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buckcherried · 3 months ago

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the mirror at the end of the bed was a recent purchase, one made by you, with a singular yet very important intention.

good old-fashioned loverboy kento nanami is a man that loves to make love. he values intimacy, romance. being able to make eye contact during the amorous act of sex was of high importance to him. he fucked insanely well, especially so under these pretenses.

so, even with his hands full of your perfect ass that aligned so nicely at his hips, doggy style had always felt a bit... impersonal. and despite how good and rough he always managed to fuck you, regardless of the position, he always preserved the connection between the two of you. his hand finding yours against your hip and interlocking fingers whilst drilling his cock upward into your cunt as you rode him reverse cowgirl, the way his thumb would caress your cheek as he held a tight grip of your jaw as he fucked your mouth ever so slow and steady... kento nanami always found a way to pour the romantics into everything he did.

his favorite act of romance, though, was eye contact. the very notion had him feral. having his eyes locked with yours as the two of you did the filthiest things to each other — he could cum at the mere thought. you could always see it right there in his eyes, usually moments after you batted your lashes up to meet his low-lidded gaze, and it was all over. it was allllll in the eyes.

that's why last night, not even half an hour after he came buckets into your cunt during a very hot and heavy session in the missionary position with your foreheads practically glued together, you got out the measuring tape. silently, in the warm glow of your bedside lamp that softly lit your sleeping lover's face, you took measurements of the wall facing your bed while the impurest of thoughts ran rampant through your mind.

the delivery men had it up and installed rather quick the next morning. you tipped them and sent them on their way before they could even begin to imagine the plans you had for this new item placed so strategically in your bedroom. you barely had time to fantasize as you heard kento enter down at the front door.

those hazel eyes found yours immediately as soon as their beholder swung open the bedroom door.

through the mirror, you caught his wide-eyed stare from your position on the bed — face down, ass up high in the air, wearing nothing but his favorite black lace set. he stood there for a moment, his stare flitting to your body and back, finding conversation in your eyes as they told him everything he needed to know about how the scene in front of him came to fruition.

kento's bag fell with a thud as it dropped to the floor, his hands finding a new interest as they found his belt. he made quick yet steady work of it, gaze never leaving yours as he pulled it from its loops.

he remained silent as he halved the belt into one hand and walked into the room. your eyes never left his form as he approached the bed, mattress dipping from the added weight as he knelt on it behind you.

you flicked your head to the side, your right cheek pressed against the bed as you peered back at him best you could from this angle, a soft gasp hitching in your throat as you catch him freeing his rigid cock from his dress pants.

his fingers dipped around the material of your thong and dragged it to the side, tapping at your now bare entrance, giving your core a few languid circles, making a mess of your arousal.

"my sweet wife..." kento's voice was low at your ear as he leaned over you, a hand grazing softly over your ass, cock twitching as the length of it pressed flat against your weeping cunt, "if you needed to be fucked like this you just had to ask."

you didn't have the chance to respond before kento sheathed himself inside you, wasting no time in removing any of his clothes as he got to pounding you mercilessly into the bed. his big strong hands held your hips up high, in perfect position, fucking you into oblivion at a pace you couldn’t physically comprehend as the snaps of his hips flung you forward.

your scream was muffled by the bedsheets, fisting the material so hard your knuckles begged for mercy.

kento tutted, hauling your chest up off the bed by seizing both your wrists and yanking them back toward him to clasp in one hand, "eyes, darling."

it was the only warning you needed, eyes locking with his in the reflection of the mirror immediately. the groan that escaped his throat was guttural. you could feel his cock harden against your walls as he continued his ravenous assault of your cunt. his low-lidded gaze was telling, those hazel eyes darker than you had ever seen them.

"ah, there’s my girl.”

the love in his gaze was overwhelming as he quite literally fucked you like he was trying to split you in two. his beefy chest strained against his tight button-up as he put all his strength into the action, the thick muscles of his biceps rippling as he used you as leverage to fuck you even harder. his jaw clenched, those pussydrunk eyes flitting from yours to the place where you connected, hypnotized by the way this thick length sheathes perfectly into your tight little cunt like you were made for him. your gaze was locked on his frame, staring with wide eyes as he spit in his free hand and grazed his way around your trembling thighs to make contact with your clit, knowing he found juuuust the right spot by the way you arched into his touch for more.

kento took the opportunity to rut the entirety of his ruinous cock inside to the hilt, his aching balls flush against your core as he holds himself there, hips grinding in for as much give as your cunt would allow him.

the stretch of him dropped your jaw, your lungs gasping to maintain your breath at the sensation of being completely and utterly full. you could barely keep your eyes open — but fuck, it would be a crime to miss out on the moment before you. those utterly lovesick eyes of his on yours as he began to make work of your clit, so intentionally slow and steady as you warmed his throbbing cock.

it was hard for you to keep it together now. his touch lit you on fire, the soft strokes of his expert fingers that know you oh so well. and that cock of his, so unforgivingly big, rutting there ever so gently at your cervix over and over and over, stuffing you full to the point of delirium.

you tightened around him as you desperately tried to adjust to the stretch. he was so fucking big. no matter how many times kento fucked you it seemed like he’d never fit. but your husband always got the job done.

kento let your wrists free as you caved into the mattress, not letting your eyes leave his as you peered up from the sudden relief of the covers as his free hand ran the length of your back.

“you know just how much i love you, yes?” his pace slowed to an even more intimate speed as he leaned to trail kiss after kiss up your arching spine, “thank you for the surprise, sweet girl..."

the gravel in his voice caught your immediate attention, your lulling eyes that were rolling to the back of your head now snapping back up to meet his.

and there it was. it was always in the eyes. he looked at you like you hung the stars. his wife. the woman he would lay his life down for. the only one to know him so well, so intimately. the woman who'd install a fucking mirror at the end of the bed just for this very moment.

"... now cum for me.”

and you did, immediately. it was all too much now, all you could feel was him. the pressure of his cock, how you could practically feel him all the way up in your stomach — you were done for the moment you watched that last screw drill into the wall this morning.

the shakes racked your body as you came, cunt clenching him for all he’s worth as he followed suit, rutting his hot thick cum inside you like it was the last thing he’d ever get to do. the hand at your clit reaches further down, his fingers splitting the place your searing bodies meet to memorize the feeling of the way his cock ruts in and out of you as the two of you ride out your orgasm.

kento had come undone — a mess of hot and slutty moans at your ear. he simply could not. get. enough.

and as you take in the beautiful sight of him holding you so in the reflection, all sweaty and fucked out of his mind, you couldn’t help but grin as your hand leisurely followed to meet his to feel the last of his strokes stuff your cunt. his eyes, yearning and low-lidded, latched to yours as he watched you open your mouth to speak.

“would the delivery men start to catch on if we had them install another on the ceiling?”

#ᝰ.ᐟ lake writes #kento nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #jujutsu nanami #nanami kento #kento nanami #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader #kento nanami smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #kento nanami x you #jjk nanami

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buckysleftbicep · 6 days ago

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what home feels like 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader (5 + 1 trope)

warnings: loads, like mountains of fluff, soft!bucky, some angst, bucky in an apron, team shenanigans

summary: the 5 times bucky thinks of proposing to you and the 1 time he does

word count: 6.1k (i couldn't help myself 🥹)

author's note: hi loves! i am in the middle of my vacation and i had this written during my layover, and i just couldn't wait to let you guys read it, so here it is! i hope you'll love it as much as i do! love ya and stay safe out there! 💌

The first time Bucky thought of proposing to you, you were asleep on his chest, and the world was still.

The sun filtered softly through gauzy curtains, turning the room to gold, that liminal hush between dawn and morning, when the world had yet to stir.

The compound was silent. Peaceful. A rare luxury. And in the center of it all was you, curled in the tangle of Bucky’s arms, your face pressed to his chest, your breath warm and even against the fabric of his shirt.

One of your hands was fisted there, right over his heart, like you’d been afraid he might drift away in the night and needed something to anchor you. As if your body, even in sleep, refused to let him go.

He didn’t mind. He never minded. In fact, if he had it his way, he’d never move from this moment at all. He could stay like this forever. And maybe, for once, he actually believed he deserved to.

Alpine lay nestled between your legs, a puddle of white fur with her chin resting lazily on your calf. She let out a soft mewl, stretching languidly, paws reaching toward the warm patch of sunlight spilling across the bed before curling tighter into the cradle you made for her.

Bucky watched her for a beat, the corners of his mouth twitching, and then looked back down at you, the way your lashes flickered in dreams, the way your lips parted with each slow breath, your features soft and at peace in the golden quiet.

There was a kind of stillness in the air that made everything feel sacred. Like nothing bad could touch the room you shared. Like the outside world, the violence, the ghosts, the endless fight didn’t exist here.

Just you. Just him. Just this.

And his heart ached a little with the weight of it, of how far he’d come, of how long it had taken to get here. To something this gentle. This good.

Because this life had once seemed impossible.

Germany, 2016.

The first time Bucky saw you, he had been standing at the far end of the airport carpark in Berlin, still learning how to breathe in spaces that weren’t cages.

Still unsure of who he was supposed to be outside the Soldier. Still half-listening, half-drifting.

Steve had brought you in, voice warm, saying you’d be helping with strategy and tech coordination for the joint ops.

There had been a familiarity in how he spoke to you, like you were someone he already trusted. That alone had caught Bucky’s attention.

And then… then you walked in beside him.

Wearing jeans and a simple button-down shirt rolled at the sleeves, your hair pulled back in some easy style like you hadn’t even put much thought into it.

You had a notebook in one hand, and your eyes were wide, bright. Like you hadn’t yet learned to keep your guard up in this line of work. Like the job hadn’t bled the softness out of you.

And Bucky… Bucky had stared.

Not out of rudeness—not really. But because you’d laughed. Full-bodied and unfiltered.

Scott had said something dumb—some half-witted quip about old men and bluetooth—and you had tipped your head back, laughing like it was the best thing you’d heard all week.

The sound of it went straight through him.

It didn’t just catch his attention. It wrecked him, a little. That laugh landed somewhere behind his ribs, somewhere he hadn’t even realised was still raw. And for the first time in a long time, something in him stirred. Something slow and silent and stupidly hopeful.

Then you turned to him. Your gaze met his.

You smiled.

Held out your hand.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you’d said, your voice warm, effortless and kind. The kind of voice that made people feel safe. The kind of voice that felt like a hand resting lightly on a wound.

“You must be Bucky.”

He hadn’t said a word at first. Couldn’t. His brain had short-circuited under the weight of your gaze and the gentle curl of your mouth. His pulse roared in his ears like it did in combat zones—sharp, hot, all-consuming.

But then, somehow, he managed a smile. A real one. Small. Tentative. But genuine. And when he took your hand in his, shaking it carefully, cautiously, something in his chest locked into place.

He remembered how soft your skin had felt against his calloused fingers. How you hadn’t flinched at the sight of the metal. How your touch had lingered just long enough.

You didn’t seem put off by his silence. You’d just nodded, eyes full of something unspoken, and walked off with Wanda, the two of you giggling about something he couldn’t hear. Just like that, you were gone. But the space you left behind stayed.

That’s when Sam had sidled up beside him, elbowing him just hard enough to knock him out of his daze.

“You know if you keep staring, it’s gonna get reak creepy,” he said, smirking.

Bucky had scowled at him. Sam had just grinned wider, all smug and knowing, before turning back.

But even then—Bucky knew.

Knew he was already in trouble.

Because something had shifted. A compass needle inside him, snapping north.

And from that moment on, he’d been tilting toward you.

Now, as he looked down at you all these years later—your lashes fluttering in dreams, your nose scrunching as Alpine adjusted herself—the same flutter stirred in his chest. The same ache, the same quiet kind of awe.

The kind of wonder a man feels when he realises he’s been given the one thing he never dared to ask for.

You shifted in your sleep, barely a breath of movement, but your hand remained curled tight in his shirt, right over his heart.

A reflex, even now. And Bucky let his vibranium fingers trace along your spine, the weight of them light, slow, gentle. Careful not to wake you. He wanted to hold onto this moment just a little longer.

That’s when he thought about the ring.

The one you’d pretended not to look at in the window of that little shop in town last week, red velvet box, delicate curve of diamonds catching the light.

You’d been with Yelena and Bob, arms full of coffee cups and teasing each other about something John had said.

But as you passed the display, you slowed.

He’d noticed it. The way your gaze had lingered. The way your fingers shifted slightly on the cup, like you were reaching for something you wouldn’t admit to wanting. The way your smile curved at the corners, quiet and wistful, like a secret you didn’t plan on sharing.

He saw it and tucked it away.

And now, with you asleep in his arms, your heartbeat matching his, the sun painting gold into your skin, Alpine’s fur warming your legs and that familiar weight of your hand pressed into his chest—he made the decision he’d been dancing around for weeks.

He was going to buy it.

Because this—this lazy Sunday morning with your body draped over his, your love stitched into the silence—this was it.

This was forever.

The second time Bucky thought of proposing, the kitchen had smelled like toast and sunlight.

It was late morning when he found you in the kitchen, barefoot on cool tile, hips swaying to the distant echo of Taylor Swift playing from a speaker;

The track was barely audible—warbled through the walls, a little staticky at the edges, but you didn’t seem to care.

You moved with it anyway, letting the music carry you from one counter to the next like it had been written for this exact moment—lazy, sun-warmed, still wrapped in the quiet of sleep.

You were wearing his shirt—that old red henley he loved and you’d stolen without apology—sleeves pushed up to your elbows, the hem brushing mid-thigh and clinging in places where the steam from the kettle had warmed the air.

Your hair was still mussed from sleep, strands curling at your temples, and one sock was scrunched halfway down your ankle like you’d forgotten to pull it all the way on.

You held a wooden spoon in one hand like a microphone, lips parted, eyes closed, your voice rising with the chorus as you spun in a loose, lazy circle in front of the stove.

You were completely at ease. Utterly unbothered. Just lost in the song and the morning and the rhythm of your own joy.

Sunlight streamed in through the half-open blinds, casting golden stripes across the floor and lighting you up like something out of a dream.

You looked like every warm Sunday morning he’d ever wanted, the kind of morning he didn’t believe he’d ever actually get.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, watching the way your feet padded across the tile, how your hips swayed, how you bobbed your head to the beat like no one was watching—because you didn’t think anyone was.

And maybe he should’ve said something—greeted you, teased you, but the words stayed lodged in his throat, caught somewhere behind the knot that had formed in his chest. Because there was something about you like this that undid him.

Completely.

You were radiant in a way he didn’t think you realised. The kind of radiant that came from joy—unfiltered, unguarded. The kind that wasn’t curated or calculated or polished for the world.

The kind of beauty that only existed in the in-between spaces—in the stretch of a yawn, in a wooden spoon masquerading as a microphone, in the way your laugh cracked when you hit the high notes wrong.

And god, he thought, watching the sway of your hips, the grin playing at your lips, this is home.

You.

You were home.

He thought about the way you’d slowly, gently introduced him to pop culture like it was your personal mission to drag him into the 21st century.

The curated playlists you made, some with real titles and others labeled “Bucky’s Soft Bitch Era” just to get a rise out of him. The back-to-back movie nights where you made him swear, hand over heart, that he wouldn’t fall asleep during The Notebook.

He remembered the first time he said TokTok by accident and you’d nearly fallen off the couch laughing, giggling so hard you landed half in his lap.

He’d rolled his eyes and muttered something about the whole app being made by “brain rot,” a term you taught him. but you’d refused to correct him, smirking every time he repeated it wrong.

You’d made it all so effortless. The joy.

He hadn’t known it was happening—not at first. Not until it was already too late to stop. Until you were part of everything. His mornings, his evenings, the space between missions, the quiet between nightmares. The laughter between breaths.

You hadn’t forced him to change.

You’d just given him something worth changing for.

He smiled to himself, one hand curling loosely around the coffee mug, now half-cold in his grip.

You were singing now, his shirt shifted with every movement, slipping just slightly off one shoulder. The sight of it—your bare skin against his worn cotton, the easy claim of it—made his stomach twist.

And maybe it was stupid.

Maybe it was too soon.

But the thought still rooted deep in his chest and bloomed like something inevitable.

I want to come home to this for the rest of my life.

He could see it, so vividly it ached. This kitchen, your voice, that damn wooden spoon. The rest of your lives written in sunlight and bad karaoke, laughter and bare feet on tile. He wanted to memorise this, frame it. Carve it into stone so it would never change, never fade.

Because at that moment, it wasn’t just love.

It belonged.

But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Because the moment felt too perfect, too suspended in its own little pocket of magic, like one wrong word might startle it, might shatter the stillness and send it fleeing out the window with the breeze.

So he let it be.

Let it unfold in golden quiet, you twirling in his shirt, bathed in sunlight, the world narrowed down to the music and the soft clatter of silverware in the drying rack, the steam rising from your forgotten tea on the counter.

And Bucky stood there, still and quiet and entirely undone, holding a lukewarm cup of coffee and the sharp, aching certainty that one day, maybe soon, maybe not, he was going to ask you.

The third time Bucky thought about proposing to you, you were laughing in the golden light, beer in hand, surrounded by people who loved you almost as much as he did.

The sky had started to turn.

That soft stretch between afternoon and evening where the sun melted into everything it touched, bathing the world in a low, amber haze. The backyard was warm with the glow of it—fairy lights strung lazily along the rails of the compound’s rooftop.

Smoke curled up from the grill, rich and familiar, while laughter rippled across the patio like music. Somewhere in the corner, Bob’s speaker hummed with old rock music and the occasional burst of static.

It didn’t matter. Nobody seemed to mind.

You were laughing again.

That soft, breathless kind of laughter that tugged at the corners of Bucky’s mouth every damn time he heard it. Like some part of him lit up in response—quiet and instinctive, like your joy flipped a switch inside him that nothing else could.

He stood just outside the patio doors, a paper plate in hand—barely touched—but his eyes were on you.

Only you.

You were perched on the arm of John’s chair, elbow resting on his shoulder like it was second nature, beer bottle tilted carelessly in your hand. John was mid-sentence, half-defending himself from whatever teasing you were throwing at him, and you were clearly winning.

Your smile was crooked, mischievous. Familiar. The same one you always wore when you knew you were about to land a joke that would ruin someone’s ego for the rest of the week.

“You’re just mad because I’m funnier than you,” you said, clinking your bottle against his in mock sympathy, your tone soaked in smug satisfaction.

John groaned dramatically. “Please. I’m hilarious.”

Yelena snorted from the grill without even looking up. “You are a tragedy.”

Bob raised his hand like he was in a courtroom. “She’s not wrong.”

“You people have no taste,” John muttered, but there was no real bite behind it.

“You overcooked the burgers,” Bob added casually.

“Exactly,” Yelena chimed in, jabbing a fork in his direction with finality. “He’s lost all credibility.”

Over by the cooler, Alexei was deep in what could only be described as a passionate retelling of something that definitely hadn’t happened—this time about his red guardian days and a hand-to-paw brawl with some Siberian bear.

He waved his arms dramatically, chest puffed out, his voice rising with each sentence like a man delivering a one-man play.

Ava had tuned him out completely, scrolling through her phone with surgical focus and only humming in vague acknowledgment whenever he shouted the word “bear” a little too loud.

It was chaotic, the kind of mess Bucky never would’ve imagined himself a part of—let alone something he could belong to.

But he wasn’t listening to any of it.

His eyes were on you.

The way you leaned into the warmth of the moment, head tilted back in laughter, eyes crinkling at the edges like sun lines. The way you had this unspoken ease with the people around you—even the ones who hadn’t always been easy to love.

You fit into the team not like glue, but gravity—like you kept everyone tethered without even meaning to.

He shifted, let his free hand drift toward the pocket of his jeans. His fingers brushed the small velvet box tucked there.

He remembered the aftermath of what happened in New York, it had been brutal.

For everyone. But especially for John.

No one really knew what to say to him. No one quite knew how to reach him, not after it came out that Olivia had left. That the wife and baby he said was waiting back home had already left months before.

He was splintered.

You hadn’t flinched. You hadn’t hesitated.

You’d found John on the compound steps the night he returned, still bloodied and shaking, the seams of his restraint barely holding—and sat beside him.

No grand entrance. No fuss. Just a quiet presence. You didn’t offer him pity or force conversation. You didn’t tell him it would be okay, you didn’t lie.

You had reached over and took his hand.

Held it, steady and solid—while the others kept their distance. It was simply, completely unremarkable on the surface.

But it worked. Somehow. Quietly. Without demand.

And Bucky had watched it unfold, breath lodged somewhere behind his ribs. Because that was the thing about you. You never tried to fix anyone, but somehow, you still managed to help them heal.

You were everyone’s lighthouse in the dark, even the ones who pretended they didn’t need one.

Especially them.

It was only a week later when the compound had gone still when Bucky had found himself at the dining table, elbows braced, shoulders tight, knuckles white around the edge of a ceramic mug he wasn’t drinking from.

He sat there for a long time, unmoving, eyes fixed on nothing, haunted by something he couldn’t name. The image of what he saw in the void still crawled under his skin—loud in the quiet, vivid behind his eyes.

He hadn’t noticed you until you spoke.

You padded in barefoot, still warm from sleep, wrapped in his shirt that hung off one shoulder. Your hair was tangled, voice soft and low like you hadn’t used it yet that day.

You didn’t ask what was wrong. You didn’t need to.

You just pulled out the chair beside him, sat down, and reached for his hand. No preamble. No questions. Just your fingers curling gently around his.

“I’m here, James,” you whispered, voice so quiet he barely caught it. “You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

And that—that was all it took.

He hadn’t said anything. Just nodded once, jaw tight as the tears came fast and quiet and unexpected.

Your grip never loosened.

And then Bucky blinked, too, like waking from a dream.

The memory dissolved around the edges, softening into the golden blur of now.

You were still laughing with John, chin resting on your hand, your bottle now empty and forgotten.

The sky behind you had turned a dusky pink, streaked with orange and fading blue. The fairy lights blinked overhead like slow, lazy fireflies.

Bucky swallowed hard, throat thick, heart heavy with something he didn’t quite know how to hold. Something fragile and infinite.

The ring burned in his pocket.

Yelena sidled up beside him, two plates balanced in one hand, her eyes trailing the line of his gaze before she leaned in just enough to bump her shoulder against his.

“She’s good for you,” she said simply, like it was fact, like it had always been obvious.

He blinked, pulled his eyes from you long enough to glance at her. She was right.

“I know,” he said softly, mostly to himself, his fingers brushing the velvet box again, like the shape of it grounded him.

Soon.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he just stood there in the glow of fairy lights and fading sunlight, and let himself love you in silence.

The fourth time Bucky thought of proposing to you was during that one particular movie night.

The rec room buzzed, the lights were dimmed, shadows stretched across the walls in flickering shapes, and someone had dragged in extra bean bags and pillows from the training room—turning the entire floor into a makeshift nest of mismatched blankets and old couch cushions.

The screen glowed in the dark, casting soft blues and golds onto lazy limbs and half-finished bowls of popcorn.

You were curled beside Bucky on the couch, shoulder pressed into his side, legs tangled loosely beneath a shared blanket.

One of your socks had slipped off sometime during the first act. He didn’t even know when. He just knew your toes were cold when they nudged against his shin—and he hadn’t moved away.

He didn’t think he ever could.

The room smelled like buttered popcorn and worn fabric, like sleep and safety and leftover takeout from the kitchen.

Ava was stretched out across two bean bags with Alpine curled on her stomach. Bob had his head tipped back, already snoring softly, while Yelena and Alexei were still arguing in hushed voices about who cried harder during The Lion King.

It was quiet in a way that only felt possible when you were all together. The kind of quiet that wasn’t empty—just easy.

You shifted slightly, your fingers brushing over Bucky’s hand beneath the blanket. And then, without thinking, you began to trace the ridges of his knuckles. Absentminded. Familiar. Like muscle memory.

Like you’d done it a hundred times before—because you had.

It was your comfort habit. Your way of grounding yourself when the day had been too long or your eyes were growing heavy.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look up.

Your breathing slowed and your head dropped against his chest.

Bucky watched you as your eyelids fluttered, your face softening in sleep, lips parting slightly with each slow breath. Your lashes twitched like you were dreaming already—and god, you looked peaceful. Completely undone by comfort and warmth.

You drooled a little. Right there on his chest.

And he chuckled quietly to himself, shaking his head like it didn’t knock the breath out of him. Like it didn’t make his heart twist with something so fierce and tender he couldn’t look away.

Because this—this stupid little moment, your drool soaking into his shirt and your body heavy against his side—this was it.

This was love.

This was the kind of night that carved itself into your bones without even asking.

The movie ended in the background—soft fade-to-black and swelling music—but Bucky didn’t move. People started shifting. Groaning. Standing.

Bob staggered to his feet, mumbling something about a sugar crash. Alexei wandered off in search of leftovers.

Even Yelena, who usually never missed a chance to call Bucky a “domestic menace,” didn’t say anything this time. She just shot him a look, eyes soft for once, and tugged Bob toward the hallway by the sleeve.

Eventually, the room emptied.

But he stayed right where he was.

Blanket pooled over both your legs. Your body curled into his. One of your hands still loosely wrapped around his.

And Bucky leaned his head back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“I want every night like this,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t even a thought—just something that slipped out, something too true to hold in.

He looked down at you again, the words still blooming on his tongue, soft and certain.

He nearly asked.

Right then.

Nearly reached into his pocket for the ring that had never left his side since he’d bought it. Nearly tilted your chin up, brushed your hair out of your face, and told you he never wanted to do this life without you.

But then—

You snored.

Not loud. Not obnoxious.

Just enough to break the spell.

And Bucky laughed under his breath, the kind of laugh that cracked his chest open a little. He dipped his head, pressed a slow kiss to your forehead, and breathed in the soft scent of your shampoo, your skin, the safety of you asleep against him.

“Soon, baby,” he whispered, lips against your temple. “I’ll ask you soon.”

And in that quiet, golden stillness, as the credits rolled and your breathing evened out again, Bucky knew he could wait.

Just a little longer.

The fifth time Bucky thought of proposing to you, it was in a hospital ward.

Sokovia had been burning.

The sky was thick with smoke and dust, buildings gutted by fire and shrapnel, streets vibrating beneath their feet as another explosion rocked the earth in the distance.

The air was chaos—civilians screaming, radios crackling, the stench of blood sharp against the tang of ash and diesel.

And through it all, Bucky could still hear your voice in his ear—calm, clear, steady, a tether in the madness as you moved beside him.

“There’s two trapped in the north alley,” you’d said, breathless from the sprint, dirt streaked across your cheek. “I’ve got them Buck, go cover the evac point.”

He should’ve listened.

God, he should’ve listened.

But you were always the brave one. The reckless one when it counted. The one who would throw yourself into the fire if it meant pulling someone else out. And before he could stop you, before he could argue, it was already happening.

The shot came out of nowhere—a single, clean crack that split the world in half.

Then motion.

You.

Slamming into him with a force that knocked the air from his lungs — all instinct and desperation. The bullet was meant for him, but it found you instead.

The sound it made when it hit you would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Not a scream. Not even a gasp.

Just a sickening, solid thud, and the look in your eyes, just for a second, before your legs buckled and you collapsed into him like a marionette whose strings had been cut.

Bucky caught you before your knees hit the ground.

He hit his knees with you, arms tightening, hands already pressing hard against your chest, where blood was blooming fast. Too fast.

The warmth of it soaked his fingers, thick and terrifying, spilling between them like time slipping away.

His breath stuttered. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking—both of them slick and red—no line anymore between man and machine, just one desperate body trying to hold another together.

“Nonononono—baby, stay with me,” he begged, voice cracking. “Look at me. Come on, just look at me.”

Your eyes fluttered.

Barely.

You were gasping, breath catching on every inhale, body struggling against gravity and pain—but still, somehow, you found his hand. Still curled your blood-slicked fingers into his like it mattered. Like he mattered.

And then—the whisper.

Barely a breath.

“It’s okay, James.”

You tried to smile. You tried. Even as your chest heaved, even as your face paled. You were still trying to make him feel better. Even then.

And then your eyes slipped closed.

Your hand went slack in his.

“No—” His voice broke. “No, baby, please. Please—stay with me. Stay.”

He screamed for help, hell he shouted it until his throat tore open.

It wasn’t words anymore. It was a sound. Something raw and helpless, a sound he hadn’t made in years—maybe ever. The comms burst to life in his ear, voices overlapping—Alexei calling coordinates, Ava yelling his name, John barking into his comm and Yelena screaming at Bob to send a medic to your position.

But Bucky heard none of it.

Just the ringing. Just the static in his head. Just the crushing silence of your body going still in his arms.

Blood on his hands, blood on his knees, blood on your lips.

And you weren’t moving.

The hallway outside the operating room was too clean. Too bright and way too quiet.

The overhead lights buzzed faintly, and Bucky sat slouched against the wall, the chill of the tile seeping through his suit as he clutched a cup of coffee gone long cold. It had stopped steaming ages ago, untouched, forgotten. He didn’t even remember someone giving it to him.

His front was still damp. His knees stained, his fingers raw from scrubbing your blood off in the sink—not all of it had come out.

Yelena sat nearby, arms folded, her head bowed in a silence she never wore. Bob paced. John stood against the far wall with his arms crossed tight over his chest, unmoving. Nobody had spoken in what felt like hours.

Then the door opened.

And Bucky was on his feet before the surgeon even stepped fully into the hallway.

“She made it.”

Three words.

Three impossible, world-shifting words.

Bucky didn’t remember moving, he didn’t remember dropping the cup or pushing past the doctor or the sound of someone calling after him.

He only remembered one thing:

Your name. In his mouth, in his heart. Like prayer.

You had looked so small in the bed.

The hospital sheets were too white against your skin, the steady beep of the monitors barely loud enough to be real.

Your chest rose and fell beneath the thin blanket, each breath shallow but steady. Your face was pale, lashes resting against your cheeks, an IV threaded into the back of your hand.

But you were breathing. Alive.

Bucky stood at your bedside, his hands hovering before he let himself reach—let his fingers wrap gently around yours, careful not to jostle the wires and tubes. He brought your hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to your knuckles like you were made of glass.

Only then did he let himself breathe.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice cracked and hoarse. “God, I thought—”

He couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t shape the rest of the words around the tremble in his throat. His eyes stung, vision blurring.

He sat down slowly, legs folding under him, and leaned in until his forehead rested against yours.

And there, in the soft hum of hospital machines and the scent of antiseptic and blood and you, he whispered:

“I can’t lose you.”

And in that moment, Bucky knew with more certainty than he’d ever known anything that he didn’t want a life unless it was with you in it. That love wasn’t a question anymore.

It was you. It had always been you.

The day Bucky proposed to you, it didn’t go as he had hoped.

The plan had been simple.

Well… sort of.

Bucky had spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen with Alpine circling his feet and panic setting in somewhere between how hard can it be? and why is this bread still doughy on the inside?

He had bribed Bob and Yelena with a full month of coffee runs to get you out of the compound—bought himself a few uninterrupted hours. Just enough time to pull together something romantic.

A quiet night with a dinner he made just for the both of you. Something that felt normal—something that felt like home.

You deserved that.

You deserved wine, and music, and a man who tried.

And god, was he trying.

He’d even worn the apron you got him last Christmas—Kiss the Cook (or Else)—tied it on with absolutely no protest, even though he had grumbled when he found it.

The fabric was too pink, the font was too aggressive. You had giggled when you gave it to him and well, he had never actually worn it.

Until today.

It was stupid. It was stupidly perfect.

And then everything went sideways.

The sauce burned—thick and bitter and clingy, turning the pan black and smoky before he could scrape it off."The bread didn’t rise right—not the first, second, or even the third time. Each loaf slumped in the center like it had given up halfway through baking.

Bucky had followed the recipe twice. Nothing worked. The wine bottle tipped when he reached too fast for a spoon. It spilled across the counter, down the cabinet, pooled under the fruit bowl. Then he dropped a fork into the pan of sauce, tried to fish it out and burned his hand. Swore loudly enough that Alpine hissed and darted under the kitchen table like he had somehow betrayed her on a spiritual level.

The smoke alarm nearly went off.

He hit it with a dish towel and muttered threats at it.

It was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster.

And that was before he heard the front door creak open.

His whole body froze.

He turned slowly, eyes wide, just as your footsteps reached the edge of the hall—too light to be Bob, too quiet to be Yelena. He knew your walk by now. The soft padding of your soles. The way you always slowed down when your hands were full. The way the silence always shifted when you entered a room.

And his stomach sank.

You were home. Too early.

The clock on the oven blinked at him uselessly, and he barely had time to wipe his hands on the apron when you walked into the kitchen.

You stopped short.

Still holding your coat, still glowing faintly from the wind outside and the laughter that hadn’t quite left your face.

And then you saw it.

The smoke, the scorched pan, the puddle of wine dripping a slow trail toward the floor. The half-risen bread like a sad little crater on the counter.

And in the middle of it all—Bucky. In the pink apron. Covered in flour and tomato splatter, clutching a wooden spoon like it might just attack him.

You blinked.

“Was this all for me?”

Bucky looked like a deer caught in a trap.

Or maybe more like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar—big and awkward and helpless, covered in guilt and powdered sugar.

“I—” He swallowed. “I realised I haven’t taken you out on a real date.”

He shifted, the wooden spoon still in his hand like he didn’t know what to do with it anymore.

“I just… I wanted to make tonight special.”

Your lips twitched.

The kitchen smelled like defeat and oregano. The oven was beeping at nothing. Smoke hung faintly in the air like an accusation. And still, your heart cracked wide open.

You stepped toward him—slowly, gently—and rose onto your toes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, Buck,” you murmured, lips brushing the curve of his jaw. “I’ve got leftover cereal.”

Your tone was teasing, warm, affectionate in the way only you could be. Forgiving. Soft. Home.

You turned, half-laughing, reaching for the cupboard above the microwave, the one that always held your comfort stash. Granola and that one sugar cereal you swore was for cheat days and ate every Sunday anyway.

You reached for the handle.

And Bucky’s heart stuttered.

He watched your hand move in slow motion, watched as your fingers curl around the cupboard door, the hinge creaking faintly.

His stomach dropped.

“Baby, wait—no—”

But it was too late.

You opened the door. Your fingers paused.

And there it was.

Tucked behind a half-finished bag of granola and an emergency box of toaster waffles sat a small red velvet box. Not fancy or flashy, but unmistakable. The kind that didn’t belong next to cereal.

The kind that meant something. The kind that meant everything.

You didn’t move.

Just stared.

And across the room, Bucky stood frozen, apron crooked, hair still damp from the steam, sauce on his cheek, and absolutely no words left in his mouth.

“I was gonna ask later,” he muttered, voice low, thick with something heavy. “There was a whole thing. Music. Dessert. A ring not hidden behind cereal.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I ruined it.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

You just looked at him—really looked at him. At the mess behind him. At the pink apron barely clinging to its dignity. At the way he stood there like he still expected the floor to swallow him whole.

And your eyes welled up.

Your smile tugged softly at the corners of your mouth, cracking you wide open like a sunrise.

“Yes,” you said.

Bucky blinked. “But… you didn’t even open it.”

You closed the cupboard gently and turned to face him. A breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh as you stepped forward.

“I don’t have to.”

And that was it.

That was all it took.

Bucky crossed the kitchen in three slow steps, reached for your face with both hands like you were made of something precious—fragile and entirely his.

He kissed you like he was carving the moment into memory. Like nothing else existed but the space between your lips and his heart.

Then, wordlessly, he lifted you onto the counter, settling between your legs, hands braced on your thighs like they were the only anchor he needed.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, breath shaking. “You have no idea.”

You laughed, watery and real, arms wrapping around his neck as you pulled him closer.

“I do,” you whispered. “Me too.”

The kitchen was still a disaster.

The bread was half-baked. The wine was staining the grout. The sauce had scorched itself into the pan so deeply it might never come out.

But none of it mattered.

Because this—this—was perfect.

And it always would be.

a/n: i hope you enjoyed it!! if you did, please leave a comment or a reblog! thank you my love 💖

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irlcupcake · 1 year ago

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10 of my favorite easy glow up tips! 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

get a gua sha!! not expensive at all and made such a difference in my face shape and carving out my cheek bones and jawline. there’s lots of good tutorials on tiktok or youtube!

tea in the morning/night! there’s so many teas to help with different things but my favorite’s are spearmint tea for clearing skin and green tea for reducing bloating.

ice your face! helps SO much with de-puffing and closing up your pores! dipping your face in a bowl with ice water can reduce inflammation, help with acne and reduce oily skin!

make sure to get enough sleep! It’s so easy to stay up scrolling on tumblr until the sun comes up but getting enough sleep is so important mentally and physically!

find a skincare routine that works for you and remember too much skincare can be bad for your skin! my skin was breaking out the worst when i was using a bunch of skincare and It’s cleared so much since i simplified my routine.

use a lash/brow serum! my favorite brand is grande lash and it’s a little pricey but using castor oil works as well and it’s super affordable.

going on walks! I’ve never been a fan of intense exercises and I’m a chronic bed rotter but putting on my favorite hot girl playlist and strutting on the treadmill/sidewalk is genuinely so fun!

rosemary oil for hair growth! my holy grail of hair growth products along with a scalp massager. my whole life my hair grew so slow and since using rosemary oil i have to trim my bangs twice a month sometimes!

i cannot stress this one enough..wear what YOU want! don’t let new trends or judgment from others stop you from embracing your true style. we look our best when we feel most confident!

most importantly ~ take care of yourself! make sure you’re eating enough, drinking water, listening to your body and being gentle with yourself always. improving ourselves can be so fun but make sure it’s not at the expense of your mental health <3

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yeyinde · 11 months ago

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Would you consider writing a poly141 version of the babytrap universe? Completely understand if it’s not to your interest to write, but I would love to see that story play out in your delicious writing style :)

ohh, absolutely. i think the best way to do it would be to have poor reader, desperate for a family of her own, and making the stupid decision to hand her resignation into Price.

and then admitting, shyly, that there's no man in your life, just a donor waiting for you to sign the papers and make the deposit for the procedure. thanking him for everything he's done, of course; but you're excited for this new chapter in your life.

He accepts it. Sure. Smiles tightly, and says, "good luck." Calls a meeting after to discuss it with the rest of the team. Closed door. A little unusual, but nothing that immediately raises your hackles. You're too busy cleaning up your desk to really pay much attention to hushed whispers in Price's office. Happy to celebrate, too, when Johnny invited you out for drinks after. Tae say goodbye properly, he said, and looking back, you should have seen through the faux sadness draped over his brow. Picked up on the giddy excitement buzzing around him as he led you to the bar, as he offered to get you drinks. Handed you an open bottle. Tipping it back for you to drink more.

Keep goin’, doe. Drink ‘er up.

Another one. Another. Your head swims. Kyle is there, hands warm on your waist, breath rippling across the sweat gathering on the nape of your neck.

“C’mon, birdie. Have a shot with me.” He coos, bringing the glass to your lips, chest glued to your spine. “Can't believe you want a baby. Fuck, birdie, that's—”

Johnny murmurs something under his breath. You blamed the three glasses of whiskey sour (Price wouldn't let you have anything else) and a shot of tequila for why it sounded like,

hope it's mine—

To the left of you, Ghost snorts under his breath. Shifts in the stool that creaks, whining under his weight. You blink through fog seeping into your head, this strange, syrupy torpor that bleeds into the corners of your vision, makes everything feel muted, far away, and turned to him with a pout.

He'd been acting strange ever since Price told him your plans. Quieter, somehow. But—

There.

Everywhere.

Your fixed shadow. Looming in the corners.

You make to ask him what the hell he's doing, why he's following you around, but the words slosh out in a tangle. Incompressible.

Ghost huffs. His gloved hand lifts, falls to your throat, holding you steady with his thumb digging shallowly into your pulse.

“Careful,” he mocks, dragging the word out like he was speaking to a misbehaving child. It bristles through you, but your tongue is thick. Liquid in your mouth. “Got a big night ahead o’you yet, pet. Try not t’hurt yourself before I get to knock you up.”

Distantly, you think you hear Gaz say something—oi, mate, maybe—but there's a shrill ringing in your ear that drowns it all out. A cotton spooling in your head. You blink—foolishly—and lean into his palm, mouth dropping in surprise. Shock.

Horror.

“Wha—?”

But it's too late, of course. What you thought were the comforting threads of a warm blanket spooling over your shoulders was the silken strands of a spider's web the whole time. Caught in their trap.

And then you come to with a warm weight pressed against your back, a thick, hairy arm slung around your shoulders. Trapping you tight against a warm, broad chest.

“Want a baby, mm?” your captain coos in your ear, humid breath tickling your skin. Dampening it slightly as he leans in close, lips pressed to the shell—a warm, wet heat that makes you tremble—and adds: “fine, love. Since you want one so bad—”

An arm lashes out of the shadows dancing around the room; through the heavy haze, the fog in your head (the last thing you remember is being offered a drink by Johnny, another by Kyle—), you struggle to make sense of what's happening around you as rough, dry fingers curl over your knee, prying your thighs apart:

“—then we'll give it to you.”

You watch, dazed, dizzy, as cherryred knuckles slip down the valley of your spread legs, the ink on their thick fingers flexing, dancing, in the slip of pale moonlight until they curl into the hem of your panties, tugging the fabric roughly to the side.

The sudden swell of cold air on your exposed cunt makes you gasp. Your knees jerking, trying to fold together to hide yourself, preserve some modicum of modesty, but the hand on your flesh tightens. Prevents you from moving. It keeps you open for their gaze. Lets them all gawk at the wide knuckles pressed against the seam of your pussy. Flushed in the low light. Dripping—

In the murk, someone groans—

“Shoulda told us sooner you wanted a fuckin’ baby, sweet’art. Woulda given you one sooner before y’had to go an’ do somethin’ so foolish—”

Foolish. Like paying for another man to put a baby inside of you when that privilege belongs to them. And them alone.

And really—

You should have known better.

#theyre so competitive about it too :/#all eagerly trying their hardest to knock you up and then refusing to get a paternity test because thats *their* baby #a vicious cycle #poly 141 x reader #141 x reader #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #141drabbles

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sugardollyxoxo · 27 days ago

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Dolly's guide to a bimbolicious summer pt 2

pt 1

Appearance

Pale pink lip gloss, fluffy curls, bombshell bras, pink mini skirts, dolly lashes, body glitter. Being a bimbo is about expressing your inner femininity that society has tried to suppress and shame for far too long. Reject conformity & embracing individuality.

Define your persona- Who is she, really? What’s her color palette? soft pastels or chic neutrals. Is she a sultry video vixen or a sweet dolly princess? Who are her icons? What does a day in her life look like, from how she gets ready to what she wears when she runs errands or lounges at home?

Closet clean out- Put on your favorite playlist, light a candle, and set the mood. When I'm cleaning out my closet I like to imagine it as one of those makeover montages from those 2000s movies.

The easiest part is getting rid of anything you truly dislike. Old baggy tees, cargo pants you never wear, sneakers you don’t love, your brother’s hand me downs Let. Them. Go.

And I know we all have that pair of jeans or sweater with sentimental value that we just can’t let go. That's okay! fold it up and tuck it away in a keepsake box. Out of sight, out of your new aesthetic.

When I’m deciding on what to keep, I like to ask myself:

Does this have potential?

Can I crop it, accessorize it, or layer it?

Does it match anything on my Pinterest board?

I always keep plenty of basics, they can be zhuzhed up later or personally, I like to wear them on gym days or on low effort days when I still want to look cute without doing too much.

Shopping smart- This is the fun part, but also where it’s super easy to fumble. Do not impulse buy the first cute thing you see, or you’ll end up with a piece that’s impossible to style with anything else in your closet.

Keep your Pinterest board open while you shop and make a list of your essentials. Stick to a clear color theme that matches your new vibe, this helps keep your wardrobe cohesive and makes styling way easier.

Now, when it comes to actually shopping I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE thrifting. It’s not only sustainable and budget-friendly, but it makes your aesthetic more authentic.

Let's be real, so many of our fav Y2K brands are now shadows of their former selves and websites like Depop, Poshmark, and Whatnot have so many of those vintage pieces for reasonable prices. If you’re lucky enough to have local thrift stores go! You never know what gems you’ll find between worn denim and random graphic tees. That perfect low-rise mini or baby tee might be waiting for you on a $3 rack.

REMEMBER Your closet becomes an authentic version of you, not just a copy-paste of what’s trending so shop with intent.

Dolly maintenance- Think of yourself as your own personal doll. You would never want your favorite doll to have messy hair, chipped nails, or dull skin right? So treat yourself with the same love and care.

In addition to your daily routines, make time for weekly or monthly beauty appointments. Whether that’s getting your nails done, refreshing your hair, or getting a wax. These rituals keep your inner doll glowing.

Also, make room for spa days at home. Put on a cute robe, light a candle, and pamper yourself with a hydrating sheet face mask, exfoliation, hair treatments, and body oils. Being high maintenance isn’t a flaw. It’s a lifestyle 🤏🏽 🤏🏽 🤏🏽

Posture- Your posture is one of the first things people notice, it silently communicates who you are before you even speak. Slouching expresses shyness & insecurity. Standing tall and open radiates confidence and power. Even the most plain outfit can be elevated simply by the way you sit and walk.

Think of yourself as honey: slow, and intentional. You are not a stick !!! Shoulders back, chin up, and sway those hips. Your posture is not about perfection it’s about presence.

Other tips♡

-Full maximalism I wholeheartedly believe minimalism will be the death of society. So apply that glitter like there’s no tomorrow, wear that statement outfit, none of that “clean girl” around here.

-Even on your off days wear causal outfits in your favorite color

-Find your signature scent. Our smell and memory are closely related, so even if someone doesn't remember your face, that association with your scent can evoke strong emotions.

-Incorporate gua sha and other lymphatic drainage massages into your skincare & body care routine

🎀 TAKE UP SPACE, NEVER apologize for being sexy, girly, soft, loud, or sparkly🎀

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sturniphone · 4 days ago

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── ⌗ older!matt . . . bunny!reader

❛ matt shaves his beard off, disappointing bunny ❜

Matt steps out of the bathroom, still patting his face with a towel, water droplets clinging to his collarbone. He smells like sandalwood and steam. His hair is damp, a little tousled from his shower, and his glasses are slipping down his nose, but it's his jaw that makes you freeze.

You blink up at him from your spot on the bed, surrounded by your plushies and the soft glow of your nightlight. A pink bunny blanket is pulled up to your chest, your favourite Pompompurin plush nestled beside you. The room smells faintly of strawberry lotion and dryer sheets, and everything should feel calm, but your bottom lip wobbles.

❝Y-you shaved,❞ you whisper, eyes already glistening. Matt falters in the doorway. ❝Bunny? What’s wrong?❞ You burst into tears. Real, heart-wrenching, bunny-style tears. You bury your face in your sleeve, shoulders shaking as you sob, ❝I loved your beard.❞ He crosses the room in a few long strides, crouching down in front of you with wide eyes. ❝Oh, baby… I didn’t think it’d make you this sad. I—I had to. Big meeting with the board tomorrow. They asked everyone to look clean-cut.❞

You sniffle, eyes watery as you peek at him. The stubble is still there. It’s not completely bare. But it’s not the full, soft beard you used to nuzzle into every night. You think about how it used to scratch your cheeks when he kissed you, the way you’d idly brush your fingers through it while curled up in his lap. ❝I thought it was so sexy,❞ you mumble, voice trembling. ❝It made you look like a hot lumberjack.❞

Matt huffs a soft laugh and leans up to kiss your forehead, his hand cupping the back of your neck. ❝You think I don’t still look sexy with this sharp jawline out in the open?❞ he teases gently, nudging your nose with his. ❝It’s just stubble, bunny. It’ll grow back in no time.❞ You still look pouty, a fat tear sliding down your cheek. He wipes it away with his thumb, his touch featherlight and patient.

❝I’ll grow it back for you right after this stupid meeting. Swear on my life. But for tonight… can I cuddle you with my new sharp face?❞ You pause. Eye him suspiciously. Your lashes are damp, and you sniff quietly. Then: ❝You do look kind of like a hot villain now.❞ Matt grins, dimples peeking through. ❝That’s my girl.❞

He climbs into bed beside you, sliding under the bunny blanket and pulling you onto his lap. You immediately bury your face in his neck, hands curling into his T-shirt. His skin is still warm from the shower. ❝Still love you, even if you betrayed me and your beard,❞ you mumble, words muffled into his collarbone.

He kisses your cheek, then your temple, then the tip of your nose. ❝Love you too, beard defender.❞ You curl into his chest, the soft hum of your bunny nightlight filling the silence as your breathing slows. His arms are secure around you, one hand petting your hair, the other gently resting on your back. Matt sighs, smiling into your crown. ❝Can’t believe I made my girl cry over facial hair. You win. No more beard decisions without bunny approval.❞

You don’t answer—already halfway to sleep in his arms. And even without the beard, he still smells like home.

⋆˚꩜｡ lola talks . . . the stubble is so much more sexy guys. requested here !!

── ʚ contacts . . . @chrepsi @ph3ebssturniolo @sturnsxbbyeilish @j21l91 @pip4444chris @mattslutt @sophand4n4 @mattscoquette @mi-co-uk @tezzzzzzzz @emely9274 @oopsiedaisydeer @theowensturniolo @httpssturns @matthewsroses @bugs-tags @mattswrinkleton @victorious8 @h3arts4nat @madz146 @ifwdominicfike @rriverscuomo @ivysturnss @brianaluvschris @mattsgold @sturniolotoast @ariieeesworld @angelicameron @blahbel668 @sturniszn @chriss-slutt @mattsdiva @little-lolaaa @mattsmoth @clairo4life @beabadoobeeluvr2 @matts-wife

#; ⌗ older!matt && bunny!reader﹒🍵 ⸝⸝#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #matt sturiolo fanfic #mattstuniolo x reader #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo #girlblogging #smut #chratt #matt stuniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo x you #sturniolo x y/n

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count-on-mi · 26 days ago

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Jealousy (Mina)

You and your girlfriend Mina, a member of Twice, have recently been too busy with your respective schedules to spend much time together. It’s been nearly a month since you last met, and the longing between you burns like a wildfire in your heart, keeping you restless night after night. Mina has just returned from a trip to France and, instead of resting, headed straight to the company to shoot a Dance Challenge with Amaru, a member of the junior group Kickflip. You know that Mina and Amaru’s parents have been friends for years, and the two have been close since childhood, but that doesn’t stop a twinge of jealousy from flaring up in your chest, a burning desire to pull her into your arms immediately. After all, it’s been a whole month without proper time together, and the mix of yearning and unease makes you crave her every move.

Back home, Mina pushes open the door, her face weary yet adorned with a captivating smile. She’s dressed in a casual yet enticing outfit—a white crop top that bares her flat stomach and slender waist, paired with loose-fitting blue jeans that gather slightly at the ankles, accentuating her long legs, and high-top black sneakers that add a playful touch. Her black hair cascades like a waterfall, exuding natural charm, and as it sways, a fresh scent wafts from her. She sets down her luggage and saunters toward you, her hips swaying subtly, the curves beneath her jeans teasingly visible. She speaks softly, “This trip really wore me out, and Amaru dragged me into a Dance Challenge… I’m sorry I haven’t been with you lately.” Her voice is as sweet as honey, her eyes carrying an apologetic glint, yet hinting at a seductive promise for the night.

You look at her, suppressing the jealousy in your heart, and gently take her hand, your fingertips brushing her soft palm. Mina moves closer on her own, the skin beneath her crop top rising and falling with her breath, releasing waves of intoxicating fragrance. She traces her fingers lightly across your chest, her voice low and alluring, “I’ve missed you so much this past month… How about I make it up to you tonight? I’ll put on that pink stage outfit and focus all my attention on you, okay?” Her eyes sparkle with excitement and teasing, a faint smile curling her lips, sending your heartbeat racing and igniting desire within you. You nod, replying gently, “Sure, let me see how enticing that stage outfit can be.” Mina smiles brightly, turns, and heads to the bedroom, the curve of her hips swaying under the jeans, leaving a tantalizing afterimage that sets your blood ablaze.

A moment later, Mina emerges, having shed her casual wear for that sexy pink stage outfit—a pink lace bodysuit with an off-shoulder design, sheer long sleeves like a delicate mist wrapping her slender arms, the skirt hugging her figure with seductive lace and straps that cinch her flat stomach and tiny waist, the short hem teasingly revealing her long legs, paired with white fishnet stockings and high heels, radiating a fresh yet dangerously alluring vibe. Her black hair is styled up, adorned with a black hairpiece like stars in the night sky, adding a touch of elegance and coquetry. She approaches you slowly, kneels, her eyes gleaming like stars, brimming with provocation. She undoes your pants, revealing your already erect member, its heat rushing toward her, exuding a masculine scent. She extends her pink tongue, gently licking the tip, the warm, wet sensation gliding like silk, making you tremble and groan, “Mmm… Mina…” She looks up, her eyes filled with a hint of seduction, her long lashes fluttering as she whispers, “Tonight, I’ll serve you well…” Her voice is a seductive murmur, as if whispered in your ear, stirring your deepest desires.

Mina opens her mouth, slowly taking your member inside, her warm mouth enveloping you like a hot spring, her tongue deftly swirling around it, sometimes teasing the sensitive tip, sometimes sliding along the shaft, leaving trails of wet saliva. Her hands gently grip the base, her warm palms stroking in rhythm with her oral movements, producing sticky “slurp” sounds like an erotic symphony. Waves of tingling pleasure surge from below, and you can’t help but grab her hair, the hairpiece swaying with her motions, the sheer sleeve slipping to reveal her pale collarbone, enhancing her allure. Mina speeds up, taking you deeper, her throat contracting as if sucking you in, nearly pushing you over the edge. Sensing your reaction, she releases you, her tongue lightly brushing your balls, her hot breath grazing your skin as she murmurs, “Not yet… I want you to fuck me first…” Her voice drips with temptation, her moist lips radiating deadly sexiness, fueling your burning desire.

You pull Mina up, pressing her onto the couch. She willingly spreads her legs, revealing her pink, dripping pussy, already soaked, her juices glistening like pearls, exuding a potent feminine scent that leaves you parched. You lean down, licking her lips, your tongue flicking her clit, the soft bud quivering under your touch, eliciting a trembling moan as she clutches your hair, pulling you deeper between her thighs, “Ah… so sensitive… go deeper…” You quicken your tongue’s pace, mimicking thrusts, tasting her sweet nectar and feeling her inner walls contract. Her breathing grows rapid, her body writhing, the fishnets shimmering under the light, her juices trailing down her thighs, soaking the couch. Her moans escalate into shrill cries, “Ah… I can’t take it… I’m going to cum…” Before she finishes, her body convulses, a hot stream erupting from her pussy, splashing your face with her scent, driving you wilder.

Mina, catching the hunger in your eyes, chuckles softly and lies back on the couch, lifting her legs high and pressing them toward her chest in a mating press position. Facing you, her eyes lock onto yours, the fishnet-clad legs glowing seductively under the light. She hikes up the bodysuit, exposing her wet pussy and tight ass, the pink lace a second layer of temptation on her skin. Biting her lip, she teases, “Come on… take me hard in this mating press, let me feel every thrust.” Her pose is exposed and inviting, her long lashes hiding boundless desire, as if challenging your endurance.

You kneel before her, hands supporting her hips, pressing her legs closer to her chest, fully exposing her pussy. Gripping your member, you align it with her slick entrance and thrust in deeply, feeling her warm, tight vagina envelop you like velvet, her body trembling as she whispers, “Ah… so deep… you’re fucking me so good…” The mating press allows your member to reach her deepest spots, her juices overflowing, trickling down her ass crack, filling the air with an enticing aroma.

You begin thrusting, starting slow then building speed, each stroke slamming into her core, the slapping sounds echoing as if you’re conquering her body. Her ass quivers with each motion, her face-to-face gaze hazy, moans growing wilder, “Ah… too deep… you’re hitting me inside… I’m losing it…” Her pussy tightens, gripping you, the inner walls pulsing like a seductive dance, delivering intense pleasure. One hand slides to her chest, kneading her erect nipples through the lace, her breasts bouncing in your palm, while the other spanks her ass, leaving faint red marks, her trembling skin amplifying her sexiness. She cries out but pushes back, “Ah… spank me more… I love it…”

You vary your rhythm—fast bursts followed by slow, deep thrusts—your member plunging in and out, striking her core, her juices flowing like a stream, soaking your union. Her moans rise to a peak, “Oh… God… this position is too much… I’m cumming…” Her body shakes violently, her pussy clenching, a hot gush soaking your lower abdomen, trailing down her fishnets with a strong feminine scent. Undeterred, you keep thrusting, feeling her inner tremors. Her breasts jiggle under your kneading, nipples hard as ripe fruit; you lean down, sucking one, your tongue circling the tip, occasionally nipping, the sucking sounds blending with her cries. Facing you, she screams, “Ah… don’t stop… suck me… I’m going crazy…” Her voice cracks with tears, her eyes fixed on you, glistening, clearly overwhelmed by pleasure.

“Cum inside… let me feel your heat…” Mina begs breathlessly, her voice thick with longing, her moist lips glowing with seduction. Unable to hold back, you thrust to the hilt, roaring as you release a torrent of hot semen into her, the thick fluid filling her vagina with warmth. She convulses, climaxing repeatedly, her pussy milking you dry, mixing with her juices to drip onto the couch in a lewd display. Panting, she kisses you, her tongue invading your mouth, murmuring, “It’s amazing…”

After a brief rest, Mina’s eyes reignite with desire. She gently pushes you away, straddling you in a cowgirl position, hands on your chest. Her pussy, still slick, wraps around your member, sending waves of pleasure, her inner heat like molten lava. She kisses your neck, her tongue teasing your earlobe, her warm breath making you shiver as she whispers, “Now it’s my turn… I’ll make you feel incredible…” Her movements accelerate, hips rising and falling, each descent swallowing you deep, producing sticky wet sounds, the pink sheer fabric slipping to reveal her enticing breasts and flat stomach, nipples gleaming under the light.

You grip her waist, feeling the cool straps, matching her rhythm with upward thrusts, your member driving in and out, delivering ecstasy. Her moans resume, “Ah… so hard… you’re hard again… I want more…” Her breasts sway, nipples faintly visible through the sheer fabric; you can’t resist kneading them, feeling their soft bounce, her heartbeat pulsing in your palm. Her nipples harden under your fingers; a gentle pinch elicits a sharp cry, “Ah… don’t pinch… too sensitive…” You quicken your pace, your member churning inside her, each thrust hitting her deepest point, her core quivering, juices gushing like a spring, drenching you with a potent scent.

Mina slows, switching to a nine-shallow-one-deep rhythm, teasing you with light drops and sudden plunges, her inner walls contracting like a lover’s whisper, taunting your nerves. She kisses you deeply, tongues entwining, saliva mixing as she murmurs, “I’ll make you feel so good…” Her movements grow more seductive, hips twisting provocatively, the hairpiece swaying, adding to her allure. You thrust upward in response, your member plunging in and out, waves of pleasure building. Her moans turn wilder, “Ah… too deep… you’re fucking me so good… I’m cumming…” Her pussy tightens, a hot stream soaking your abdomen with her scent, driving you wilder. Feeling your own release nearing, you growl, shooting into her again; she trembles, collapsing in post-climax bliss, gasping, “You… you’re amazing…”

Your desire remains unquenched. You gently flip her, positioning Mina on her stomach with her ass raised, ready for anal. She turns to look at you, a mix of shyness and anticipation in her eyes, lips parting slightly as she whispers, “Be gentle… my ass is my sensitive spot…” You caress her ass, feeling its silky softness, then use her juices to lubricate her tight hole, massaging gently. She hums softly, body quivering, the fishnets glowing under the light, murmuring, “Mmm… so good… you know how sensitive it is…” Turns out, her ass has been explored before, its sensitivity heightened by experience, a hidden source of pleasure.

You grip your member, slowly entering her tight anus, feeling an unprecedented tightness and warmth, her inner walls like flames around you. Mina moans in satisfaction, pushing back to take more, “Ah… so tight… but so good… deeper…” You pause, letting her adjust, then start slow thrusts, her anus clenching you, delivering intense pleasure. One hand slides to her pussy, rubbing her clit, the other spanking her ass, leaving red marks, her trembling skin enhancing her allure. Her moans grow complex, blending pleasure and excitement, “Ah… it hurts… but feels so good… fuck my ass… I love it…”

You accelerate, your member plunging in and out of her tight hole, each thrust intense. Her ass jiggles with each impact, the slapping sounds filling the room, her moans escalating, “Ah… too deep… you’re fucking my ass so good… harder…” Her anus contracts with your rhythm, the tightness turning to frenzied pleasure; you knead her breast with one hand, stimulating her clit with the other, delivering triple ecstasy. Her body shakes, pussy and anus clenching simultaneously, “Ah… I can’t… my sensitive spots are cumming…”

Her body convulses, a hot stream from her pussy, her anus tightening around you, inner walls pulsing like a lover’s embrace. Unable to resist, you roar, releasing a flood of hot semen deep into her ass, the thick fluid filling her, trickling down her crack in a lewd display. Mina spasms, the aftershocks leaving her limp on the couch, panting, “You… you’re too good at fucking my ass… I’m so satisfied…”

You gently lift her into your arms, letting her rest against your chest as you both catch your breath. You stroke her hair, saying softly, “Mina, I missed you so much this month. Without you, something feels missing.” She looks up, a tender glint in her eyes, replying gently, “Me too… every time I doing photo shooting, I think of you, longing to return to your arms.” You hold her tightly, kissing her forehead, whispering, “You’re everything to me. No matter how busy, I’ll wait for you.” Mina smiles softly, nestling into your chest, murmuring, “I love you… let’s spend more time together tonight, okay?” Her warm, sweet voice warms your heart, and you both bask in this intimate moment.

But the calm is soon broken. Mina sits up suddenly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her hand slides down, gently grasping your member, starting to stroke. Her fingers deftly tease the tip, sending tingles through you, her warm palm enveloping you, reigniting your desire. She leans close, her lips near your ear, whispering, “Not enough yet… I want you to fuck me again…” Her voice is a spellbinding lure, her pace quickening, irresistible. You growl, scooping her up and heading to the bedroom, ready to unleash your passion on her once more.

In the bedroom, you lay Mina on the bed; she spreads her legs, the pink lace bodysuit hiked up, revealing her still-wet pussy and tight ass. The fishnets glow under the light as you grip your member, thrusting into her pussy hard. She cries out, “Ah… so deep… harder…” You pound relentlessly, each thrust hitting her core, the slapping sounds filling the room. Her breasts bounce under the sheer fabric; you knead one nipple, spanking her ass with the other, igniting her sensitive spots. Her moans turn wild, “Ah… so good… fuck me… I’m cumming…” Her pussy clenches, a hot stream erupting as you release inside her, both reaching climax, lost in ecstasy.

#minasaiyatis #twice smut #girl group smut #kpop smut #female idol smut #m reader #twice imagines #mina smut #twice mina

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margecouture · 2 months ago

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10 model-approved beauty secrets 💄

here will be a list of 10 beauty secrets i've learned from a model who's been in the industry for over 10 years and also studied from some of our beloved top name models in the industry. we all love good beauty hacks and tips that won't take much effort or drain our pockets. so here are the secrets.. :

LESS IS MORE. less enhances rather than overwhelms. opt for a lightweight foundation of your choice, such as charlotte tilbury or a skin tint, like fenty beauty to avoid cakey makeup. and effortless elegance, looking without seeming overly done, makes you feel beautiful and is truly captivating. — think "clean girl aesthetic" or "french beauty" philosophy. this is also good for skin health, too many products may be bad for your skin.

daily facial massages and sculpting. using a guasha, jade roller, face roller, etc. has many beauty benefits beyond just self-care. using these tools on your face daily can reduce puffiness, lift and tone facial features, deliver oxygen and nutrients to the skin, giving it a natural, radiant glow. try massaging your face daily with your knuckles and apply a serum your skin likes.

jewelry is the way to enhance any look. jewelry adds polish without trying too hard, it enhances features, earrings highlight cheekbones, necklaces draw attention to the collarbone, rings add elegance to hand gestures.

try not to draw on brows. this beauty secret says that you should only fill in the sparse areas of your brows, outline, and blend. harsh or overly defined brows can make your facial features look rigid. try brow gels, powders, or even a light-handed pencil. do what you love but it's all about technique.

rub ice over your face before applying makeup. this beauty hack is good for those with oily skin. the ice minimizes pores, reduces puffiness and redness, and helps makeup last longer. wrap the the ice cube in a cloth or use an ice roller.

wear almond, oval, or short square nails. these nail shapes are universally flattering and effortlessly elegant. they are versatile for any style, whether you prefer minimal or bold nail art, or even french tip nails are a classic in beauty. very low maintenance and can still do everyday tasks while looking polished.

use castor oil to help grow your lashes. castor oil is rich in nutrients and deeply conditioning, with tons of growth benefits and non-chemical. use a clean spoolie or cotton swab to apply a thin layer before bed.

let concealer sit for 2-3 minutes before blending. letting the concealer marinate gives fuller coverage and grips the skin better. use this technique for under eye circles and blemishes.

find a makeup routine that enhances your natural features. celebrate your unique beauty instead of masking it! a more natural look is lower maintenance, feeling comfortable and fresh. opt for cream products, lightweight foundation, tinted moisturizer, and apply concealer only where needed.

skincare is EVERYTHING. skincare is important because it lays the foundation for healthy, radiant skin and confidence. when your skin is properly cared for, it helps with everything—texture, hydration, barrier strength, and even long-term anti-aging benefits.

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ruusawa · 1 month ago

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✶⋆.˚ MDNI, 18+ ONLY

✶⋆.˚ mark grayson x female cosplayer reader

✶⋆.˚ mark’s teenage fantasies come alive (I know he had this exact fantasy fr), unprotected p in v, cumming inside, oral male receiving, from behind, mark bends reader over his desk (is there a name for that position? idk), mark calls reader baby a lot, not beta read

✶⋆.˚ 1188 words

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

“Okay, babe, I got the con passes and the list of panels and signings we want to- oh wow,” Mark stops in his bedroom doorway, staring at you unashamed.

It’s like all of his dirty teenage fantasies come to life. Is he dead? Is this heaven? Mark can’t believe it. You look… perfect. Beautiful. Fuckable.

Mark knew he had struck gold when he found a girl as beautiful as you, who actually liked him, and who was also a nerd, just like him. He loved staying up late, watching anime, reading comic books, creating fan theories and just generally nerding out together. It’s bliss, total bliss.

But the icing on the cake, the best part, the part Mark is finding out right now. You’re a cosplayer. And right now, you’re decked out in the most detailed outfit he’s ever seen, the wig is styled perfectly, and the makeup you’re applying makes you look even more like his favourite comic book character (behind Senace Dog, obviously).

His fictional crush is stood in his bedroom.

You smile at Mark, a faint blush on your cheeks at his obvious ogling.

“You look…” Mark can’t find the words. “Just wow.”

“We’re not skipping this con, Mark.”

“Fuck.”

This is torture. Mark loves comic con as much as the next nerd. Artists alley, the meet and greets, the signings, the cosplayers.

But this?

Mark doesn’t love this. Except he does, maybe. He’s not too sure.

He watches as people approach the two of you. Random people compliment your cosplay, ask to take photos. Random people check you out. Is he invisible? He’s right there, it’s so obvious you’re together, right? Right?

It doesn’t help that Mark is desperate to pounce on you. The thoughts bouncing around his skull of the many ways he wants to ravish you are getting out of control. Too often today, Mark has had to tear his gaze away from how your chest looks. The strapless bra he’d helped you put on this morning accentuates your cleavage. Mark swears he can see your nipples through the fabric of the cosplay in the cool air when you both step outside for a breather.

“Did you find everything on your list?” You ask, peering at Mark curiously.

“Huh?” It takes a moment for Mark to realise what you’re talking about. “Yeah, and then some.”

You laugh at that. Mark had been adamant he would only buy what was on his list, no less, no more. In true nerd at comic con fashion, Mark had bought way more than he had planned to buy, and spent way more than he planned to spend.

“Yeah, I can see that,” you tease, nudging Mark with your shoulder. “Those prints, though, that art was insane, I could’ve bought them all.”

“The one with the cool nineties style, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” You turn as a group of other con goers approach, asking for a photo, complimenting your cosplay. You take it all in stride with a friendly smile, posing with them, chatting and laughing.

Mark watches, simply admiring you. He’s still wondering how he got so lucky. He’s also wondering how opposed you’ll be to wearing that cosplay in bed.

You’re not opposed at all, it turns out. You’re a vision, looking up at Mark through your lashes, lips red and slick with spit as your mouth sinks down his cock. Your tongue presses against the underside as you come back up, suckling the head, making Mark squirm. He wants to bury his hands into the wig, tug you closer, until your nose is pressed against the coarse hairs on his pelvis. But you’d been specific, don’t fuck up the wig.

“Fuck, baby, just like that,” Mark groans as you take him in again, the tip hitting the back of your throat. You hold him there before pulling off completely. You smile up at him, and Mark groans again. This is all of Mark’s dirty teenage fantasies come alive. Mark is no longer jerking off to fanart on the internet, he’s got the (almost) real thing on her knees in front of him.

“Shit baby, you look like a dream,” Mark murmurs. “Come here.”

He’s pulling you up, leaning down to press kisses across your face before finding your lips. Mark’s tongue fucks into your mouth, hands flexing against your hips as he grasps at the flesh. His cock brushes against the fabric of the cosplay, smearing precum over the fabric.

“You like the cosplay, then?” you giggle, hands combing through Mark’s hair as he walks you backwards towards his desk.

“Do you even have to ask?”

You don’t get to respond, because Mark is turning you around, bending you over the desk, palm resting between your shoulder blades to hold you there.

“Look at you,” Mark is pulling at the fabric of your cosplay, exposing you. “Fuck, look at you.”

Mark takes his cock in hand, pushing forward, rubbing the head through your slick folds.

Your hips wiggle, pushing back, encouraging Mark, needing him inside you.

“I got you, I got you,” Mark mumbles, pressing against your entrance. He groans as the tip breaches your cunt. Your walls squeeze around him, and Mark is worried he’s gonna blow his load too soon. Because you feel way too good around him.

Mark takes a moment, and then he’s slamming his hips forward, causing you to choke on a gasp. Your hands press against his desk, lips parted, back arching as Mark’s hands bracket your hips. He moans at the slapping sound from his hips connecting with the fat of your ass.

“Mark, oh god,” you press your forehead to the cool surface of the desk, grounding yourself. “You really like the cosplay.”

Mark grins, a hand leaving your hip to squeeze your ass cheek, massaging it. He really does like the cosplay.

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” Mark’s hips stutter. He’s close, but he also doesn’t want to disappoint. Not that Mark has ever disappointed you. “Play with your clit.”

It’s a little uncomfortable, but you manage to squish your hand under your body, fingers pinching at your clit. You whimper, cunt clenching around Mark as your fingers toy with the bundle of nerves.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, grunting as your cunt clenches again. “That’s my girl, that’s- oh shit- my girl.”

You can feel heat coil in your abdomen, rubbing tight circles against your clit as Mark’s cock brushes against that spot inside of you that makes your knees weak.

Mark’s thrusts get shallow, quick, his breathing heavy as his hips still, pelvis pressed flush against your ass. He groans, head falling forward as he spills inside you.

You gasp, the tension in your core snapping as your pussy spasms around Mark’s cock, milking him as you follow him over the edge.

Your breathing is laboured, Mark’s head rests between your shoulders, and you can feel his warm breath on your skin.

“Will you cosplay for me again?” Mark asks, you can feel his lips curl into a grin against your back.

“Only if you let me do you in the suit.”

“Deal.”

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

i’m alive lol

i have had the worst writers block of my existence and omg this took too long to write

there are too many wips on my laptop, hopefully o get to them, maybe one day

dear lord i need to find a beta reader to confirm the smut doesn’t read like a bad porno

#invincible #mark grayson #mark grayson x you #invincible show #invincible x you #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #invincible comic #mdni #mark grayson smut #invincible smut #mark grayson x cosplayer reader #mark grayson x reader smut #smut #invincible x reader smut

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mmegwrld · 3 months ago

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𖤓.ೃ࿔* WARM + jeon jungkook

you and jungkook are college roommates, but sometimes you two hook up. all the time, actually. he continuously pushes you away.. and you stay.

word count : 3.8k

genre : super angsty, some smut some fluff… a little bit of everything. MDNI!

warnings : HEAVILY INSPIRED BY WARM BY ARIANA GRANDE !! guys i’m sorry it’s so angsty, hurt.. comfort, situationship jk, you’re too patient with him.. crying, slow build up? a little bit of smut - praises, oral (m receiving), JK IS AN ASSHOLE IN SOME PARTS

a/n : this is my first time doing anything like this so pleaseee give me grace!! 🤗💐✨🐬🌞 and THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD!!

masterlist

the first time you met jeon jungkook was when you first went into your shared dorm room. it was an apartment sized dorm, with a kitchen, bathroom and two rooms. you didn’t expect much with college. a dorm, hard classes and an awkward roommate is what you thought about. you knew you were going to get some random person, but you didn’t expect him, jungkook. your first impression was great, some random hot guy i have to live with for the next four years.

his surfer cut, full tattooed sleeve, toned body. he barely glances at you, he doesn’t even say a word until you do. you wonder how long he was here for. you set down your bags and look at him, “so you’re jungkook?” you finally speak up. you’re met with an “mhm.” what? mhm? that’s it? no questions about you as if he already knew what you looked like. whatever. rude, cool, whatever. you roll your eyes with a huff, “can’t wait to be friends with my cool roommate,” you mutter. jungkook finally takes a real glance at you, “good luck with that,” he smirks softly. oh.. ohhh, he’s that type of quiet, you thought. quiet, cocky, an asshole. fine, i don’t need to be friends with him anyways.

sadly, that’s not how roommates work. you have to speak. nights in your shared dorm meant soft brushes past each other. it means accidentally catching him laughing quietly at something on his phone when he thinks you aren’t looking. it also meant studying silently together, glancing at each other. it made you want to know him. he was interesting… an asshole, but interesting.

jungkook when he first met you. he knew you were going to be a handful. you went to a nice college, your luggages were expensive. you had the newest phone. nice clothes. everything. you two have been coexisting with each other for months now. you tease him sometimes for being so silent but he acted like he didn’t care. doesn’t matter.

it happened so casually, he almost didn’t even notice. one night, he saw you. not just on a regular thing, he really sees you. it was a late night for the both of you. he went out with jimin and taehyung to some all night ramen restaurant. he entered the dorm, seeing you in the living room. you sit on the floor with your back to the couch, half asleep while reading some crime textbook. your laptop screen glows softly, highlighting your puffy cheeks… the way your lashes flutter when you’re fighting sleep.

jungkook felt something shift because he’s seen you a hundred times before, but never like this. not this soft, so vulnerable. not in a way that makes his chest tighten. he sets down his keys and walks over to you. he watches you exhale, your head tipping back slightly. his fingers twitch softly. he’s aware… he’s suddenly aware of how close you two have become over the months. he notices the little things he’s remembered. the way you hum softly while you think or the way you shiver whenever you’re super nervous. that’s it, he thinks to himself. i’m fucked. he quickly realizes you’re not just his roommate. you’re her… and he doesn’t know what to do with that.

he gathers your stuff and puts them on your desk in your room. he plugs up your phone and laptop before heading back to you. he thinks for a second. should he pick you up and take you to your bed, leave you there or wake you up and make you walk. he sighs and picks you up slowly, bridal style. you groan softly, “wha—“ “it’s me..” jungkook says softly as he puts you onto your bed. you flutter your eyes open, “jungkook?” you barely whisper. he doesn’t reply as he leaves the room. you furrow your brows and quickly fall back asleep.

jungkook never spoke about his feelings— to anybody. but when he realized he wasn’t just feeling nothing towards you, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. so he does the only thing a guy would do, call his friends. jimin and taehyung meet him at some cafe in the downtown area. jungkook sits across from them, stirring his iced coffee like it personally offended him. jimin raises his left brow, “so what’s wrong?” he asks. jungkook groans, “ugh.. it’s— it’s my fucking roommate,” he finally admits. taehyung bucks his head back, “your roommate?” he questions. jungkook looks at them, “yes.”

“the hot one?” taehyung adds. jungkook shakes his head, “she’s— that’s not the point,” he sighs. jimin and taehyung exchange a look as jimin speaks up, “ohh… you like her.” “i don’t— i— i think i do.” silence was met with the three before the two start laughing. jimin slaps jungkook’s shoulder, “bro.. we’ve been called this months ago! as soon as we seen her!” “you live with her and it took you this long to realize?” taehyung adds. jungkook glares at them, “you guys are no help,” he shakes his head again and leans back. taehyung tilts his head as he stops laughing, “so, whats the problem? you like her… she kind of likes you sometimes— what’s the matter?”

jungkook hesitates before replying, “what if i mess it up?” his voice is more quiet now, more vulnerable. jimin and taehyung knew how jungkook was with girls. he didn’t like to date. he didn’t like talking to them. he was by far the worst guy to date in their grade. taehyung sighs, “you already like her. you’re already in the deep. what’s worse— messing up or never trying?” he asks. jungkook hates how he’s right. but jungkook knew he would mess it up. he always does. with everything. maybe this time could be different.

the first time you two hooked up was after some frat party. the night felt electric. you and jungkook have been dancing around each other for weeks now. making each other laugh, teasing, not admitting you both want the same thing. you sat in between his legs as he throws his head back. he shivers at the warmth of your mouth. his tattooed hand makes its way into your hair, “just like that..” he moans. you bob your head up and down on his shaft. jungkook… he was big. a big muscle guy and a big dick guy. you jerk the rest you couldn’t fit in your mouth. he looks down at you, “you’re so beautiful, (name). i like seeing you everyday. i fuckin love your cooking.”

you furrow your brows at his confession as you lick his tip, “you do?” you ask softly. he nods, “i like you, (name). i really do. i want to be with you,” he soon cums in your mouth. it was about 15 minutes after. you brush your teeth as he walks in, “did you mean it?” you ask and glance to him in the mirror. he looks at you, “mean what?” “you like seeing me everyday, you love my cooking. you like me.” it was silence, “i dunno what you’re talking about.” what? what the fuck does he even mean— he was fucking cumming when he said that. is that what he does? he gets all sappy and vulnerable right before his burst? fuck that.

somehow, you get sick. like really sick. stuffy nose, groggy voice, wrapped in five covers. jungkook checks in on you, “you good?” he asks. you smile, “yeah. totally.” he says nothing back and leaves. an hour later, he walks into your room with medicine, some warm soup— what the hell? a stuffed bunny? you give him a knowing look as he places the medicine and soup on your bed side table. he takes out the three water bottles from his pockets. he looks back at you and puts the bunny next to you, “don’t make it weird. it was on sale.” you blink up at him, “a stuffed bunny?” your voice hoarse. he huffs and gives you two pills and a open water bottle, “shut up and take the medicine.” you laugh, quickly coughing. you clear your throat, “it looks like you.” he furrows his eyebrows and leaves the room. later on that night, he checks on you again. you’re fast asleep, tightly hugging the bunny. he brushes a hair from your forehead, “i got you.” he whispers.

you guys have hooked up a bunch more times at this point. it’s the summer and there’s parties every night. you two stumble into the dorm after a party. it’s near 2am… you think. you stopped keeping time after your first shot. jungkook holds your heels as his jacket drape over your shoulders. you sigh and plop onto the couch. he sits next to you, throwing your legs onto his lap. “you okay?” he asks softly, massaging your swollen feet. you nod and sigh, “all good.” he stares at you with a unreadable expression, “k.” he kisses your ankle softly, “so beautiful.” you knew what he wanted. just like how you thought, he gets all romantic when he’s needy. you look at him, “can we just lay here?” you ask. he looks at you, “course. give me a kiss,” he helps you up. you kiss his pierced lip, laughing between the kisses. he rubs your butt slowly, “all mine,” he whispers, biting your bottom lip. his tongue slides into your mouth as he spanks you softly. you yelp and pull away, “you’re bad.”

he never took you on a date. but he takes a whole other girl on a date?! oh. hell. no. your friend sent you a picture of them at your fucking restaurant. you scoff and reply fucking asshole. he walks back in as you sat on the couch, like everything is normal. but you felt like you just got tossed out. you wait until he says hi. once he does, you scoff. “you’re a real piece of shit,” you looks at him. jungkook’s eyebrows furrow, “what?” “you took a girl on a date.” “i’ve been doing that.” it hits you. the whole time… the whole time he was hooking up with you at night, he was taking that bitch out during the day. “what about it?” he adds. you scoff once more, “what about it— you been having sex with me for months and taking out a whole different girl.”

he doesn’t even flinch. his eyes flicker to yours for a second than back out the window, “we’re not dating. you knew this was just.. whatever.” the words hit you like a slap in the face. the truth of it. the reality that you’ve been pretending this whole time, pretending it was something it wasn’t. you shake your head, tearing your gaze away from his figure, “i don’t want to be your whatever.” “that’s not my problem,” he replies, cold. you hate how calm he is. how unaffected. it only fuels the fire inside of you. you want to scream. you want to make him feel something. but instead, you just walk past him, your voice shakes. “fine. don’t worry about it. i won’t either.” you slam the door to your room, the sound echoing in the silence. jungkook stands there for a moment, his jaw tight. but he says nothing.

you sit in your room, tapping on your journal. you stare up at the ceiling. you cannot shake off the feeling. that very familiar anger bubbling up. you don’t even understand why you’re so bothered. you guys aren’t talking… dating. nothing. just roommates. strictly roommates. the next few days are tense. jungkook doesn’t act any differently—still distant, still the same nonchalant attitude—but the air between you guys is thick. everytime your paths cross in the dorm, there’s this silent battle happening, neither of you acknowledging the real issue. you, on the other hand, can’t shake it. you try to act normal—just like you always do—but every time you see him, everytime your mind wanders back to that night, you reminded of how cold he was. how little he seemed to care.

it was another summer night for you guys. you sat with some random guy, trying to fulfill the feeling that jungkook gave you. he stares at you tensely. hobi and jimin walk up to him, “earth to kookie!” hobi waves his hand in his face. jungkook looks at the two, “what?” jimin looks back to you and the guy, “ohhh… you messed it up. just wait til taehyung hears about this. he owes me $150.” jungkook smacks his lips, “shut up. i just.. i don’t owe her anything.” hobi knew about their situation.. probably the most considering he’s friends with you and jungkook. hobi hums, “you owe her an explanation.”

jungkook spots you walking away, “i don’t.” “yes… you do. she’s given herself to you. communicated with you. what have you done besides give her mixed signals and rub in her face that you don’t like her when you do?” hobi shrugs as he tells jungkook the truth. jungkook sighs as he stares at you, by yourself. “go talk to her,” jimin says. jungkook shakes his head, “she hadn’t talked to me in weeks.” “(name) is a patient person, just go,” hobi pushes him. you sit by the bonfire by yourself, with a random beer in your lap. you feel a sudden presence next to you. you look away from the fire and see.. oh. him. you look away as he stares at you, “can we talk?” he says softly, like he’s scared.

you stay silent as you stare into the fire. jungkook watches the way the fire lights up your face, your features. your eyes looks hurt. he looks at his lap, “i fucked up,” he says, his tone low. you look at him, your lips pressed into a thin line. he runs a hand through his hair, “i never meant to hurt you, (name). i— i never felt this way about somebody and i don’t know how to handle it.” your eyes narrow out of anger, confusion and mostly hurt. you didn’t know if you wanted to forgive him, but you wanted to hear him out. he sighs, “i know i’ve been really cold to you. i know i pushed you away and told you i don’t care. but i do, i care so much about you.”

you finally speak up, “then why did you take her out? why did you tell me i was a whatever thing to you. i have to see you everyday. i wake up and i see you, you’re the last thing i see when i sleep.” your voice quiet. he swallows hard, “i didn’t think you would get hurt that much.” you stay quiet for longer, your gaze hardening. you were angry, but hurt lingered like a shadow, “you can’t just keep pretending everything’s nothing, jungkook. i don’t work that way.” his hand touches yours, it’s a small gesture but he’s trying. “this doesn’t just go away, jungkook. you have to prove yourself. stand on your words,” you say. he nods, “i’ll prove it to you.”

you were so fucking wrong. he was literally a piece of shit. he treated you like a booty call. you’ve had enough. enough of his mixed signals, enough of pretending you’re okay with something you’re not. you guys were laid in his room. you sat on the end as he laid down, “i can’t do this anymore.” you shake your head. your voice wavers as you hold his gaze, “i need more,” you say barely whispering. he stares at you, jaw clenched. you finally think you’re gonna hear what you’ve been wanting to— thinking he’s going to stop you. “i get it.” that’s it. no fights. no pleading, just.. stupid fucking understanding. as if he always knew you’d leave before him. so you do, you left the dorm for a couple of days.

it’s been weeks since you stopped trying. since you stopped waiting for him. and jungkook? he hates it. he sees you laughing with some guy outside their dorm, sees the way you don’t hesitate before answering his texts. that used to be him. that night, when you come home, jungkook is already there, sitting on your bed like he belongs there, “he’s not me.” his voice is quiet but firm. you stare blankly at him, “and?” it starts with a fight. it always does. jungkook’s distant again. canceling plans, avoiding you, acting like what you guys have isn’t the one thing keeping them both sane. and you’re done pretending like you don’t care, “if you don’t want this anymore, just say it,” you finally snap, standing in the middle of your dorm, arms crossed to keep yourself from shaking. jungkook exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair, “it’s not that simple.”

“it is,” you argue. “either you want me, or you don’t. but i can’t keep doing this—this… half-assed love story where im the only one who actually gives a damn.” that hits. you see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fists tighten like he’s holding back something big. “you think i don’t care?” his voice is quiet. dangerous. you scoff, “you don’t.” silence. and then— “i care too much.” you stare at him. he steps closer, eyes dark, voice rough. “you want the truth? fine. i’m scared, okay? i don’t know how to do this. i don’t know how to love you the way you deserve. and it’d be so much easier if i didn’t care—but i do. i fucking do.” your breath catches,“then let me in.” jungkook stares at you, and for the first time, you see it—the fear, the way his whole life he’s been taught to guard his heart like it’s a war zone. but then, slowly, carefully, he reaches for you and when you don’t pull away—when you actually lean in—he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. “okay.” his voice is barely above a whisper. “i’ll try.” and that’s all you need. because for jungkook? that’s everything.

the first morning after the talk, everything feels… different. jungkook wakes up first, lying beside you in bed, staring at the ceiling like the weight of actually trying is sinking in. you stir, blinking up at him, voice still groggy. “you look like you regret everything.” he scoffs, but his fingers tighten slightly on the blanket. “no. just… thinking.” you hum, stretching. “about?” jungkook hesitates. then, finally—“how not to mess this up.” your heart clenches, because that? that’s growth. instead of pushing her away, he’s trying. so you smile, soft and teasing,“well, step one? maybe kiss me good morning.” he rolls his eyes but leans in anyway, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering. “better?” he murmurs. you grin, “much.”

you guys were bound to slip up. you are used to being his exception—the only one he lets in. but now that you guys are together, you want more. you want the soft parts of him, the ones he keeps hidden even from himself. and jungkook? he still doesn’t know how to give that. “you don’t talk to me,” you snap one night. “you keep shutting me out like you’re still scared of this—of us.” jungkook clenches his jaw, eyes flashing. “i don’t shut you out—” “yes, you do!” you throw your hands up. “and i get it, okay? you’re not used to this. but if you don’t let me in, then what’s the point?” he’s quiet. too quiet. and for a moment, you think he’ll walk away. but then— “i don’t want to lose you.” it’s barely a whisper, but it hits you like a confession. like a breaking point. your face softens, “than let me stay.” jungkook exhales sharply—then, slowly, nods. it’s a start.

you guys walking home late one night, hands brushing but not quite holding. you frown, shoving your hands in your pockets. “you still don’t like PDA, huh?” you tease, but there’s something real in your voice. jungkook glances at you—then, suddenly, he reaches for your hand, threading your fingers together. you stop in your tracks, staring at him, “kook?” he shrugs, playing it off, “i can try, right?” your heart melts. “yeah,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. “you can.” and as you guys keep walking, you swear he holds on just a little tighter.

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splishfish · 2 months ago

Text

"Just The Tip..."

Tomura Shigaraki x AFAB Reader

❣ Summary: Drinking with the league leads to drunk fucking your boss?!

❣ Tags: Piv, Dub-con(?), unprotected sex, creampie, Doggy style, Drunk sex, idk what else

❣ WC: 1.3k

Tomura doesn’t quite remember how he got in this position, straddling your waist while your glossy pussy stares up at him. He thinks maybe he’s dreaming, but when your manicured hands reach back to spread your ass, exposing more of your syrupy cunt and winking hole, he’d rather think this is real.

His vision is blurry and spinning, alcohol running through his veins and he barely notices the way his hand is messily fisting his cock above your sugary pussy, droplets of precum meeting your own slick.

It’s hot, he notices. Sweat coats his forehead, small beads running down his neck and his forehead. Or maybe it’s just the alcohol. Ah. Alcohol. That’s right, he remembers now.

It was a normal night with the rest of the league, Compress, Dabi, you, and him drinking while making idle chatter. He remembers Toga and Twice in the background, playing games? He doesn’t remember. No. But he does remember the way you looked at him, the way your eyes glazed over when you asked Kurogiri for another drink too many, and how your lashes kissed your cheeks whenever they fluttered.

He remembers the hushed conversation you two were having, sitting a stool or two away from Dabi and Compress for privacy. Was it you who started the conversation? Yes, it had to have been. How else would he end up like this?

Your cheeks were flushed when you spoke, a mask of bashfulness decorated your face when you told him about your recent sex life, how little time you had to get laid, and how frustrated you had been lately. He silently nodded along, taking sips of his drink, each one longer than before, hoping the alcohol would eventually burn out the boner he had been forming.

He didn’t mean to get as drunk as he did. It was an accident. One too many drinks in an attempt to save himself from embarrassment, only to drunkenly blurt out he had never been laid before, cutting off your bitching and whining about how long it’s been since you got dicked down.

He saw it then, the way your eyes glossed over with satisfaction, eyeing him like a predator about to jump its prey. Though, he figured that wasn’t too far off from what really happened.

It became more blurry from there, memories that now feel like dreams swirling and tangling themselves together, making the past 10, no, 20 minutes a blur.

But it doesn’t matter. Or maybe it does, but he doesn’t care now. No, all he cares about now is the way your drunken body trembled with anticipation, your cunny clenching around nothing.

He could barely hear your slurred words, a line of drool falling from your lips as you pulled away from the pillow you laid on. Something about ‘just the tip’…

But as he pulled back the foreskin of his leaking tip, revealing the sensitive heart shaped head of his cock, he wondered if that would even be possible.

He felt so heavy, his arms shaking as he positioned himself on top of you, slowly nudging his tip between your honeyed lips and damn near collapsing at just the mere warmth of your cunny. He barely holds himself up, desperately rutting against your fluttering hole in an attempt to slip inside, but despite your excess of arousal, he just couldn’t get in.

It wasn’t until you lazily reached back and guided his cock into your welcoming cunt that he finally nudged his way in. A gasp left the both of you when he breached the little resistance of your pussy, and he could’ve swore he heard the sickenly sweet pop of your saccharine pussy swallowing him whole.

He let out a pathetic groan, high pitched and desperate as his eyes rolled back. Is this what pussy felt like? So warm and wet? So eager? So hot? No. No no no, this has to be heaven. There can’t be anything more blissful than the sloshing sounds your pussy makes when he just barely ruts his hips, slipping his cock just the tiniest bit deeper.

But as your hand reaches back and pushes against his pelvis, he remembers your words, ‘just the tip’. He scowls but obeys anyways, gently sliding the tip of his cock in and out of your fluttering hole. Shudders ran through his body, and even though he was barely inside, he already felt close to cumming.

With each click of your creamy pussy sucking and slurping on his cock, he felt his body grow weak. He can’t breathe, he couldn’t stand this stupid rule you set. Weren’t you complaining about how long it’d been since you’d gotten laid? So why? Why why why won’t you let him just fuck you?

Ah, but his alcohol-addled brain was too weak to think of a good excuse for you. Maybe there was no excuse. Maybe you were just waiting for him to just take you.

And who is he to deny you?

Without warning he pulled out, waiting for you to turn your head back with a confused expression, eyes glossy and needy before he rammed himself back inside, his unruly pubes meeting the swell of your ass.

A screech escaped your lips before he shoved your head back down into the pillow, collapsing on top of you when his body couldn’t keep up with the pleasure of your sopping cunny.

He held himself inside you for a few seconds, hands groping your plush skin as he tried to ground himself, trying to stop himself from cumming. Oh, he wasn’t expecting your pussy to grip him so tightly, a loud whine escaping your lips as you pathetically tried to fuck yourself on his still cock.

It took a muffled moan of his name for him to finally snap out of his trance, his hips reeling back before slamming into your pussy, over and over and over again, filling the room with the noise and smell of your sex.

He didn’t want to stop. No, he couldn’t stop. His hips had a mind of their own as he rammed into you, teeth clenching as his eyes found where your bodies meet. A coat of your cream lined his cock, strings of your pearly slick tangling into his baby blue pubes, looking like a sinful web of spider silk.

Ah. He didn’t want this to end. He wanted to keep himself inside you for the rest of his life, he never wanted to leave the warm embrace of your sloppy pussy. He could feel every clench of your bumpy insides, he could hear every pap pap pap! of his cock hitting the sweet nook of your cervix.

But his lack of stamina and experience was his inevitable downfall, his cock twitched and throbbed so so painfully as he tried to hold in his release, but as a shrill moan escaped your spit covered lips, he couldn’t stop the wave of ecstasy that flowed through him.

Spurt after spurt of cum filled your aching pussy, his balls tightened and resting against the fat of your clit, twitching with each release of his slimy spunk. A raspy moan escaped him, small pathetic ruts of his hips pushed his sperm deeper inside you shoving his cock past another barrier he didn’t even know you had, and right into the little opening to the inside your womb.

He trembled on top of you, eyes glazed over with euphoria as he slowly let his cock soften inside you, wanting to draw out the blissful feeling of your body.

It wasn’t until you weakly slapped at his side that he pulled out, a small trickle of his cum following his cock and painting your now puffy labia. He rolled off you, letting you slowly shuffle onto your back.

If he had any more strength, or maybe if he was sober, he might’ve popped another hard-on just from the sight of your face alone. Lips raw and red, glossed over in saliva, and eyes rolled back and hazy from the way he fucked you dumb.

It wasn’t until he heard your hoarse voice speak that he finally snapped out of his head.

“I…didn’t cum yet…”

…oops.

A/N: woooo! Back to my roots! I miss tomura omg i love him so much

M.List - Taglist

Taglist: @cluelydooly @girlshigaraki @amentallyillchild @marzzhal @skeletonblush @redr0sewrites @uekarashi

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