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amoressb · 3 months ago

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───── GIRLY GIRL 西村力 N. RK

ꪆৎ ⋆˚࿔ who would’ve thought riki would date the exact polar opposite of himself ｡｡ ʙꜰ!ʀɪᴋɪ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

FLUFF & wc. 1600 / kissing , skinship , petnames ｡｡

──── ARCHiVE

you’re perched on rikis bed, legs folded neatly underneath you, watching as he rummages through his closet. his room is a perfect reflection of him. it’s minimalistic yet cozy, with a few scattered items that scream nishimura riki—a lego set on his desk, a random beanie tossed over a chair, and a collection of hoodies taking up most of his closet space.

he lets out a dramatic sigh, pulling out a dark gray hoodie before turning toward you. “here,” he says, tossing it over your head.

you squeak, wiggling your arms free before slipping it on. it’s oversized, drowning your smaller frame, and smells just like him. it’s a mix of fresh laundry, cologne, and something uniquely Riki.

“you love making me look tiny, don’t you?” you tease, hugging the sleeves around your hands.

riki smirks, walking over and leaning down so his face is level with yours. “yeah,” he admits shamelessly, tilting his head. “it’s cute.”

your cheeks warm, but you roll your eyes playfully. “fake emo boyfriend thinks i’m cute, what a shocker.”

“fake emo boyfriend is crazy,” riki deadpans, nudging your cheek with his nose. “i’m literally so mysterious.”

you giggle, poking his stomach. “baby, you laugh at your own jokes and trip over air. you are not mysterious. if anything, you’re just a cutie patootie.”

he groans, dramatically flopping onto the bed beside you. “cutie patootie should be illegal. take it back.”

“nope,” you say, shifting so you’re half on top of him. “you’re a cutie patootie and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

riki exhales through his nose, rolling his eyes, but the way his arms immediately circle around your waist says otherwise. “you’re lucky i love you,” he mutters, his voice low and affectionate.

you nuzzle into his chest, smiling against the fabric of his hoodie. “i know.”

the dorm is already buzzing with energy when you step inside, but the second the door clicks shut behind you, the noise dies down. six pairs of eyes immediately snap toward you.

“riki, you’re joking,” sunoo blurts, eyes wide in disbelief.

“who is this angel and what is she doing with you?” jake teases, crossing his arms with an amused smirk.

“she’s too pretty for you,” jungwon adds bluntly.

your cheeks heat up at the sudden attention, and you instinctively shift closer to riki. he, of course, doesn’t miss a beat and his arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you flush against his side.

“yeah, yeah, ha ha,” riki deadpans, rolling his eyes. “okay this is y/n, my girlfriend. i know, shocking revelation.”

his members don’t respond immediately. instead, they exchange glances, their expressions a mix of surprise, amusement, and utter disbelief.

“you’re so…” sunghoon trails off, scanning you from head to toe before settling on riki. “girly.”

“and?” riki challenges, raising an eyebrow.

“it’s just—” sunoo gestures vaguely between the two of you. “we all thought you’d end up with someone like…i don’t know, a female version of you?”

“yeah, like, all dark clothes, quiet, super sarcastic, probably into gaming just like you,” heeseung adds, rubbing his chin like he’s solving a mystery.

“but instead, you’re dating—” jungwon gestures to you. “her.”

you blink, “what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, raising a brow, though your voice remains playful.

“you’re all soft and pretty and you literally look like you stepped out of a pinterest board,” jay says, nodding toward your outfit, a cute, pastel-toned ensemble accessorized with dainty jewelry. “we just didn’t see it coming.”

riki grins, tightening his grip on you. “i like my girlfriend all soft and pretty. she’s my princess.”

your heart flutters at his words, and you instinctively squeeze his hand. “rikiiiii,” you whine playfully, hiding your face in his hoodie.

jungwon lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. “this is actually insane. i never thought i’d see the day riki became whipped.”

“i am not whipped,” riki scoffs, immediately going on the defensive.

“oh, really?” jake smirks, stepping forward. “then prove it.”

“what do you mean, prove it?” riki narrows his eyes.

“let go of her,” jake says simply, nodding toward his arm around your waist. “if you’re not whipped, you can let her go, right?” riki doesn’t move. the room erupts in laughter.

“oh my god,” sunoo gasps between wheezes. “he actually can’t let go.”

“shut up,” riki grumbles, but his grip on you only tightens.

you giggle, tilting your head up to look at him. “you are kinda proving their point, baby.”

riki exhales sharply before dramatically peeling his hand away from your waist, only to immediately grab your fingers instead. “there,” he mutters. “happy?”

“that doesn’t count!” sunghoon laughs. “you’re still holding her!”

“you guys are so annoying,” riki groans, but he’s smiling despite himself.

“okay, okay,” heeseung grins, clapping his hands together. “y/n, since you’re officially part of the group now, we need to ask you some important questions.”

you perk up. “oh? like what?”

“first,” jay starts, leaning forward like he’s about to uncover a huge secret. “who made the first move?”

riki snorts. “me, obviously.”

“are you sure?” sunoo arches a brow. “i feel like she had to force you into realizing your feelings.”

“hey!” riki glares. “i realized them on my own.”

you hum, tilting your head playfully. “i did have to wait a bit for him to catch up.”

the room explodes with laughter again, and riki looks personally offended. “baby,” he whines. “you’re supposed to be on my side!”

you giggle, squeezing his hand. “i am, baby. i’m just also right.” his members coo at the interaction and riki groans, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“okay, next question,” heeseung continues, thoroughly enjoying this. “what’s the cutest thing riki has ever done for you?”

you pause, thinking. “hmmm…he always makes sure i have one of his hoodies when i stay over, and he buys me snacks in my favorite flavors without me even asking.”

“that’s so soft,” sunoo gasps dramatically. “who is this riki, and what did he do with the old one?”

“right?” jake shakes his head. “he used to make fun of us for being romantic, and now he’s out here being all boyfriend coded.”

“okay, that’s enough questions,” riki cuts in, glaring at his members. “we get it. i have the best girlfriend ever.”

you beam up at him, batting your lashes. “awww, you think i’m the best?”

riki sighs, but the way he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear betrays him. “yeah,” he mutters. “you know i do.”

his members all groan in unison.

“this is so unfair,” jungwon complains. “i thought riki was gonna be the last one to act all lovey dovey, but he’s actually the worst one.”

“it’s sickening,” sunghoon nods.

“get used to it,” riki smirks. “she’s not going anywhere.”

you lean into his side, smiling as his fingers intertwine with yours. “nope,” you agree. “i’m not going anywhere.”

his members groan again, but the teasing fades into something softer, something almost approving.

maybe you weren’t who they expected, but watching riki beam at you like you were his entire world?

yeah, they could definitely get used to this.

hours later, after playing games, eating snacks, and listening to rikis members tease him relentlessly about you, he finally tugs you away to his room.

the door shuts softly behind you, enclosing you both in a peaceful quiet that contrasts the lively energy outside. you let out a sigh, stretching your arms above your head before flopping onto his bed.

“they were so nice,” you hum. “i thought i was gonna be nervous, but they made me feel so welcome.”

riki hums, settling beside you. “too welcome,” he mutters, eyes narrowing. “i thought jake was gonna steal you away.”

you giggle, shifting onto your side to face him. “never,” you promise, reaching up to tuck a strand of his hair back then resting your hand on his cheek, softly caressing him. “i’m your girlfriend, remember?”

his gaze softens instantly. “mine,” he echoes, his fingers tracing slow circles on your hip.

you nod, letting your hand now rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “yours,” you confirm.

riki exhales deeply, like he’s processing the weight of your words, then leans in, brushing his nose against yours. “can i kiss you?” he murmurs.

your heart stutters. even after all this time, he still asks.

“of course, baby,” you whisper.

riki cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin before he finally presses his lips against yours. the kiss is slow, gentle, like he’s savoring the moment. when he pulls away, his lips linger against yours, reluctant to break the contact completely.

“you make me so soft,” he mutters, half annoyed but mostly in awe.

you giggle, playing with the collar of his hoodie. “you like it.”

riki groans, rolling onto his back and dragging you with him so you’re curled against his chest. “maybe,” he admits, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

you snuggle closer, letting your fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest. “i thought bringing you here would be kinda nerve wracking,” he murmurs. “but having you next to me just makes everything feel…easy.”

your lips curve into a soft smile. “that’s because i’m your safe place, duh.”

riki goes quiet for a moment, then exhales, tightening his hold around you. “yeah,” he whispers. “you really are, my love.”

with one last kiss to your forehead, he tucks you against his chest, holding you close as sleep starts to pull you both under—wrapped up in warmth, in love, in each other.

⋆｡°✩ @cheruphic @liwinly @chrrific @hyukabean @ijustwannareadstuff20 @jellyluv4eva

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fozmeadows · 5 months ago

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There's a lot of conversations to be had around the current influx of Americans to Xiaohongshu (RedNote/Little Red Book) ahead of the TikTok ban, many of which are better articulated by more knowledgeable people than me. And for all the fun various parties of both nationalities seem to having with memes and wholesome interactions, it's undoubtedly true that there's also some American entitlement and exoticization going on, which sucks. But a sentiment I've seen repeatedly online is that, if it's taken actually speaking to Chinese people and viewing Chinese content for Americans to understand that they've been propagandized to about China and its people, then that just proves how racist they are, and I want to push back on that, because it strikes me as being a singularly reductive and unhelpful framing of something far more complex.

Firstly: while there's frequently overlap between racism and xenophobia, the distinction between them matters in this instance, because the primary point of American propaganda about China is that Communism Is Fundamentally Evil And Unamerican And Never Ever Works, and thinking a country's government sucks is not the same as thinking the population is racially inferior. The way most Republicans in particular talk about China, you'd think it was functionally indistinguishable from North Korea, which it really isn't. Does this mean there's no critique to be made of either communism in general or the CCP? Absolutely not! But if you've been told your whole life that communist countries are impoverished, corrupt and dangerous because Communism Never Works, and you've only really encountered members of the Chinese diaspora - i.e., people whose families left China, often under traumatic circumstances, because they thought America would be better or safer - rather than Chinese nationals, then no: it's not automatically racist to be surprised that their daily lives and standard of living don't match up with what you'd assumed. Secondly: TikTok's userbase skews young. While there's certainly Americans in their 30s and older investigating Xiaohongshu, it seems very reasonable to assume that the vast majority are in their teens or twenties - young enough that, barring a gateway interest in something like C-dramas, danmei or other Chinese cultural products, and assuming they're not of Chinese descent themselves, there's no reason why they'd know anything about China beyond what they've heard in the news, or from politicians, or from their parents, which is likely not much, and very little firsthand. But even with an interest in China, there's a difference between reading about or watching movies from a place, and engaging firsthand, in real time, with people from that place, not just through text exchanges, but in a visual medium that lets you see what their houses, markets, shopping centers, public transport, schools, businesses, infrastructure and landmarks look like. Does this mean that what's being observed isn't a curated perspective on China as determined both by Xiaohongshu's TOU and the demographic skewing of its userbase? Of course not! But that doesn't mean it isn't still a representative glimpse of a part of China, which is certainly more than most young Americans have ever had before.

Thirdly: I really need people to stop framing propaganda as something that only stupid bigots fall for, as though it's possible to natively resist all the implicit cultural biases you're raised with and exist as a perfect moral being without ever having to actively challenge yourself. To cite the sacred texts:

Like. Would the world be a better place if everyone could just Tell when they're being lied to and act accordingly? Obviously! But that is extremely not how anything actually works, and as much as it clearly discomforts some to witness, the most common way of realizing you've been propagandized to about a particular group of people is to interact with them. Can this be cringe and awkward and embarrassing at times? Yes! Will some people inevitably say something shitty or rude during this process? Also yes! But the reality is that cultural exchange is pretty much always bumpy to some extent; the difficulties are a feature, not a bug, because the process is inherently one of learning and conversation, and as individual people both learn at different rates and have different opinions on that learning, there's really no way to iron all that out such that nobody ever feels weird or annoyed or offput. Even interactions between career diplomats aren't guaranteed smooth sailing, and you're mad that random teenagers interacting through a language barrier in their first flush of enthusiasm for something new aren't doing it perfectly? Come on now.

Fourthly: Back before AO3 was banned in China, there was a period where the site was hit with an influx of Chinese users who, IIRC, were hopping over when one of their own fansites got shut down, which sparked a similar conversation around differences in site etiquette and how to engage respectfully. Which is also one of the many things that makes the current moment so deeply ironic: the US has historically criticized China for exactly the sort of censorship and redaction of free speech that led to AO3 being banned, and yet is now doing the very same thing with TikTok. Which is why what's happening on Xiaohongshu is, IMO, such an incredible cultural moment: because while there are, as mentioned, absolutely relevant things to be said about (say) Chinese censorship, US-centrism, orientalism and so on, what's ultimately happening is that, despite - or in some sense because of - the recent surge in anti-Chinese rhetoric from US politicians, a significant number of Americans who might otherwise never have done so are interacting directly with Chinese citizens in a way that, whatever else can be said of it, is actively undermining government propaganda, and that matters.

What it all most puts me in mind of, in fact, is a quote from French-Iranian novelist and cartoonist Marjane Satrapi, namely:

“The difference between you and your government is much bigger than the difference between you and me. And the difference between me and my government is much bigger than the difference between me and you. And our governments are very much the same.”

And at this particular moment in history, this strikes me as being a singularly powerful realization for Americans in particular to have.

#tiktok ban #xiaohongshu #culture #cultural exchange #censorship #propaganda #politics #US politics #china #america

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hyunjinsmuze · 1 month ago

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Paint me naked

warnings: Unprotected sex, humping, grinding, nipple play,creampie, slightly subby Hyunjin (at first)

contains: ⛔️smut, slight fluff, soft dom!hyunjin

summary: When Hyunjin asks you to model for a painting, a teasing joke turns into something much deeper—and much filthier.

pairing: hyunjin x reader

words: 4.8k

You met Hyunjin on a random afternoon backstage at one of Stray Kids’ early shows before the lights, before the world knew him as more than a trainee with a pretty face and a body full of nervous energy. You weren’t part of the industry, not really. You were there tagging along with your cousin, a stylist-in-training who forgot her phone charger and begged you to bring it to the venue. You remember bumping into him—literally, shoulder against chest, awkward apologies exchanged in a cramped hallway.

He laughed, soft and polite, tucking his hair behind one ear. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

Neither were you. But after that, you couldn’t stop.

It was the beginning of a slow, easy friendship. The kind that unfolds like pages in a well-worn book, comfortable, familiar, occasionally surprising. You ended up in the same coffee shops, the same late-night ramen joints, the same cramped dorm rooms where he and the other members laughed over horror movies and convenience store snacks.

What made you and Hyunjin different was the silence. Not awkward silence—never that. But the kind of quiet that hung between two people who didn’t need to fill the space with anything but presence. You understood his introverted spells, the way he disappeared into notebooks and sketchpads for days. He understood your tendency to overthink, your hesitancy to open up to new people.

He became your person. The one who texted at 2AM just to ask what the stars looked like from your window. The one who bought you hot packs in winter and made playlists for your bus rides. You never had to label it, but he was yours in a way no one else was.

He painted you once. Just your hands. He never told you he was doing it, just asked you to hold a piece of fruit one afternoon while he adjusted the lighting in his room. Weeks later, he texted you a photo of the finished piece, captioned with a single word: ‘yours.’

You didn’t ask what it meant. You didn’t have to.

Through the years, you watched him become Hyunjin—Hwang Hyunjin—idol, artist, fantasy. But he always came back to you, in small ways. A voice note here. A sketch of your favorite flower there. Movie nights, even when he was dead tired. He always had time for you, and you never questioned it.

He had other friends, of course. You weren’t delusional. But the intimacy you shared with him felt untouched, sacred. You knew what made him laugh until he cried, what song made him tear up in silence, the scent of the oil paint he used late at night.

Somewhere along the way, things shifted. You don’t know when exactly it happened, but one day you realized that your skin burned when he brushed your arm. That his gaze lingered too long when you wore off-the-shoulder tops. That when he hugged you, he held on a fraction of a second too long. That you liked it. That you craved it.

But you never crossed that line. You didn’t dare.

Hyunjin was flirtatious by nature, teasing, coy, all pouty lips and sparkly eyes—but there was something else in the way he looked at you. A softness. A depth. A quiet hunger he never acted on.

He wasn’t just pretty. He was breathtaking. Tall and lean with that graceful dancer’s body, lips made for sin, eyes that carried galaxies. And yet, he only ever seemed to look at you like you were the masterpiece.

Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was timing. Maybe it was the fact that you were so close, so intertwined, that the thought of losing him kept your desires locked behind your teeth.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It started with a text.

hyunjin:

‘hey’

‘weird ask maybe, can i paint you?’

You were in bed when it came through. Face half-buried in your pillow, doom-scrolling past fan edits of him—shirtless, smirking, in that sheer black stage outfit you pretended not to zoom in on. You sat up, reread the message five times, then typed and deleted three different replies before finally settling on:

‘you’ve painted me before?’

He replied almost immediately.

‘not like this’

Your heart gave one of those annoying little skips. You could feel the heat pooling in your cheeks even though it was probably innocent. Probably. You waited, thumb hovering, then typed:

‘what’s “not like this” mean?’

It took him a minute. Long enough for you to overthink it, to imagine him staring at his screen, debating what to say. When the next message came through, your stomach flipped.

‘i wanna do a full portrait’

‘not just your hands or your back or whatever’

‘just you, sitting for me’

There was something about the way he said just you that made your skin tingle. Maybe it was the bluntness. Maybe it was the fact that he trusted you with this—something intimate, something artistic, something that sounded like it was more than just about a painting.

You stared at the message until your brain caught up with your body, until your fingers stopped fidgeting and your breath leveled out. Then:

‘okay. when?’

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

His studio wasn’t what you expected.

It was just a spare room in his apartment, walls splattered with dried paint, a couple of canvases leaning against the corners, a stool in the center with a single warm light trained on it. Music played softly in the background, something instrumental and moody.

He met you at the door, hair tied back in a loose bun, oversized shirt smudged with black paint. He smelled like that cologne you always associated with him, clean, sharp, with a hint of something woodsy.

“You came,” he said, smiling like he didn’t quite believe it.

“I said I would.”

“Yeah, but you say a lot of things you don’t mean.” He wasn’t teasing. Not really. There was something searching in his eyes, like he was checking to see if you felt it too, whatever it was.

You stepped inside, took in the space. “This is nice. Very you. Chaotic.”

He laughed. “It’s better when the light hits right. You’ll see.”

You dropped your bag by the door, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. “So… what do you want me to do?”

“Just sit,” he said, already turning to grab his sketchpad. “I’m gonna start with some quick lines, get the posture right. You can relax. We’ll talk.”

You moved to the stool, adjusting your position a few times until he gave a little hum of approval. He stood a few feet away, flipping the pad open, pencil already in hand.

“Is this for a project or…?”

“Nah.” His eyes flicked up to yours, then down again. “Just for me.”

That shouldn’t have made your breath hitch. But it did.

“So,” he said, voice casual, like he hadn’t just casually short-circuited your brain, “the comeback’s almost done. Title track’s crazy. Felix has this deep part that’s gonna blow people’s minds.”

You leaned back slightly, letting yourself settle into the rhythm of it. “Is it the angry sexy kind of comeback? Or the emotional sexy kind?”

Hyunjin laughed, head still down, wrist moving in soft strokes. “Definitely angry sexy. We’re in our fuck you era.”

You grinned. “Hot.”

There was a pause. You could feel his gaze on you again, flickering between your posture and your face.

“You look good tonight.”

Your stomach did a weird, slow turn. You didn’t reply right away, just tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and shrugged. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He said it so easily. So simply. Like he didn’t realize the way his words sank into you, slow and warm and deep.

You glanced around, needing something to focus on. “How many people have you painted?”

He paused, pencil stalling mid-sketch. “Like… properly? Not many. You’re the only one I’ve asked to pose like this.”

You looked back at him. “Why me?”

His eyes lifted. He didn’t smile. Didn’t deflect.

“Because I know how to look at you.”

You should’ve said something clever. Should’ve laughed it off or rolled your eyes or made a joke. But the way he said it—quiet, sure, honest, left no room for anything else.

So you just breathed. Slowly. Carefully.

Then you said, “You’re flirting with me.”

He gave a soft little smirk. “Am I?”

“You are.”

“Is it working?”

You blinked. Heat surged through you in a sudden wave, hot cheeks, warm chest, pulsing low in your stomach. You opened your mouth to reply, and instead said:

“You should paint me naked.”

It came out before you could stop it. You didn’t even really mean it. It was a joke. A flirty little comment, the kind you’d made a dozen times before in less charged settings. But the second the words left your mouth, you knew they landed differently.

Hyunjin’s pencil stopped. Dead still.

He looked up at you, expression unreadable. There was a beat. Then:

“…Okay.”

Your breath caught.

“I—what?”

“I’ll paint you naked,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “If you want.”

You stared at him, frozen. “Hyunjin, I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with tension. The kind of silence that made your skin prickle. You could feel something shift in the air, something new and heavy and inevitable.

You wanted to laugh it off. But part of you didn’t.

Part of you wondered what it would feel like to let him see all of you. Not just your face or your posture or your hands—but you. Bare and unguarded and real.

And part of you, maybe a bigger part than you were ready to admit, wanted to see what he would do.

He didn’t say anything else. Just looked at you, waiting.

And before you could second-guess yourself, you reached for the hem of your shirt.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You don’t even realize what you’re doing until your shirt is halfway over your head.

You pause for a second, arms tangled in fabric, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. You want to say something, maybe still turn it into a joke, make it light, make it easy, but when you finally pull the shirt off and toss it onto the floor, the look on Hyunjin’s face shuts your brain down completely.

His mouth is slightly open. Eyes wide. Hands still clutching his sketchpad, but the pencil’s barely hanging on between his fingers.

You’re not even naked. Just in a bra, nothing fancy, black lace with a tiny bow in the center—but suddenly it feels like you’re wearing nothing.

“...Okay,” you say, voice way too breathless to sound normal. You try to smile. “You called my bluff. Happy?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just stares.

Like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like you’re not just his friend anymore, you’re something else. Something he can’t quite believe is real.

“I can put it back on,” you offer, and your voice is smaller now, not teasing anymore. “I was just messing around.”

“Don’t,” he says, and it comes out fast. Sharp. Then softer, like he’s catching himself. “I mean… only if you want to. But don’t because of me.”

You sit back on the stool, your bare skin suddenly way too aware of the air in the room. The studio light casts soft gold across your collarbones, down the slope of your chest. You can feel his eyes on you—like heat, like weight.

You glance at him. “Are you gonna sketch or just stare?”

He laughs once, short and nervous. “Sorry. Yeah. Sketching. Sketching.”

He fumbles with his pencil, nearly drops it, then clears his throat and lowers his eyes to the pad. You catch the way his hand is shaking a little. How his jaw flexes, how his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip like his mouth’s gone dry.

You watch him. Watch the way his gaze keeps dragging back to your chest, your stomach, your thighs. How hard he’s trying to not look hungry. How he’s failing.

“So,” you say, like your voice isn’t a little shaky too, “what’s the, uh—what’s the vision here? Do I get a Greek goddess moment? Or are we going full Titanic?”

“Stop talking,” he mumbles, not looking up. His cheeks are flushed. “You’re making it worse.”

That makes you grin.

“Oh? What’s worse?”

“You know what.”

You tilt your head. “You’re getting turned on.”

He doesn’t answer, but the tips of his ears are red, and he shifts in his chair like he’s trying to discreetly adjust something in his lap.

You bite your lip. Your skin is tingling. Your thighs press together, involuntarily. It’s like the heat in the room has changed—like the air between you is full of static.

“I didn’t think this would actually do anything,” you admit. “I mean, we’re friends.”

“Exactly,” he says, finally looking up at you, and there’s a raw kind of intensity in his voice. “That’s why it is doing something.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re not just some model. You’re not just a body. You’re—” He breaks off, swallows. “You’re you. And you’re sitting there, all beautiful and confident and half-naked, and I’m supposed to just draw you like it’s nothing?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t even know what you’re feeling.

You’d thought this would be a joke. That he’d laugh, roll his eyes, maybe throw a pillow at you. But instead you’re both buzzing. Breathing like you’ve been running. Hearts pounding. Every second that passes feels more and more dangerous.

You shift slightly on the stool, crossing one leg over the other, and you see the way his eyes drop. You see the subtle flex in his hands. The rise in his chest.

He’s hard. You’re sure of it now. There’s a subtle tension in the way he sits, a stiffness in his posture that has nothing to do with his sketch.

And the worst, or maybe best, part?

You’re getting there too.

You feel warm all over. Every time his eyes flick to you, you get this pulse between your legs—this low, throbbing ache that makes you want to move, to shift, to do something.

And suddenly you’re wondering what it would feel like if he touched you.

Not in some grand, dramatic way. Not all at once. But something small. The brush of his fingers along your thigh. The backs of his knuckles down your ribcage. His mouth on your neck.

You swallow hard.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice low and tight.

You nod. But then your voice betrays you. “Are you?”

His throat works. “No.”

And you don’t know what possesses you, maybe it’s the ache building low in your belly, maybe it’s the way his eyes look like he’s trying not to devour you—but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“Do you… want help?”

His entire body goes still.

You clarify, because you have to, because if you don’t you’ll explode. “With… with your hard-on.”

There. You said it.

And he looks at you like you just offered him something sacred. His lips part. His pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling fast.

He nods.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, frantic and desperate, like the words aren’t coming fast enough.

“Please.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The moment the word please leaves his mouth, something shifts.

Hyunjin—your shy, soft-spoken best friend who blushes when you compliment his jawline, is staring at you like he’s about to fall apart. And you’re not much better. Your body is buzzing. Throat dry. Every nerve alive and humming.

You stand slowly, moving off the stool. The silence is so heavy it feels like a third body in the room.

He doesn’t move.

You step closer.

He still doesn’t move—but his breath hitches when you reach for the sketchpad, gently pulling it out of his hands and setting it on the floor beside the chair. His fingers graze yours, barely, but it’s enough to make your stomach clench.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your hand moves carefully to the waistband of his sweats. You don’t pull, not yet. You’re watching his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his mouth trembles with restraint. He’s letting you lead, nervous and desperate, completely open, like he’ll shatter if you stop.

You lean in, close enough that your breath fans against his ear.

“You’re so hard,” you murmur, almost a purr.

He whimpers.

Actually, whimpers.

You smile a little, heat pooling between your legs. “Thought you said you could handle it.”

“I can’t,” he breathes. “Not—not when it’s you.”

You kiss him.

There’s no hesitation. No second-guessing. Just mouths crashing together, all heat and hunger and months—years—of buried tension finally snapping loose. His lips are soft but eager, a little clumsy with how badly he wants you. He tilts his head, groaning into the kiss, hands gripping the arms of the chair like if he touches you too soon he’ll lose control.

You straddle him slowly, your knees on either side of his hips, settling into his lap.

And fuck, you can feel it now, his cock straining against the thin fabric of his sweats, pressing up against the soft part of your panties. It makes your hips jerk without meaning to.

He gasps.

“You feel that?” you whisper, brushing your nose against his. “You’re so hard for me, Jinnie.”

“Fuck,” he moans, head falling back. His neck arches and you take your chance, leaning down to kiss down the column of his throat, sucking gently just below his ear.

His whole body trembles.

You roll your hips, slow and deliberate, grinding down against him. The friction sends a shock through you, your clit catching just right against the fabric. It’s not enough, but it’s so good.

He’s breathing hard now, little gasps leaving his parted lips. His hands are twitching at his sides, and when one finally lifts, shaky, hesitant—you guide it to your waist.

“Touch me,” you say. “You can.”

That’s all it takes. His hands slide up your sides, warm and wide, fingers splaying across your back like he needs to hold you in place. He looks up at you like he’s still not convinced this is real.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice cracking. “I don’t—fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing—”

“You’re doing perfect.”

You kiss him again, slower this time. Deeper. Letting your tongue trace his, dragging your fingers into his hair and tugging just enough to make him moan. He bucks his hips up into you, instinctive, needy, and the pressure makes you both gasp.

You whisper against his lips, “You want me to take it off?”

His eyes flick down to your bra. He swallows hard. Nods.

You reach behind you, unhook it slowly, then let the straps slide down your arms. The second it hits the floor, his eyes go wide—hungry. Like he wants to memorize every inch of you, paint you again and again, frame you in gold.

He reaches up with both hands, cupping your breasts carefully, reverently.

“Can I?” he whispers, thumbs brushing your nipples.

You nod.

He leans in, mouth warm against your skin, kissing along the curve before flicking his tongue over one nipple. You arch, grinding into him harder, and he groans, low and filthy, all breath and heat.

“Jinnie…”

“I can’t take it,” he gasps. “I need—fuck, I need more.”

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping tight, guiding your movements now. The rhythm builds, your clothed cores grinding together, wet heat meeting hard desperation, the friction slick and perfect. Your breath stutters. You feel yourself clenching around nothing, aching for more.

“Do you feel how wet I am for you?” you whisper. “I’m soaking through my panties.”

His hands tremble.

“You can touch,” you say. “If you want.”

His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear so fast it’s almost funny, shaky and eager, like he’s scared you’ll change your mind. You help him slide them down, then press back into his lap, bare now, wet and swollen and hot.

The first touch is electric.

His fingers slip between your folds, slow and shaky, and when he finds your clit you both gasp.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re—fuck, you’re dripping.”

You bite your lip, rocking against his hand. “You make me like this.”

He kisses you again, deeper, hungrier. His fingers rub tight little circles, then dip lower, teasing your entrance.

“I wanna be inside you,” he whispers. “But I don’t wanna rush. I wanna feel everything.”

“We will,” you promise, kissing him back. “But I wanna make you feel good first.”

He looks up at you, eyes wide. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing this.”

You grin. “That’s the point.”

You reach down, slipping your hand into his sweats. The second your fingers wrap around him, he shudders—eyes fluttering, hips jerking into your palm.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he moans. “Y/N—please—”

“You’re so big, Jinnie.”

He whimpers again, so pretty, and you stroke him slowly, matching the rhythm of your hips.

You’re both sweating now, breath ragged, moaning into each other’s mouths as you grind and stroke and kiss like you’re starving. You can feel your orgasm building—tight and hot and close.

“I wanna come on your cock,” you whisper. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

He nods like he’s possessed.

“I want that too,” he pants. “Please. Let me—let me fuck you—”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You pause at the sound of his voice.

Hyunjin’s face is flushed, eyes heavy and glazed with need, hair sticking to his damp forehead. His chest is rising and falling fast, lips parted as he stares up at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

“Say it again,” you whisper, fingers resting against his bare stomach.

His jaw flexes.

“I want to fuck you,” he says again, this time firmer, his voice low and strained, like it’s burning his throat on the way out. “Please. Let me.”

You lean in close, letting your forehead press against his, your noses brushing.

“Then do it.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t have a condom—”

“I’m on the pill,” you whisper. “And I trust you.”

That’s all it takes.

He moves fast—like something inside him just snaps. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping tight as he lifts you up placing you on one of his tables in the room with surprising strength, mouth crashing onto yours in a bruising kiss. He’s not shy anymore. His body presses into yours, fully, completely, like he’s trying to mold himself against you.

“Tell me if I do too much,” he says, breath hot against your mouth. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

You nod, breathless. “I won’t want to stop.”

He kisses down your chest, licking over your nipples until you’re arching under him, legs falling open on instinct. His hands trail down your stomach, your thighs, until he’s slipping a finger between your folds again, and this time, it’s so much slicker. You’re soaked.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so wet for me.”

“For you,” you pant, gripping his shoulders. “Only you.”

He groans like he’s in pain, rocking his hips forward just once, grinding his cock against your entrance, dragging the thick head through your folds. The friction makes your whole body tense, hips lifting to chase the sensation.

“Please, Hyunjin,” you whimper. “I need you inside me.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Look at me,” he says, voice ragged. “I want to watch your face when I’m inside you.”

You do. You hold his gaze.

And then—slowly, carefully, he pushes inside.

The stretch is dizzying. He’s thick, long, and he goes slow, easing in inch by inch, his jaw clenched tight like he’s trying not to lose control. Your body clenches around him instinctively, and you gasp, your hands flying to his arms.

“F-fuck,” you stammer. “Hyunjin—you're so big—”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he pants, voice shaking. “I’ll stop. I’ll wait—”

“No,” you gasp. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

He groans, deep and guttural, and finally sinks all the way in.

For a second, you both just breathe. Your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, every inch of him filling you perfectly. You feel split open, wrecked, full, but in the best way.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispers. “For so long.”

You cup his face, pull him into a kiss, and then he starts to move.

The first thrust is slow, testing, dragging his cock out almost all the way before pushing back in deep. You both moan, eyes fluttering shut. His hands are everywhere now, your hips, your waist, your face, like he can’t decide which part of you to hold onto.

The pace builds quickly.

Soft grunts spill from his lips as he fucks into you—deep and rhythmic, grinding with each thrust. He’s still gentle, still careful, but the desperation is bleeding through. His hips slap against yours, the sound obscene in the studio silence, and you can’t stop the way you’re clinging to him—fingers tangled in his hair, thighs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in harder.

“God, you feel—” he chokes on a breath, “you feel so fucking good.”

You tighten around him, intentionally this time, and he gasps.

“Fuck…don’t do that,” he groans. “I’m not gonna last.”

“Then come,” you whisper. “I want you to. Come inside me, Hyunjin.”

He growls, actually growls, and pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip tight as he starts fucking you harder. Not rough, exactly, but deep, urgent, hungry. Like he needs to bury himself in you and never leave.

Your orgasm builds like a tidal wave, tight and sharp, curling through your spine.

“I’m-fuck…I’m gonna~” you cry out, legs shaking.

“Come,” he gasps. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel it.”

And when you do, it rips through you like fire, your whole body seizing, walls fluttering around him as you scream his name. He’s right behind you, cursing under his breath as he thrusts deep one last time, spilling inside you with a loud, broken moan.

You stay like that, panting, trembling, pressed together, for a long moment.

Then he lowers himself gently onto your chest, still inside you, kissing your collarbone.

“...Holy shit,” he whispers.

You laugh, breathy, dazed. “That’s one way to end a sketch session.”

He huffs a laugh too, then kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips.

“I’m never gonna be able to paint you the same again,” he says softly.

You smile.

“Good.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The studio is quiet now.

No more breathless gasps, no desperate sounds of skin on skin, just the slow hum of the fan in the corner and the afterglow settling between your bodies like a blanket. You’re lying on the floor with him, tangled together on a half-unrolled canvas drop cloth, skin sticking slightly where your legs are wrapped around his.

Your chest rises and falls slowly. He’s beside you, arm slung around your waist, cheek resting on your shoulder. Still catching his breath.

He hasn’t said much since.

But he hasn’t let go of you, either.

You glance down at him, brushing your fingers through his messy, sweaty hair. “Hey.”

He lifts his head a little, just enough to meet your eyes.

“You okay?” you ask, and the softness in your voice surprises even you. You’re still breathless, still flushed, but the concern is real. You care. Maybe too much.

Hyunjin nods immediately. “Yeah. Yeah��I’m okay. Just…”

He pauses, lips parting, eyes searching yours.

“I don’t want this to mess anything up.”

Your heart clenches.

“Me neither,” you whisper. “But… it doesn’t feel like a mistake, right?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not even close.”

A pause.

Then he reaches beside him and grabs one of his oversized hoodies from the floor, black, soft, probably worn to death. He helps you pull it over your head, careful and gentle like he’s afraid of hurting you. It’s warm, smells like him, and falls way past your thighs.

You watch him quietly as he tugs his own shirt back on.

There’s a faint pink flush still on his cheeks, but his eyes are softer now. Sweeter. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m glad it was you,” he says. “If it was ever gonna be anyone, I wanted it to be you.”

Your heart twists, full and aching. You nod.

He walks you to the door like a gentleman, hand at the small of your back. When you step outside into the cool night air, he hesitates.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks.

You grin. “You better.”

And when you walk away, his hoodie hanging off your body, your thighs still tingling from the hours before,you realize this isn’t just a shift.

It’s a beginning.

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere

A/N comment if u wanna be added to the tag list, and if you have any request, feel free to send them on my profile

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earlgraytay · 5 months ago

Text

So, you've probably all seen this post going around, about how The Chuds Want Gentleman's Clubs (but can't afford to go to the things called "gentlemen's clubs" today, so wouldn't have been able to in the past either). And I hate to say it, but that post isn't accurate.

The things we call "gentlemen's clubs" today and the things that were called "gentleman's clubs" in the past are not the same thing; the one is descended from the other, but they used to be a lot more common and served a purpose that they don't really serve anymore.

The modern equivalent of the historical gentleman's club isn't the thing currently called a gentleman's club; it's the premium airport lounge. And by losing the concept for all but the turbo-rich, I think we genuinely have lost something! Let me explain.

(NOTA BENE: This is mostly about England and from about 1880-1930, and most of my experience with this is from fiction written in that era. I know enough to know what I don't know, but I also know menswear guy is wrong about this.)

So- gentlemen's clubs started in *wiggles hands* the late 1700s, and mostly served a particular purpose: they were places you could stay in a city if you mostly lived in the country, instead of staying in lodgings or owning your own place. Finding a place to stay in London was kind of a misery at the best of times, and owning your own house in Town wasn't practical for a lot of people, even rich people. If you were, say, a young man, just starting out in life, and you hadn't inherited your father's wealth but also weren't set up to live on your own? Having a place you were guaranteed to be able to stay was a fucking godsend. And as time went on, even people who lived in London most of the time started joining clubs, because they served another important purpose- they were a place you could go if you didn't particularly want to be at home, for whatever reason.

The way that historical gentlemen's clubs worked is, you got recommended to the club by a friend who was a member, you paid dues to the club, and in exchange, you'd get to use the club's facilities. * Most gentlemen's clubs had, at minimum, a dining room (with waitstaff, natch), a library, a couple of nice places to sit and hang out, a game room, and a bar. Many of them also had rooms you could sleep in overnight, fitness equipment, or stuff related to the club members' interests. Most of them had a room or two where you could invite friends who weren't part of your club and spend time with them. In the era where phones were a thing, a lot of them had a phone. You could write letters there and get your mail sent there.

Here's the thing: in the period I know best, gentlemen's clubs weren't just for the turbo-rich. They were the province of rich guys, yes- you had to be a 'gentleman' and know the right people to get in. But men who were doctor/lawyer/software-developer rich were most likely members of a gentlemen's club. Anyone who was rich enough to travel regularly was part of at least one club, because having somewhere to crash when you were going between (say) London and Delhi and back again was worth the cost.

Most gentlemen's clubs were owned by their members- not an outside corporate body. The club leaders were elected, usually by a small committee.

And a lot of gentlemen's clubs founded around specific interests, as time went on. There were gentlemen's clubs specifically for Guys Who Were Really Into Radio. There were clubs specifically for men who spent a lot of time traveling. There were clubs specifically for dudes who wanted to talk your ear off and clubs for old dudes who mostly wanted to nod off in their chairs and talk about The War and clubs for dudes who did not want to be percieved at all.

There were clubs for men who were really into science, or the arts, or sports. And one perk of being in a club like this is that you had access to equipment that you might not have been able to buy on your own. You didn't have to shell out for an entire library of scientific and medical books; you could go to your club and read in the library there. If your club had, say, an art studio, you could go paint at your club and not have to keep a studio space of your own.

There were gentlemen's clubs specifically oriented around specific political or social views. There were socialist clubs. (And a lot of them admitted women, which was !!!SCANDALOUS!!!) Like, they were still the province of goddamn rich people, there were a lot of trust fund baby socialists and not many working people, but there were socialist social clubs.

...I don't want to pretend that gentlemen's clubs were some kind of idyllic haven. 99% of these clubs were For Men, and For The Right Sort Of Men at that; if you didn't have a friend who was a member, or you weren't "respectable" enough, you didn't get to join. There's a reason that most of these clubs are gone now. Part of the point was excluding the Wrong Sort of People, and that became gauche over time. After a certain point, being part of a club became a thing for stodgy, out-of-touch rich men- not just "men who happened to have enough money to be part of a club"- and so most of the men who could join one didn't, and people stopped forming new ones. Only Old Money assholes (who will continue to do what they've always done, current trends be damned) keep the concept alive.

But like... the thing that replaced gentlemen's clubs for 99% of the people who would have had one a hundred years ago... is the premium airport lounge, and the premium gym membership, and the ~coworking hub~.** Anyone can join, yeah, as long as they're able to pay. You pay a corporation a chunk of money for similar amenities, and the amenities are ... fine? But because the entity is driven by profit, most of the money you're paying them goes into running their other business concerns and paying their CEOs a fat paycheck.

I think... as exclusionary as gentlemen's clubs were back in the day, there's the seed of a good idea there. I think the guys who wish they were still an attainable thing for a middle-class person have a point, and I wish we could inject some fucking nuance into this conversation.

A community-owned space that gives you a place to crash when you need one, has community-owned resources for its members, and isn't beholden to a corporation is a good thing. Third spaces that don't have to turn a profit are a damn good thing.

At the end of the day, my politics are 'everyone should get to have the kind of luxuries that were historically reserved for the rich'. Everyone should get to have the best life has to offer- leisure, beauty, good craftsmanship, and community. And so, you know, if this kind of community space sounds like a thing you'd like to have, maybe it's something you could work towards creating, too.

*TBF, this is still how they work today! But the networks are much smaller.

**I do find it very funny that apparently one of the biggest problems facing the few remaining Actual Gentlemen's Clubs (TM) is that people are trying to use their space to telework-- a lot of them are trying to ban laptops and business talk to "keep the club's character" (read: "we're too rich to have to work here").

#gentleman's club #gentleman #dieworkwear #the past is another country #the earl speaks #the earl has an opinion

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changbinniescurlyhair · 2 months ago

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Talk Dirty to Me (In Korean) (Bang Chan)

Synopsis. You’ve been secretly learning Korean for months, and tonight, you decide to surprise Chan at a party. Casual conversations with Hyunjin and I.N in fluent Korean leave them stunned, but when Chan catches on, he’s not amused. Instead, he’s possessive and determined to remind you who you really belong to — and he’s going to do it in the language you’ve just mastered. Pairing: Bang Chan x f!reader Warnings: Sexual content (Minors DNI), jealous sex, p in v (unprotected, don't do it), Chan switches from English to Korean and it's hot. A/N: Requested by @true-queen-of-mischief. Thank you so much for the request and being respectful/polite. I wish every anon/user was like you! Taglist is open. Requests Masterlist

The music thumps around you, bass deep in your chest, lights low and shifting. Drinks are flowing, everyone’s loose and laughing — one of those rare nights where all of Stray Kids can just chill together. You’re tucked comfortably on the couch, a little warm from your second cocktail, cheeks flushed, heart buzzing with anticipation.

You’ve been planning this moment for weeks.

“...잠깐만요, 정말 그렇게 말했나요? (Wait, did he really say that?)” The words slide off your tongue effortlessly, and you watch Hyunjin’s eyes go wide like you just flipped his world upside down.

I.N nearly spits out his drink. “Wait—wait, what?! Since when do you speak Korean?”

You just giggle, swirling the ice in your glass like this is no big deal. “그게 중요한가요?” (Does it really matter?) you tease, voice lilting.

They lose it — both of them tossing out shocked praise and excited compliments in rapid-fire Korean, and you soak it all up with a proud little smile. Every late-night study session, every secret Duolingo lesson behind Chan’s back, every embarrassing moment practicing tongue twisters in the mirror… it was so worth it.

But across the room, something shifts.

You catch Chan in your peripheral vision — standing frozen mid-conversation, eyes locked on you.

There’s a moment. Like a record scratch. His expression flickers from confusion to disbelief to something darker, unreadable.

He walks toward you, slow and deliberate, his expression somewhere between a smirk and a scowl.

“Babe,” he says when he finally reaches you. His voice is calm, but tight — too calm. “Can we talk?”

You feel Hyunjin and I.N exchange a knowing glance behind you as you slide off the couch and follow Chan into the hallway, just far enough from the party for privacy.

He turns to face you, arms crossed, his body blocking your exit like he planned it.

“Since when do you speak Korean?” he asks, low and clipped.

You blink up at him with faux innocence. “Since… now?”

“Y/N—no.” His tone drops, low and dangerous, and your stomach does a slow, delicious flip. “You’re not getting out of this. How long have you been hiding it?”

You try to bite back your grin. “A few months. Maybe. I wanted to surprise you.”

“A few months?”

His voice lowers even more, that gravelly edge creeping in. You see it in the way his jaw ticks, how his eyes darken — not angry. Oh no, it’s so much worse than angry.

It’s personal now.

He leans in, and you instinctively back up, spine meeting the wall behind you. You can feel the heat of him, smell his cologne, feel that static electricity in the air between you.

“So let me get this straight,” he murmurs. “You’ve been secretly learning Korean, didn’t tell me, and now you’re using it to flirt with my members?”

You blink. “Flirt? I was just talking…”

“Oh, no, sweetheart.” His voice is syrupy now — sweet, slow, dangerous. “You don’t get to play innocent. You wanna be cute? Speak my language? Keep secrets and make me watch you bat your lashes at Hyunjin and Jeongin?”

He steps in closer, and your breath catches when his mouth brushes just beside your ear.

“Guess I’ll have to remind you who you really belong to,” he whispers — in Korean this time.

You shiver. Not from fear. Oh no. This is something else entirely.

You’re so down bad for this man and he knows it.

He pulls back just enough to see the heat rise in your cheeks, the way your lips part. His hand comes up to tilt your chin, his thumb brushing along your jaw.

“You understood that, didn’t you, jagiya?” he says, gaze burning into yours.

You roll your eyes just to be difficult, but your voice betrays you — breathless, soft. “...안타깝게도 (Unfortunately).”

His grin is slow, wicked.

“Oh, good,” he hums, brushing a kiss just beneath your jaw. “Because I’ve got plenty more Korean to teach you.”

~~~~

The door to Chan's room clicks shut behind you, and everything shifts. The air feels heavier, charged — like something's about to snap.

Chan doesn't say a word. He just stands there, gaze fixed on you. His eyes are dark, intense — glittering with something unreadable, something dangerous. The silence stretches. You can almost hear his heartbeat through the stillness.

And then, without warning, he's on you.

You barely register the movement before your back hits the wall with a soft thud, and his mouth crashes into yours. It's not sweet. It's hungry. Desperate. All teeth and tongue, tasting, claiming. His hands grip your waist tightly, fingers digging into your sides like he's afraid you'll slip through his grasp if he lets go. The groan he lets out — low and deep from his chest — vibrates straight through you, and your knees nearly give out.

"당신은 나를 미치게 합니다 (You drive me crazy),"he growls against your lips, his breath hot as it ghosts down the curve of your neck. His mouth follows — open, insistent — trailing slow, maddening kisses along your skin. "Walking around speaking Korean like that... acting like you don't know exactly what you're doing to me."

Your breath catches as his lips graze your collarbone, and you tangle your fingers in the fabric of his shirt, tugging. "Maybe that was the idea."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide with something primal, something possessive. His gaze roams your face like he's memorizing it — etching the heat, the flush, the need in your expression deep into his memory.

"Oh, you planned this?"

You open your mouth to respond, but you don't get the chance.

Chan lifts you effortlessly, one hand slipping beneath your thighs, the other braced at your back. He carries you like you weigh nothing — like you're already his, and always have been. Your fingers tangle in his hair, and your lips find the curve of his jaw, tasting the tension there.

When he lays you down on the bed, it's with purpose. His touch is reverent, but firm — like he's placing you exactly where you belong.

And then he slows down. Purposefully. Torturously.

His hands explore first — gliding beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming over every inch of exposed skin like it's sacred. Fingertips drag across your ribs, your hips, your thighs. Every touch lights another fuse in your veins. His mouth follows, brushing trails of heat along your body: collarbone, sternum, stomach, lower. Each kiss is slower than the last. Measured. Intentional. Worship.

"그 느낌이 느껴지십니까?" he murmurs against the shell of your ear, voice deep, laced with a heat that makes your stomach clench. "Can you feel that?"

You nod, breathless, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

He smirks, his teeth grazing the skin just below your ear. "You're burning up for me."

And he's right.

You are.

Every part of you is aching for him — for more. And when he starts whispering in Korean again, low and deliberate, you can't take it. You moan his name, breathy and wrecked.

But not in English.

You say it in his language.

Chan freezes.

Just for a second.

Like the air's been knocked out of him.

Then his eyes meet yours, and they're blazing.

"Say it again," he growls. "Say my name like that."

You do.

Again. And again. Watching his control fray with every breathy syllable.

And when he finally gives in — when he settles over you, skin to skin, body to body — it's not just lust. It's a need. A promise.

He moves with purpose, every roll of his hips deep and consuming. His hard length presses against your inner thigh, hot and throbbing. You can feel the slickness between your legs, how ready you are for him. With a groan, he reaches down and guides himself to your entrance.

As he pushes inside, you feel yourself stretching to accommodate his considerable size. He feels huge like this, filling you completely. He sinks in to the hilt with a low groan. You feel impossibly full, almost to the point of pain, but it's perfect. He holds still for a moment, letting you adjust to his size.

Then he starts to move, slowly at first. Every thrust feels deeper than the last, like he's claiming you from the inside out. His hands stay on your skin, stroking, grounding you both. His lips find yours over and over, whispering your name like a mantra between kisses, never quite breaking contact — as if he needs to feel you at all times to stay sane.

And through it all, he keeps murmuring to you — sweet, filthy words in Korean, soft praise laced with heat. You don't need a translation. You feel what he means in the way he touches you, the way he moves inside you, the way he holds your face when your body starts to shake beneath his.

You're not sure what language you're speaking anymore, only that it's his, and that you're calling out for him like he's the only thing that matters.

Because in that moment, he is.

He shifts the angle of his thrusts, somehow going even deeper. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your orgasm building. He's relentless, pounding into you now, chasing his own pleasure. The sounds of flesh slapping against flesh fill the room, mingling with your breathy moans and his guttural groans.

Suddenly, your climax crashes over you without warning. It's intense, all-consuming. You cry out his name as you fall apart beneath him, your nails digging into his back. He follows a moment later with a deep groan, his hips jerking erratically as he spills inside you.

When it's over — when both of you are spent and trembling, tangled together beneath the sheets, skin slick with heat and breath still uneven — he reaches for your hand beneath the blanket, twining your fingers with his.

"I'm never letting you keep secrets like that again," he murmurs, voice hoarse.

You laugh softly, cheeks still flushed, heart still racing. "Guess I'll just have to find new ways to surprise you."

He turns to you, brushing his thumb across your lower lip with a look that says he's far from finished.

"Oh, jagi," he whispers. "You will."

Taglist: @jehhskz

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ang3ltine · 2 months ago

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"𝐓𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐬?"- Bucky barnes x former Avenger freader

An unexpected surprise awaits you when Bucky shows up at your house with a group of strangers

a.n - This is just a scenario of what it would be like for the members of the thunderbolts to crash at your place. Also this fic contains spoilers!

Warnings - John Walker, dark humour, mention of injuries, minor cursing, making out and major fluff!!

"You gotta be kidding me, were not seriously bringing Bob with us are we?"

"Look Captain America, if it weren't for Bob we wouldn't have made it out of that death trap of a lab alive!" Yelena replies sternly. "Besides, he seems to have more discipline than you'd ever have."

This seemed to tick John off as the two of them started shouting back and forth, while Bob sat between the two of them awkwardly.

"Ok uhm...can we maybe...not fight?" He mutters under his breath but was completely ignored. Ava rolls her eyes at the childish scene before her and flickers her gaze down towards the nervous man. Silently telling him that it wasn't worth wasting his breath.

Surprisingly enough, he understood rather quickly and kept his mouth shut. Bucky groans in annoyance at the bickering in the backseats, and it didn't help either when a large man was snoring away next to him.

But swiftly brushes it off after pulling into a familiar driveway. He hadn't been back at this house for about a week now, so he was dreading what awaited him when he opened the doors. Especially since he has four other guests with him, who he quite recently found acquaintanceship with just a few days ago.

"Listen up, we're staying at this place for a while until things die down. So please, don't make this harder for me than it already is." Bucky states as the the group follows him down the pathway towards a red brick secluded house that was tucked in a small corner of New York City.

They all exchanged confused looks before reluctantly nodding at the grumpy man, with a few grunts and hushed responses. Honestly they were just really tired and their bodies were sore so there was no use in complaining.

"God - I hope she's in a good mood..." Bucky mumbles before reaching into his pocket to fish out his keys and was about to put it into the keyhole. Only to be interrupted midway as he hears the sound of another car pulling up behind him.

"Bucky honey? Is that you?!"

Everyone turned around at the sudden mention of 'Bucky' and 'honey' in the same sentence. All but Bucky himself as he walks back down the pathway towards you.

"Did I hear that right? There's no way Mr. Congressman would have a girlfriend." Ava whispers to the others as they all watched him walk past the minivan, disappearing from their sight.

There were mixed reactions as they all talked amongst themselves, trying to figure out who you might be.

You were pretty confused as well since there was a dirty minivan parked in your driveway. As soon as you step out of your car to examine the vehicle, you catch a glimpse of a figure in the corner of your eye.

Adrenaline kicked in almost immediately, thinking maybe this was going to be a robbery. I mean you do live in a pretty sketchy neighbourhood so it was possible. The sun was setting so it was pretty difficult to see who it could be, you had your fighting stance ready as the person steps out of the shadows.

"God Bucky! You could've said something instead of sneaking up on me like that!" You yelled and tried calming yourself since your heart was practically hammering against your chest.

"Yeah sorry 'bout that doll, didn't mean to scare you," Bucky drawls as he pulls you into his arm for a warm embrace. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the strong scent of gasoline mixed with his cologne.

There was sand mixed with dirt on his tough leather jacket, but you didn't question it since he had finished a mission. Honestly speaking, you were just glad he was home again.

You then peer over Bucky's shoulder and finally noticed the rugged group of individuals standing in your porch.

They wanted to see what all the fuss was about so they snuck up on the couple and spied on them from behind the van. You were about to open your mouth to say something before spotting a familiar face amongst them.

She had short and slightly messy bob cut and an oddly cute frown on her face. Yelena steps forward hesitantly while examining your face at the same time, seemingly trying to figure out where she had seen you before.

Then it clicks, you were her older sisters best friend. She remembers how kind and comforting you acted towards her whenever she'd come to visit her sister.

You spread open your arms for her and without hesitation, Yelena falls into your embrace.

"Its good to see you 'lena," you murmured into her hair while she smiles at the mention of her nickname.

" 's good to see you too..."

Bucky joins the rest of the group, a small smile tugged at his lips as they all watched the heartwarming scene unfold before them.

He's not sure what waited them past this, but for now, he just wants this disfunctional group of anti-heroes to find some sort of peace while they stayed here.

"Sorry I brought them here on such short notice," Bucky mutters as he leans down to your height when you let the others into your house.

"Ahh it's no biggy. Besides, I'm happy to have more house guests." You quipped while closing the door after Bob awkwardly walks in as the last in line.

Everyone had already made their way down the hall towards the living room to look around. Yelena let's out a long whistle as she checks out the place, to be fair, your house was quite spacious since you got the best place in the neighbourhood thanks to Pepper.

Although she insisted on getting you a penthouse, you turned down the offer.

"What's this?" Alexei asks with curiosity after picking up a delicately crafted box. You ran over to where he was and effortlessly took it from his hands so that he doesn't break it.

"Oh well - it's a gift from a friend. She's gone now...so I like to keep it up on the mantle to remember her by." You say in a hushed tone while you look down at the detailed craftsmanship in your hands.

Alexei knew exactly how you felt, so he placed a large hand on your shoulder and gave you a light squeeze of acknowledgement. "I understand, Alexei has been through much loss just like you."

Thanks to Yelena, you had the privilege of meeting Alexei a few years back when Natasha was still alive. So you were happy to have both of them back in your life.

"Dad, you can stop bothering her now. You've said enough shit already." Yelena groans while dragging Alexei away from you since he was still rambling on about Natasha and how much you reminded him of her.

"Do we have enough space for them?" You felt Bucky's fingers brush against the back of your hand to get your attention since you were still deep in thought.

"Hey...you ok doll?" Bucky asks with a worried tone since you hadn't responded to his previous question. You snap out of your thoughts and look to your left to see Bucky by your side. His brows were furrowed as he brought up his other unoccupied hand to cup your cheek.

"Uh yeah..! I'm fine," you respond with a tight-lipped smile. Bucky had just come back from a mission, so you didn't want him to now worry about you too. He wanted to press on but then thought it would be better if he just let it slide this time.

"Are we sleeping down here?!" Yelena yells from another room down the hall. The rest of you make your way to where Yelena was, she had found one of the guest rooms and was already laying down on the neatly done sheets.

"You could've at least taken a shower before hopping onto the bed," Bucky sighed in disappointment. Yelena's clothes were pretty dirty since they had come back from the desert.

"Oh right! Sorry that was my bad," Yelena responds in a muffled voice as her face was now planted into the plush pillows.

"Its fine, there's extra duvet covers in the storage closet," you say while walking towards the walk-in closet in the room. "Don't worry guys! There's more rooms upstairs."

"Do we have to share? I'm not sure how I'd feel if I have Santa Clause sharing a bed with me." John grunted while crossing his arms. You assumed he was referring to Alexei , which almost made you snort in response.

"I'm serious! Does he not look like the Russian Santa Claus to you?" John carries one while Yelena lets out a coarse laugh from the bed.

"Pfft - sorry John, there's only 3 guest rooms, so you have to pick your roommate wisely." Bob lifts his hand up shyly and clears his throat.

"I wouldn't mind sharing...if that's OK with you?" John thought about it for a moment before giving in. "You know what? Why not?"

"Great! That leaves one more vacant room -" You were cut off by another female voice.

"I'll take it," Ava replies rather quickly. John was about to protest and say that he changed his mind, but Ava gives him a sharp look which made him backdown. You were going to ask for her name, only to be cut off yet again.

"Oh right sorry, the name's Ava," she says plainly while giving you a small smile.

"Uhh OK cool, it's nice to meet you Ava. Let me guess, you also have an incredibly sad back story like the rest of us?"

"Oh God, don't even get me started..."

"Also...what's all this talk about 'thunderbolts'?" You prodded while giving Ava a confused look. Ava curses underneath her breath while the others shout in since that they're not called 'the thunderbolts.'

"Thunderbolts yes!! That's my lovely 'lena's football team name from when she was a child -"

"Dad please stop--!" Yelena groans while trying to get Alexei to stay quiet. It brought a smile to your face to see how liveley your house had become after being alone for a week.

"Alright, is there anyone here who needs medical care?" You asked while handing the new duvet sheets to Yelena.

"I think all of us do," Yelena sighed while clutching her side. She was so excited to finally sleep on a comfortable bed that the adrenaline rush took over, making her forget about the pain.

You nodded before turning back to the group. "Right, who wants to go first?"

Everyone had lined up in the washroom to get themselves checked since it would be easier for you to clean up afterwards.

You were currently bandaging Yelena's arm as she winces slightly. If anything, she had been through the worst due to the others being practically impenetrable.

"Just leave this on for a few weeks and take some painkillers. Trust me, the pain will be gone before you know it."

"Ok, thank you," Yelena exhaled while she got up to let the next person in. John walks into your view as you clean up the area for him to take his seat on the stool. The space was pretty cramped since you chose the guest washroom instead of the large one upstairs.

"Hey John, got any major inuries?" You asked while preparing a wetcloth and some bandages. John stops you midway and he shook his head.

"No not really, just have a few cuts on my face and the side of my head." True enough, he looked like he was perfectly fine except for some cuts and grazes that was scattered across his face.

You almost forgot that he took the super soldier serum back when he was Captain America. It was hard to forgot since you were with Sam and Bucky at the time. You nodded before putting away the bandages and took your seat infront of him. Now that you were face to face with him, you noticed how mature, yet different he looked from before.

"Must've been rough for you, running from the law." You start off by cleaning some of the smaller cuts with some wipes. "Trust me...I would know."

You were referring to the time you were on the run with Steve and the others for two years after freeing Bucky. That was how you two met and became close in Wakanda.

"You have no idea..." John responds with a slight waver in his voice. You choose not to press further and lightly dab the bigger cut on the side of his eyebrow.

Unbeknownst to you, John was silently admiring the way you were taking care of him. He doesn't mean this in a creepy way, rather he's surprised that anyone would show an ounce of care for him due to his character and lack of social awareness.

Bucky, on the other hand, misunderstood the scene completely. He had a glass of water in his hand when he went to check up on you. The water that was already in his mouth almost made him choke as he saw the way John made doe eyes at you.

As much as he wanted to strangle the man on the spot, he waited and observed at the doorframe. A smile threatened to tug at the corner of your lips as you felt the presence of the jealous man boring his eyes at the side of your head.

"Relax hon', John's just being John." Speaking of John, he blinked at you in confusion before looking up to see Bucky shooting bullets at him with his eyes.

"Don't worry, he's not going to do anything." You whispered before placing a clear bandaid on the scar. John didn't know if he felt reassured or threatened, so as soon as you finished, he scrambles to his feet.

Bucky steps aside to let John leave, but not before leaning towards him to say something. John flickers his gaze between you and Bucky before leaving with a terrified look on his face.

"Bucky dear, what did you say to him?" You sighed while placing the remainder of the medical equipment back in the medicine cabinet.

"Oh nothing really, just...gave him a peptalk." Bucky responds with a smug smirk as he walks into the washroom. You raise an eyebrow at him, which prompted Bucky to pull you in close by your waist with his arms.

"I didn't threaten him doll," Bucky drawls while bumping his forehead against yours, letting his hair frame his face. It was slightly damp with clumps of sand still stuck in some places. You'd have to remind him to take a shower later after dinner.

"Uh huh, that's why he left like a pale ghost? Because you gave him a 'peptalk'," you mused while playing with the lose strands of Bucky's hair that fell over his eyes. Bucky chuckles softly before responding.

"Right...just a peptalk." Your breath hitches when he bends down to your height while his hair tickled your nose from a loose strand.

"You know you're a really bad liar, right?" You huffed while the rough pad of Bucky's thumb ran gently across your cheek. Your skin felt soft and warm underneath his touch since the blood had rushed to the surface, painting a soft hue of red across your cheeks.

"So? Is that a bad thing?" Bucky's voice goes an octave lower while he inches closer towards your lips, his breath now heavy against yours. His scent flooded your senses, it was a mixture of his cologne and his natural musk from his skin. He hesitates before flickering his gaze up to you again. Silently begging for your permission.

You pondered for a moment while tapping a finger on your chin. "Hmm, do you really deserve a kiss?"

Bucky tilts his head to the side before giving you a deadpan look. But you knew that he was fighting back a smile, so you were the first to lean in. He did deserve a reward for being the amazing partner that he was. Except, he was too quick for you.

He dips his head low, and presses his slightly chapped lips against yours, practically melting into yours. The kiss was gentle yet full of desire. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours as his tongue dragged gently across your bottom lip.

Coaxing you to open your mouth. Your tongue meets his as the hand slips down towards your waist. Pressing his fingers into your supple skin, which will definitely leave marks considering how tight his grip was. Not that he didn't mean to, of course.

"Love you s'much," your voice was barely a whisper as it was all becoming too much for you. Bucky let's out a small chuckle as you began to pepper his face with quick pecks before moving back to his lips.

He could picture his lips were probably now a sugary pink colour due to the lipbalm that you wore. The brand was probably called... Summer Fridays? Or something across that line.

"Love you too angel..." he mumbled against your plush lips.

The couple completely unaware that Yelena, Ava and Bob was spying on them from afar with popcorn in hand.

"Guys...I feel a sneeze coming," Bob whispers towards the two women sitting next to him.

"Cucumber! Cucumber! Cucumber!!" Both Ava and Yelena whisper shouted back and forth hurriedly. But it was no use, the sneeze along with their hushed shouting caught the attention of the couple in the washroom.

Needless to say, they learned their lesson from Bucky after an hour long lecture of why they shouldn't spy on people. That also included the punishment of getting limited screen time on the TV as well as playing video games.

p.s - I really love John's character and I believe he has some depth to him that could be explored more

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @starktonyx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @perdidosbucky-yyo

#bucky barnes #thunderbolts #yelena belova #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan characters #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction

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bulbasaursim · 1 month ago

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Relieve your stress

When Sunghoon’s stress piles up, Jake finds solutions, strange as they may be.

Sunghoon x reader

Warnings: blow jobs, face fucking, voyeurism, muffling moans, is it gay to jack off your friend?(probably), hand jobs, hair pulling, inexperience, reader is Jake’s gf.

𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹 𖦹

Jake, who has always been such a good friend, can be very selfless. Lately he’s noticed that Sunghoon’s been unusually stressed out. And, as the good friend that he is, he’s tried to help.

He’s tried ordering his favorite food, asking him if he wanted to talk, doing him favors, even taking on some of his responsibilities without being asked. But even when he finally agrees to watch the movie Sunghoon’s always wanted to watch together, he could still notice his leg bouncing in anxiety and his inability to focus.

It’s like he could feel the tension hanging onto every strand of Sunghoons being, and well, what are friends for if he wouldn’t do absolutely everything in his power to make sure that his Sunghoon felt better?

Jake is selfless, really, he even lets Sunghoon have sex with his own girlfriend.

When Sunghoon’s eyes roll to the back of his head, he knows he’s done the right thing, and that finally, maybe after this he’ll be back to his normal, calm, and passive state.

Sunghoon gasps, “oh my god.”

He has his wet cock in your mouth, leaning back against Jake’s chest as he sits on the side of the bed, your knees on the floor. Jake wraps an arm around Sunghoon’s shoulder.

“Yeah baby, just like that. Make him feel good,” Jake says in between all the wet noises. At his praise, you speed up your movements, taking Sunghoon’s perfect cock further down your throat. You look up to see if Sunghoon likes it, and honestly, you’ve never seen him less composed in your life. He’s panting irregularly, soft gasps and moans making their way in between. His thick eyebrows are slightly furrowed and his plump lips are slick and tinged with his own saliva. They only get more wet as he gets louder and he bites down on them, trying to muffle his moans, although they only turn more desperate. When he releases his lips, they’re stained red from his ministrations. Suddenly, he thrusts up, making you choke.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he says with a worried face, half mindedly putting a hand on your head in an innocent act of consolation. You cough a little and shake your head to signal that it’s okay.

“Let Sunghoon use you a little, okay baby?” Jake asks softly.

Sunghoon goes to take his hand off your head, but you put your hand over his to keep it there, looking up at him and reassuring him, “Show me how you want it.”

Sunghoon’s mouth drops slightly at the exchange. And out of nerves and, presumably, his lack of experience, he doesn’t bring himself to move.

“C’mon Sunghoon-ah,” Jake encourages, moving your head with his free hand back onto Sunghoon’s cock and moving it up and down.

You both hear a soft gasp come from Sunghoon from the sudden stimulation.

“C’mon,” Jake says again. And at that, Sunghoon puts his hand firmer on your head and starts bobbing it up and down like Jake had, while Jake strokes the parts of his member that you don’t have in your mouth.

Sunghoon’s cheeks are red, mouth hanging wide open and eyebrows twisted together like he’s in pain.

“Yess, yes, ohh,” he chants, moving your head more rapidly.

Without noticing, he starts thrusting into your mouth, getting louder and louder as he chases his high. Tears well up in your eyes, but you let Sunghoon use you. You’ve seen how stressed he’s been lately, and how worried Jake’s been of him. It’s the least you can do.

“Don’t-don’t stop,” Sunghoon mewls before letting out another loud moan. Scared that the other members will hear, Jake puts the hand around Sunghoon’s shoulders on his mouth, covering and muffling him. Sunghoon’s a mess; strands of his hair are draped over his face as his head falls backward onto Jake’s shoulder, his moans muffled but desperate. Your mouth never lets up, relaxing your throat and sucking on Sunghoon the best that you can as you give him what he needs.

He’s so close, and as he reaches his peak his grip absentmindedly tightens on your hair, pushing you all the way down on his cock before lifting your head up and slamming it all the way down again, as he lets out constant loud moans of pleasure.

You try to endure it as you choke on his hot cum, milking him entirely during his high.

When he finally comes down, you pull your head off of his cock and begin a fit of coughs.

“Oh no, shit i’m sorry,” he says tiredly, but undeniably filled with worry.

You laugh, “It’s okay, looks like you really needed it huh?”

Jake laughs behind Sunghoon and pats him on the back, “feeling better?”

With his eyes closed and head still on Jake’s shoulder, he nods, “thank you, both of you.”

And somehow, you and Jake both know that Sunghoon’s gonna be back to normal after this.

#sunghoon smut #park sunghoon x reader #sim jake x reader #enhypen #enhypen smut

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heeluvv · 4 months ago

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BIRTHDAY SEX.ᐟ

pairingᝰ.ᐟ idol! park jongseong x 8th member! reader

warningsᝰ.ᐟ food play, virgin! reader, fingering, oral (f), unprotected sex, age gap (4-year age gap), praising, reader calls jay oppa, etc. (wc 6.762k)

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ request, mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

the overwhelming warmth of love and appreciation from your fans had your heart swelling with joy. appearing on live to celebrate your birthday with them was something you always looked forward to—a moment of pure connection, an intimate exchange of gratitude between you and the people who had supported you through everything.

each of the boys had already given their gifts, some delivering heartfelt speeches about how much you had grown, yet promising to always treat you the same way they did when you first met—a mix of nostalgia and affection in their words. others had taken a more playful approach, teasing you relentlessly before giving in and admitting how proud they were of the person you had become.

you appreciated every single one of them, their gestures, their words, their presence. the warmth in your chest was undeniable. but despite the sea of gifts, the endless messages of love and gratitude, one thought refused to leave your mind—or rather, one person.

jay.

he hadn’t been around much today. and though you didn’t want to dwell on it, a small part of you had at least expected him to be by your side, like he always was. the two of you were practically inseparable, always drawn to each other without question. but today felt… different.

before you could think twice about it, you found yourself standing in front of his dorm room, hesitation creeping in as your fingers hovered over the door. you lifted your hand, delivering soft, hesitant knocks, your voice barely above a whisper as you called out—

"oppa… are you in here?"

for a moment, silence.

then—the soft rustling of movement from inside, the sound of rummaging, as if he had been caught off guard.

your brows furrowed slightly, your fingers still resting against the door as you strained your ears, trying to make out what was going on behind it.

"oppa…?"

you called again, this time softer, yet tinged with uncertainty, your heartbeat picking up ever so slightly as you waited for a response.

you didn’t have to wait long before the door creaked open, revealing jay standing there, his tall frame shadowed under the dim light of his dorm. his eyes flickered over you, dark and unreadable, though the way his lips tugged into a small smirk told you enough—he was expecting you. he didn’t say anything, simply nodding his head, silently telling you to come inside, and with a soft breath, you obeyed. stepping past him, the warmth of his room wrapped around you as you made your way toward his bed, perching yourself at the edge, hands delicately folding in your lap. there was something different in the air tonight, something thick, something you couldn’t quite name, but it made your stomach twist in ways unfamiliar to you.

"oppa, where were you?" your voice came out soft, filled with genuine curiosity, your head tilting slightly as you gazed up at him. your lips pressed together in a subtle pout, wide, innocent eyes searching his face for an answer. you didn’t want to seem demanding, but jay had been missing for most of the evening—on your birthday of all days—and though you wouldn’t ever admit it aloud, his absence had left a small, unspoken longing in your chest.

jay simply let out a small chuckle, his hands finding their way into his pockets as he turned away from you, heading toward his desk. "baby, i was getting your gift." his voice was smooth, calm, but there was something about it that made you shift slightly where you sat, fingers now nervously playing with the hem of your shirt.

you watched as he rummaged through one of his drawers before pulling out a small, velvety box, the deep color of it standing out against his pale fingers. your breath hitched slightly at the sight, heart fluttering in anticipation as he turned to face you, his expression unreadable. a soft smile played at his lips as he walked back over, closing the space between you two with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze never once leaving yours.

"look inside, baby."

your hands trembled slightly as he placed the box into your palms, his fingers brushing over yours in the process. his touch was warm, but there was a certain weight behind it, something that made your pulse stutter. hesitating for only a moment, you finally lifted the lid, eyes widening as the light caught the delicate diamond necklace nestled inside.

it was beautiful—breathtaking, even.

"oh my god, oppa... this is—" your voice faltered, unable to find the right words as you carefully lifted the piece of jewelry, the cool metal kissing your fingertips. the diamonds sparkled under the soft glow of his bedside lamp, but what truly caught your attention was the small, subtle engraving right beside the clasp.

a single letter.

"J."

your lips parted slightly in surprise, eyes flickering up to meet his, but the moment you locked gazes, your stomach twisted into something unfamiliar. jay wasn’t looking at the necklace—he was looking at you.

"look closer, baby," he murmured, his voice a low hum, almost teasing, almost as if he was waiting for something.

his fingers came up to brush along the pendant, trailing down until they barely ghosted over the skin of your collarbone, sending a quiet shiver through you. the necklace was subtle, its engraving hidden just enough to not raise questions, but to jay, it was a silent claim, an unspoken ownership that only you and he would know about.

"i love it, oppa," you whispered, voice barely above a breath as you turned your back toward him, exposing the nape of your neck as you held out the necklace. "put it on me?"

the bed dipped slightly as jay moved in closer, the warmth of his presence settling behind you, enveloping you. his hands reached forward, gathering your hair and sweeping it to one side, his fingers lingering a second too long against your skin. you felt the cold metal press against your neck as he clipped it into place, but before he pulled away, his touch didn’t leave.

his fingers stayed, tracing down the sensitive expanse of your skin, his touch featherlight yet burning, sending something foreign rippling through your stomach. you swallowed hard, lips parting slightly as your breath hitched, feeling his lips ghost just behind your ear.

"i have something else i want to do, princess," he murmured, his tone deeper, rougher, sending a small shudder down your spine.

his fingers trailed lower, dancing along the tops of your shoulders before slipping further, teasing over the delicate fabric of your blouse. the air around you shifted, something thick, something unspoken settling between you two.

"will you let me, baby?"

his words were soft, yet they felt dangerous, like honey laced with something sinful, something that made your heart pound against your ribs. you felt small under his touch, under the intensity of his gaze, but most of all, you felt claimed.

you turned your body slightly, facing him fully, your eyes searching his for an answer, though all he did was let his hands trail lower, the warmth of his fingertips ghosting over your collarbone. his touch was deliberate, slow—almost as if he were savoring every moment, memorizing the way your body reacted to him. one hand came up, fingers brushing softly against your cheek, his thumb stroking the delicate skin beneath your eye.

"i want to make up for what i did, baby," he murmured, his voice low, laced with something deeper, something that sent shivers down your spine. his eyes drank in your expression, dark and unwavering as they scanned over your face, taking in every twitch, every hesitant flicker of innocence that lingered in your gaze. "i wanna make my princess feel good after leaving her on her birthday."

his words wrapped around you, a soft heat blooming in your stomach, unfamiliar yet thrilling. he inched closer, closing the space between your bodies until you could feel the warmth radiating off of him, his presence so intoxicating that it left your breath catching in your throat. your lips parted slightly, the tip of your tongue darting out to wet them—a subconscious habit, yet one that didn’t go unnoticed.

jay’s gaze flickered downward, his eyes trained on the motion, the corner of his lips twitching up slightly in amusement.

"doing what, oppa?" your voice came out barely above a whisper, tinged with curiosity, though your body remained frozen beneath his touch.

his smirk widened at your question, his thumb tracing down the slope of your jaw before hooking beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his darkened stare. "don’t worry too much about how, baby… just tell me." his voice was smooth, like silk soaked in sin, each word dripping into your ears like warm honey.

his breath fanned over your face, and you swore the air around you had grown thicker, the space between you two electrified with something unspoken.

"you trust me, right, princess?"

your head nodded before you even processed the words, your body responding before your mind could catch up, completely entranced by the intensity of his gaze.

"then let oppa take care of you, hm?" he coaxed, his lips brushing so close to yours that you could almost taste him. "let me make this the best birthday you’ll ever have…"

before you could even form a response, his fingers curled under your jaw, guiding you closer, and then—his lips met yours.

the kiss was soft at first, hesitant, almost as if he were giving you the chance to pull away, to stop him before it could go further. but when you didn’t—when you sat there, completely still, completely entranced by the way his mouth moved against yours—he deepened it.

"just follow my lead, baby…" his words were whispered against your lips, breathy and warm before he captured your mouth once more.

his lips moved slowly, languidly, as if tasting you, savoring you, and though you had never done this before, never experienced anything like this, your body instinctively leaned into him, your fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his shirt.

he tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss as his tongue flicked over your bottom lip, coaxing you to part for him.

"open for me, baby…"

his voice was low, commanding, yet so soft that it made your stomach twist. obediently, you parted your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue inside, the sensation so foreign, so overwhelming that a small whimper ignited from your throat.

jay groaned at the sound, the vibration of it sending a wave of heat through his body, his free hand trailing down the curve of your waist before tugging at the hem of your shirt.

his lips left yours for a brief moment, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you, the air between you now thick with something heavy, something dangerously intoxicating.

his chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, lips red and swollen from kissing you with such intensity, his eyes clouded with pure desire as he scanned your flushed face.

"are you going to let me, baby?"

his voice was softer now, coaxing, almost hypnotic, as he leaned in once more, lips pressing the faintest of kisses against your cheek. his mouth trailed lower, leaving a path of warmth down to your jaw, before moving further—down to the delicate skin of your neck, where he lingered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss before sucking softly, his tongue teasing over the sensitive skin.

you sucked in a breath, your heart hammering wildly in your chest as his hands explored further, his lips leaving burning kisses along your throat, each one lingering longer than the last.

"let me make you feel good, princess…" he whispered against your skin, his hands now firmly gripping your waist, holding you in place as if you were something fragile—something precious.

his fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt, dragging it slowly up your torso, the fabric grazing your skin in a way that sent goosebumps trailing down your arms. his touch was deliberate, slow—as if savoring every moment, every inch of you that was being revealed to him. once your top was discarded onto the floor, his gaze fell on your chest, half-covered by the thin fabric of your bra. his eyes darkened, pupils blown wide as he drank in the sight of you, completely mesmerized.

"so beautiful, baby..." he murmured, his voice low and dripping with adoration. his hands moved with ease, fingers sliding under the straps of your bra, trailing them down your arms before unclasping it expertly. the moment the lace fell away, exposing your bare skin to him, a soft breath hitched in his throat, his hands immediately coming up to cup your breasts, palms warm and firm against your soft skin.

his thumbs brushed over your nipples, rolling them between his fingers, the sensation sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. your back arched instinctively, a soft moan spilling from your lips as he kneaded them gently, alternating between soft squeezes and slow, deliberate rubs.

"oppa..." your voice was breathy, laced with something you had never quite felt before—a sensation so foreign yet so addicting. your hands gripped onto the sheets beneath you as you tried to ground yourself, the overwhelming warmth pooling in your stomach leaving you dizzy.

he smirked at your reaction, clearly enjoying the way you responded so easily to his touch. "feels good, baby?" he murmured, his dark eyes flickering up to meet yours, the way his hands continued their ministrations making you feel lightheaded with pleasure.

"yes, oppa..." your voice was barely above a whisper, your body fully surrendering to him, to his touch, to the way he knew exactly what to do to make you feel good.

"i have something even better..." he teased, his hands finally releasing your breasts, leaving your skin tingling from the absence of his touch. confusion flickered across your features as he suddenly shifted, gently scooting you further up the bed until your head lay against his pillow. he didn’t join you just yet—instead, he got up, stepping away for a brief moment, disappearing from your line of sight.

you blinked, confusion settling in as you pushed yourself up on your elbows slightly. "oppa?" you called out softly, only for him to return a moment later, his lips curled into a smirk as he held a bottle of whipped cream in his hand.

your brows furrowed in curiosity, your innocent gaze flickering between the bottle and his face, trying to make sense of what he was planning. "what is that for, oppa?" you asked, your voice soft, eyes wide with curiosity.

he simply chuckled, crawling back onto the bed, hovering over you once more, the warmth of his body enveloping you completely. his eyes trailed down, fixating on your bare chest as he brought the bottle closer, shaking it slightly.

"i’ll show you rather than tell you, baby..." his voice was low, sultry, dripping with mischief.

before you could process his words, the sound of the whipped cream canister filled the air, a soft hiss as the cool, airy cream drizzled onto your bare skin. you gasped, your body flinching slightly at the cold sensation, the contrast between the cool cream and the warmth of your skin sending shivers down your spine.

your gasp quickly turned into a breathy moan as his lips latched onto your breast, his tongue darting out to swirl over your nipple, collecting the sweet cream as he sucked gently.

"oppa—!" your breath hitched, your fingers instinctively tangling into his hair as your thighs squeezed together, the sensation so new, so intense, you barely knew how to handle it.

jay hummed against your skin, the vibrations of his moan sending waves of pleasure through your body. he took his time, alternating between slow, deliberate licks and soft, teasing sucks, his tongue swirling over your sensitive bud, lapping up every last trace of sweetness before he moved to your other breast."fuck, baby..." he groaned against your skin, his breath hot as he placed small, kitten licks over the sensitive area, ensuring no lingering whipped cream remained.

his hands roamed lower, trailing down your waist, gripping your hips firmly as his lips continued to worship you, leaving behind a trail of open-mouthed kisses, each one igniting tiny sparks across your skin.

"so sweet," he murmured, his tongue flicking over your skin one last time, his darkened gaze locking onto yours.

his hands traced down your sides, fingers grazing over the hem of your pants with deliberate slowness, as if savoring every moment before finally tugging them down your thighs. the cool air kissed your exposed skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth pooling in your core, making you shudder slightly. his gaze darkened as he took in the sight of your damp panties, the fabric sticking to your folds, a clear testament to how much his mere touch had affected you.

"so wet already, baby?" he husked, his deep voice sending a wave of heat straight through your body. his fingers hooked under the waistband of your panties, peeling them away with a slow, torturous pace, as if committing the sight to memory. once they were discarded, he parted your thighs, spreading you open completely for his view. you instinctively tried to snap them shut, embarrassment coursing through your veins, but his broad shoulders wedged between them, rendering you completely vulnerable beneath him.

"stay still, baby... you look perfect, princess," he murmured, his tone laced with something dark, something possessive, as his eyes devoured the sight before him. his praise alone had a whimper escaping your lips, your stomach twisting into knots at how intensely he was looking at you.

then, his breath—hot, teasing—ghosted over your bare, aching core. a soft gasp left your lips, your fingers tightening into the sheets beneath you as you squirmed, the anticipation almost too much to bear. he hadn’t even touched you yet, and you were already trembling.

"w-wait, oppa—" your voice was barely above a whisper, hesitation laced in your words, nerves dancing along your spine. "i haven't done this before..." your admission was soft, laced with innocence, your gaze flickering down to meet his.

he only chuckled lowly, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable as he tilted his head slightly, lips curling into a knowing smirk. "i know, princess..." he murmured, his tone gentle yet firm. "just relax... let oppa take care of you."

before you could protest, his fingers dragged through your slick folds, spreading your arousal around with slow, deliberate strokes. the sensation had you gasping sharply, your hips jerking slightly from the unfamiliar yet intoxicating feeling.

"so sensitive, baby..." he cooed, watching intently as you writhed beneath his touch. his thumb found your clit, flicking over it with the lightest pressure, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure up your spine.

"oppa—!" you whimpered, your thighs trembling as you tried to process the overwhelming sensations.

he hummed in satisfaction, leaning in closer, his lips just inches away from where you needed him most. his warm breath fanned over your core, teasing, tormenting, making you ache for more.

"trust me, princess," he whispered, his voice nothing but velvet and sin. "i'm going to make you feel so, so good."

he leaned in slowly, his breath warm against your soaked core, teasing you with the anticipation before his tongue finally darted out, flicking against your sensitive clit with an agonizingly slow precision. the first contact had you gasping sharply, your body instinctively jolting at the foreign but electrifying sensation. his groan vibrated through you as he dragged his tongue lower, parting your wet folds, tasting you with deep, deliberate strokes.

"mmh… taste so fucking good, baby..." his voice was low, raspy, dripping with lust as he spoke between long, languid licks. his tongue moved expertly, alternating between sucking gently on your clit and giving those occasional flicks that sent sharp jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your body trembled beneath him, thighs quivering on either side of his head, the overwhelming sensations making your grip on his bedsheets tighten desperately.

"o-oppa―!" you moaned, your voice breathy, laced with pure bliss as you felt his hands pressing down on your waist, holding you in place. he was completely devouring you, his mouth working like he was savoring every drop of you, his tongue greedy and relentless.

as if the stimulation from his tongue wasn’t already too much, you suddenly felt his fingers glide down to your entrance, teasingly circling the tight hole before pressing against it. the pressure made you jolt, your walls fluttering instinctively in response.

"just relax, baby..." he whispered, his voice soft yet commanding as he finally pushed a finger inside. a sharp gasp tore from your lips, your back arching slightly at the unfamiliar stretch. it burned—just a little—but the feeling was drowned out by the overwhelming fullness as he pushed in deeper, curling his finger slightly before pulling it back and easing in again.

"so fucking tight, baby," he groaned, his voice strained as if he was barely holding himself together. his head lifted slightly, watching with hooded eyes as your walls squeezed around his single digit, sucking him in greedily.

he set a slow, sensual pace, his finger pumping in and out, dragging slick sounds from your soaked core as he worked you open. your soft whimpers only encouraged him, his free hand rubbing soothing circles on your thigh. then, without warning, he pushed in a second finger, stretching you further.

"oppa... s'good... f―feels s'good..." you whimpered, your legs twitching at the new sensation. he curled his fingers slightly, angling them just right.

"there it is…" he murmured, a cocky smirk on his face as he pressed directly against that spot deep inside you. the moment he did, your body jerked violently, a loud moan ripping from your throat as waves of pleasure crashed over you like nothing you’d ever felt before.

he didn’t stop. he focused on that spot mercilessly, his fingers rubbing against it, pressing into it over and over again, drawing out the most obscene sounds from your lips.

"think you can take another one, doll?" he asked, though he didn’t wait for an answer.

before you could even process his words, a third finger slid inside, the stretch making you gasp sharply as your thighs threatened to clamp shut around his head. he groaned against your clit, the vibrations sending you spiraling as his fingers worked deeper, faster, driving you closer and closer to a high that felt almost too intense to bear.

he gripped the whipped cream bottle in his hand, a dark smirk tugging at his lips as he tilted it over your trembling body, the cool sweetness cascading onto your already soaked pussy, the contrast of temperature making you jolt. the moment the last of it dripped down onto your swollen clit, he tossed the bottle aside carelessly, his hunger evident in the way he immediately latched onto you with no hesitation, his mouth working greedily, sloppily, as if he was starving.

his tongue flicked and sucked with newfound intensity, his movements harsher, more desperate than before. his fingers—already buried deep inside you—picked up pace, pumping into you at a dizzying speed, the wet, obscene sound of your slick coating his digits echoing through the dimly lit room.

"oh my–oppa!" you cried out, your legs beginning to tremble violently, the overstimulation making it nearly impossible to think. but he didn’t stop. if anything, he doubled his efforts, tongue circling your clit with relentless precision, fingers curling just right, slamming into your sweet spot with every stroke.

you squirmed, body thrashing beneath his grip as the pleasure became all-consuming, your mind clouded, your senses overwhelmed. you felt something tightening deep inside you, coiling so intensely it almost felt foreign.

"f-feel weird oppa… feels weird!" you gasped out between moans, your voice trembling as your hands gripped desperately at the sheets. it was too much—too much but not enough at the same time.

his chuckle vibrated against your core, the sensation making you shudder as he dragged his tongue in a slow, deliberate stroke up your folds before whispering, "you're gonna cum, baby. come on, do it for me, princess…"

his fingers slammed into you mercilessly, pressing against that one spot over and over, making your back arch impossibly high off the bed. your breathing was erratic, chest heaving as the coil inside you wound impossibly tight, threatening to snap at any moment.

he leaned in, his face hovering over yours, his breath warm against your lips. his free hand came up, gripping your chin firmly as he tilted your face toward him. his dark, intense gaze locked onto yours, watching every expression, every twitch, every moan that spilled from your parted lips.

he didn’t kiss you. he simply stared, mesmerized by the way your innocent features twisted with unfiltered pleasure—the way your brows furrowed, your eyes glazed over with pure lust, completely lost in the feeling he was giving you.

"cum for me, baby," he murmured, his voice like silk yet dripping with authority. "wet my fingers like the good girl you are."

his words sent you spiraling. your body tensed, then snapped as a wave of pure ecstasy crashed over you, shaking you to your core. your moans turned into high-pitched cries, your legs spasming, back arching, eyes rolling as the overwhelming release took control of you.

jay groaned at the sight, his fingers still pumping inside you, prolonging your orgasm, watching in awe as your juices gushed around his hand. his lips curled into a smirk as he finally leaned down, whispering against your lips, "that’s my good girl."

he withdrew his fingers from your trembling, oversensitive core, coated with the evidence of your pleasure. without hesitation, he brought them to your lips, his gaze dark and expectant as he uttered a single command, "suck."

your lips parted instinctively, allowing him to slide his soaked fingers into your warm mouth. your tongue swirled around them, savoring your own taste, moaning softly as you cleaned them off like the obedient girl he wanted you to be. his hooded eyes stayed locked on yours, unwavering and intense, his free hand trailing down to his waistband.

he slowly pulled his fingers from your mouth, the wet pop making something deep within his chest tighten. using both hands, he pushed his pants down, the fabric sliding off effortlessly, revealing the glorious sight beneath.

he was breathtaking.

your gaze flickered down, your breath hitching as your eyes traveled the expanse of his toned body, tracing over the dips and ridges of his defined muscles, the sharp cut of his v-line leading straight down to where his cock stood thick, long, and painfully hard. the sheer size of him had you swallowing hard, a deep hesitation settling in the pit of your stomach.

he noticed immediately.

he leaned down, hovering over you, his strong arms caging you in, his presence intoxicating. with gentle fingers, he tucked your hair behind your ear, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your lips—soothing, reassuring, yet still holding the burning passion from moments before.

"so pretty for me, baby…" he murmured between slow, deep kisses, his lips barely leaving yours before reconnecting, making you feel dizzy, making you forget everything except him.

his hand moved down to grip the base of his cock, his thick tip dragging torturously slow against your slick folds, smearing the remnants of your arousal mixed with the last traces of whipped cream.

"don’t worry, baby…" his voice was soft yet firm, the deep timbre making your body shiver beneath him. "just focus on me, okay?"

his eyes bore into yours, reading every flicker of uncertainty, every trace of apprehension, but also the undeniable heat that still swirled within them. he wanted to consume you, ruin you, but most importantly—he wanted you to trust him completely.

his voice was gentle, almost soothing as he whispered against your skin, "are you ready, baby?" the warmth of his breath sent shivers down your spine, his lips trailing soft, feather-like kisses along the curve of your neck. his touch was light, teasing, as if he was trying to ease the tension thrumming through your body.

you nodded, barely able to form words, your fingers tightening around the bedsheets, bracing yourself for what was to come. his hands traced down your sides before settling firmly on your hips, his grip reassuring, grounding you.

slowly, he pushed the thick head of his cock past your entrance, the stretch unlike anything you had ever felt before. it was so much more than his fingers, the burn making you whimper, your body tensing instinctively at the intrusion.

"oppa…" your voice trembled as you gasped, your breath coming out in uneven, harsh huffs.

"shh, baby…" his tone was low, coaxing, as his hands came up to soothe you, one gripping your shoulder while the other tangled in your hair, his lips never leaving your skin. "relax for me, it'll go away soon, I promise."

inch by inch, he pushed deeper, taking his time, his patience a stark contrast to the sheer hunger burning in his darkened gaze. his arms slid beneath yours, pulling you closer as his chest pressed against yours, the heat of his body surrounding you completely.

to distract you from the overwhelming stretch, he captured your lips in a slow, intoxicating kiss, his tongue moving languidly against yours, coaxing soft whimpers from your throat. his kisses were deep, all-consuming, making you forget the discomfort, replacing it with a different kind of heat—a pleasure that had your body arching into him despite yourself.

his hips stilled, allowing you to adjust, his lips never leaving yours, whispering sweet reassurances between each kiss. and though the sting still lingered, the way he held you, the way he worshiped your body, made it impossible to feel anything but him.

your voice came out in a breathy plea, your body finally adjusting to the overwhelming stretch as the pain slowly melted away, replaced by something far more pleasurable. "move, oppa…" the words were barely above a whisper, but he heard them loud and clear.

jay exhaled a shaky breath, his self-control hanging by a thread as he obeyed, his hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate motion. his cock dragged against your slick walls, the stretch still prominent, but now laced with pleasure that had your breath hitching.

"fuck, princess…" he groaned, his voice thick with restraint as he fought against his own hunger, focusing solely on you. "you're gripping me so fucking tight—" his head tilted back slightly, jaw clenching as he forced himself to keep the steady rhythm, each thrust measured, deep, ensuring you felt every inch of him.

your moans grew softer at first, small whimpers escaping as the pleasure built inside you, growing more intense with every slow stroke. the way he moved, the way he filled you so perfectly, the deep, languid thrusts pressing against your sensitive spots without even trying— it had your thighs trembling beneath him, your body reacting instinctively to the delicious friction.

"oppa…" his name left your lips in a desperate moan, your body writhing beneath him, wanting more, needing more. the slow pace wasn’t enough—not when you could feel the coil in your stomach tightening, begging for release so quickly.

"faster, oppa—please," you whined, your walls clenching around him in a way that had his entire body tensing, his grip on your waist tightening.

a low, guttural groan tore through him, his fingers digging into your skin as his control snapped, his thrusts suddenly picking up speed. the slow, sensual movements were gone, replaced with something raw, primal— his hips slamming into yours with purpose, his cock now pistoning in and out of you, each deep thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"fucking hell, baby…" he moaned, his dark eyes never leaving your face, watching every little reaction as he took you harder, faster. "feel so fucking good wrapped around me like this—"

his hands gripped your waist tighter, holding you still as he drove into you with increasing intensity, each stroke dragging against your sensitive walls in a way that had your toes curling. the heat between you both was unbearable, suffocating, your body burning with pleasure as he fucked you into the mattress, completely lost in you.

your moans filled the room, a melody of pleasure that only spurred him on, his pace never faltering. "oppa—oh my—!" your voice broke as your back arched off the mattress, the force of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure crashing over you, each deep stroke making your body tremble beneath him.

jay was completely lost in you, his lips parted as he bit down hard on his bottom lip, a poor attempt to muffle the groans threatening to spill from his throat. but it was useless. the way your walls clenched around him so perfectly, the heat of your slick wrapping around his cock like a vice— it had him letting out low, breathy moans, his restraint slipping with every thrust.

"fuck, baby—" his voice was hoarse, his forehead pressing against yours as he stared down at you, eyes blown with lust, completely drunk off the way you felt around him. the way your body moved, the way you moaned his name so sweetly, so desperately— it only made his hips snap forward harder, the sound of skin slapping echoing through the room, mixing with the filthy wet sounds of him gliding in and out of you.

the coil in his stomach was tightening, his cock twitching violently inside you, warning him that he was teetering dangerously close to the edge. "cum with me, baby," he moaned, his voice laced with pure desperation as his thrusts turned erratic, deeper, harder, completely losing himself in the overwhelming pleasure.

your body responded immediately, your walls squeezing him so tightly that he choked on a moan, his grip on your waist bruising as he pounded into you mercilessly. you were right there—your breath coming in ragged pants, your fingers clutching onto his toned arms for stability, your head tilting back as pleasure consumed you.

"o-oppa! i—!" your voice cracked as the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling beneath him, your pussy pulsing around his cock as you came hard.

jay groaned loudly at the feeling, his hips slamming into you one final time before he buried himself as deep as possible, his body shuddering violently as he came undone. his hot release filled you, his moans turning into breathless gasps as he rode out his high, his hands gripping onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

he collapsed against you, his damp skin pressed against yours as he tried to catch his breath, his lips finding your neck to leave lazy, open-mouthed kisses. "fuck, baby…" he panted, his fingers tracing soothing circles against your thigh as he stayed inside you, unwilling to let go just yet. "so perfect for me… my beautiful princess."

with a swift motion, jay flipped you over, his strength effortless as he maneuvered your trembling body on top of him. your hands instinctively splayed against his toned chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breaths beneath your fingertips. his cock remained buried deep inside you, stretching you so perfectly, filling you in a way that had your thighs quivering around his waist.

before you could even adjust to the new position, he wasted no time—his hips snapping upwards in powerful, relentless thrusts, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. your mouth fell open in a silent moan, the force of his movements making your body jolt with each deep stroke.

"fuck, baby—" he groaned, his grip on your waist tightening, fingers digging into your flesh as he took full control. "can't get enough of this pussy, you're so fucking tight—" his voice was raw, filled with pure hunger as he lifted you effortlessly, dragging your dripping heat along his length before slamming you back down onto his cock, meeting your body with the force of his thrusts.

your hands scrambled for purchase, nails digging into his skin as your body bounced helplessly in his grasp. his pace was merciless, each upward snap of his hips sending you deeper into a euphoric haze, your moans mixing with the obscene sounds of your bodies colliding.

"o-oppa—!" you cried out, your head tilting back as overwhelming pleasure coursed through you, each powerful thrust hitting that sweet spot buried deep inside you with perfect precision.

jay's dark eyes were locked onto you, watching the way your breasts bounced with each harsh movement, the way your face contorted in pleasure, completely lost in the way he fucked you. his breath was ragged, his jaw clenched as he felt your walls tighten around him.

"yeah, baby… take it. take it just like that," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. his hands left your waist momentarily, coming up to cup your breasts, rolling your hardened nipples between his fingers before trailing lower, fingers pressing onto your sensitive clit.

your entire body jerked at the sudden stimulation, a loud whimper spilling from your lips as you clenched down on him, the sensation sending him spiraling closer to his own release.

"fuck, princess—"* he groaned, his hips slamming up into you with desperate intensity, his pace growing more erratic, more uncontrollable. he was chasing his high now, completely drunk off the way your tight walls milked him so perfectly.

"gonna make you cum again, baby," he murmured, his fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, his cock stretching you so deliciously with every deep thrust. "wanna feel you cum all over my dick again—fuck, you’re so perfect for me."

your nails dug deep into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped imprints along his toned arms as he continued to thrust into you with relentless force. each movement sent you rocking against him, the bed creaking beneath the two of you in a rhythmic harmony, the sound mixing with your desperate moans and the obscene wet slaps of your bodies meeting over and over again.

"o-oppa—I'm close! oh my god—" your voice was high-pitched, broken with pleasure as your body shuddered violently above him, every muscle tightening as the overwhelming sensation built inside you, threatening to consume you whole.

"fuck, baby—cum for me," he groaned, his own voice strained, thick with need, his breath coming out in ragged pants as he felt you clench down on him like a vice. his hips snapped up into you even harder, more erratic now, his grip on your waist tightening, thumbs pressing bruises into your soft skin.

"wet my dick—shit, just like that—fuck—!" his moans turned into desperate cries as his head tilted back against the pillows, his jaw slack as his body tensed beneath you. a low, guttural groan ripped from his chest as he twitched violently inside you, thick ropes of his hot release filling you up, coating your walls as he came undone beneath you.

the feeling of him pulsing inside you, his warmth spreading deep within, sent you spiraling over the edge, your body convulsing uncontrollably as your orgasm hit with full force. your vision blurred, white-hot pleasure surging through every nerve as your climax ripped through you, leaving you gasping loudly, your thighs trembling as you fell forward onto his chest, completely spent.

both of you lay there, bodies entangled, chests rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath. the room was thick with the scent of sweat and sex, the heat between your bodies lingering as the aftershocks of pleasure continued to roll through you.

his hands slowly came up to trace soft patterns along your waist, his touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from just moments ago. his lips pressed tender kisses onto your bare shoulder, his breath warm against your damp skin as he murmured against you, voice laced with exhaustion and adoration.

"so pretty, my baby…" he whispered, his fingers lightly grazing over your back, grounding you in the warmth of his embrace. he pressed one last lingering kiss to the side of your neck before resting his forehead against your temple, a lazy, satisfied smile tugging at his lips.

"happy birthday, princess," he murmured softly, his arms tightening around you, holding you close as if he never wanted to let you go.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ i hoped you liked it !!

#enhypen #enha smut #enha x reader #enhypen x reader #enha #enhypen smut #heeluvv #park jongseong #enhypen jay x you #enhypen jay x reader #enhypen jay #jay smut #jongseong x reader #jongseong smut #enhypen jongseong

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acmeangel · 5 months ago

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I think about this dialogue from S1 all the time; to me, it succinctly sums up the differences between Erwin and Levi’s perspectives and motivations.

When it comes to Erwin, it’s much like what Armin said in S1: the people who are capable of making change have to be able to throw everything away and abandon their personal humanity in order to save the greater humanity. Erwin embodies this perfectly—he never hesitated to sacrifice the lives of others on behalf of a greater cause, and even knew how to inspire them into willingly self-sacrificing.

What was that greater cause? For Erwin, it was his dream of finding out the truth and avenging his father—it just so happened that this aligned with what was best for Paradis. If it weren’t for his own personal ambitions, I don’t believe Erwin would have had the same level of commitment or drive.

Erwin knew that all of the deaths of his soldiers and the civilians caught in the crossfire were potentially pointless (and we eventually see that catch up to him right before his death); but at the same time, he knew each death and sacrifice was a necessary step in uncovering the truth.

That’s not to say he saw no value in human life or that he was an evil person—it’s just that he saw more value in the bigger picture and the greater cause, and he didn’t have time to consider his personal humanity in that pursuit. Erwin knew that he needed people like Levi and Hange to stay alive in order to achieve this bigger picture goal since they filled in the gaps of skills he lacked himself.

This also isn’t to say Erwin is purely selfish, nor is he the only one with personal motivations—Eren was motivated by his mother’s death, Mikasa was motivated by protecting Eren, Hange was motivated by learning about Titans. The list goes on.

Levi is uniquely one of the few characters without selfish motivations and dreams (which is ironic since people view him as cold and heartless). Levi had no ulterior motives pushing him to the other side of the war, and nothing personal to gain.

He chose to follow Erwin because of that look Erwin had in his eye—the same look Armin had in his eye—hope for the future, like he could see something no one else could. Levi, simply, didn’t want to make choices he would regret, even though he openly admitted that he never truly knew or understood what the outcome of those choices would be. He believed that following Erwin’s command—and eventually choosing Armin—was the best way to do this.

Levi doesn’t view the lives of his comrades or squad members as disposable. He has a fiercely protective and loyal nature. We see this time and time again—when he adamantly tells a dying soldier that his death wasn’t in vain and that he’d made a difference, how he doesn’t ever truly forgive Annie and Reiner for the lives they took from the Scouts, and his incessant need to avenge Erwin’s death, to name a few.

To me, Erwin and Levi are somewhat of a yin and yang in this way—Erwin was willing to do everything it took to achieve his dream, no matter the sacrifice, and Levi was willing to do everything it took to make sure those sacrifices weren’t made for nothing.

Erwin had to be willing to send people to their pointless deaths; Levi had to make sure those deaths weren’t pointless in the end.

This is a little bit of a half-baked ramble, but I always found this exchange so interesting and telling.

#☆.random thoughts #levi ackerman #erwin smith #attack on titan #aot #shingeki no kyojin #snk #captain levi #commander erwin #levi x erwin #erwin x levi #attack on titan analysis #aot analysis #aot scenes #aot quotes #attack on titan quote #☆.angel.analysis

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imawreck · 7 months ago

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His

Pairing: Winter Soldier x Reader

Summary: You and Bucky broke up a few months ago against your wishes, and you’d been trying to move on. When Bucky sees you flirting with another member of the team, he leaves for the next mission to avoid getting in your way. Unfortunately, the mission goes bad, and Bucky isn’t himself when he comes back. He also has a lot to say…

Author’s Note: I realize that in most of my fics Thor is the other romantic interest/situationship, but you CANT tell me that man wouldn’t flirt up a storm with a beautiful woman any chance he got. Also, this is my first smutty fic so feedback and comments would be much appreciated! This is on the more explicit side, so please read with caution.

Warnings: Cursing, mentions self loathing/guilt (it’s Bucky, kinda normal), choking kink, Possessive!Winter Soldier, flashbacks, hair pulling, fingering, metal arm kink, dominant!winter soldier, probably some more but those are the big ones.

Word Count: 4,850

Breakups are ugly most of the time, and almost always one sided.

You and Bucky had been apart for at least three months. You’d stopped counting, wanting to forget it and focus on anything else. It was easier that way, to ignore the heartbreak and clutter up your life with other things to do.

Unfortunately, you still lived in the same tower on the same floor, right across from one another. He was constantly around, and no mattered how hard you tried, you just couldn’t avoid him.

It was hell.

And it was only hell because Bucky hardly gave you a good reason for the break up. Sure, you had your arguments. Mostly about his past and how much better he thought you deserved, to which you’d list all the reasons he was wrong. In reality, those weren’t really arguments. It was just Bucky having a low point, which you were more than willing to help him work through. Outside of those moments, you had felt that your relationship with Bucky was near perfect.

So when he had come back from a mission and broke up with you, his only reason being ‘I can’t be with you,’ it’d been a slap to the face. Like someone had shoved a knife in your heart and twisted.

The worst part was that he wouldn’t even allow you the chance to talk to him afterwards. Every time you were in the same room together alone, he’d find every reason not to speak with you.

So, you’d taken the hint and were now trying to figure out a way to move on.

That was made a little easier when a certain God of Thunder made his interest known to you. Thor was sweet, charming, and a little goofy. Not to mention handsome, with his blonde hair and sky blue eyes.

He’d made an effort to woo you not long after you’d parted from Bucky, and you’d informed him that the breakup was hard for you and that you couldn’t really do something new right now. Thor had been surprisingly understanding, and even took to just being friends quite well. Granted, he was still flirty, but he knew where you both stood and was always happy to lend an ear when you needed one.

He turned out to be just the friend you needed.

From the outside looking in, none of the others thought it was ‘just friends,’ especially when Thor would openly show his interest in you. Especially to a certain Super Soldier.

Bucky was painfully aware of what was going on between you and Thor even though he desperately tried not to be.

His super hearing picked up on the soft laughter you and the god would share, on the hushed whispers you’d exchange late over a mug of coffee when you thought everyone was asleep. His every fiber was attuned to you, and he couldn’t help but fixate on your presence.

You were like gravity to him, and he always found himself near you when he knew he should be as far as humanly possible. He saw the little looks you shared when Thor would compliment you, noticed your shy smile when the god would enter the room. He could tell that Thor was winning you over slowly but surely.

He couldn’t fucking stand it.

So it wasn’t a big surprise when he shipped off on the next mission possible.

You worried, your heart still set on loving him, but you tried to pay it little mind. And after a few days, it actually helped. You felt better, found yourself smiling more. You were beginning to move forward.

That was, until the jet was reported missing. Then Bucky was all anyone could talk about in the tower.

Thor tried his best to keep you in the dark about most of what was going on, and it wasn’t hard seeing as you were just a rather good strategist and not a serious Avenger. You were only really included in skimming over preplanned attacks and making sure they hadn’t missed anything critical.

But word still spread, and worry was ever present.

Needless to say, it was very strange when Mr. Stark called you into a private meeting with himself and two other of the elite team.

“Y/N,” He spoke softly in the kind of tone that lets you know that whatever he says next is going to ruin your whole week. “There’s a situation with Barnes.”

You frowned, eyebrows scrunching at him from where you sat at the rather empty end of the long black table. “I’m confused. Bucky and I broke up months ago. Why are you talking to me about it?”

Steve, who you’d befriended while dating his best pal, looked at you with poorly concealed pity from his seat next to Stark. “Because we know he still means a lot to you and that you’re our best hope in this situation.”

That didn’t make you feel better about whatever was going on at all. “What do you mean ‘this situation?’” You eyed them both, before dragging your eyes over to Doctor Banner who hadn’t done much more than stare at you with a concerned expression bordering on panic.

Stark pressed his fingers to his forehead, “Barnes got triggered on his mission and has infiltrated the tower. We have reason to believe he’s after you.”

You gaped at him. That didn’t make any sense. You weren’t important, at least not as important as one of The Avengers. “Me? Why me?”

“We’ve silently shut the building down and we’re working on evacuating the floors without anyone freaking out.” Tony went on, ignoring your questions, “He doesn’t know that we’re aware he’s here, and we’re trying to keep it that way.” Tony motioned towards a monitor, and the image of Bucky popped up on the screen.

Only he was in your room, and he was dragging his fingers over the picture of the two of you that was perched on the nightstand. They way his fingers smoothed over the glass, the slight pinch in his brows as if calculating instead of recalling. It was like he’d never seen it before in his life. Like he had no connection to the image of himself.

It was a picture he had taken, his arm extended and a smile on his face with your lips pressed to his cheek. You had meant to take it down and stuff it in the box under your bed with all the other memories you had hid from sight, but it was just too painful. You needed something to hold onto.

You watched through the screen as he moved around your room, taking note of certain things and taking careful precautions to ensure that anything he moved was set right back in place. It was eerie to watch a man who was once so comfortable in your space tread with so much hesitance. Like it was the first time he’d been in the space all over again.

“Y/N.” It was Steve’s gentle timbre that brought your attention away from the screen this time. He tried to smile, though it was clearly forced. “We need you to lure him down towards the lower levels. We have to get him to a room where we can better contain him. If he finds out we know he’s back and not… him, then he could snap.”

“You want to use me as bait? For the Winter Soldier?” You stared at them both with wide eyes, panic blooming in your chest. “This is insane!”

Steve sighed, “Y/N… Bucky told me about the incident that happened in the beginning of your relationship.”

Your attention zeroed in on the blonde’s words, your breath hitching.

“He told me what could’ve happened… and what didn’t.”

You walked down the corridor of the Stark tower office floor heading back towards your desk from a late night research meeting with a few of your coworkers. You had decided to stay later than the others so that you could collect and organize the information you needed for the meeting with Mr. Stark the following morning. It was very late, and you were tired, the heels you wore had begun to irritate the soles of your feet hours before.

You clutched the files you collected in your arms, heels clicking on the glossy floors and echoing into the dimly lit corridor. So dim that you didn't see the silhouette of the man standing just feet from you until it was too late.

You only saw a flash of silver before the door beside you was torn open and you were roughly shoved inside. Cleaning supplies clattered onto the floor, spilling liquids over your feet as you cried out. A hand clamped over your mouth, and your head hit the wall with a thunk.

Stormy blue eyes stared at you, cold and unfeeling. Eyes you had seen just days before smiling at you and filled with life.

Your lips moved to say his name against the cool metal of his hand, but his grip on your face was nearly bruising. You could only stare back in fear and attempt to press your body further from him.

He didn't speak, only stared at you and kicked the door to the closet shut.

Fear was a living thing in your stomach, writhing as his eyes snaked down to your red heels and back up again. His head tilted to the side, as if he was trying to remember something. But his eyes remained cold and unrelentingly empty. His flesh hand came up to press a finger threateningly to his lips.

‘Quiet.’

You weren't stupid enough to scream, not with the way he was looking at you, with how close he was. When he removed his hand, you did exactly as he wanted. Silence hung in the small closet, suffocating you. Would he kill you? What did he want? Why hadn't he killed you already?

The cool metal of his palm slipped further down, wrapping around your throat and pressing against your thundering pulse. Your head pounded along with it, and a foggy feeling settled over your mind.

But your lungs still filled with air, and you remained aware. The pressure of his hand was ever present, but it was light enough not to cause real damage... Almost like he didn't want to hurt you.

His tongue darted out to lick his lips, the movement catching your eyes. His body leaned forward, his nose pressing into your neck and his warm breath hitting your skin. Goosebumps rose in its wake, and that lick of fear heightened again. He was acting so strangely, and the longer it went on the more unsettling it was.

When he pulled away, there was a heat in his eyes that wasn’t there before. A hunger, and… and recognition.

“Hello, Beloved.”

“We know that he didn’t hurt you, and that he displayed… certain feelings towards you.” Steve’s voice brought you out of the memory, dragging you back to the reality at hand.

The one where he wants you to put yourself smack dab in the path of the Winter Soldier.

“You’re serious about this?” You blink up at him, trying to gauge if he was joking or not. Level headed as Steve was, you trusted him with your life. But this? This was terrifying and completely unexpected. Ridiculously dangerous.

“It’s the only nonviolent way we can think of. And we’re almost certain there’s no high risk for you.” Steve tried to give you a reassuring smile, tried to hide the hint of unease that shone in his tense shoulders.

“You’ve all lost your mind.” You laugh, sighing and raising your chin. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Apparently, so had you.

You stared at the metal doors of the elevator, your heart pounding with each toll of the floors passing. This was probably—no, was— the riskiest thing you’d ever done in your life. You trusted Steve and Mr. Stark, but your brain was trained to find the flaws in plans like this. And so many things could go wrong.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Steve said calmly into your ear, startling you. You’d forgotten they’d given you the earpiece. “I’ll be here the entire time. I’ll guide you through the compound and make sure you stay out of danger.”

You nodded, even though you weren’t sure if they could see you.

“Bucky is leaving your room. We’re going to drop you off in the commons area of your floor. All you have to do is make some noise and then head for the stairwell. Just listen to me, and I’ll get you through this.” Steve sounded so confident in your ear, but it did little to soothe the nerves.

The elevator leveled out, and the doors quietly opened. The large living room opened up before you, unnervingly bright and welcoming despite the danger you knew lurked just down the hall. You stepped out onto the carpet, walking towards the kitchen. Your palms sweat, heart pounding, as you made your way up to the cabinets.

You just had to make some noise. Easy, right?

But your body wouldn’t move.

“Y/N.” Steve’s voice called in your ear again, gently coaxing you from where he watched the cameras. “Make some noise, and then head for the stairs.”

You swallowed, nodding again, and reached with shaky hands towards the cabinet. You grabbed a bowl, and hesitantly set it down on the granite counter. The echoing ‘pok’ of the ceramic felt too loud in your ears, like a gunshot.

“Good, now move quickly. He’s just down the hall headed your way.”

The words sent a chill down your spine… and something else followed. Something you’d never felt before.

You headed towards the stairs, but your feet felt like lead weights. Like you couldn’t move fast enough even though you knew you were going as fast as you could.

But you could hear the faintest scuff of boots coming behind you and the sound sent your heart into a frenzy.

You raced down the stairs, tripping a few times before righting yourself and continuing your decent down towards the lower levels. Your floor was four levels up from ground level, which meant you had six floors in total to descend before you could get to the containment floor.

Six flights of stairs being chased by The Winter Soldier. A superhuman man who was definitely faster than you, and probably wanted to do something terrible to you. Like a wolf hunting a sheep.

Oh God.

The thought only served to spur the panic rising in you. You kicked up your speed when the door slammed behind you, footsteps pounding after you as the dark silhouette of Bucky Barnes rounded the stairs two flights above.

He took the stairs four at a time, his long legs swallowing up the distance between you. The panic clawed its way up your throat in a strangled cry, and the sound just seemed to quicken his pace.

“I’m not fast enough!” You tried to keep your voice even, tried to keep it quiet in the echoing stairwell so that the soldier behind you would hear.

“You’re almost there, Y/N. Just keep up the pace. Two flights left and—“ but he didn’t get to finish his sentence.

You watched in shocked horror as Bucky’s figure leapt over the railing and plummeted towards the ground. He dropped several flights before his arm snapped out and wrapped around the railing. The sound of metal hitting metal rang out around you as the railing dipped under the crushing pressure.

He hauled himself back onto the stairs just before you. Those cold eyes found yours, dark hair framing sharp features, painting him into something primal. Something wild.

That feeling pounded through you again, skittering along your spine and raising the hairs on the back of your neck. You still couldn’t place it, not with him stepping towards you with a look that promised violence.

You heard Steve’s voice ordering something over the earpiece, but it was distant. It became clearer a moment later. “We’ve got a team heading in. Just… just hang in there.”

You swallowed, but your throat had gone dry in the presence of the assassin before you. His eyes held you in place as his towering form finally stopped a stair below you, leveling with you face to face. So close you could count the stitches in the Kevlar of his suit.

You felt your body shaking, heard your heart thundering in your ears as your chest rose and fell with each short breath you managed to drag into your lungs.

And he watched every move you made.

His head titled to the side exactly like it’d done the first time you’d been trapped with him. His gaze never left you, eyes wandering over your face and heaving chest before that faint look of recognition settled into those hollow eyes.

And then that heat you’d seen before consumed them.

He stepped forward, and you answered with a step back. For each one he took, you pedaled backwards until your body was plastered against the wall. When you tried to flee back up the stairs, his metal hand planted itself against the wall inches from your head.

You were utterly trapped.

Rough Russian left his lips in the softest whisper. The sound was the same as you’d heart him say before, though you didn’t understand it.

Not until now, as the earpiece Steve had given you translated his words as he spoke them.

“Hello again, Beloved.”

Those blue eyes bored into yours, as his other hand came up to brush your cheek with a gentleness you didn’t think he was capable of.

“He’s kept me from you for so long.” Bucky’s body leaned forward, caging you against the wall. His metal hand remained pressed against the wall beside you, and the other dragged across the skin of your neck and shoulder in an almost reverent manner.

Bucky’s— no, this wasn’t Bucky. This was the part of Bucky he kept farthest from you. This was a man known for cruel, unimaginable violence. An assassin known by reputation around the world by both hero and criminal alike and feared by all. This was the Winter Soldier.

Winter’s lips brushed your jaw, stubble tickling the column of your throat as his voice rumbled against your skin. “Kept you to himself. Never let me touch you. Worried I’d damage you, Beloved. Couldn’t see you needed me.”

His teeth nipped at your skin, and a shiver rolled down your spine in answer. That feeling tugged at your mind again, spurred by his words. But still, you couldn’t place it. Not with your mind consumed by his statements and barely contained yearning.

When his head lifted to find your eyes again, the fingers of his right hand tangled themselves in your hair and pulled hard enough to have your scalp stinging. His next words were guttural and biting, “And then he let you go.”

Winter’s grip loosened a bit, but his hold on your hair remained. “He pushed you away, and then that god tries to take you from me?” His eyes held you, demanding your utter attention as his head shook slowly, “You don’t belong to him.”

Tugging your lip between your teeth, you clenched your eyes shut. God, you wished Bucky would say that to you. Having Winter here saying these words with Bucky’s voice, Bucky’s face. Touching you with familiar hands…

Heat had begun to pool low in your belly.

The words were spoken in English. “Open your eyes.”

There was no room for objection in his voice, so you did as he said. With his jaw was set in an angry line, and those blue eyes boring into your soul, he leaned in closer. “He thinks that being with you is too dangerous, that you aren’t safe with… with us.”

“What?” Your heart hammered in your chest at his words. It was the first real reason as to why Bucky had broken up with you.

Those silvery blue eyes zeroed on your lips as he spoke again. “He thinks we can’t protect you, that I’ll hurt you. That somehow being further from you keeps you safe from what comes with being what we are.” His metal hand left the wall in favor of brushing over your lower lip and trailing the cool tips of his fingers down to the dip of your breasts and back up to the column of your throat. “I’d never hurt you, not the way he has. Not if you didn’t want it.”

“W-what do you mean?” You just knew he was picking up on how your heart beat harder as his fingers trailed over your skin. Or the way you kept shifting on your feet to stave off the heat thrumming in your veins with an all too familiar want blooming and begging for his hands to explore more.

The faintest hint of a smile graced his face as he gave your hair another gentle tug, then loosened his grip once more. “You like this. I’ve seen how you react with him. How you quietly treasure the marks he leaves on your skin even when he feels nothing but guilt.” That metal hand slipped over your throat again and pressed on your neck exactly as he’d done the first time you’d seen Winter. Your head spun at the pressure, but you could breathe easily under the cool press of his palm as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he whispered. “I see how badly you wish he’d touch you with this hand,” he squeezed your neck and loosened it quickly, “How badly you want those marks. How badly you need me.”

You had no words. Nothing to say as he wrung out the truth you’d thought was hidden from him— from Bucky.

Bucky was notorious for avoiding any situation that would make him use the metal arm. He would much rather let it hang there, or act as if he didn’t have it at all. That included when the two of you would get intimate. He never dared to bring it anywhere near you no matter how many times you’d reminded him it was fine, that you weren’t afraid of it. He outright refused to allow it to touch your delicate skin, to let such a catalyst for agony so close to something as precious as you.

Winter knew that you’d secretly craved to feel the cold metal in contrast to his warm skin when he held you. He knew that you would always find it more satisfying when Bucky would lose himself and get rough with you when things got heated. How his flesh hand would leave bruises on your thighs or hips to keep you steady as he thrust himself deeper.

Just the thought had you aching, and here was Bucky’s darker half offering you everything you’d ever wanted.

You were losing your fucking mind.

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, but the words were flimsy and meaningless. He knew the truth, but that didn’t mean you had to say it aloud.

His metal fingers dug into your jaw, his grip near bruising as he tilted your head up to level your eyes with his. “Don’t fucking lie to me, Dollface.” His lips were a hairs-width away, his warm breath fanning over your face.

The scent of him was intoxicating, muddling your mind even further with heady leather and metal invading your nose. The hint of that aftershave you’d missed so much since Bucky broke your heart.

Winter was tearing you apart at the seams.

“Please,” you whispered. Please what? You didn’t know. You could hardly think straight. That feeling was so strong, thrumming along with your pulse and the ache for something. Anything.

“Tell me I’m right.” He mumbled against your skin. Soft lips, a vast contrast to his rough demeanor, to the calloused hand that remained tangled in your hair, trailed down your cheek. “Tell me that you want me. Not the pathetic excuse for a god, or him. That you want me.”

His metal hand released your face, drifting over your neck and dragging over the left side of your chest. He circled once, thumbing over your nipple with a knowing look filled with every sinful promise known to man.

And then he went lower and lower…

His fingers caught the waistband of your leggings, the chill of his fingers raised goosebumps across your stomach, only serving to worsen that burning need.

“Doll,” a command and a question wrapped in one word.

All you had to do was admit your darkest most guarded secret. Confess, and he would give you what you wanted most. What Bucky was too afraid to do.

You opened your mouth, the words tumbling out as he gave your hair another tug.

“I want you.”

That smirk grew just a fraction more, his fingers slipping past your waistband and toying with the hem of your panties.

Fuck, did you wish you’d gone commando today.

“Who am I?” He asked, teeth nipping down your neck hard enough to know they’d leave marks. “I want you to say it, Y/N.”

Those fingers slipped further, rolling over your aching clit in a teasing stroke before he pulled them away again.

If he wasn’t a literal assassin, you’d consider strangling him.

“For fucks sake,” you gripped his arm, your voice unfamiliar in your own ears, ragged and broken. “Winter, please.”

He didn’t waste time, deft, cool fingers dipping into your core with confidence. Soothing that aching heat.

Fuck.

His thumb circled slow as he pumped his fingers, his mouth leaving wet kisses along your jaw up to your lips where he paused long enough to catch a glimpse of your face. You knew you looked like an utter mess, but those blue eyes showed nothing but twisted delight. He leaned forward and tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, bitting hard enough to make you groan.

Winter’s answering grunt of approval urged you further towards the edge of oblivion those perfect metal fingers were working you towards.

God you were so close. Each movement, every touch and bruise he left on your skin pushing you closer and closer. Just a bit more, a fraction more and you’d—

His fingers wrenched away, gone in an instant.

Your eyes, closed from the pleasure just moments ago, snapped open just before the doors to the stairway above and below you burst open. Floods of agents filed through the doors, and a gun fired.

The sharp sound echoed in the confined space making you flinch. Winters back pressed you against the wall, a solid shield of muscle keeping you out of harms way.

Then the weight was too heavy. His body crushing you as he slumped toward the floor. You screamed, immediately thinking the worse as your eyes searched his form in a panic.

But you found no blood, thank God.

“He’s fine, Y/N.”

Steve’s hand on your shoulder had you flinching back, head snapping to his suit clad form. “The gun—“

“It’s just a tranq. I promise, Bucky will be fine.” His face was the picture of practiced reassurance.

A horde of agents rushed forward and cuffed Winter’s hands and dragged his unconscious body out of the stairwell and further towards the confinement room. Steve remained with you, his eyes flicking to your neck a few times and checking you over to make sure no serious damage had been done.

When you’d gotten yourself back to your room away from the prying eyes and the relentless questions, the reality of what had happened slammed into you.

You just let the Winter Soldier finger you in a fucking stairwell.

And you liked it.

Plunging your fingers into your hair, you took a shaky breath. What the fuck were you thinking? Had you lost your damn mind? Bucky broke up with you three months ago! You were done; over, moving on. He could remember this, for Christ sake! How would you explain it?

Panic writhed in your stomach, but so did the faint ache of need that reminded you of what had just happened mere minutes ago.

The feeling of his metal hand on your skin, the feeling of those fingers working you perfectly and the pressure of his bruising grip.

And that feeling that you couldn’t place.

But now you had a word for it.

From the thrum of your heart as he chased you down the stairs, the promise of violence and sinful pleasure in his eyes. The roughness of his actions…

It was the thrill.

You liked the chase. You liked how rough he was. The delicious blend of panic and pleasure.

And he’d been interrupted before you got the release you’d craved. That you needed.

Frustration boiled to the forefront of your mind, a dozen different strategies with it.

He’d made you confess your darkest secret only to leave you high and dry.

And damn him if he wasn’t going to finish what he started.

#winter soldier #drama #👀#bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #x reader #angst #smut

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rafecameronssl4t · 6 months ago

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Saving Grace || CEO!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: When Rafe Cameron’s infamous temper threatens to derail the entire office, his wife is called in as the only person who can bring him back to earth.

Warnings: none!

Word count: 2,051

MASTERLIST

Rafe Cameron could be described in many ways: arrogant, sharp-tongued, perpetually stone-faced, and infamously hot-headed. His temper was a ticking time bomb, always moments away from detonation. It didn’t take much to set him off—a missed detail, an oversight, or even the wrong tone of voice—and once his mood soured, it had a ripple effect on everyone within his orbit.

If Rafe was in a foul mood, the entire office braced itself for the storm, knowing they’d bear the brunt of his frustration. Productivity stalled, morale plummeted, and an oppressive tension hung heavy in the air. No one dared to ask if he was okay or offer to fix the issue—it was simply understood that his temper had to run its course.

But there was one person who had mastered the art of disarming the bomb: his assistant, Rachael. If anyone in the office had something to say about Rachael, it was that she knew Rafe Cameron far too well. She had an uncanny ability to read his moods and an arsenal of strategies for defusing them. Most importantly, she understood the one surefire way to calm Rafe down: his wife.

The woman who he worshipped the ground she walked on, mother to his children, and the only person Rafe Cameron seemed to hold above all else. No matter how irritable or unapproachable he became, the mere mention of her name was enough to shift the atmosphere. So when Rachael watched one of her coworkers stumble out of Rafe’s office, barely holding back tears, she knew it was time to intervene.

Her sharp eyes scanned the room, noting the nervous glances exchanged between staff members who were all too aware of the storm brewing behind Rafe’s closed door. Without missing a beat, Rachael grabbed her phone, dialling a number she had memorised long ago. As the call connected, her tone softened—a stark contrast to the sharp efficiency she displayed in the office.

“Hi, Mrs. Cameron,” she began, her voice carrying a mixture of urgency and familiarity. “I hate to bother you, but it’s one of those days. If you’re free, I think a quick word with Rafe might do the trick.” She paused, listening intently before smiling to herself. Rachael didn’t need to explain much; Mrs. Cameron always seemed to know exactly how to handle her husband.

And while the office might dread Rafe’s infamous outbursts, Rachael found comfort in knowing there was someone who could bring the man back down to earth. She let out a small sigh of relief when she heard your calm, reassuring voice on the other end of the line. “I’ll be right there,” you said, your tone steady but with a hint of warmth that was reserved for conversations about your husband.

Without hesitation, you grabbed your car keys, slipping on a pair of heels as you prepared to leave. It wasn’t the first time you’d been called in to play peacemaker, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. Rafe’s temper was legendary, but you knew how to navigate it better than anyone else. You’d seen him at his worst, the raw edges of his frustration and anger, but you also knew the softer side of him—the part that melted when you walked into a room, the man who looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

As you slid into the driver’s seat, your thoughts briefly flickered to your children, safely at home with the nanny. You didn’t want to leave them, but you also understood that Rafe needed you. He might not admit it outright, especially not in front of his staff, but the subtle ways he sought you out after a rough day spoke volumes.

As you walked toward your husband’s office, the energy in the space shifted noticeably. Heads turned, relief washing over faces that had been tense just moments before. Hushed whispers followed in your wake, employees murmuring their gratitude for the one person who could tame the storm that was Rafe Cameron. Even without uttering a word, your presence commanded respect—graceful yet undeniably authoritative.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you, Mrs. Cameron,” Rachael said as she stood from her desk, her tone filled with a mixture of hope and exhaustion. “He’s in his office, and he’s miserable in there.” You glanced through the glass wall into Rafe’s office. Rachael hadn’t exaggerated—his frustration was palpable. The furrow of his brow, the tight set of his jaw, and the restless movements of his hands screamed of a man on the verge of losing his patience entirely.

You offered Rachael a small, reassuring smile before making your way to the door, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor. You didn’t bother knocking—Rafe hated formalities when it came to you. The heavy sigh he let out at the sound of the door opening was immediate. His eyes remained locked on the papers scattered across his desk, his tone sharp and cold.

“I thought I said I didn’t want to be disturbed.” A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you stepped inside. “Does that include me?” you asked, your voice sweet and smooth, cutting through the tension. Rafe’s head snapped up at the sound of your voice, his piercing blue eyes meeting yours. Instantly, his rigid posture softened, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift.

The frustration etched into his features melted away, replaced by a look that could only be described as unguarded affection. Just your presence had the power to undo him. Without a word, Rafe reached behind his desk and flicked a switch, causing the glass walls of his office to turn frosted, granting the two of you privacy. His voice softened, tinged with genuine curiosity and concern.

“What are you doing here, baby?" You walked around his desk, your movements fluid and deliberate, and Rafe turned in his chair to face you fully. Standing in front of him, you saw the shift in his expression—the hard edges of his day crumbling as he looked up at you. And there it was, the look that never failed to steal your breath.

No matter how difficult or frustrating his day had been, Rafe always looked at you like you were his entire world, as though you hung the moon and stars just for him. In his eyes, there was nothing but pure, unfiltered love—a stark contrast to the icy exterior he showed everyone else. You leaned down, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

His shoulders visibly relaxed at the familiar touch, the tension from his day dissolving. “You’re scaring your employees,” you teased softly, your words accompanied by a light chuckle as you straightened up. Rafe let out a dramatic sigh, leaning back in his chair and rolling his eyes. “They’re ridiculous,” he muttered, his tone laced with both irritation and amusement.

“They’re terrified,” you corrected, folding your arms and raising a brow at him. “I saw one of them practically in tears.” Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “It’s not my fault they can’t handle a little pressure.” You gave him a knowing look, stepping closer and resting your hands on the armrests of his chair, effectively boxing him in. “Rafe, you can be a little… intense,” you said gently, your eyes locking with his. “And by ‘a little,’ I mean a lot.”

His lips quirked into a smirk, his hands instinctively finding your waist. “You don’t seem scared of me,” he said, his voice dropping into a softer, almost teasing tone. “That’s because I know the real you,” you replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “The one who spoils me, reads bedtime stories to the kids, and eats all the burnt pancakes I make without complaining.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling from his chest. “You know I love those burnt pancakes,” he murmured, tugging you closer until you were practically sitting on his lap. “Hmm,” you hummed playfully, trailing your fingers along the lapel of his blazer. “Maybe I should remind your staff that under all that brooding, you’re just a big softie.”

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, though his smirk betrayed the emptiness of his threat. You laughed softly, pressing another kiss to his lips before pulling back just enough to meet his gaze. “Then maybe try to be a little nicer? For me?” He sighed, feigning reluctance, but the way his hands tightened on your waist betrayed his surrender. “Fine,” he said, his tone mockingly begrudging. “But only because you asked so nicely.”

“That’s all I needed to hear,” you said with a satisfied smile, brushing your thumb against his cheek. “Now, why don’t you take a break? Let me help you relax before you scare anyone else.” Rafe’s smirk softened into a genuine smile, the love in his eyes shining brighter than ever. “You really are my saving grace,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere.

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