#x-press-it

[humming-fly]

I love how Gerald was trying to keep Shadow from spoiling anything about the future meanwhile literally everything Shadow says and does around Maria is the biggest death flag ever

[beefybuckrrito]

Well this was a scrumptious treat! I will never tire of the tension and pining of roommate!Bucky. So hot and then so soft, I loved this!

Should the Need Arise

Just a casual thing... untils it’s not.🎞️❤️‍🔥🖤🌹✅

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You spent the night on your phone and Bucky, your roommate and best friend, provides you with a nice distraction. But there will be consequences.

Content Warnings: Smut 18+ | Explicit scenes (Handjob - M & F receiving, Oral sex - F receiving, unprotected p in v, multiple orgasms - Kitchen sex) - Pet Names (Sweetheart, no Doll) - Fluff and Emotional Vulnerability: Deep feelings, mutual pining - Angst (if you squint) - Reader Notes: No Y/N, no physical description of the reader, no mention of powers - Trope: And they were roommates.

Tell me if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: I'm one of those people who start reading stuff on their phone around mindnight and before they know it, it's morning. My husband's tactic to stop me scrolling is to ask for a hug, which distracts me and make me fall asleep. That sparked this little idea which has been sitting on a sticky note for months. I'm still stuck on chapter 8 of DevDes and the start of this year has been really taxing, so I'm in total lockdown mode. But I had a few hours and needed a distraction, so here you go! ^^

Word Count: 5.3K

MINORS DNI

"And then, below the cover of darkness, her hand curled around the hard evidence of his desire." ——— Thanks for reading, lovelies. Don’t forget to like, comment and reblog! Edit! >>Click here for part 2<<

You’re sprawled on your stomach, the unfolded couch now a makeshift bed for your typical Friday night tradition—movies with your roommate. The TV is off, long forgotten, leaving only the faint glow of your phone screen to cut through the darkness. The soft hum of the fridge coming from the kitchen and his relaxed breath are the only sounds filling your ears.

Your finger taps the screen, finding the link to Part 2 of the spicy story you’ve been reading. Your eyes are half-lidded, exhaustion tugging at your mind, but you refuse to give in. The distant chirp of birds signals the rise of the sun, yet you remain tethered to the words on your phone. Your gaze flickers across the sentences, hypnotized by the story that’s got you in its grasp. Heat stirs low in your belly, and your breath hitches as the intoxicating words pull you deeper into their world, your body aching for something you crave but don’t dare to name.

Once again, what was meant to be a late-night escape has turned into a sunrise affair. You blink lazily, trying to shake off the haze clouding your thoughts. A yawn creeps up on you, but you swallow it down, unwilling to let the allure of the story fade.

It’s only then that you feel the warmth pressing gently against your side—too familiar to be anything other than him. A sleepy voice rumbles near your ear, husky and thick with sleep.

“You should get some rest, sweetheart.” His breath stirs against your hair. “Need a hug or something to get you away from that phone?”

His voice rumbles against your scalp, sending a slow shiver down your spine. The warmth at your side shifts, his solid chest pressing more firmly against you, the heat of his breath tickling your temple.

You blink blearily at the screen, trying to refocus, but your grip on your phone falters for a second. Damn him and his sleep-heavy voice.

"I'm fine," you murmur, though the words come out softer than intended, laced with drowsiness.

Bucky makes a noise—something between a hum and a quiet huff—but he doesn't pull away. If anything, he settles in further, one heavy arm draping loosely over your back where your shirt has slightly rolled up, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of your skin. His nose brushes your ear, and you feel him inhale deeply, like he's grounding himself in your scent.

"Later," you add, shifting slightly but making no real effort to move him off. "Just let me finish this chapter."

"Mm," Bucky acknowledges, but his arm tightens, his body molding against yours as if he's not quite ready to let go. The weight of him is solid, reassuring.

Another minute passes. Then two. Your scrolling slows, words blurring together as your body betrays you, sinking into the comforting heat of his embrace.

You barely realize when your fingers go slack, your phone slipping from your grip onto the mattress. A quiet sigh escapes your lips, and Bucky shifts again, pressing even closer.

"You’re still awake," he murmurs, his voice quieter this time, like he's almost back to sleep.

You swallow. "So are you."

A pause. Then, in a voice rough with something you can’t quite place, he admits, "Had a nightmare."

Your heart squeezes a little at that. Of course he did. You should have known—the way he clings, the way his breathing is a little too measured, like he's trying to calm himself down.

Without thinking, you reach up, your fingers brushing against his arm. A soothing motion. A small comfort.

"Do you need a hug?" you whisper.

For a second, he doesn’t answer. Then, finally, he exhales against your skin.

"Yeah," he says, barely above a breath.

And that’s all it takes.

You turn, pressing your face into the solid warmth of his chest, wrapping an arm around his back as he pulls you in with one slow, deliberate motion. He’s warm—so warm—and the way he holds you feels different this time. Tighter. Closer. Less like a friendly gesture and more like need.

And then—then you feel it.

The realization hits slow, creeping up the back of your neck, settling like a weight in your stomach. Because Bucky—your best friend, your roommate—is holding you too close. His breathing is uneven. And pressed against your thigh is the unmistakable hardness of something definitely not platonic.

Silence.

You don't move.

Neither does he.

The air between you thickens, heavy with something raw and unspoken. The world holds its breath. Until—

A sound. A quiet, almost reluctant groan that escapes from deep in his chest as your body shifts ever so slightly against him.

That’s when it happens.

That’s when you realize—you’re just as affected as he is.

Heat pools low in your stomach, spreading like a slow, consuming fire. You were already wound up from the smut you’d been reading, already feeling that restless ache thrumming beneath your skin—but now?

Now, every inch of you is hyperaware of him.

The solid weight of his body, the heat seeping from his bare skin, the way his fingers tense against your hip, like he’s trying to stop himself from gripping. The air is thick, electric, humming with something you’ve both been too blind—or too stubborn—to acknowledge until now.

And then it happens again.

A barely-there shift, just enough to press you against the unmistakable hardness straining under his sweatpants.

Your breath hitches.

Bucky stills.

Another realization crashes over you both at the exact same time, flooding every nerve ending like a shock to the system.

You’re needy.

He’s needy.

But neither of you wants to move away.

His fingers tighten on your hip. The warmth of his breath fans across your face, heavy and uneven. You don’t know who’s trembling—you or him—but the weight of the moment is crushing, suffocating in the best, most dangerous way.

The silence stretches, thick with tension, begging to be broken.

So you do.

"Need help with that?" Your voice is light—too light, too teasing for the way your pulse pounds in your throat.

Bucky makes a sound, something between a groan and a curse, low and rough, barely restrained. His grip flexes, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, his fingers press harder, his body coiling tight with something desperate, something aching.

"You sure?" His voice is wrecked, gravel against silk, the weight of his need unmistakable.

Your body throbs at the sound of it.

And yet, you force yourself to smirk, masking the sheer want clawing up your spine with something playful. Safer.

"Just like we share everything else," you murmur, tilting your chin up just slightly, lips brushing against the scruff of his jaw. "Why not this?"

He exhales sharply through his nose, his whole body going rigid. You swear you can feel the exact moment his restraint snaps.

Bucky doesn’t give you time to second-guess it. Doesn’t leave space for hesitation.

One second, he’s hovering there, like he’s still teetering on the edge of a decision. The next, his mouth is crushing against yours, devouring, famished.

It’s not careful. It’s not soft. It’s not the kind of first kiss that belongs to roommates, to friends.

It’s months of unspoken tension igniting all at once.

His hands find your waist, pressing you against him like he can’t bear a second of space between you. The heat of him, the solid muscle beneath your palms, the sheer force of his need—it makes your head spin.

You gasp into his mouth, and he takes advantage, slipping his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss, making your toes curl. Your fingers travel below the hem of his shirt, sinking into the bare skin of his back, nails digging in, pulling him closer, and fuck, the groan that rumbles from his chest makes something inside you clench.

He shifts again, pressing even more into you, against you, and you don’t know who’s chasing who anymore—all you know is that you need.

And he's right there with you.

The next few minutes blur into feverish hands and frantic fumbling—pushing, pulling, eager to rid yourselves of the barriers between you. There’s no finesse, no slow unraveling of tension, no teasing build-up. Just raw, aching need.

Because if either of you stops to think—if you pause, even for a second—it’ll mean facing something bigger, something heavier.

That this isn’t just some casual release.

That it isn’t about a moment of fleeting desperation.

It’s about him. About you. About the way you’ve been craving each other so much for so long it’s almost unbearable.

Bucky doesn’t give you time to process it. Doesn’t give himself time either.

Because that can’t be what this is about.

It can only be about getting off. About helping each other. About making use of what’s already here, right within reach.

And fuck, does Bucky reach.

He takes.

And you let him.

Your breath hitches as his fingers yank at the waistband of your panties, dragging them down in a single, impatient motion. There’s no hesitation, no teasing. You barely have time to kick them off before his flesh hand finds the warmth between your thighs, his fingers dipping past your soaked folds, sliding against your slick entrance.

A sharp gasp shudders from your lips.

Then—his thumb.

A slow, deliberate circle over your clit.

Your hips jolt, a whimper spilling into the space between you, and Bucky grunts—low, guttural, like the sound coming from you alone has his cock twitching against his stomach.

But you’re not just going to let him do all the work.

Your fingers curl around the hard, pulsing weight of him, wrapping around the evidence of his need, and fuck, the way he groans, the way his forehead drops to your shoulder, his entire body tensing at the first stroke—

It’s everything.

There’s nothing practiced about this. No perfect rhythm, no choreographed movements. It’s frantic, messy, like two people making up for lost time. Like a pent-up first time, all rushed hands and ragged breathing and the unmistakable sound of slick heat and aching friction.

It’s clumsy.

It’s reckless.

It’s so fucking good.

Your fingers work him in a tight, steady rhythm, coaxing more wrecked sounds from his throat. His metal arm is braced above your head, elbow digging into the cushion as his flesh hand thrusts against you—two fingers slipping inside, stretching you, filling you in a way that has your whole body tightening around the intrusion.

He groans against your skin, breath hot and heavy.

"So fuckin’ good," he mutters, voice thick with arousal, strained like he’s barely holding himself together.

His admission is ruinous. It crashes over you, sends you spiraling, because you can hear it in his voice—the raw need, the way he’s coming apart just as much as you are.

"Don’t stop," you whisper, rolling your hips into his touch, stroking him just a little tighter, just a little faster, reveling in the way his whole body shudders in response.

His fingers curl inside you, finding that spot that has you gasping, thighs squeezing around his hand, and—

Oh, fuck.

You’re so close.

And so is he.

"Bucky—"

His name barely escapes your lips before his fingers curl just right—deep, precise, pressing into that perfect spot inside you, and you snap.

A ragged cry spills from your throat, your body locking up as pleasure rips through you, white-hot and relentless. Your thighs tremble, hips jerking against his hand, riding out every pulse of ecstasy as Bucky works you through it, coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you.

"Fuck!" he grits out, voice wrecked, strained.

Your grip tightens around him, your strokes turning messy, desperate, driven by instinct and the lazy aftershocks still rolling through your limbs.

He shudders.

"Shit, sweetheart—gonna—"

His words dissolve into a groan, his forehead pressing to your shoulder as his whole body tenses—then jerks as he spills over your hand, thick, hot pulses coating your fingers. His breath stutters against your skin, his hips twitching into your touch, every ragged exhale laced with the kind of relief that has you smirking despite your own lingering haze.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The only sound in the room is your mingled, uneven breathing—the heavy silence of two people still caught in the aftershocks, still tangled together, still feeling each other even as the intensity fades.

The stillness stretches. Then, Bucky huffs out a breathless laugh, the weight of his forehead still resting against your shoulder.

"Well," Bucky murmurs, voice thick with exhaustion, amusement curling at the edges. "That’s one way to get you to put your damn phone down."

You huff a breathless laugh, still trying to get your heart rate under control. "Yeah? Gonna start using that tactic every time I get too into a story?"

He smirks, finally lifting his head, eyes still dark with the remnants of pleasure. "If it works, sweetheart, I just might."

Rolling your eyes, you reach for the tissue box on the coffee table, grabbing a few before passing him some. As you clean up, you glance at him, voice turning teasing, but softer. "Did it help?"

His brows furrow slightly. "What?"

You tilt your head, gaze knowing. "The nightmare."

For a second, something flickers in his expression. Surprise. Maybe even a little…fondness. But then, his lips twist into a crooked smile, the moment slipping away before it can settle too deep.

"Yeah," he admits, voice a little hoarse. "Didn’t even remember it ‘til you brought it up, so… guess that’s a win."

You nod, satisfied, and toss your tissues into the wastebasket nearby before tugging your underwear and pants back into place. He follows suit, the two of you moving in sync—like this is normal, like this isn’t the first time you’ve crossed this particular line.

"So," you say, stretching your arms above your head with a lazy grin. "We’re both single, right?"

Bucky raises a brow as he pushes the hem of his shirt back. "Pretty sure."

"Good. Means we can be single together… Should the need arise."

He snorts, shaking his head as he settles back onto the couch. "That’s the dumbest way to say ‘roommates with benefits’ I’ve ever heard."

"Yeah, well," you chuckle, flopping down beside him. "Not my fault you never had the nerve to ask me out."

His hand rests over his chest, eyes flicking to yours, something unreadable flashing there before he huffs a laugh. "Too late now, huh?"

You smirk, nudging his side. "Guess you’ll just have to settle for this instead."

He snorts, shifting lower against the cushions, his body still warm beside yours. "Tragic."

The sleep creeps back into your bones, heavy and insistent, and as your eyes flutter shut, you feel Bucky’s fingers brush absently against your arm—nothing deliberate, just a mindless touch, lingering.

Neither of you moves away.

And in the quiet, just before sleep pulls you under, you hear him murmur—so soft you almost miss it...

"Could be worse."

For days after, everything shifts.

Not in some obvious, earth-shattering way. No; that would be too easy. Instead, it’s in the small things. The lingering touches, the glances that last too long, the air between you oppressive with something unsaid—something you both refuse to acknowledge.

It’s in the hesitation when Bucky sits beside you now, his thigh just barely pressing against yours instead of sprawling out like he used to. In the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach out but doesn’t. In the split-second glance at your lips when you talk, so fast you almost miss it. Almost.

It’s in the way you catch yourself staring when he’s fresh out of the shower, towel slung around his neck, damp strands of hair curling at the ends. How your breath catches when he stretches, when his shirt rides up, when he runs a hand through his hair with that sleepy, careless ease.

It’s in the moments where you brush past each other in the kitchen, the heat of his body too noticeable. When you hand him a mug, and your fingers touch, and neither of you pulls away immediatly. When you shift to get comfortable on the couch, and instead of scooting over, his arm drapes over the back like it belongs there.

It’s in the loaded silences, the way your conversations don’t flow as effortlessly as before—like you’re both tiptoeing around something huge, something fragile.

But above all, it’s in the restraint. The careful distance. The way you both pull back at the last second, pretending this is still normal. That it’s just what it was before.

Because if either of you acknowledges it, if either of you dares to name it, it’ll be real. And real means risk. It means change. It means no going back.

So you don’t.

Instead, you let your fingers skim his when you pass him the remote. You let his knee press against yours and pretend you don’t feel the heat of it seep into your skin, pooling low in your stomach. You bite your tongue when you see him clench his jaw, his grip tightening on whatever he’s holding, like he’s fighting something off.

And when you catch him watching you—when your eyes meet in a moment that stretches too long—you do the only thing you can do.

You look away.

Because if you don’t…

You’re not sure you’ll be able to stop yourself next time.

It happens on a day when you need him.

Not in the way you’ve both been avoiding. Not in the way that comes with tangled sheets and breathless gasps. You just… need him. The way you used to. The steady warmth, the easy comfort, the feeling of knowing there’s someone who has your back no matter what.

So you find him. Seek him out like muscle memory, like instinct, letting your body pull you toward the one place that has always been safe.

And when you reach for him, when your fingers brush against his sleeve, expecting him to fold you into his arms the way he always has...

He flinches.

It’s small. Barely there. Just a fraction of a movement, the slightest pull-back, but you feel it. The space he puts between you, deliberate, careful. Like a closed door.

It stings.

No, it burns.

Like an open wound, like something torn deep inside your chest. You retract your hand like he’s struck you, fingers curling into a fist at your side, something ugly twisting in your stomach.

"You’ve changed." The words are sharp, cutting through the thick, heavy air between you. Frustration bubbles up, mixing with the ache in your ribs, spilling over before you can stop it. "Since when do we not—" You swallow, searching for the right words, something that won’t make this worse. "Since when did we stop reaching out to each other?"

Bucky’s expression tightens, his fingers twitching like he’s resisting the urge to reach for you. "I haven’t changed." His voice is a little louder than it should be, a little too defensive, his jaw clenching as he shakes his head. "Everything’s still the same!"

You snicker. Bitter. Unamused.

Because it’s a lie.

Because you both know everything is different. Nothing has been the same since that night.

The words slip past your lips before you can think better of them. "I wish nothing had happened!"

The moment they’re out, you regret them.

The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. His stomach plummets. Your heart aches, raw and exposed. Because it’s not really a lie, is it? It’s an admission disguised as a negation. You don’t wish nothing had happened. You just wish it hadn’t changed everything.

His eyes darken, something dangerous flickering behind them as he takes a step closer. "And I just wish it would happen again!"

Your breath catches.

Neither of you moves at first. Stunned by his confession, by the weight of the truth hanging between you.

Until—

The tension snaps.

You crash into each other.

It’s hungry, voracious, a collision of frustration and longing, hands grasping, mouths claiming. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. No pretending.

Because you both know now—this was never just casual.

It never could be.

Once again, it starts with hands.

Grasping. Pulling. Needing.

You collide in a mess of mouths and limbs, desperation threading through every movement. Clothes are in the way, frustrating, barriers you can’t rip off fast enough.

The kitchen counter is suddenly at your back, hard and unyielding, but you don’t care. Not when he’s right there, caging you in, his body a wall of heat and need. His lips are insistent, greedy, dragging over yours before tracing down the column of your throat, teeth scraping as he works his way lower, lower—

By the time he reaches your waistband, his breath is ragged.

And when he does… he grips.

Fingers digging into fabric, ripping at it, dragging your pants and underwear down in one sharp tug. The cold air barely has a chance to hit your skin before his palms are on your thighs, prying them open, his breath hot against sensitive flesh.

"Bucky—"

The sound of his name, breathy, needy, from your lips, has something snapping in him.

He groans, hands tightening, before his mouth descends.

Teeth graze over the soft skin of your inner thigh, nipping, teasing, torturing—

You gasp, hips jerking forward, trying to push him where you need him, but he holds you there, spreading you wider, his fingers pressing into your flesh, his lips moving painfully slow.

"You always taste this sweet, sweetheart?" His voice is wicked, lips brushing over where you’re burning for him, but not quite giving in yet.

You whine.

You fucking whine.

And that does it.

He groans, deep and ravenous.

Before you know it, his tongue lashes against you, hot and wet and precise.

The cry that rips from your throat is immediate. Loud. Unfiltered.

And he doesn’t stop.

He buries himself between your thighs like a man who’s been starving for this—licking, sucking, devouring—his tongue flicking over that sensitive bundle of nerves before circling back, just to make you squirm.

One of your hands flies to his hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, tugging, pulling. He groans at that, like he likes it, and the vibration sends a shock wave of pleasure straight through you.

You can’t think.

Can’t breathe.

Your thighs shake, heels digging into his back, hips rocking against his mouth. Chasing the friction, chasing release.

"Bucky—fuck—"

He growls against you, hands tightening, dragging you even closer, like he wants you to fall apart for him, like he won’t let you go until you do.

So he seals his lips around your clit and sucks.

And the pressure breaks you.

Rature crashes through you in a white-hot wave, ripping you apart at the seams, your body tensing before shattering, a strangled, shameless cry tearing from your lips as you come undone.

But he doesn’t stop.

He licks you through it, savoring, groaning against your soaked skin like he’s getting drunk off you, only pulling back when your tremors start to ease.

When he finally lifts his head, his lips are shiny with you, his pupils blown black, chest heaving.

"Fuckin’ gorgeous," he rasps, hands still holding your thighs open, like he’s not done yet.

And from the way he’s looking at you?

You knows he isn’t.

His mouth doesn’t leave you.

Even as you shudder beneath him, body still trembling from the force of your release, he devours you—kissing his way up your stomach, dragging his lips over the flushed skin of your chest, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the curve of your breasts where they spill over your bra.

He savors.

Teeth grazing over your collarbone, tongue flicking against your pulse, feeling it race beneath his lips as he works his way higher.

Until his mouth crashes against yours.

You taste yourself on his tongue, heady and intoxicating, but it isn’t enough. The ache inside you is still there, deep and insistent, clawing at your insides, demanding more.

Your fingers fumble at the waistband of his pants, rapacious, needing to feel him, to have him closer. He groans into your mouth, a deep, desperate sound, before tearing the offending layers away—kicking off his pants, his boxers, until nothing is between you anymore.

Suddenly he’s there, thick and hard against your soaked heat, and—

"Please," you breathe, legs wrapping around his waist, your hands pulling at his back, urging him closer, needing him to just—

He grits his teeth, chest heaving, his control thin, so razor-thin—

In one swift motion, he sinks in.

A deep, guttural moan rips from his throat as he buries himself inside you, stretching you so exquisitely that your breath catches, your nails digging into his skin.

"Jesus—fuck—" His head drops against your shoulder, jaw clenched, body trembling as he stills, giving you time to adjust, to take all of him, because fuck, you feels like heaven, like you were made for him, for this.

It’s overwhelming.

The warmth of you wrapped so tight around him, the way your body clenches in need, the way you shifts, hips rolling impatiently against his—

"Move," you whine, breath hot against his ear, you voice wrecked, needy.

He swears, low and gravelly, his resolve snapping.

And without any warning, he moves.

The first thrust is slow, purposeful, pushing deep before dragging back out, his breath catching at the way you whimpers, at the way your fingers scramble at his back.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Faster.

Each movement deeper, more greedy, his mouth dragging over your jaw, your throat, your shoulder, worshiping every inch of you like you’re the only thing that’s real.

"Fuck—Buck—"

Your voice is wrecked, breathless, and the way you respond to him, the way you move with him, meeting each thrust like you need it as much as he does—

He can’t keep it in.

"Dreamt of this," he rasps against your throat, his hips rolling, his movements turning more urgent, more hungry. "For so fucking long."

Your breath catches, your nails dig deeper, dragging down his spine, and he groans, gripping your hips tighter, grinding into you just right—

"It’s everything," he pants, lips brushing your ear, the words tumbling out unrestrained, raw. "Everything I wanted—everything I needed—and more…"

His rhythm stutters for a beat, his body pressing closer, his forehead dropping against yours as the confession spills from his lips before he can stop it—

"Fuck! I love you."

Silence.

You gasp, a soft, startled sound, your eyes flying open to meet his—

But he doesn’t stop.

"I love you," he breathes again, hips still rocking into you, deep and intentional, his hand cupping the side of your face. "God, I love you so much—"

Something inside you breaks.

Because you feel it—

Every single word, every touch, every movement.

He means it.

Before you can realize it, your lips crash into his.

It’s not just ardent. It’s everything.

The tension snaps again, your bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, in perfect sync, like he was always meant to fit inside you like this.

Like he was always meant to be yours.

Your lips crush against his once more, a messy, heated clash of tongues and teeth, your hands gripping at his shoulders, clawing at his back, pulling him deeper, closer, like you want to consume him whole.

And fuck, he lets you.

Because he’s gone—utterly wrecked, completely undone by you, unraveling in the best way by how you move against him, by how your body clings to his like you never want to let go.

"Say it again," you gasp against his lips, your nails digging into his scalp, your hips arching to meet his every thrust.

His breath catches, his rhythm faltering just slightly as his hand cradles your jaw, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek before tilting your chin up—forcing you to look at him.

He swallows hard, his breath coming in ragged pulls before the words slip from his lips.

"I love you."

The words fall from his mouth like a vow, raw and unshakable, and the way you shudder against him, the way your thighs tighten around his waist—fuck, he swears he almost loses it right then and there.

But it isn’t enough.

He needs you to know.

He presses his forehead to yours, voice rough and gravelly, each thrust deliberate, deep, meant to brand his confession into your very bones.

"I love you."

"I fucking love you."

"Always have—"

Your breath stutters, your body trembling, breaking apart against him, and the second he feels you start to tighten, that perfect, fluttering squeeze around him—

He loses it.

His rhythm turns desperate, his jaw going slack, moans pouring freely from his lips as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release as you fall apart against him, his name tumbling from your lips like it’s the only thing you know how to say.

And when you clench around him, when your body pulls him in so perfectly—he follows.

The pleasure slams into him hard, ripping through his limbs like a live wire, his movements stuttering as he buries himself deep, his head dropping to your shoulder once again as he spills into you with a ragged, shuddering groan.

Neither of you move for a long moment.

Just the sound of your heavy breaths, your heartbeats pounding wildly against each other covering the hum of the fridge, his arms trembling where he braces against the countertop, barely keeping himself upright.

Your fingers—soft, slow, tender—trace up his back, slipping into his hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp. A shiver racks through him, his body melting into yours.

He groans, shifting slightly, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder, his breath still ragged, uneven.

"You okay?" he rasps, voice wrecked, rough.

A soft, breathy laugh.

"I think you just made me forget how to breathe," you murmur, fingers still playing lazily with his hair.

That makes him smirk, pulling back just enough to look at you, to drink you in—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, hair a mess from his hands.

And fuck, you’re gorgeous, breathtaking, an absolute vision.

His heart clenches.

"Good," he murmurs, tilting his head, brushing his nose against yours, his voice softer now. "Because you just made me forget how to do anything but love you."

And the look in your eyes—

That wrecks him more than anything ever could.

For a moment, the world feels suspended.

Just the sound of your breaths, still ragged and uneven, your bodies tangled together, your heartbeats still thudding, frantic and wild.

His arms are trembling, barely keeping himself upright as he stays buried deep inside you, forehead pressed against yours, lips hovering just above your own.

And fuck, he should move—should say something, anything, but he can’t, because you’re looking at him—

Like he’s something precious.

Something you can’t bear to lose.

You take a shaky breath, your hands smoothing down his back, holding him close.

"I love you too, Bucky."

It’s soft, barely above a whisper, but it wrecks him—

Shatters him, undoes him, because—

Fuck.

You mean it.

He can see it, feel it, in the way your fingers brush through his hair, in the way your hands run down his spine, keeping him pressed against you, in the way your lips part, like you wants to say more—

But he doesn’t let you.

Because he’s kissing you before you can even take another breath—deep and slow and reverent, like he’s trying to memorize you, like he’s trying to make up for all the times he wanted to do this and held back.

Like he never wants to stop.

And maybe—

Maybe he never will.

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don’t forget to follow the tags “xpressit writings” to stay tuned for more stories 😁

[snail-day]

You swear Geto ends up on his tummy more often than not. Draped across the bed like a lazy cat, broad back rising and falling with each breath, that beautiful inky dark hair tied half-heartedly in a low bun that’s already slipping loose. A few strands fall against his cheek, casting a shadow over those long lashes and the lazy curve of his mouth. He’s so annoyingly pretty like this - it’s tempting to attack him.

And he lets you.

One hand lazily typing on his phone, sending a message to Satoru asking when he’s going to be home. So you pounce while you have the chance. (Not like he'd stop you.)

You straddle him, smack his ass a few times, knead your fingers into the plushest parts of him as if he’s your own personal stress toy. And he just hums with every little assault. Sometimes you bite him, sink your teeth into his shoulder, just to feel the sharp intake of breath, to catch the subtle twitch of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Getting it all out of your system?” he drawls, unbothered, sending a help gif to Satoru. A message that receives a heart react.

You slip cold hands beneath the hem of his dark shirt and he doesn’t even flinch. Just lets out another low hum, close to a purr, amused and warm. His chest is stupidly firm under your palms, radiating heat, and you swear he could flip you over and trap you beneath him without even trying.

But he doesn’t.

Because he’s patient. Always has been, out of the two of you. He knows that eventually, you’ll wear yourself out, that you’ll end up curled right where he wants you. And so he lets you play, lets you giggle and wiggle and bite until your energy runs thin, until you’re soft and sleepy against his side, cheek pressed to his bulky shoulder, body tucked beneath the weight of his arm.

Then he turns. Just his head at first, those wine-dark eyes cutting to you through thick, heavy lashes. That slow, feline smile starts to curl across his lips. He watches you for a moment, messy, warm, half-limp beneath him, still letting out the occasional spurt of giggles.

And then he drawls, voice syrup-slow and honey-soft, just enough to make your stomach flip. For your giggles to turn nervous:

“My turn.”

[partiallysame]

Ghost Gets No Bitches pt. 3

Word Count: 2300

Content warnings: smut, Sub!simon, unprotected sex, P in V, this got a lil freak nasty 

(ahhhh this is my first smut im big nervous)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 2.5

Simon followed you up the stairs to your apartment, palms sweating, pants tight. The second the lock clicked and the door swung open you grabbed Simon by the belt pulling him inside, immediately leaning up against the now closed door he had to put his hands out to stop from crashing into you. Caged between his arms you tugged his shirt bringing his lips to yours. Your hands began to roam all over his defined chest while one of his gripped your hip pulling you into him. “Couch” you mumbled between kisses, barely pulling away enough to speak the word. Feet fumbling, both refusing to separate enough to look where you were going. Once the back of his calves touched the couch you pushed his chest forcing him down onto the couch, taking a moment to look at the way his pupils were dilated, chest heaving and arms reaching to bring you back to him. Lifting one leg on either side of his lap, you straddled him, lips finding their way to his neck. Leaving a wet trail of bites and kisses on his neck you began to tug at the hem of his shirt, prompting him to take it off. The moan that left your lips at his exposed torso made his grip on your thighs tighten. Simon had never been ogled like this. You were looking at him like he was a full course meal that you were going to eat and lick the plate clean. Your lips found his again, body beginning to grind onto his. His large hands pulled your dress up enough to expose your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh helping you grind onto him. The friction of his jeans on your clothed crotch had you letting little mewls in his ear. His hands began to tug a little more at your dress until you pulled away from him. 

“Use your words.” Your lips were puffy and the way you were looking at him, Simon didn’t think any coherent thoughts could come out.

“Off.” You cocked your head to the side slightly, not moving to follow his request. 

“What was that?” Your voice dripping with innocence but he knew it was anything but.

“Take this off.” You just raised your eyebrows at him. “Fuck take this off, please.” The last word came out more of a breath than an actual sound. 

“Good boy.” You pulled the dress over your head exposing the matching lingerie set you had been wearing. Fuck you were wearing this all night? Simon took a deep breath, groaning at the sight in front of him. You started to remove yourself from him but his hands slid from your thighs to your hips keeping you in place. “Just taking this to the bed, thats all.” you reassured him.

“Tell me where, love?” His grip tightened as he stood with you still attached to him, legs wrapping around his thick torso. This time his lips found your neck trailing their way across the vein there until he found a spot that made your breathing pick up. As he neared your room, your hand found its way into his hair. A hard tug at the roots of his blonde hair pulled his mouth from you and the whimper that he let out was a noise he didn’t know he could make. You moved his head to the side to give space to bite down on his neck, sucking and leaving a deep purple mark. Fuck his legs were gonna give out if you kept doing that. He walked the two of you further in until he could set you down on the bed. Leaning back onto your hands, you looked at him with hooded eyes. Simon never thought he’d get into heaven but here he was, staring at your almost naked body, sitting waiting patiently for him. “Off” your foot trailed up his thigh before putting the smallest amount of pressure on the outline of his cock over his jeans. 

“Yes Ma’am.” The words left his lips before he knew what he was saying but the phrase went straight to your core. His pants fell to the floor and you licked your lips, staring shamelessly at his fucking huge cock pressed against his stomach. 

“You know Simon,” You slid from the bed to drop to your knees in front of him, “You’ve been so good today. Do you think you deserve a reward?” Hands sliding up and down his thick thighs, feeling the way they would tighten and flex under your touch. He started to nod but stopped himself. Words Simon.

“Yes Please.” Simon Ghost Riley couldn’t remember the last time he used the word ‘please��� but here he was whimpering it for the second time. His breath was shaking as you got closer to him. Simon’s cock twitched, your breath fanned over it, but you hadn’t touched him yet. Lowering yourself so your face was centimeters away from the base of his cock, teasing him with your warm breath, lips so close to doing what he needed you to. His hands were in fists, trying so hard to keep composed, to let you tease him, to not put his hand onto your head and pull you closer. Looking up and locking eyes with him, your tongue traced a long line from the base of his cock to the tip, eliciting a long moan from him. Hands gripping the base, adjusting the angle, you took him into your mouth fully, without warning. You hummed, tasting the salty precum, the vibrations making his legs shake. His hand found its way to your hair so gently, scared to make the wrong move. Your mouth worked up and down his length, tongue pressing into the prominent vein on the underside of his cock and swirling around the tip. It only took a few seconds for his grip on your hair to tighten. He felt like a fucking teenager, about to cum this fast. 

“wait not yet” He tried to pull himself from you but you pulled the back of his thighs, cock hitting the back of your throat, you swallowed around him and he was a goner. A broken moan left him as he shot his load down your throat. Slowly removing him from your mouth, you stood up and pulled him down into a kiss, making him taste himself from your lips. You spun the two of you, hands pressing onto his chest pushing him down onto the bed.

“I’m not done with you yet, Lieutenant.” His cock twitched hearing you use his rank. Pressing into his chest until he laid flat, your legs wrapping around to straddle him again. Your hand found his jaw, gripping and moving his head slightly so your lips could brush against his ear, “the first one was your reward. But you’re going to beg for the next one.” Lowering your hips enough, Simon could feel your soaked panties slide across his already hard cock. His hands tried to slide their way up your thighs, but you gripped his wrists, pressing them above his head. “No touching without permission, Lieutenant.” He nodded and kept his hands above his head, gripping the pillow when you let go of him. You pressed your lips onto his and Simon tried to lean into you as much as possible, loving the feeling of your control over him. He let out a disappointed whine when you pulled your body from his, clothed pussy no longer dragging against his cock. A wet trail of kisses were left from his neck down to his chest, tongue swirling over his nipple, his hips bucked up involuntarily at the sensation. Your hand found his jaw again, grip tighter than the last time, “Behave.” 

“M’sorry fuck please.” His accent thick as he began to whine. 

“Please what Simon?”  You started the trail of kisses again, moving down his stomach getting so close to his cock again. 

“Please can I touch you?” His knuckles had turned white from the death grip he had on the pillow. Your lips were now hovering over the tip of his cock, teasingly you blew air over his slit and his hands shot down to you. Before they could reach you, you made a “tsk” noise and his hands found the sheets next to his thighs. You hadn’t given him permission yet. Fuck he can do this, he can be good for you. 

“Good boy.” You smirked as you moved further from his cock, nails dragging lightly up and down his muscular thighs, watching as this giant man twitched under you. Removing yourself from the bed just long enough to slide your panties down your thighs, Simon couldn’t look anywhere but at your glistening core. Straddling him again, you leaned back against his thighs, giving him the perfect view of your body and your dripping pussy. 

“Please let me touch you, please.” His hands lifted slightly trying so hard to behave for you. 

“No.” He wanted to let out a groan but the sound stopped in his throat when he watched you trail your own hand down your stomach and further down until your fingers spread your folds open, coating themselves in your slick. “Open.” It was an order and Simon oh so happily obeyed, opening his mouth as you leaned forward, pushing your wet fingers into his mouth so he could taste you. His tongue wrapped around your fingers and you bit your lip at the sight in front of you. Removing your fingers from his mouth, you slid your pussy across his painfully hard cock. How wet you were and the pressure on him had his head spinning and pleads pouring from his mouth. 

“Fuck please, need to touch you.” His eyes had started to get glossy from all the teasing.

“Go ahead Simon. Touch.” Large hands immediately found your tits, palming at them for a moment before one hand slid down to find your clit, rubbing soft circles. The moan you let out almost broke whatever resolve he had left. Lifting your body just enough, you reached down to grab his cock and line it up with your slit. You lowered yourself slightly, the tip of his cock pressing ever so slightly into you, but stopping there. “Do you want it?” Simon’s eyes were pulled from where you two were connecting to your eyes, head nodding fast. “Then beg for it.” You pulled your body up until his cock was no longer touching you and Simon had never felt more desperate in his life. 

“Fuck please. Need it. Need you Please lovie. I just… please” Hearing his gruff voice whine and beg for you made you lower yourself again but just enough to how you were, his tip barely in you. “Please please please let me make you feel good. Please use me.” Tears were threatening to spill at the feeling of your walls gripping him but knowing you could pull away at any moment. 

“You’re so good for me Simon.” You slowly slid down until he was fully sheathed in you. Your hands placed heavy on his chest, nails digging in as you tried to adjust to his massive size, eyes rolling back in your head at the sensation. Beginning to bounce at an agonizingly slow pace, his hands found your ass, wanting to urge you to speed up but knowing he’d be in trouble if he did. Fuck you’re so tight around him. Whimpers had been falling from his mouth the second you slid down on him. Bottoming out, your pussy clenched around him and he bucked his hips. Fuck he didn’t mean to. He was scared you were going to pull off of him but instead you let out a pornographic moan at the action, his cock hitting that spongy spot in you. 

“Again.” You said trying to keep control but fuck did he feel good, you were losing your grip on reality too. He thrust again and again, your hands planted firmly on his chest holding on for dear life. “Make me cum Simon.” Fuck you didn’t have to tell him twice. He brought one hand to your clit again rubbing messy circles as you bounced up and down on his cock. He could feel you tightening, he could tell you were so close. Fuck he was trying to keep his own release at bay. A few more thrusts from him and you were falling over the edge. He didn’t think you could get any tighter but the feeling of you cumming on his cock was nothing less than pure bliss. His thrusts started to get sloppy and you could tell he was getting close. One of your hands slid from his chest to his throat, hand gripping his neck with just enough pressure to capture his attention. “I told you, you’re gonna have to beg for this one.” You slid off of him slightly, once again only keeping his tip inside of your velvet walls, backing up your statement. Not letting him get too close without following your orders. 

“Please fuck please I’ve been so good. Been a good boy.” His cock could feel you tighten around him, clearly liking the way he was begging. “Let me be your good boy. Fill you up. Please, please please.” The ‘please’s continued as you sunk back down onto him. Leaning down to whisper in his ear. 

“Fill me up then.” Moving back to look at his fucked out face, Simon pulled you into a messy kiss, needing to feel your lips on his, a few final thrusts he emptied his load in you with the most pathetic sounding moan of his life.

He could never tell the 141 about this.

Tag list: @zoexme @booboobear-12 @pileofmoss77 @monnikashui018 @jovialwerewolfarcade

[sukunasweetheart]

You make it a habit to just kind of touch sukunas body absentmindedly while you think about everyday things in bed, or on the couch while hes next to you, tracing his tattoos or just smoothing your hand up and down his back-- its lead you spiralling down into a trap as he now becomes the sassiest man ever if you stop touching him.

Just thinking about how he would be sprawled out stomach first on the bed, face turned the other way, seemingly asleep- but the twist is that the moment your hand stops moving, he quickly turns back at you 0.001 seconds after with the 😐 face and asks "why'd you stop."

He'd never verbally request you to rub his back or stomach, or to play with his hair, because he has his sense of pride (stubborn old man.) but if hes lying on your lap or next to you in bed a little too close or when he gives you a certain look, its kind of an invitation for you to start doing your thing 😇 hes so adorable

Its surprising how obsessed he becomes with physical touch when sukuna is attached...

He gets more and more awfully spoiled because you enable him! Soon he will have you brushing your fingers through his hair for hours on end or have you massaging his hands and fingers for no good reason at all. Real princess treatment 👍 (he is always touch starved)

[drdisasterartz]

stardust to stardust // inspiration -> "The Kiss" by Gustav Klimt

edit: reblogs r appreciated plsplspls😖💕‼️

[windyremedy]

unamused

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

scenario: saying suspicious things infront of your boyfriend.

After being inspired by a tiktok you watched a couple days ago, you decided to try it out for yourself to see how your boyfriend would react and what better time than when you’re on break from him helping you study in his dorm room.

Inconspicuously letting out a soft sigh you switched to your camera and began recording. Talking about random and mundane things for whatever reason, something you always did randomly so Bakugou didn’t really notice anything out of the ordinary until you got to a certain topic.

“In relationships it’s totally normal to lose feelings—“

From your peripheral vision on the video you could see his frown deepen, brows scrunching in displeasure.

“What’d you say?”

You stilled in your spot pretending to be confused and trying not to blow your cover already.

“Huh?”

“What in the hell are you doing now?” he asked firmly, cocking his head to the right.

“Oh I’m just giving love advice in general, now don’t interrupt me.” you answered.

He didn’t say anything else but you could hear him step closer to where you were, getting up from his spot on the bed where he was fixing something in his drawer.

“Anyways its normal to build resentment and hate your partner.”

Before he could reach your phone you grabbed it and continued on.

“And sometimes you might wanna strangle them—“

Then he grabs you quick but gentle enough as to not hurt you from the cushioned floor, body completely towering over yours.

“DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY TO ME OR WHAT WOMAN?”

You laugh as he shakes you in the process, papers flying off from the edge of the short legged table.

“I don’t!” you exclaimed giggling.

“LIKE HELL! WHAT’D I DO WRONG!!?”

“It’s not about you I swear!!!! as I was saying if their blonde and name starts with the letter b—“ you continued, turning away from him.

“I’m gonna strangle you.”

“NO WAIT LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING! LET ME TELL YOU SOMETHING—“

©windyremedy

[wintermav]

UGH SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[grymghoul]

ARTHUR MORGAN has an impressive cock. You'd always figured a man who carries himself so surely would have one like that. Thick and heavy, crowned with hair a bit darker than what was on his head. The way it would always be half hard anytime he was around you was flattering. The way he'd take up all the space in that hotel room, striding around, parading naked, he'd steal the air from your lungs. The way it'd pat against his thighs as he took heavy steps through the room. You'd stare and he'd look away, flush in the face. There was an inherent sense of boyish charm about him, how he could be so rough and callous, but the second he was alone with you he was nearly shy. Intimacy with Arthur was earned, a privilege, not a thing to trifle with. He'd given it to you and you hadn't even realized how hard it was to earn this from him.

He blushed bright red when you'd seen it the first time, that breathy "Oh, Arthur.." had sent a chill down his spine. Arthur was extra careful with you, fearing he'd split you right in half on his cock. There was no hiding it. The way his ranch pants would be fuller around you, the obvious bulge of denim stretching around it. He loved that you could try to swallow it all you wanted and you could still grip fingers worth of it as his tip touched the back of your throat. He loved being able to have you seated on top of him and see his dick fucking you from the outside. A firm hand pressed against you, making you tighter and he could feel the way he so lovingly damaged your sweet pussy.

He would torment your guts almost effortlessly. He'd have you gripping the sheets, choking back moans and sobs and all manners of pretty noises in a hitched tone without even trying. He wasn't an egotistical man, but he knew it couldn't be like this for every man or no job would ever get done in the world. It'd come to a stand still as everyone would be lined up to fuck the next man. No, no he had to have something special with you. He was easily enamored with you and how you'd feel wrapped all warm and tight around him. How snug you were.

Each time felt like the first with Arthur. The way he filled you and would have you swollen and sore the next day. Even after the bath you'd end up in together, he'd keep you there, wet and sudsy against him and his thick member until you had pruny fingers. He loved that you were a whiny mess just from being near his cock.

You were made for him by God, he wasn't religious but he was sure of it. You fit better than any glove or shirt or saddle he could have tailor made. You were just as addicted to him. The way his flared head could take up residency inside you made you know that there was some higher power and they were merciful in such a way for you to have a taste of heaven on earth with your Arthur.

[beloveds-embrace]

Yeah yeah short and soft fem readers are cute and we love and adore them but also. We need to consider a fem reader who is an absolute unit. Big, as tall as (or even taller than) Ghost, muscular and thick as fuck. So covered with armor and gear you make Ghost himself look underdressed.

Big enough to also to be mistaken for a man. Your teammates, though, don’t care about such things- they are just damn hungry for any sliver of skin you are willing to show them.

[bruisedfig]

skin-to-skin contact is very important to soldier boy.

after being kidnapped and locked away for forty damn years—isolated from any human contact—feeling your skin against his is crucial and an absolute nonnegotiable when he’s driving himself into your comforting slick folds.

ben’s chest is against yours, every time, his weight pressing you straight down into the mattress. he doesn’t care if it’s a little suffocating for you; he needs it. needs you.

he buries his face in your neck; his deep rough grunts reverberate around the room and into your ear, making you whine in response and arch up into him in the way he simply just adores.

the feeling of your soft skin against his soothes the years of his solitary suffering, completely grounding him and pacifying the dark traumatic memories that haunt his body and soul—even if it’s just for a little bit.

he tangles his legs with yours, almost holding them hostage. every part of him is pressed against you while he plunges his member in as deep as you can take him. he has no regard for your wellbeing when he gets like this, working you into a whimpering little ball beneath his firm ‘n tough frame, pounding you into the mattress with his relentlessly harsh strokes.

you don’t seem to care though, you claw up his back—well, not really—but your nails dig and dig and dig into his skin, a physical demand for more, whilst also a plea to slow down his torturous pace.

you’ve heard ben say he wishes you could mark him the way he marks you—bruising your skin with his mouth and hands, the skin of your hips and ass always a deep pink or purple shade, speckled bruises in the shape of his splayed hand or fingertips, evidence of the intensity he feels for you.

when he finally reaches his release, he collapses on top of you, going completely boneless as he softens inside your gummy walls, panting so deeply and huskily it makes you flutter around him from the butterflies in your stomach.

you can beg all you want, but he’s not getting up. not until he feels he’s had enough of you; enough of your body pressed against his; enough of your scent and your sweet little sounds filling his ears.

not until he knows that you’re there with him and you’re staying, not abandoning him like everybody else has.

[gomzdrawfr]

one bed trope with Price and Ghost but instead of slow burn and lots of hesitation is just them beating the shit outta each other trying to get to the bed im talking Ghost yanking that old man by his ankles and Price shoving his palm into Ghost's face

they will begrudgingly stuff themselves into the one bed, cursing all the way until exhaustion finally knock them out

[narliee]

Our banter with each other is quite mean to each other, so we used to get the note that "this is more Joe and Kit than Nick and Charlie."

[hyuckiefluff]

playing dirty | z. chenle

pairing: basketball captain! chenle x fashion major! fem.reader

genre: established relationship, smut, a lil bit of crack

wc: 4k

summary: you’re tired of chenle ditching you for basketball practice, so you do what any rational girlfriend would do—show up to his practice in a slutty version of his team’s uniform. turns out you’re kind of good at basketball. turns out chenle can’t handle watching his teammates ogle the love of his life. turns out the locker room has a lock for a reason.

content warnings: semi-public sex, jealousy & possessiveness, mild clothing kink, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, light degradation (slut), brief choking, hair pulling, creampie, titfucking, spit play, exhibitionism (accidental), bratty reader, basketball but make it horny, suggestive banter, mild embarrassment & teasing, soft dom!chenle. lmk if i missed any!

a/n: possessive chenle save me SAVE ME POSSESSIVE CHENLE lol i had a lot of fun writing this and i rlly like how it came out (especially the smut kekeke). kinda nervous since it’s my first chenle fic lol lmk what u think bffs! ps: stream lucid !! my king chenle is serving face and vocals as usual!!

you’re sick of it.

sick of the half‑assed excuses, the “i’ll make it up to you, babe” texts, the cold side of your bed because basketball practice ran late again. the sport isn’t the villain here—chenle’s priorities are. so tonight you decide to speak in the only language that ever slapped any sense into him: pure, weaponized pettiness.

you dig into your closet to find the box tucked behind an old hoodie. the custom set you spent a whole week sewing in the campus fashion studio—his cropped jersey perfectly tailored to end right above your ribs, his number stretched neatly across your chest, tight little shorts that ride up high enough to give anyone with a pulse an aneurysm, and tube socks that reach your knees but do absolutely nothing to hide how much skin is on display. 

you originally designed it as a birthday gift for chenle, something psexy and playful, the kind of outfit that should not leave the bedroom.

but desperate times call for desperate measures.

“you want to play, baby,” you murmur to yourself, lip tugging into a smirk as you tug the top down over your chest, admiring how your careful stitchwork hugs every curve. “let’s play then.”

twenty minutes later, you're outside the gym where chenle’s practicing. you can hear echoing laughter, the thump of basketballs, and the sound of sneakers squeaking across the court. chenle’s voice cuts through it every few seconds barking out plays or teasing his teammates, totally oblivious to the chaos about to walk through the double doors.

you adjust the hem of your very customized uniform and tug the waistband of your shorts up an inch, just enough to make your ass cheeks peek out more.

when you swing the gym doors open, a dozen jaws detach from skulls in real time. one guy bricks a layup so hard the ball ricochets off the backboard and clatters to the floor.

chenle basically inhales the water he was drinking the moment he sees you strut onto the court in the tiny jersey you stitched yourself. he doesn’t even manage any words at first, just blinks slowly.

you beam, stepping closer. “hey, baby!”

he moves toward you quickly, fingers gripping the hem of your jersey and trying to tug it down. “what the hell are you wearing?”

“your uniform, duh!” you say innocently. “remember you said i could come practice with you sometime?”

“yeah—but not…not like this!” he hisses, glancing sharply over his shoulder. his teammates aren’t even pretending to look away, their eyes glued shamelessly to every exposed inch of you. chenle groans, turning back to you in disbelief. “jesus christ, y/n.”

you spin slowly, letting him admire your handiwork. “i made it myself. do you like it?”

his eyes narrow, but they still flick down to watch your chest bounce beneath the tight fabric.

somewhere behind him, jaemin whistles low and appreciative. “yo, chenle, if you don’t want her, i’ll gladly take her on my team.”

chenle’s jaw clenches. “let’s go,” he mutters, gripping your wrist to lead you off the court.

but you plant your feet, looking up at him through your lashes. “lele, you promised you’d teach me,” you pout, your voice sweet and pleading—exactly the tone you know breaks him every single time.

you see the storm raging behind his eyes, the internal battle he’s clearly losing. after a long, tense pause, he finally gives in with an irritated sigh.

“fine,” chenle groans, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “i’ll teach you.”

he tries to sound firm, tries so damn hard to keep his cool but his voice cracks the instant you bend down to grab a stray basketball. every single set of eyes follows as your shorts ride dangerously higher. chenle practically growls under his breath.

“eyes up,” he snaps sharply at his teammates.

you hide a satisfied smirk, straightening up slowly and tossing chenle the ball. “so, how do i shoot?”

he glares at you, conflicted. he knows exactly what game you’re playing, but it’s too late to back down now. he steps close, muttering something unintelligible under his breath and positions his hands firmly on your waist. his fingers flex possessively against your skin making heat spark low in your belly.

“bend your knees,” chenle instructs tightly. you comply, feeling him tense behind you as your ass brushes firmly against him. he clears his throat roughly. “now raise your arms.”

you do as you’re told, stretching slowly, feeling every pair of eyes glued to the way your jersey inches higher. someone coughs loudly and someone else whistles under their breath.

“like this?” you ask, feigning innocence as you toss the ball. it hits the rim and bounces away, but the guys clap loudly like you just dunked on lebron.

chenle’s jaw clenches. “yeah, like that,” he mutters through gritted teeth, pulling you close again. “try it again, but please don’t stick your ass out so much this time.”

you laugh softly, leaning back just enough to whisper in his ear. “why not? you like it.”

he groans quietly, his grip on your hip tightening in warning. “don’t push it, baby.”

just as chenle's hands tense possessively at your waist, a teasing voice interrupts from behind.

“yo, captain! why don’t we run a quick game? let your girl play too, seems like she’s picking it up quickly.”

chenle's entire body stiffens, eyes narrowing dangerously at the cocky teammate smirking across the court. haechan, obviously—never passing up a chance to stir shit up.

“yeah,” another voice eagerly agrees. “she can be on our team!”

“not a chance,” chenle snaps, glaring daggers at them. “she stays with me.”

you tilt your head. “actually, i think i wanna be on the other team. it'll be fun playing against you.”

he groans quietly, clearly torn between the urge to pull you away and needing to save face in front of the team. he runs a frustrated hand through his hair before giving in with a sharp exhale. “fine. first team to five points wins, then we’re done. keep it clean,” he warns, voice tight as he shoots a pointed glare toward his teammates.

the guys erupt in cheers, gathering quickly around you to strategize. haechan immediately drapes an arm lazily over your shoulder, pulling you closer than strictly necessary and making chenle visibly bristle.

“alright, newbie,” haechan smirks, eyes flicking playfully toward chenle. “just stand there looking pretty and we’ll handle the rest.”

you smile sweetly, leaning up close enough to whisper in his ear and making sure chenle sees every move. “oh, i can handle myself just fine.”

you catch chenle’s scowl deepening, his fists clenching at his sides. suddenly, the entire gym feels about ten degrees hotter, and you’re pretty sure it has nothing to do with basketball.

the game begins, and the team immediately spreads out, pretending to care about positions and plays, but half their attention is undeniably on you. you smile sweetly, dribbling cautiously, deliberately bending forward just enough to ensure everyone behind you gets a generous view.

chenle’s voice slices sharply through the gym, frustration barely restrained. “eyes on the damn ball, idiots.”

you stifle a laugh, heart thrumming with exhilaration. you might be new to basketball, but getting under chenle’s skin is a game you’ve mastered to perfection.

every bounce of the ball, every step you take, you can feel eyes following—chenle’s most intensely of all. he’s practically vibrating with jealousy, torn between defending against his teammates’ shameless stares and actually playing defense.

haechan effortlessly steals the ball from your boyfriend and tosses it your way, shouting, “take the shot, rookie!”

you catch it clumsily, laughing breathlessly as chenle lunges in your direction, eyes narrowed with determination. adrenaline spikes as you fake left, then slip past him with surprising agility. your lay-up is sloppy, but by some miracle, it actually swishes neatly through the hoop.

the gym erupts in cheers and whistles. spinning around with a triumphant grin, you lift your arms in exaggerated celebration. haechan immediately appears beside you, pulling you into an enthusiastic hug that lingers just a second too long.

“damn, captain,” he calls out loudly. “better watch out, your girl got sweeter hands than you.”

chenle’s eyes flash dangerously, jaw visibly clenching as he stalks across the court toward you. every step radiates possessiveness and simmering annoyance. you tilt your head innocently, knowing exactly what’s coming next and loving every heated second of it.

“that's it. practice over,” he announces sharply, grabbing your wrist and pulling you toward the locker rooms.

“aww, dude—” haechan starts, clearly amused, but chenle silences him with a glare that could kill.

you bite your lip, heart pounding with satisfaction. finally, you’ve pushed him right past breaking point.

exactly as planned.

chenle’s grip on your wrist is firm, bordering on rough, as he drags you past the swinging locker room door and shoves it closed behind you. the echoes of sneakers squeaking and voices laughing outside fade, replaced by the rapid thump of your heartbeat and chenle’s heavy breathing.

he turns sharply, backing you against the lockers, eyes darkened with frustration.

“what the hell was that?” he demands, voice low and raw. his gaze drifts from your flushed cheeks down to the ridiculously cropped jersey, lingering briefly on the exposed curve of your waist before snapping back up to meet your eyes.

“basketball practice,” you reply innocently. “you always said you wanted me to learn.”

“not dressed like this,” he growls. 

his hand finds the hem of your jersey, fingers grazing the bare skin underneath. he hesitates, visibly swallowing down his jealousy. “you really made this yourself?”

“yep,” you say lifting your chin proudly. “thought it might inspire you.”

chenle scoffs, but his thumb drifts in soft circles at your waist despite the scowl. “inspire me to what? murder my teammates?”

you giggle, fingertips dancing across his chest. “you’re jealous, lele. admit it.”

“yeah, i am,” he mutters sharply.

his grip tightens on your waist, pulling you even closer against him. “didn’t you see how those assholes were looking at you? like they wanted—”

“like they wanted what’s yours?” you interrupt softly, teasing a finger along his jaw. “maybe i just felt like reminding you of that.”

his breath catches, and for a moment, he just stares down at you. finally, he sighs heavily, tension slipping into something deeper, hotter, infinitely more possessive.

“well, consider me reminded,” he murmurs, voice raspy as his lips brush teasingly against your ear. “but you’re never wearing this again for anyone but me.”

you shiver, leaning into him as your voice drops to a whisper. “oh? and what if i refuse?”

he smirks dangerously, eyes glinting. “then i guess i’ll just have to make you.”

his mouth melts against yours before you can tease him again. the kiss is punishing, hard enough to erase every grin haechan shot your way and every greedy glance the team threw at your thighs. 

his hands roam without hesitation gripping your waist, sliding up under the jersey, cupping your breasts with a low groan. he breaks the kiss to mutter, “fuck, you’re not even wearing a bra?”

“would’ve ruined the look,” you whisper, breath hitching as his thumbs brush your nipples. “you like it?”

“fuck yeah i like it” he growls.

you gasp as he yanks the jersey over your head in one swift motion and places it in his pocket. his lips trail down your neck, biting at the skin there. “next time you wanna get my attention,” he mutters, voice muffled against your collarbone, “just fucking say so. don’t make me nearly kill haechan on the court.”

you giggle, threading your fingers through his hair. “where’s the fun in that?”

his eyes flash as he sinks to his knees, fingers curling into the waistband of your shorts. “i’ll show you fun.”

he tugs them down so slowly it's almost torturous and drags your panties with them. his breath ghosts over your inner thighs, his mouth following suit a moment later. he groans against your skin, licking a slow stripe up your center before wrapping his arms around your legs and diving in.

you slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that slips out. the locker room’s not soundproof, and the last thing you need is the team doubling back and catching chenle with his head buried between your thighs.

but he doesn’t care. he wants them to know. he wants them to hear you fall apart on his tongue, wants every single one of those bastards to understand that you’re his.

you’re already trembling when he stands back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and kissing you. his fingers curl under your thigh, lifting you effortlessly as he walks you backward into the coach’s office—a smaller room with a desk and a door that locks.

he kicks it shut behind him.

“bend over the desk,” he commands, voice low and dangerous.

you obey, heat pooling between your legs again as your chest hits the wood and his hands smooth down your spine. he’s rougher now, undoing his shorts with jerky movements, lining himself up behind you with no warning except a hot breath against your ear and the blunt press of his tip against your entrance.

“you wanna dress like a little slut in front of my team?” he rasps, gripping your hips. “then take it like one.”

he slams into you in one deep, punishing thrust, and you cry out, barely able to hold yourself up. each snap sends your hips jerking against the desk, the edge biting into your stomach.

“this what you wanted?” he pants behind you, fingers digging into your waist hard enough to bruise. “wanted to make me jealous? wanted to be the center of attention?”

you nod frantically, but it’s not enough. his hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back so your eyes meet his in the reflection of the office window that’s fogged up and smeared from the heat of your bodies.

“say it.”

“yes,” you gasp out, eyes glassy. “i wanted to drive you crazy.”

he chuckles darkly, chest heaving. “congrats, baby. mission fucking accomplished.”

his hand slips down, fingers finding your clit and circling it mercilessly. your legs threaten to give out, but he holds you steady, pinning you against the desk with his weight and the sharp slap of his hips.

“look at you,” he growls. “acting all innocent in front of my team, now falling apart on my cock.”

you’re close to your orgasm when suddenly, he yanks you back by the hair and pulls out with a wet slap. you whimper at the loss, but he’s already grabbing your hips nd spinning you around.

he spreads your legs and slides back in with a guttural moan. his hands come up, almost reverently, cupping the soft weight of your breasts as they bounce with every thrust. 

his thumbs brush over your nipple and then he leans down, mouth hot and greedy as he sucks one into his mouth, groaning in pleasure.

“fuck—” he pants, tongue swirling and teeth grazing just enough to make you jolt. “i can’t fucking think when they’re out like this. you know what you do to me?” 

your moans are strangled now. he’s sucking so hard, it s leaving deep red bruises all over your chest. he bites, soothes, sucks again. you clutch at his shoulders, legs wrapping tighter around him, and he grinds deeper, angling his hips to hit exactly where you need him most. his rhythm’s gone erratic, his obsession pouring into every snap of his hips, every bruise he leaves behind.

“look at you,” he pants, pulling back just far enough to watch. “bouncing all pretty for me. no one else gets to see this. no one else gets to fucking touch you.”

his palm slaps across your tit. hard enough to make it jiggle and watch the recoil as he thrusts in hard.

“fuck,” he groans, voice breaking. “you’re gonna make me cum just looking at you.”

your head lolls back, a whimper escaping your lips as his hand slides from your breast down to your neck, holding you still, eyes locked on the mess of you laid out under him—wrecked and panting and marked everywhere his mouth could reach.

you’re close again, tighter and hotter this time, clenching around him. your moans echo in the small office, filthy and raw, and he doesn’t even try to hold back now.

he fucks into you harder, mouth locked on your nipple again as he spills inside you, every muscle in his body tensing as he groans against your chest 

you’re barely coherent, mind hazy from the way he just fucked you over the desk. but chenle isn’t satisfied. not even close. he steps back to drink in your naked form, flushed and dripping with him.

his cock’s still rock hard somehow, twitching against his stomach, and his stare is nothing short of unhinged.

“lean back,” he rasps, grabbing your chin with wet fingers. “hands behind you. keep your tits up.”

you obey instinctively, legs falling open wider as you brace yourself on the desk, presenting yourself like the filthy little offering you are.

chenle just grins and crouches slightly, grabbing your breasts with both hands. and then he spits on your chest. hot, stringy spit right down the center of your, sliding between your tits and pooling under your collarbone.

“that’s better,” he mutters, eyes gleaming. “you look so hot covered in my spit.”

you gasp, chest rising as he does it again. letting it drip from his tongue while staring you down, and then he smears it in using his thumbs to rub it across your nipples.

you moan, high and wrecked. “lele—fuck—”

“look at your fucking face. you’re getting off on this.”

you are. embarrassingly so. he can see it in the way your thighs clench, and in the way your hips shift forward aching for more attention. he presses his cock between your tits now, sliding it back and forth while kneading them hard, thumb brushing over your nipple with every thrust.

“look at me,” he snaps.

your gaze locks onto his, dizzy and dazed.

“open your mouth.”

you do and he spits again, right onto your tongue.

“don’t swallow yet.” he growls, shoving his cock between your tits faster now, panting like a man losing his mind. “keep it there. hold it.”

you moan around the spit in your mouth, letting it dribble down your chin just to watch his eyes darken even more. chenle looks fucking deranged with lust.

you moan when the head of his cock slides forward, the tip just barely grazing your chin on the upstroke.

you glance up at him, lashes fluttering, and then you stick your tongue out enough to tease the head when it brushes close.

“fuck,” he hisses, thrusting harder between your breasts now, chasing that angle again, just to feel your tongue catch him. “you want it in your mouth that bad, huh? can’t even wait?”

his cock keeps hitting just under your chin, and every time it does, you flick your tongue out again and catch the tip, tasting the mess off his slit.

“fucking—fuck,” he curses. “do it again.”

you do and this time, you even suck lightly when he slows for a second, lips parting around just the head before he pulls back and keeps fucking your chest. his control is shattered now. his body stutters and twitches with every stroke.

you whimper, fingers gripping the edge of the desk behind you, mouth open and waiting.

“you love this,” he pants. “you love being used like this. letting me fuck your tits… drooling for my cock.”

“i love it,”  you whisper, lips glossy with spit and pre-cum. “i love how crazy you get when i do.”

he thrusts one more time and spills between your breasts again, ropes of cum painting your skin. you lean forward, tongue dragging through his tip. licking the cum off it slowly, like a cat drinking milk.

chenle nearly collapses, stumbling forward and pressing against your bare chest.

“you ever show up to practice like that again,” he murmurs, voice hoarse against your skin, “i’ll fuck you in front of them all. make ‘em watch while i ruin you.”

you whimper, still trembling beneath him.

“but for now,” he smirks, wiping your chin with his thumb and sucking it clean, “this mess stays just between us.”

you’re still catching your breath, body slick with sweat and spit and cum, when chenle leans in and presses a soft kiss to your shoulder. it’s a jarring contrast to the way he just wrecked you against the desk, but that’s chenle. feral one minute, gentle the next. both versions still obsessed with you.

he puts on his shorts, pulls your jersey from the pocket and inspects it with a low whistle.

“you’re not putting this back on,” he mutters, shaking his head. “no fucking way.”

you smirk, chest still rising and falling as you look up at him. “why not? i worked hard on it.”

“you said you made it to inspire me, so i’m keeping it.” he crumples the jersey in one fist and shoves it straight into his pocket. “i’m hanging that shit on my wall.”

you laugh, weakly. “you’re ridiculous.”

he grabs his team jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, zipping it halfway up. it swallows your smaller frame, falling almost to your knees, sleeves covering your hands entirely. the way he looks at you—satisfied and possessive—makes it clear the outfit isn't negotiable.

“here,” he says, tightening the collar just a bit. “this is all you’re wearing now.”

you glance down at how the hem of the jacket just barely hits the tops of your thighs. you’re still wearing nothing underneath.

“guess i’m going commando,” you hum, teasing.

“yeah, but no one’s gonna know except me.” chenle grins, standing tall and adjusting your hair with stupid care. “let’s get you out of here.”

you barely make it out of the office when a low whistle slices through the silence.

the entire team—haechan front and center—is awkwardly standing there, pretending they haven't been shamelessly eavesdropping. 

“damn, took you long enough.”

chenle freezes, fingers tightening around yours so hard you nearly yelp. 

“i think you lost these,” haechan says, eyes sparkling mischievously as he spins something delicate around his index finger, your eyes widen with recognition.

your panties.

“found ‘em by the lockers. figured someone might be missing them.”

chenle’s face goes murderous in a heartbeat, jaw clenching so tight you're afraid his teeth might crack.

“give me those,” he growls, lunging toward haechan, who dances backward, keeping them just out of reach.

the boy chuckles, clearly enjoying every second of this torture. “you gotta be careful, man. wouldn’t want anyone else to find your girl’s cute little souvenirs.”

chenle lunges again, this time catching haechan’s wrist, wrenching your panties out of his grasp roughly. “i’ll kill you, dude.”

haechan just laughs, completely unfazed. he shifts his gaze toward you, his voice playfully taunting. “maybe next time you practice with us, try keeping these on? might help the captain focus a little better.”

you bury your face into chenle’s chest, half laughing, half dying of embarrassment. chenle just rolls his eyes, pulling you closer and guiding you down the hallway, past his shameless teammates. 

“you assholes got nothing better to do?”

“nah,” haechan replies smoothly, eyes twinkling with barely restrained laughter. “but it sounds like you two were pretty busy.”

the team snickers loudly, trying (and failing) to keep straight faces. chenle’s ears turn scarlet, but he keeps a protective arm tightly wrapped around your shoulders.

“fuck off,” chenle mutters darkly. “next practice, you’re all running laps until you puke.”

“worth it,” haechan teases, tossing you a playful wink. “good game, by the way.”

“practice tomorrow?” jaemin asks from behind, laughter bubbling beneath his words.

“fuck no,” chenle growls back without turning around. “we’ll be busy.”

as you pass the door,  haechan calls out, voice dripping amusement and challenge

“see you next practice y/n!”

chenle’s response is immediate, muttered darkly into your ear. “like hell he will.”

your cheeks burn from embarrassment—and exhilaration.

mission fucking accomplished, indeed.

[wintermav]

Shawn Levy, when I FIND YOU. Was this butt pressed on crotch shot necessary? Hell yes