuddered with suppressed sobs.

A hollow ache carved into your chest. You had seen him in so many states—curiosity, fascination, confusion, frustration—but never like this. Never so broken and angry.

You pushed yourself up, the bed frame creaking beneath you as you rose to your feet. Slowly, you tip-toed around the bed carefully, afraid he might flinch away. But he didn’t. He remained still, his head hanging low, shoulders trembling with each uneven breath.

Gently, you cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against his cold cheeks. His lashes, dark and wet with tears, fluttered as he hesitantly lifted his gaze to meet yours.

Your heart sank. “Oh, Mingi,” you whispered, the words carrying all the tenderness you could muster. “You are no monster.”

His lips parted, but no words came at first. He swallowed hard, his breath warm and shallow against your fingers.

“Yeah? Then what am I?” He asked in a low voice.

You held him tighter as if your grip alone could hold him together and ease the ache buried deep within him.

“You are my greatest love,” you said, your thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles against his skin. “My beating heart. My light, my darkness. My gentle giant.” You leaned in, your forehead resting against his, your breath mixing with his own. “My most beautiful creation.”

His lips quivered, his brows drawing together as more tears spilled down his cheeks. He searched your face as if trying to find some hidden deception in your words, but there was none. Only love.

“That’s why I have to keep you here,” You explained, your fingers ghosting over his cheek, tracing the faint lines of stitches that held him together. “You’re far too precious to me. What would I do with myself if you were to wander outside and hurt yourself, hmm?”

Your voice was gentle, but firm. A careful balance of love and control. “The world out there is dangerous and unpredictable. People wouldn’t understand you the way I do. They wouldn’t see you the way I do. But here… here, I can keep you safe. I can protect you. I can’t ever lose you, Mingi. You understand?”

The thought of you suffering because of him was far worse than any pain he could endure himself. He never wanted you to be hurting. His loneliness, his longing for the outside world, meant nothing if it meant keeping you safe. If staying within these walls was the price to keep you happy, then he would pay it willingly, again and again.

You felt his resistance softening, the tension in his shoulders easing beneath your touch. He nodded his head eagerly, convincing you that he understood. Yes, you were only protecting him. And where else would he need to be than be here with you?

Mingi buried his face into your chest, his breath warm against the fabric of your dress. His arms wrapped around you, desperately clinging onto you as if you might slip away on account of his emotional outburst.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice small and fragile. “I just… I look at myself, and I worry that I’m not enough for you.” His words muffled in the soft folds of your clothing.

You sighed, your fingers weaving through his dark hair, stroking it gently. You had known for some time that he struggled with his appearance. How he would glance at the mirror only to turn away, jaw tightening, shoulders slumping under the weight of his self-loathing.

It felt like a cruel joke, that you, with your flawless skin, and warmth and radiance, could love someone like him. It didn’t make sense to him. He was the beast, an unnatural creation held together by a thread. And you… you were his beauty. The light in his darkness. The one thing that made him feel human.

“How do you look at me and not run away?” His voice was raw with insecurity. He curled his fingers into the lacy fabric of your dress, gripping tightly, as if bracing himself for an answer he feared.

You didn’t hesitate. Gently, you cupped his cheeks, your thumbs reuniting with the cool, uneven texture of his skin, feeling the faint ridges of stitches beneath your fingertips. You lifted his face, urging him to meet your eyes.

“Because I love you,” you said, your voice filled with certainty. “You are my darling husband. Must I need any other reason?”

Your eyes searched his, willing him to believe you. To see himself the way you did. Not as something broken, not as something unnatural, but as yours. Entirely, unconditionally, yours.

Though you spoke fondly, your words didn’t land. Mingi’s brows drew together, his lips pressing into a thin line as doubt clouded his mind. No matter how many times you reassured him, no matter how gently you held him, he struggled to accept that someone like you could love someone like him.

You leaned in closer, your lips hovering just above his. "Let me show you," you murmured softly. Slowly, you closed the distance, capturing his lips with yours in a tender kiss. His initial hesitation melted away, replaced by a tentative hunger as he responded to your touch. His hands found your waist again, and he pulled you closer, the erratic beat of his heart thumping against yours.

As your kiss deepened, you felt Mingi's hands exploring, sliding up your back with a newfound confidence that sent shivers down your spine. It was as if his self-doubt unraveled with every touch you brought him. The way you melted into him, the breathy moans slipping past your lips, served as undeniable proof that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe it.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes locking with his, silently asking for permission and offering reassurance. His gaze held nothing but trust and longing, a silent plea for you to continue, to take the lead.

Carefully, you began to undo the buttons of his shirt, your fingertips grazing over his bare skin. You pushed him gently down onto the mattress, a spark of desire burning in your lower abdomen as you climbed on top of him.

Your lips reconnected with his, and you couldn’t help but rut your hips, grinding yourself over his growing bulge. His moans vibrated against your lips, a low, primal growl that sent shockwaves through your body. He was always so reactive to your touch, his big body seemingly getting smaller as he melted just beneath you.

Your kisses trailed down his neck and over his exposed chest, lips lingering gently over the scars just above his heart. Your hands roamed over the hard plane of his muscles, tracing over the contours of his body with a light and playful touch. You could feel Mingi stirring beneath you, groaning as his big hands found their way to your hips, pulling you closer, wanting to feel every inch of your body against his. He moved you back and forth, a sticky wetness already staining his freshly worn trousers.

Mingi's head fell back, his eyes shutting tightly as you took his nipple into your mouth, suckling gently. His chest rose and fell rapidly, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation taking over as you played with his tender flesh, biting and pulling ever so slightly. A wanton moan escaped his lips, a low, pleading sound that filled you with glee.

“Y/N…” he whined, his voice soft and pleading. His hands rested on your shoulders, his fingers lightly gripping your skin, silently begging you for more. When you looked up at him, your mouth still busy on his nipple, you felt a rush of power. His hair was slightly disheveled, falling over his forehead in a way that made him look even more breathtaking. His eyes, wet and glassy, met yours, and his puffy lips were slightly parted, as if he was going to cry out your name again.

Your clothes had fallen to the floor, discarded in the heat of the moment. Your naked body, now warm and flushed, pressed against his own, his large frame resting back against your soft flesh. You kissed him passionately, your lips trailing down from his jawline until making home over his neck. Your hand reached around and stroked his hard cock, a gentle caress that made his hips buck.

"So pretty,” you breathed, your head resting against his shoulder as you studied his long length. “Every inch of you is a work of art, made just for me…Look how perfectly you fit in my hand."

His cheeks flamed at your words, his eyes lowering as he melted in your hand. Only you could say such filthy things to him and make it sound so eloquent. It made him wet, forcing a dribble of precum to escape his slit, which you thumbed over and circled against his throbbing head.

You then moved around his large frame until you were kneeled before him, dipping your head just enough to spit on his cock, his breath hissing as your saliva dripped down his shaft. Mingi watched intently, his breath catching as you took all of him into your mouth, your lips stretching wide around his girth. He whimpered at the sudden warmth of your mouth. His own hung open as he sat and watched in awe as you sucked and slurped him, making sure to give him all the attention he needed. His eyes rolled back, and for a moment he felt weightless, as if he was floating on a cloud, a strong bliss taking over his senses.

You bobbed your head and took him deeper, forcing your hair to fall forward and frame your face. Captivated by the sight, Mingi gently gathered your loose strands and tucked them behind your ear. He desperately wanted to tell you that you looked so beautiful at this moment, that he admired how hard you worked to make him feel good, but the words got stuck in his throat each time your throat gagged around him, so he kept tending to your hair, pulling the strands away from your eyes so they didn’t bother you. His touch, so tender and loving, made your heart flutter in your chest.

“You taste so good,” You moaned against his cock, gripping a hand tighter at its base. “I can’t get enough of you.” He shuddered as you traced wet kisses along his vein, your tongue exploring every ridge and curve.

Sucking on his tip, you pumped him up and down, your grip becoming even tighter. Mingi's eyes widened, and he shuddered again, unable to hold back any longer. His breath hitched, and his body tensed as a wave of relief washed over him.

With a powerful thrust, his cum shot into your mouth, filling it with his warm seed. You moaned, your eyes closing in satisfaction as you took him deep, a sensory overload that left him breathless.

Mingi turned a delightful shade of pink, embarrassed to see his cum dripping from your lips. It was adorable seeing him so flustered. He started to apologize and offered to get you a towel to spit on, but your actions left him speechless. You hummed in satisfaction, a deep, contented sound that turned his brain to mush. Without hesitation, you swallowed his load, licking your lips clean, a sign of your complete devotion to him.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his sensitive cockhead, a gesture that made him snap back to reality. Looking up at him, you saw his flushed, sweaty expression, and your heart skipped a beat. The sight of him, so vulnerable and raw, made you sigh in adoration.

"You're so handsome when you cum, honey” you whispered. “Such a good boy for me.”

He blushed, a subtle pink tinting his cheeks. He could feel your love radiating toward him, and it felt almost overwhelming, a beautiful connection that he just couldn’t describe. Something inside him ignited, both a hunger and a need to give back, to be the one to pleasure you. With a swift and gentle movement, he pulled you onto his lap, your bodies aligning perfectly like two puzzle pieces.

His lips crashed against yours, tasting his saltiness on your lips. You moaned, your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer. The feel of his hard cock rubbing against your wet folds sent goosebumps all over your body, a delicious friction that had you wanting more.

Mingi pulled away, his eyes darting down to your wet heat, admiring how pretty your slick juices look all over his cock. Meeting your gaze, he spoke softly, his voice filled with undeniable want. “I want to make you feel good, Y/N. I want to be good for you…please, I’ll be so good.” It almost pained him to want you this way, to desire you this badly, and he needed your permission to put out this fire that burned within him.

Your heart bursted at his words, a rush of love and appreciation washing over you. You nodded, a subtle gesture of consent, and he smiled, a sweet, loving smile that melted your heart. He leaned in, his lips trailing kisses down your neck, his hands roaming all over your body before settling them at your waist. He guided you over his cock, and you sank down, gasping at the stretch. His brows furrowed with concern, a fleeting moment of worry before you leaned in and kissed him to reassure him. You rocked your hips back and forth, getting used to his length.

“Mingi,” You whined, your pace quickening as you found your rhythm. He was buried so deep inside of you that it made tears well in your eyes. You continued kissing him hungrily, your lips moving from his mouth to his neck, leaving behind a trail of purple bruises. His hands roamed your back, a comforting touch that contrasted his hardness that rocked inside of you. As you pulled away to catch your breath, you caught sight of Mingi's eyes, which were as teary as your own. His gaze was fixed on you, an intense lock that spoke volumes about the deep love that he undoubtedly had for you. You almost wanted to cup his sweet face and kiss away his tears.

Before either of you could speak, his grasp on your waist tightened, a silent plea for you to stay put. You felt his cum releasing inside you, a warm sensation that mixed with your own, filling you to the brim. You cried out, your eyes locked on his as you reached your climax. It all felt so overwhelming, but he worked you gently and slowly over his cock, bringing you down from your peak with a tender and caring touch.

Exhausted, Mingi collapsed against the bed, pulling you down with him. You tumbled forward, your body molding against his as you rested atop him, breathless and sweaty. With a soft hum, you began peppering his face with tender kisses over his eyelids, his cheeks, and the sharp line of his jaw; each one a silent prayer, a vow of devotion. Your fingers traced the familiar contours of his face as you sighed, content.

“My Mingi,” you whispered, a gentle smile curling at your lips. But then, a sudden darkness took hold of you.

He wasn’t your Mingi.

The man beneath you, holding you, loving you, was something else entirely. A being shaped by your grief, your desperation. A body stolen from the earth and brought back by your own hands. A carefully crafted illusion of the man you lost. And he had no idea, no idea that you stole him, reimagined him, all for your own selfish intentions.

The realization threatened to crush you, your chest tightening as the weight of the truth nearly pulled you from the moment.

Mingi, ever attuned to you, sensed the shift in your expression. His brows knit together as he reached up, his thumb gently brushing away a stray tear that had slipped down your cheek. Though he didn’t understand the sorrow behind it, he smiled softly, his eyes full of adoration, his love for you unshaken.

He pulled you closer, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, anchoring you back to him.

“I love you so much, Y/N,” he whispered to you. And just like that, he drifted off to sleep, his own qualms put to rest, while yours just began to crack at the surface.

I would greatly appreciate reblogs with comments and replies. please consider leaving feedback if you enjoyed this x.

taglist: @yoonguurt

#mingi smut #song mingi smut #mingi x reader #song mingi x reader #mingi oneshot #mingi angst #ateez oneshot #ateez smut #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #mingi fanfic

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hoshigray · 1 year ago

Note

was it me who made you cream so hard 🥰

Pffft, that's cute, vegas, but yk between us two, you're the one who creams the hardest

#especially when i make you cream #my subby veggy bby 🤧🤧🤧#𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒆 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ vegas #𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ⚛ 𝑨𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒊𝒄 𝑨𝒔𝒌𝒔

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javierpena-inatacvest · 11 months ago

Text

Stress Relief

Summary: After a recent promotion, Javi has had a lot on his plate. Thankfully, you know just what to do to help him de-stress.

Word Count: 2.8K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n, post season 3)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (make safe choices pls), oral (m receiving), creampie, size kink (ish?), praise kink, sex as stress relief, Subby, whimpering Javi because giving him a surprise blowjob when you know he's stressed would make him crumble, this is literally porn without a plot WHOOPS

A/N: Shoutout to my job for having a system wide data outage today so I didn't have to work and got to write this instead 🤪 Poor bby cow eyes deserves all the stress relief in the world, and who am I to deny him 🤷🏼‍♀️ Also proud of myself because this is the first thing I've written without an obscene breeding kink in God knows how long, gold stars for me LMAO

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

“You’re still working?”

“No, I just really like sitting here and going through all this fucking paperwork for fun.” Javi sighed, sarcasm oozing out of his words as he leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

As thankful as Javi was for his much more structured, low risk job at the Laredo Sheriff's Department compared to his time back in Colombia, his recent promotion had put way more on his plate than he had expected.

Begrudgingly, Javi had been bringing work home with him most nights to make up for what he couldn’t finish in the office, leaving him in an exceptionally sour mood that he was spending his nights finishing paperwork instead of spending time with you.

“Sorry, I’m not trying to be an asshole, Querida.” Javi huffed, upset with himself that any ounce of him was resorting to taking his frustrations out on you. “I just- I’ve just been really stressed about trying to get all this shit done.”

“Really? I can’t tell. You don’t seem stressed at all.” You quietly teased, your sarcasm enough to at least crack a small smile out of his pouted frown.

Pushing the office door open, you softly padded into the room, placing yourself behind Javi’s desk chair and draping your arms around his shoulders, gently resting your chin on his shoulder. His hands reached up to wrap around your arms now resting against his chest, his thumbs rubbing soft circles onto your skin as he let out a heavy sigh, your presence flooding him with at least a little bit of calm amongst the chaos.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” You asked, pecking a soft kiss onto the scratchy stubble of his cheek.

“No, it’s just some paperwork shit.”

“You sure?”

“No, thank you though, Hermosa. I promise I’ll be done soon, baby.”

Javi assumed his reply and gentle pat to your arm still wrapped around him would have enough to send you back out of his office so he could finish the rest of his work, but as your lips began to slowly travel from his cheek to down his neck and back up to nibble at his ear while your hands slid down his chest, he slowly realized that your offer to help had nothing to do with the actual work he needed to finish.

“You sure there’s nothing? It sure seems like you could use some stress relief, Javi.” The tone of your voice shifting from sweet and innocent to low and sultry, the whisper of your words dancing in Javi’s ear and fingertips raking lower across his stomach and thighs making his breath hitch in the back of his throat as he realized what kind of “help” you were planning to offer him.

You smirked as you watched the bulge in his slacks begin to stiffen, your hand just grazing along the seam of his crotch while you kissed his neck, sucking at his pulse point and nipping at his skin. You could practically feel Javi melting into his chair at your touch, hoping that your plan would provide your husband with some much needed stress relief.

“Pobrecito (Poor thing). You’re so tense. And so hard,” You laughed quietly to yourself, hand now cupping the full blown erection in his pants, “You gonna let me help you, baby? Help you get rid of some of this stress?”

You began to swivel his desk chair to face you, Javi’s lips already parted for his heavy breaths as his hungry gaze met yours. Slowly, you climbed into his lap, your legs straddling over his hips as your hands ran up and down his chest, toying with the buttons of his dress shirt to expose his soft and tanned skin.

Your mouths met in a hungry clash of tongues and teeth, capturing Javi’s muffled moans as you kissed him with an electric intensity that already had him needily bucking his hips up into you, desperate to ease how painfully hard he was from the few short moments since your proposition.

Javi could barely find it in his mind to string together a coherent sentence, frantically nodding his head in agreement to your question between sloppy kisses, letting his hands roam down your back until they were grabbing your ass, kneading the plump flesh in his grasp.

“Use your words, Javi. You want me to take care of you?” You cooed, grinding your hips into his lap as you watched his head tip back against the chair, jaw going slack and mind running blank as you rubbed against the straining fabric of his pants.

“Fuck. P-Please, baby.” He moaned, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he gulped, trying to use any ounce of composure he could to somehow make words travel from his brain to his mouth.

“Good boy.” You smirked, placing one last kiss on his lips before climbing off his lap to settle yourself between his legs on the floor, letting your fingers toy with the clasp of his belt buckle until it broke free.

“Fuck me.” Javi whispered to himself under his breath, watching you free his belt to carefully unzip his slacks, lifting his hips just enough to help you pull down his boxers to reveal his aching cock, tip already red and precum weeping from his slit.

“Maybe if you behave and let me take care of you, then yes.” You teased before letting your kisses trail up his thighs, inching closer and closer to his length, only making him groan more. His hand ran through the dark locks of his thick brown hair, trying to center himself enough to keep from busting right then and there.

Your hands ran up and down his thighs as you scooted closer to him, kisses trailing behind the gentle graze of your fingertips up towards his length. You couldn’t help but smirk at him with a devilish grin, seeing how needy and worked up he already was without you even touching him yet.

Letting your lips inch closer and closer to the base of his cock, your hand wrapped carefully around him, your thumb swiping over his tip and collecting the precum that had been leaking from it, sending a shiver down his spine and a low groan in his chest.

Slowly, your kisses made their way up his length, your lips replacing your hand, tenderly licking at sucking at his tip, eliciting a low groan from deep within his chest. “Relax, Javi. Let me take care of you, okay?” You cooed, letting his cock tap against your tongue before licking a long strip from base to tip, the sensation making him shutter.

“O-kay. Fuck- Yeah, okay, baby.” He managed to stammer out, looking down at you perched between his legs, beginning to sink your mouth down on his length, hollowing out your cheeks until you could feel him hitting the back of your throat, coming back off him with a pop and a satisfied smile, batting your lashes at him.

Javi’s head hit the back of his chair as you began to repeat the motion, slowly taking the full length of his cock in and out of your mouth, letting his tip graze the back of your throat with each movement.

Letting your tongue drag up his shaft, your lips wrapped around his tip, sucking and flicking at his most sensitive spots. One hand was wrapped around his cock and working in tandem with your mouth, while the other grasped at his bare thigh, fingertips digging into his skin.

You began to pick up your pace, shifting your hand to cup his balls so you could take him back into your throat, sinking down just enough to let the deep, musky scent of the curls at the base of his shaft tickle your nostrils.

You couldn’t help but let a small smirk form between your lips as you worked at his cock, seeing and hearing just how wrecked Javi was from the short time that you had gone down on him, quiet whimpers and moans escaping from his lips, followed by muffled whispers of mixed expletives in Spanish and English to himself in any attempt to keep from spilling down your throat just as soon as you had started.

“Jesus fucking Christ… F-fuck me. You feel- mierda- you feel so good, Hermosa.” Javi managed to stammer out between gasps, looking down at you nestled between his legs with a desperate expression painted across his face, already feeling his balls beginning to tense and stomach start to swirl.

While you knew it wouldn’t take much more to get Javi to your intended point of stress relief, you selfishly couldn’t deny the fact that you were now also in need of your own relief, feeling the arousal that had been pooling in your underwear, coating the inside of your thighs and forcing you to squeeze them together in attempts to ease your growing ache.

Pulling off Javi’s cock and planting a soft kiss to his tip, you peered up at him with a devilish grin, phrasing your next proposition as a question, even though you undoubtedly already knew what his answer would be.

“You wanna cum down my throat, or cum inside me? You choose, handsome.” You cooed, fingertips grazing the inside of his thighs as your kisses trailed behind, teasing Javi to the point you were half convinced he might cum just like this, considering his half coherent babbles as he tried to string together words to form any sort of thought.

“I-inside. Fuck- Let me cum inside you, please.” He stammered, nodding his head frantically in confirmation of what you already knew would be his answer.

Gripping your hands around his thighs to push yourself up to stand, you reached down to tug the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head, quickly followed by your bra, both now crumpled in a pile on the floor.

You couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at how Javi was gawking at you and your now bare chest, eyes bulging out of his skull and jaw hitting the floor as if he was a goddamn cartoon and it was the first time he had seen you topless in his entire life.

Your bottom half slowly followed the same fate as your top, pants and underwear shuffling down your hips and legs until they were pooled around your ankles, leaving you completely naked as you began to crawl back into Javi’s lap.

You let your legs straddle over his hips, your cunt ghosting over his cock as you placed your hands on his stomach, letting them slide up his chest until they were buried in the thick locks of his dark hair, gripping and tugging his curls while your mouth engulfed his in an electric kiss.

A soft moan rumbled in your chest as his firm grasp found a home on your hips, his fingers digging into the meat of your stomach, holding on for dear life while he felt you hovering over his length.

“Please, Hermosa. I need to feel you, baby.” He whispered into your ear, now all but begging for you to sink down onto his cock and let himself get lost in the mesmerizing warmth and wetness of you.

Reaching below you, you wrapped your hand around his cock, positioning it beneath you to lower yourself down, whimpering at the sweet stretch and sting of his girth, letting his tip kiss your cervix as he filled you with every inch of himself that you could take. For as many times as you had found yourself in this position, you were convinced that you would never get over just how full you felt with Javi inside you, and how breathtakingly incredible it felt.

Cupping Javi’s strong jaw in your hands, your forehead rested against his as you let your hips start to grind into his, long and languid circles of your lower half, rolling back and forth, burying Javi’s cock deep inside the warm, wet walls of your cunt.

“Fuck me. Holy fuck.” Javi groaned, his hands snaking up your front to grab your breasts, kneading the soft flesh greedily in his hands. His fingers reached for your pebbled nipples, rolling them between his thumb and index finger, the new sensation sending a jolt of pleasure to your core.

That, combined with the hairs at the base of Javi’s cock rubbing deliciously on your clit and the way Javi’s cock punched against your g-spot was already making you see stars, vision going white and brain going blank from just how good he felt buried inside you.

Instinctively, you rocked your hips faster, feeling an all too familiar tingle begin to build at the base of your spine. Almost as if Javi could sense the way your cunt was starting to clench around his length, he couldn’t help but buck his hips up into yours, his thrusts filling you in a way that had you absolutely reeling and breathless, the two of you both teetering on the brink of collapse to chase your own highs.

“You feel, oh shit- you feel so good, Javi. Feel so good inside me. I’m close, baby.” You whimpered, burying your hands in the sweat curled hairs at the nape of his neck, lost in your own pleasure as your stomach swirled faster and faster with arousal.

You could tell Javi was close, too- The gritting of his teeth, the wild and wanting look in his sweet brown eyes, the sloppy pace of his dick pounding into you and nearly incomprehensible babbles were all the tells you knew far too well to realize he was quickly about to come undone.

“Yeah? F-fuck, I love being inside you. So fucking wet and tight, holy fuck.”

You could feel your walls beginning to tighten around him, moaning as you buried your head in the crook of his shoulder, fingernails digging crescent moons into his skin as you braced yourself for the wave that was about to crash through you.

“Fuck baby, don’t stop- ahhhh- please don’t stop.”

“I know, baby, I know. Let go for me, Osita. Wanna feel you soak my lap before I fuck you full of me. Gonna cum so deep inside this tight little pussy.” Javi reached down so the pads of his fingers rubbed along your clit as you rolled your hips, sinking yourself deeper onto his cock with each thrust, your vision going white as you could feel yourself come undone.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckkkkkkkk!” You cried out as you felt your orgasm pulse through you, pleasure shooting through your body as you came, clamping down around Javi’s cock and gushing with your arousal, your body melting limp into his as he followed suite.

“That’s it, baby. I’m gonna- fuck- g-gonna cum too. Fuck me, gonna fill you so full of me you’re- oh shit- gonna be dripping out of me f-for da- Oh fuckkkkkk-” With a final stutter of his hips, Javi thrust up into you, letting the warm rush of his spend coat your walls, milking himself of every last drop before carefully pulling out, letting the rhythmic breathing of your chests rising and falling sync together.

“Holy fuck.” Javi sighed, kissing your bare shoulder before letting his plush lips peck across your neck and jawline before meeting yours. “I think it worked.”

“Think what worked?” You asked, still trying to come to in your blissed out state, gently combing your fingers through the sweat ridden curls of Javi’s hair, giggling as he knowingly ghosted his fingers across your stomach, smiling to himself at your ticklish laughter.

“The stress relief. God, I love you. I’ll never know what the fuck I ever did to deserve you, but I won’t question it. Thank you, baby.” Javi grinned, softly swiping his thumb across your cheek, leaving his other arm to wrap around your waist and pull him closer to his chest.

“I love you, too, Jav. Glad I could help. Hopefully this was enough motivation to get you through the rest of your work.”

As you started to scoot yourself off Javi’s lap to clean up the mess of arousal, clothes, and a few scattered papers you had left in your wake, you were taken aback to feel his grip tighten around you, holding you in place.

“It’s gonna be a long night, because I’m not even close to being done.” Javi smirked, his tongue darting between his lips as his eyes darkened with a hungry gaze.

“Then you need to let me get off you, you goofball. Last time I checked, your naked wife sitting on your lap isn’t helping anyone to get paperwork done.” You teased, playfully crossing your arms over your chest, tilting your head at Javi in a mix of sass and confusion until a shriek of surprise escaped from your chest as Javi stood up to set you on top of his desk, caging his broad body over yours.

“Oh I’m done with all of this shit,” He paused, gesturing to his desk before letting his kisses lazily trail down your body until he was on his knees with your legs draped over his shoulders, spreading them open to reveal the swollen and glistening mess still between your thighs, “but there’s not a chance in hell I’m done with you.”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @bbiophiliaa @purpleprincess75 @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

@pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24

@3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85

@partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo

@endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @milly-louise

@jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled

@pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper r @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog

@hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr

@amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild

@copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog

@samgirl4life @pigeonmama @survivingandenduring @itsokbbygrl @javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

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officalgeorgestaniel · 2 months ago

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George’s boots are on my mind today 🫠

- 🍏

OOOOOOOH!!!!! my favourite topic *sinister giggling*

size 13 feet call for big boots, so here are my favourite photos of G wearing boots ⋆˙⟡

i think he's wearing a few different pairs in these photos, but they all share one quality in common: black, patent leather ⋆˙⟡ now, i'm not into leather as a kink in itself (i wouldn't be a very good vegetarian if i was lol) but i do love the aesthetic of it when it's shaped into sexy boots that George just happens to be wearing hehehe

something about the smooth texture and reflective sheen of the material really gets to me!! it adds a touch of boldness to George's otherwise simple outfits. in comparison to other types of leather, i think patent finish is particularly daring due to its connections with rubber and latex as kinky vices. it just feels a bit naughty, you know? especially cos George isn't a very naughty person (not outwardly so, at least). it's like a subtle little hint to some traits he might be hiding under his wholesome facade ⋆˙⟡

maybe it's just me being pathetic, but doesn't seeing these photos make you want to kneel at his feet and polish his boots for him? like IMAGINE that?!?!? ughhhh. before an award ceremony or something- G looking all big and powerful and hot sitting above you, quietly observing as you lower yourself to cleaning and shining his actual shoes. we love a degrading act of service in this house <3

#rare dommy george moment at the end there #that's just the affordance of leather boots ig #subby george is a socks only bby <3 #now i'm fascinated about how we connect different articles of clothing to particular characteristics #and types of people #like why do we do that????#i think it's in the history of the material #very interesting #could write a whole essay on this #kinky fashion: the philosophy of stereotyping materials #or smth along those lines #anyway #innapropriate yapping #confessional #🍏 anon

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l1av · 7 months ago

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Me over here like, "Nines is a sweet baby boy who does no wrong. Connor is a menace"

i know nines is considered dangerous and stuff but you forget connor is canonically murderous and his pretty face is to fool you

#idc that nines is supposed to be meaner thats all programming #that robot is a snow white gentle subby bby boy who just wants to be loved and adored and no one can change my mind because hes #just our collective OC #Hahahaha #li speaking #nines

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crimsonbubble · 2 years ago

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cw. nsfw, gn!reader with tiddies, boob jobs, possessiveness, cum play, oral, throat fucking, nipple sucking, choking, masterbation, orgy *not proofread, just pure horny

[DONT ASK HOW I GOT HERE] these are my combined thoughts with @waltzthegenderfluidpan

MINORS DNI!!

i want the shadow company to run a train on me

pls for the love of god use me 💳💥💳💥

anyways

just imagine graves rewarding his shadows for a mission well done and letting his shadows play with you

graves would be possessive enough to make a rule that they can't come in you so he has all his shadows pull out and come on your skin

having you lay naked on the meeting room table while the shadows take turns with you

giving one of them a blow job but graves doesn't even want you to swallow their cum so they cum on your chest at the last second

giving a shadow a boob job and making them cum all over your chest

some shadows being all rough and dom and mean while the others are soft and kinda subby :(((

taking two at the same time, one rough the other soft, perfect mix

the soft one fucking you gently bc they don't want to hurt you :((( bby boy just wants to make you feel good and make you and his commander happy :(((

while the rough one is fucking your throat raw, not caring how much your drooling and going cross eyed as they make you gag on their cock :(((

hands all over you, squeezing everything from your tits to your ass and everywhere in between, adding to the stimulation

the rough one grabbing your throat so they can feel their cock in your throat while the soft one is sucking so gently on you nipples :(( cradling his head so he can keep his mouth on your chest :((

god i love submissive men

graves grunting quietly from the sidelines as he palms himself through his pants, getting off on seeing his boys take such good care of you

feeling the shadows give you soft kisses and short massages after they're done :(((

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joonberriess · 2 years ago

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⊹₊ ⋆ “he love how i ride it, hop on that dick i make him get excited,”

TAGS — dilf!jk, riding, creampie, dirty talk, slight fingering (brief lol), reader’s a soft good girl, praise kink(?), brief masturbation (male), jk is obsessed with his bby, riding it good wooo, reader’s like a shy good girl uwu, nasty flip-flopping sex, daddy kink to the MAX, she’s subby but kinda bratty, jk has a high sex drive LMAO, mentions of future pregnancy at the end

WORD COUNT — 1.9 k

Jungkook’s insatiable when it comes to you–even more now that you two started sleeping with each other. You didn’t mind at first until you realized it was a bit harder to keep up with him and his high sex drive. He fucked like a man on death row, like he was never going to see you again or something. You were left fucked out but positively bruised.

How Hani hasn’t walked in on you two yet is still a mystery to you with the amount of times you two go at it. If you were down in the kitchen, Jungkook had you on the counter spread out within seconds of walking in. Watching a movie with Jungkook? That won’t last long, you’re lucky if you even get to see the beginning of it. It gets worse when Hani says she’s going out for the day (he will NOT let you out of his sight at all).

Needless to say you weren’t complaining about the situation, you were just as needy as Jungkook was.

“Hey baby.” Jungkook pops his head into your room with a tiny smile, “What you up to?”

You stopped typing on your laptop and spun around in your chair to greet him with a soft hum, “Finishing up this essay, ‘s due by the end of the week.” You mumble and look down to see him holding something from behind the door, “What you got there?”

“A snack for my hard-working girl.” He grins and steps in, holding up the piping hot bowl of ramen that instantly has your mouth watering. “Figured you could use something since you’ve been cooped up in here for days now baby.” He makes his way over and sets the food on the side table.

“Thank you.” You shyly reply and take his hands in yours, “You’re the best..” Jungkook squeezes your hands gently, “How was your day? I didn’t see you when I came home from class.” You run your thumb over his knuckles tenderly.

“Boring without you baby. Had you on my mind the entire time.” He grins mischievously, and you already know where this is heading. “Couldn’t stop thinking ‘bout your pretty little lips and sweet little noises.” He slips one of his hands up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking over your soft pillowy lips.

Your eyes flutter coyly and you lean into his touch, “..missed you too.” You mumble out and let your eyes drop down to his chest where the top two buttons sit unbuttoned, “Missed you lots.” You breathily whisper out.

Jungkook must notice how glazed over your eyes look because he smiles at you deviously and chuckles quietly, “Yeah baby? You were thinkin’ bout daddy too?” He says as he tugs your chair and makes it roll over in front of him, “Tell me what you were thinking about sweetheart.”

“You. Wanted to..wanted you daddy,” you softly mewl, “didn’t like how we couldn’t finish this morning, you left me hanging daddy.” You press your thighs together, rubbing them slowly as a soft pout forms on your lips.

Jungkook licks his lips hungrily, “Baby’s upset she didn’t get to cum in the morning? Didn’t I make you cum two times before that baby? What a greedy girl I got, needs more than my fingers in her slutty little pussy.” He smacks your thighs apart, “Open up for me, don’t be a brat.”

You whine quietly and let your thighs fall open for him, shivering when he slides his hand up, “Daddy…it-it isn’t fair! Y-You said that you will always make me cum however many times I want.” You yelp when he smacks your inner thigh.

“Don’t get mouthy with me baby, where did my sweet girl go? You’ll take what I give you won’t you baby?” He says as his eyes narrow, “Unless you’re being a bad girl?”

Your heart beats faster and you shake your head vehemently, “I’m not a bad girl daddy, ‘m a good girl.”

“Then act like it.” Jungkook pulls back and stands, “Since my baby’s so desperate for my cock why don’t you prep yourself, get you nice and stretched with your fingers. Go on,” he sits on your bed, legs wide apart as he man spreads and leans back.

A small whimper threatens to escape your throat as you watch him, you can feel your mouth salivating as drool threatens to slip past your lips. “Go on.” He nods, “Don’t keep me waiting.” With that you reach down to slip your cotton shorts down your thighs, your panties come down with them but you let them dangle around one ankle as you bring your knees up on the chair, spreading your legs wide as your pussy’s out for his pleasure.

“There you go baby,” Jungkook darkly mutters as he unbuckles his own slacks, “touch yourself for me.” He licks his lips.

A shudder runs through your body, goosebumps erupting all over your body as you shyly bring your hand down to part your slicked up pussy lips. He groans low when you show off your puckered up hole shiny with slick, he’s got his own cock out of his boxers, hand steadily stroking himself. “Look at you,” he sighs, “so messy.”

You let your fingers dip low at your hole, you tease yourself a tiny bit by slipping the tip of your finger in before you slip it back out and circle them around your clit. You softly moan his name and repeat your actions from before a few more times until your pussy is slicked up and dripping. “Go on baby, slip ‘em inside and get yourself ready for my cock.” He purrs.

“Daddy.” You whine out and curl your fingers as you stuff your pussy full with your ring and middle finger. “Don’t wanna stretch myself out, wanna have you inside already.” You let your head loll back as you speed your fingers up with a quiet whine.

Slicked up noises filled the space between you, slick dribbles down between your ass cheeks and on to the desk chair. Your fingers are soaked and your poor clit throbs from lack of attention. This wouldn’t be happening if Jungkook wasn’t making you tease yourself. “Daddy please,” you whimper, “wanna ride you.”

“Yeah baby? Gonna do all the work and let daddy lay there while you use my cock to get off?” Jungkook groans as he speeds up his movements, “Fuck, get over here baby. Sit on my cock,” he slides the rest of his pants right off, “c’mon.” He coos.

You eagerly let your fingers slip out and you make your way over to him, happily climbing over as you crawl up the bed and over his lap. “Please daddy,” you beg softly and settle on to his lap nicely.

“Go on, you know what to do baby.” Jungkook smacks one of your ass cheeks, “Show me you’re my good girl.” He grins.

You grip the base of his cock with one hand and lift your hips up to position your pussy over the head of his cock, “So fucking wet,” he mumbles and watches with hooded eyes, “like that baby, there you go.” He bites his lip.

Your lips part in a silent moan as you slowly inch yourself downwards on his cock, the stretch is a bit painful but not by much. When you sit fully on his lap you’re eager to have your way with him right off the bat. You set your hands on his chest for balance and begin grinding your hips in slow sensual motions.

“Shit.” Jungkook grunts as his head falls back on the pillow, “ ‘s good, pussy so warm and wet ‘round my cock. Got you drippin’ all over me.” He rolls his hips upward as if he wants to slip in deeper somehow.

The shift has you whining and grinding down on him harder, his cock just presses up against all your sweet spots just right. You can feel stars bursting behind your eyelids as you lean your head back.

“Daddy,” you whimper out and grind faster, “please—feels so good, can feel it here,” you set a hand over your lower abdomen, “so deep.” Your words come out slurred.

Jungkook cusses under his breath when you hears you talk like that, “Oh fuck baby,” he whispers, “look at you, desperate little thing you are. You like the way my cock fills you baby? Fills you up just right don’t it?” He runs his hands over your soft cheeks before he smacks both hard and jiggles them in his hands.

You nod your head rapidly, muffling your own whimpers as you begin bouncing in his lap. His cock strikes your g-spot with every bounce, your thighs shake and loud smacks fill the entire room. The sounds you two make are fucking filthy—wet, messy, hot—the bed frame begins rocking into the wall.

“Daddy please,” you bring his hands up to wrap around your waist, “ ‘m getting tired, can’t do it anymore.” You whimper out as your bouncing comes to a stop. You lay down on top of him, idly grinding back and forth.

“You want daddy to fuck you sweetheart? Need me to take over and fuck you so good?” Jungkook moans as he turns his face to hide in your neck, peppering kisses all over.

“Please.” You whisper back and turn to slot your lips against his in a sloppy little kiss.

Jungkook sighs into the kiss and readjusts his grip on your waist before he begins fucking up into your battered pussy. Loud fopping noises resonate as he fucks you like a animal. You bury your hands in his hair and grip it tightly as he plows you from below.

“Baby,” he moans out, “feels so fucking good, gripping me so tight.” He whispers in your ear over the loud squelching noises your pussy makes when his cock slams into you over and over again.

“Mm..! T-There, right there,” you beg softly and meet him thrust for thrust, “gonna cum daddy.” You reach behind to move one of his hands, “Want you to touch me here daddy.” You tug it towards your aching clit.

Jungkook growls low and his thumb immediately finds your clit, rubbing the tender bud side to side rapidly. His hips smack into your ass over and over as he sends you hurtling towards your much awaited orgasm.

“J-Jungkook..!” You cry out and stiffen, your back arches and hips raise as you cum hard all over him and his stupidly perfect cock. “S-So good,” you gasp out.

He grabs your ass tight with one hand as he continues fucking into you until he’s coming too. “Shit baby,” he gasps and rolls his hips slowly, “shit..” He chuckles breathily and lays there blinking slowly, “Made a mess.”

You lay tiredly on him and bury your face in his neck, “Mm..” Your drained, that fucking really took the life out of you, “I didn’t get to eat my ramen.” You mumble out.

“Let’s clean up and take a nap, yeah baby? You worked too hard today on your essay, take some time off.” Jungkook whispers and presses a kiss to your temple. You nod to his words and head over to the bathroom together.

You miss the telltale signs of your watch that sits on your dresser beeping, next to it lies your open pack of birth control, something you completely forget about even after the nap, and then the day after that, and after that…

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess @ayalies @floweryjeons @softtcurse @lilspinachwrld @tearyjjeon @littleobsessedkitty @lovelovelovebts @angeljmnie @rerefundslocals @bangtans-mama @thvhoe @maddkitt @tvse @ohjeon @teteswtnr @jkslovey12 @kelsyx33 @milfpo1ice @sluttydidi @ztyur @beomgyuult @shescharlie @sweet-sourhotcoco @lalita-7 @hazzzelsdimension @p34rluv @kook-net @bonita0-0 @vmapy @dahliadaenerys @frieschan

#bts #bts fanfction #bts fanfic #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts jungkook

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